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thewhizzyhead · 4 years ago

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a non-filipino's guide to trese: ep 1

So some of my mutuals decided to check out Trese aka the Netflix adaptation of the Filipino horror comic book series that I keep rambling about here and then since well um most of my mutuals aren’t from the Philippines fshfs I decided to make a long-ass post that basically consists of me rambling about the cultural context present in Trese with fun little tidbits about Filipino folklore. I’m not an expert on Filipino mythology so um I just typed out the stuff that I know and the stuff that I looked up on Wikipedia so um take this with a grain of salt aaaaa I’ll save the extensive google scholar research ramble on folklore present in Trese for another day.

I’ll try to find the sites where I got some of the information from cause um yea I kinda had a bit of a hard time finding the other shit so um once again, take the stuff here with a grain of salt. Also, feel free to add more info if you guys got any!

SO ANYWAYS ENJOY ME RAMBLING ABOUT EPISODE 1 OF TRESE WOO

+ MRT and LRT (Manila Metro Rail Transit and Light Rail Transit) are train systems in NCR (the capital region) and yea them suddenly stopping and malfunctioning in the middle of the goddamn rail is a daily occurrence and we have been trying to deal with this bullshit for years but alas, corruption and negligence are sweet sweet drugs.

+ When the MRT broke down, you'd see a red bee in the flashing billboard right? Well that's Jollibee and that's probably the most well-known fast food restaurant chain here heck there are even branches of it abroad!

+ According to many youtube comments along with other social media posts that I am way too tired to link here, the opening theme is an Ifugao ethnic song called Balluha'd Bayyauhen but with modern accompaniments and I think the song is about a fruit called a balluha that the character in the song tries to it but cannot swallow. (someone please correct me if I’m wrong here fjkfs)

+ The first um monster that we see Alexandra interact with is the White Lady of Balete Drive. White Ladies or “Kaperosa” are a type of female ghosts typically dressed in ghostly white dresses or similar garments. According to legend, she died in a car accident while driving along Balete Drive (a two lane street formerly lined with Balete Trees which are said to be a home for spirits and mysterious creatures) in Quezon City while other accounts say she died waiting for the arrival of her lover; others also say that she was a teenage girl who was run over and killed by a taxi driver at night and then buried around a Balete tree while another variation of the tale claims that a student from the University of the Philippines was sexually assaulted and killed by a taxi driver nearby and so said ghost haunts the street in search of her murderer. There are many other variations but according to local rumor, the legend was fabricated by a reporter in 1953 in order to make an interesting story. What remains consistent in many variations is that apparently taxi drivers would be stopped by a beautiful lady asking for a ride and if one would look at the rear window, they would see that the white lady in question is bruised and drenched in blood.

+ There are a lot of mentions about "lakans" and stuff in reference to Alex and her father right? In precolonial times, the term is used to refer to the paramount ruler or the highest-ranking political authorities in Tagalog communities (so um NCR and some parts of Region 4). In Muslim communities, they are called sultans while communities with strong trade connecitons with Indonesia or Malaysia called them Rajah. Datu is umm the more generalized term though when it comes to discussing the leaders of the precolonial Filipinos.

+ So, Alex’s mom is a babaylan and back in the pre-colonial period, each barangay (which a native filipino term for a village or a district; said term is still used today to describe um divisions in municipalities like) had them and these are basically Philippine shamans and they specialized in communicating with the spirits of the dead. To my knowledge, the role of babaylan went to women and yea people assigned male at birth but then identified as female were also allowed to become babaylans and they would be treated with the same respect given to any woman back then (honestly I dunno much about lgbtq+ stuff back in the precolonial times but all I know is that precolonial Filipinos were much a lot more welcoming towards trans identities bUT THEN THE SPANIARDS CAME AND UM ERR RUINED THAT); also the writing Alexandra's mom did in that one scene with the dagger is in Baybayin - preHispanic Filipino script. I dunno what she wrote down though. .

+ Also I kinda find it funny that the people here esp those who were at the White Lady scene are um,,, not at all surprised? Like yea quite a number of filipinos have their own superstitions and beliefs and all that but um yea the people in Trese seem very used to the bullshit,,,which in retrospect, isn't at all inaccurate fsdfd I MEAN WE DEAL WITH UNSURMOUNTABLE AMOUNTS OF BS ON A DAILY BASIS SO I DON’T THINK DEAD GHOSTS WOULD EVEN FAZE MANY FSKJDS

+ The one that appears right before Alexandra talks with the duwende (the one in the manhole) is called Laman Lupa (which i guess translates to um "What is in the earth"? just um YEA THEY ARE DIRT CREATURES). normally this is an umbrella term for duwendes and nunos but in Trese they are servants of these aforementioned creatures.

+ Duwende (which came from the Spanish phrase "dueno de case" which means "owner of the house") or dwarves in Filipino folklore are known to be mischievous and magical environmental guardians. They are believed to reside in trees or under earth mounds (those that live in the latter are called nuno sa pundo or old man of the mount) which is why quite a lot of Filipinos say "tabi tabi po" or “excuse me” when wandering around a forest or earth mounds as a sign of respect and in the hopes the duwende won't torment them. If the person is friendly, the duwende can also be friendly in return and will bring that person good lucl; otherwise, those who destroy their homes by stepping on them will face their wrath in form of heartless curse and predictions of ominous and disastrous fates. A duwende's color also depends on their budhi or conscience: to my knowledge, white duwendes are kind, red ones give protection amulets, green ones are firnedly with children and the black ones give nothing but trouble.

+ Chocnut aka the snack Alex bribes the nuno with is a very yummy chocolate snack made of coconut milk, crushed peanuts and cocoa powder. They are umm about an inch in length and maybe half an inch in width so it's fairly small; that being said I WANT THE CHOCNUT THAT ALEXANDRA HAS CAUSE HOT DAMN THAT'S A BIG CHOCNUT

+ In Trese, the creatures in the MRT scene and in the warehouse Alexandra visits after she talks with the duwende are called "aswang". In Philippine folklore, it is an umbrella term for any kind of monster so um an aswang in Luzon would be very different from the aswang in Mindanao. According to what I saw on wikipedia, they can be classified in 5 categories: the vampire (self-explanatory um they drink blood), the viscera sucker (the manananggal, i'll get to that next time), the weredog (cats and pigs are also possible but um yea they target pregnant women), the witch (self-explanatory boom curses and stuff) and the ghoul (they gather near trees in cemeteries to feast on human corpses). Aswangs are often described to have a long, hollow tongue, sharp claws and sharp teeth, although they do also have human forms.

+ To my knowledge, Ibwa, the leader of the aswangs in the warehouse, is a creature from Tinguian or Itneg mythology (they, like the Ifugao, are an indigenous ethnic group in northwestern Luzon) though I could be wrong about this dksfsf Ibwa seems like an ethnic filipino term tho wah I can't remember where I once read that. But anyways, Ibwa often stalk sthe house of a dying person to steal its body. In order for the ibwa to NOT succeed in that, some people burn holes in the garments of the dead and put a sharp iron object on top of the grave since those are most powerful weapons against aswangs which is what Alexandra uses to subdue the Ibwa and kill all the other aswangs (the knife alex uses is named Sinag which means "ray of light".)

+ ALSO I AM SO SO GLAD THEY KEPT THE FILIPINO SWEARS IN THE ENGLISH DUB YES YES THIS IS A VERY GOOD JOB so lemme discuss the versatility of tangina-

+ Also umm Bossing is a nickname of Vic Sotto - one of the three pioneer hosts of Eat Bulaga! which is the longest running Philippine noontime variety show. Over time, most probably due to the show's popularity, the term "bossing" then became um slang for "boss" or "chief"

+ Translation of what Alex says when she's stirring the eye inside the cup: “In the eyes of others, secrets will reveal themselves.”

+ Sidenote: The English dub's pronunciation of many of the tagalog lines are um yea they r pretty good but they could use a bit of work but then again I'm really not that good in speaking in Tagalog so who am I to judge gkdkf sorry po guys conyo po ako-

+ Maria Makiling is arguably the most famous of all the diwatas (ancestral spirits, nature spirits, or deities) in Philippine Mythology; she is associated with Mount Makiling in Laguna as the guardian spirit of the mountain. Mount Makiling is said to resemble a profile of a woman and people associate the profile with Maria herself. She is also known as a goddess by the name of Dayang Masalanta and people would pray to her for safety and to stop storms and earthquakes. That's the goddess Alexandra's mother mentions right when she tells Alex to hide. (Translation to what she said there: Maria Makiling, goddess of the mountain, bless us.)

+ ALSO YEA THAT MAYOR IN THE MRT STATION IS UMMM RATHER REMINISCENT OF MAAAANY POLITICIANS AND PUBLIC SERVANTS HERE LIKE BELIEVE ME I CAN THINK OF SO MANY NAMES RN. THEY WOULD FLAUNT THEIR MACHISMO AND PROMISE THAT THEY THEMSELVES SHALL PUNISH THE PERPETRATORS HARSHLY BUT IN THE END THEY DONT MEAN SHIT AND ARE IN OFFICE TO SERVE ONLY THEMSELVES AND TO SHIT ON THE REST ESP THOSE OF THE POORER SECTORS AND *NOTHING IS DONE ABOUT IT*. WE LIVE IN HELL OKAY. also hmm how the police are represented here is umm,,,interesting,,, like i know there are sOME good police officers like the ones alexandra assists but like,,,our current sociopolitical climate + the many cases showcasing the corruption in the police force + tHE SHEER AMOUNT OF POLICE BRUTALITY HERE would ummm beg to differ. but um anyways-

+ Also Mang Inasal posters can be seen in the MRT station backdrops and um it’s a very famous restaurant chain here and they serve lots of barbecue and other filipino stuffs and i miss them a lot God their halo halo is very yummy

+ Santelmo - oki so this is the fire face thingy that Alexandra summons inside the ruined train. This is the shortened version of the term "Apoy ni Santa Elmo" or "St. Elmo's Fire" - this is a weather phenomenon wherein plasma is created from an electrical discharge from a rod like object in an atmospheric electric field. This phenomenon was used to warn of imminent lightning strikes or storms (there is a chapter in Noli Me Tangere where Pilosopo Tasyo talks about that bUT I'LL SAVE THE NOLI ME TANGERE RAMBLES FOR ANOTHER DAY). But according to Philippine folklore, santelmos - which are said to be souls of people lost as sea - are balls of fire that appear where accidents or big arguments happen. In Trese, santelmos (alex's santelmo being "The Great Spirit of the Binondo Fire") can be called to assist in supernatural investigations

+ Translation of what Alex says when she draws the circles to meet with the purple ghosts: "Souls, where are you off to? I'll be entering too, so please open the door."

