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softowlhours · 4 years ago

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akaashi keiji (officeAU!)

a collection of scenarios following you and akaashi as you try and finesse the art of navigating life as working adults.

genre: a bit sad at times, but hopefully fluffier in the future.

a/n: my first piece of writing and this is pure self indulgent because work is hard and nothing makes sense sometimes. hope you all enjoy and find some comfort in it.

word count: 3500~

pt. one 🦋 blank like a sheet of paper. 🦋

[friday. 3:00 p.m.]

someone had cracked open the window. the air inside the office had been much too oppressive, stale with the smell of the murky, insipid coffee you could get from the cafeteria. for free. staff privileges, they call it. late afternoon sun pours in through the large square windows. it ignites the office, dying it in the shades of an inferno. however, the warmth of it does not reach akaashi’s heart. the way the rays set everything aglow was in contrast to the chill crisp autumn air. akaashi could hear the leaves rustle, clinging to the branches waiting for that particular gust of wind, strong enough to blow them off. the leaves would then twirl and twirl until they’d softly land on the damp earth becoming one with it again. he wishes he were a leaf.

He tries to focus on nature’s gentle melody, but the hubbub of the office is overbearing. the incessant clicking of alphabets on the keyboards, the murmur of pages being turned, someone sneezes loudly and it is immediately followed by lazy ‘bless you’s’. his ears are attuned to the low electric groan of the printer, and he hopes someone would get up and unclog the jam of papers before the white noise drives him insane. he ends up doing it himself, almost losing a finger in the process as he tries to pull out a badly stuck paper from the printers’ rollers. today had been one of those days where nothing had gone right, a domino of disasters triggered the moment he’d opened his eyes. these days had been coming by way too often lately for his taste. he felt tired.

none of these turmoils showed on his exterior though, he wore a calm, unbothered mask. despite his depressing inner monologue, he diligently read through the manuscript highlighting bits he’d like to go over with the author at their next meeting.

it wasn’t like akaashi hated his job, infact, this was his dream job. he loved what he did but sometimes his love for his work was eclipsed by the politics the workplace was entrenched in. the naivety from when he had first joined almost a year ago had worn off quickly. it took him a mere week in the workforce to understand that a job demanded more than the list of skills and tasks specified in the job description. in any office, beneath the veneer of civility, there always remains an undercurrent of competition, jealousy, idle minds looking for entertainment at the expense of each other. there were people who did not love their job, the free loaders who somehow never did their share but managed to take home their bag of coins. they would slack and slack some more until the burden of their neglect would be shifted upon the shoulders of the new comers. too timid to resist. he pulls out his leather bound planner, a gift from his friend to celebrate him landing the role of an assistant editor all those months ago. it is almost filled from start to finish with his scribbles and the leather is soft with constant handling. his eyes scan past all the work he had wrapped up for the day, until one of his seniors had dumped an endless stack of files containing short stories that had been sent in for the monthly writing contests. they’re not short anymore when you have a hundred of them to read at once. apparently, the senior had a date he’d forgotten about and had to leave early. akaashi couldn’t report this to the boss, he knew how offices worked. its venomous hierarchies slithered like snakes ready to diss whoever defied them. rookies must act like rookies. akaashi quickly jots down in his planner a list of things he must get done over the weekend and the bulleted list slowly fills up two entire pages.

when he wasn’t picking up after someone’s mess akaashi did enjoy what he did. he enjoyed being on top of his work, found an euphoric satisfaction in duties well done. while his colleagues took it easy during the day and whined as they worked overtime in the evenings to meet deadlines, akaashi was most probably done for the day by then and already at home; fresh out of the shower and lighting his favourite candles that made his bedroom smell like cinnamon. he’d curl up under his soft comforter letting the tension of a busy day dissipate from his body. he kept his favorite books on the nightstand and would read them as he waited for sleep to come.

“akaashi-chan,” he hears the soothing voice of his supervisor, an old well natured man in his sixties who had worked here for almost thirty years. he walks upto akaashi’s desk, his eyes crinkling with a gentle smile as he takes in the mess that was his desk. “its difficult being a rookie, huh?” hatori-san says. “i would’ve just let you gone home, but the design and printing departments are an anxious bunch. they’re breathing down our necks for the final draft of the magazine two weeks before the release date.”

“please don’t apologise, hatori-san. It’s always like this towards the end of the month.” you aren’t the one who should be apologising.

“hmm...” the elderly muses, “maybe you should dilly dally like your colleagues, afterall, who is to blame you? the youth are meant to be reckless. ”

“but hatori-san if i did that not even a quarter of our magazine will be ready by the end of this month!” akaashi’s voice is filled with amusement, and mild terror.

hatori-san chuckles. “yes, yes i’m aware. i’ll rely on you then akaashi-chan. i do have a bit of good news for you though.” a bonus-

“we’re getting another assistant editor on monday, hopefully your workload can be halved from then on and a be little more manageable. i’m worried you’re starting to look older than me akaashi-chan.” he jokes. “i’ll leave her in your care.”

❀ ✿ ✿ ❀

[friday. 8:20 p.m.]

he stays in the office until late that night, finishing as much of his work he can before the words on the screen begin to blur and he can feel his brain churn in his head. he packs the documents he needed to read over the weekend, putting them neatly in his black briefcase. the temperatures have dropped quite low and with his tan coat on and a scarf wrapped around his neck, he steps out into the world. outside, tokyo is buzzing with life, the lights twinkle and a bubbly atmosphere engulfs even this usually grim and dull part of the city; where most companies found their home. salary men and women chatter excitedly as they pour into the office district from the high rise buildings of concrete and glass. groups of people stand on the sidewalk chatting amicably, smoke rises from cigarettes, plans to go hangout at karaokes, bars and restaurants float in the air.

it wasn’t that akaashi did not have friends, or ever had trouble making any. he was easy going, attentive and though not the loudest in the room, he was enigmatic. people were drawn to him. especially the weird and loud ones. not that he minded. not that he ever judged. which is what made people open up their hearts to him so easily. they knew he’d take them for who they were. but, like earlier today he couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease that clawed at him. he had his dream job but the hours he spent on his desk day after day, the endless exchange of apathetic emails, the unlimited cups of coffee, had all amalgamated into a kind of hollowness. he felt empty instead of fulfilled. he idly wonders if bokuto-san ever felt this way, or knowing him, did he charge straight ahead without any inhibitions? if you asked bokuto whether he could see himself playing volleyball for the next twenty or fifty years, bokuto would say ‘yes, ofcourse!!!’ in a heartbeat. and akaashi knew bokuto would mean it.

he wonders how hatori-san had spent his entire life in that office. could i do the same?

akaashi considers hanging out with some of his friends from university, maybe take hatori-san’s advice and just let go and forget everything for a while. he could be your typical 20 something, going to the bars with his 20 something friends where they’d shit talk their rude colleagues. He could console that one friend who wouldn’t stop crying over his ex-girlfriend who left him 3 years ago, every time he’s drunk. he could go home with that girl at the opposite end of the bar who wouldn’t stop looking his way, and who in his drunken haze, he thinks to be pretty. but eventually akaashi decides he is too tired to do any of that.

much later, when he settles into bed, he mindlessly picks up a book from his nightstand. he starts reading from where he had left off the night before but his eyes don’t really register a single word. for all he knew, he could’ve been staring at a blank sheet of paper. after a few more minutes of seeing nothing, he puts the book away and buries himself deep underneath the covers.

he feels the tears fall.

❀ ✿ ✿ ❀

[monday, 9:45 a.m.]

its odd. akaashi feels well rested. very very well rested.

his eyes fly open, and the first thing he sees is the blue sky peeking from the gap between his curtains. he’s afraid to look at the time.

9:45 A.M. well, shit.

akaashi feels winded by the time he makes it to the floor where his office was.from the door he sees hatori-san standing next to akaashi’s chair, his back towards him. akaashi’s heart is in his throat, an apology that sounds fake dances on his tongue. he then hears hatori-san chuckle. a soft female voice says something he cannot catch. ah, the new assistant editor.

“good morning” he calls hoarsely, as he approaches them.

“Ah, hello akaashi-san,” his supervisor beams, “meet y/n. hopefully, your new partner in crime.”

“i was told i’m supposed to help slow down your aging process.” her voice is soft, and despite the shyness there is a mischievous lilt to her tone. “i’ll do my best. please do guide me.”

hatori-san excuses himself. she’s practically buzzing with excitement, akaashi notices. before he can say anything, she pulls out a brand-new notepad from her bag, pen clicking open. she looks ready to take on the world.

he has to bite back a smile. she’s cute, cheeks flush and lips in a pout as she jots down something on it. he genuinely wonders what it is she writes, considering he hasn’t even spoken yet. her hair is neatly tied away from her face but a few stray tendrils fall and delicately frame her face.

he wonders if this is how he had looked on his first day at work. face pink and eyes bright. probably not as cute though, oh no, definitely not cute. he internally cringes at the memory of his awkwardness.

but you miss it. that excitement.

“it’s fine.” he says, “please just sit down and relax, i’ll guide you as we go through our daily routine.” he gives her a small smile.

they spend the morning, going through the basics of the trade, she's a fast learner, he notes. and later during the lunch hour he divulges to her the little ‘how to survive in this office 101s’. he tells her how how she mustn’t drink the free coffee they hand out at the cafeteria (even though he’s come to accept it himself, for he welcomes caffeine in any state and form). he suspects they reuse the coffee grounds more times than considered acceptable. how if you ever jammed the printer, try and leave before anyone realises it was you if you don’t want to be the recipient of death glares from colleagues all day long. He tells her which restrooms are the best and which elevators reach their destinations the fastest. the grimmer and more ruthless bits of working here can wait, he thinks.

passion was something he lost some time ago and hasn’t been able to find ever since.

“make sure to take it easy.” he mumbles to her as they are putting away their trays, “if work gets too much, you can always place the manuscripts and drafts on my desk when i’m not looking.”

she looks at him incredulously. laughter bubbles from her lips as she tells him with mock indignance that she’s better than that. she asks the cafeteria lady for two cups of the infamous coffee, offering him one.

“lets toast!” y/n proposes .

“to what?”

“to all the times we’ll be the the last two brain cells holding up this company. together.” she jokes, touching her paper cup to his.

he likes the sound of ‘together’.

❀ ✿ ✿ ❀

#akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #akaashi scenarios #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #hq!!#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu scenarios #reader insert #hq akaashi #akaashi fluff #akaashi keiji fluff

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somefantasticplace · 4 years ago

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MISTER AND MISTER

We asked comedians Vic and Bob the same questions in separate rooms. Then we compared their answers…

HERE for pictures.

What are the rules in your relationship? Is there a line that you'd never cross?

Vic: We've never needed to have rules - apart from who makes the tea next. We never speak to each other on the phone unless it's to say, 'I'm not coming in today,' or 'Will you bring some milk in?’ We have completely functional phone calls because we see each other every day. We live about 10 miles away from each other. We're very medieval in that we do all our writing with a pen and paper. Bob tends to hold the pen more and write things down more, but that's entirely down to my idleness. I have to do the drawings because his drawings are indecipherable.

Bob: If we don't want to work, we don't have to and we never make an issue of it. We never phone up and say, 'I'm really sorry, I've got to do this or that.' We just say, 'I'm not working today. See you tomorrow.' We're both quite unassertive, so there's no obvious dominance. It could be [why neither of them is the straight man]. We compromise - it's unspoken. We talk about most stuff, but not sexual things. I don't know why that is. You always imagine that everyone else does. If he's been out with a lass, I'll say 'So how did it go?' I don't really ask anything like, 'Did she have nice tits?'

Tell us a secret about the other.

Vic: He's got an anal dysfunction. Let's just say there's some kind of angle involved. He backfires.

Bob: He collects a percentage of his used condoms in a jar and keeps them. He does! Last time I saw it was in his house. So there you are!

What surprises can we expect in the new BBC TV series of Randall & Hopkirk (Deceased)?

Vic: I think the best bit is a very camp psychedelic episode, set in a big toy shop, with giant puppets and evil mannequins. it's got that late-60s Avengers feel. I fly through the air a lot. I was hurled down a corridor by a flaming man [no need to swear- ed]. No, he was on fire. It's always good working with Tom Baker. When we're together we camp it right up. He even gives me a kiss - it's quite full on and I wasn't expecting it. He was telling me something really close up and he finished off by grabbing hold of my face and going mwwwwwww. I was pretty startled. You don't think, 'Oh, he's a good kisser!' You think, 'What's he doing?'

Bob: There's one bit where we're in a jungle and Derek Jacobi is in a wheelchair with his face peeled off; Dervla Kirwan is on a sex machine (a punishment machine that gives women orgasms continually until they hate it); Emilia Fox is having a fight with a huge lady prison officer; and I'm being beaten up by two huge men. It's a lovely little tableau.

Hopkirk (Vic) is Randall's (Bob's) spectral minder. Who would you choose as your spirit guide?

Vic: Don Johnson from Miami Vice because he'd be suave. Or Michael Knight from Knight Rider. Or Peter Glaze [of Crackrjack]. He was quite short with little round specs and he'd look good if he appeared behind a bush in spectral form.

Bob: it would probably be quite good to have Jim [Vic's real name is Jim Moir]. He'd do anything you asked. I'd get him to spy on people and report back. I think he'd Iove it. I don't suppose he could carry a camcorder, but I'd like to see images from D-grade celebrities’ homes and Jim would be up for doing that. I'd send him to spy on Anthea and Grant. Could it be true that no one watched Anthea's show? I take no pleasure in that. I just couldn't believe her viewing figure was zero. You'd think Grant would have tuned in, though.

Who has the better sense of style?

Vic: Bob has his own particular sense of style, which I admire. He’s a very clean man, but he wears dirty clothes. I admire that because he pulls it off. He sometimes buys unsightly shoes and I'll say, ‘I think we should burn them.' I've burned a lot of clothing and taken photographs of it. I took a photograph of a pair of old woman's shoes on fire beneath a standing stone with a pool around the bottom. I had eight copies printed; I'm going to frame them and offer them out at Christmas.

Bob: I have no sense of style and I get a lot of abuse for it. But I'm beginning to think that I'm the more stylish man because I have no style. I don't buy anything. This is all bought for me by my girlfriend [points to his chunky sweater and scuffed jeans]. I hate male perfumes, male jewellers. I hate walking into a room and the first thing people see is your suit.

Vic/Jim has said: 'People can't seem to understand that Vic is just a character I play.' Are they two different people?

Vic: It just goes back to the fact that not many people can pronounce Moir [rhymes with lawyer]. I changed my name because I was only going to do one night - and I thought it was right for that night. 'Vic' is when I'm on TV.

Bob: I think Vic and Jim are one and the same.

Who would you least like to be chained to a radiator with?

Vic: Terry Waite. Or Donald Duck. I don't like the way he looks, I don't like the way he speaks. His attitude is all wrong. And his nephews! If they were chained as well I'd slit my throat. Eat them? I'm not sure anyone's ever eaten a cartoon yet.

Bob: Bubble from Big Brother. I'd probably irritate him - it wouldn't be a good mix. I think Vic would pick Bigfoot out of Bigfoot And 7he Hendersons - that big hairy thing.

You wake up one day to discover you are women. What kind of women would you be?

Vic: Probably much the same as the men that we are. Vaguely interesting. I don't think we'd be smart. Eclectic. I'd be wearing Victorian clothing, a high-necked, long, black dress, looking like a widow. Or Miss Havisham in Great Expectations. Dusty and dowdy.

Bob: I'd be the same as I am. I’d be a mummy. I’d be like Nigella Lawson, but anonymous. Jim, he would be like Ulrika.

Complete the following: I’d die if I ever had to… again.

Vic: …live.

Bob: I couldn’t face doing the conveyancing on a house again. I used to do that in another life.

