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newtonsheffield · 4 years ago

Note

As I am currently lying in my own bed not well 😷😷 with my Hedwig Hot Water bottle curtesy of my hubby to be I got inspired to ask this about my fave couple 🥰

We’ve seen Kate and Anthony being the patient and the “doctor”

And in AOFAG obvs Soph takes care of a Ben when he gets sick... do you have any of Benophie taking care of one another when bed bound sick or hurt?

❤️

Hiiii!

First of all: I Hope you’re feeling better! I was off work last week with a cold and now I feel like I’m getting another one. There’s been a lot of rain recently in Queensland and because I’ve been constantly in and out of the rain and the air conditioning, I think I keep catching a chill like the heroine of a regency novel. Very tiring because I have to get a covid test every time

Now I’ve had another prompt very similar here so I’m answering them together!

Anon asked: i binged b&s in one day !!!! it's soooooo good 🤍 and i love the mini fics you post here 🤍 do you have any head canons for when benophie when sophie gets sick for the first time since they got together? Hello! You binged it all in a day? Oh God, I’m so sorry, that’s a lot of my writing in one day. But I’m glad you enjoyed it, and welcome to this little black hole that I call a blog.

Okay, I feel like we all know that Sophie Beckett is one nurturing son of a gun, so Benedict is welllllll taken care of when he gets sick. But I think it would be difficult for Sophie, who has had no who would take care of her to let him do it?

Anywayyyyy Let’s see

Sophie Beckett prided herself on rarely being sick and even when she was, she never took a sick day. She showed up to work rain, hail, or shine, hopped up on Day Nurse and a throat lozenge and she didn’t complain. Not that she didn’t wish she could crawl into bed and quietly die, but it wasn’t an option. When she’d worked at Penwood House she hadn’t really had any sick leave, and she couldn’t have afforded to not work. But it was fine, she wasn’t really the kind of person that got sick regularly anyway, maybe twice a year she’d have a cold for a few days and that was easy enough to manage. And then four months into their relationship Benedict had woken up with a cold.

The sound of his sneeze had woken Sophie up first, and she’d sat up a little startled and turned to find Ben with a box of tissues on his chest, his eyes red, sniffling. His voice sounded stuffy when he said Sorry, you should go, I don’t want to get you sick. Sophie had tutted disapprovingly before she could stop herself and stood from the bed with a Ridiculous man before going into the bathroom, rummaging through his cabinet and returning with some paracetamol and a glass of water. Take these and go back to sleep, I’ll have to go and get some things but I’ll be back. He’d looked up at her, a little startled, but clearly thought the expression on her face left no room for arguments as he settled back against his pillows. She spent the rest of the day with his head cushioned against her chest her fingers running through his hair as he slept soundly against her with a muffled Love you, Soph. And her heart had stuttered away brimming with happiness despite the situation, content in that moment to have made him happy.

2 days later Sophie woke up in her own bed and her head was pounding, her sinuses were congested and she couldn’t help but groan as she looked in the mirror at her bloodshot eyes and quietly cursed as she took her medication and went about getting ready for the day. She had been at work for approximately 30 minutes when the head chef sighed and said Sophie go home. Sophie had tried to argue but the chef laughed and said At this point I’m honestly worried you’ll give the customers the plague. You have some sick days they’re there for you to use. And she’d said it with such kindness that Sophie had honestly wanted to cry as she’d left, desperately looking forward to sinking back between the bedsheets.

Benedict hadn’t really thought much of it. He’d been finishing a shoot, and sent Sophie a text, asking if she wanted to go to his brother’s later, Greg had a new something or other he was excited about playing medieval farm building game maybe?, not expecting a response straight away. He was fairly used to Sophie replying intermittently throughout the day, not being able to have her phone on her at all times. But she’d responded almost immediately Not tonight, Have fun though and he’d frowned a little at the blunt response, no explanation given. Deciding to lighten the mood he said Shouldn’t you be at work? Hiding in the bathroom again? 😏 And the response had come back again almost immediately No, got sent home sick. And Benedict had frozen, on his way out the door, camera bag swinging stupidly at his side as he considered the fact that Sophie had woken up unwell this morning, so unwell she’d had to go home and she hadn’t even thought to tell him. And his chest ached when he thought it likely wasn’t due to the fact that she was shutting him out, but because she was so used to not having anyone take care of her, she hadn’t even thought that he would want to.

Sophie was woken from a nap by a sharp knock on the door of her flat. And she couldn’t help but groan, wondering if they would just go away if she ignored them. When the knocking repeated itself she dragged herself out of bed, her head pounding with every step and her heart stopped when she opened the door, to find Ben absolutely ladened down with pharmacy bags. Sorry it took me so long, I didn’t know what you had so I just got some of everything. He said, smiling happily as she shimmied past her frozen in the doorway. setting about putting his bags down, unpacking them, confusion welling in her chest until finally she stuttered out Ben What are you doing here? His head shot up, his eyebrows raised, Taking Care of you? Don’t worry, I’m not about to force my cooking on you, I stopped by my mum’s, she said She hopes you feel better soon. And tears had welled in her eyes as he wrapped his arms tightly around her, warmth and security seeping into her bones. And as he lay next to her in bed for the rest of the afternoon, his voice softly reading Little Women Sophie could barely choke back the words I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

#bridgerton and sons au #benophie #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #sophie deserves everything good and i'm gonna give them to her in this au tbh #molly’s asks and answers

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aliendes · 5 years ago

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Natural Borns - Prologue

ahhh finally posting this fic that I’ve had a bare-bones outline for, for over a year. I absolutely adore the idea behind this fic and the world that I am creating for it. If you like what you read here, please follow my blog for updates. My goal is to update this series at least once every two weeks, but I will likely post the first few chapters in the next couple of weeks. I look forward to growing this au, reblog if you enjoy!

dystopian!au / futuristic!au

Series info/genre: Angset, fluff, (possible) smut NSFW due to darker themes Pairings: ot7 x fem reader (eventual) Warnings: this series will have different trigger warnings listed for each chapter (if there are any), but as a whole, this series will include violence, mentions of depression & other mental illnesses, cursing, abuse, drugs/alcohol, some shitty medical descriptions because i am NOT a doctor, self-esteem issues, fluff, and possible smut in future chapters (but that’s undecided). i will add more warnings/tags in the future if there are any. Description: In the year 2613, over half of the world’s population are what scientists consider ‘designer babies’. YN is a small town girl who is a true natural born, someone born naturally without he help of a lab or gene splicing. Her DNA is greatly sought after, but what is she willing to do to protect it? Word count: 1569 (future chapters will be longer, this is just a prologue!)

In a world where social status is determined by looks, it’s beneficial to have the label ‘designer baby’.

In the year 2613, over half of the world’s population are now what society considers a ‘designer baby’. This term designer baby, coined in 2051 when scientists in Sweden successfully incubated a baby to term by splicing different genes together, is what people call babies born in a lab. It is commonplace now for people to walk into a lab, go through a catalog of traits, pick out their favorites, pay a high price tag, and wait about 9 months for their baby to fully incubate. Then they can take their new bundle of joy home without all the pain (and sometimes heartbreak) of a pregnancy and labor. Most expecting mothers never go through pregnancy anymore, and labor and delivery wards have become nearly obsolete in the richer areas of the world. In their place, companies began to spring up on nearly every street corner that allowed hopeful parents to pick out their future offspring.

The process was actually incredibly simple. Scientists are able to take the DNA of both prospective parents, and splice their genes with other genes of their choosing by removing certain markers for things like eye color while not compromising the parents original DNA structure, and create a zygote in a lab. After about 9-10 months of incubation, this zygote will eventually become the perfect baby, or at least, those parents' version of the perfect baby. The only reason the practice took so long to take off was because of the many protests and movements that took place in the late 2000’s. After the first designer baby was successfully ‘born’, people began to protest the process, saying that it was ‘messing with fate’ and that people shouldn’t have that much power over other humans. After decades of fighting and protests, the first designer baby company launched in 2108, in Seoul, South Korea. Since then, there have been smaller groups and nonprofit organizations that try to fight against gene splicing, but it is mostly accepted worldwide.

Always at the forefront of technology, it was no surprise that the first designer baby company was in Seoul. Hundreds of years later, the largest population of designer babies and companies still reside in Seoul. Over 75% of the population of South Korea is made up of people who were created in labs and have the perfect balance of genes. Some call the country the most beautiful place on Earth. 600 years ago, people would say that because of its rich culture, and scenic countrysides. Now, it’s because the citizens are nice to ogle at.

Designer babies are so common in South Korea, that schools, office buildings, and even entire apartment complexes were built for them. In today’s society, your job, your relationships, and your status is determined by how beautiful you are. It’s easy to tell who is a designer baby and who isn’t. Most people born in labs have distinct features, mostly from the same pool of genes. You see, after a while, scientists started running out of natural DNA to use that people still thought was unique enough. Now, most designer babies have features that stem from the same catalogs, as they are the most popular. Sure, they’re pretty, but they’re beginning to look a lot alike.

Part of the reason natural DNA is so hard to find now, is because a lot of designer babies end up procreating with what scientists dubbed ‘natural borns’, or people with 100% natural DNA, and so most people's DNA is muddled throughout generations. These people are not good candidates for gene splicing as the outcome is not easily controlled. Coming across a true natural born is extremely rare these days and the ones you do find are almost always average looking in society's eyes, so labs don’t bother trying to splice them. It’s not that there are NO natural borns willing to give up their DNA. Companies have applicants all the time, what with the hefty sum they pay their donors, but most do not make it past the application stage once said companies determine their genes unusable for various reasons.

Another problem laboratories run into is the willingness of participants in donating their DNA. The process isn’t as simple as a cheek swab. Once applicants learn about the often painful procedures involved in donating, they tend to back out before signing a contract. These contracts, depending on the company, usually requires the donors to live on company property until they have successfully spliced their DNA. This process involves the donor to take different cocktails of drugs, be put under anesthetic, and be poked and prodded by scientists for weeks at a time. It isn’t the most comfortable thing to go through, but they’re often offered substantial compensation, especially now with the shortage of true natural borns. Some larger companies have been accused in the past of abusing their donors, locking them in prison-like cells and depriving them of food and water, treating them as nothing more than a business transaction, which has also caused natural borns to stray away from donating.

Finding natural borns, or at least partial natural borns isn’t all that hard, though, as most natural borns live in smaller communities outside of larger cities. Because the population of designer babies only continues to grow, most employers no longer hire average looking people. There are even separate schools and hospitals that cater specifically to natural borns, often run by natural borns, since there are a significant portion of designer babies who do not socialize with naturals. Naturals are often considered low-class, and are looked down upon by those in high society. The crime rates against natural borns is becoming increasingly high, which has unfortunately pushed a lot of them outside of metropolitan areas. This resulted in a new social hierarchy where natural borns are at the bottom of the food chain, often poor or even homeless, struggling to find jobs.

In recent years there have been more protests and rallies ran by both designer babies and natural borns who believe in rights for everyone, they are humans after all, to try and fight against the discrimination that is heavily ingrained in today’s culture, but not much headway has been made yet. Currently, all world leaders and politicians are designer babies, so going up against them hasn’t been the easiest.

Because protests are happening more often, companies are having to be even more discreet when it comes to ‘scouting’ potential candidates for donating DNA. They’ve become more desperate to find the new and innovating genes, something unique and different that will drive business in time where labs are a dime a dozen and new genes are hard to come by.

You would know all about that, though. You are living in a small rural town outside of Seoul with your mother and father, both natural borns. Your family has owned a peach farm for the last few decades and makes enough money to upkeep the small orchard by selling to local markets and restaurants. You’ve been approached multiple times by companies, offering enticing amounts of money to you and your parents, promising things like apartments in the city, college tuition, and fancy cars, if you sold them your DNA. You were a true natural born, a rarity, especially in Korea. Not only did you have pure DNA, but you were unique. You weren’t average looking, no you were ethereal, gorgeous, spectacular in many people's eyes. Not for the reasons that you would’ve liked, though.

People only wanted you for your DNA. Whether it be companies who wanted to splice your genes, or other natural borns who wanted to court you and keep you for themselves, breed you and sell their children off to make a quick buck. It was sick, and that’s why your family kept you close. After you graduated high school, you didn’t attend university and didn’t get a job. You stayed on the farm and helped out your father in the orchard. You knew the dangers of the big companies and citizens alike who only wanted to use you. It made you wary of people, shy, and sometimes insecure about your own person. Your parents did their best to keep you safe, shield you from the horrors of the world, and make sure you felt loved. But oftentimes, you felt lonely, left out, especially when you didn’t have many friends. You felt like an outsider, and even though you were considered incredibly beautiful, you didn’t feel like it.

Growing up wasn’t the easiest for you, having gone to a poor, all natural born school from preschool until you graduated. You didn’t have many friends, most of your classmates bullied you, telling you that you didn’t belong there, that there was no way you weren’t one of those designer babies from the big city and that your parents were lying to you, or you were adopted and didn’t know. These comments were hard to hear, but in the end, you know the truth. You are a pure natural born, and your parents loved you and would do anything to protect you.

But when a mysterious company won’t leave you alone about donating your DNA, you start to question your parents protectiveness over you. Among other things, your biggest question was; what made you so special?

To be continued...

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jin x reader #bangtan #bangtan fanfic #ot7 #bts #bts series #ot7 series #bts prologue #cypherwritersnet

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hatsukeii · 5 years ago

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Beautiful Trauma by Pink with Nishinoya, please!

Woop yess yeah angst is coming your way.

Okay I’m taking a break from matchups lol they’re getting harder to do because I do like a ton of them every day and like they’re GRUELLING HAVSJSGS they’re gonna be back but like I’m gonna focus on writing scenarios and maybe hcs for a bit then get right back to the matchups:)

Btw @artsamber I’m sorry I genuinely don’t know how marriage fics work and I don’t really see Nishinoya as someone that would lose interest after marriage, but I’ll try my best to incorporate your ideas into this fic!

(I’m legit trying my best to keep this as non explicit as I can because I’m keeping these for future uses if my English teacher ever tells me to write romance or something I can just pull up my blog and use scenarios-)

Beautiful Trauma// Nishinoya Yuu x Reader

Word count: 2000+

Warnings: Mild swearing

Nishinoya didn’t like feeling guilty. He hated the falling sensation he would get whenever he lied. The thought of having to hurt someone disgusted him. He was mostly an open book, it was as if you could read him word for word, everything expressed in those goofy facial expressions. He didn’t ask for much. He wanted someone who he could tease. Someone he could trust with his inner conflicts. Someone that could make him feel appreciated. Out of all the things however, he craved for excitement the most. Excitement that you weren’t able to give him. He loved you, he definitely loved you. But in a couple of years’ time, the spark that used to ignite whenever he looked at you, touched you, kissed you, it was gone. He tried to ignore the emptiness, grasping at any opportunity he could to regain those feelings. Going on more dates, inviting you to all his matches, bringing you over to his house every single week, he did everything he could Nothing worked. He no longer felt special. He had fought so hard for you, everything was all rainbows and unicorns, until it wasn’t. Until you became just another person for him.

You still remember the exact moment you realised he had changed. It still goes through your mind till this day. It was New Year’s Eve. The two of you went out to watch the fireworks at midnight. His hand felt cold that night, not a trace of the usual warmth that embraced your hand perfect to be found.. It felt stale and frigid. He didn’t initiate his usual weird chatter, nor did he make an effort to talk to you at all. Every other couple at the venue was doing some lovey dovey crap, giving each other bone crushing hugs, or laying in their loved one’s lap, occasionally sneaking a kiss or two. Seeing that, you tried to sneak in some romance into your date. You turned towards him, leaning in and giving him a kiss. Your heart fell when he stayed still, not reacting to anything. He didn’t kiss back, he didn’t hold your hand, he didn’t even make an effort to play with your hair. It was as if your kiss had absolutely no effect on him. You tried again, letting go of his hand and cupping his cheek. Still nothing. You pulled away, slightly disappointed at the lack of attention you were getting from him as he stared at you with bored eyes, dragging you down to sit next to him. This should’ve been a sign. A sign that something was wrong. However, you brushed it off. Maybe he was just feeling a bit sick that night.

The lack of attention went on for months. You would have to ask him out every week, just to be able to spend any quality time with him, and most of the time he’d decline, using the same three excuses every time.

“Sorry, I’m busy with volleyball.”

“Feeling a bit tired today, I’ll pass.”

“I have schoolwork, can’t come.”