+ Remember the scene at the train with all the purple ghosts and the woman in a veil? Yea the woman is an emissary of a goddess named Ibu and she is the Manobo (again, another indigenous ethnic group but this time they're from Mindanao; fun fact we have around 134 ethnic groups) goddess of deceased mortals and the queen of the underworld; she also serves as a psychopomp and guides the newly deceased souls to the other side (having an MRT be the ride to the underworld isn’t in the legends tho so fkkjsf)

+ The aswang in the top hat is called Xa Mul and according to the Isneg/Apayao people (yay another ethnic group but this time in northern Luzon - the Cordillera regions to be specific), they are an evil spirit known to swallow people whole.

+ Alex has two henchmen right? Yea they are named Crispin and Basillio and No I still don’t know who’s who and I'm really sorry about that fsfjs so anyways the names Crispin and Basillio are actually those of two brothers featured in the Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo novels (Crispin is younger and Basilio is older) which are basically the national novels here cause um yea written by national hero Jose Rizal as sociopolitical commentary about the Spanish regime here. I don't know if I want to spoil this cause I kinda want other people to read the novel too fskfs BUT ALL IN ALL, ONE OF THEM DIES IN LIKE THE 10TH OR 11TH CHAPTER OF NOLI ME TANGERE (and the novel has 64 chapters btw) AND UM YEA-

+ OKI SO TO ADD MORE CONTEXT TO THE SQUATTER STUFFS MENTIONED IN TRESE (we r gonna use the tiny font here because holy shit this rant is long): So,in the Philippines, especially in the capital region, there are lots of slum areas called squatters. These are dense urban settlements made of compact makeshift housing units that aren't really officially recognized by the government. This is um very reflective of the poverty situation here and there are maaany factors that come into play here and if i were to go into depth about this topic, that rant would probably turn into an academic paper so for the sake of brevity, let's just say that Things Are Fucked Up Here. Oftentimes the poorer sectors are being ignored and left to their own devices despite tons of campaign promises to make things better and easier for them. The communities that live here are incredibly vulnerable to floods, fires, and the like and afaik no concrete solutions have been in effect to protect these people and their settlements. There have also been many times where squatter areas are dismantled or demolished despite protests of people living in those areas and yea I understand the need to make space and the need for renovation but the people should still be offered some sort of temporary settlement or financial compensation thingy that doESN'T fuck them over but alas, we have an anti-poor government. That being said, I really like Trese Ep 1's portrayal of governmental negligence, but I also have some thoughts, especially in regards to the mayor being arrested THAT FAST which um believe me, NEVER FUCKING HAPPENS BECAUSE MANY MAYORS AND A LOT OF POLITICIANS HAVE THE POLICE IN THEIR POCKETS SO UM ERR YEA JUSTICE IS RARELY A THING HERE BUT UM ANYWAYS YEA THE GOVERNMENT LIKES TO SHIT ON THE POOR WOO LET'S SAVE THE USE OF SOCIOLOGICAL LENS ON THIS MATTER FOR ANOTHER DAY

+ The news channel reporting the arrest of the mayor is ABC-ZNN WHICH IS AN OBVIOUS REFERENCE TO ABSCBN aka the top media conglomerate here (that has been fucked over by the government so many times to the point that they had to shut down operations last year which is all sorts of unfair so seeing them being referenced here kinda made me happy gksfks)

#HI PATROC I HAVE A GIFT #IT'S A VERY LONG AND CONVOLUTED GIFT #BUT IT'S A GIFT #I WISH YOU THE BEST OF LUCK IN TRYING TO UNDERSTAND THIS #this is literally 2813 words long AND IT TOOK ME 12 HOURS TO TYPE THIS OUT OH GOD #AND THIS IS JUST EP 1 #here's to hoping the following eps are gonna be much easier for me to like ramble about considering that i explained quite a lot here gfsfs #please do take this ramble with a grain of salt tho cause obviously I am not a mythology expert so um feel free to add more info!#i'd really love to see more info about trese so yay!#trese #trese netflix #alexandra trese #trese spoilers #ask to tag

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phynali · 3 years ago

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so not to ruminate on things that vex me, but the past 2 or so months have been kinda shit, and i’m trucking along and there absolutely are high points and good things and joys that balance some of this out, but i need to vent out some of the negative emotions somewhere to get ‘em out. so i guess i’m doing that here because -

we’re in lockdown#6 where i live (state of victoria) and it’s hard, this yo-yo of restrictions and swinging in and out of one lockdown after another.

for those who understandably won’t know, what we call lockdown here means not just restaurant and commercial closures and mandatory working from home unless you’re in an industry where that’s impossible -- it also means no guests (0) inside you’re home unless you’re both living alone and single or else romantic partners, it means not leaving your home at all except for one of 4-5 necessary reasons, not being outside for more than 2hrs per day even to exercise, and not going more than 5km from your home unless required for work/medical/etc required reasons.

it’s intense. we spent (i think) 128 days in this degree of lockdown in 2020, never mind how many we spent in other forms of restrictions and working from home. and we’ve been back in it four (4) times in 2021 already. in-out-in-out-in-out -

it’s taking a toll on the mental health of every person i know. we get weekly emails with wellbeing and resilience tips from my job -- not just “be productive or else” capitalism but heartfelt ones from wellbeing officers with copies of articles like this one on languishing from the NYT, acknowledging we’re all struggling and directing us to the plethora of wellbeing resources our workplace is trying to provide, not only to us but reminding us they offer it to our families too.

i’m one of the lucky ones. i’m really not trying to wallow here or to pretend otherwise. i appreciate that i can work from home, even though i can’t focus when i do and it this interacts with my adhd to fuck my productivity. even if i’m so behind and delayed it feels like i’ve lost 12-18 months worth of work and it will have long-term ramifications on my career -- even so, i still i have a job. i still get paid. and i even kept my job, a bit by the skin of my teeth but i did, when my sector downsized last year. yes, the way my employer went about lay offs left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth (my own included), but i made it through.

and my sector, while affected, is by no means the worst of the collateral damage.

the yo-yo of lockdowns is taking a very very real toll on industries like hospitality, tourism, commerce. and the economy does have indirect effects on health and mental health as well. my friend, a waitress, was on her way to work the evening shift at a restaurant when she got the call about the latest lockdown. she had to turn around and go home because the announcement came just hours before the lockdown was imposed, and every place suddenly had to close by 8pm. bye bye evening shift. so much of the government support for these industries has dried up, has been inadequate.

lockdowns save lives. i don’t begrudge my state for imposing one except that yes -- i’m resentful we’re here again with only six cases. i can be both accepting and grateful and also pissed and tired and more all at once.

even more than the latest lockdown, i’m pissed about the yo-yo. that we went into lockdown in june, came out in july, went back in in july, came back out in july, are going back in now, in the first week of august. three lockdown/re-openings in 10 weeks, as if this rollercoaster doesn’t completely incapacitate our ability to plan or prepare for anything more than a week out, more than a day out -- in this case, more than a few hours out. 4pm the lockdown was announced, with an 8pm start time. as if that doesn’t have more insidious consequences on individuals and industries than a more clearly articulated and consistent approach. as if all the restaurants that got to open up this week didn’t purchase large food orders for this weekend that will spoil because they were given 4 hours notice to close their doors.

that’s the part i hate, right now more than the lockdowns themselves. consumer sentiment was at a high in april, optimism was everywhere. people felt good, and like we had a plan forward. now -- well, now my job is sending me emails about how normal and okay it is that i might be ‘languishing’ because aren’t we all?

and i absolutely do begrudge my federal government, and i’m angry with them, and this is part of why:

youtube

but i also accept, to some extent, that these decisions have all been made in difficult circumstances, and i’m not really about to pretend i could do any better.

at the same time, australia’s vaccine rollout is among the slowest and lowest at least within OECD countries. i know that’s partly because we’ve managed the keep cases low and therefore we are prioritized less when it comes to who needs the vaccines most (and thus who is earlier in line to be able to purchase) among other geo-political reasons i won’t get into, but it still very much sucks. our timeline and ability to move forward and ability to stop having lockdowns requires a mostly-vaccinated population, and that’s not something we’ll have anytime soon.

and i am a visa-holder here and my family is back in canada and with our current border restrictions leaving to visit is honestly is not an option because i wouldn’t be able to return, to work. i’m managing that distance okay most of the time despite my homesickness and frustration but my partner’s parents are older and his mother’s health just isn’t amazing and it’s weighing on him a lot.

a phd student i work with just had a parent die in another country while stuck here, had to drop everything to return, is devastated by not being by their parent’s side when it happened because it came on sudden, and now won’t be able to come back into australia after, will have to finish their thesis remotely from abroad. stories like that are becoming commonplace in certain circles, here. this student is not the first or only person i know who has been in that exact situation in the past year.

it’s enraging, and upsetting, and instills a sense of helplessness because -- there’s nothing that can really be done about it. there’s no good answer, but it’s scary to think of what could happen. i know it scares my husband. if his mother’s health suddenly dips -- does he drop everything and leave? how can he not? would i go with him or hold the fort here? what ramifications does that have either way?

right now, we’re in the first stages of getting permanent residency, my job is putting in the nomination, and this is one of those awesome high-points i mentioned. it’s a very much needed sense of security in my career and my future in this country. but while a PR application is pending and under review, you can’t leave the country, even in pre-covid times. it takes months to get the application fully nominated, accepted, then submitted, and months on months to process.

in january 2020 we had agreed that for xmas 2020 we’d return home to canada. obviously the world changed and we quickly determined that wouldn’t be the case. we pushed that plan back to july-aug 2021, then to october 2021, xmas 2021. my partner’s sister asked him last week if we started making plans, booking things for xmas, was calling to check that we’d had our second jabs. he had to explain the situation to her, that we aren’t even eligible for our first vaccine yet, that we aren’t holding out any real hope of visiting, not this year, not until mid-next.

anyway - i’m just. languishing, i guess, if that’s the word for it after all. i know it’s not the same as depression -- i’ve had episodes of that, been treated for it in different ways. this is and feels different, even if there are obvious similarities. whatever to call it, it sucks, and i hate it. and i hate the other lows and anxieties and crap i’ve been dealing with in the past few months as well that didn’t make it into this post about covid. crap with work, with friends, with goddamn car rentals of all stupid things. crap that’s making me anxious and crap that just needs processing. crap that is, ultimately, massively exacerbated because lockdowns turn us into little rats gnawing on the bars of our cages.

and i guess i just needed to talk about it somewhere, to organize my thoughts and free up some headspace (emotion space?) currently being used to hold these thoughts and feelings in place. i kind of hate posting personal crap like this and always get the urge to delete but i also have a hard time organising my thoughts if i don’t write them out with this intent to post. sort of want to go outside and scream at god, sort of want to phone up a friend and yell at him for an hour for being an exhausting ass, sort of want to be alone for a day to curl up under a blanket with a movie that’ll make me cry because raging at the universe is always so much easier when i’m alone and unobserved. but i guess since those aren’t especially kind or feasible i’ll post this instead.

anyway - if you read to the end of this for any reason, i’m not trying to be maudlin, and there’s really no need to respond. it’s just a feelings dump, sucking some of the poison out, not really much different than journalling but i’ve always been better at that online than on paper.