How do you make your kids laugh?

Vic: Stupid walks, fart jokes – they always win. I can’t fart to order, but I can belch to order. Words always make kids laugh. You’ve got to get on their level and sing things like, ‘There’s a woman on a bike, wike, thike, nike, fike, like.’ They love it.

Bob: Repeating a non-word such as ‘uballah’ over and over, very loudly – that seems to get them going. Or walking like a monkey.

What would you never, ever lend the other?

Vic: My car [a Jaguar], as he’s always crashing cars. The interior of his car [a Lexus] is like a council tip. When we were filming, we had a boot sale and put everything from his car on a trestle table. There was cat litter, one shoe, a bra, plants, food, jam – everything you could possibly imagine - stashed away. He doesn't have his cars long. I'd say it takes him about an hour and a half to fill one and perhaps two hours to wreck it.

Bob: My dog and my cats. He'd be useless. He'd probably feed them the wrong stuff.

How do you know when he's down and how do you help him snap out of it?

Vic: I ring up Middlesbrough Football Club and tell them to pull their finger out. He doesn't know I do this. He gets into a terrible depression if they aren't doing very well, but that's the only time he does get depressed. He always cheers me up with his cheeky grin.

Bob: I don't bother, he's always down, so there's no worries.

Who has the better body?

Vic: My body is turning into what it was like as a young boy - there's nothing there really. Bob's is very manly - a big hairy chest, broad and brawny. I'm in pretty good shape. I do a lot of walking. But Bob's in better shape than he's ever been. He has this secretive world where he does a lot of digging. He moves gravel around and stuff like that.

Bob: We fluctuate. You'll see photo of him sixth months before and he'll be as trim as a tuppence. But at this moment in time, I might be able to top him. One thing Jim does is put weight on his face. If he's had a Christmas where he's scoffed and drank for a week, it all goes on his face.

If you could send the other on a course, what would it be?

Vic: Fly-fishing. I think he's got a secret wish to be a fisherman. We've been fishing about twice in 10 years. I think it's something he'd be into. I think he'd also benefit from learning how to draw. I would imagine his children can draw better than him.

Bob: An assertiveness training weekend. He came into work yesterday and said, 'The builders are after me for money.' I said, 'Have they done owt?' He says, 'Not that I can see.' So I said, 'It's very difficult, Jim, but when they phone up, if they haven't done the kitchen, the dining room and the bedroom, at least say, "Could you have the kitchen finished by five?" before you give them the cash.' He says 'Yeah, I'll try and get something out of them.' So he phones the builder and says, 'So you want some money? I'll put the cheque in the kitchen drawer.' He couldn't do it!

You’re in a room full of smart, beautiful women. Who do they gravitate towards?

Vic: Neither of us, I'm convinced. They'd probably turn their backs us. Maybe they'd gather around Bob first because they'd want to mother him and I think that's the first urge of a group of beautiful women in a room.

Bob. Jim. He's sassy. He's a single man and there's an air about him. You wouldn't notice me walking into a room.

Could you order for each other in restaurant?

Vic: Definitely. He'd have what you consider old person's food - tongue, potatoes and cabbage, and a steamed pudding with custard, with tea or a lager. If he chose for me, he'd go for something more obscure. If there was something odd on the menu, I'd try it.

Bob: Jim always has the most bizarre thing on the menu. He likes to try things. He'd order me potatoes.

If you were invisible for a day, where would you hang out?

Vic: Can I breathe underwater or be ethereal? I'd float over the capital and blow down chimneys and through windows at quite high speed. I wouldn't be that interested in spying on anyone. I might like to creep into a tiger's cage or maybe get inside an apple. I wouldn't find anything interesting in being a peeping Tom. I'd rather spy on a cat than a person.

Bob: I'm tempted to say at Grant and Anthea's again, but the truth, of course, is that I'd hang around wherever in 24 hours you'd see the most nude women.

How far would you go for friendship? Would you: a) lend him your underpants; b) give him your kidney; c) help him on the toilet?

Vic: a) I wouldn't want to wear his underpants. Have you seen the state of them? b) I'd give him my kidney, depending on how many I had spare on my plate. He'd enjoy it. c) I would help him on the toilet, yes, if I had to.

Bob: a) Yes, I'm sure I would. b) Can you survive with only one? I'd think about it. c) Yes, definitely.

What is the other's most irritating habit?

Vic: He would probably say blowing his nose on his clothing. But he quite often leaves some marmalade or something on the front seat of his car, so, when you get in, you really need to put a towel down first.

Bob: Not buying drinks.

What's the most endearing thing he's ever done?

Vic: Just being him really. He always makes me laugh. We're not present givers. We ignore Christmases and birthdays.

Bob: There's lots. He bought me a very rare record, which surprised me. It was an original copy of Free Live! He always looks after me. With the odd lives we have, we do have to look out for each other. It's one of the stabilising things about being in a double act. You can't start being poncey because you've got the other person with you. You can help each other out.

What scares you?

Vic: I've got a terrible fear of heights. Before I pass out, the sky comes in and I start ducking.

Bob: The thought of my children getting hurt. You see something on the telly and think, 'God, if that were them, I couldn't bear it.'

Do you go on holiday together?

Vic: We do. We've been off on our own a few times - we've been on motorcycling holidays, we've been camping. We're probably quite insular. We act like children.

Bob: On holiday, he's a bit too busy for me. He can't sit down. We're in a cafe and I just like watching people. He'll be saying, 'Have you finished your fag? Come on!'

If the partnership ended tomorrow, what would you both be good at?

Vic: I'd probably just paint pictures. I think he'd like being a gardener or maybe do up houses.

Bob: I'd like to be a gardener, if I was financially able to just garden. I can't act, so I wouldn't go down that line. Jim does it already, but I suppose he'd like to paint.

What sort of old people will you be?

Vic: I will sit in an old people's home, staring out of the window, listening to a distant Alsatian. I've often imagined myself sitting on a park bench with a dusty novel. And a bottle of milk. If they stop putting milk in bottles, I'll be cantankerous and lead the march to Trafalgar Square to reinstate bottles of milk. I'd imagine Bob would be very much the same, but he'd be sitting on a dusty chair with a bottle of milk watching the TV - anything that's on. He's a channel hopper.

Bob: Quite traditional, really: nice tweed suits, brogues, lonely. Together would be nice. We would probably be... [sighs at the inevitability] in a pub.

Former solicitor Bob Mortimer (42) was born only a few months and a few miles apart from Vic Reeves in Middlesbrough . They didn't meet until 1986 when Vic was performing at the Goldsmith's Tavern in London. Vic thought Bob was 'quite quiet' but it transpired he was eating a macaroon and didn't want to talk with his mouth full. Bob lives with his girlfriend Lisa Matthews and their children Harry (4) and Tom (3) in Kent .

Vic Reeves (42, James Roderick Moir to the Inland Revenue] lives in Kent with his wife Sarah (though they are separated) and their children, Alice (8), and Louis (4). It’s just down the road from Bob, at whose house they write every day. The two have had many series on TV including Shooting Stars, Families At War and Bang Bang It’s Reeves & Mortimer. Vic has also published a book of his paintings, sunboiledonions (Michael Joseph, £12.99).

Eve

Nov 2001

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euphoriacrossing · 5 years ago

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The closer we get the more my anxiety plays up...

What if I can't keep up with my journal that I worked so hard on?

What if I mess up something I can't change on my island? (I don't WANT to have to reset, but if it's the first day i will... i don't want to have to reset two or three days in because i change my mind about something...)

And the bigger ones.... I've been so tired I can barely stay awake two or three hours at a time. I can't do a whole lot of recreational things because I'm asleep. Right now I'm attributing it to depression, but I am going to ask my oncologist if maybe the meds could cause it (the meds I DID stop, but thay messed with my hormones anyway) or if the slight bit of anemia I have could cause it maybe? What if I am not awake enough to fully enjoy the game?

I go to the oral surgeon I think for a consultation to get some teeth pulled, what if he wants to do it anytime soon after the game is out? Will it mess with my enjoybility to have that kind of procedure? (Last time I had teeth out... my wisdom teeth I did very poorly, I got two dry sockets and was in some of the worst pain... I was LUCKY to be able to sleep as much as I did, because the pain was awful. And I followed instructions, so I don't know if I am more prone to those kinds of things or if it was the fact he didn't tell me to stop my birth control or what... but it was bad. And now I have a much higher tolerance to pain meds and will have to use the ones I'm ON so they'll be less effective probably. I'll die if I get a dry socket. Pain tolerance, mine is high until you get to my mouth and then I'm an absolute crybaby.) So say he wants to do it the Monday after... will I be out of commission to play for two weeks or more while I recover? I know this sounds more important, but to me the game is important, too. I want to be able to put in at least some work daily for quite a while so I can create a beautiful island at the same time others who start on the 20th are. So it may not seem like a huge deal, but it is to me okay? Enough of a huge deal for my anxiety to use it against me.

Those are just examples though. I have an anxiety disorder which in past years has become more generalized and entwined with my bipolar symptoms. So I am in no short supply of things related to the 20th to be anxious about.

I wish I could just be happy. And I mean, I am. We have less than a week and I'll be playing a game that is 7 years in the making for those of us that play Animal Crossing. I've been waiting with baited breath probably more than a year, to the point where when Pokemon Sw/Shld came out it was just a distraction instead of the main event, at that point I was already craving New Horizons desperately. And here we are nearly at the end of our waiting, I am happy, don't get me wrong.

But my mind never just let's me be happy.

What if I am too late to make friends in the first few days like I've planned? Everyone else seems to already have their friendships, but I knew I couldn't keep up with a friendship that long. So here is the week to make friends, and I don't feel I know how, or I feel like most people already have their friends. I have maybe two people besides my sister to play with. And I'm excited for that. But I'd love to be included in a larger group of friends or something, you know, that sort of thing is nice. If I only have a few close friends though, that'd be nice too. And i think the first few days it seems people might just be playing on their own, i don't always NEED someone to play with, I'll probably prefer to play alone, or maybe with my sister mostly, or just my close friend when I play. But it's just i guess i expected to use this opportunity to make more friends and now i feel i am wasting it. I don't often have such an "easy way" to make friends because I am disinterested in most things and just don't have a lot to talk about. This common interest is an amazing thing to talk about and should make things easier, but it doesn't as much as I hoped I guess.

What if I don't finish my journal? I worked so hard on it, but i need my dad's help with the label maker and need to finalize the decisions about what I'm going to record in it before I do make the labels. It can still be changed later because I am using labels on plastic tabs and a discbound journal but what if I don't have time once i'm playing?

Ugh. Just all the "what ifs". And I know some people will think "why'd she bother making this post?" Well random person, it does help to get them out in the open. Since most everything I have been thinking has been AC related lately, this has turned into a bit of a personal blog. Sorry for that. I do plan to make it a New Horizons blog and post as much original content as I can once ACNH is out.

Oh another one. What if posting original content is too hard?

Like, I want this blog to have original content and all that, but if you have to remove your memory card and get on a computer to do it, that's a lot of trouble and extra energy I don't have these days. And you had to do that for New Leaf and everyone did including myself, but I had more energy and it seemed easier. And it seems like it was less effort those days because people DID THINGS on the computer including myself. Now I use my phone and ipad as computers, you can do almost all the same things on them, and my laptop sits idle which might be the reason it doesn't run as well these days. Or it may just be that it's old as crap for a laptop. I mean, I guess it's moderately old for what it is, it's a very nice laptop, but I think it's the same one I had for New Leaf so it's been with me a while. Anyway, it SEEMED like less trouble because you were on the computer doing stuff anyway, so just pop your memory card in there and go while you're checking your stuff. It's not that easy on a phone, BUT I am hoping you can post photos and screenshots to SOMETHING through the Nooklink app. We don't know everything about the app yet as it isnt out yet, and I doubt you can post straight to tumblr (though that'd make things easy, huh?) because this is not the most used platform anymore, but if I can post them to anywhere (like facebook or twitter... I'd probably post them privately to facebook because I am less versed in twitter stuff, but then I did recently become an AC twitter on my personal twitter because I never used my personal twitter anyway, so... yeah...) I can grab them on my phone once they are uploaded and reupload them here. But I also plan to make my "diary like" text posts here. I am not recording a diary in my journal having to do with NH, I only want like... data and information I can use, etc. But that doesn't mean I won't want to write diary like entries, and I am less likely to lose my blog that a physical journal anyway it feels. (I say less likely... I lost my New Leaf blog for a few years there, but with effort I did recently find it.) So it could be very easy to post original content here, or if the app doesn't do things it really totally should, then it might be a bit more effort and I don't know if I have that to give right now, so I'm nervous about that. Everything I post here about my game experience is going to be more for me to look back on than anything, so I WANT to be able to post about that stuff here. But I guess we'll have to wait to see, along with waiting for the game.

And everyone knows how well waiting and anxiety get along. They are two peas in a pod, they play off each other like it's no one's business.

But I hope everything in the end will just be okay. I am "lucky" in a way. Since I'm chronically ill, disabled, and have cancer, I don't have work or school to worry about and while being sick is a big bummer, that does take a lot of stress off of me. I don't know how I would handle a job or school even just mentally these days, I don't see how it could go well and I guess that is because I am so sick, even just mentally... but I know a lot of disabled people DO still do those things anyway, sometimes because they HAVE to, so I am glad I am in a position at my age where I am still largely take care of. My disability money doesn't cover a fraction of my necessities, so I feel blessed everyday for my parents, even though my mom and I fight like cats and dogs. Annnndddd now I am getting to be anxious about what happens to me when my parents are gone and that's a WHOLE different type of anxiety... yikes... I need to stop letting my anxiety run rampant now I guess, it's gone too far.

But I am very "lucky" to be in a position where once the game comes out it can be my main focus for a while. Partially because i don't have the energy to focus on many different things, so it's good Animal Crossing can take up that main spot in my life for now.

Come on now, back to AC anxieties. Ya stupid general anxiety...

And I guess I am anxious about the typical things people are anxious about... what fruit will I get, will I like my first Islanders, etc. but to me those things arent as major. All the fruits are so pretty I could really get on with any of them I think, and hopefully my first villagers will be great, but I'll make myself a net if they're not, and I do have amiibo cards for moving in some of my favorite villagers later on, so I can deal with a dud or two.

I'm a little anxious about map layouts too, just picking the right one seems a little difficult to me since there are some things you cannot change. But I think I can make a good choice, I'm more worried if I'll be able to draw it in for my journal or not. I should draw the general layout for the map, but I don't even know if I can do that right.

Oh I also have a package to finish working on and get in the mail before Friday, BUT I finished the hardest parts (writing a bunch of postcards, basically a latter's worth of text but on postcards) last night, so I just have to do finishing touches and get it out. I maybe want to type another letter to send out, too, but if I don't get it done I'll try not to beat myself up. I got really burnt out on mail stuff lately and as much as I still get, which is about one or two things in the mail daily, I can't reply to all the things I should. I'm stressed about it, but I won't let that ruin my New Horizons time. Especially since mail was supposed to be a fun hobby for me and just... stopped. But that's a whole different thing, that has less to do with New Horizons than the other stuff.

Now I genuinely do feel less stressed since I rambled on for a while. Thanks for reading this, if you read any of it. I don't expect anyone to read all this anxiety inducing, depressing junk.

But anyway, now I am going to try and think about the Nooklink app and what kind of features I think it should have. Like I said, it really should have a way to post screenshots/pictures to social media, and I bet it's got something like that since we have the camera in game. I bet we maybe even can post pictures to social media from the switch. I mean, well, I know we can technically, but I mean I bet we can without having to leave the game. Because you can do that in New Leaf now. Gosh would that have been handy YEARS ago. I guess it came with the "welcome amiibo" update?