The rare instances where he doesn’t decline your request, he’s completely indulged in his phone. As if there was something that was better than spending time with the one he loved that was on that godforsaken monitor. You would try poking him, shaking him, nudging him, everything you could possibly do to gain his attention. In return, all you’d receive was an irritated groan or your hand being picked up and put back onto your lap, followed by a wave of depression hitting you by surprise as he continues to scroll mindlessly through his phone. You were tired of this, your gut telling you to just break it off with him. However you were hopeful. Too hopeful. You continued to cling onto the last shred of hope you had in that attention lacking heart of yours, praying that by spending enough time with him, he would go back to his old self. The Nishinoya that she fell in love with. The one that gave her kisses on her cheek, squeezed her hand whenever he held it, cried with her during hard times, pushed her on the swings in an abandoned park. She continued to look forward to a day, where he would once again greet her at her doorstep before walking to school together. That day never came.

Half a year. Half an entire year of hiding his inner conflicts. Nishinoya was done keeping it in. He had to tell you one way or the other anyways. He was sick of seeing how disappointed you’d get after he ignored you time and time again. He was drowning in his own guilt throughout the never-ending six months. That pit of regret that dug itself in his stomach made him want to just rip everything to pieces and scream into a void. He didn’t want to see you like this, but quite frankly there was nothing he could do. His feelings were slowly fading, and they weren’t coming back. Everything that seemed bright in the world went dull as he pondered over his own emotions in his room. Letting out a feral yell, he sent all the books and papers on his desk flying to the floor, ripping some up and stomping on them. “WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? HUH? I CAN’T DO THIS TO HER! I can’t... I can’t hurt her like that.” He grabbed at his hair, pulling at it as he slid down the wall hopelessly, choking out strained sobs and screams as tears poured from his eyes. He was beyond frustrated. He definitely didn’t want to hurt you by telling you how he felt, however hiding it wouldn’t do any good either. In fact, the longer he hid it, the more affected by it you would be. He had made his mind. He was going to tell you the truth the next day, but at what cost? He was scared, definitely. He could already picture what would happen. He would tell you his conflicts, and you two would end it there, with both of you crying and leaving for different classes. He would probably do terribly during practice, maybe even skip it for once, and you would probably go home and cry. It would hurt him to tell you, but it was for the best.

You weren’t feeling ecstatic the next day, although you should’ve been. In your bag, was a framed polaroid, along with a tiny note attached to it, stuffed in between your lunchbox and textbooks. You made sure not to let the note crumple up. That was something important. Your friends teased you about it, calling you a hopeless romantic, lovestruck schoolgirl, and a variety of different romance tropes. All you could do was nod and laugh dryly, and pray they didn’t see the frown on your face throughout the whole day. During lunch, you scanned the cafeteria for your partner, finally landing your eyes on his tiny figure. He was in the very back of the lunch line, scrolling through his phone, again. You took a deep breath, grabbing the polaroid and treading towards him. “Nishinoya, can I talk to you alone for a bit?” The boy’s eyes glanced towards you, before he cracked a fake grin. “Uh sure thing.” You pulled him out of the lunch line, guiding him to behind a random stairwell, leaning on the wall with the framed photo in hand.

“So, for our second anniversary, I made you this. I hope you like it.” Nishinoya froze, before his eyes widened, his mouth slowly opening. “I- I’m so sorry (Y/N), I completely forgot about this! Oh lord I’m so dumb oh god-” He stopped for a moment. This was the perfect opportunity to tell you. You two were finally alone, he could just get it done and over with. He thought about it a bit more. Would it be too much for you? He had already forgotten about you guys’ anniversary, whilst you made an effort to make him something. He decided against it. He would do it another day. “Yuu, it’s okay, Don’t worry about it. Just read the note when you get back. I gotta go eat now, see you around.” And with that, you made your way back to your table. NIshinoya’s heart clenched. He felt terrible. He really hid the fact that he was losing interest from you for months, whilst you continued to believe that he loved you with his whole heart. He stared at the polaroid in his hand. It was from when you two had your first date in a pink cafe. That was the first time he ever kissed you in public. Inside of the frame, was a piece of paper folded into a tiny square. That was the note you were talking about. He let out a heavy sigh, returning to the cafeteria as well.

The note was now in his hands, still folded in that neat square. When school ended, you didn’t wait for Nishinoya like you usually did. Instead, he saw you walk away with another friend, who was patting your back as you were hunched over slightly. His heart dropped. Thank the lords he decided not to tell you today. Polaroid frame in hand, he examined everything. Maybe there was some hidden message behind this. Maybe she wrote something on the back of the polaroid too, instead of just writing a note. He took a few minutes to just observe the framed photo, before giving up and shoving it back into his bag. There was nothing weird or suspicious about it. It was just a normal polaroid. He walked home alone, not waiting for Tanaka. He felt like absolute shit, head hanging low as he walked towards his house, hands in his pocket. The second he got to his room, he threw everything to the floor, scrambling for the framed polaroid and pulling out the untouched note. He opened the note up, to see a neatly written message. It wasn’t just a note, it was a whole letter.

Dear Yuu,

I expected this already, so don’t be sorry. I knew you were going to forget. You’ve changed, everyone could see. Because of that, there’s something I need to tell you.

I’m breaking it off here.

Nishinoya’s eyes widened as he gripped the paper tightly with his now shaky hands. “No way....”

I know you might be confused as to why I’m doing this. But hear me out. I can see that you’ve changed. For the past months you’ve been uninterested. You haven’t been like the old Yuu since New Year’s Eve.

I love you, I do, but I can’t bear to see you force yourself into continuing this facade. It’s been two years, this isn’t a surprise to me. I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay with me against your heart’s desire. I’d rather you be happy with the relationship. Please. Let’s just end it here. It was beautiful while it lasted, but now it’s just trauma for me. I hope this anniversary gift is good enough. Goodbye.

Love,

(Y/N)

Tears streamed down the boy’s face as he re-read the letter again. Nothing changed. You had said what you said and Nishinoya felt terrible. He should’ve known you would be able to read through him. He should’ve just told you from the start, instead of keeping it in like a coward. Putting the letter down, he grabbed his bag, and threw it across the room, letting it land to the ground with a thud as his laptop and his textbooks spilled out. “NISHINOYA YUU WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Ah, of course, it was his mom. “NISHINOYA STOP MAKING SO MUCH NOISE!” The short boy ignored her, continuing to let his anger out. He threw all the books from his shelf onto the wooden floor, ripped up pieces of homework, and threw the polaroid to the ground, jumping on it and cracking the glass. He wasn’t mad at you. He was frustrated with himself. He was furious at his own cowardice, that led to him breaking your heart. “Why? It shouldn’t have been like this! I should’ve apologised to her before any of this happened! We might’ve had a chance!”

He continued to massacre his bedroom, throwing everything at his wall and breaking anything he possibly could get his hands on. His legs felt tired from stomping and jumping and his arms ached from ripping everything. He fell back, landing on his ass as he cradled his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. He wanted to lie to himself. Tell himself there was nothing he could do about it. Convince himself that he had already tried his best.

But deep down, he knew that he just didn’t try hard enough, and now, the two years you guys spent together, where he loved every single minute of, was nothing but a beautiful trauma.

Tags:

@sunshines-and-tatertots @izzyphantomgamer @tokyoghoose @artsamber @trashcanweeb @inlwlevi @tiger1719 @mariechan123 @random-fandomlover @kaylacinderella @burnt-tomato @macaronnv @talks-a-lot-of-stuff @just-another-bored-writer @ewfilthymundane @agentvicinity

Comment or dm to be in taglist!!

Okay this is actually so bad I’m sorry idk I just hate this with a passion and I think it’s terrible but I hope you liked it🥺😔💕

References:

Beautiful Trauma lyrics on genius

Comments on the music video

My overanalysing brain

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu angst #haikyuu nishinoya #hq #hq x reader #hq angst #hq scenario #hq headcanons #hq nishinoya #nishinoya yuu #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya scenario #nishinoya angst #anime

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33skeletons · 4 years ago

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This is a list of all the people currently available

If this blog gains any real traction, I’ll add more... but until then, I don’t want to get too carried away until I’m 100% sure that the effort is worth it. I hope y’all understand

Name: Deydra Age: 18 Likes: ice cream, yaoi, drawing, roleplay dislikes: rude people, coffee, people putting words in her mouth, XP, Punk Bio: She’s in an open relationship with Scruff. she’s mute, but doesn’t know sign language, so she communicates via charades. She’s a low key perv, but tends to feign innocence.

Name: Friday Age: 22 Likes: flirting, coffee, making people flustered Dislikes: tea.... that stuff’s too mild, spicy food..... are you fucking insane!?! Bio: This tall drink of water is not for the feint of heart. He knows all the right buttons to push to reduce you to a blushing puddle. He has a goofy sense of humor and will often make a complete fool of himself just to make people at least crack an amused smile.

Name: Manga Age: 24 Likes: being pampered, the finer things in life Dislikes: getting dirty, being treated like a commoner Bio: This Miss Priss is a purebred with a pedigree. She believes herself to be an aristocrat and deems those of lower standard to be “plebian filth” and below her. Quick witted with a sharp tongue to boot, she’s not the nicest person to be around unless you can meet her high standards.... or give her a bottle of fancy ketchup. She has a weakness for tough guys that can match her mental capacity and hold intricate conversation with her.

Name: Punk Age: 32 Likes: What’s it to ya? Dislikes: Like you’d like ta know! Bio: he’s quite stand-off-ish and likes to keep people at arms length as much as he possibly can. He gets along with very few people and likes to shroud himself in mystery, the less you know, the better for him. He’s a wild card that enjoys throwing people for a loop at every turn.

Name: Scruff Age: 19 Likes: protecting Deydra, spicy food, tea, cuddles Dislikes: sushi, bone broth Bio: he and Deydra are in an open relationship. He cares more about Deydra than his own life. He’s a tad stand-off-ish towards anyone he doesn’t know. He tends to act as a translator for Deydra when someone doesn’t understand what she’s trying to say. All the scars on his face and his gold fangs are all from fighting to keep Deydra out of harm’s way. Wherever Deydra goes, Scruff is never very far.

Name: XP Age:15 Likes: destruction, being an asshole, getting what he wants Dislikes: being told no, having to be nice, things he destroys being fixed Bio: This edgy teen just wants the world to burn. He strives to hurt people any way he can and often ends up getting beaten senseless by Scruff when he targets Deydra. Being an Error Nightmare, he can use both Error strings and Nightmare tentacles to bring about destruction and pain, though he normally keeps the tentacles hidden as not to instantly rouse suspicion from his targets seeing as most actively avoid Nightmares, but are okay with Errors, though he can’t hide the goop that covers his right eye, which gives away his other half if anyone’s attentive enough to put two and two together in time

Name: Hokori Age: 23 Likes: food, blood, peanuts Dislikes:..... meh Bio: With his hood up, he appears to be a Dust Sans, but with his hood down it reveals a large gash in his skull and allows him to pass as your average Horror Sans. He’s volatile and unpredictable, but the fastest way to this skeleton’s proverbial heart is lots of food. He’s a bottomless pit with an insatiable apatite. If he’s out on a killing spree and has decided to target you, your best bet at escaping is to toss a handful of some kind of small, easily scattered snack such as peanuts. He’ll stop and start picking up and eating whatever you threw like James Woods from Family Guy. He’s also a bit of a perv once he’s deemed you not worth the energy of killing.

Name: Calibri (left) Age: 21 Likes: shredding sick riffs on her guitar, rapping, beating the snot out of assholes that need a checkup with karma Dislikes: Assholes, people calling her fat... I’m a queen with more curves than you know how to handle!!! get it right, fuckers!!! Bio: This badass, bodacious babe is one of Gears’s twin daughters. She’s got a sailor’s mouth with an alcohol tolerance to match. She’s hot-headed, but also mediates when her sister Chiller is too angry to see straight and starts edging too close to the line when putting her foot down. Calibri is sexy and she knows it with a ride or die attitude. She don’t need no man to take care of her, no sir! She’s perfectly capable of paying her own tab and fighting off a group of thugs that don’t know how to take no for an answer! She, her sister, and her mom can play Through The Fire And Flames on their guitars. Name: Chiller (right) Age: 21 Likes: playing guitar with her sister Calibri and mother Gears, reading Dungeons and Dragons books Dislikes: movie adaptations of books, live action adaptations of animations, assholes, being angry Bio: Chiller’s a badass babe in her own right. She survived being hooked up to a car battery and has the scars to prove it. She’s a lesbian and proud, and prefers taking on the dominant role in a relationship. Her pain tolerance is incredibly high. She enjoys hip hop, interpretive and break dancing, and is one heck of an archer with nearly dead shot aim. She’s normally stoic and very blunt with her words, preferring to only speak when necessary. She’s a natural born pack alpha.

Name: Sparkle Age: 41 Likes: anything sweet, bright colors, J-pop, K-pop Dislikes: anything bitter, having to get violent, seeing others get hurt Bio: she may look all sunshine and rainbows, but she can punch like a freight train and sometimes forgets her own strength. She suffers from hypoglycemia and has to keep sweets and candy on her person if she leaves the house, though she will gladly share them if you ask. She enjoys baking, and can often times be found doing just that out of boredom, not that anyone has been complaining. She may appear frail, but she can tank hits like a champ so long as said hits don’t come from a sharp object or gunshot. Her twin sister is Shade. She has a problem with producing more magic than her body can handle, so her sister comes in handy for that issue.

Name: Shade Age: 41 Likes: star gazing, dark colors, bitter and robust flavors, Evanescence (she knows all of their songs by heart) Dislikes: sweets, bright light, satanists Bio: Miss Doom And Gloom here is a wiccan highly skilled in her practice. She has the ability to leech magic from other monsters because she has no magic of her own to use, so she uses the magic of others, though mostly the excess magic her sister overproduces. She doesn’t enjoy getting her hands dirty in a fight,.... good thing she wears gloves! She’s rather soft spoken, but make no mistake, she has an outside voice and will not hesitate to use it if someone’s getting on her nerves. She mostly uses defensive magic to protect others, though she knows attack spells purely for the defense of herself and others should it be absolutely necessary. She also knows basic healing magic, though she can only heal minor injuries.

Name: Aiden Age: 40 Likes: pain, meat, grunge and screamo Dislikes: pop music, allergy season, Bio: This sharp toothed masochist ADORES pain, both receiving and inflicting. She got so mad once, she ruined her voice, so now she sounds like she smokes a pack a day. She’s very fast, agile, and super flexible since she’s double jointed EVERYWHERE!!! She has three rows of those razor teeth and a tongue which is so long it can act as an extra limb, which she enjoys showing off to freak people out via picking up objects such as cups, keys, pencils, and even going so far as to balance on it. She has very bad allergies, so she smells by flicking her tongue out like a reptile. Her spit and other bodily fluids are highly acidic. She’s normally chill, but it’s still obvious she’s a bit unhinged.

Name: Gears Age: 40 Likes: hot sauce, children, playing his acoustic guitar, working on cars, blacksmithing, learning new things Dislikes: sitting still for too long, sweets, water, cold, rude people, being alone Bio: Gears is a country boy that enjoys staying in top physical shape and keeping his hands and mind busy at every chance he gets. He’s just as strong as Sparkle, but slower. He has fire magic that when not fighting to keep others safe, he uses to forge metal as a freelance blacksmith. He carries a ridiculously enormous wrench forged from the hardest metal known to man that he uses as a melee weapon. Fire doesn’t harm him, but water sure as heck does (but he can drink things like koolaid and soda and be perfectly fine... just no water on it’s own or saline solution)!!! He bleeds ferrofluid, which he can manipulate, harden, and liquify at will as a last resort in a fight or to keep his injuries from deterring him too badly. He’s a bit of a himbo, but not as dumb... he just has his moments where “me brain am no werk so gud” and it’s evident when he starts having Freudian Slips in whatever he’s trying to say or his response to a question is “uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhm...... wait one...... run that by me again?”. Gears was around during the great human monster war, which in his AU the humans sealed them in the mountain, but chased them till they were backed against the barrier, but the monsters hit a massive stroke of good luck and managed to take back the underground with the help of Frisk. Being a war veteran that has seen things no one should ever have to, he suffers from PTSD. Gears has a soft spot for children, and will often babysit for others if they ask.

Name: Sketch Age: 40 Likes: drawing, painting, coloring, blood, sketching,..... what? Dislikes: ......... what were we talkin bout? Bio: Sketch is an unhinged scatterbrained clutz of an aspiring artist.... with a dark side. She’s a low-key sadist that’s developed a taste for blood. Once you piss her off, stopping her is like trying to stop the Doom Guy.... just... stay out of her warpath and pray to whoever you pray to that you’re not the one she’s storming towards. She’s a MASSIVE perv and will openly stare at whatever she sees that she likes a little too much, even known to get handsy when the person doesn’t take the hint. She often loses track of important things like her phone, keys, ect and loses her train of though every now and then or feigns it to skillfully dodge questions and conversations she’d rather not be having.