#ugh #personal post #just organising thoughts and bitching about present circumstances #because i'm tired of 2021's bullshit and needed to vent a bit #gpoy

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akaluan · 4 years ago

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Prompt: As always, Erich/Kisuke(/Alexis?) 32, 25

(32: Flirting under fire, 25: Time travel Erich/Kisuke(/Alexis?))

“This is not quite what I had in mind when you said ‘let’s go back in time and fix things!’” Erich shouted as he swept his arm out, emerald reiatsu trailing from his fingertips and lingering as brilliant streaks that suddenly flared bright-bright-brighter—

Shinigami and Quincy froze as the ward settled around them, locking them in stasis until they either gathered the strength to break free or he released them.

It wasn’t the best solution, but it would have to do until they could finally sort out how the hell to stop, well… whatever people wanted to call this goddamn mess.

(Would he even be born after all this meddling?)

(Whose bright idea was it to stop the Quincy purge?)

Erich grimaced and flicked his fingers, trying to shake the growing numbness in his hand at the blatant overuse of power he’d been indulging in. He was stronger than most combatants on the field, but there were so many combatants that his chosen method of crowd control was tiring.

“Aw, but it’s turned out so well!” Kisuke shouted back as he smoothly ducked away from Kyoraku’s blade and traded places with Alexis. He cast a glance at Erich, lips quirked into a tiny, pleased smile, and said, “I always enjoy the sight of you showing your strength. It’s… inspiring.”

“You seriously think this has ‘turned out well’?” Erich snapped, trying to ignore the shivery curl of pride-pleasure-want that Kisuke’s words caused; now was not the time for such things, and he wished Kisuke would just… not.

(But oh, it felt so good to be seen, to be appreciated…!)

(No, he needed to keep his mind on the battle at hand!)

He absently sent another stasis ward at the handful of Quincy and Shinigami that had decided to try to gang up on him; points for (temporarily) getting along in the face of a common enemy, but it had been a long time since run-of-the-mill foot soldiers could get the jump on him.

(Even if he was being distracted.)

“Maa, I think we’re getting there,” Kisuke said with a touch of laughter, even as he flicked his hand to send a silent kido at Ukitake. Whatever it was, it made the Captain hiss and withdraw, shaking his off hand as he gave Kisuke a narrow-eyed look.

Ukitake pursed his lips, then let his blade dip just slightly out of form as he said, “I’m not certain what you believe you’re doing—”

“Correcting a grave mistake,” Kisuke interrupted airily.

“Correcting genocide,” Alexis bit out as she slid inside Kyoraku’s guard, grabbed his shoulders, and yanked him down as she drove her knee into his stomach. Judging by the way Kyoraku gasped and hunched over, she’d also coated her knee with reiatsu.

(Poor bastard, that was never an enjoyable experience.)

(Alexis was damn good at fighting dirty.)

Ukitake blitzed past Kisuke, blade up and eyes hard—

Erich locked blades with the infuriated Captain, muscles straining against the raw power that Ukitake could bring to bear, and said, “We aren’t here to kill you.”

“No?” Ukitake asked sharply, gaze darting over Erich’s shoulder before refocusing on him. “I’m not quite sure I believe that.”

Erich shrugged. “Believe what you will. I’ve killed no one so far and your partner will be fine.” He eyed Ukitake’s stance thoughtfully, then twisted his body around and in, free hand reaching for Ukitake’s wrist—

His Ukitake would never have fallen for something so obvious, but this one… this one didn’t have the same sort of experience. This one hadn’t spent over a year sparring with him almost once a week. This one didn’t know his tells, or his habits, or anything about him, and…

He felt no shame in capitalizing on his own familiarity with the man.

His hand closed over Ukitake’s wrist. Squeezed just so—

Ukitake inhaled sharply as he flinched, hand spasming and zanpakutou dropping—

Erich caught it by the tsuba before it could fall too far, then disappeared in a burst of hirenkyaku and landed at Kisuke’s side. “Willing to listen to us now?” he asked idly as he carefully ran blut vein down his arm and took a firmer hold on the blade itself, unwilling to offend Ukitake by even the pretense of turning the man’s zanpakutou on him.

Kisuke leaned in, warm breath ghosting over Erich’s ear, and whispered, “Showing off for me, Erich? I certainly appreciate it.”

Erich swallowed and turned his head a bit to glare at Kisuke, feeling his cheeks heat as he did. “Will you not?” he hissed in exasperation.

“But you look so good like that,” Kisuke murmured, then laughed and ducked away when Erich tried to elbow him in the chest. “Maa, Erich-san needs to learn to take a compliment!”

Erich sighed, unable to resist casting a long-suffering look at Ukitake as he did; the man smirked at him in response, an edge of familiar playfulness about him that dissipated a moment later when Alexis appeared at Erich’s side with Kyoraku in her grip, constructed ropes tying his arms behind his back.

“Look, I’d rather not keep fighting you,” Alexis declared, expression stern as she stared at Ukitake. “You’re outmatched, and with us here this effort to exterminate the Quincy is doomed to failure.” She nodded towards where Kurosaki was in the midst of combat with the Soutaicho and added, “Besides, once Kurosaki-kun finishes his fight, I have no doubt your leader will call it all off anyway.”

“You truly think the Quincy will accept that?” Ukitake asked, curious-skeptical-considering as he examined the three of them and then the masses of frozen fighters all around them. “They seem no more pleased to see you than we do.”

Erich cast a thoughtful look at the combatants that he’d frozen and flexed the fingers of his free hand; even with Tessai going around and adding a seal atop his ward, thereby taking some of the burden from him, he couldn’t continue to use his powers so flagrantly. He had enough strength left to hold his own against Ukitake or Kyoraku, but not both, and he had yet to sense the Quincy Clan Head on the field.

(Whether that meant the Clan Head wasn’t present or had already been killed, he didn’t know.)

(He didn’t even know who was supposed to be the Clan Head in this time!)

(No one who survived had ever spoken of it to him, or written it down anywhere he could find…)

(Damn the Shinigami for the destruction they had wrought!)

“I suppose they don’t,” Erich finally said, then shook his head and straightened his spine, chin tipping up as he fixed Ukitake with a steady look. “But it doesn’t matter. I was a Clan Head at one point and I will make them listen if I must.”

(Hopefully the Clan Head wasn’t dead.)

(Hopefully they listened to him instead of fighting him.)

(Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully…)

Erich bit back his worries and flexed his free hand again, trying to chase away the lingering numbness of overusing his power. He couldn’t afford to drop his guard around Ukitake, even with Kyoraku captured and the man’s blade in his hand; Ukitake was a cunning opponent who would do nearly anything for those he cared about, and right now Erich was not one of the people he cared about.

Ukitake stared back at Erich, wary-thoughtful-wondering as his gaze traveled from Erich’s face to the careful way Erich was holding his zanpakutou, then over to Alexis and Kyoraku. “You know us,” he said slowly, thoughtfully, as his aggressive stance began to fade. “You know us and how we fight. You’re Quincy and you’re working with a Shinigami.”

“Ex-Shinigami, thank you,” Kisuke interrupted with a sniff. “I prefer the Living World these days.”

Ukitake hummed and swayed back a bit, arms crossing over his chest as he fixed all three of them with his best Stern Captain look. “Ex-Shinigami, then,” he said agreeably, even as his gaze never wavered. “You are aware, however, that there are… problems with how Quincy—”

Alexis cut him off with a rude noise, then bared her teeth when he gave her an unimpressed look. “Then work with us to fix it,” she snapped. “We unmake Hollows because they unmake us! But because we barely register to you, it’s us who are in the wrong instead of them!”

“That’s not—”

“What you meant?” Erich cut in ruthlessly. “I don’t care what you meant. I don’t care what rationale you’re using to justify destroying an entire people, but I refuse to let it stand. We’re neither perfect nor innocent of bad deeds, but we still deserve a chance to live.”

Ukitake pursed his lips and looked away, body rigid in the way that Erich knew meant guilt was eating at his friend’s conscious.

(War was one thing, they all understood war, but this…?)

(This wasn’t war.)

“You’ll need to convince the Soutaicho of this,” Ukitake finally said, slanting a sidelong look at Erich as he did. “I am not averse to stopping these fights, but neither Kyoraku-san nor I am in control of this.”

“Kurosaki-kun will sort it out,” Kisuke said with a light grin. “He’s persuasive like that.”

Erich adjusted his grip on Ukitake’s zanpakutou, trying to ignore the growing buzz of displeasure against his senses, and asked, “Do you surrender?”

Kyoraku started and stared up at him with wide eyes, then quickly looked back to Ukitake. “Jyuu—”

“I do, so long as you swear not to hurt us,” Ukitake spoke over Kyoraku.

“We won’t,” Erich agreed easily. “Though I hope you understand that I’m not returning your zanpakutou until all the fighting is done.”

Ukitake grimaced but nodded. “I figured as much.”

Erich carefully constructed a temporary sheath around Ukitake’s zanpakutou and hung it from his belt. “Thank you,” he said as he rubbed at his tingling hand. “And your friend?”

Kyoraku heaved a sigh and sent Erich an exasperated look as he said, “Do I really have any options, here?”

“Agree to surrender and I’ll let you up,” Alexis told him.

“You’d just… let me go?” Kyoraku asked her, clearly befuddled by the suggestion. “But—”

“I captured you once, I can do it again,” Alexis answered with a shrug. “So, yes or no?”

“Anything to get out of these ropes,” Kyoraku joked, flashing a grin up at her as he said, “I normally don’t let anyone tie me up until the third date, but I’ll make an exception for a beautiful lady like yourself.”

Alexis scoffed and rolled her eyes as the ropes binding Kyoraku’s limbs dissolved back into reishi. “Trust me,” she drawled, “if I wanted to play like that, you’d know.”

Erich snorted in amusement at Kyoraku’s flummoxed look. “She doesn’t fluster easily,” he told the man dryly, then shook his head and turned to scan the sky; he needed to find the person leading the Quincy side so he could… speak with them about the battle. There were a few options if he was going by power levels, but based on his experiences…

(There.)

(That one.)

He pulled strength into himself, replenishing his power, and then darted forward, arrowing towards the Quincy he’d singled out.

(He needed to stop this battle, stop this war, and then… and then…)

(It was time and past for the Quincy hidden in Seireitei’s shadow to fall.)

(He refused to allow his people to die, even if he had to slay the progenitor of those very people.)

(He swore it.)

#alexis/erich/kisuke #trope prompt #man i keep trying to do ridiculous romance things and instead they keep catching Plot #ah well #i hope you enjoy it lol!#hamelin-born #replies

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augustheart · 6 years ago

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here are my favorites of the heroes in crisis rewrite scenes i did...thank you to @dykebettekane for letting me message xem with these because i didn’t really want to share them but seeing some of my friends like isa and rat posting theirs made me want to. this isn’t all the ones i wrote but again-they’re my favorites. i’m putting them under a read more because doing more than one does get really long, so sorry to anyone reading this on mobile.

******************************************************************

CINDY REYNOLDS is sitting with one knee hugged up to her chest. Her long dark hair is pulled back from her face, but she’s looking down.