But at least we know we can scan in QR codes. I dunno if you've noticed but I have been collecting some and tagging them (you can find them under the "QR" tag on my blog, or by type of QR code, likes dresses I just tagged "dress") so I have them once we are able to use them in game. I am going to check my @playtimewithmadi blog to see if I have QR codes saved that I used in New Leaf, too, so I can reblog any good ones here. All of that gives me something to do, I suppose.

I could also work on my journal, or my mail. Both need to get done before Friday and need work.

But honestly, I am probably gonna play Happy Home Designer right now. I'll design at least one house, and then maybe I'll work on my mail and journal stuff. We'll see.

Anyway, thanks again for sticking with me, I love everyone who stays subbed to this blog even though the BS posts like this. Sorry for rambling on, but I needed this, so thank you for letting me have it.

Off to more distraction then...

#Animal Crossing anxiety #Animal Crossing #anxiety #mental illness #Animal Crossing New Horizons #personal #mine

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aliceslantern · 5 years ago

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Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 22--Listless

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: “Listless.” Ienzo isn’t okay.

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

---

Something wasn’t right.

Ienzo stared deeply into his plans, spread across the worktable and anchored by his research. He bit his lip. It had all been revised and engineered within an inch of its life; yet something was off, wrong. Was it the angles of the joints of the walls?

Maybe it had nothing to do with its creation, and all to do with its creator.

He had a vicious headache. Ienzo took off his glasses and rested his face in his hand for a moment, trying to rub away the pain. Ever since his confrontation with Even, and in the light of Ansem’s overwhelming depression, Ienzo was feeling increasingly shaken, and increasingly anxious. Sleeping was getting more and more difficult again.

Demyx didn’t seem to be doing well either.

It was clear that the poisoning had shaken him. For a few weeks after it happened, Demyx remained mostly in their apartment. He slept a lot, picked at Arpeggio aimlessly, songs that made no coherent sense to Ienzo. Ienzo first attributed this exhaustion to the aftereffects of the poison, but it seemed to go on longer than it should. This must have traumatized him; he was self-conscious enough when it came to his competency, and he could have taken this as a sign he was unwanted in the community. Ienzo was able to analyze Demyx’s mental state with ease; but he himself was too tired to be of any real help. He felt as though he were constantly carrying another dozen or so kilos.

Ienzo, too, just wanted to rest. The early winter day was cold. He would go home, he decided. He would take a bath and make himself some tea and he would read a perfectly awful book, and he would wait for this to blow over.

Would it?

The anxiety threatened to pull him into a spiral. What if this happiness they’d had had been temporary? His growth and healing falsified? He should have known better than to believe they would have a happy ending, or any ending for that matter.

Was this illogical?

He unlocked the apartment door. There Demyx was, curled under the covers. His gummiphone was on the bed beside him, but he didn’t look at it. He barely moved when Ienzo came into the room. Ienzo took off his shoes and slacks and crawled under the blankets as well. He pulled him close, a gesture that sought more to take comfort than to give it.

Demyx turned, and for a moment they faced each other, wordlessly.

“Are you alright?” Ienzo asked.

“No. You?”

“No.” At least he’d come this far, to be able to admit it. “The world lately has felt so very heavy.” He could feel the pinch in his throat, of oncoming tears, and tried to fight it. “I know you’re hurting, and I want to help, but I--”

“It’s okay,” Demyx said. “I know you’re dealing with a lot. You can’t take care of people when you’re drowning.”

“I used to.”

“Then is not now.” He looked so exhausted, his hair flat, circles under his eyes. “I’m not… going anywhere. I just need some rest.”

“I can’t help but wonder…” It was warm under the covers, but still he shook. “What if this is all temporary, you know?”

“I know. God, do I know.”

“I know this is merely a relapse, of sorts. That these are conditions I have to manage and live with for the rest of my life. But they’re so close to convincing me this is how I’ll always be. I’m not that person. I’m logical, I reason. It feels so draining.”

His face crumpled a little. “I know. They… they triggered you. You have to deal with it. Repressing that pain makes it so much worse.” A sob caught in his throat.

“I’m truly sorry,” Ienzo said. “You’re reeling from this trauma, and I--”

“I’ve been talking through it with Aerith.” He looked ashamed to admit it. “She gave me some pills, to help manage things… they make me so tired.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You had enough on your plate. Besides, I should be… better in a week or two. When the chemicals in my head stabilize. Or whatever.” He didn’t make eye contact.

Ienzo knew that it wasn’t that simple. “Demyx…”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

Ienzo touched Demyx’s face. He hadn’t shaved in a few days; the pale stubble was scratchy. “There has to be something I can do.”

“You can. You can take care of yourself.”

He inhaled. “You’ll tell me, if things get much worse?”

“Of course.”

Ienzo wanted to believe him. Yet it was so much easier to worry about Demyx than his own increasing instability.

“I mean it, Ienzo. I’m not done with you.”

The smile seemed to take some effort. “Okay.”

---

He tried to get some rest.

He pulled himself away from the memorial, away from the internal. He assisted Even with some simple chemical experiments, had lunch with Ansem, went on a few rounds with Aeleus. Anything to keep his hands and body occupied. Idle hands make the devil’s work. He understood.

Ienzo was determined not to overwork, just to get his mind off of heavier things until he could unravel them a bit more cleanly. Maybe if he let it percolate a bit more, it would grow clearer.

On one of these rounds with Aeleus, they discovered what had evidently been a mother cat’s nest; there were several rodent skeletons, along with damp red stains of birth. But the mother and her kits were gone; aside from a small, wriggling lump in the makeshift scraps of fabric.

“Oh, poor thing,” Ienzo whispered. It was tiny, possibly the runt; its white and brown fur slightly matted. He was shocked to see it was still breathing, but hesitantly so; who knew how long it had been sitting here without its mother. He took the kitten into his hands, to try and warm it up a little bit. Its eyes were crusted over, possibly infected, and it trembled a little.

“It must be sick,” Aeleus said. “Perhaps we should… end its suffering.” It pained him to say this, his blue eyes glinting. “Mothers don’t usually abandon their young unless they feel it’s a lost cause.”

Ienzo stared at the kitten. So small. Yet, the thought of stamping out its life repulsed him. “Well, I certainly wasn’t,” he said. “Perhaps… I want to at least try to nurse it.” He felt like a child. Oh please, oh please can I keep it? “Demyx might be able to help me.”

Aeleus nodded, a shade of relief gracing his otherwise stoic face. “We could use a mouser.”

---

The first few days he was certain the kitten wouldn’t make it, and any attempts to treat its myriad illnesses felt like Ienzo was just prolonging its suffering. Demyx was only able to help so much--he knew humans, not cats--and for several hours Ienzo dripped milk and antibiotics intermittently into its small mouth. At least it was swallowing, and breathing. He kept as constant of an eye on it as he could, rubbing its small belly to stimulate digestion, wiping the pus from its eyes. He didn’t let it out of his sight and held it as much as he could, because it was so so tiny and so cold. Even the incubation lamp he was able to borrow from Even didn’t seem to do much good.

“You’re going to cause yourself more hurt,” Even said gently. “I can… I can put it to rest painlessly, without violence.”

“I think she wants to live. She’s eating.”

Even shook his head. “If this is how you wish to spend your time. You can probably adopt a healthy cat at the market.”

It took about a week of this, of trying different medicines and drops for its tiny eyes, before the kitten seemed to turn the corner. Its breaths were less labored, it was eating even more; it seemed to gain a few grams every day. Then the pus stopped weeping from its eyes and it gave a tiny, scratchy mew. And for some reason this unraveled him; Demyx found him bawling over the kitten and assumed it had died. Before long, its eyes opened--a temporary blue--to a startling new world.

Ienzo wasn’t sure what this whole ordeal had revealed about himself. The symbolism of it wasn’t lost on him. This uncomplicated kindness was a relief.

She lived.

She went from being on the verge of death to being constantly underfoot, or climbing all over things, up to and including the curtains. She found a particular interest in Demyx’s sitar, trying to crawl over the frets. “Well,” Demyx said, “At least she’s not a critic.”

As she got bigger, she slept on (and in) the bed. She seemed to sense their nightmares; more than once Ienzo woke up to her purring next to his cheek, even as he woke in a cold sweat.

The cat was a comfort to them both. But it still took weeks to name her. Demyx suggested silly names like Jat or Rocks, Ienzo found himself thinking about it entirely too hard, going so far as to look into nomenclature before finally Demyx said, “You know it’s a cat, right?”

One morning Demyx woke up with her paws on his face. All he said was “Beans.”

And Ienzo groaned, because he knew in his heart that the cat’s name was Beans. As stupid as it was. He tried to shorten it to Bea, or Bebe, but the cat didn’t respond to that. She, great comforter of anxiety, was now named after the legume family.

So it goes.

But she did help shake him out of that horrible spiral, and for that she was worth her weight in, well, beans. He could work near her, scratch the soft spot behind her ears, and get back to clear and concise thinking. It was grounding. He wondered how much of his childhood suffering would have been nullified if he’d just had a pet. It was something to look forward to, a concrete reason to exist; Beans needed him. As complex as he tried to be, really simple comforts meant more than intense psychological analysis.

Gradually, the sense of heaviness that had been plaguing him began to fade, and he felt again hopeful. In a small way he would always resent how much control his emotions had over him, how they would muddy thoughts that had once been so easy to grasp. But this was part of humanity, and there was no going back.

#beyond this existence: new life #ienzo #demyx #even (kingdom hearts)#zemyx #aeleus #beyond this existence

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tiny-maus-boots · 5 years ago

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Darkest of Nights

A/N: For Brandy who believes in my stories before they’re ever written. @chloes-yellow-cup

Special thanks to @kate-harper and @rocketalana for listening to my very long very stoned hc in The Hotbox, and to @llyloo-exSkye on discord, thank you Angie for your thought provoking questions without which the hc wouldn’t exist.

A/N 2: I had to create a vampire language so here is the translation key

verskret = cursed

pers aktra diam = the other day

revez era vazti = take her away

prahal = please

Chloe

“Aubrey?” Chloe pushed in the heavy stone door that scraped roughly at the ground and slipped into the dark of the tomb. It was dark of course, it was night after all, but it was especially dark in the cavernous space cut into the side of the mountain. Vampires didn’t need light but they weren’t completely inhuman, they still used it to light their homes. It helped the illusion of life which helped them to blend in, which in turn had helped them to hunt. It was a habit of necessity that simply just became…habit. But here in Aubrey’s tomb…there was only darkness.

The blonde was nowhere to be seen and Chloe sighed in disappointment and shook her head. She made her way to a row of cabinets and pulled them open, searching for a lantern. Several boxes of white emergency candles fell out of one and she stared down at the mess at her feet. Of course. She’d been bringing these damn candles for decades and not a single one had been used. With another long suffering sigh she bent and snatched up a box, tearing it open in frustration so she could light a candle.

It wasn’t that she was angry with Aubrey. Not really. Yes she was angry that her friend was letting herself drift into oblivion and had been drifting for centuries now. But she wasn’t angry with Aubrey herself, she knew her friend was suffering in ways that Chloe couldn’t hope to help ease. She’d tried. God, she had tried. Lately though, her visits were shorter and further between because she couldn’t see Aubrey like this. It was just too damned hard.

“Shut the door Chloe, you’ll let in a chill.”

She wasn’t scared, or shouldn’t be. She was over a millennium, 1350 years old to be exact, she really had nothing at all to fear in this world. Not especially from Aubrey who had been closer to her than any other for most of her unlife. But the sound of Aubrey’s voice from the corner was startling when she thought she was alone in the chamber making her jump slightly. Chloe growled and lit the candle, letting the wick burn before she tipped it on the side and let the wax drip onto a small plate she had to blow the dust off of. The ritual of it gave her time to moderate herself because if she spoke to Aubrey with as much worry as she felt the woman would shut down even further and the truth was that Chloe was afraid for Aubrey.

Afraid that if she closed herself off any more that she would eventually fade and turn to dust as so many of their kind had. When she had enough wax she set the candle in it and turned to shut the door.

“Aubrey, you’re a dead body. You don’t feel the cold.”

“Don’t I?”

Chloe rolled her eyes as she finished pushing the door shut and finally turned to eyes the lump in the corner that was apparently her best friend. It shocked her even though she had mentally prepared herself. Aubrey had clearly not been feeding. It showed in the deep lines on her face and the way her normally shiny golden hair was now thin wisps of brittle white. Aubrey was aging, more quickly with each visit and if Chloe had ever had a working heart it would have trembled at the sight before her now.

“Aubrey…”

The other woman waved off any comment with an idle hand that was far too thin, skin a translucent gray. There was no fire in her green eyes and that pained Chloe even more. There had been a time when Aubrey had been more alive than any human she had ever met. Born a vampire like herself, yes, but Aubrey had always been a force that could not be contained within something so mundane as a human body. She was powerful both in word and action and there had been many men and woman in their lifetime that were both envious and deliriously in love with her. Chloe understood that feeling most intimately. Her love for Aubrey had been a long burning flame but that was her secret to keep, and it was a secret she intended to hold until her last moment on this earth. To see Aubrey so reduced just broke an already frayed tether in Chloe’s heart.

“You need to stop this you know. You have to be around people, you have to leave this mausoleum you call a home.”

Aubrey turned eyes that looked nearly as gray as her skin to Chloe and shook her head. If she had been human she might have sighed deeply but Aubrey only blinked once and turned back to staring out of the sole window in the whole chamber. “I am in exile, such is my fate to rot here alone. And you should not even be here, Chloe, I am verskret and you…you are too good for this place.”

“Aubrey for the last time, you’re not cursed! You’re depressed! Jesus…you think exile means you’ve got to turn to dust but it doesn’t have to be this way. This isn’t the old world!” The candle flickered a little, its light seeming so much smaller when surrounded by so many heavy shadows. Chloe made her way to the blonde and cupped her face gently when Aubrey tried to look away. “Aubrey…you’re dying.”

“I know.” Finally. Aubrey didn’t have to say it for Chloe to hear it echo loudly. She felt the weight of Aubrey’s cheek fill her hand and she had to force back tears that would be impossible to hide. This is why she had come this time. Because there was no turning back now, not for Aubrey, not without good reason. If Chloe didn’t act now…

“You can’t go yet, my love.”

It was more of a plea than she had intended and Aubrey gave a humorless chuckle and raised a shoulder in a half shrug, keeping her cold face cupped so gently in Chloe’s hand. “I have naught in this world save you Chloe. This isn’t a life I wish to lead. Not without him.”

And there it was. The seed of Aubrey’s despair. She would never, could never get over the loss of her true love, Harun. Not even for Chloe herself. The red haired vampire brushed a thumb along Aubrey’s jaw and pulled back. This was why she held her secret to her heart with none to bear witness. What would be the point of telling Aubrey the truth? She could not love even if she had wanted to. Harun’s death at Aubrey’s own hand had broken the blonde’s very will to live and nothing could fix that. The desire to fight had left her some five hundred years prior and every day since had only been simply a passage of time until her ultimate end.

Until now. She had to make Aubrey fight, somehow, she needed to get through to the blonde.

Chloe strode purposefully to the door and yanked it open, reaching out into the dark night to grab the precious cargo she had left out in the cold and dragged it into the chamber with a casual toss. The petite, bound and gagged woman half slid, half rolled across the dusty floor to Aubrey’s feet and Chloe thought if she could speak now the necromancer would have cursed her a very bloody death in that moment. Aubrey looked down at the small brunette and curled her lip, head turning away in defiance at the offered meal.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“The other day.” It was casual and offhand and Chloe wondered if Aubrey was being evasive or if she really hadn’t noticed the time passing her by and thought it had been the other day when really it had been months. Chloe kicked the door shut with her heel and steeled herself. This was going to work…or it was all going to blow up in her face.