Name: Rave Age: 42 Likes: singing, dancing, fashion and most importantly BOOOOOOOYYYYYS~ Dislikes: ..... depends on the situation, really~ Bio: A flamboyantly gay vigilante is also a medic with powerful healing magic. Rave is fleet of foot and deathly quiet when sneaking up on someone and with enough stamina to outrun most of his targets. His weapon of choice is a glowstick staff. Wanna hear what he sounds like? Go to youtube and look up any nightcore male version of any Ke$ha song and that’s what he sounds like. Rave likes looking hot AF and can frequently be found rocking women’s punk, pop and grunge style clothing and looking damn good in it and some eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara. He prides himself in keeping himself as healthy and fit as he possibly can at all times. He unironically likes pumpkin spice anything, peppermint bark lattes, and kale chips.

Name: Dante Age: 42 Likes: children, Italian food, guns, cigars, wine, bourbon, being a wise guy mobster, Helping others.... so long as they help someone else in return that is.... sorta like.... paying for the person behind you in a drive thru where it starts a chain reaction of people paying for the next person’s meal..... little acts of kindness make the world go round, y’know.... and I’m a charitable man. Dislikes: rude people, having to go “Melancholy”, Bio: This Mafiatale Ganz (GZTale Sans) is the don of his own mafia that deal in guns, alcohol, and providing protection to those who come to him on the day of his sister's daughter's son's niece's nephew's grandmother's sister's wedding-..... pffffft hahaha!!! Just kidding! He has no blood relatives besides his brother Leon, but this group of people (everyone in the two pictures above this) are like.... illegitimate family.... adoptive you could say. Dante’s great with kids. He and Gears are the best at babysitting and often work together to help lost children find their families again when they’re out and about. Dante enjoys giving back to the community as much as he possibly can, even spending his free time doing volunteer work and donating funds to the city. When Dante gets a custom order on a gun, he has Gears forge it for him and focuses on the fine details, dip dying, engraving and making custom bullets to match.

Name: Anomaly Age: immortal, frozen at age 23 Likes: helping others, traveling to other AUs, fruity alcohol, karaoke, JAPANESE FOOD!!! Dislikes: spicy food, beer, celery, mushrooms, country music Bio: Anomaly has ben around for god knows how long. They are bigender. They have wings and horns (cause They’re a fallen angel) but prefers to hide them away. 40 years ago, they decided to create their own AU as a safe haven for anyone trying to escape danger, though danger seems to find their little safe haven more than they’d like to admit. It was around this time they discovered forgotten AUs and ones being destroyed or deleted and decided to try to rescue as many people from them as they could, bringing them back to populate their AU Crossroads, aptly named due to it being a meltingpot of the multiverse and still growing in size and population to this day. The 9 skeletons listed above were the first 9 they ever rescued and they became like their own kids. They’re a goofball, but make Them mad and you’ll feel their wrath! Skilled in a multitude of weapons and fighting styles, they’re a formidable force of nature. They can shift between male and female at will, though they prefer their female form due to them being able to fit in smaller spaces, being lighter weight, and being able to doe eye and bat their eyelashes out of most situations.... plus free drinks at the local bar on Thursdays.

Name: Eros Age: 19 Likes: long walks on the beach, cuddles, his family, oreos Dislikes: rainy days, confrontation (cause it makes people afraid of him) Bio: This 10ft tall, frightening behemoth is actually Aiden’s son! Out of all the second generation, he’s the youngest of the adults, but the most responsible of the four boys, often being the voice of reason amongst them, especially when it comes to the well being of children around his idiotic cousins Etch and Scribble and often being the one to get little ZJ to listen to what he’s told by telling him going to bed on time and eating vegetables will make him grow up big and strong like him. He’s actually a little on the shy side and very humble, only hamming things up around ZJ and other small children present. He suffers from early onset arthritis and has to take medication for it to keep his joints from locking up and grinding together, but he doesn’t let it hold him down. He and his uncle Gears work out together because it helps his aching bones and because Gears turns it into fun little challenges for him to keep him going with it instead of giving up.

Name: Etch Age: 21 (but a few months younger than Chiller and Calibri) Likes: mEmEs!!!, weed, being annoying, prank wars Dislikes: being forgotten, being ignored, pain (has a very low pain tolerance) Bio: One of Sketch’s sons and Scribble’s twin brother. He’s just very lonely and wants people to pay attention to him to stave off being alone for as long as he can... whether said attention is positive or negative. When no one pays attention to him or there’s no one to keep his thoughts from wandering to dark places, he steals his brother’s weed stash and gets high... which his brother hates because Etch could easily go to a doctor and get his own prescribed to him, but Etch fears the doctor’s office more than death and adamantly refuses to go, even hiding or running away at the mere mention of it. Etch tried to get a tattoo once.... he went into it screaming like a badass Viking, but before they could even roll up his sleeve to start, he ran out blubbering like a baby. He’s the most irresponsible one in the entire family and is always the one to cause major problems because of a bad idea he thought was good at the time. He ends up in bad situations a lot and finds himself with the wrong crowd more often than not, but lucky for him he has a family full of badasses that come to bail him out of any situation before he ends up hurt too badly.

Name: Scribble Age: 21 (but a few months younger than Chiller and Calibri) Likes: memes, weed, hanging around Etch, Eros and ZJ, cuddles Dislikes: when Etch steals his weed, when Etch gets into trouble, pain (another with very low pain tolerance, looky there! But he has literally no tolerance for pain.... he screamed when he got those piercings) Bio: Scribble suffers from anxiety and clinical depression and was prescribed marijuana to treat it. He and his brother were home schooled after freshman year of high school due to Etch pissing off the entire football team and them all ambushing the brothers in the locker room after gym class and um... let’s just say Etch got over it and Scribble still fears .....backdoor intimacy after what the football team did to them. Scribble is unable to protect himself and is a firm believer in pacifism. In times of battle, Scribble acts as a messenger, able to write notes in magic ink that can only be seen by it’s intended recipients. He normally just rolls with whatever Etch is doing or does what he’s told to avoid a conflict.

Name: Spritle Age: 20 Likes: Cheesy romance, dark humor and morbid jokes, rainy days Dislikes: removing her death touch nullifying necklace, people sexualizing her right off the bat, people underestimating her because of her appearance Bio: This brightly colored reaper girl is one of Sparkle’s daughters. She prefers to blend into the background and not be the center of attention if she can help it. Yes, her freckles are rainbow colors. She’s more on the proper side like her aunt Shade and enjoys a relationship if it’s not centered around perversion. She’d rather spend the day cuddled up on the couch watching disney movies, eating pizza and sharing a drink with two straws. She really likes nostalgic and retro things like 50′s diners and drive in movies. If you’re with her and intend on asking her out, doing old school gestures like laying your jacket over a puddle so she won’t step in it is the quickest way to win her over.

Name: Pixie Age: 19 Likes: when any guy is interested in her, when soon to be reaped souls try to run from her sister (It gives her something to do), sushi Dislikes: When people think she’s a child because of her nearly flat chest and high pitches voice, How her big sister has a bigger bust than her (Sprilte: Hey, if I could switch with you, I would! These things hurt my back!) Bio: Sparkle’s youngest daughter. Her father was an ErrorFellSwap Papyrus. She works with her sister as a chaser. Her job is to chase after, disarm and detain souls that refuse to be reaped when their time comes via trying to fight death or outrun it and thus trying to fight/run away from Spritle. Pixie is the first ever chaser on record and was the one who proposed the idea to the reaper council to keep reapers from tearing their bodies up to do their job. Chasers can be identified by a little white cross on their clothing or accessories and are required to be fast runners and ferocious fighters. Pixie has the speed and ferocity of a FellSwap Papyrus and is able to use her error strings to easily take weapons from your hands and tie you up to await the cold bite of Spritle’s scythe or claw blades. Pixie enjoys puzzles, her favorite being rubix cubes.

Name: ZJ Age: 4 Likes: coloring, playing outside, hanging out with the older boys, spending time with uncle Gears and uncle Dante, when his momma reads to him, hide and seek, COOKIES, CAKE AND CANDY!!! Dislikes: When people are mean and hurt others, vegetables, bed time Bio: Shade’s adopted son. ZJ is shy, yet a hyperactive ball of energy that likes to hang around with Etch, Scribble, and Eros. He has wisdom beyond his years thanks to his mother reading college level literature as his bedtime stories, but he has trouble articulating his words from the first three years of his life being spent with everyone baby talking him. When he doesn’t know how to respond to something, he just reacts by screaming “I DUNNO WHAT’S GOIN ON!!!” the same happens when he gets overwhelmed, but it’s accompanied by him hiding behind the nearest trusted adult.

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m-oana-archive · 5 years ago

Text

A Love Too Heavy (For Just One To Hold) pt. 1

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader x Remus Lupin

Words: 2,461

Summary: After pining after Y/N for years, Sirius finally gets the girl: the happy ending the story is supposed to end with. The only problem is the fact Sirius' feelings for Remus still haven't seemed to go away. But he isn't the only one starting to question their ability to love two people at the same time.

requested by @shinysilverunicorn-blog | read on AO3 | Masterlist

Sirius’ POV

Spring was full and bright all around Hogwarts. The chirp of birds rhythmically punctuated the soft breezes that tossed up ponytails and rustled seeds off of daffodils. While most of the students in the courtyard were staring at all of these beauties of early April, Sirius was busy studying the light breathing of his girlfriend’s breathing while she slept, head resting on his leg.

Y/N was undeniably beautiful, even without the fascinating contrast of light and shadow passing over her face from the evermoving clouds in the sky. Sirius noticed it the first moment he saw her. Despite the crowd of students at the Sorting Ceremony and the grandeur of the Great Hall, the thing Sirius couldn’t keep his eyes off of was a girl who was sorted into Slytherin. It was enough to make him upset to have been sorted into Gryffindor; luckily, his new friends were rewarded enough for being covered in gold and red.

Hogwarts was just large enough that Sirius’ path never truly crossed with Y/N’s during first year, but just small enough that he’d see her across courtyards or libraries: a rude reawakening of his crush. He pushed it off, learning about his roommates instead; Peter had never been out of the country, Remus had a big appetite for chocolate, James really did need his glasses, Remus always put his right shoe on before his left, Peter talked in his sleep and James tossed and turned in his, Remus had read every book known to man, James loved puns, Remus liked sly remarks (and was good at making them), Peter preferred biking places, and Remus drank most everything out of his assortment of mugs.

It wasn’t until second year that Remus had class with Y/N: herbology. Never did he think he’d enjoy plants so much, but he entered the greenhouse skipping. While he was slow to break the house pride divide, when it was first demanded that the students find partners from another house “to learn how to cooperate with people that have different strengths,” Sirius was quick to find an open spot by Y/N’s side.

“Finally,” she said. “I’ve caught you staring at me before. I’ve been wondering if I resemble some second cousin of yours that got kicked out of the family for something.”

“No. You’re far too pretty to be mistaken for poor old Wilbur.”

She brushed off the compliment: “That sounds like a pig’s name.” But she was blushing.

“Why do you think he got kicked out? He was a pig!”

The grin that formed during the exchange lasted for the rest of the day.

“Mate, you better be careful,” James warned at dinner, the chicken dangling out of his mouth wildly contradicting his tone. “You don’t want to seem too eager.”

Sirius’ eyes darted from Y/N to James. “Me? Too eager? What, have I turned into a mirror?”

Peter sniggered; Remus shot a secret smile Sirius’ way, the one that meant good job, you amused me. “What’s that supposed to mean,” James whined.

“Have you seen yourself around you-know-who?”

“I thought we agreed to call her she-who-must-not-be-named. It’s much more mysterious.”

“We could call her by her name if you had the guts to go after her,” Remus added nonchalantly. Sirius looked at him to give him the same smile of appreciation Sirius had gotten but moments earlier.

“It’s my safety feature,” James said. “If I had balls, I’d be irresistible.”

Peter almost choked on his potatoes. Which were mashed.

“Well I do have balls,” Sirius argued. “So I am irresistible.”

And irresistible he was. Sirius wasn’t sure what exactly it was: the “don’t give two fucks” demeanor, the fact he was an extremely amateur electric guitarist, his perpetually unlaced combat boots, or the fact he had a naturally flirtatious personality (he even flirted with James and Peter for fun), but people batted eyelashes and bit lips and blushed up their necks. By year four, Sirius realized he could almost get anything by calling someone “love” or “darling” in the right way. Essays were written and proofread, reading was skimmed then recapped, Butterbeer was sent to tables free of charge. By year five, Sirius found that some first-years were betting on which of them could get Sirius to ask them out. By year six, it seemed as though Sirius had all of Hogwarts under his finger.

Except, of course, Y/N. When Sirius would widen his eyes and part his lips in pleading, Y/N would just shove the parchment, quills, and ink back into his lap.

“I have my own work to do, Sirius,” Y/N scolded, burying her head back into her textbook. “If you do it with me, like Rem, I’ll help and discuss. But I’m not going to risk my grade for you.”

Sirius grinned, hiding the fact his stomach turned at Remus’ name. At Remus’ lack of acknowledgment of the compliment; he was sitting next to Y/N, also engrossed in reading, not nearly happy enough to be wanted by someone as amazing as her. He had to clear his throat to ask, “Am I really not worth the risk?”

Without taking a beat to pause, she responded, “Not really, considering I already have all of your attention, anyways.” Remus looked up at that comment, staring at Sirius with a smirk. Sirius gave him an obviously fake smile, teeth gritted and eyes dark, which automatically disintegrated when Remus threw a spare quill at him.

Sirius’ frustration wasn’t momentary; Y/N’s words were like a spell stuck in his head, floating around, never settling. It was true: although she was a constant presence in his daily life, Y/N quipped and quarreled with him like she was James or Peter. Was it because he would give her more of his hours than a day could provide? Because he’d so obviously drop anything to help her without any explanation needed? Because, even after so many years and so many beautiful people with lovely souls and smiles, Sirius would still choose her, each and every time?

Was his ardent desire the one thing pushing her away?

Sleep was futile after that comment, leaving Sirius tossing around his bed like a hurricane. His mattress creaked below him with every overexaggerated movement. After about half an hour of this, a shadow formed above his tired—but sleepless—eyes. Sirius opened them to Remus standing there, coat on over his pyjamas.

“Sneak out with me?” he grinned.

“But of course.”

They took the invisibility cloak and went to Black Lake, their usual spot. The cold air helped numb Sirius’ aching tiredness, beginning to match his energy level with his inability to sleep. Even when he sat down on dewy grass next to Remus, he felt endlessly more awake.

“You kept moving in your bed,” Remus said, looking straight out towards the lake. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Yes, Sirius’ insides gasped. Yes, because you’re a good listener and my best friend.

Outwardly, Sirius matched Remus’ indifference. “You don’t want to know.”

Remus looked at him. But it felt more like through him, through his flesh and bones, to the heart pumping and beating and quaking. “What do you know about what I want?”

Remus’ eyes looked like the lake they were sitting in front of: deep, beautiful, dancing with the glittery reflection of starlight. Suddenly, Sirius was aware of how close they were sitting to one another. Suddenly, his heart wasn’t only beating and pumping and quaking, but skipping beats.

Because, if Sirius was being honest with himself, there wasn’t always only one person. Of course, Y/N caught his eye first, but seeing her was a rare phenomenon at first, only becoming a constant enough to be a reason for Sirius to wake up everyday during third year. But since the beginning there was Remus Lupin. Remus, who had a big appetite for chocolate, always put his right shoe on before his left, had read every book known to man, liked sly remarks and was good at making them, and drank most everything out of his assortment of mugs. Remus, who had a talent for making him feel happy, be it through a crude joke or a secret smile or a quill to the head.

Remus, who he had been this close to kissing before. At some party in fourth year, when everyone was too young to have alcohol but still acted drunk, and people were playing spin the bottle. On his turn, he spun, and the neck of the bottle missed Remus by something Sirius had naively labeled “luck.”

“It’s a pity,” Remus teased. “I’d be a good snog, you know.”

Now, almost three years later, Sirius was finally ready to believe him.

But, in fear of wanting too much, too many, two, Sirius turned away. “I know what I want,” he lied, stupidly, desperately, painfully.

Not wanting to have ruined his friendship for nothing, the next day, he found Y/N and asked her to Hogsmeade that weekend.