CR: You know, a lot of people forget about me. Even a lot of the people I used to be friends with. It’s okay, really. There was always someone who knew me. Because-he never forgot about me, you know. J’onn J’onzz.

CINDY REYNOLDS looks up.

CR: He’s my-he loves me. He was there for me after my parents died, and before that when Hank and-I mean, when Steel and Vibe died. That means something. That means a lot. He took me seriously even when nobody else did.

CINDY REYNOLDS hugs her other knee up to her chest.

CR: But. He left me. He said that Father Teirnay, or Mauler, or whatever you wanna call him… he said that he was mine to deal with. And maybe he was. But he just-he just let me do it. He knew what was happening to me and he didn’t do anything.

CINDY REYNOLDS squeezes her hands together.

CR: It felt like being forgotten again. He just left me there. I know he doesn’t think I deserved it for being who I am. But it almost felt like it. I just wanted to find somewhere to belong. My people have been persecuted whenever we tried to settle, of course I wanted to belong with someone.

CINDY REYNOLDS pulls at her hair.

CR: I love J’onn. I really do. He’s the closest thing to a father I have. But I don’t know if I can forgive him for that. For… leaving me behind.

CINDY REYNOLDS drops her knees down from her chest and leans forward, bracing her hands on her thighs.

CR: Does that make me a bad person?

******************************************************************

CLIFF STEELE is sitting on his hands. He’s wearing a shirt that says “LIVE AND LET DIE” on it in all capital letters.

CS: Thirty-one times, I think. I’m not sure about the earlier ones. They kind of all blended together. But thirty-one times sounds right. No successes, obviously.

CLIFF STEELE looks up at the ceiling.

CS: But that’s not even what I’m here to talk about. I’m here to talk about them. Larry and Rita.

CLIFF STEELE puts his hands in his lap and squeezes them together.

CS: Everyone always misunderstands when I say I love them. They think something else is going on that they don’t want to think about. It’s not. There isn’t anything else going on. I just love them and they love me. I… I need them.

CLIFF STEELE hugs his shoulders.

CS: You know, Niles once said that he could have programmed me to do anything, and that’s why he never really trusted whatever I felt for him. About him. I don’t know if that $#!% still applies now that I’m supposed to be human.

CLIFF STEELE pulls his knees up to his chest. He’s getting progressively more and more curled up on himself.

CS: He had me for a year before they came along. He could’ve done anything to me. I know he made me manipulate them like he manipulated me.

CLIFF STEELE tucks his head in between his knees.

CS: I love them. I do. I just worry that it wasn’t my choice.

******************************************************************

SUE DIBNY is sitting with her legs crossed. Her hand is on her knee.

SD: Everybody wants to talk about what happened with Dr. Light. Sometimes I think that’s all they see when they look at me.

SUE DIBNY doesn’t move, but she does close her eyes.

SD: They don’t want to know about what happened afterward. I could tell them if they asked. About going to therapy and working through things and getting better again. They never want to know about any of that. And it was the same after Sonar.

SUE DIBNY opens her eyes again and looks off to the left.

SD: Everyone forgets I’m a detective. They don’t know that I know that’s all the information they want from me. But it’s not hard when they only listen to me when I talk about that. That, or my death. That’s it. That’s all they want to talk about.

SUE DIBNY closes her eyes again, still looking off to the left.

SD: I’m more than what happened to me. I know that. You’d think Ralph doesn’t, but he does. He’s always been my biggest supporter.

SUE DIBNY waves to someone off panel. The reader can assume that Ralph is standing just out of sight, probably giving her a double thumbs up.

SD: I’m the world’s greatest detective. I trained a superhero. I kept the damn Justice League International together on my own. And now I’m the new Mockingbird.

SUE DIBNY looks back at the “camera”, staring straight out of the panel.

SD: And I’m so goddamn tired of talking about Dr. Light.

******************************************************************

JANE MORRIS is sitting with her hands in her lap. Her eyebrows are furrowed. (The reader doesn’t know it, but she’s cofronting with Liza Radley, who forced her to come here.)

JANE: People don’t want me to be happy. They don’t want us to be happy.

JANE MORRIS crosses her arms.

JANE: Well, they think they want me to be happy. Because everyone wants us to integrate. Everyone. They wanted it so bad that Liza wanted it. Someone-&@$%, I don’t know why I’m not saying his name. Cliff wanted it for us more than anyone. He doesn’t anymore, but…

JANE MORRIS doesn’t move, but she does look down a little.

JANE: I’m used to it. We’re too much for people to handle. It confuses them and they don’t get it and they don’t like it when they try to talk to me and someone else is at the wheel. So they want us to integrate, even though we don’t want to anymore.

JANE MORRIS looks up again.

JANE: But I’m comfortable being us. We’re comfortable being us.

JANE MORRIS smiles.

JANE: We’re happy. And we don’t care what other people think about us anymore.

#heroes in therapy #my writing #i wasn't gonna character tag this but like. i might as well.#cindy reynolds #cliff steele #sue dibny #jane #(in order)#for some reason tumblr took away my ability to make a line break #suicide m /#self harm m /#rape m /#ableism /#death m /#ask to tag

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bleedingcoffee42 · 6 years ago

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Eureka AU- Part 1

RoyAi Eureka AU I got the idea for yesterday and had to write out. More coming, easily a 20k word fic if I let it be. Premise is a modern day AU where there is a secret small town in the middle of nowhere that houses a community of scientists who make tech for the government. Great series that I miss. An AU that is so vaguely built on the concept of this series you have to squint to see it. Thanks Dream Me for coming up with another WIP I don’t have time for.

Under a readmore, Part 1 got longer than I wanted it to.

Riza Hawkeye watched the senators and military higher-ups try to interact with the scientists at this impromptu party Roy Mustang had thrown together. Eyes were glazed over, tablets were displaying incredible scientific breakthroughs and there were small robots roaming the foyer with trays glued to them so they could deliver drinks and snacks. She understood why this was necessary, funding was in jeopardy as always, but she didn't understand why an unfathomable genius couldn't used his goddamned phone to give them more than three hours notice this was going to happen.

Roy smiled and lead his group of important government officials around the room, purposely directing them away from scientists like Edward Elric who would instantly seize the chance to declare science was for the people not the military. He has been in the capital for budget meetings, trying to prove that this little town nobody had heard of was the epicenter of technology and needed to remain funded. Weapons, medicine, electronics, space technology....all was on display here by the country's best minds to prove to these individuals that Eureka was a vital asset to the country.

Eureka, a town that was on nobody's map and nobody's radar. A town founded decades ago by geniuses who wanted to remove the pressures of the outside world from interfering with research while also providing it's occupants with safety and resources. Isolation also meant that these important people had no idea the routine mishaps that occurred because said experiments often went horribly, horribly wrong.

Scientists could be complete fucking idiots.

That was where she came in, Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye was on assignment here to be the military's presence and protection. She wore the uniform of the town's Sheriff, something that did nothing to encompass the massive scale of her job description. With only her and her Deputy Jean Havoc, the small town's law enforcement office covered everything from petty arguments to defending Eureka from attack if enemies ever discovered it for the treasure trove of knowledge it was.

Today's danger was only the head of the program itself, Roy Mustang. Dr. Mustang, with a slew of doctorates that he would gladly brag about when given the chance, had just come back from a month away from Eureka and failed to send a single text or communication to tell anyone he was planning to do so. A man with incredible resources at his fingertips, a phone on his hip at all times and enough brainpower to juggle a dozen tasks at once, yet not one single brain cell dedicated to thinking about how she would react to being surprised by his announcement three hours ago.

And she knew he did it for dramatic effect. She knew he did it to surprise his people because she would have definitely let them know and prepare for this visit. He wanted them scurrying around, tripping over themselves in excitement and fear when these important people arrived. Chaos made things seem busy instead of the boring calm that was research being done; testing the research as when it could have unpredictable outcomes.

The alternative would have probably lead the group to enter Eureka and find the town in flames, chimera running the streets and clocks running backwards. It's not that these geniuses were incompetent, it was that they had the resources and freedom to do what they wanted and every damned one of them took advantage of it. Putting pressure on them to have something to present to Senators and Generals would have been a disaster. It also kept some secrets, secret. It gave tastes of things to come, if the budget was approved, versus delivering results they could shutdown the place and use now. Roy knew what he was doing, but she hated it none-the-less.

And he knew it.

Riza decided to take a walk, help herself to some coffee that wasn't made by gourmet contraption that required way too many levels of input. She knew she had to be emanating levels of anger from the way people were avoiding her and that wasn't helping anyone. She walked down the hall to the break room, avoiding a cleaning robot who was spinning in circles trying to clean popcorn it was dropping from an overloaded popping machine epoxied to it lid. Then she ducked as a drone flew overhead with a cookie tray. Did nobody remember the Christmas Party disaster from last year? Why the hell was all this stuff out of storage?

No. NO. This was Roy's mess and if the tray gave someone a concussion that it was on him. He'd spectacularly dance around the blame and find some positive to it, he always did. This was her five minutes to brew coffee in a 'primitive' 'cheap' coffee pot she had to smuggle in to town on her own in order to have simple, perfect coffee. Five minutes to cool off.

She heard someone at the break room door as she pressed the 'On' button after loading the offending machine. She didn't turn around knowing who it was and her phone went off. She pulled it out and saw a simple text message from Roy, 'sorry'. Damn him. “No, you're not.”

Roy watched her turn around and cross her arms. “You're right. I'm not and I won't insult your intelligence by explaining why I did it. You already know. I'm sorry that I had to employ that tactic and upset you, though.”

“Well, we are right back to where we left off before you ran out of here last month without so much as a phone call until you were in the car full of government officials driving back to Eureka.”

“Our conversation...” He paused and took a step towards her and then another. Enough to close the gap and keep things quieter but not invade her space. “Needed to be had in person not over the phone.”

“Don't patronize me, I'm not mad because you 'upset' me by doing your job. I'm downright pissed you have no respect for me what-so-ever to include me in whatever scheme it is you think necessary to keep your job.” She said and remained in place, eyes on him, the coffee pot gurgling as it brewed it's batch of bean water like these people thought the early settlers did.

Roy reacted even though he was trying not to. “Well, sorry if 'I think' it a priority to keep Eureka from becoming a ghost town so we don't descend into the dark ages scientifically or worse have the personnel here go to the private sector and sell their ideas to the highest bidder. It's my job to protect our interests here and your job to protect this place physically.”

It was a misstep and he knew it. She watched him close his eyes and put up his hand, asking to pause and take back what he said. Unfortunately that project allowing the rewind of time for a few seconds had already imploded on itself last week. A mess he wasn't here to clean up, so no her job was more than to just protect this place from invasion. “Go back to doing your job Roy, when you can fit me in on your schedule you let me know. I need to be read in on what exactly our partnership is here because I'm tired of being the ally when you agree with me and your enemy when I dare question you. This is my town too.”

“Riza.” He said and opened his eyes. He took a deep breath and tried to take himself out of the mindset of dealing with politicians. “You're not my enemy, you're my wife.”