“Pers aktra diam? Aubrey…” Chloe shook her head and blew out an unnecessary breath. Okay. The other day. She’d accept it because there was no use trying to even argue it. Instead she reached down and lifted the bound woman to her feet by the front of her dirty and tattered button up shirt. The brunette twisted and fought her grip, cursing in a nonstop muffled streak. Chloe didn’t need to know the exact words, she could assume a lot of them were the word ‘fuck’.

The predator in her didn’t feel guilt or remorse in the way a human would. Would a lion regret hunting and devouring its prey? As such she had never regretted any of her kills in a lifetime of feeding and she shouldn’t now. But there was something there flickering in the deep blue depths that gave her pause. Perhaps a healthy dose of caution after the long and difficult trip here. Small she might be, but there was power in her blood, too much power for the vampire council to allow her to live.

“Revez era vazt. I do not desire her blood.” At the mention of blood the necromancer increased her struggle in Chloe’s grip and the vampire gave her a little shake to stop her squirming.

Fine. If Aubrey was going to be difficult then Chloe would just have to convince her despite her lack of desire for food. “Then don’t feed. Watch.”

She knew her seductively challenging tone would bring Aubrey’s gaze back to her and she played it for all she could. One pale hand reaching out to caress Aubrey’s jaw, turning her head even more as she pulled her captive against her chest to face the other vampire. Aubrey’s eyes trailed up their bodies and she gave a soft hiss at the at the way Chloe’s eyes had bled to a deep orange, fangs lengthening and grazing along the soft skin of necromancer’s neck.

Beca. Her name is Beca.

It was something she had to remember, had to force herself not to forget in the heat of a feed. This Beca was her only hope of saving Aubrey’s life and she couldn’t just kill her because her blood tasted like honey with the zing of electricity. No matter how that thick warm blood stirred a passion for something else entirely. Cool lips danced down the woman’s neck and she had to hold tighter still because it was clear that Beca wasn’t going to just let herself be bitten.

It would have been smarter for Beca if she had just given in and lain lip in Chloe’s arms. But the struggle. Oh the delicious fervent struggle. And the fear. It clung to the brunette’s skin like a delicate perfume and Chloe closed her eyes as she let her hands wander along the lithe body in her arms.

“Vazt….Prahal, revez era vatz…” Aubrey’s eyes took on a fevered brightness as she fought her instincts, begging Chloe to take the woman away. “Prahal, Chloe…”

She almost stopped then, the pleading almost too much to bear, but she had to. Aubrey’s shoulders slumped and she covered her face, shaking with silent sobs. Beca’s thrashing slowed as she watched Aubrey fall apart, confusion clear in the slightly cocked head. Chloe trailed the tip of her nose along the shell of Beca’s ear and whispered softly, almost soothingly. “Do you see how she fights against her nature little one? Do you see how much she needs you yet struggles against her thirst?”

Beca stiffened in her arms and looked away. Chloe shifted her grip and forced the woman to look at the wretched mess of a weakened and lost Aubrey. The brunette’s heart pounded faster, the sound of it like the thunder of hooves in the nearly silent tomb. It roused Aubrey and she raised her head slowly, eyes the faint yellow orange of a very weak but hungry vampire. Her face twisted in agony and she gasped out a tortured question. “Why Chloe?”

Because it was not yet time to die. Because the world needed Aubrey and Beca both. Because Chloe wasn’t ready to lose Aubrey to a final death. Because Aubrey had left her no choice. She didn’t say anything in response to the blonde, the time for words was centuries past. Chloe’s bite was fast and shallow not the killing blow she would have used for any other prey. Blood trickled over lips, biting and stinging her skin in a hot wash and Chloe couldn’t stop the purr moan even if she had wanted to.

It was dangerous to taunt a hungry vampire, worse to taunt a hungry Aubrey, and she knew it but it had to be done. Chloe brought her head up and away from Beca’s neck, her tongue licking out over her lip to taste the blood that lingered there. If Harun’s blood was anything like this long descendant niece of his she might begin to understand Aubrey’s attraction to him. No. Not just attraction, love. Aubrey had loved him and made him her husband despite her father’s condemnation. Chloe tried to focus past the heady buzz of one mere sip of Beca’s blood. “Oh my…”

Aubrey’s head snapped up, her nostrils flaring as she took in the scent of fresh blood in the air. Aged, clawed hands gripped at the edge of the stone bench she sat on. It cracked and crumbled in her hands but the blonde vampire’s focus could not be shaken from the sight in front of her. Chloe raised a hand and curled her finger to beckon Aubrey to her, Beca was surprisingly still and submissive in her arms. It should have been a warning, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about anything else but Aubrey just then. “Chloe…please…”

“Come to me Aubrey.”

It was slow and pained as if Aubrey were fighting her body’s instinct to go when called. It made Chloe gave a warm throaty chuckle that made the other vampire jerk, muscles twitching with desire of a different kind. She hadn’t meant to drop Beca the way she did but it was either that or hold on and let Aubrey tear into the brunette with ravenous hunger, potentially killing her before she understood why Chloe had brought the necromancer there in the first place.

Aubrey’s body crashed into hers in a blur of speed and pale skin and Chloe’s was alight with the want of it all. Her back crashed into the rough stone wall and she mewled out her pleasure when Aubrey’s tongue plunged desperately into her mouth and over her chin and lips. It was need that made Aubrey growl and nip hard at Chloe’s lips trying to get every last drop of sustenance that she could, it was need and not the love she craved but after a thousand years of patient waiting she would take it in whatever form it took for as long as she could.

They broke apart for a gasping breath neither of them really needed. It took a moment for Aubrey’s eyes to track to her, the blood finally hitting her system. Realization bloomed and Aubrey let go of Chloe as quickly as she had grabbed her. Fingers tracing her own lips as she blinked around the knowledge of what she had just tasted. “Harun…”

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vylette-takeda · 5 years ago

Note

I think you're a wonderful person and a wonderful friend! I just wish you were IC a bit more

Aww I am sorry I missed you lately. Likely there were a few things at work, so perhaps I should explain in case people were feeling I was distant. Apologies for the length of this but it’s probably a good thing I get this out anyway. First, I have severe social anxiety and depression. I know I know...it seems most of us have some form or another of this. I am not claiming I am special in this regard, but the way mine manifests seems different than what many describe. Lots of people just throw themselves into RP and it goes away for a bit. For me, I will stand there unable to get into RP until I can get into the proper headspace or mindset. When I play Vylette, I try to always give 100% to the performance. I am sort of a method actress and it takes me time to work up to it. Many times I need to really psych myself up to make this happen. Despite this, I adore the people I have met here and in game and what I try to do is always log in so at least I can chat ooc with people. Many times when I am simply idling around in the Quicksand I am there more for scenery than anything, and I am often engaged in ooc tell conversations and chats with friends who are off doing other things (like content which I rarely do). I have also been known to stand next to a friend or two in there and just chat for hours :P. Sometimes people take this as me being flaky or blowing them off. Sometimes people will not really get it. I promise it isn’t you. I have struggles to engage with non regular partners. I try very hard to reach out as some of you can attest but sometimes the day to day can be a challenge. The last I guess, month (maybe?), has been pretty difficult. Real life has been a bit challenging and it has caused additional anxiety and depression. I was also having a tough time leading up to the expac because, truth told, I am mainly a RPer and socializer and the content in this game is hard for me to get into. I tried to really get into it and did enjoy the story quite a bit, but towards the end I had some issues that sort of had a negative effect on me. I also knew in the back of my mind, that the break from my normal routine of RPing and performing was going to be detrimental..and believe me, it was. Whenever I take a hiatus or break, coming back is hard. I had 2 weeks or so of fairly solid depression and just had some bad things happen on my end. I had a difficult encounter with someone in game and it..really caused me to lose confidence in myself and my role-play. At one point I called my own self-worth into question and I guess I just withdrew. I was trying my best to hang on to be honest, so my apologies if I was a bit distant at that time. Also at times when I get like that I find myself feeling like “Why are you even doing this? No one wants to role-play with you, no one even *likes* you.” I know in my heart this is untrue, but the inner voices are hard to keep quiet at times. I spent a lot of time sad and was desperately trying to not bring anyone else down with me. I am however quite thankful for a few people at this time who consistently reached out and tried to talk to me and keep me hanging on and remind me that inner voice was full of shit. I won’t name names for fear of forgetting someone by accident, but you know who you are and you should know it was appreciated. The past week or two I have been trying really hard to get back on the horse as it were. I have been RPing with greater frequency. Events have started up again and I have been attending. Soon with any luck people will begin booking Vylette for performances again (actually playing music in this game is one of the things I really, truly enjoy). I am finding myself really excited by the prospects of some of the ideas old friends and rp partners have brought up, by the new people I have begun rping with, and with the people I have met here on tumblr or in game where we have started making plans to meet up and rp.I definitely see things with luck shaping up for the better. I am starting to feel re-engaged, re-energized and hopeful about a lot of things. If you have read this far, I thank you for the bottom of my heart and I hope it was not too much rambling. I truly appreciate each and every one of you. The internet, and primarily FF and now tumblr, are truly my biggest social outlets these days. For those I have met and interacted with regularly know that I love you dearly. For my new friends, I adore you and am so very happy to have met you. I hope to get to know you better! For those I have not yet interacted with, I try to reach out and give pokes where I can and will continue to do so. In the meantime if you want to reach out to me, please do. I promise I am friendly and approachable! Thank you

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sweetlangdon · 6 years ago

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From Eden: Chapter 2

Notes: Michael Langdon x Reader/OC. Evil Power Couple fic. It’s difficult to write a summary for this one, because I don’t want to give away the twists. (It’ll also include canon rewrite/divergence for the later half of the season.) It has plenty of angst and fluff, and a bit of character study.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, murder, graphic violence.

This fic is currently in progress.

Chapter One Also Available on AO3

She’d been listening to the steady drip of water hitting the tiles for at least a half hour now, though time didn’t matter much anymore to her, not here. The haze of steam that had filled the room and wrapped her body in its warmth had long since disappeared. She sat on the floor of the shower, her back pressed to the freezing tile, her arms hugging her knees, as the air chilled and goosebumps rose along her skin. Droplets rolled down her back from the strands of wet hair plastered to her shoulders, and she shivered absently, half aware of the cold but too distant to do anything to remedy it.

It’s always been a part of you.

…it will find you eventually.

And you’d do anything to make sure you’re not abandoned. Not again.

Langdon’s voice filled up her thoughts, haunting her hours and hours later. She couldn’t shake him from her mind, couldn’t stop pulling apart what he’d said to her on a relentless loop. Eighteen months and he’d been the first person in this godforsaken bunker to see her. Maybe part of that had been her fault—she’d kept everyone else at arm’s length in an act of self-preservation, but something about him had compelled her to confess, to bear fragments of herself that she’d tried to ignore. What was it? How could a stranger make the words fall from her tongue so easily? It surprised her, even now, that she’d kept her own fear restrained enough to speak with him like that. Langdon—or maybe the impression of him; brooding, emotionless—had scared the shit out of her. She didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of him digging through her soul, chipping away pieces where he saw fit.

But there was still that infuriating part of her that regarded him with a strange reverence. And she couldn’t explain it, not yet. The weight of Langdon’s presence, standing in front of him, it had been unlike anything she’d felt before. It was terrifying. It thrilled her, too, though she wasn’t ready to concede that. It was like he’d made something come alive in her veins with a mere glance, a tilt of his head. They hadn’t even touched—she hadn’t dared to get close enough for that—but she still felt him on her skin, in her blood, breathing deep into the shadows of her soul.

Langdon had stared right into her and found something familiar.

And what he’d said couldn’t have possibly been obtained from whatever paperwork The Cooperative had on her.

A loud, persistent knocking wrenched her from her thoughts. Someone called her name from the other side of the door.

“We keep a schedule for a reason,” Ms. Venable said. Her exasperation permeated the room. “You know I don’t tolerate lateness.”

She exhaled. “Sorry,” she called back, “I had a headache. I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

“Don’t make this a habit,” Ms. Venable warned.

“I won’t.”

Once she heard the slow drumbeat of Venable’s cane fade and the door to her suite click shut, she dragged herself up from the floor of the shower. She knew Venable kept her neurotic schedule and all of her strict rules to maintain order. To give them a life—though that seemed too generous a term for what they had here—full of structure leftover from the old world. It helped some more than others; it’d helped her once or twice when the isolation became too much to handle. It gave the illusion of normalcy. And illusion was all the mind needed sometimes. But now, over a year later, it had started to wear on them in varying degrees.

She was sure that Emily and Tim’s poorly kept secret romance would backfire sooner rather than later. The amount of bickering among the group had escalated to critical levels within the past few weeks, at least by her own estimation. How much more of this could they possibly take? She didn’t know if whatever Langdon offered was true or just a ruse, but at this point she’d consider anything else just to get the fuck away from most of these people. She couldn’t tolerate another afternoon of idle chatter, another dinner spent watching them tear at each other’s throats and obliterating Venable’s fine china and crystal glasses.

A bitter gust of air doused her skin the moment she stepped out of the bathroom. She left a trail of water behind her, not bothering to towel off, hoping the cold that stung her bare body would smack some kind of sense back into her. Or at the very least, help steel her for the night ahead. She dressed as quickly as she could, acutely aware of Venable’s lack of patience for disrupting order.

The nineteenth century-inspired dress she chose for tonight was blissfully free from the abundant lace that plagued most of her wardrobe. A gorgeous shade of lavender, it had full layers of cascading ball gown skirts and an off-the-shoulder neckline. A tiny pattern of crystals adorned the bodice, sparkling under the light of the candles in her room.

Her hair was still damp when she joined the table for dinner, but she’d at least pinned it up into an adequate style, though she was sure Gallant would say otherwise. She wilted a bit under the gaze of Venable and Mead and the rest of the outpost residents, guilty for being the one to hold up their meal. Not that it was anything to look forward to, especially with rations dwindling by the week. She didn’t think the Purples were irritated with her, per se, but she’d become so accustomed to flying under their radar. She shifted in her chair, rearranging her napkin and utensils, waiting for their attention to drift away from her. Thankfully, it didn’t last long; the hum of conversation picked up again, plates and forks scraping as they forced down yet another tasteless cube.

Venable’s unflinching gaze caught her like a helpless insect in a spider’s web from the opposite end of the table. She looked away first, scooping up her fork.

“Are you okay?” Emily whispered from her right, leaning closer. She lifted an eyebrow. “Venable looks like she wants to murder you.”

She poked at the beige cube in the center of her plate. “I’ll live,” she answered. “If only out of spite.”

Emily suppressed a giggle, turning her face into her shoulder to avoid Venable’s hawk-like eyes. She stabbed the gelatinous cube with her fork. “Did Langdon say anything to you yet?”

“No,” she answered. “Not yet.”

The rest of the evening passed as it usually did, the group of them gathered in the library ruminating over their current situation, trading stories about the way things used to be. There was a hush of nervous energy among them all, a quiet worry about the newest occupant of Outpost 3 and what it would mean for their continued survival. Like everyone else, she didn’t know what her chances were. During their brief encounter, Langdon hadn’t given any hints one way or another, only regarding her with the sort of amusement that she couldn’t exactly read.

Gallant and his grandmother provided the evening’s entertainment in dramatic fashion as only the two of them knew how. She shrunk into the corner of the couch, exchanging furtive glances between Emily and Andre while Gallant sparred against Evie, the flurry of quick-witted barbs charging the room with an awkward tension. She could nearly feel the explosion of rage crackling in the air like the wind before a thunderstorm. When at last the aftershocks of their shouting match started to weaken—Evie wearing a haughty expression as if it were a piece of lavish jewelry, an art so refined from her days of Hollywood glamour that it was almost impressive—they moseyed on back to their private rooms for the night.