“With James and Peter and Rem—”

“No,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “Just the two of us.”

“Oh.”

“Listen, I don’t know what you think about how I’ve treated you for the past few years, but God, Y/N, I just… I’ve liked you so much since the moment we met. And I just didn’t know how to act around you except being my normal arsehole self—which is no excuse to have been an arse, I know— but you just always… you’ve never let me catch up to how I feel about you.”

Y/N was laughing. Was this just some sick joke to her? Sirius went to open his mouth again, but before he could, she was saying, “I guess that’s better than hiding it in a diary and pretending it's not real.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Wait. You can’t… do you really feel the same?”

“Sirius, you are a massive—” Y/N said, while taking his hand in hers, “—absolute, oblivious, fool. Why would anyone hang out with you willingly if they weren’t totally weak for you?”

Sirius laughed. Part of it was joy that he got to squeeze Y/N’s hand in his, feel it, hold it, support it. But part of it was false; for, that statement could apply to Y/N as much as it could apply to Remus.

Now, a few months later, Sirius and Y/N had had their first date, first kiss, first night together, full of writhing and gasping and “I love you’s” mouthed directly onto skin. Every time he looked at her, he still saw her as the breathtaking girl across the dining hall at the Sorting Ceremony, as tough his eyes were time capsules incapable of encapsulating the beauty of what they held. Maybe he kept her at a distance subconsciously. Maybe it was because he knew he wasn’t ready for the kind of relationship he wanted to have with her. Or maybe, he knew having her love would feel too real to fathom, too large to hold, and he couldn’t manage to make himself do it until there were no other options than to get past the fear and learn to carry the love he used to secrete.

Even while looking at her now, he was in awe.

Even while looking at her now, he couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if he had kissed Remus the night before.

Perhaps things would be less tense now; the dorm room would be wordless if it weren’t for James’ nonsensical but necessary blabber and Peter’s desire to talk whenever an awkward silence broke. Perhaps it would be as loud as it used to be (if not louder, for obvious reasons) if Sirius hadn’t so obviously turned himself away from something he wasn’t against as much as afraid of. Perhaps, more than the kiss itself, Sirius now longed for a bit of normalcy, wishing he could have both the girl of his dreams and his best friend. Be it in the same way, in different ways…

Sirius was so deep in thought he didn’t realize he was staring across the courtyard with narrowed eyes and that Y/N had wordlessly awoken from her slumber. Both of these realizations happened at once, when Sirius felt a touch to the bridge of his nose that didn’t come from his own fingers.

He looked down to a Y/N happy enough to be faking a pout. “What’s that for?” she asked, referencing the furrow between his brow she had helped calm.

Sirius sighed. His hand rose to lift Y/N’s finger off of his face, directing it to slip into the crooks between his fingers instead. Despite the apparent intimacy of the gesture, Sirius was removed; if he felt more comfortable, his eyes would meet Y/N’s, which they couldn’t do. “I just feel… I don’t know why, Y/N, but I really think, for some reason, Moony’s angry with me.”

“Oh.” Now the frown was real. “Do you really not know why, or is this one of those ‘I don’t want to admit I did something wrong’ moments?”

“Come again?”

Y/N sat up, making it more difficult to avoid her eyes. “I just feel like you both know one another awfully well for you to not know how you could make the other mad.”

“I guess,” Sirius blew out a breath, “We, um, argued… and both took it more seriously than we needed to. Now neither of us will crack first.” It wasn’t far from the truth: both of them had taken that moment with immense weight in the way it shifted the dynamic of their relationship, and now, neither of them wanted to bring it up to the other.

“You’re both mature enough to have that conversation,” Y/N complimented.

“Yeah. I just think he’s not done cooling down from it. I don’t want to push him again too soon.” Again, not far from the truth. But it was still a lie. A second lie, which worried Sirius in the ease of its formulation and distribution.

“Well, I’m headed to study with him now. So if you want, I can ask some not-very-sly-because-they’re-far-too-pointed questions.”

Sirius finally met Y/N’s eyes; now, it was she who was wearing a tense brow. Sirius echoed her previous movement to relax the spot before kissing it. “Would you do that for me?”

“But of course,” Y/N smiled, standing up. She collected a few things from the ground: her cardigan, her bookbag, a dandelion. She held it up to Sirius’ mouth. “Wish me luck?”

Sirius blew and watched the seeds dance around him. But, if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t quite sure what he was wishing for.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥

Pt. 2 NOW AVAILABLE! read here

⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @siriuslyimmoony @astertist @who-cares-unknown @neewtmas @sjriusblck @boring-viola @moonlitdiggory @gryffndor @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy @the-apple-princess @sly-vixen-up2nogood @bluemadcnna @lonelyheart-jadedsoul @starlitfawkes @swellwriting @young7711 @fandomsxo @kar-loves-you @some-blondes-unicorn @bethanystan @starlitfawkes @jamcspotters @siriusoricns @swellwriting

#mine #writing #moonlit members #carlysfamily #sirius x reader #remus x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x remus lupin #remus lupin x sirius black #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #remus x sirius x reader #sirius x remus x reader #reader x remus x sirius #reader x sirius x remus #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction

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crispturquoisewater · 4 years ago

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This blog begins where the end of my journey should have been, but instead, it looks evermore likely, and evermore hauntingly, like it is in fact, just the beginning.

I had imagined that after four months of brutal illness, a multitude of infections, and endless other issues, that the turning of the new year would entail a welcome wave of freedom from hospital, god-awful doctors, and the hell that I had been staggering through in order to try and get better. Instead, the New Year has brought new challenges, the continuation of unreseolved illnesses, and even worse, a hightened sense of arrogance and narcissism from certain doctors that make this journey utterly unbearable.

Whilst writing this first post, I am passing an astonishing amount of blood, my back hurts, my bones feel like they’re broken they’re so painful, my feet are swollen and hard to walk on, and despite all of this, my doctor will not refer me to a nephrologist because it is “not his job”. I shall come to explain.

You wonder; when doctors took an oath to act within their patient’s best interest at all times, did they ever intend to adhere to that? Did they start off well and distend into a world of atrocity and cruel narcissism, acquiring a raw sense of vulgarity along the way? Either way, his leaving me to get sicker, in order to prove a point, is abhorrent and negligent.

Here’s what happened this week...

About 6 months ago, I started peeing large amounts of blood. Sometimes the urine sample would show infection, sometimes it wouldn’t. I got treated over 8 times with antibiotics, but after three months of repeated bloody urine, agonising pain in my back, swollen feet and a distended belly (in my opinion everything pointed to issues with my kidneys), and no infection showing, I told the surgery that I thought it was time that I was referred to a specialist - because constantly pissing blood is surely not normal. It’s beggars belief that after months of bleeding my doctors’ didn’t take the initiative to refer me themselves or even try to look into the issue further - instead of keep sending the sample off for cytology and getting the same results.

I got referred to Urology - even though the symptoms suggested it was my kidneys and the doctor actually asked if I had ever seen a nephrologist, they only referred me to urology - and after being throughly checked, the urology consultant sent a letter to my surgery and asked the GP to please refer me to nephrology, because the bleeding is clearly not right but is not coming from my bladder.

What happened next is, to say the least, astounding.

After spending a morning in hospital earlier this week (as many days are spent, now), the blood results showed that my white bloods, neutrophils and inflammation markers had raised from bloods taken 10 days before (I was in hospital for a ten-day follow-up because the week before I had developed a bad rash from new drugs I am taking for adrenal insufficiency). I said to the ER doctor that I had started passing loads of blood again that day (it comes and goes), and asked him to do a dip-test. He refused. He said that he didn’t want to give me more antibiotics and therefore, he didn’t want to test the urine to see if there was an infection. 🥴I don’t want anymore drugs. In fact, at this point, I think it’s probably dangerous to give me more antibiotics when they’re clearly not working. But surely, it’s not right for me to be passing so much blood and for the doctor to not even acknowledge it or try to find out what is going on. In fact, he didn’t even mention it in his discharge letter. I was happy not to spend any longer in hospital, but I left feeling slightly confused and, yet again, defeated. I find it bizarre that my bloods are showing an infection, along with bleeding profusely and yet I am told it is normal. I hate to dispute it, but I raised my questions, was told that the rise in bloods were due to my drugs (even though through multiple infections my inflammation markers have never risen and I know it isn’t my drugs because my dose has gone down, now up), and left.

If there is one way that this horrendous period of illness has made me feel, it’s defeated. As well as a feeling of being gagged and silenced and as though I could be screaming into the abyss, telling the doctors what is wrong, whilst being patted on the head, with a derisive smirk plastered across their faces, as they snigger and repeat, ‘there, there’. It’s been emotionally, physically and psychology horrendous.

After my midweek morning in hospital, I spoke to my GP that afternoon. I needed to ask him to make the referral to the nephrologist, as requested by the urologist in the letter. Nothing is ever done off the surgery’s own backs - even blood results that require attention takes for the patient to call up and prompt them to be looked at. I had called earlier in the week to ask for the referral to be made to the same hospital that I had been seen at for Urology, but I was told by the secretary that I would have to speak to a doctor for the referral to be made. Queue the 8am rush, and over 100 phone calls to try and get an appointment.

So, after three days, on the afternoon of the morning I had spent in hospital, my GP called me. Immediately, his tight, clipped tone was ready to bite. I explained that the Urologist had asked the surgery to refer me to nephrology in the letter and asked for the referral to be made. However, before I could finish my sentence, he told me that there was no letter on the system. He clearly had not looked. I explained that there was definitely a letter on the system because I get a copy and the secretary had printed their copy two days before, on the Monday. He looked again and miraculously, he found it, but not without making comment that it was in the “wrong” format. Of course, that was the reason.

I sat quietly whilst he read. And then, with an outraged scoff, he angrily spat that the referral should have been made internally and that it was solely down to “abject laziness” from the hospital that it had not been done. He told me that it was not his job to do it and, despite me bleeding heavily from what looks to be my kidneys, being in excruciating pain and feeling very sick, he told me that he would send the letter back to Urology and tell them to do it themselves. I was dumbfounded. But as ever, as with many who have had to undertake the constant battle of dealing with doctors through complex illness might be familiar with, I had to be the one to keep the cool head and stay calm.

I told him that when I had the conversation with my urology consultant, that she said it was for the surgery to make the referral, so I understood it was for them to do. He replied “absolutely not” before accusing the hospital of “workload shifting” and telling me that patients “choose to believe” that it is for the surgery to make the referral to another specialist. As it stands, I’m pretty sure that when one specialist has finished with you, the discharge letter has to come back to the surgery and the surgery has to be the coordinator, to refer you to the next specialist. But my GP was adamant that the hospital was lazy and useless and that they were the cause of any delay I might suffer.

Given how ill I have been, the amount I have been through, being immunosuppressed and any infection potentially being critical, I was flabbergasted that he was refusing to make the referral because he wanted to prove a point. I explained that whilst the two (the hospital and the surgery) disagreed, I was the one stuck in the middle whilst getting more sick. He said “I know” but told me that they had to learn to do it right.

I emailed the hospital the next morning, telling them his opinion and begging them to please make the referral. I followed up this email with a phone call on Friday morning, but as yet, have heard nothing. It’s always such a battle, and that, along with the already horrendous and draining existence of illness and constant hospital, makes everything so much worse. Multiple times I have told the surgery I am struggling with the stress of all of this, but despite offering help, or even acknowledging my concerns, they continue to play me like the ball against their two bats.

It’s Saturday evening and I am bleeding so heavily that I’m having to wear a sanitary as if I’m on a period. I feel sick. I’m in pain. And I have absolutely no idea where to turn anymore. Family have told me to go to ER but they will simply tell me that I’m waiting to see a specialist, which, currently I’m not because the referral hasn’t even been made.

The day after speaking to that GP, I spoke to another one. I told him that I needed my urine dipped. I handed in my blood-drenched urine and got told there was no infection but that it would be sent away to cytology anyway, just in case. I wonder what the protocol for these doctors is, when a young female patient is bleeding continuously, at times of no infection, with raised white blood counts and inflammation markers? Because all I am being faced with, is silence. I don’t even have the confidence to go to hospital anymore, because I feel as though I will be ignored.

And so, I am sitting here, desperate for the bleeding and pain to stop, but with no idea how.

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wincestisasincest · 6 years ago

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2000 Man (A beatle!reader story) - Part 2: The Rainbow Diet

Y’all, this one got angsty. Sorry I have a lot of feelings about this topic, I promise promise promise the next one will be fluffy. I was thinking like, one angst, one fluff, one in between, I don’t know. This one has a happy ending, though, so not too much angst. Also this one is mad long. Also maybe the next one will have more stuff with John, though I must admit I am a little terrified of writing him, but oh well.

Also also also thanks to everyone for all the love this first part got.

Again, credit to @casafrass for everything. For every part of the story I will list the headcanons that were inspired by their blog.

Description: It’s the year 2000, and y/n, the fifth member of the Beatles, is advertising her new book, Madam Beatle, in her first interview of the year. We see snapshots of her life, from when she joined the band, to the trials and tribulations, to the death of the band, and everything in between. Loosely inspired by Slumdog Millionaire.

Part: 1, 2

Words: 5,336

Headcanons: I don’t use any as the main piece here, but here are hints of how close she is with the girlfriends/wives of the Beatles

Pairings: None, just fluff and friendship, though you can read it through the lens of a pairing if you want

Warnings: Eating disorders, crude language (but y’all knew that)

“Now, y/n, I understand that, especially when you were in the Beatles, there weren’t a lot of women in your business, and that particular business was very cruel to the women who were in it. Is there any discussion of that in this book?”

“I mean, the book is my story, so far, and the way that the music business treats women is a very important part of my story, and the way that my identity was determined, especially in the era that you discussed, so there is a lot of that in there.”

“Would you like to give us a little preview of some of the issues discussed?”

“Well, it’s pretty standard fare, honestly, and a lot of the issues that we discuss in the book are some that are still being discussed today. How women are sexualized, the ‘ideal’ female body, and unrealistic standards for the rest of the world to follow.”

“Hm. That is surprisingly relevant to the modern conversation, and I look forward to seeing how you can expand on them.”

“Well, thank you, though I wouldn’t really call it in ‘expansion’. I don’t have anything deep to say, it’s honestly just my experience and my own reflections about what these sorts of things can do to people. Though, yes, I still think it is something that today’s youth could relate to.”

You wanted to throw up. Or die. Or something. Anything other than stand on two feet and face the world. You’d run out of barbiturate, and you thought that it would be okay, and that you were tough enough, or something like that, but you weren’t. You were weak, and now you were going to be punished.

It would be at least a week before you could refill your barbiturate, but you couldn’t just stop with the amphetamine. That would make everything worse. Perhaps you could charm the pharmacist or something.

You told yourself to calm down. Just deep breaths. Get through the day, then it’ll be over tonight, when you sleep. Deep breaths.

The vomit was creeping up the back of your throat. Fine, breath through your nose. The minute you started talking with someone, you would forget about it. Everything would be normal.

The car stopped. You stepped out, your knees wobbling, the guitar case you held in your hands not helping one bit. You just prayed that the lads wouldn’t notice. They definitely already suspected something, but nothing as horrible as this. Hell, you hardly expected yourself to have come to this. And, yet, here you were, in the supposed prime of your life, wanting nothing more than for the whole thing to be over.

Your head had a heartbeat.

You pushed the door open, and noticed that your hand was sweating. This session was just 5 hours. 5 hours, that’s 5 individual hours, each hour is 6 individual periods of 10 minutes, so really it was only 10 minutes.

“Y/n! Pattie made us food!” Ringo had seen you enter. The entire group was sat around the table, munching on sandwiches, and fruit, and a whole bunch of other lunch supplements that would’ve looked appetizing to any normal person, but only made you feel slightly queasy.

“How lovely. Are you sure it wasn’t all for George?” John, Paul, and Ringo chuckled, though George was too busy eating to notice what you said.

“Come and get some, before the rest get here.” Paul patted the seat next to him.

“Thanks, though I’m afraid I’m not hungry.” You set your guitar down next to the rest and peered into the sound booth. There was always a fan in there, and it was right next to the bathroom.

“You’re never hungry, anymore. Remember when you used to bring food to sessions? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to be,” George paused in a fake grimace, “Healthy.”

“And what if I am?”

“It’s just, I remember, when you first joined the band, and you and I would always be the ones who would order everything on the menu and still be skinny as a rail the next day. I feel abandoned, is all.” His expression of mock-hurt put you very slightly at ease. Slightly.