“Am I?” She asked. “Because neither one of us is capable of not being who we are professionally in order to make those fleeting moments of personal neutral ground happen for longer than a few days. My job is to protect you and everyone in this town. Your job is to protect all of us from the world. Why the hell can't you stop being such a dick and throwing around your rank when you don't get your way? To me. We should be partners professionally, but you can't give an inch and I do not answer to you. I still am active military and this Sheriff's uniform is just to put everyone at ease. So when General Raven comes to me for my situational report, what do I say? Am I a member of this town or not, because I have a list of really concerning things I should be sending to him that we just put in the shredder and forget about once your people resolve them.”

Roy knew he should get back to the party but he saw his marriage slipping away as Riza turned her back to him to make her military grade garbage coffee. She was right, of course she was. She allowed him to focus back on reality. He loved her and he took her for granted. “Can we talk now? In my office?”

“We have a lot to talk about.” She said and turned back to him, coffee cup in hand. “And, if I recall, you ran away when it didn't go your way last time.”

“OK, I deserve that. I didn't run away from us, I ran towards a inferno that was our annual budget going up in flames in Congress.” He replied. “Riza, It was an emergency. I'm not used to...sharing. I'm just not used to burdening someone else with everything I deal with. ”

“Roy, this isn't about you running out the door and saying 'duty calls' this is about the fact that we got married and you thought you could soften me up about not turning over your technology to the military.” She replied and walked up to him and looked him in the eye. She could see him struggling with what to say because there was no compromising for them on a lot of issues. He wrongly thought he could count on her to stop being a soldier, to stop seeing their successes here as something that could save lives. Lives of men she served with, lives of men who were still serving while she was on special assignment.

“Sometimes, what we make here is too powerful to be in someone's hands. Sometimes it's too much to be released into this word and we need time to modify it for use.“ He said softly. “I know I said the wrong things, but I don't know how to argue without being an asshole.”

“You should learn.” She said .

“Teach me.” He said in a whisper, begging. “Don't give up on me yet.”

“Go back to your party before Edward launches into a speech about the evils of having science married to the military and someone reminding him that this is a Department of Defense venture.” Riza said.

“Let him.” Roy waved that threat off. “It will make them want it all the more. It will make them see the very real threat of a genius like him going and working on his own. Don't tell him I said that.”

“If you want to talk, you know where my office is.” She said and walked around him only to have him reach out and take her hand. “It will do you some good to find out what it's like to not have everything happen on your terms.”

“Are you still sleeping in your office?” He asked.

“You know I am. You have your house's security system reporting to your phone.” She replied and tried to take her hand back. He was rubbing his fingers over her wedding ring.

“Its our house.” He said and could feel months of bad decisions all coming down on him and wishing he had that damned time machine to go back and fix them. It really wasn't their house. He just had her move in with him when they got married, assuming it was just a house. A place to live. Another decision he didn't consult her on. She felt more at home on a surplus cot in her office, in a jail cell, than in his home. He felt a flutter of panic now. “Please, give me ten minutes.”

“You really think that ten minutes will finish the conversation we were having last month?” She asked.

“It's a start.” He said. “It will give you time to drink your coffee.”

“Fine.”

xxxxxxxxx

#eureka au #royai #fic

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kaijutegu · 7 years ago

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firephox replied to your post “There's an enormous difference between animal rights and conservation.”

If you have genuine concerns with them, contact customer support in a calm and professional way. Don't go posting about it on tumblr trying to look for likes and reblogs while doing nothing about it. Lush doesn't know the difference, and they think they are doing a great cause. They aren't a vegan company. Lush is one of the only companies that sources all it's products ethically and treats it's employees right. Everything is fair trade.

dude. buddy.

why do you assume i haven’t done this? why do you assume that this was done for likes and reblogs? Why do you and so many other complete rutabagas in the tags and responses think that I’m doing this for my personal benefit, when really I just want to say “hey, Lush is doing this thing, if it doesn’t jive with you, then maybe you should know about it”?

I am so goddamn tired of people projecting their insecurities onto my motivations.

Also: Lush doesn’t know the difference?

Yes, actually, they do.

A while back, Lush was donating to the Little Fireface Project. The Little Fireface project is an incredibly important slow loris conservation project. The slow loris is a type of primate that’s endangered and lives in a habitat that supports a lot of other endangered species. Protection for the loris, a cute, cuddly, charismatic species, means protection for the other species that live in their forest. In addition, the project works out of Indonesia, a country that is not known for its strong protection of wildlife and wild spaces. It’s a hotbed of animal smuggling, and much of its threatened wildlife is a result of either the pet trade or cutting down the forest for palm oil- AND protection of the loris’s forest means that the native groups that live there are protected as well and are able to earn a fair living in sustainable ways. SO you would think that Lush would find this a fine charity to support, right? And they did for a while!

And then they revoked their support specifically because LFP partners with zoos.

Please read through that link and then reconsider if Lush corporate doesn’t know what they’re supporting.

There’s no ethical consumption under capitalism. No company is truly 100% good, none of them. Every single one has something wrong. Lush does good things for people, yes, but it does bad things for conservation and promotes bad science (see: people who think elephants can talk and/or psychically transmit information to humans). People don’t shop at different places for whatever reason, and this just happens to be one of mine. I figured other people would be interested in the issue, and they can do what they want.

#firephox #i regret making this post #i mean i still stand by everything i said and i'm still not shopping at lush #but i am too tired of people thinking i did this to seek attention #like seriously what the fuck???

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inspiredink · 6 years ago

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Waiting

By Ahn

The parking lot is quiet except for the sound of crickets filling up the air. In the distance, the overpass rising above the palm trees is crowded with car tires grinding against the gravel street. I want to say I can hear the ocean but it might just be my imagination.

You’re asleep inside the motel. I should be in there, curled up with your spine pressed against me and your hair tickling my nose. It’s three in the morning and I’m standing out in the cold itching to write you love letters, itching to write you so much love, you might get better. I take a shaky breath and remind myself you can’t love someone out of anything. I want to say I believe myself, but we both know I’m still trying to love the sadness out of you.

There’s too much energy pounding inside me, pressing against the cracks of my ribs and begging to tumble out. I’ve never been loud or violent, but still, I find myself fighting the impulse to scream or break something. The more I fight the urge, the more it feels like I’m just breaking myself.

My fingers are trembling as I send a message to her. It’s all jumbled letters and misspelled words autocorrect doesn’t feel like changing. I can’t be bothered to capitalize or punctuate. Maybe that’s why she calls me within moments; I’m always precise when I type.

The phone rings in my hand. Over and over and over. All I can do is stare down at my fingers and trace how the flickering light above casts deep shadows on my knuckles. Distantly, I realize that these are my hands holding my phone. I have to remind myself that I am here, that I am breathing.

The line falls dead. She leaves a voicemail but it’s only two seconds of silence before she starts calling again. I don’t remember opening the voicemail but the sound of her breath pulls me out of my stupor. I pick up on the third ring, wiping the tears off my phone screen before holding it up to my ear.

“Hey,” I whisper.

My voice is hoarse. Quiet. Falling apart, really.

“You asked me to call.”

And yeah. I think I remember texting that.

White noise fills my head, blending in with the sound of her breathing and the crackling noise of her silent room. My name interrupts my daze.

“Olivia?”

I don’t respond. I can’t. It occurs to me that I am sobbing too much to answer. I can’t breathe. Ican’tbreathe.

“Olivia, breathe with me. Come on. Listen.”

She breathes in slowly and I try to copy, hiccuping over my own sobs. We breathe in and out together, and I am reminded of how much I love my best friend. A pained smile cracks my face as I shut my eyes and rub the tears.

“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath, trusting her to hear me, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, hun.”

I just focus on breathing for a while, focus on fitting myself back into my body because, at this moment, I don’t feel like myself. She waits for me to finish organizing my thoughts. When I speak, I choke out the words I had meant to say.

“I found her.”

Silence. And then, “How was she?”

“Alive.”

And part of me is angry that I have to worry about this. Part of me crumbles at the reminder that I was so worried I’d stumble onto your dead fucking body.

After a moment, I think to say more.

“She wasn’t great.”

“I can imagine. She never is.”

“I found her at the ocean. She was just… waiting, I guess. For a sign? For her to feel ready? F-for me to find her?”

My voice gets louder as I remember finding you at the ocean’s edge after hours of driving to all of your favorite and my least favorite places (a lot of tall buildings and empty rooms.)

It hurt to find you at my favorite place; I wonder if you knew it would ruin it for me. If you knew the ocean was one of the last few places I had that reminded me of peace. Then, I shake that thought from my head because you could never be that selfish. With a long and slow sigh, I run a hand through my cropped hair. I cut it after you told me I looked prettier with short hair. I wish pretty was enough for you to stay.

“I feel like she’s always waiting for me to find her.”

I’m so tired.

I’m so so tired.

And you’re in there and I’m out here being selfish and calling my best friend because, for once (for the fifth time this month), I need someone else to take in all of the sharp, crumpled up emotions I have balled up in my belly. It tastes like ash and dust when anger surges up my throat and curls on my tongue. This world must be worthless if it makes you feel this way. I want to burn it all down. I want to let myself fall apart. I want to cry. I want to- God, I just want to rest.

“I can’t do this anymore.” It’s a quiet admission.

“You’re not responsible for her.”

I think of you curled up alone in a crappy motel room with the A.C. on blast even though I hate the cold.

“Yeah, I am” I murmur.

And it’s hard to admit it out loud, how responsible I feel for your breakdowns and your pain.

“You’re not alone, Olivia.”

I scoff, taking in the parking lot full of empty cars of guests at the motel. Most of them probably snugly in bed. For once, I let myself feel angry. It’s not fair that I’m out here at 3 a.m. pushing all of this weight onto her. It’s not fair but I’m still doing it because I can never seem to hold myself together long enough to do anything right.

When I answer, my voice is sharp and brittle, cruel and cutting. It’s nothing like when I talk to you. With you, I soften the edges of my tone, even though I want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you and ask Why?

“Aren’t I?”

“Isn’t she there? Aren’t you there for her? That means you’re also with her, Olivia.”

I close my eyes and lean my head back until it’s resting on the cool metal of the bench beneath me. I wish I could see her right now. I wish Gracie were here for me to lean on. But you don’t trust her and you don’t want to talk to her. It feels like I’m a traitor for calling her, but who else can I call at three in the morning?

“You know it’s not the same,” I respond with a sigh.

She’s silent and doesn’t have an answer for a painful truth. I’ve grown distant from everyone, pulled myself away as I worried myself sick about you and wondered where you’d gone and what you were doing and if you were even alive. I can’t help it. I feel like doing anything else but look for you is wasting time. After all, your life is on the line. I could never live with myself if I just let you slip through my fingers.

She speaks again and my sobs grow louder.

“I’m here.”

And she’s right. She is. She reminds me to eat when you disappear, comes by to help clean my room, chides me for refusing to shower or sleep. I hate it. I hate that I’m you to her. I don’t know what that says about us, but it has me staying up late researching therapists and psychiatrists. Not for you to go to, for once. I know what it is to worry about someone else, and I wish she never had to worry about me.