The rest of the Purples wandered off at intervals after that. Emily and Tim laced their fingers together the moment they crossed into the hallway, as if no one would notice. Coco left in a huff muttering about her own soul-crushing boredom, Mallory obediently at her heels. Andre and Dinah were the last to go, yawning and stretching, bidding her goodnight before their voices drifted down the corridor. She sighed and unclenched her teeth, finally able to release the tension that had worked itself into her jaw from the Gallant incident.

Her skirts rustled around her ankles as she approached the bookshelves. Fingertips skirting along the titles that glittered on the spines, she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in consideration. She’d finished the book from last night before she’d showered, amazed at her own level of focus. She’d made notes, too; scribbles across notebook paper that were now relics from the old world only because she had some of her college belongings when the alarm went off.

“I knew I’d find you here,” Langdon’s slow, lilting voice mused from somewhere behind her back. “A creature of habit, even now at the end of the world.”

She hadn’t heard his footsteps this time.

“Can’t help it, I guess,” she answered, still inspecting the titles. “It keeps me busy—keeps me from getting depressed about the old world, if I try hard enough. Anything’s better than listening to Coco whine about how much she misses sushi.”

That earned her a low, wry laugh, which made something flutter in the pit of her stomach.

She abandoned the thought of choosing a book and turned on her heel to find him. Langdon stood a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back, half of his face bathed in golden light. The long black coat lined with buttons had disappeared, but he was still dressed in elegant black from neck to foot. He cut an imposing figure in his tailored clothes: slender, tall, and not a single hair out of place. She kind of hated herself for how captivated she was, how the fear that had gripped her before was beginning to fade.

“You were a college student—an English major,” he recalled.

She nodded. “Would’ve earned my degree if the world hadn’t been nuked.”

“With highest honors,” Langdon said, lifting his chin. “You were an exceptional scholar…not that anyone cared enough to notice. Apart from your professors, of course. Do you miss it?”

She studied the shadows on the floor, thrown by the way he spoke about her life in the old world. Langdon knew intimate details—her feelings, her insecurities—that would have never been of any interest to The Cooperative’s files. At least, she thought so.

“I don’t know,” she breathed. Slow, calculated footsteps brought him closer to her. “Maybe some of it. I enjoyed the learning part of college, not so much the stress and cramming for finals and term papers. It’s a shitty thing to say, but I’m relieved.”

Langdon narrowed his gaze. “In what way?”

“I don’t have to participate in a lifestyle that was never going to make me happy, or satisfy me,” she admitted. “There’s nothing left of that world now…and yeah, there’s always going to be parts of it I’ll miss, but I’m not exactly opposed to a clean slate. Provided your assessment of me goes well.”

She thought she saw that smirk again, just for the briefest of moments. Langdon brought one of his hands up and swiped his thumb along his chin. “Your parents,” he said evenly. “Does it upset you that they aren’t here to share this…new beginning?”

It felt like a stone had dropped into her stomach, a lead weight crushing her chest. The words dried up on her tongue.

“They sacrificed everything for me,” she answered, though her voice wavered. “Their lives, their money. I’m only here because they aren’t.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Langdon countered. His voice rose a little, demanding more from her. She swore the temperature in the room plummeted a few degrees. “Does the guilt of their deaths eat away at you?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t lie,” he warned. The command pierced like the edge of a knife. “I know you’re not being honest with me.”

She felt the emotion welling up inside her, burning the back of her throat and prickling behind her eyes. She forced it to stay where it was, but her vision still blurred as the tears came dangerously close to sliding down her cheeks. The hardcover spines on the bookshelf pressed into the small of her back through layers of fabric, and she braced her hands on the wooden shelves just to have something to hold onto. Langdon covered the remaining distance between them until his boots brushed against her skirts. The warmth from his body enveloped her own—she figured his touch would be cold like the undercurrent of his voice, but instead he radiated heat.

“They’re my parents,” she reasoned.

She bit into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling and tasted blood on her tongue. Langdon cocked his head to the side, inhaling as if he could smell it. One long finger reached out to trace down her bottom lip before he took her chin in a surprisingly delicate hold. His hands were much softer than she imagined. Clear blue eyes searched her own; unlike the solid presence of his body in front of her, they were pure ice.

“It’s a very convincing story you’ve sold these people,” he said. “A loving daughter tormented by the guilt of her self-sacrificing parents, who built an empire only to destroy it all to save their only child.” He let go of her chin, but kept two fingers hovering beneath her jaw.

“A noble end for two of the least deserving people on this godforsaken Earth. You were far too kind to their memory,” he continued. “I can see the truth—I have a certain talent for it: staring right into the darkest parts of you that you can’t run from. There’s no reason to lie anymore.” He grinned, and his eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “It wasn’t guilt you felt when they died and you survived. You were relieved. They got what they deserved, didn’t they?”

Her voice broke. “…Yes.”

Langdon’s grin widened, pleased. “You were nothing but a mere afterthought in their lives. An accident they didn’t plan for—of course they never dared to say that in front of you. No…but somehow…you already knew.”

When a sob finally broke free from her throat, he brushed his knuckles across her cheek, then cradled her face in his hand. She shivered at his touch but found herself leaning closer into the warmth of his insistent hold.

“They were selfish, neglectful, and it only got worse once they had enough money to stop worrying. You hated them. All of that fucking rage burned in your veins for so long, tearing you apart until you figured out what to do with it.”

She closed her eyes. A few tears slipped down her cheeks, but he wiped them away with his thumb. The gesture, a simple, fleeting thing, surprised her.

“Your parents didn’t die when the bombs went off.” Langdon’s face was now inches from hers, his breath tickling her collarbone, his voice just barely above a whisper. “I know the truth, I just want to hear you say it.”

She exhaled a ragged breath. “I killed them.”

@lastregasolitaria @mylippo @zeciex @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @yourkingcodyfern @sojournmichael @gabnelson98 @rainbowrosesjas @antichristlangdxn @keavysmithxoxo @artistlunadrayne @codysfallenangels @batgirlbride @mileeyyowens @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998 @gentianea @cryptid-coalition @langdonsrapture @kinlovecody @yuriohoe04 @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean @langdonscurls @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67 @sebastianshoe @dixmond-taurus @mr-langdonn @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435 @holylangdon @weareallevilmotherfuckers @langdonfern @angsty-otters-blog @denaexr @micheallangdons @lostin-fern @crazedcatcuddler @satansapostle @monsucre @softlangdvn @ritualmichael

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon x fem!reader #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon fanfiction #ahs fic #ahs imagine #ahs fanfiction #ahs apocalypse #ahs apocalypse imagine #ahs apocalypse fanfiction #fic: from eden

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septic84 · 5 years ago

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Phil’s right to be Sad

Phil feels the need to withhold his true feelings from Dan to protect him. Dan wants none of that.

A03

“I can't be depressed, that's Dan's thing.” I overheard Phil say one day to who I can only assume was his mum. It hurt me, deeply, but not for the reason you would think. When Phil says these types of things, I know it's never malicious, it is just a statement. The reason it hurts me is my mental health issues overshadow everything else. I wish Phil didn't feel that way, but I knew that was who he was. Kind, self-sacrificing, compassionate to his own detriment. I have noticed that Phil has been more irritable as of late, he isn't sleeping properly and is mentally foggy. I know these signs. I feel awful that Phil can't say what he means, or what he wants to me. He constantly is censoring himself due to the foreshadowing of the effect on me. He doesn't ever think of his own well-being. I feel guilty because of this and it has caused a crisis or two.

He is my best friend, trying to protect me. I wish he knew how I yearned for him to speak earnestly with me about these things. I know the reason he doesn't; he has convinced himself that my issues are worse and that by him saying anything even close to implying he was depressed, it would be almost as if it is an insult to my suffering. This, of course, was ridiculous to me. in reality, I think it would help me understand him more and maybe even myself if he shared these feelings when he had them. I often wonder if he is more quiet about it as everyone has coined Phil as a "ray of sunshine," which he typically is. Perhaps he is afraid of letting people down.

“No mum, I am fine. I just am tired.” I walked into the room nodding at Phil who gave me a weak smile. “I will, thanks. Bye.”

“Hey, Phil.”

“Hi.” He yawned and set his phone down. “Do you feel good enough to record some gaming videos?”

I cocked my eyebrow at him. “Do you?”

“What? Yeah. I'm fine.”

“Clearly.”

He scowled “What?”

“Phil,”

“Dan,”

I shook my head. “Be honest with me,” I sat next to him. “You look like you haven't slept properly in days.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I have been having issues, but I am fine. Nothing another cup of coffee won't fix.”

“Really, Phil?”

“Yes, really, Dan.” He was clearly getting annoyed.

“Go take a nap, Phil. After we can decide about filming, yeah?”

“No nap.”

“What are you, 5?”

“Shut up.” He snapped. “What are you, my mum?”

I tried not to smirk. “Want to or not, you need one, mate.” I stood up “You are really grouchy.”

“Well excuse me, Mr. Positive. Don't let my mood ruin your bleeding life.” Phil threw his hands up in the air and sighed. He stood up and looked at me as if he were going to say something else, instead he walked away, shaking his head and went to his room. I didn't know if he would sleep or not, but maybe he would rest.

I decided to cook because I wasn't sure what else I could do for him. I knew that he didn't want to open up to me, so I figured the next best thing was comfort food. Halfway through I heard Phil come into the kitchen. His hair was a mess so I knew he had at least laid down for a while.

“Less grumpy?” I asked hesitantly.

“Um, yeah. Sorry.”

I waved him off. “I am making dinner.”

“I see that it smells wonderful.”

“It should, it's your favorite.”

“You didn't need to do that Dan.” He said softly.

“Nope. Still did.”

“Well, then I am lucky. I was a jerk earlier.”

I didn't respond, I continued to cook in the tense atmosphere of the kitchen as Phil watched me. He seemed so heavy, it was almost palpable. What was I supposed to do? I didn't know how to be on this end of it. So many times I had put Phil through this and suddenly I was very aware of how difficult it must have been. Years and years of me refusing to tell him that I was struggling and him just watching me suffer. Did he feel like I felt now? Helpless, frustrated, fed up? I was too lost in my own head to notice Phil had left the kitchen until I went to ask him about dinner. Where had he gone? Turning off the stove I walked out into the lounge to find him, tears forming behind his eyes. I sighed.

“I know you're not okay, you know?” I sat next to him. “You don't have to talk about it, but I am here.”

“I'm still tired.” He choked out.

“Phil, please.”

He quickly blinked back the tears. “Please what?” he said, hoarsely.

“What do you need? Is there something I can do to make you feel better?”

“What do you mean?”

“Jesus, Phil. Do you think I don't notice how upset you are? How exhausted?”

“I'm not-”

“Don't, Phil. You don't have to talk about it, but please don't lie to me.”

“It's not like you were always honest with me, Dan.”

“I know that,” I said softly. “Look where it led.”

He shook his head, “Fine, I'm sad.”

“Do you know why?” I remember when I started to open up to people about how I was feeling, a lot of the time they would ask why without even ascertaining the thought that I may not know.

He shrugged. “More than one reason.” He started to twist his hands together. “And no reasons at all. I don't know.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

He looked at me, his cheeks flushed and the sclera of his eyes was bloodshot. It was clear he was desperately trying not to cry. “You don't need to deal with my shit, Dan.”

“I think I should get to make that decision, don't you? Let me take care of you as you do for me. It's okay.”

“I just want to be alone right now. Let me know when it's time to eat.” He stood stiffly and walked back into his room.

I clenched my teeth. Was I this frustrating? Had I been making Phil feel like this for years? I stood up and went back to the kitchen to finish dinner. He had asked to be alone, but I wanted nothing more than to force myself into his room and hug him. I wondered how many times he had thought the same thing when I was holed up in my room. How many times his heart hurt like this, just wanting to make me feel better?

When dinner was done, I knocked on his door after setting the table. “Dinner,” I said softly, returning to the kitchen. It took about five minutes, but when he came to the table I knew he had been crying.

“What would you like to drink?” I asked.

“I don't care.” I had to restrain myself from rolling my eyes. I sat down and started to eat one of the most uncomfortable meals we had ever eaten together. He said nothing, he didn't look at me, and he just picked at his plate.

“You don't have to eat it,” I said after I had watched him push the same forkful around his plate 5 times. “It's okay.” I made sure my tone was as even and unassuming as possible.

“I'm sorry, Dan.” He rubbed his face with his palms. “I don't know what's wrong with me.”

“That's okay, though,” I encouraged. “Sometimes it's hard to sift through all the feelings and thoughts, yeah?”

He looked up at me, “I know it so much worse for you. I shouldn't complain.”

“What are you on about?” I was confused.

“Here I am, filled with self-pity and you, you have actual depression. I suppose I seem like an insensitive jerk.”

“Phil, are you insinuating that because I have depression that you can't be depressed?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“You know how ridiculous that is, right?”

“I don't have a diagnosed illness, Dan.”

“It doesn't matter, Phil. You still can be sad, or upset or whatever you're feeling.”

“I guess.”

“No “I guess” about it. You are too considerate of others for your own good.” I shook my head and said gently, “You have a right to be sad, Phil.”

“Thanks.” He didn't sound like he believed me.

“Why don't I make you a cup of hot chocolate and we can sit in the lounge and maybe watch something?”

He nodded resolutely and got up. I put away the food and made the drinks, retreating to my room briefly to retrieve the bag of marshmallows I had hidden from him. They were intended for a baking video, but it didn't matter. He needed them now.

“Here,”

A smile cracked his lips. “You hid these really well, I had no idea.”

“Oh, I know Phily. Enjoy them, friendo.”

“Can we just, like, maybe sit here? Not watch anything? Is that stupid?

“Is that what you want to do?”

“Yeah,”

“It's not stupid,” I assured. So that's what we did, sat together sipping our drinks, being still and peaceful together. I understood this. Sometimes I didn't want any stimulation, but I didn't want to be alone, either. We sat for at least a half of an hour before Phil said.

“I don't want to trigger you.”

“How do you mean?”

“You have been feeling better lately. I would hate to ruin that for you.”

“Phil,” I patted his leg. “You know as well as I do, anything or nothing at all can trigger me, that isn't even the point I'm trying to make. It doesn't matter. It isn't important how this affects me right now.”

“It is, though.”

I felt my chest constrict with emotion. “You are my best friend. You are supposed to talk to me when you need too. I am okay right now, Phil. I am in a good place. Please talk to me.”

“Lately I just am so tired, so sad. I feel like my life is at a low point and I don't even know why.”

I nodded.

“So I feel like maybe I am depressed, but I don't know how I could be. Or maybe I am just sad for now. But I can't tell why. If I think really hard, I can come up with some things, but none of them seems enough to feel this, “ He stopped, “Whatever this is.”

“Lack of sleep can do that, too.”

“Yeah,”

“Too much idle time does too, for me anyway.” I took a deep breath. “Do you think you should see someone?”

He crinkled his nose. “No,”

“Phil,”

He held his hands up, “This isn't a pride thing, Dan. I really don't think I need a doctor.”

I nodded, “Okay.”

“I am just really confused.”

“That's okay. You don't need to try and figure it out now, or ever if you don't want. What do you need from me? What can I do for you?”

He smiled sadly, “Just this, here, right now.”

I nodded. “Don't ever sit alone with your demons because you are afraid to let them play with mine. I have mine on a leash now, I can deal with yours, okay?”

“I still, worry,”

“I know. That's okay. Let me worry about me for now, yeah? You worry about you.”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Of course.” I smiled at him widely

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

And that's how we spent the evening, only occasionally talking, slow and peaceful. I knew he still was concerned about me, but I guess that was out of my control. For now, I would just take care of Phil to ensure he knew he had the right to be sad.