“I recall you two used to have contests to see who could down the most by the end of the night. Though we never really did get a winner.” Paul interjected between bites.

“See! So what do you say, y/n, for old time’s sake? Pattie made your favorite, y’know, the American-style BLT.” George really wasn’t going to make this easy for you.

“Perhaps a small bite, though I really must use the loo first.” You weren’t lying. You really did have to throw up.

“Coward.” Ringo called after you. You didn’t even turn around with a comeback, you just fled straight to the bathroom and carefully shut the door behind you, before vomiting in the toilet.

You had recently developed a phobia of vomiting, just because you were so familiar with how terrible it was. And, yet, at the same time, you were so used to the sensation. Even with the barbiturate suppressing some of the side effects of the main pills, nausea was common for any amphetamine of the time. Just a small price to pay in order to keep your appetite at bay. You hadn’t eaten in a day and a half, which was one of your longest, and you knew that you would have to break it eventually, you just didn’t want to do it in front of them.

You would have to eat slowly, wait until they all got bored, and then throw it out. No disrespect to Pattie, of course, but you really couldn’t stand to eat anything more than a few morsels without your body acting up.

You stopped your vomiting, and sat on the ground for a bit, just taking in how pathetic you had become.

“Y/n can’t-” you heard Paul say your name from outside the door. No point in not eavesdropping, they should know these walls are as thin as paper by this point.

“She’s as skinny as a rail. I thought the girl was tiny when we first met her, but it seems that in the last few months she’s just become nothing but skin and bones.” Oh, Ringo, you have no idea.

“I just don’t understand.” George was a part of this conversation. Ironic.

“I just don’t understand why you all are at some Machiavellian shit to get her to eat. Just tell it to ‘er face. She deserves to know what we think.” John was never one for beating around the bush.

“You know she hates people telling her what to do.” Paul loved treating you like a child, though you couldn’t help but admit that he was right. They all just didn’t understand.

“She’s a bloody adult, and one that we all have a hell of a lot of respect for, yeah? I mean, we’ve known her for how many years, now? Just tell her what’s goin’ on.” Thanks, John, though that could never get you to stop.

“And what are we supposed to say? Hey, slowly destroying yourself to succeed at something that you’re already really good at isn’t going to work out in the long run.”

“Why, yes, Paulie, that’s exactly what you say.”

“No, no, you two, you’ve both got it wrong, you have to-” You cut George off as you opened the bathroom door, feeling a little better now that you got all the crap out of your stomach. Just act like you didn’t hear them.

You sat down at the table. The air was tense. You took the sandwich. It smelled really damn good. Too bad you weren’t hungry in the slightest. You took a small bite.

“That’s it.” John stood up and slammed his hands on the table, startling everyone around him.

“Now, the y/n I know may have the willpower to turn down food due to some bullshit, and of course, the y/n I know would turn it down with the same attitude that she always has. The y/n I know is absolutely smart enough to be conscious of how the media treat a women’s appearance. The y/n I know is one of the smartest goddamn people in the world, especially when it comes to that. But, the y/n I know would never overhear people talking about her behind her back and then come back, sit down all innocent-like, and pretend that she didn’t know what was going on.”

You gently folded your hands on your lap. Of course John knew you were listening. What an asshole.

“Y/n, he’s right, what the hell has been going on with you? Every time I see you now you seem like a skeleton, and your eyes, they have those, those shadows under them, and you always seem sick or something, and I don’t-”

“What Paul and John are trying to say,” George put a hand on Paul’s elbow, “Is that you’re clearly not well, y/n, and you haven’t been for a while. And we got concerned.”

“Concerned? Is that what that emotion is?” You could feel your face getting red. You had been exposed, sure, but you sure as well wouldn’t let yourself seem any weaker. Even if you felt nauseous again.

“Oh, don’t give us any of that bullshit. You’re not angry at us, you’re angry at yourself, and you’re just mad because we’re goddamn right.” John’s words stung, but of course he would know that, the damn hypocrite.

“John, I don’t think-” Ringo, bless him, didn’t know how to handle any of this arguing right now, though he was going to try his best.

“While I wouldn’t have said it that way, I’d have to agree with John on this one, y/n. There’s no point in lashing out.” George was so gentle. You couldn’t be mad at George.

“Yeah, well fuck you. I’m gonna do it anyway.”

Why the hell did you decide to stand up. You were way shorter than all of them anyway, it didn’t help your case, and you just felt weaker. You looked at them, and had a brief moment of reconsideration. Even John was preparing for the tirade.

“You all don’t know shit about me, you don’t know shit about my life, you know fuck all. And even if you think you do, guess what, ya cunts. You’re not me. I will do whatever I damn please and as long as I keep goddamn contributing and doing my job, you all can’t really say shit about it, can you? I don’t care what you all think about me, I’m just here to record this goddamn album, and go home.” Your throat felt ripped, the same way that it felt after you absolutely belted out a note on a record. Thankfully, you didn’t plan on saying anything else.

“Well, guess what, then. You’re not gonna do shit until you decide to get yourself together, yeah?” Paul was standing now.

“What the hell are you talking about, McCartney?” Everyone was standing now, George and Ringo were looking at you with concern, and a hint of sadness, both of them ready to interject if any of this went too far, and John with his stoic, unforgiving look that could kill.

“Y/n l/n, you are to go home until you’ve decided to stop killing yourself.” Paul was firm and resolute, which was honestly a rare trait for him. As someone who so desperately wanted to be liked by everyone he met, everything he said seemed as though it could be changed at any minute in order to please the person before him.

“I’m not a child, Paul.” You sounded an awful lot like a child.

“No, you’re not, and that’s why we’re gonna do this democratically. All in favor of giving y/n some leave?” John raised his hand as he spoke, Paul immediately after he finished, and slowly, George and Ringo followed.

“Alright, fine.” You turned and left without another word, leaving your guitar behind. You didn’t want them to see you cry, though your face already began to feel numb, and you could feel a single tear slide down your left cheek. You bumped into Mal on your way out the door.

“Morning, y/n. Hey, are you al-”

“I’m fine, Mal. Just a little unwell. Heading home for the day.” You pushed past before he could say anything else.

Mal headed into the main room. The lads were already cleaning up, all perfectly silent.

“Is y/n okay?” Mal was always better than the four of them at emotions, especially after they’d had their meteoric rise to fame. He’d always been grounded.

“No, she really isn’t, Mal. And I don’t know if she will be for a long time.” Ringo said, refusing to look him in the eye.

“Oh, come off it, Rings, you know it had to be done.” Paul was cooling down, his temper flaring up had even surprised him a little bit.

“You didn’t have to be quite that harsh, did ya?”

“Well, what was I suppose to do, then? You know her, she would’ve never accepted our resolution otherwise.”

“She’s a tough one, I’ll admit that,” George interjected, “But there might’ve been an alternative. She’s definitely gonna go home feeling a lot worse.”

“As she should,” John’s movements had become a lot sharper and more direct, as he too was trying to control his temper, “She’s fucked up, she has, and she has to feel shitty enough to make the decision to get herself better.”

“Perhaps y/n finally let the media get to her,” Mal piped up, “I mean, she used to vent to me all the time about how all the newspapers and stuff were designed specifically to make women feel inadequate. I’d think her, as a woman in the public sphere, finally let it get to her head or something. You know how birds are. Either way, it’s a little harsh to say she ‘fucked up.’“ Mal was helping them throw the food out, ever their wise companion.

“Maybe you’re right, Mal. But the fact is, she isn’t just hurting herself anymore. She’s hurting everyone around her.” John Lennon would never, ever, go soft, but damn if he wasn’t very close right there.

“Well, then, you’ve got to tell her that, haven’t you?” Just as soon as he came, Mal was gone, behind the sound booth, leaving them all to stare at each other once more.

“Well, then, lads, should we get started?” Paul peered at his bandmates.

“I don’t know what you’re on about, Paul, we’re gonna need y/n to record today.” Ringo never liked being a know-it-all, but he also didn’t like pretending that nothing was wrong.

“I know, Rings, but I really don’t know where to go from here.” Paul sighed.

“I think, perhaps, we should all spend a little time at home.” George needed to lie down.

“I hate to say it, but Georgie is right. Let’s, uh, let’s meet up another, time, yeah? And someone pay Mal for his troubles.” John rubbed the back of his neck like he did when he was embarrassed.

The studio was cleared out in less than five minutes, with nothing but y/n’s guitar left behind.

- time skip brought to you by obnoxious tumblr attitude in the middle of a serious story, damnit -

You had ended up calling one of your friends to help with your refill of the barbiturate. You just couldn’t bear the symptoms any more, and needed something to resettle your stomach. The whiskey was for your aching heart. You could feel your blood pounding through your veins. Every second you spent staying awake hurt more and more.

You took a long swig of the whiskey directly out of the bottle. The glass was only for when other people were around. You had to suffer in silence.

You peered through some of your fan mail, which happened to be at the same desk you were sitting at. All of them were filled with the same questions. Oh, y/n, when will the next album be out? Y/n, are you sure that the band doesn’t want to tour anymore?

The newspapers were no better, especially towards you. Selfish, vain, they called you. A bad role model, the only thing they got right. The band was “slow”, “inconsiderate of fans”, “too famous to care anymore”.

And here you were in the middle of it all. The bottles on your desk stared back at you.

Red amphetamines for holding back your appetite, orange laxatives for decreasing your weight, yellow diuretics for losing that water, green supplements so none of those pills could slack off, and blue barbiturates to stop all the side effects that you were getting. Meanwhile, your fridge was completely barren.

The newspapers and the fans, they were free agents, but whatever you put into yourself, that was all you.

You took another swig of whiskey. You really couldn’t drink too much, or else you would end up having to go to the hospital, and that would be damaging beyond compare. No, just a conservative amount of whiskey. Barbiturates made the physical pain go away, and whiskey could make the emotional pain go away.

You passed out on the desk, whiskey still in your hands.

- time skip again for that crazy moment when you try to be like a real writer but you have to write in time skips oop -

Moonlight was streaming through the window as you woke with a jolt. You were alright for about 5 seconds, before you remembered everything that had happened eight hours ago. You didn’t quite feel like bursting into tears, you had already spent your time sobbing.

Before you were going to decide a course of action, you had to re-become a functioning member of society. A good start would be going to retrieve your guitar. None of them, not even John, would’ve had the balls to take it from you, it would definitely still be there.

The drive to the studio was surreal. Eight hours ago you had been driven here and been in possibly the worst state that you could’ve been in, but now, you were driving yourself, almost completely functional, except for that slight glaze over your eyes, and your robotic countenance. Both versions were hardly human.

The studio had blacked out windows, as you had expected. The Beatles weren’t strangers to ridiculously long sessions, but eight hours was especially ridiculous.

You opened the studio with your keys, your hands shaking, though this time out of unwarranted anxiety that one of them would be there rather than the effects of the pills.

You swung the door open. The studio was completely empty, except for your guitar, still in its case, leaning against the wall. You crept further into the building.

You decided to check the log in the sound booth. There was, after all, no harm in checking. Every time something was done in the studio, someone, usually Mal, would record what happened in the log, for legal purposes or something. You flipped through the book, reaching today’s date.

The page had one time written on it, 1:00, with the description being that the entire band and Mal had lunch, and then promptly left after 20 minutes. No recording had been completed. You felt a little uneasy.

It was their fault that they didn’t get anything done. They had kicked you out, it was their dumb idea.

You recalled what their faces had looked like.

No, it was your fault. The functioning of the band had stopped because of you. And only you could heal the rift that was left.

The lights were still completely off, and the studio was almost creepy at night, but you felt no need to high tail it out of there. For the first time in a while, you felt at home in the studio, and you also felt like absolute crap when you realized that you had been pushing it off for so long. You had to fix this.

It was at this point that the whiskey hit your digestive system in just the the wrong way. The world went black.

- yee yee time skip i’m running out of clever things to say here -

“Y/n! Y/n, oh God, wake up!”

Your eyes fluttered open. George was hovering above you, holding his face in your hands, his eyes reflecting back just how shitty you looked.

“Hey, Georgie.”

“Y/n, what the hell happened to you, you just-”

“How did you know,” your voice was strained, “I was here.”

“I saw your car in the parking, lot, and I got worried, and I-”

“Georgie, I’m gonna get better. For the band. And for all of you. I’m sorry I hurt you all and I don’t-” you started to cough. The vomit was returning.

“Shh, shh, don’t strain yourself, it’s not gonna... I mean, I know y/n, that’s great, but don’t strain yourself or anything. Here, sit against the wall.” He dragged you to the side of the room, and you pushed yourself up against the wall, with what little strength you had left.

“Pattie.... Pattie’s in the car. I’m gonna go get her. She’ll know what to do, I think. Just, just stay awake, okay?” And with that, he left.

You did not stay awake.

- time skips are my drug -

The room that you were in was dark and dry. Not a touch of the outside had made its way in. Everything was shaded with a bluish hue as things were in mid-afternoon. You felt like crap.

Someone had gone to all the trouble of covering you in a blanket, leaving a glass of water by your bed, hell, even changing your clothes for you into pajamas. You took a long, controlled sip of the water, with the ice half melted. You swung your feet over the bed and let your toes touch the ground, next to the small trashcan someone had placed by you in case of nausea.

You knew where you were. This was Pattie and George’s house.

The nausea swung back into your system after a small moment of peace of mind. Thank god the trashcan was there, you thought as you cleared all of the shit out of your system.

You heard feet rushing upstairs. Pattie emerged in the doorway and held your hair back gently. God bless her. This time the vomit was mercifully short, and pretty soon everything had left your system.

You sat straight up on the bed, not daring to look Pattie in the eye. Damn you were pathetic.

“Oh, y/n, what have you done to yourself! I was just talking with the lads, they’re all worried sick about you, thought you overdosed, or... or died!”

“Pattie,” you started to clean yourself off with a rag that was left on your nightstand before downing some water, “I’m gonna get better.”

“Yes. Yes you are, y/n. Now, look, I know that I can’t make you do anything, but you must admit this is getting ridiculous.”

“The lads put you up to this, didn’t they?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because only they would acknowledge that they can’t make me do anything and then tell someone else to try to make me do it.”

“Well, they did mention something, but y/n, we, the girls, and I had all been worried about you for a long time.”

“Really?”

“Really, y/n.”

“Wow, I thought...”

“You thought what? That you can just rip yourself apart while getting away with it? Too bad.”

“No, no, it’s just, I didn’t expect the girls to-”

“Y/n, you’re not a goddamn robot, you’re a-”

You were too dizzy to hear what she had to say.

- time skip for more sickness -

You sat writhing in bed. Pattie had let you be for another hour, since there was really nothing she could do, and perhaps you wanted peace and quiet more than anything, she had said.

George was out at the moment, he hadn’t told Pattie where, just that he would be back before nightfall.

You had missed so many conversations. So many moments of personal connection had just passed over your head. The past month, you had been feverishly either working on songs, dieting, or updating your wardrobe. You were an image, a construct, you were y/n l/n, songwriter in the Beatles, icon, and influencer worldwide.

And yet you had missed so much of them.

You recalled Ringo’s last birthday. You hadn’t eaten anything the whole time, and you refused to take part in any of the festivities that had food. You had been withdrawn in conversations, and had ultimately left early.

You recalled when John had a breakdown at the studio over his role as a father. The other lads had offered comfort, pats on the back, even well-meaning, though pointless advice. You, on the other hand, had continued picking away at your guitar, offered some kind nods, and felt yourself go dizzy in the corner.

You recalled when George and Paul had gotten into a fight, and John and Ringo, much as they tried, couldn’t mediate anything, as that task was normally yours. So they fought, and fought, until both of them had torn their entire throats out, and stayed fuming for days and days until you offered a few small sentences and suggested that they go out for a drink. They’d made up.

If only the magazines had allowed women who were comfortable with themselves to be the ideal persona. If only the ideal persona was exactly you. If only the ideal persona could allow themselves to talk to their friends, and comfort them in the way that they always had, and not worry about what the media would think, or how whatever she was doing would affect the public image of the band, because she was the public image.

You’d missed so much. You’d done your job flawlessly, been y/n the songwriter, y/n the woman of the sixties, and y/n the fashionista. Not once in the past few months had you been y/n the friend. And that was really what the band needed.

You felt a single tear fall down your cheek, but you sat up straight and wiped it away. No time for that.

The clothes that you were wearing when you had passed out had been washed by Pattie. Perfect, as you had to quickly go home and carry out your unfinished business.

You hopped down the stairs like you hadn’t just been suffering from withdrawal. Pattie was sitting on a chair in the living room, reading a book.

“Y/n, you really should be resting.”