I’m trying so hard to fix myself for Gracie. I guess part of me wishes you’d do the same. I wonder if it’s stupid to think you don’t love me that much if you’re willing to keep dragging me through this every month. It’s not true, and I know it, but I can’t help being cruel after years of struggling with the idea of empathy. It was never you that taught me compassion. That was all her. Some loves are greater than others even if they aren’t all romantic. I wonder which of my loves has a bigger hold on me.

Of course, I’m here with you. Even when I’m with others, my mind is with you.

“I love you,” I say.

“I know,” she responds. And then, “We should watch Star Wars again.”

A snort bursts out before I can stop it. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Not denying that.”

“Gracie…,” I sigh. “What am I doing here…?”

“She needs you.”

It hurts to hear it. It makes me want to leave this city, leave this state, leave this entire goddamn country. I’ve never been needed like this before. I’ve always walked out before I could be wanted, let alone needed.

Tears prick my eyes again.

“I’m not strong enough.”

We both know it’s true. I focus on her breaths over the phone to calm myself down and deal with the panic washing over me. I wish I could go to the ocean, but I can’t. I want to go to the ocean I knew before I saw you there. I want to go to the ocean that helped me breathe, instead of one that makes guilt rise up within me like bile.

After a moment, she responds and her voice is enough to make me feel better.

“You don’t have to be. We’re all here for you. All of your friends and all of your loved ones are still here for you.”

I’m nodding even though she can’t see me, swallowing uneasily on the knot in my throat.

“I’m here for you, Olivia. Take all the strength you need from me. Lord knows you’ve given me strength when I need it.”

“Nobody ever talks about this part, Grace,” I whisper, “None of the articles online talk about how hard it is. They tell you what not to say and what not to do. They say get help and that it should get better but it hasn’t. They never talk about what to do when it’s killing you too.”

“I know,” she says, a lifeline floating in the emptiness. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry.”

I take a deep breath and open my eyes to pull out the keys to my truck. I curl my fingers around the edges, finding myself anchored by the hard teeth of the car key pressed into my palm, a reminder that I’m here and I’m alive.

“What if she had died tonight? What would I even do?”

It’s terrible and it’s selfish but this conversation was never about you. It was always about me, falling apart. Me, unable to pull you out of whatever was eating you from the inside out. I hate myself. Grace, my best friend, my platonic soulmate, the person who hasn’t budged from my side for years, somehow finds an answer to the impossible questions I’ve asked.

“You’d live, Olivia. And you’d mourn and you’d cry and maybe you’d want to die. But you’d live. And sometime, definitely not right away but definitely someday, you’d be happy again and it’d be… okay.”

“Okay.” I take a breath and then I take another. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna be- I’m gonna be okay.”

“I know you’ll be.”

You find me there in the freezing dawn three hours later, bleary-eyed and dazed as I watch the sun creep over the horizon. We get into my car, no real destination in mind, and I turn on the radio to listen to the morning news. You change the station but I don’t really care enough to switch it back. Without realizing it, I drive us to the ocean.

When we swing out of the car, I look over at you and remember how beautiful you are. The ocean breeze pushes your tangled hair out of your eyes and the color is returning to your cheeks after a long night of sleep. You reach out and link your fingers with mine and I feel like I can breathe more easily, I feel like maybe, I can be okay again.

The beach is void of life for miles around. We walk to the water’s edge, let the waves lap at our feet and the seafoam settle around our ankles. I feel the panic rise up in me as I remember seeing you stand here in exactly the same position. For a moment, I can’t feel your hand in mine. It’s as though I cannot see your chest rise and fall in time with the waves or your eyes sparkling with tears as you look out at the water and let the sound of the ocean and the seagulls wash over us.

I’m alone again and I’m far, far away from Earth.

The memory of Gracie’s voice draws me back and I am reminded of how she taught me to breathe when I had forgotten. I am reminded of my friends arriving late at night to cook dinner for me and replace the dying flowers in my kitchen. I am reminded of the many voicemails you left unheard on your phone of people asking how you are and where you’ve been.

As your hold on my hand tightens slightly, as though I anchor you here on this beach, I wonder if you realize that more than one person is saving us.

Ahn writes science fiction and fantasy stories and publishes poetry on her blog. In her free time, she enjoys convincing herself that there are monsters in her garage and misinterpreting MBTI types, classpects, and other personality identifiers. Avoiding social gatherings is her forte and binge-reading fantasy series is her fatal flaw. Read more from her at versesfortomorrow.

#writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #writers of tumblr #poets of tumblr #Writers' World #submission #spilled ink #poetic stories #prose poetry #writers creed #Writers Corner #Writing

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pumpkinspicejackotaco-blog · 6 years ago

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In Your Arms Again// TRR oneshot

HELLO. MY NAME IS PUMPKINSPICEJACKOTACO BUT YOU CAN CALL ME ASSHOLE. THIS IS MY FIRST EVER FAN FICTION TO BE WRITTEN ON TUMBLR. I HAVE A WATTPAD TOO BUT I DON'T USE IT AS MUCH ANYMORE. ANYWAYS. THIS IS ABOUT MY MC (Lily Josephine Brooks) WHO HAS BEEN AWAY IN IRAQ AND DIDN'T TELL LIAM AND SHE COMES BACK AND YADAYADAYADA. ENJOYYYYYYYY

××××××××××××××storystartshere××××××××××

Lily stepped off the plane at Fort Bragg Air Force base and ran a tanned hand over her chestnut hair. The terminal was awash with people, families holding signs for their loved ones but like every tour, Lily was alone. After grabbing a crappy coffee from one of the machines, she turned on her phone to find 3 missed calls; one from Maxwell, one from Hana and one from Drake.

With a tired sigh she opened the messaging app and texted Maxwell;

FROM- Lil Blossom 🌸🌸🌸 TO- Max the Dancing Unicorn 🦄🦄🦄

🌸 heyy it's me. Just landed, flight leaves from Raleigh-Durham at 1438. I should land around noon your time.

🦄 SWEEEEEET. CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU BOO! I'LL GET YOUR ROOM PREPPED AT RAMSFORD ASAP.

🌸 thanks dude. Can we have pizza?

🦄 anything for my little blossom.

🌸 great. Gotta go. Love youuu

🦄 love you too baby sis

Lily looked up to find her "mother", Lynette peeping over her shoulder.

"Going back to Cordonia?" She grinned.

"Where else? Liam and Madeleine are over and my name is a cleared." Lily grinned back, showing her ever so slightly twisted canines. Her smile wasn't perfect as she had grown up in an orphanage but everyone she met found it adorable.

" Are you forgetting you never told him?" Lynette quizzed, sounding sceptical.

"Hana told him I needed space and that I was staying with family. Both of which are true." She shrugged.

"Fair enough. Do you wanna grab some food? We have five hours til you need to be at the airport and Tom and the kids won't get here for another 90 minutes." Lynette said, hugging Lily.

"Let's do it. McDonalds or Starbucks?"

×××××LeTimeSkipApprox2HoursLater×××××

Lily and Lynette sat on a bench in a local park, watching Lynette's two, four year old sons; Harry and Milo play tag. They were still in their uniforms as neither had brought appropriate civvies with them, it was calm, peaceful almost and the fall sun shone through the fiery red branches.

"Makes the distance worth it right? Seeing them play without worrying about terrorists and bombs tryna blow them up." Lily stated, smiling softly at the two ginger boys.

"Certainly does." Lynette nodded.

First Sergeant Lynette Danvers was a tall, willowy woman of 37 with short blonde corkscrew curls and deep blue eyes that were intelligent. She had joined the Army at age 20 after doing two years in community college studying art. Her husband, Tom was an architect of 40 and stood at around six foot. He had met Lynette when she was 23 at a bar in New Orleans during mardi gras and it had been love at first sight. Their relationship had never been easy, as Lynette had devoted her time to the Army. Two years later, he had proposed in Miami and they had married a year later in Lynette's home town of St.Pauls a year later. Three years later, Lynette would meet the scared 18 year old Lily Josephine Brooks on the runway at Camp Bastian.

They had bonded instantly, Lily and Lynette, both had had troubled childhoods and Lily felt soothed by Lynette's prescence. They bonded even more after the death of Harry Rourke, a close friend and once more when Lynette invited Lily back to St Pauls for Christmas with her and Tom. Since then, they'd been inseparable.

Tom walked over, holding paper cups of hot chocolate and smiled fondly at them.

"I barely see you these days Lil." He said.

"You know I'm only a phone call away Tom." Lily grinned.

"Still."

"I can't believe how big the boys are now." She shook her head.

"I can't believe they have more stamina than a platoon of trained soldiers." Lynette scoffed.

"Hey!" Lily gasped.

Tom chuckled and shook his head. "That'll be you in a few years."

"Yeah I hope so. But if the people hate me then there's no point. Liam needs to do what's best for Cordonia." She sighed.

"Your happiness matters too you know." Lynette soothed.

"Well if it doesn't work out then I'm going on another bajillion tours. They're easier to deal with than a bunch of angry Cordonians."

"You'll be fine. Just think. In like 23 hours you'll be back there with your friends." Tom smiled.

Lily chuckled. "Oh yes."

××××××3×hours×later××××××××RDU×××××××

Lily said her goodbyes to her friends and walked through the security gate, excited to be starting a new chapter in her life.

16 hours later, Lily touched down at Kenna International Airport, just outside of Cordonia's capital, Stormholt. She was still in her uniform which made matters awkward when she was greeted by a bunch of photographers.

"Lady Lily, where have you been?"

"Lady Lily, are you happy your name is cleared?"

"I'll release an official statement later, but you'll have to excuse me for a moment. I've not slept in 4 days and I'm running off of coffee and protein bars. Thank you for your time." She rushed, spotting Bertrand and Maxwell outside waiting for her next to a black range rover. She climbed into the passenger seat and Maxwell pulled away from the screaming paparazzi.

Meanwhile in the palace, King Liam sat in a living room, drinking tea with Regina and his father, the news was on in the background. They were sat discussing Leo's most recent antics when Regina froze, picked up the remote and turned the volume up on the television.

"This just in, Lady Lily Brooks or should we say, Sergeant Lily Brooks is back in Cordonia. The woman, who was a victim of a major press scandal back in December was seen walking through Kenna International wearing full US Army uniform and carrying a rucksack. When confronted by the press, she issued this statement.;"

The screen flashed to Lily walking through the airport with bags under her eyes and her cheeks looking noticeably slimmer, her cap was on her head and a few sneaky strands had slipped out from her bun. Liam gasped.

Lily had obviously lost weight and there was a visible healing cut above her left eye. She looked so tiny and warrior like in her uniform which was dusty and wrinkled from travel, yet he had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

He lunged for his phone and texted Maxwell.

FROM- Kingy King Liam 😉 to Maxwell Beaumont 🦄

😉 is Lily with you?

🦄 yaaaaaa but she's drivin ATM. Can I pass a message on?