#phanfiction

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mzyrimworld · 6 years ago

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Duster Part 7 - Quadrum 6

Last quadrum was fairly harsh for our colonists with three more deaths happening on one expedition! Will they get a break this quadrum, or will the difficulties continue? Let’s find out...

Vas and Priscilla return safely from the trade mission - together with a hen they bought from the other group! Fortunately it was fairly cheap, because I don’t reckon with how long such a small and defenseless animal would survive on that planet - won’t take a very large animal to get hungry before the hen’s gone for good.

It was hot enough in Spring and will only get hotter now in Summer, so Dead’s been working on cowboy hats to replace people’s tuques and keep them cool. Surprisingly, given that Dead isn’t that good at crafting, she’s managed to create a legendary hat! Hopefully this won’t lead to a wave of raiders desperate for a decent hat...

I’m not particularly surprised that Priscilla was the one to quickly snap the hat up; I think her idol past has given her higher expectations than most. At least she has the skills to defend it well.

Just as well they started on the cooler clothes early, it was already 34 degrees at 10pm, and now it’s going to get even hotter! I don’t think any of our colonists are especially vulnerable, but it makes us wonder whether any of their animals might get overwhelmed at severe temperatures as well...

The heat wave passed surprisingly quickly and without incident, but it did result in the only wild animals around being boomalope, and one of them has decided that it’s had just too much!

It didn’t take much for Zeiph (as the nearest person) to take it down, but it got closer than ideal before it exploded on death, setting fire to a number of important things, including Zeiph and Jethro! Fortunately it’s raining, but burns aren’t pleasant...!

Jethro ran around (as well as he can on three legs) to put himself out and isn’t too badly off for burns, heading for Henry to be able to patch him up again.

Zeiph took more burns - probably not helped by the fact that he’s wearing wooden armour! It looks like he may be considering crafting steel armour next time, if only to be less flammable.

A few peaceful days pass, but now it’s all the local rats’ turns to go for the colonists! I should certainly hope they can handle those...

The only one injured is Lion (who was absorbed in farming), for the very first time since joining! But, so long as those wounds get treated, she shouldn’t get infected and should recover fine.

Its last baby is still in its juvenile stage, but the first female alpaca is pregnant once again, swelling the number of pack animals some more. I wonder if alpacas and muffaloes can have multiple births?

Speaking of pack animals, the colonists have decided that they don’t have enough and aren’t getting them fast enough, so are taming some more muffalo. From what I gather, they are hoping to move bases as Winter rolls around again, but want to make sure they can carry as much as possible given how much they’ve accumulated and built here.

The quadrum’s not far from done, and with how quiet it’s been Lion decides it’s party time! Truth be told, it didn’t seem to last long, or possibly everybody was just busy because we barely noticed to get footage. There’s just not enough social drama with these colonists for some reason!

And we have a new nineth colonist as Lucya convinces Priscilla’s old prison guard to join the colony. Lorenzo Morales doesn’t have a lot of useful skills, but another medic never hurts, and he must be one of the best socialisers since Vladimir died. Can’t blame him for getting depressed on this planet, so long as he can put it aside when he needs to survive...

Frankly I am surprised it has taken this long for another person to call the colony for help! This woman sounds potentially useful, but she speaks of two turrets and a mortar. I suspect the last turret losses may be too fresh in the colonists’ minds to take that chance again so soon...

Art in this situation may seem frivolous, but the colonists had stacks of jade lying around, and spare hands going idle in this peaceful time, so Priscilla’s made a start on prettying the place up. I expect I can guess who’s going to be given this piece of art for their bedroom...

And that was literally the end of the quadrum! What a strangely peaceful time after the Spring they just had! So we thought we’d re-examine our colonists with a bit more depth this time...

So, Henry first: she’s had two birthdays since coming to the planet, so must be a Septober or Decembary baby. Since the beginning of this challenge, her shooting and melee have each increased by 2 levels (probably hunting and defending with a pila), her animals increased from 8 to 9, her medical’s increased from 8 to 11, and her intellectual from 4 to 7. She also went from 0 plant skill to 2, probably back when the colony was desperate to grow food.

Here we see her relationships and personality. For all that she won the election, she’s not exactly popular or that fond of anyone else. Naturally, given her misandrist ways, she likes all the women more than any of the men, and I recall that she wasn’t exactly torn up about Beryl or Vladimir dying either. Just as well she has poor Jethro or her anxiety would probably get an awful lot worse without better friends...

Zeiph’s skills have improved a lot, probably thanks to being one of the only ones awake to do things at night. His shooting has gone from 1 to 7 (probably mostly thanks to hunting), his construction from 7 to 14, his mining from 3 to 4, his cooking from 2 to 8, his planting from 0 to 1, and his crafting from 8 to 11. With how much he enjoys so many important skills, he’s kind of a backbone to the colony, for the night at least. He’s also only aged by one year, so must be a Aprimay or Jugust baby.

Poor Zeiph apparently doesn’t really have anybody who likes him, though he likes the starting few. After all this time he’s not really even that positive about his family, wherever they are now. Honestly, I had hoped that he and other night owl Lucya might develop more of a friendship, but no. He’s also actually marginally more interested in other men than women - we wonder if that was a factor in leaving his family and coming out to this challenge... Who knows?

After seeing her fellow starting colonists, Dead’s development is somewhat disappointing. Her melee’s increased from 4 to 5, her planting from 3 to 7 (she was the only one they had for a while), her crafting from 4 to 6, her medical from 0 to 1, and her social from 2 to 4. Nowadays I don’t believe she’s the best at any one skill, so she’s something of a jack of all trades.

Again, she’s only aged one year, so she must be a Aprimay/Jugust baby.

On the other hand, though, she is the only one of the first colonists to have a genuinely really good friend, in Lion. Almost nobody dislikes her. Perhaps she should have thrown her hat into the mayoral ring...

And here we have the daytime backbone of the colony, Lion. Since she first appeared on a raid just a week into the challenge, she’s only aged by a year so she’s another Aprimay/Jugust baby. Her construction has increased from 4 to 12, her cooking from 7 to 8, her plants from 5 to 9, and her medical from 5 to 6. Thank heavens she didn’t get killed in that raid, or a lot less would have gotten built...

Most people like Lion, even though it’s usually not particularly mutual. Her personality helps her out, being very compassionate, generous and thoughtful. She appears to be single as well, I should pay more attention to if people are flirting with her.

Vas has been with the colony two and a half quadrums now, but has had his birthday at some point since mid-Winter. He’s built some skills too: construction from 11 to 13, mining from 5 to 6, animals from 1 to 4, crafting from 3 to 4, and research also from 3 to 4. It’s easier to build select skills when there are several things you absolutely will not do... He’ll just have to hope never to be stuck alone, or all he’ll be eating is raw meat.

Vas hasn’t built much of a relationship with anyone yet, but then he has spent a lot of time stuck alone with his ex-girlfriend, so perhaps that’s not surprising.

Lucya joined on 9th of Aprimay, nearly a year ago now, and she’s gained a few skills. Construction from 4 to 8, cooking from 2 to 6, plants from 7 to 9, and social from 6 to 7. The colonists have so much food now that it’s easy to take it for granted, but that planting skill will probably come in very handy as they move on, construction too.

Lucya likes Lion a lot, but isn’t doing well in being liked in return by anybody. She seems to be relieved not to have to deal with Vladimir anymore at least. A lot of her personality isn’t overly surprising for her religious upbringing and person that she is: pure, naive, judgmental... Maybe that’s putting the others off? Though we have seen them praying in their rooms at times too...

Sky joined the colony on the first of Spring this year and has already had a birthday, so must be a Septober/Decembary baby. Most of his skills haven’t changed at all, except from plants, that has doubled from 4 to 8.

We think it must be difficult joining a colony after being their prisoner. Sky still hates nearly everyone who was part of the colony while he was prisoner, except for the charming Dead. Lion was obviously in this situation once though and she’s doing better, so hopefully he’ll get past it?

Priscilla joined on the 10th of Spring (Septober), so she’s been with the colony a little over a quadrum, but has spent a fair amount of that travelling around, so it’s understandable that the only skill gain she’s made is plants from 2 to 4.

Something strange though - her age used to just show 49, but now it shows 49 (50) - she must have lost a few months somewhere and have a late Septober or Decembary birthday...

So far Priscilla is rather unimpressed with everyone, but at least she doesn’t dislike Vas despite their history.

Lorenzo has been with the colony less than 3 days, so understandably his skills are the same - but he has had a birthday! A late Septober birthday, apparently! Perhaps he wanted to get out of a prison in time for his birthday...

Just like Sky, it seems Morales still resents the other colonists for holding him in prison and currently pretty much hates them all. Hopefully that will change, because it doesn’t seem good for morale!

Anyway, Final Stats:

Henry: No change

Jethro: Got a bit singed, but recovered

Zeiph: Got a bit singed, but recovered

Dead: Creator of ~the legendary cowboy hat~

Lion: Got a bit bitten, but recovered

Ibex ram: No change

Lucya: No change

Vas: No change

Sky: No change

Priscilla: No change

Morales: Recruited

Animals: +1 muffalo, alpaca is pregnant again

Colony: Gained one colonist and one animal.

#Rimworld #Rimworld: Duster #Rimworld gameplay

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urushibararuka · 6 years ago

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Alright so! under the cut: why I kinda stopped posting updates about my life on here & regarding my education:

To be frank I’ve mostly just been shitposting about my lie on twitter and I’ve been doing it in such a way that a lot of people would likely find it a bit difficult to understand if I’m being serious or not. Otherwise, I’ve been yelling about my life on the Supergiant Games unofficial discord, and I’ve felt that that’s been satisfactory in regards to me discussing life stuff with people. That community is absolutely wonderful and has restored my faith in fandom (alongside the TWRP fandom, of all fandoms)

So if u do wanna keep in touch with me I strongly suggest adding me on LINE because I miss using it and/or on discord because I use it a lot as a means of communication these days

Additionally, I haven’t been able to sit at my laptop for extended periods of times due to the shoulder and neck pain I’ve been dealing with for the past few years. It’s built up to a degree where the pain is now persistent through my day to day life, and it’s annoying, distracting, and, well, painful. I plan on getting this dealt with back at uni once again; I often fall asleep early these days so I forget to do the corrective exercises prescribed to me by my physio and that isn’t helping the issue either.

When it came to me signing up for my classes at the end of the summer of this year, I dreaded it. Dreaded it. I had walked out of the previous semester unbelievably depressed (have been diagnosed with severe depression since) right to the point where I was sitting in exams, staring at the paper in front of me, and not having the adrenaline, fear, excitement etc I usually need to write out what I needed to

And I was distracted the whole time

and so I barely wrote anything on these papers and spent most of the exam time idling.

That. Sucks. Big time. And the reason why I was depressed? A combination of me not having found part time work for a year (now going on a year and a half) and not being even remotely interested in what I was studying.

That also sucked because I thought I would at least find what I was studying interesting, not exciting per se, but interesting, and it really, really wasn’t.

And I chalk it down to me being too much of an airhead that is decent at writing but genuinely doesn’t care about most aspects of the business world save for the HR aspect. The first part is great if you wanna pursue work within the business world! But the second part... eh.

And, whilst their program for tourism looks fascinating, I would’ve had to sit through classes I was no good at, so that option was also out of the window.

Ultimately, I decided that a) I needed to stop doing a dual degree when I did not have the energy to, and b) I needed to do an arts/humanities degree.

So I had a few choices.

The arts (which has little to do with Actual Art itself and more so deals with stuff like,,,, philosophy,,,, and sociology and other still interesting topics)

Communications

Journalism.

Unfortunately my university sacrifices good arts programs in favour of cheaper fees and offering part-time study (which I kinda need) so. Yeah lmao

Whilst I was seriously considering doing an arts degree because then u can basically f*ck off and do Whatever The Hell You Want, I felt like a communications degree would’ve been better for me as it mayyy have offered more opportunities for me to enter the film and tv world, which I’ve been somewhat interested in as of late

But then I looked at the journalism program and. Well. I could do a minor in film and tv in there. And it’s probably the best degree of the three as it offers study overseas for a brief period of time, offers for internship as part of study, and the possibility of doing your own individualised project- so as long as u have a good enough GPA (which I certainly do not have at the moment, but hey. I could improve.)

So I decided to go with journalism for now. In the end, if I do end up disliking the degree, I could try out either communications or the arts! I just don’t like the idea of me totally giving up on tertiary education because I am somewhat academically minded, just easily distracted and very depressed, and I feel like I should use that to the best of my ability and use it as an opportunity to learn about the world around me.

Also I’m a lil apprehensive about what job opportunities could be available to me if I do finish my journalism degree because uh. My asshole distant cousin Rupert M*rdock runs his media outlets in a way I strongly disagree with but... that’s for the future lmfao

To end this long ass rant: I am going to go obtain a certificate in the responsible service of alcohol tomorrow night, at this time, and if it goes well I might go for my RS of gambling too! So yes hopefully that’ll all work out and aid me in getting a job

#I post #long as fucking mcfreaking ass post (long fucking post)

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rebeckaomalleywriter · 7 years ago

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Tag Game

I was tagged by the ever lovely @winnieleighwrites. Thank you : )

what’s your favorite song(s) to sing/hum?

I’m not sure I have a favourite. I sort of go through phases with my singing- I listen to a lot of music, I hum to everything, and I studied singing for years, so I kinda sing everything as well, if it is in my vocal range. Lately I have caught myself singing Lost in Paradise by Evanescence quite frequently.

what are your favorite flower/tree/plant (all 3 or whatever you have an answer to)?

Hmmm. I have a soft spot for roses. I love willow trees- sitting underneath one on a riverbank, with a picnic, a good book, and my husband would be the best afternoon. I am also very fond of bottlebrushes because, here in Australia, they attract lots of lorikeets and possums!

favorite colour(s)?

Lilac and baby powder blue.

what do you always doodle (if you ever do)?

I’m not great at doodling, but usually it ends up being weird faces, stars, love hearts, or Mickey Mouse.

how do you take your coffee/tea? If you don’t like those what’s your fav warm drink?

I drink lattes like it’s going out of style! If I am having it at home, I just use one of the sachets. At a cafe, I have it with one sugar. I never used to like coffee, but when I started dating my now husband, when I was 16, he took me to a cafe, and ordered me a latte, for the mild flavour. It is amazing how much of my life he has touched and shaped.

favorite candle scent?

I am partial to vanilla, and sandalwood. It depends on my mood.

sunrise or sunset?

Sunset. I love watching the sky change from the light blue of the day, transform into this kaleidoscopic flurry of pinks and oranges, and finally, become the velvety night.

what perfume do you wear if any?

I don’t wear it often, but I wear Lush’s Vanillary. I am allergic to most other perfumes. I think the synthetic stuff especially.

what’s your go to dance move when you’re alone?

I’m really not much of a dancer. But when I’m at home listening to music, I do notice my head bob along.

favorite quote?

Will song lyrics do? This is from Nightwish’s Song of Myself.

Paper is dead without words Ink idle without a poem All the world dead without stories Without love and disarming beauty.

It really sums up my thoughts about stories, music, and words.

favourite self care thing(s) or routine(s)?

I try really hard, but I am not great with self care. My depression tells me I don’t deserve to feel good sometimes, my anxiety freaks out that I’m being lazy. But, with my mental health, and fibromyalgia working in tandem, I do need to take time to get myself feeling better. So, I usually read (since I am working toward my own novel, and reading has always been a large part of my life, I don’t feel too guilty about it), or, if I am unbelievably anxious, I play Elder Scrolls Online. Of course, I feel guilty for a lot of the time I play, but it does have a soothing quality. I also do some stretching for the fibro, though I wouldn’t rank that as a favourite activity.

fuzzy socks or house slippers?

Slippers. I hate socks. I feel really uncomfortable and claustrophobic when my feet are confined by socks or shoes, or even tightly tucked blankets.

what colour are your eyes?