“I can’t Pattie, I’ve got to get better.” You grabbed your guitar from the living room, and your coat off one of the pegs.

“Y/n, the band can wait for gods sakes!” Pattie stood and started rushing towards you, but you kept putting the coat on.

“Yeah, the band can wait, but, John, Paul, George, Ringo, Pattie, Jane, Linda, Maureen, and Cynthia can’t. Thanks for all the help, I’ll be repaying you for your troubles sometime.” You waved goodbye as you rushed out the door before Pattie got another word in.

You had to be quick. If you stopped long enough for someone to get a good look, they would know it was you. You hid your face in your coat, your guitar swinging to your side, before ducking into one of the alleyways.

You hadn’t eaten anything in what must’ve been three or four days now. You were absolutely depleted, energy-wise. You most-likely would not make it back to the studio before being noticed, and there was no way in hell that you could run.

“Y/n? Is that you?” Paul’s head was peaking out the window of his car, or, his driver’s car, the less recognizable one that he always had out in public so fans wouldn’t be trailing it.

“Yeah, yeah it’s me Paul. Can you maybe give me a ride home?”

“What the hell? Why, I-” he peered out the window, looking left and right, as people were beginning to notice the scene before them, “Get it, you.”

You swung the door open and stepped inside, sitting across from Paul in the velvet-covered backseat.

“Paul, I’m gonna get better. That’s why I’ve got to go home.”

“And why should I believe that?” he crossed his arms, giving his typical, Paul sass.

“I just strutted outside, in broad daylight, looking like absolute death, in order to get to my car at the studio. If you can’t believe that I’m getting better, can you at least believe that I’m serious about this?”

“What could possibly help you at home.”

“I’m gonna... I’m gonna throw ‘em out. The pills, I mean, before I regret it and change my mind.”

“Y/n, I don’t know if I can-”

“Paul, I’ve been a really ass friend for the past few months. I hurt you all, and I’m sorry, I really am. You are within your right to be an ass friend for the next few years if you want to, but right now, I need to ask you for one more favor, please take me to my house.”

He rubbed his face with his hands in the way that only he could.

“Alright, fine.”

- time skip, last one, I promise -

“Morning, everyone.” You dragged your guitar behind you into the studio. You were extremely sluggish, the doctor said it would be one of your side effects from withdrawing from your pills.

“Y/n, I didn’t think-” Ringo stood up from his drum set. John and George were strumming on their guitars, chattering about something, while Paul was absentmindedly fingering his bass. Perhaps withdrawal also meant some form of delusion, but you could’ve sworn that you saw a hint of a smile on Paul and George’s faces.

“Yeah, Maureen told me you all were doing this today, and I thought, well, you really can’t do it without me, can you? So, here I am.”

“You’re sure you wanna commit to whole three hours, birdie?” The light reflected off of John’s spectacles.

“John, it’s the 20th century, women are just as capable, you know this,” There was a small ripple of laughter, “But, yeah, I guess the elephant in the room. I finally got my shit together, and I trust I don’t need to go into details, but I just realized how much I was messing with all the people in my life that I should’ve been valuing instead of what the hell everyone else thinks. So yeah, let’s do this album, and then afterwards, we should all go out drinking and talk about our feelings, y’know, like used to, because hell if you all aren’t stressed,” You sat down like you belonged there the whole time and set your guitar on the ground, “I was working on a song of sorts, something-”

You were trapped in a hug, though admittedly it was your fault for not seeing it coming. Another pair of arms gave you a pat on the back. You pulled yourself out of your attacker’s chest to see Ringo and George staring down at you.

“That was a good one, y/n.”

Paul materialized next to you and gave you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“You’re gonna be fine.”

You stared at Lennon, you both understand that he was very much expected to show some token of affection. You also both understood that John Lennon was not a hugger, and when he was a kisser, it was after a few drinks. You stuck your hand out as a peace offering.

“It’s good to have you back, kid.” He shook your hand vigorously, almost to the point where it would’ve been funny, before he pulled away.

“Wasn’t aware you had all gone soft.” You muttered under your breath.

“Beg your pardon?” John’s head whipped around.

“Nothing, nothing at all, dear John. Now, about my song?”

#beatle!reader #beatles #the beatles #the beatles x reader #beatles x reader #john lennon #john lennon x reader #paul mccartney #paul mccartney x reader #george harrison #george harrison x reader #ringo starr #ringo starr x reader #pattie boyd #60s #classic rock

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lucimorningstar812 · 5 years ago

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2019: An Honest Review

So I’ve done two of these in the past; 2017 and 2018 split into the good and the bad, so time to carry on that tradition

This is a really long post. I mean really long, so only read if you’re actually interested in my life XD Also this is part 1 of my finalising posts. There will be another later talking about the decade as a whole

First, I’d like to compare to last year. While not a great year, 2019 was significantly better than 2018, at least mentally.

Last year, from around June onward, my nan was going through chemo and then a bone marrow transplant late September/October, but this year, all of her check ups have been positive and rather than every week, she now goes back to the hospital every couple of months

Last year, I was struggling because I didn’t want to get another dog but my parents did anyway, but this year, I am thankful for my baby boy, even if he gets on my nerves sometimes

I mentioned in last years post about having no job, no education and no plans. Well, now I have a volunteer job at the RSPCA looking after the cats, and I have plans next year to at the very least start looking at and applying for jobs

And the final thing, here’s a direct quote from last years post "I made a series of posts on my vent blog essentially begging for death. I just didn’t want to be alive and even now, I’m so sick of the emotions I have" I haven’t felt that low since last year, so my mental health, while still nowhere near where it should be, is significantly better. I’m still sick of my emotions sometimes, but I honestly don’t think I’ve ever fallen back into those suicidal thoughts

Now for what happened:

I genuinely can’t remember what stuff happened this year. It seems like the year has both dragged on for the first half and then /zoomed past for the rest, so there’s probably way more I’m forgetting . Anyway, I’m gonna split this up into good and bad again

The Good

Gabi (archivefullofyoutubers) went to Twitchcon EU and got a video from Robin for me. I had forgotten that was even this year until I checked the date and realised it was April. I still have that saved for one I need something to make me smile

In July, I got to go to MCM comic con, which itself was lovely because I hadn’t been able to go in 2018, but the moment Bryan and Amelia announced they were going, I lost it. I still can’t believe I got to meet them, but also Tomska (who is lovely) and I got to spend the day with a dear friend of mine (Gabi again) after not seeing her for almost 9 months

Sean announced he was planning to go to VidCon London. I outright said I wasn't going to go to multiple friends, but after a lot of pestering and friendly bullying, I now have my ticket as well as accommodation and travel plans. First time I'll be doing anything like this without family, but I can't wait to see a bunch of the HDWGH squad as well as a few online friends I haven't had a chance to properly meet yet

The Bad

My relationship with the JSE community has been rocky. Stuff happened and it caused me to breakdown multiple times. I started to resent people, either those who had "wronged me", those who were luckier than others with their position in the community or sometimes, those who had a differing opinion to me because I'd gotten so used to one half of the community essentially invalidating anyone who had anything negative to say. I will admit that I'm still working on letting that go, but my aim is to move forward in 2020 and leave all those grudges and bad experiences behind me

I also relapsed. I’ve been a self harmer for a few years now. I have a lot of scars from it, most hidden thankfully, but I relapsed only a few days ago. I’ve taken that to say to myself that I fully intend on going 12 months clean, which shouldn’t be too hard since I’ve been really good with it this year. I just have to watch myself in those brief moments

The December

This month has been a journey in itself, so it requires it’s own section

I had my 21st which was so wonderful and I felt so lucky. All of the messages, gifts and drawings I received made it a truly memorable day

Sadly fate only gave me that, since the next few days would be a mixture of heaven and hell. Still as part of the celebration, we went to London and the Harry Potter Studios (3rd time 😜). The train journey was dreadful to the point I was close to throwing up, the first day was stressful as I was acting as navigator and mum kept doubting my directions, and my ankle started to be extremely painful when walking on the second day, but despite all that, I absolutely loved going back to the studios and got to see another friend (Huffle) after not seeing her for over a year!

Christmas Eve/Day and Boxing Day were emotional rollercoasters. My mood swings were all over the place, from being excited and happy to feeling extremely depressed to ecstatic over presents to disappointed and sad. It was just little things, but it was tough to deal with

I’ve felt so exhausted since Christmas, sleeping way too much and just wanting to lie down and do nothing

And another tradition to finish off on; follower count In 2017 I said I had 524, and in 2018 it was 958 Now, it’s 1214. I always saw big blogs as ones with 1000+ followers, and crossing that threshold was bizarre to me, but then two more milestones after that?! It's still incredible that people want to follow me, and a good chunk of them are amazing mutuals who got lost on the way to good content and ended up here

Review of the year? It’s been a rollercoaster. Nothing was bad enough to skew it to horrible, while the good was few and far between, so it was average. I didn’t have the same experiences as last year, but I feel like this year, I’ve finally started to look forward and take steps rather than cowering away in the shadows on my past. This was a stepping stone year between the leaps I took in 2018 and the journeys out of my comfort zone in 2020

End of a year. End of a decade. End of a passive approach to life, I’m hoping See my 2020 goals post tomorrow to know why I’m saying that, but for now, happy new year and thank you for being part of it

#I finished writing this a few days ago and haven't read through it again #I may have forgotten stuff but here it is

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calendulatia · 6 years ago

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[ LFRP ] Canary - ( tumblr/Discord )

❝ we who are born of the earth, rooted in all things, are bound to return to it. ❞

🔓– A lock icon denotes the presence of an additional something significant to be discovered only via roleplay. The more locks there are, the more difficult it will be to learn or come by this information.

☾ General Information ––– -

Name: Canary. 🔓🔓🔓 Epithet: Lichenpeal. Gender: Nonbinary. Age: You can’t be sure, really. 🔓 Race: Nu Mou. Birthplace: Somewhere within the Rak’tika Greatwood, presumably. Current Residence: An overgrown hovel a way’s away from the settlement proper. Were it not for the stone arranged about it, you might have missed the doorway entirely, and even then the masonry has been all but reclaimed by the forest. It seems built into the earth itself, disappearing into the side of the gentle slope leading up and away into the trees... not too unlike a barrow, you realize, with the air around the entrance alive with the presence of the wood. Standing there you suddenly feel a strange tickling at the back of your neck, like a hair or thread dragging lightly across your skin. You look back up. You feel compelled to knock on the door. Relationship Status: Single. Sexual Orientation: Asexual. Occupation: Apothecary. Herbalist. Diviner. Blue Mage. 🔓

☾ Physical Appearance ––– -

Hair + Fur: Straw-colored Thick. Long. Worn loose save for a scattering of braids decorated with thread and bits of bone. The fur on their tail and arms appears crimped like a sheep’s wool and feels much like the same. It’s not unusual for both it be rather unkempt from walks through the wood; they don’t seem to mind the twigs, leaves, and clumps of dirt that cling to them long after they’re home. Eyes: Moss green... although, as you look more closely, the left eye seems lighter than the right. Height: 4 fm 9 im. Distinguishing Marks: White-tipped fingers. Claws that are kept aggressively filed down at all times. Lighter hands than is typical for Nu Mou. Common Accessories: Spools of variously colored threads. Skulls and bones from forest creatures worn on lengths of string. Mushrooms. Lichens. Gold earbands. Earrings fashioned in the style of old church bells that ring with deep, dolorous voices.

☾ Personality & Tidbits ––– -

A strange Nu Mou of indeterminate age beholden to the wood. Though they live apart from others of their kind and people in general, they receive most visitors with a smile and an invitation to share a cup of tea. Quiet and courteous, Canary seems very much the kind of host you would care to have out in the middle of the wild Rat’tika, and yet you cannot help but feel unsettled whenever you stare at them for too long -- as though discovering inconsistencies in a painting that prove it a forgery. Like a smile with too many teeth their presence fills you with the sense of the uncanny, reminding you of a delicious meal that puts you to ill hours later. Something about them seems the conversational equivalent of seeing something always just beyond your field of vision, just at your peripheral, but just as soon as you realize your uneasiness you feel yourself soothed by their comfortable, welcoming manner. After all, it feels this cup has been brewed just for you.

Talents: Tarot spreads. Tea readings. Preparation of herbal medicines. Communing with beasts. Weaknesses: Disruption of the natural order. Things that are unnatural. Voidsent. Tidiness. Virtues: Pleasant. Soft-spoken. Knowledgeable. Intriguing. A natural host. Flaws: Difficult to read. Quietly intimidating. Unmovable when they believe they are right. Perhaps too much of an enigma to be trusted. Spiritual Views: Absolute reverence for life, death, and the natural cycle of one that leads into the other and over again forever and always. They are bound to no specific deities, believing instead in the will of the wood and the inevitability of nature reclaiming that which is rightfully its own. Hobbies: Gathering. “Tending” their garden and mushroom patch. Collecting new teas and bones. Fears: Wide open spaces. Clothing without pockets. Temperament: Phlegmatic-Melancholy. Alignment: Chaotic Neutral.

☾ Traits ––– -

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious / Spirited

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

☾ Additional information ––– –

Smoking Habit: Rather often, but you’re certain what whatever it is in that pipe, it certainly isn’t tobacco. The fragrance is as uncomfortably sweet as it is spicy; the aroma makes you sick to your stomach. Drugs: The contents of all these vials and jars is a mystery. Whatever labels they once bore have long since worn away or peeled up, leaving you staring at an array of dull, clouded glass bottles haphazardly wrapped in brittle parchment. Really, anything could be inside them. Alcohol: The Nu Mou occasionally reaches for a flash tucked into the sleeve of their robe and takes a quick drink. You can’t see the liquid, but even from here the smell is pungent, and you swear you see the already crimped fur covering their body curl all the bit more with each swig.

☾ Hooks ––– -

Region-related connections.

☆ The Rat’tika Greatwood - The Nu Mou rarely strays beyond the border of the forest, and so those living under the boughs or visiting from afar might have the luck of crossing their path. They do not make it easy to find them, but they also do not make an effort to hide. If you’re meant to encounter them you surely will. After all, anything can happen in the wood...

General connections.

★ Blue Magic - Canary’s Blue Magic shares far more in common with FFXI’s iteration than FFXIV’s, most notably the ever present danger of falling prey to “the beast within” as they assimilate and make use of the essences/souls of creatures. As a result their magic is far more feral and ancient than what has been established in-game, and their combat style + weaponry also differ wildly. They will not give out this knowledge to just anyone who comes by and asks, but they are also not above it... Should someone be willing to prove themselves worthy of the art, Canary might potentially teach them. Barring this, they could be a potential connection for Blue Mages or magic-users in general. ☆ Medicines + Divinations - In need of a reading or some traditional mending? Canary peddles their strange wares out of their forest hovel for a fair price. First divinations are free -- considering it your proper meeting -- but subsequent knowledge requires something equal in exchange... ★ Friendships + Rivals + Enemies - Always open! I am interested in any and all of these as options. ☆ Have an idea for something not already here? - Please feel free to pitch it to me! I would love to hear what you have in mind!

☾ OOC Information ––– -

Genres: Character development! Platonic relationships! Business contacts! Enemies! Rivals! Spooks! I’m into lots of things with my dirty danger muppet! Playstyle: No Nu Mou in-game, so all roleplay with Canary will take place through tumblr and/or Discord. Length: I like to write one paragraph at the absolute least, tending more towards a few to several (or even pages), but I will often do my best to match my partner’s reply length unless encouraged to do otherwise. Server: N/A. Timezone: CST. Availability: Threads will be passed back and forth as our schedules/writing mojos will allow! Contact Information: You are always welcome to poke at me here or my main blog over at @sunlitpeony, be it through asks or messages! I will give my Discord out privately to interested parties.

ft. art by drowsydraws !