😉 don't you have Bluetooth?

🦄 ohh yeah. Btw why don't you text her yoself?

😉 she blocked my number after the first 100 calls...

🦄 AHAHAHAHAHAHA

😉 it's not funny Maxwell!!!

🦄 IT LIKE TOTEZ IS

😉 let me speak to her

🦄 one sec imma askkkkk

🦄 yeah iss kewl

Regina and Constantine looked on at the anxious king who held his phone to his ear.

"Lily?" He began, putting her on speaker.

"Hey you." She said softly, while tears streamed down Liam's cheeks.

He took a deep breath. "How are you?" He asked, running a hand through his already tousled hair.

"Fine. Not slept in four days but apart from that life's good." She said clearly.

"Why the blazes are you driving then!? You could crash!" Came the voice of Bertrand.

"Calm your ass Bert. I'm fine." Lily sassed back at him.

Regina flinched at the use of Lily's choice of words.

"Don't call me Bert." Threatened Bertrand.

"Or what? You gonna spit out your tea and challenge me to a duel?"

Maxwell snorted in the background while Constantine chuckled.

Liam sat there frozen as the bickering continued, along with the odd curse from Lily at idiotic drivers.

Bertrand cleared his throat. "Perhaps, your majesty and the dowager king and queen would care to join us at Ramsford for a few days."

"If that is an invitation Duke Ramsford then we would be delighted to accept." Liam said professionally.

"MAX YOU ASSHOLE I'M TRYING NOT TO CRASH YOUR GODDAMN CAR!" Lily screamed.

Regina looked as if she was about to faint.

"THAT IS ENOUGH YOU TWO! Your majesty, I am terribly sorry, they will be SEVERELY reprimanded upon return to the Estate." Bertrand blabbered.

"Ooh kinky." Maxwell snorted.

The sounds of Lily's delightful laughter echoed in the room, before Bertrand ended the call.

ANOTHER DUCKING TIME SKIP BECAUSE I SUCK ASS. THIS TIME IT'S THREE DAYS. LILY HAS SPENT HER TIME SLEEPING AND TALKING WITH A PSYCHOLOGIST.

Liam thrust open the door of the SUV he had been travelling in, exiting before Bastien had even gotten the chance to scan the perimeter. He was dressed in his regular suit, hair perfectly styled. But to him, looks didn't matter. What mattered was the 5,2 woman that stood on the front steps of the elegant manor.

Lily, to him, was breathtaking. Half of her hair was pulled back from her face in a loose bun, the rest curling down her back like a river of autumn that shone brightly in the early morning light. Her eyes, a shade of blue that rivalled the waters of Portavira locked with his own and he couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face. The corner of her nude lips rose, just a little. But enough for him to catch his breath. She wore a navy blue shirt dress and a grey cashmere cardigan with black tights and light brown ankle boots.

She stood with Maxwell and her precious corgi, Pumpkin who dozed at her feet.

Bertrand stepped forward after Regina and Constantine had gotten out and welcomed them politely before gesturing for Lily and Max to follow.

Liam was done waiting. He rushed forward and caught her in his arms, spinning her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and giggled.

"Oh god. Oh god." He murmured.

"I'm so sorry." She sobbed.

"No. It's fine. I'm glad you're safe but this can't wait."

"What can't?" She asked.

"Lily Josephine Brooks. I have loved you since day one and I will be damned if I cannot see your face every day for the rest of my life." He began, looking at his father who gave him a nod.

He got down on one knee and produced the ring from his pocket.

"Will you do me the honour of being my wife and being the queen of Cordonia?" He asked, tears pooling in his eyes.

She nodded. "Yes. Yes. A THOUSAND TIMES YES!" She yelled the last part and he slid the ring on her finger before picking her up again, the world disappearing. As it always did when they were together.

#trr #the royal romance #liam x mc #maxwell x mc #bertrand beaumont #cordonia #america #fanfiction #corgi #king liam x mc #fanfic #imagine #part two?#first ever

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annarosewriting · 6 years ago

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I Have Four Less Teeth and All People Wanted to Comment on Was My Weight.

I got my wisdom teeth out a few weeks ago.

I KNOW, I KNOW. I’M 23 AND I JUST NOW GOT THEM OUT. “WELL WHY DIDN’T YOU GET THEM TAKEN OUT EARLIER???” YOU MAY BE ASKING, WELL THE ANSWER IS I’M SCARED OF SURGERIES IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED ME TO SAY?? HUH?? WELL CONGRATULATIONS YOU GOT ME.

Overall, it was anticlimactic.They gave me some drugs, I texted my friend that I felt like Steve Rogers before he gets injected with the Super Soldier Serum (which, side note, this friend is now my boyfriend and I like to think it’s because of my Percocet induced ramblings about Marvel characters), and then the drugs REALLY kicked in and the next thing I knew, I’m coming to with an ice pack wrapped around my melon with The Good Place playing on my laptop.

Which, The Good Place was probably a little too heavy for someone who was heavily medicated and already has a lot of anxiety about what happens when we die but it’s fine, we’re all fine.

It was mundane but the worst part was I had the diet of a teething baby.

I ate more Easy Mac than I had in college. I only ate applesauce and ice cream for breakfast because they were the only foods that didn’t cause me crippling pain. I subsisted on water and the idea of food for the next two weeks.

I was suffering. I couldn’t eat a full meal so I was severally lacking in nutrition. I was in constant pain because of the gaping holes in my head where teeth used to be. And then, once the pain started to go away and I could move up in the culinary world to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I had to rinse my teeth out EVERY. TIME. I ate.

It was a pain in the ass, so my solution was to avoid having to rinse my teeth. Which meant, not eating. Or eating the absolute bare minimum to keep me functioning. Sometimes that meant I didn’t eat for five hours or more.

This translated to me always feeling lightheaded. I was tired. I couldn’t focus at work. I would try to write or read to take my mind off how much pain I was in but even then I couldn’t concentrate. I was wasting more energy calculating when I could eat than I was on actual work. I was on edge. I snapped at everyone I loved. It was an absolute nightmare.

I was miserable and it was the worst I had felt in a really long time.

But, hey, forget how miserable I was feeling. There were more important things to focus on. Things like how “[I’ll] probably lose so much weight!!!! So jealous!!!”

Cue the manic, white wine, suburban mom fake laugh.

I had more comments given to me about how I had lost weight or I “looked great” than I had in a while. The last time people felt comfortable enough to comment on my body was when I was crying about missing workouts and obsessively counting calories which, Y I K E S.

I wasn’t in a good place mentally but that didn’t matter!!! What mattered was I was finally on my way to being thin!!! Fuck my mental and emotional health!!!! That’s nonsense!!!! Who cares if my relationships are strained and I can’t do any work right?? FINALLY I wasn’t going to be fat!!!!! So that’s all that matters, right!!!!!!!

*cue the hour long fart noise*

It’s not like I lost weight because I actively worked for it. (And besides, losing weight to be skinny is OUT and wanting to be as buff as the Amazon Warriors on Themyscira is IN)

No, I lost weight because SOMEONE RIPPED FOUR TEETH OUT OF MY SKULL AND THEN I WAS MALNOURISHED FOR TWO WEEKS.

There is no part of that sentence that is healthy.

It was fucking absurd. I had literally been put under so someone could yank teeth out of goddamn head AND I was moving in a fog, but hey, soooooo worth it just to lose a few pounds quickly right?

Fuck that.

Here’s the thing, I’m unlearning a lot of toxic shit from Diet Culture and one of them is the idea that the number one topic of conversation for everyone, but women especially, is our weight. But I cannot stand that kind of talk.

I couldn’t stand it from the moment I realized that diet culture is all bullshit created by both the patriarchy and capitalism to keep women down because we all know that if women's collective energy wasn’t wasted on trying to reach beauty ideals that will always, always, ALWAYS be out of reach, women would have already dismantled the patriarchy, given free health care to everyone, made tampons and birth control free and all dresses would have pockets.

I couldn’t stand it when I thought about how my younger self would try to develop an eating disorder because then maybe she would feel like she was worthy of love.

I REALLY can’t stand it when I think about why I got my tattoo on my upper thigh. To hide the faded scar that reads “fat” that my younger self carved into her own thigh with a pocket knife. Watching crimson droplets appear as she prayed that this warning carved in flesh would be enough of a reminder to her as to what she could become if she ate when her body told her she was hungry.

I hated it the most though when people would say I looked great after getting my wisdom teeth out, and I would have a fleeting thought of, “Well shit, what other surgeries can I have so I’ll look like the small child on the cover of the Les Mis playbill?” Or “I should just keep this diet of soft foods eaten two or three times a day going if I’m losing this much weight!”

I fucking hate diets, the diet industry and diet culture.

So much.

Surprise.

It breaks my heart and it enrages me all at once. Like learning that Zayn had left One Direction or when One Direction announced their hiatus.

The number of women I’ve met in my life who have wasted so much time and energy chasing an ideal that will always be just out of reach is astronomical.

(Myself included!!!! I am absolutely one of those people and there are times when I still buy into it! It’s extremely hard for me to untangle myself from it when it was the basis of my personality for 23 years.)

It breaks my heart that society has engrained in me that since I’m fat, my biggest goal in life is to lose weight. Because of that, I considered eating food, that could only be gummed, two or three times a day JUST so I could m a y b e get within shooting distance of what society deems an “acceptable” body.

It’s all nonsense! I get so heated when I think about how we have just accepted that one type of body is the ONLY type of body to have and individuals should focus their whole lives on trying to achieve that impossible standard instead of living a good life, or being a good person or starting a revolution to dismantle this broken political system.

You know, just girly things.

It makes me physically ill if I think about it too long. I mean, what could I have accomplished if I had stopped worrying so much about losing weight?

The answer is SO MUCH.

Once I stopped worrying about losing weight, my relationships with friends and family started flourishing. I got into healthy romantic relationships. I started this blog. I read SO MANY books and I stopped beating myself up for eating food I liked. My body started to feel better since I wasn’t working it to the breaking point everyday trying to reach an ideal that is specifically designed to not be attainable just so the Diet Industry could bleed more money from us.

So please, I’m begging society, if someone feels the need to talk about their diet with me, or wants to comment on my weight when I’ve had bones ripped from my cranium, talk to me about LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE.

Talk to me about what I’m reading, what I’m writing, ask me how Bucky is, how much emotional damage Infinity War did to my psyche, ask me if I’m registered to vote (I am and you should be too!) talk to me about existential dread, allow me to explain to you that it is a crime ABC did us all so dirty by cancelling Agent Carter after two seasons, talk to me about aliens, ask me how the numbers are at work for gods sake.

There are so many other topics of conversation and we are so much more interesting than what foods we’re depriving ourselves of.

Next time someone DOES try to tell me that getting my wisdom teeth out was a “great way to lose weight!” I’m going to throw my wisdom teeth at them.