Mostly a light blue. They do have a grey tone as well, especially when you get closer to the white of my eyes. And, around the pupil, there is a brown ring. It’s kind of difficult to describe properly, but generally, blue will do!

what’s your favourite eye colour on others?

As they say, eyes are the windows to the soul. I don’t have a preference in colour, eyes are beautiful for more than just the colour of the curtains. If you are perceptive, and you take the time, you can see so much of someone in their eyes.

favourite season? why?

Spring. There are romantic reasons, and practical reasons. The romantic in me loves the flowers blooming, the leaves turning green, the wildlife prospering. I love it when a bird swoops my hair, to take some for their nest. I love it when my husband tucks a flower behind my ear. I love reading outside on mild days, my cat asleep beside me. Spring reminds me of my wedding, which was, you guessed it, a Spring wedding.

Practically, the weather is generally agreeable, and so I am usually in less pain during Spring than any other season.

cheek, neck or nose kisses?

Cheek kisses are magic. From each person you receive one from, the feeling is totally different. Your partner, your parents or siblings, your best friend, close friends, your children. They can all kiss your cheek (if you’re comfortable with that, of course), and convey so much meaning in such a simple show of affection.

On the other hand, if I don’t know you well, and you try to kiss me or hug me, prepare for me to stiffen like a board, and remember to be a bit more cagey next time I see you.

what does your happy place look like?

It is my dream house. Not too big, but not too small. A lovely kitchen, with a window leading into the dining room. The living room is next to it, filled with the most comfortable furniture you could imagine. There is a guest bedroom, which usually functions as my office/home library. A bedroom for my husband and I. The walls are lilac, and there are fairy lights everywhere. A bedroom for our child. I always imagine a daughter. A bathroom, with a deep, comforting bath, and a big window that opens up to the stars. A small back yard, filled with roses, trees wrapped in yet more fairy lights, lanterns dangling, a fairy garden.

favourite breed of dog?

I love Pomeranians. They are so cute and fluffy. I’ll probably never own one though. If I get a dog, I will be adopting it from a shelter, as I did with my cat.

do you ever want to be married? If so what colours would you pick for your wedding theme?

I married in October of 2013. It was a beautiful day.

We didn’t really do a colour theme. We had an Alice in Wonderland themed wedding, as it is my favourite book. I wore a baby powder blue dress for Alice. My husband wore a purple vest and top hat, for the Mad Hatter. The best man wore a black suit with a red tie for the King of Hearts, and the maid of honour wore a red dress, for the Queen of Hearts. My sister wore dark blue for the Caterpillar, and my husband’s uncle wore grey, for the Gryphon. My cousin wore purple, for the Cheshire Cat, and our friend wore white, for the White Knight (from Through the Looking Glass). Our celebrant wore bunny ears, with a pocket watch, as the White Rabbit. And the guests really wore whatever they wanted, though we did suggest black, white, and red, for the Playing Cards.

silk or lace?

Silk I suppose. Lace is pretty, but it can be itchy.

favourite weather?

A nice, warm, Spring day. One where you can sit in the sun without sweating, but you can slip into the shade and not shiver.

I am tagging @annjonesbooks @cadewrites @books-and-cookies

#tag games #tagged #games #this was so much fun!

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capsicletho · 7 years ago

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I Can’t Make You Love Me

…if you don’t. You can’t make your heart feel something that it won’t.

a Tony Stark series; author: @stvrktony | chapter 07

trigger: none.

word count: 2.6k

summary: Reader and Tony found comfort in each other while they were trying to mend their own broken hearts.

a/n: There’s a snippet of how reader and Steve met once! Reader might have just dove head first into dangerous territory that is falling in love with Tony without even realizing ;)

masterlist | ICMYLM masterlist | previous chapter

It seemed like hours before you can finally pick yourself up from the floor. You immediately packed your clothes and anything else you feel necessary. Your other things can just be picked up tomorrow or whenever you were available.

That night you pulled your hair up into a bun and rummaged through your still-packed suitcase to find a comfy sweater that you can enjoy your newly bought Ben and Jerry’s and Netflix in, while you wallow in your recent breakup. A girl is allowed at least one day to cry and live on her couch. You still have work to do after all. That was when you found Steve’s sweater in the middle of your clothes; that was the one sweater that you would always wear and wash only once a week until one day it mysteriously vanished, but now you found it amongst your things.

You decided to wear that sweater, knowing that this is probably the last time you can wear it because next time you’ll be moving on. At least that’s what you hoped.

The next morning you called a moving truck to help move your work desk from the tower along with the other things you decided not to pack yesterday, and also your idle chair that is placed on the corner of Steve’s room. You turned to pack the polaroids that are stuck to the wall above the bed. But you decided to leave one of you and him on his birthday; you two were wrapped in the biggest American flag you could find at Target because Steve was so big. He was holding a beer and looking at you while you looked back at him, hands wrapped around his waist.

You also left one of your small potted plant near the window; you once joked about naming the two succulent and the cactus you bought, but Steve only liked the fat, round, cactus that you named Bob and that’s what he always called it. He even had you write ‘Bob’ on the white ceramic pot.

The room looked bare without any decorations like it first looked when you arrived because Steve wasn’t one to decorate and he was away a lot. When you moved in, you spent an entire day decorating and making the place look livelier. The polaroid and the cacti both looked lonely, just the way you felt.

You didn’t hear anything about the Avengers anymore aside from what you read or hear in the news; but of course as someone who were very much involved in politics, you were aware of what is going on. That the government thinks that the Avengers freely running amok in another country, ruining cities, and causing civilian casualties are starting to concern the entire UN.

Spending lunch in your favourite restaurant, you enjoyed the one hour you have to yourself before you have to start working again. You flagged the waiter to get your bill as you packed up your things, but instead of returning to fetch your bill for you, he said, “I’m sorry, Miss, but your bill had just been paid by the gentleman over there.”

You followed where his hand was pointing and spotted Tony Stark sitting a few tables away from you with a smirk on his face. Tony stood up, leaving his table, and approached you. “May I join you for a little bit, Miss (Y/L/N)?” He asked.

“I only have fifteen more minutes, but of course, Mr. Stark,” you smiled.

The conversation lasted more than fifteen minutes, but honestly, you didn’t mind. Getting back on time wasn’t necessary because you are meeting a client after that so you should get out of the office again. The two of you caught up on everything--including what happened to Bruce after Ultron and how most of the Avengers spent more time in the new facility now.

“Where’s Pepper? Why aren’t you lunching with her?” You asked.

“We’re not...you know,” he just shook his head and looked away. Tony didn’t look comfortable talking about it and you can only assume that something was going on between them so you didn’t press on it.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Well, I have to go meet my client now, but you know if you want to talk you can just come to me, right? Not that I can help you with saving the world or building tech...” you chuckled, knowing how silly it was for you to offer help to him when he can do much more than you can.

He chuckled too and nodded, offering to drop you off, but you had enough help from him for the day, so you refused politely and the two of you went separate ways. That night, just as you were about to spend a few hours reading before you go to bed, you heard a knock on the door. You looked into the peephole and the face you see outside caused you to smile as you opened the door.

“How did you know where I live?” You asked, not knowing whether to be impressed or crept out

Tony just shrugged and lifted up his hand to reveal an entire bottle of his bourbon. “I want to talk,” he smiled widely.

That night was spent almost the same way you last had bourbon late at night with Tony. The difference is it involved more talking. Tony told you everything about what has been going on; how he has been busting his ass trying to deal with the government, trying to clean things up, trying to make sure that the Avengers doesn’t have every government officials chasing after them.

“I’ve never known that before. I thought you spent night working more on your gadgets and suits,” you said, feeling slightly terrible that you have never known about how hard he works. “You know, I know someone from the government...maybe I can help in some way?” You offered, trying to help him.

“I’ll be fine,” Tony smiled.

“Do they know about this?” You asked, referring to the rest of the Avengers.

“They do,” he confirmed, but something about that sentence tells you that he wasn’t certain.

“But I’m sure they don’t know it to the extent,” you completed the thought for him.

Tony flinched slightly, knowing that you are right. How the rest of the Avengers didn’t know just how much work was put into keeping the government and the nation at peace. He didn’t say anything, and so neither did you. The two of you were lost in your own thoughts as you looked at the way your knee was almost touching his.

“What happened with you and Cap?” He asked.

You frowned a little, “It’s just not working. We want different things now,” you said. But then paused and proceeded to correct yourself. “Actually, I think we’ve always wanted the same things, it just took us a while to realise that we’re not it,” you gave a little shrug and sipped your drink again. The two of you wanted to share your lives with someone; but you weren’t Peggy, and Steve wouldn’t be the one for you, because you expected the one to love you just how Steve loves Peggy. “What about you and Pepper?” It’s your turn to ask.

“It actually has been going on since the Mandarin. She thinks the suits are a distraction, she thinks it’s a shell and she just...doesn’t want me doing all this. I’ve given up the suit for her once, but I just can’t seem to let go,” he said. “Finally after Ultron, she had enough. She wanted to take a break.”

You nodded slowly as you listened to his story. You’ve always understood Steve doing hero work. You didn’t mind, because you knew he wanted to keep the people safe, and there’s no stopping him from doing that, because you knew what you were getting into. Being a soldier is a huge part of Steve’s life. But maybe it was more difficult for Pepper because she knew Tony before he was Iron Man, and it hurts her to see him hurt because despite the metal suit, Tony was an ordinary man--he had no superhuman endurance like Steve and yet Tony is the one who does most of the work because he had to deal with all the background stuff and also the things on the field.

“This is depressing,” you spoke up in humour, and he hummed in agreement. Tony stood up abruptly and walked across the room, towards your TV and where your Harman Kardon speakers are. He turned it on and immediately connected his device to the speakers via Bluetooth.

Rock music was blaring throughout your apartment, which made you laugh, but you knew this wouldn’t sit well with your neighbours. “You’re gonna make me get a noise complaint!” You yelled over the loud music. Tony just smirked, refusing to turn it off. And sure enough, a loud, continuous bang was heard on your door which caused him to widen his eyes and held his laugh in. He paused the music as you approached the door to see your neighbour there. He was only a few years older than you, and they have a three-month-old baby. You knew the music must have waken the baby up, or at least your neighbour from his much-deserved sleep.

After apologising profusely, you padded back into the living room and shook your head at Tony who was already giggling on the couch. You disconnected the Bluetooth connection from his speakers and connected yours instead, playing jazz music from the olden Hollywood days.

“Ugh, you like Cap music?” He scoffed.

“It’s kind of the reason we first talked to each other,” you shrugged.

It was a Sunday and you had to finish up some work you’ve decided to procrastinate on over the weekend. While you typed away your e-mail, you were humming to the popular I’ll Be Seeing You. You have always had a nice voice, but you weren’t that interested in pursuing singing as your career--it was just a hobby you do to relieve your stress. While your melodious tunes were helping you get through work, the man sitting next to you was lost in nostalgia with a soft smile on his face.

As you ended the song, he finally spoke up. “That was really nice,” he said to you. You did not realise that he was listening the whole time.

You chuckled awkwardly, “Thank you,” you said for the compliment. You were not quite processing who he was just yet.

“It’s not that often I find people your age randomly humming thirties’ songs,” he shrugged.

“People my age?” You repeated, finding it funny that he says that as if the two of you weren’t from the same generation.

“I don’t mean that in an offensive way. It’s just that it’s usually older people who like to listen to songs like that,” he said. That was when he fully looked at you without ducking under his cap. It finally dawned on you who he was. He was the super soldier everyone had talked about. You knew he was like 90 years old, but he was incredibly good looking.

After talking about how you were introduced to jazz songs when you were a kid by your father and about his favourite songs back in the day, his phone chimed and sadly he had to leave for an urgent work call. And you nodded in understanding; a part of you were sad because in the back of your head you thought you might never meet him again.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he smirked, causing you to laugh. “Same time next Sunday? I feel like we still have much to talk about,” Steve said.

You beamed; a bit taken aback by how straightforward he was being, but then you nodded. “Same time next Sunday,” you confirmed. That entire day, you were not able to wipe away the stupid smile you had, impatient for next Sunday.

As you were a little bit lost in reminiscing about how you first met Steve when Tony stood up, offering his left hand to you. With the two of you slightly tipsy, you accepted his offer and placed your hand right in his. He twirled you around which made you chuckle, but then he snaked his right hand around your waist and pulled you close--leaving absolutely no gap between your bodies which made your breath caught in your throat.

The two of you looked at each other, deeper than you’ve ever looked at each other before. You were always partial to men with blue eyes--feeling as though you could be lost in a beautiful meadow with wildflowers, soft breezes, and freedom when you looked into them. But the way you were lost into Tony’s darker eyes was something different altogether. They were not dark enough to resemble the night sky, but you can just see the faint and somewhat mysterious constellation in his eyes. But it mostly felt like warmth and comfort; like the warm coffee you like to sip every morning or the tea you brew after a long day of work.

It was not an open and boundless space like how you’ve always felt when staring into Steve’s eyes, it was actually the exact opposite. It felt like the piles of warm blankets after a refreshing shower in the comfort of your bedroom which made you feel completely safe and secure. The hints of dark felt like the unreachable demons Tony had in his life--places where even he doesn’t like to go. But as his thumb grazed the small of your back, you knew you were safe. From what, you were still unsure, but you knew you just were.

Who knows where this road will lead us Only a fool will say But if you let me love you You can bet I'm going to love you All the way Yes all the way

Taller, taller than the tallest tree is That's how it's got, got to feel Oh if you let me love you You can bet I'm going to love you All the way Oh all, all the way

At the last note of the song, your lips were just inches away from each other. But you were hesitant, and so was Tony. The two of you had just gotten out of a relationship; you weren’t sure if this was rebound or just the alcohol, and you were afraid to take another step. So instead you prevented what could be something that would catastrophically ruin your friendship and ducked your head, smiling a little bit. And with that, Tony pulled his head back slightly.

“It’s late,” you said.

“I should go,” Tony responded.

“Don’t drive. Take a cab or something,” you suggested as the two of you pulled away completely from each other.

Tony smiled, liking the way you were concerned about him driving and at the same time a bit amused. “Don’t worry,” he assured you. The man took his keys from your coffee table, but left his bottle of bourbon there, and made his way to the door, you following behind him.

“Be careful,” you reminded him after he stepped out of your door.

Tony nodded, “See you,” he said.

You watched his back as he walked away, and when he rounded the corner to the elevators, you closed the door. Immediately slumping on the floor trying to regulate your breathing and get your heart to stop beating so fast.

You buried your face in your hands for a little bit. “What the hell was that?” You muttered to yourself, sitting there for a few seconds before finally standing up and headed to your bedroom, spending all night pondering what just happened.

TAG LIST:

@thevanishedillusion @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @plan3tmadison

#tony stark fanfic #tony stark x reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark #tony stark imagine #icmylm

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izzyovercoffee · 8 years ago

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Hi there. We've briefly crossed paths before, but I see you're the resident Mando, so I have a question. I'm wondering how Mandalorian culture deals with mental illness, depression in particular. Would they write somebody off like 'haha you're weak, later loser' or would they be understanding of a person's struggles with their own mind and lend support to the fight, or something else entirely? Obviously not everyone would react the same, but as a culture on the whole, what are your thoughts?

There’s a short answer and a long answer. The short answer is that centrally to mandalorian cultural foundations, mental illness should be understood and not stigmatized, and the community supportive of the individual suffering. A community focused culture like those of the mandalorians is one of support, assistance, and understanding. The fact is, Mandalorian cultural foundations literally view struggle of all kinds as important to spiritual growth, as well as the physical and mental. The foundations explicitly venerate coming together as a community to support one another. It is, literally, in the Resol’nare.