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #;; chants Nu Mou Nu Mou over and over again in the distance

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thesffcorner · 6 years ago

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We Are the Ants

We Are the Ants is YA contemporary sci-fi novel written by Shaun David Hutchinson. It follows Henry, a high school student who gets abducted by aliens. The aliens pose Henry with a problem: the whole world is going to end on January 29th, 2016, and he’s the only one that can stop it; he just has to push a button. I’m slowly working my way through the really popular queer authors in YA, and Shaun David Hutchinson had been on my list for a while. I had been avoiding reading his books because I knew they dealt with heavy topics and a lot of abuse, and boy was I right about that. This is one of the most glib and sad books I’ve read in a while, and though that is mitigated by lot’s of humor and a hopeful ending, if you are at all sensitive to topics such as suicide, assault, and bullying, I’d suggest you stay clear of this book. First thing I’ll say is that Hutchinson’s writing style, is an acquired taste. You really have to enjoy this type of sardonic humor in order to get through this book, because especially for the first 100 pages, it’s relentless. We get the story in the form of Henry’s diary, and Henry is a very difficult character to like. He’s mean, he’s locked in a loop of self-loathing, depression, and hatred, and his entire outlook on life is justifiably bleak. As such, so is his humor; he spends a good chunk of the book calling his brother’s unborn child a ‘parasite’, and a lot of his internal monologue is the definition of the ‘too edgy for you’ variety. To give you an example: ”Turn on the news; read some blogs. The world is a shithole, and I have to consider whether it might be better to wipe the slate clean, and give the civilization that evolves from the ashes of our bones a chance to get it right” pg. 18 Personally, I was hooked. A few books have taken me back to what it felt like being a teenager so effectively, and this brought me straight back to the dark days, the endless drudge of school, confusion, hopelessness, feeling small and isolated, and like saying the world is shit and humans are idiots was the smartest thing anyone had ever said. Like Henry I too spent a lot of time pontificating on the futility of life and the universe, on being alone or dying, on the meaninglessness of existence. I did it for very different reasons that Henry, but the memory and effect were still the same. The fact of life is, when you’re a teenager you feel like you have all the answers, and all the adults are just too stupid or too ‘bought’ to see what is obvious to you, and this book really captured that feeling. The plot was not what I thought it would be, considering the premise. The book does revolve around the aliens and the end of the world, but it’s not an active part of the plot. Most of it comes down to Henry thinking about pressing the button, coming up with increasingly insane doomsday scenarios, and asking the characters around him if they’d push the the button if they were him. I found the various answers interesting, mostly in how they were all really unconvincing. I think that’s an intentional choice by Hutchinson, because really when you are in such a state as Henry is, what would be a convincing answer? Maybe you could make the most reasoned, researched argument, but at the end of the day, if you feel like you have nothing to wake up for, nothing will sound convincing. The alien are in reality are just a speculative element that Hutchinson uses as a way to externalize Henry’s internal conflict and mental state. Henry is dealing with a lot throughout the book; he’s dealing with the devastating suicide of someone close to him, with his father leaving him, his bad family situation, and the constant and relentless bullying at school and at home. The sluggers have a lot to do with that, and the abductions seem to be happening to Henry whenever he feels like he’s at an impasse or in a situation in which he needs to make a difficult choice. The main focus is dealing with loss, grief and depression, all of which I thought were presented extremely well, and believable. People deal with loss in different ways, and when it comes to suicide, especially the kind where the person leaves behind no explanation, no note, no last words, it’s almost impossible to conceive of a future where that specter wouldn’t haunt you for the rest of your life. Henry, his friend Audrey, and the person’s mother all blame themselves for the suicide, and the book in a way agrees with them; it was everyone’s fault and no one’s and the lack of concrete blame is infuriating and insurmountable. Henry especially tends to blame himself for pushing people away, and he feels like he wasn’t enough to keep the person alive. He’s obsessed with finding out why they’d done it; for someone who spends paragraphs talking about how nothing happens for a reason, how patterns are just in the human mind, and how life is meaningless and nothing matters, he is determined to find the reason behind the suicide, ignoring everyone who keeps telling him that the reason won’t bring the person back. It’s easy to see why Henry would blame himself; he’s someone who’s been dealt a really bad hand in life. I too was pretty badly bullied, especially in middle school, but it was nothing compared to what Henry goes through. Some of the scenes were so unsettling and so brutal I genuinely was sick reading them. What the characters in this book do to Henry goes beyond mere bullying and crosses into criminal assault, and I was glad that the adults and the police got involved, even if ultimately they were useless. It was at least a little comforting to know that though Henry felt like he was alone, there were people there for him, even if he didn’t see it. However, while I was glad the adults were present in the book, I don’t think they handled the situation appropriately. For example, Henry’s brother Charlie says and does some awful things to Henry, and there wasn’t ever a point where he’s called out on what he’s done, or a moment where he’s faced with the consequences of what he’s been doing to Henry for his entire life. It’s clear that Charlie loves Henry, but the way he treats him is not healthy or right, and he should have been held accountable, especially for the part where he blames Henry’s assault on Henry. The bullies too, don’t quite get what they deserved. Though it’s in a way realistic that they’d get away with things, the fact that Henry so easily forgives, especially one of them really didn’t sit right with me. Sure, there are always reasons for why people act the way they do, but what that character does to Henry is unforgivable, and goes way beyond simple growing disagreements. I’m not sure the message of forget about the people who made your life a living hell for years is necessarily the best one. The only other thing that annoyed me in the book, was how perfect the ending was. I think, especially considering how sharp and unflinching the story had been up until that point having the romance work out, and having no consequences come to Diego after what he does was a bit unrealistic. I am grateful that this book had a hopeful ending, but I just think it was too easy. Let’s talk about the characters. Everyone in this book felt and read like a fully realized person, and I loved that. We don’t have many characters, but the ones we do, especially Henry’s family were well developed. I loved how close Henry was to his Nana, and she was probably my favorite character. She has dementia, but she’s never used as a ‘burden’ or obstacle for the other characters; she’s a fully fleshed out person, and the surprise Henry throws her was so touching, it made me tear up. Audrey was a welcome presence in the story, and I liked her a lot, though she does suffer a bit from only girl who is Henry’s peer in the book. I liked that she had a lot of personal struggles, outside of Henry, but I found that they weren’t handled very well. She has a lot of backstory, but none of it plays a part in her relationship with Henry once they make up, and I found that she was unrealistically patient and wise for a teenager. I can absolutely say the same thing for Diego; there were many scenes where I was shocked to see him act so maturely around Henry, which just isn’s something I think teenagers would do. I’m also not gonna lie; Diego reminded me too much of Andrew from All For the Game. Not only do they have very similar backstories, his relationship with Henry was pretty reflective of that between Neil and Andrew. I thought he was fine as a character, but he did suffer a bit from manic pixie dream love interest. Finally we have Henry. I both loved and loathed Henry. He was one of the best written characters I’ve read from, which also entails all his flaws. He reminded me a bit of Mila from Undead Girl Gang; he’s confrontational and mean to everyone around him, in an attempt to deal with and hide the pain he’s still processing. The bullying that Henry endures in this book was beyond something I thought people experience, but I absolutely believed it would happen. It was both weird and nice that at least it didn’t revolve around his sexuality, not that what it does revolve around is any better. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to lose someone the way he has, and I though the dull, ever present grief he feels fully through every page of the book. It’s not about saving the world really; it’s about Henry finding the strength to save himself from his own depression, and I really, really appreciated that Hutchinson has Henry get on medication and go to a hospital. The state he’s in isn’t anything he can handle himself, and I’m really glad that he was allowed to seek out help. Overall, I really loved this book. It’s a difficult read, in spite of the sardonic tone and humor. If you think you can handle the subject matter I think you should give it a read; I can definitely see why people love it so much, even though it isn’t perfect.

goodreads

#we are the ants #we are the ants review #moni talks #book review

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justinsdaysinthedark · 5 years ago

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Post #10 - Home is Where the Heart is

Saturday August 31st: A week and a half may not seem like a long time in the mundane working world but it certainly has been in mine. There’s been so much happen; I got out of hospital for the first time in 45 days, readmitted, sent home again for a few more days and finally readmitted (again) for round two of chemo.

On the bright side, I’m currently feeling the best I have for weeks now. I successfully got through round one of chemo, albeit being incredibly sick afterwards for a fortnight or so. I am continuing to improve day by day which gives me confidence I’ll get to the end of this and no matter how bad I feel, I know I will eventually get back to full health and back playing cricket in no time.

Friday 23rd August saw me get out of hospital for the first time in 45 days. I’m not going to lie, I struggled so much mentally that week. The fact I’d been in hospital so long, been through so much with the first round of chemo and how incredibly sick I was afterwards, I just wanted to get home and back to my bed - even if it was just for one night. I cried daily, just waiting to be well enough to get back home. Each day I knew I was closer to going home yet it still seemed a lifetime away. By the time it was time to go, I was absolutely over the moon. Something so small was so big in my world. It’s surprising how much things had changed in me. I really struggled walking from my room at the hospital to the car, which genuinely surprised me. Fortunately, as I have gotten better over the past week, I’ve found that my ‘fitness’ has increased day by day thankfully.

The weekend at home is exactly what I needed to refresh and reinvigorate the mind. It may not seem like a lot to you, but two days at home to do as I please meant so much. I wasn’t getting told what time to wake up and have breakfast or what time to do anything. I spent a lot of the weekend at home however did manage to sneak around to Courtney’s for a few hours as well, which was just as relaxing.

Monday saw me get the call from the hospital to head back in and prepare to begin round two of chemo. As much as I didn’t want to, I arrived back at the hospital around 3pm and was readmitted. My doctor Adam put me on a hydration drip basically straight away to flush out my kidneys in preparation for the chemo. I don’t have an issue anymore with being on a drip, it’s just when I’m on the hydration drip, I end up at the toilet every two hours! Whilst not ideal, you have to do what you have to do and for me, it’s constantly going to the toilet to urinate!

Tuesday was the day I was suppose to start round two of chemo. I’d been hydrating all night and morning and everything seemed to be progressing. This was of course until my blood test results came back and read that my bone marrow wasn’t producing enough white blood cells. Adam advised “it’s not the best idea to kick a soldier when he’s down...” and proceeded to send me home for a few more days to let the bone marrow get back to producing at a ‘normal’ rate before commencing round two.

Part of me was over the moon about it however, the other part of me was incredibly disappointed that I didn’t get to start round two. It’s a fine line...toss a coin. If I didn’t get those extra few days at home, would I be in a good headspace like I am now? On the flip side, if I started on Tuesday, I’d basically nearly be completed the chemo side of round two. It’s much of a muchness to me now as I certainly did appreciate a few more days at home in my own bed and around family.

Friday August 30th (yesterday) I received the call to come back into hospital. Once again, I was hesitant and a little down about it, however I knew it had to be done. The more round two gets delayed, the more I push being able to be there for the T20 fundraiser on the 22nd of September. To be honest, in retrospect I’m glad I’m here now. The extra three nights at home did wonders for me mentally. As they did on Monday, I was straight on a hydration drip for my kidneys. I briefly saw Adam before he finished for the week and he assured me round two will start on Saturday (today). Whilst I’m not 110% certain what round two will entail, I know it’s going to be five days of chemo which will make me neutropenic again - exactly like round one. (Neutropenic = no white blood cells, no immune system). If it’s anything like round one, I’ll take roughly 10-15 days to recover again so I’m looking at approximately 20 days in hospital for this round. That’s the hope, anyway. As with everything in life, it could be more, it could be less. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens. On the positive, Adam’s assured me my mouth ulcers won’t be anywhere near as bad this round, but we’ll see.

I started day one of round two of chemotherapy around 10:30am today. It’ll be a similar process each day for the next five days and I’ll be at my worst next Thursday and Friday. Slightly disappointing as Collingwood play their first final next Friday and if my worst is as bad as my worst in round one, I’ll be dead asleep.

I found out some disappointing news last week that my doctor Adam only has another two weeks at Monash before he moves on. The resident doctors only spend ten weeks at the hospitals before they move on to the next one. Adam and I arrived at Monash around the same time and unfortunately, he’ll leave before I do this time around. I can’t give him enough credit for the work that Adam’s done and how much he’s helped both myself, my family and Courtney understand what’s going on with me. Whilst I’ll be incredibly disappointed, life must go on.

I’ll finish on that note as there really isn’t much else to say or inform you on. There’s a fair chance my next blog will come post-round two of chemo when I’m out of the neutropenic stage. We’ll see what happens.

Look after yourself. Love your family. Until next time.

Juzz xx

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marauders70s · 6 years ago

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which audiobooks do you prefer?? the stephen fry ones or the jim dale ones?? personally ill always love stephen frys voices and intensity better. jim dales voices just seem more cartoony to me. hp audiobooks are my fave method of consumption honestly

Hello! Thank you for your question!

I HARD STAN JIM DALE.

And here’s why (long, personal version):

I really love Stephen Fry. I just listened to his Audible audiobook “Victorian Secrets;” I loved his shows touring the country; I even loved him on Bones as a guest star. He’s such a strong LGBTQ ally and supporter, and great speaker and advocate for so many important things. He makes me feel like even though he’s cynical and annoyed generally, his love of learning, interest, being snarky, and being rad and cool friends with awesome people (both here and ones gone before, like Douglas Adams), makes me wish we were personal friends. One day, I really hope to meet him, and the news of his prostate cancer makes my stomach clench with unfairness and sadness.

However, my family purchased the Harry Potter audiobooks on CD. They came in big chunky boxes and had fun little segments saying things like “This ends disc four, please insert disc five to continue the story.” My dad had a flexible work schedule and drove me and my sisters to school every single day. During our morning commutes, we used to listen to The Beatles, and Peter, Paul, and Mary. But then came Harry Potter when I was about 12. (I actually saw “Chamber of Secrets” the film before ever seeing the first film or reading any of the books because my dad wanted to see what all the hype was about and dragged me to see it in theaters! The basilisk fight scene was so scary I had to close my eyes and felt just like Harry).

Now back in the day, CD players just held one CD at a time, and sometimes if that CD got stuck, you had to use a pen to nudge/unjam the felt lip of the CD player to let the CD get out. And the day we started Order of the Phoenix on CD it plays little intro music and Jim Dale says happily: “Chapter 1: Dudley....Demented” with a very long dramatic pause. Well the CD got stuck or skipped or sucked up a crumb or something and I swear to fucking god we listed to “Chapter 1: Dudley....Demented” about 48 times in a row in fifteen minutes while my dad is trying to unjam it and I’m in the backseat trying to lean up/climb up and he’s like “get back get back sit down” and I’m like “let me do it! You drive! Let me do it!” And then of course once I get in the front seat I can’t do anything and my two younger sisters (the youngest about six) were shrieking with laughter and have started joining in on the unending chorus of “CHAPTER 1: DUDLEY.....DEMENTED” with the same sort of zeal and insanity of “none pizza left beef.” We finally pull up in the carpool line of school and my dad can put it in park and unwiggle the CD and unjam it and reinsert it and we can finally start listening but at that point we’re all so giggly and ridiculous there’s absolutely no point in trying to start a new book.

The cool thing about getting into Harry Potter at 12 was that Order of the Phoenix was the first ever “release” of the book I had to wait for. Of course I had swallowed it up immediately after my parents had finished with our SINGLE hardback copy. And my Dad turned to me to warn me “Now...someone dies at the end of this book.” And I was so upset that he was spoiling for me, but he was like “I know you love Sirius.” (Guys I did love/was in love/am still in love/love Sirius Black the best). And I just got so angry at my dad for spoiling it, yet my voice still squeaked: “does he die?” And my dad is backing the car up in the driveway and he’s doing the thing where his hand is on the passenger seat and he’s twisting around and there was this heart stopping stomach drop where he stops looking out the back window and the car is still rolling and he looks directly at me. And to me, that’s the swooping, horrible feeling I still associate with Sirius dying. And even though when I read it and I cried, I never felt as much dread and as much sadness and as much grief as that moment when my dad looked straight at me and said nothing at all.

Jim Dale is also an incredibly talented amazing guy. I think that listening to Stephen Fry read Harry Potter is a bit like having your uncle or grandfather reading to you. Very a la Princess Bride. But when Jim Dale reads it, at least to me, when I was 12 and all my life since then, it felt like the characters were real. That his voices were real. When Hermione squeals “Oh HARRY!” but says it “har-eeeeee” in her anxiety; if Mrs. Weasley is scowling furiously and vocalizing her annoyance with huffs and gasps; how gentle Remus Lupin sounds, how raspy Sirius Black does; how very old, and very kind, and very wise Albus Dumbledore comes across. And how through his own inflections, Minerva McGonagall became more Scottish than you could have believed possible, and her voice the most instantly recognizable in the whole series. Jim Dale even commits to Peeves, and uses the inflections of David Bradley and Alan Rickman from the first film to help weave into Filch and Snape’s characters for continuity.

Jim Dale became the first person to win a Grammy for an audiobook, prompting a new category to be added in 2000 (post his nomination into a non-existent category for Sorcerer’s Stone). He created 134 distinct voices specifically for OOTP. He carefully recorded each individual one into a sound file so before he spoke that person’s lines he could re-listen to the voice he had made for them if he hadn’t spoken for them more than once or twice a book (or series - like Dedalus Diggle). His level of dedication and perfectionism is something I GREATLY admire and greatly adore.

Although I do like hearing Harry Potter as a bedtime story read to me by a man I wish I could befriend, in my heart of hearts, I want Harry Potter to be as magical, as intangible, as silly as “Chapter 1: Dudley...Demented” for my whole life long. And maybe it’s because I have deep connections of listening to it with my dad, who has since passed on in a way that made me understand that feeling when he looked back at me in the car. The sick stomach Harry felt when Sirius was gone. Or maybe it’s because my mom listens to Jim Dale’s Harry Potter every. single. night on her old fashioned iPod before bed, carefully copied from the original CDs, skips and all, even though we own all of it on Audible. She says she’s missing several 5 minute segments throughout the series, but she fills them in from memory anyways. My mom knows more about the canon of Harry Potter than anyone I know, and can recite most of the first book by heart, because its her favorite.

Obviously I run a Harry Potter blog because Harry Potter is important to me for many sentimental and personal reasons. And the audiobooks are part of that. Sometimes when I’m down or blue, I want Fred & George to tease me in their own voices, to tell me: “We thought we heard your dulcet tones!” “Yeah, it’s not good to bottle that up!” I still really admire and like Stephen Fry as a person, but in my heart, my books and my experience will always be narrated by the wonderful Jim Dale, a man whose voice I adore so much that I watched Pushing Daisies, and searched by narrator on Audible to fall in love all over again with Peter Pan. Harry is a personal experience for all of us, and this is mine. Thanks for listening.

tl;dr - Jim Dale. He does a really great opening line in Chapter 1 of OOTP.

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yall-cant-handel-this-blog · 6 years ago

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Blog Post 8

*Disclaimer*

I’m sorry this is so long, I got carried away and I enjoyed learning new things about someone I’ve grown up referencing, but never knew much of anything about!! (nerdy I know).

“Beethoven” The Greatest German Composers

1. What is the main idea of the first section? (1 sentence)

Beethoven may have experienced a life riddled with afflictions, yet due to these afflictions, he became one of the most unique, yet popular, composers of all time.

2. How old was Beethoven when he wrote the Eroica (No. 3) and Pastorale (No. 6) Symphonies?

Beethoven was born in 1770 and he wrote Symphony No. 3 “Erocia” between 1805 and 1808, meaning he was around 35 years old.

Interesting how he didn’t start composing until age 35 when Mozart was only able to compose till age 35.

3.Eroica means hero. Describe what happened between Beethoven and his admiration for Napoleon. How does this relate to Enlightenment thought? This work may be the first “romantic” work as we see a shift from absolute to programmatic music.

So through reading this chapter, and some use of the Wikipedia page on this lesser known symphony, I discovered that Beethoven was a fan of Napolean Bonapart in his earlier days during the French Revolution and Enlightenment (taking place during Beethoven’s life) when Napolean was in support of the movement against the monarchy and toward democracy. Thus, Beethoven wrote this symphony as a kind of love song to Napolean, indicating a rendering of the new programmatic (story-telling), and romantic kind of composition.

What’s really funny is how Beethoven revoked his dedication of this symphony to Napolean and gave it to someone else, because Napolean was a mean little man who wanted to defy democracy and ended up joining the aritocracy. Beethoven = real big democracy fan.

4. How would you describe Beethoven’s personality after reading this chapter?

From reading this chapter I get a few different indications of Beethoven’s personality traits. First and foremost I think he is probably an Introvert, because of the descriptions from his contemporaries indicating he often lashed out or hard to read. This also just shows that he’s plain grumpy and mean. However, reading his journal entries we can also understand that under that mean exposition he is struggling with the immense emotional pain of losing one’s hearing. Especially, someone who values sound so much such as Beethoven must’ve. So, was Beethoven mean? Maybe, but I also think he was just a deeply sad man grappling with a handicap. They also said he was determined, and highly passionate and an extremely hard worker when it came to his compositions.

Heiligenstadt Testament

1. How does your perception of Beethoven’s character change after reading this if at all?

This testament that Beethoven wrote to his brothers when he was about 29 before his composer career took off, initially made me sad for him.

I can’t imagine what it would be like to go through losing one’s hearing later in life after already knowing how beautiful some sounds can be *cough cough music cough*. He just felt so lonely, and just think of this time period in which I’m almost positive ASL (or I guess German Sign Language) was fairly nonexistent. He couldn’t communicate with anyone efficiently and then you are perhaps able to understand the source of passion for his compositions.

So again, was Beethoven mean? No. I still think he was really sad a lonesome and very passionate.

He also tells his brothers that he wants them to obtain his *small* (lol little did he know) fortune after his death and also that any animosity between them had been relieved. Beethoven here shows indication of a caring, even loving disposition.

Hearing Beethoven

*page 28 first paragraph has a psychology reference that makes me happy lol*

1. What did the physicians of Beethoven’s day say was the problem?

Originally Beethoven had abdominal and ear problems and his doctor was able to fix his belly aches, but not his hearing. He was installed with false-hope that his hearing would slightly return, but history shows it never would.

2. What are some of the explanations of today?

Today we know that Beethoven most likely suffered from the hearing implementation of tinnitus which is like an incessant ringing noise that would drive anyone nuts, (indicating his mean disposition and madness). We also know that it was not loud sounds that caused this to happen but rather a sickness that caused nerve damage to the inner ear functions. Also, another explanation is a weird overgrowth of the small ear bones. Indicating that his hearing loss was likely in part sensorineural.

On the other hand, besides medical causes, some speculations have been made that it was self-inflicted, or possibly due to alcoholism, or even lead poisoning.

All symptoms point back to life long digestive tract problems.

3. What does the author say about his familial relationships (dad and nephew Karl)?

First, we learn that Beethoven’s dad was an alcoholic that just wanted to basically use Beethoven’s talent for his own personal gain. Because of this Beethoven grew up thinking his success was his fathers, putting immense pressure on him. Leading to a life of living for validation.

Second, we learn about Beethoven’s struggle to obtain custody of his nephew Karl, after his brother died. He became so dedicated to this that he lost some focus on composing. However, he later got right back into it with new vigor, maybe by inspiration from the love for his nephew.

4. Wallace speculates about how Beethoven was able to write so many masterpieces toward the end of his life and nearly 20 years after the Heiligenstadt Testament. Which were you most convinced by?

Wallace references a few reasons why Beethoven may perhaps have been able to compose so many great pieces later in his life. First Wallace suggests based on evidence that Beethoven wasn’t completely deaf but rather just really hard of hearing. For this reason his compositions would require Beethoven to use a combination of methods. I think I am most convinced that he in part used vibrations from the piano, his imagination, all fueled by his passion.

The Piano Sonata No.14 in C# minor “Quasi Una Fantasia” Opus 27 No.2 (Moonlight Sonata)

1. What would you say is the texture of the 1st movement and why?

I think the first movement is homophonic because there is a lot going on, like both a melody and a harmony.

2. I am assuming most of you have never heard the other movements of this sonata. What is your initial reaction to the second movement?

The second movement was completely new to me. I kind of wish I knew the motives behind this Sonata because it kind of didn’t fit with the themes of the first and third themes. I wouldn’t have grouped these songs together if I would’ve heard them seperately. I definetly didn’t enjoy the second movement as much as the first and I especially enjoyed the third.

3. How about the third? Around 13 minutes a few things happen that make this ending even more rewarding. Using musical terms and your own words, what happens?

I really enjoyed this movement it was kind of crazy to listen to and watch at how much skill takes to play this piece. The tempo made the song very entertaining to listen to. There were also a lot of crescendos and decrescendos that made it rewarding to listen to because it kept you on the edge of your seat.

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chaos-in-pandoras-box · 8 years ago

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When is Spirit Trauma not actually Wrought by a Spirit?

Potential triggering ahead. Please read at your own risk. <3

I see this topic come up a lot in the spirit keeping community. Spirit trauma. "What is it? How does it happen? How do you recover?" Here are my opinions. Now keep in mind that I am only stating what I think--not ruling out that trauma from spirits can actually happen. If you have been traumatized by a spirit, then I feel for you. I really do. This is a sensitive topic, and you’ve been warned. It’s also my personal POV. Do with it as you please.

The human mind is vast and complex. Much more complex than people think it is. In fact we are so complex that we can even trick ourselves into believing the worst of situations or mistaking feelings for outer influences.

Spiritual trauma is a real thing. I have been through it and know how it feels. This is one of the only times I'll openly state that I was abused continuously by a Jakos Demon. And yes, in all aspects of the word "abuse." Mental, verbal, sexual, etc. I would wake up in the mornings physically sick with distress and fear, because he would be there waiting for me. This demon stole my first kiss and took my virginity. He slapped me--punched me. He bit me and laughed in my face when I sobbed. And over time he turned me into an emaciated insomniac. I pulled all-nighters just to make sure he didn't hurt my friends, and my school grades started to decline. Whenever he came close, I would literally convulse. I got these shakes that started in my abdomen and legs, and they would be so intense that I would have to lay down and wait for them to subside. I was literally terrified, and for years it was extremely difficult for me to think about the incidents involving him.

My trauma happened because this Jakos Demon had nails sunk deep into my psyche, and he knew exactly what to say and do to get me to pay attention to him.

Now get this. Eight years later, and this Jakos Demon and I are lovers.

WHAT???!!!

Yeah, I understand the confusion, but bear with me. His name is Lucien. I won't give his full, true name in case some people out there think rather ill of him and would wish him harm. Lucien was not in his right state of mind. He was guided by a dark hand and left alone for too long. He became unstable and confused as to who he originally was. It wasn't until I'd told him my angelic name that he began to come to. One day he simply "awoke." He gained a sudden realization of who he truly was, remembered his Jakosian name, and even remembered a past life that he and I had had on Jakos. He introduced me to Zan. (For those of you who don't know, Zan is the rehabilitation center worker who manages all of the Jakosian special needs adoption forms.) Zan is his best friend. He told me of my past with him, and helped me realize that I was once Jakosian as well. He awakened a part of me at the same time he awakened himself. All because he recognized my angelic name.

And then just like that, the trauma healed. I only vaguely remember my interactions with Lucien before his change. He was misguided and lost, but upon establishing a healthy connection with me, he came to--as if he'd been asleep for a very long time. He was apologetic for the way he had treated me, and told me that he had not been right in the head. He and I are extremely close now, and although we still have our small tiffs here and there, he has not once hurt me on purpose since.

So why do spirits try traumatizing people like this? Is it because they are all Black Arts? Is it their nature? Are they just plain old assholes? Are they crazy? I think there are a number of contributions, but the main one being this: They want your attention. The more you ignore them, the scarier they get, because they don't have the same morals as you. Pandora once lived in a house with a teenage human spirit who hid in her closet. His deceased father roamed the hallways at night and terrorized Pandora and me with scratching on the doors, boots on the floorboards, and nightmares. We weren't traumatized, but we were pretty scared out of our wits a couple times. But he wasn't after us--he was after the spirit in Pandora's closet. He didn't want us messing around in what he considered his territory, or throwing off the opportunity he had to torment his dead son. Because we stood in his way, he tried making our lives hell.

There are instances like this. Occasionally. But my theory is that most of our trauma lies within our own minds. Some people, and I'm not pointing out anybody here, but some people actually want to experience that trauma. They want something to be afraid of, for whatever reason. Sometimes it's a conscious decision, but often times it's subconscious. They don't realize they're turning a regular spirit into an enemy because they want to feel unique or have a unique situation. I've played the victim card in the past. I know how it goes. If it isn't the spirit that wants attention, it's the human who subconsciously does. I'll tell a little story. A true one.

I met a man a couple years ago. It was about the time when Pandora and I had first opened our conjuring shop. We had a lot of people coming to us for advice concerning spiritual activity, and this guy was one such person. He had an entity who was tormenting him, or so he said. He was fixated on his situation, and asked me every day if there was something I could do for him to make it better. He told me he was being molested by this spirit. It was doing things that made him extremely uncomfortable, and he was dead certain it was male. For a time I believed him. I told him that I would help him out, and so I did. I did find a being with influence on what was happening to this man, and I broke the attachment he had on him. For a few days everything was well. I felt that I had successfully helped him out... but then he came back.

"It's back," he said. "I can feel the sensations again. It's still attacking me. Are you sure you removed him entirely?"

"Absolutely," I answered. "There's no possible way that this entity could be attacking you anymore. I had Immortals help me out in removing him. There's no way."

He wasn't convinced. He told me to try again. I gave this my all. I tried multiple spells, multiple spirit tasking sessions, multiple readings. The cards said he was doing it to himself. I told him flat out what they said, and of course he denied it. A couple of days later, he came back. "Lu, I had the weirdest dream," he said. "I dreamt of a man who looked just like me sitting in a chair, and asked him who he was. He said he was me, and told me that I'm doing all this to myself."

Well that was pretty resolute. Even his own subconscious was attempting to contact the conscious to tell him he was in denial. But you know what?

...He still didn't believe.

He wanted so badly to believe that it was some outer force, because his subconscious desired that kind of attention. But he was not ready to open himself up to new avenues and explore his own psyche--his shadow self. He was fixed on the thought that his deep, inner desires were uncouth and taboo, and so he'd shut himself off from his own subconscious and turned himself into an imagined enemy.

That isn't spirit trauma, and yet I see it so often in the community. It may have come forward due to some physical trauma that happened in the past or during childhood, such as family abuse, but 75-80% of the time, a real spirit isn't involved. It's a thoughtform created out of the tormented, stagnating thoughts of what we internally want. Many of us internally want that "trauma" so that we can give our problem a name and face in an attempt to more easily come to terms with it.

Lucien was not such a case. I was never abused during childhood, and never experienced any form of tragedy or trauma growing up. Hell, I didn't even break a bone. My parents were, and still are, great people who love me and care about me, and my extended family are all a bunch of lovable softies. The most traumatic experience I ever endured was witnessing my poker-faced, assertive father reduced to tears because my older sister was marrying a guy ten years older than her. I'd never seen him cry until that time. But... that was it, and it only scared me because I was so empathic.

Lucien was inherently cruel for attention, simply because he could be, and he got away with it time and time again. I didn't know how to deal with spirits at the time, and he was the first one that I ever encountered on such a harrowing basis. There are still some songs and words I cannot hear without feeling that hot, sweaty adrenaline rush of dread and feeling those impending trembles in my body. That is trauma from an outer force, invoked for no other reason than to satisfy lust and cravings for attention. Lucien doesn't scare me anymore, but remembering some incidents in the past are still very hard for me.

So how can you tell whether it's an actual spirit or it's just your subconscious trying to come to terms with what has happened in the past? It's easier than you might think. Recollect on your life. Consider past lives, even. What truly scares you? What gives you that feeling of dread and makes you quake in fear? Did something happen to you when you were younger? If you are able to remember any past trauma, try connecting the dots. Is this spirit doing similar actions to what had happened to you? Is it after something that means a lot to you? If there is utterly no connection and you feel like you're simply being attacked for no reason, then you have the power to stop it in its tracks much easier than if it were your own subconscious. Take the necessary steps to banish a real spirit. If it's mental trauma reaching from your subconscious, then seek a professional, because it's time to put the past to rest.

I know it's a lot easier said than done, and there is a lot I didn't cover, but this blog has gone on too long already. Can you traumatize yourself? Absolutely. So I'm not flat out denying that the subconscious can't be traumatic. But differentiating real spirit trauma from mental anguish is a big thing. While Pandora and I were tormented by Lucien, I couldn't tell anybody. I was terrified to talk about it. I didn't even tell my parents what was happening in their own household because I feared what Lucien would do to me and to those whom I loved. One trend I see that happens to those who have subconscious thoughtform trauma is that they like talking about it. They like bringing it up, and they'll say it to practically anybody who asks. When people asked me what was wrong back in the day, I lied. I wasn't about to tell anyone that I had a spirit attacking me, because the very thought frightened me so much. People with no actual spirits attacking them continuously bring up what happens to them on a daily basis because they hunger for someone to know. They are indirectly looking for some way to pinpoint what's going on so that they can fix it, yet they don't know how, so they tell everyone under the sun to see if anyone can give them pointers. Yet they are so very confused upstairs that they don't even see that they are doing it to themselves.

It's a very sad situation, and yet it is so very common. But don't get me wrong--I feel for anyone who goes through trauma of any kind, be it subconsciously created to provoke stimulus or not. This blog is not to invalidate your trauma if you have it. Trauma is serious, despite where it comes from, and it’s never your fault. But whether your troubles are wrought by a spirit or not is for you, alone, to decide in the end.

~Lu

#spirit trauma #triggers #spirit keeping #spirit companion #demons #inner demons #thoughtforms

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