While mandalorians are not all warriors, it’s no secret that a large percentage of their population work on battlefields or in war zones—enough for that to be a stereotyped profession. A society like this must learn to deal with all of the mental and physical disabilities that stem from such professions. Negative stigma is unsustainable—there is no way mandalorians, as a people, would have survived for so long as they did, and do, if they literally treated mental illness, such as depression, with the attitude of “haha, you’re weak.”

It’s just not realistic. It’s ignorant.

The long answer is that because of ignorance and an obsession with harmful ideas of strength and weakness, and a complete misunderstanding of “warrior culture” on the whole in order to defend and prop up toxic ideas of strength and masculinity, the fandom pushes the idea that mandalorians would be intolerant of mental illness—when what we know about mandalorians blatantly expresses otherwise, if you know where to look.

So, let’s look.

Struggle versus Stagnation

The mandalorian creation myth, Akaanati'kar'oya, tells us of an eternal struggle between Kad Ha’rangir, the Destroyer, and the sloth-god Arasuum, Stagnation. During the time of the Neo-Crusaders, the creation myth was regarded not as just a story but a telling of factual events.

At the time, devotion to Kad Ha’rangir was expressed through ritual warfare — and it was said that a person is not a mandalorian if they give in to stagnation.

But, fandom often misses, overlooks, or outright ignores a major component of Kad Ha’rangir. They are not a destroyer god, They are a chaos god of change.

Kad Ha’rangir is not a Destroyer to destroy — They are a destroyer to clear out the things that would choke and trap you. Sometimes destruction is necessary for growth. Sometimes you have to cut out the parts of you, or your community, that is holding you down or preventing you from accepting change, from pursuing change, from growing and reaching your full potential.

Sometimes you have to clear the dead and the decay, violently, to allow life to flourish when it could not before.

“They served the god Kad Ha'rangir, whose tests and trials forced change and growth upon the clans he chose to be his people.”

— Vilnau Teupt, The Essential Guide to Warfare

Kad Ha’rangir was never about destruction for destruction’s sake. They were never about conquering. Huge chunks of mandalorian fandom can’t seem to wrap their fucking minds around that fact. They obsess over this misconception of “Proud Warrior Race,” completely misunderstanding Kad Ha’rangir and pushing a stereotype that just doesn’t fit.

And all this? Was explicit in the creation myth itself.

For those who would say they’re “outdated” and that mandalorians wouldn’t know about them … well, that’s not true either. The creation myth, Kad Ha’rangir and the original pantheon, was still known and discussed by Mandalorian academics as late as 24 ABY. So claiming ignorance won’t work.

This creation myth, among other myths and legends, are the very foundations and building blocks upon which the entire culture was born, they are integral to mandalorian cultural identity.

The parts of fandom who see the word “destruction” fixate on the aggressive violence inherent in the word, and that’s just … such a small, narrow view. It’s completely missing the point, usually in order to chest thump.

How is this relevant, you might ask. Isn’t depression (to use your example) idleness and stagnation?

Well, yes, actually, depending on how you might look at it. But that’s the point.

Anyone who understands depression from a place of education and not ignorance understands that depression is a sickness(and, lmao, mandalorians value education, so idk why the toxic parts of fandom are incapable of educating themselves and discarding misconceptions about mental health, but that’s an entirely different discussion). It can be treated, can be managed, can maybe even be cured in some cases, but it is literally a battle fought day in and day out against an invisible enemy.

And these kinds of battles are some of the most difficult to survive. How do you fight, and overcome, and survive, something you cannot see? How do you survive when it is your body that you are fighting?

Dealing with depression, fighting depression, surviving depression, is, in a way, the spiritual struggle against arasuum taken from an external form and brought internally—and there is no way that mandalorians, on the whole, wouldn’t be able to see its relevance or make that connection, ESPECIALLY considering the symptoms of depression.

And this isn’t even touching on other forms of mental illnesses—like PTSD, which is also heavily stigmatized in our society and carries that stigma into mandalorian “fans,” despite so many mandalorians being subject to violence and the potential of developing the disorder.

A disorder which is so often co-morbid with depression.

For something that so many soldiers are at high risks of developing, and mandalorian fandom supposedly being drawn to the mandalorians due to their militaristic culture, it is mind boggling how the fandom treats depression, PTSD, and other mental health disorders / illnesses on the whole.

As I’ve said before: shabla mirsh'kyramude.

Add onto this the fact that mandalorians, in general, heavily practice adoption along the requirements of whether or not someone is mandokarla, or has the right stuff. What is often considered the right stuff?

surviving the impossible (often extreme violence or abuses)

displaying the potential for the incredible, often in a warlike setting

proving one’s self through extreme events

extreme devotion to family and personal code

I would be surprised if literally everyone adopted into the culture was perfectly stable and healthy. In fact, I’ll go out on a limb right now and say that anyone who says that, deserves a smack. In Legends, nearly every single goddamn example of adoption has been of someone who has been severely impacted by extreme circumstances and still survives—but is still clearly damaged by it, and struggles with it in whatever way they can.

And that struggle is venerated. Instead of stigmatized, they’re viewed through a lens of bravery, of courage, of atinla—a stubbornness to be admired and imitated, not a reason to be ridiculed and abandoned.

Ultimately this all falls back into the toxic ideology that surrounds “strength,” which is unsustainable, and the stigma against appearing weak, which is, again, incongruent with actual mandalorian philosophy and cultural foundation.

Anyway, moving on.

Accessibility / Accommodations / Impact

Not solely mental health, but still relevant and still applies:

Parja reached up and patted [Fi’s] helmet. She’d painted it with the Mandalorian letters M and S for mir’shupur — brain injury — just like a battlefield medic might do for triage purposes. On Mandalore, the symbol functioned as a blend of a general warning to give the wearer a break, and a medal for combat service.

— Republic Commando: Order 66, pp 39

Now, the Republic Commando series holds a kind of … contentious position in fandom, as I’m sure you’ve probably noticed. However, this is one of the things it does get right, as far as mental illness and disability is concerned. Yes, Fi Skirata suffered a traumatic brain injury in the line of duty, but that doesn’t change the fact that it is still just as much a mental health issue as it is a physical one. Fi experiences disorientation. He forgets things he feels he shouldn’t, struggles with words and speaking, and so on.

The sigil painted on his helmet is a clear, public, visible way to alert everyone around him, explicitly, what to expect so that everyone in the community can accommodate and assist him.

What people don’t understand when reading this scene, is that this is not something done if anyone suspects he would be at risk of being taken advantage of. He is in a predominantly mandalorian community, populated by mostly if not only mandalorians, with the expectation that the community will assist him as a rule, not an exception.

You don’t paint a goddamn sign that says BRAIN INJURY on someone’s helmet in a society that stigmatizes disability or weakness of any kind.

This sets a precedence, whether knowingly or unknowingly: mandalorians, as a community, will assist another mandalorian with a disability. If there was any risk at all, Parja would never have allowed Fi to wander around a busy town alone, much less paint a sigil on his helmet that would make him an obvious target otherwise.

Another thing: it is specifically a sigil written in the mandalorian alphabet, not arubesh, and it’s implied to be understood to mandalorians only, and not aruettise (unless they’re familiar with mandalorian cultural practices, and alphabet).

Why is this important?

It is because it is the biggest, clearest, loudest example we have that mandalorians display both badges as well as warnings through art and sigils on their armor. They give signals that this person is suffering x disability as a warning and a request for patience, assistance, and accessibility. That assistance and accessibility is expected of the community, not something done out of kindness or saintliness or good samaritan whatever the hell.

It is the rule, not the exception. It is the rule.

I’m repeating myself, but I’m trying to drill in this point because fandom fails to recognize something so little as so important, and it is important.

It is so small and easy to miss, but it completely decimates any foundation to the argument that mental illness is a weakness and that the sufferer should be abandoned.

Putting aside however briefly the fact that negatively stigmatizing mental illness is harmful and puts real people at risk of real harm and danger, propping up the idea that mandalorians don’t deal with or address disability or illness of any kind in the face of the above is just … ignoring all of the creative potential for telling interesting stories—creating art, sigils, and armor.

Consider: art or sigils indicating:

autism spectrum

schizophrenia

PTSD

blindness

deaf or hard of hearing

etc etc etc

What is the point of writing a people who are as community focused as mandalorians, who have a huge population who deals with war as an industry, who has a huge population of refugees and forced migration, and then never having the courage to sensitively deal with the repercussions of these terrible things? Never having the thought to even consider what it means to carry a sigil of depression as both an indicator of needing assistance as well as a badge of honor for fighting what could be an invisible battle for years?

What is the actual point of maintaining a status quo of demonizing mental illness when mandalorians, as a society, have firmly flipped the bird at status quo time and time again in order to come together and support all members of their community — even fighting each other to do so?

The toxic parts of mandalorian fandom is lazy. Do not accept that laziness, that inadvertent worship of arasuum, as fact.

To put it crudely, they don’t know shit about shit.

Mandalorians venerate, give respect, give honor, to struggle. All forms of struggle. Even surviving, just surviving, is a struggle.

No real mandalorian would abandon another to arasuum.

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gallifreyanlibertea · 7 years ago

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Stubborn

@igikoxamerica asked: How about America x Nyo!England domestic fic? Even better if Nyo!England is expecting their first child.

a/n: I hate myself this is such an old request, but I suddenly have a lot of time in my hands and I’m so sorry for making you wait this long.

Pairing: USUK Rating: E for Everyone AU: Humanverse

Rosa was alarmingly pregnant. Alfred noted this as he nestled her third packet of pickle-flavored chips into her lap upon her stern request.

She hated pickles.

She'd despised them for all the years they’d been together, but apparently, it was different now, seeing as she’d sent Alfred out in the middle of the night to fetch them for her. “It's an emergency,” she’d said, waking him up with ten smacks to the arms that were wrapped so snugly around her. She simply had to have them, right then and there.

And so Alfred went, falling into a well-worn routine for the sake of his beloved, English wife. One, to slink into his car half asleep, two, spend a few minutes waking himself up, and three, drive out to the nearest convenience store, hoping to god they had the brand Rosa wanted.

There were no other options, no other steps, none. Not after what had happened the last time he even considered straying from the path, when not long ago, on the drive home from work, she’d called him, voice honey sweet as she buttered her husband up, “I miss you, I need you…”

“Oh, and I’m also really craving that one ice cream you can only get half an hour away from here, love you, bye!”

Alfred had been tired. He had been hungry, and his fingers ached from typing at his work desk for hours on end. So, it was only natural that he was going to cut some corners!

After all, Rosa wouldn’t know the difference between gourmet and store bought. Not if Alfred managed to sprint home and scoop the ice cream into a cup before she saw the packaging.

That had been his initial plan, yes, but alas, as soon as he had opened the door, grocery bag in hand, there Rosa was, waiting intently for him on the other side with a plate of warm brownies, fresh out of the oven.

“I’m sorry I made you go so far.” Had been her reason as she jutted them out for him to inspect. Alfred had seen signs of charring at the edges, but the warm, sinking middle had his stomach turning, a feeling originating from both hunger and guilt. “These would go marvelously with the ice cream!”

Needless to say, she hadn’t been very happy to see the kitschy carton of ice cream that certainly was not the one she’d asked for.

Alfred had still stood by the fact that if it weren’t for the packaging, she wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference, but a good man learns from his mistakes. Alfred had, since then, gotten Rosa exactly what she wanted, no loop-holes, no short-cuts.

Which brought him to situations like these.

He put on a brave face. “Rosie, don’t you think you’ve had enough of those?”

A murderous flash of those green eyes sealed Alfred’s lips shut and kept his eyes averted. He wasn’t to say anything about it- not a word about the wrappers of the previous two packets littering the floor, because she was going to work out tomorrow so it didn’t matter, nor about the eyes swimming with tears as the couple on the TV screen fought over something petty, because those were just allergies.

And though Alfred had learned not to look at her for too long, lest she think he was mocking her pregnancy-chub, he couldn’t help stealing a glance as Rosa licked the crumbs off her lips, sniffling into her palms as the couple proceeded to engage in a furious lip-lock.

She could be so cute.

Until she turned to find her husband staring- Alfred was caught. With a quick swipe of her eyes, she crossed her arms over her chest, “Are you done gawking?”

“Uh- sorry, babe.” Was the mumbled response.

“I’m not crying.” Rosa declared almost quickly after, rubbing the curve of her belly with thick brows furrowed, “It’s the baby.”

Yes, the baby. It was always the baby.

“Well,” Alfred said dismissively- perhaps too dismissively, so he paused, starting again, gentler, “Do you want to, maybe, come to bed? It’s really late-”

“Aren’t you going to comfort me, damn it! I’m crying!”

Rosa was bawling now, and had it been months earlier when Alfred was but a novice when it came to her mood swings, he would’ve blanked out on the spot. Instead, like the wise man he was, he sunk in beside her on the couch, pulling her wet face into his chest and letting a calming hand massage her scalp.

“It’s okay, baby, it's just a fictional show, I cry ‘cause of them too!”

He really didn’t, but for the sake of keeping her sanity somewhat intact, it had to be said. She believed anything in moments like these, despite having lived with Alfred for years now and knowing that the only tears that would ever come from a movie was if it scared him shitless.

“I’m not crying.” She mumbled, and Alfred rolled his eyes. “You would be, though, that rotten child doesn’t give an ounce of respect to his mother! It’s depressing!”

Ah, one look to the screen gave Alfred all the answers he needed. It was a dramatized, over-exaggerated reality T.V show, one Rosa swore up and down she would never watch. Perhaps it was the lack of anything else on the television, as Rosa always said it was, but Alfred now knew why she had those big tears swimming in her eyes. He almost wanted to laugh.

Fearing a slap, or worse, a packet of half-finished pickle chips being thrown right at him, Alfred kissed her forehead instead, “Kids aren’t all bad, Rosa, I know ours is going to be amazing.”

“You don’t know that.” Rosa mumbled, “They could inherit my stubbornness and wreak havoc on us both.”

Alfred blinked, partly stunned that she admitted to being difficult. It had to be a trap.

Which is why he inched around the subject, lips parting for honeyed words, one hundred percent true to the last bone in his tired, tired body, “Your stubbornness is part of why I love you, you know?”

And just when he thought he’d won, when those green eyes looked up at him all hazy like they did when he’d said the right things, they narrowed just as fast, hand smacking at Alfred’s arm.

“You were supposed to disagree, you idiot! Do you really think I’m stubborn?”

“You need to get to bed,” Alfred interjected, a last-minute scrape at changing the topic.

He decided against attempting to carry her. Instead, he took her by the wrist, pulling her to her feet, something that would’ve been hard to do if she hadn’t decided to get up as well. “You need some rest, Mrs. Jones.”

“It’s Mrs. Kirkland-Jones, dolt,” Rosa grunted, patting her belly as the warm hand on her back led her to their bedroom. “Remember? I was too stubborn to change my last name.”

She climbed into bed and Alfred drew the blanket over her shoulders, pressing a chaste kiss onto her lips and ignoring the salty, pickle-y tang.

“I’m going to go clean up your mess, and when I get back you better be asleep.”

A whine. Alfred folded his arms.

“I never got to see how the episode ended!” Rosa complained, to which Alfred stepped through the bedroom door, hand resting on the knob.

“The couple realizes they’re madly in love and their kid apologizes with a badly-drawn crayon card, the end.”

“And... does the husband bring his wife her unfinished packet of crisps to eat in bed?”

“Good night, Rosa,” Alfred replied with a chuckle as he brought the door to a close, barely hearing his wife’s muffled response as he turned to face the living room, a couch drowned in snack-wrappers bathed in the light of the idle television.

He already lived with a pregnant Rosa, how hard could a baby be?

#if rosa aint me #this was a weird narrative idk how I feel about it #usuk #aph fem!england #aph america

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