#anna writes #anna rose writing #body posititivity #body image

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fantroll-purgatory · 6 years ago

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@theo-theleo

Your name is PRAXIS AUTEUR and you have quite the interest in OLD TIMEY MOVIES your favorite being those that are SILENT. You have a large disdain for LOUD NOISES and would much rather keep things QUIET. If you aren’t watching movies you can be found in your INDOOR GARDEN caring for your various plants, your favorite of which contain powerful POISONS and SEDATIVES. You are very LETHARGIC and are tired more often then not, you’d much rather keep to yourself and drink a nice warm glass of HOMEMADE TEA. While you try to keep the peace and are fairly polite, loud noises set off you ANGER ISSUES, and you can get quite VIOLENT. Your weapon of choice if a lovely pair of HEDGE CLIPPERS from your garden, but you’d much rather not get them dirty. You have a QUIET way of speaking almost as if you where WHISPERING you never ever use caps and your sentences tend to TRAIL OFF…

——————————————————————

This guy is probably an alterian troll but I don’t think I’ve ever decided 100% (this takes place in an au without sburb but I will happily include sburb info!)

It’s all good! At this point we mostly ask for aspect/moon to assign an extended zodiac sign. At this point we’re not totally sold on only using Extended Zodiac symbols, but it’s fun to “type” a troll and try to modify their existing symbols to include elements of their sign.

Name- Praxis (derived from Zoopraxiscope an early device for playing moving pictures)

Auteur (straight up a word that means “a filmmaker whose personal influence and artistic control over a movie are so great that the filmmaker is regarded as the author of the movie” )

I think I’m gonna change both of these names because both “praxis” and “auteur” are words you hear in the English language, but I wanna keep the spirit of both names!

My suggestion is Monpon Andret, and I’ll explain my reasoning:

The zoopraxiscope was invented by Eadweard Muybridge, who definitely wins prizes for having the weirdest (weardeast?) goddamn spelling of Edward I’ve ever seen. Last name pronounced like “my bridge.” The oldest surviving silent film is Roundhay Garden Scene, filmed by French inventor Louis Le Prince. So I took the phrase “my bridge” and translated it to French: mon pont.

Auteurism was popular with 40s French critics, based on the theories of Andre Bazin and Alexandre Astruc, and was dubbed “auteur theory” by Andrew Sarris. That’s a lot of Andres surrounding one theory! Seems like an appropriate way to reference it.

Age- 9 sweeps

Strife Specibus- Hedge Clippers

I like this! How would you feel about making his specibus clipperKind, especially to maintain the reference to early film editing that used literal clippers?

Fetch Modus- ‘Movie Titles’ a Modus in which every item is given a title similar in length based around their use and purpose, to withdraw an item one must flawlessly recite it’s title

example- the title ‘A small cylindrical utensil in which our protagonist or antagonist may use to transfer ink to a sheet of pressed plant mater to convey a written message or picture’ may be used to describe a pen

gfdlksjlsgj;h I fucking forgot troll movie titles were that long. Since he does silent films, what about this concept exactly but in a Charades modus? Like a solid 5 minutes of wild gesticulation just to get a fucking pen?

Blood color- Indigo Blood

Symbol and meaning- Stylized Film Reel (this character was designed before the extended zodiac and I’m 100% will to take feedback that would give him one of those symbols)

I gotcha! I think it’s a good symbol and I remember there’s a canon indigo sign that’s just a circle with an arrow, so this should be a simple adjustment!

Trolltag- animorphicLarkspur (animorphic being a film term talking about the purposeful distortion of film to make it fit the screen, a reference to how Praxis hides his anger issues to fit a calm picture. Larkspur being a blue flower that is poisonous a reference to Praxis’ work with deadly plants and his own toxic ways.)

Yeah, I’m a fan!

Quirk- All sentences trail off, no capitals (ex. i am quite positive that you are a major thorn in my side…)

I like it as a simple quirk. If I may suggest an alternate, maybe something based stylistically off intertitles? Only using brief descriptive bits to “set up” a scene, then enclosing stuff he actually wants to say in quotes. Mostly reacting to others’ actions? And keeping all messages brief, but in full sentences.

Example: On a dark and stormy night…

“Goodness! Did you see that fox jump over that dog?”

The mystery deepens…

Special Abilities (if any)- Praxis has no special abilities other than distain for loud noises

Lusus- An oversized praying mantis, Deadly but unassuming

So far we have seen two canon indigoblood lusii, and they are Arthour and Zebruh’s lusus which is…guess what: a zebra. A sample size of two means nothing, but it may be fun to play with the idea that all indigoblood lusii are horselike. Which is a perfect tie-back to your theme, actually, considering that Eadweard Muybridge’s first go with the zoopraxiscope was an animated horse. Maybe we can go a horse with like, way too many legs, like how it would look if you layered all the frames one atop the other?

Personality- Praxis tries to come off as a quiet calm and unassuming individual in a society full of violence. He very much keeps to himself and craves constant solitude, he is a film buff but even the sound of those can get to him at times, hence his overwhelming interest in silent films. He feels they fill the hole that the avoidance of others bring. He’s very slow moving and sleepy taking everything at his own gruelingly slow pace, he likes plants because they don’t go anywhere and are just as unmoving as him. He has anger issues and agressive outbursts that are often triggered by loud noises, he doesn’t want to be seen as ‘uncivil’ hence the avoidance of sound and those outbursts. He hates being seen as a ruthless high blood.

Ooooh I like it! Interesting angle to take, especially since he’s avoiding the broader highblood stereotype of violence while collapsing into the indigoblood stereotype of being like…WAY too into his hobbies.

Interests- Film, Gardening, Tea, Homemade remedies, and peace and quiet

Title: I haven’t picked one out and am 100% open to suggestions

I kind of think he might be a Knight of Hope? Like he’s drowning in his aspect in the sense that he keeps retreating to the limitless potential of film, but he’s also being a shut-in and reducing his own ability to get out there and live his life! Also ghosting Rage in the form of being a film critic. But he has the potential to step out of his house and bring his vision to others, to inspire!

Also, Hope players are known for their “black and white” thinking, which tickles me.

Land: again no idea

If he doesn’t play SBURB it’s not super relevant, but I like the idea of a Land of Slate and Bells. Full of greys and also he *needs* to make noise to progress through the planet. While the bells give off a nice, round, assonant tone, they also attract nearby monsters.

Dream Planet: Derse

Yep, I agree with that.

I think that makes him Sagirius, sign of the Bardic! I’ll see what I can do to incorporate that into your symbol!

So this gent didn’t need *too* much tweaking; as is the case sometimes, I mostly just wanted to sprite him for fun and for sport

Credits:

fan-troll for the horn base, the suspenders, and the shoes

naphal for the pants and initial bow tie

llemonlum for the glasses

you for the hair

Glasses - I don’t know what it is but a pair of glasses seems to be the difference between me conceiving this guy as a composer vs. a critic. llemonlum has a nice set that looks suitably Ebert-like, which I felt was a good tie-in.

Symbol - since Sagirius is just a horizontally bisected circle with an arrow coming off the top, it was pretty easy to incorporate into your existing symbol! I made my own stylized film reel, cut it in half, and slapped an arrow on. I also like the bisected reel because critics often come under fire for “tearing a movie apart.”

Color scheme - we’ve seen from existing trolls that indigobloods rep their color quite readily, so I changed them all to the canon indigoblood color. I also adjusted the shirt color because it’s a little too neon a blood color to work well with mid-tone greys.

And that’s it! I like this dude.

#theo-theleo #praxis auteur #praxis #auteur #monpon andret #monpon #andret #indigoblood #review #redesign #tr review #submission

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cactus-chowder · 3 years ago

Text

🌵 11/19/21 | Journal

Please don’t reblog

thoughts on this post [xxx]

Anyways, I’ve said it before & I’ll say it again, I absolutely loved that D.une has no ‘funny parts’ aside from a handful of mildly tension-relieving humorous lines. Even in light of the argument that humor serves the real and often necessary purpose of breaking up tension. Even as someone who draws stuff about D.une that is saturated with ‘funny parts’ and aims to be joyous and casual rather than trying to create ‘high art.’ And while I don’t want to call specific people corporate drones, this stance isn’t disconnected from the whole corporate absurdist hellscape thing that’s been going on in the background of our lives for some time.

I am so goddamn tired of being surrounded by nauseously positive ads and media. If you buy this chicken sandwich, it will put a smile right on your cute little face :) Ukulele music and clapping!! And I am so goddamn tired of being left in the dust of some breezy M.arvel plot feeling like the only person in the world who doesn’t experience trauma as the fun premise for the next summer blockbuster, with a story that’s layered in funney quips and never gets too dark and gets packaged up and stored away neatly by the end of the movie. D.une showed up to the entertainment scene like. Everybody shut the fuck up. We are all adults here, and you WILL contemplate intergalactic politics, and the inhumanity of colonialism, and the way spice mining under capitalism is the necessary context that transforms mere dangerous wildlife into nightmarish horrors. I haven’t been approached with that level of sincerity by something a corporation made for a long time, and I’m glad they got the budget to put together exactly the movie they made. It’s because everything else is so goddamn insincere that 3 hours of unblinking sincerity becomes a breath of fresh air rather than a curious but flawed artistic experiment that doesn’t grasp a basic idea that Shakespeare and horror movie writers understand.

And people have different tolerance levels for staring tension directly in the face, just like people have different tolerance levels for horror. If I have something hard going on in my life, I generally want to pick it up and look at it and talk about it, I’m generally itching for the opportunity. I’ve known plenty of people for whom talking about a hard thing is a legitimately uncomfortable thing, & they might do it for a purpose but would hate it the whole time & are glad to quickly put it away again once they’re through the process. Like how some people hate cilantro. To say that there’s an appropriate level of bald faced sincerity for a movie to have, vs. an inappropriate & oversaturated level, is to basically imply that there’s one ‘normal’ and appropriate way to process sincerity, which just isn’t true. I’m in love with how the conversation around D.une is an opportunity to admit to things that are going wrong in the world and to explore a science fiction landscape where there’s a lot that doesn’t work in a way that feels deeply ‘real’ (rather than like...hey look at S.tar L.ord, he’s doing a funney dance now!). I experience cilantro as disgusting, but I do quite like sincerity. And I firmly, firmly believe that fiction is not automatically entertainment, and doesn’t have to settle comfortably into an entertainment niche to be ‘good.’ I’ve read plenty of engaging nonfiction books with a lot of sincerity and personality, that are perfectly interesting and valuable without ever turning into some kind of puppet show explicitly meant to entertain, distract from life, and blunt uncomfortable edges. I see no reason why that same approach can’t work for fiction.

It just doesn’t feel useful to me to try and decide the One True Leftie Opinion about the Unfunny Movie, where the Other opinion is Wrong, & we have to choose between “Disliking the Unfunny Movie makes you a Corporate Drone” and “Liking the Unfunny Movie makes you someone who Fundamentally Misunderstands Storytelling (and Hates This One Author In Particular).” We don’t need persuasive groupthink undertones for this one, boys.

#🌵 Journal #here it is

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milimiki · 7 years ago

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Once I get rid of my FE 24-240mm lens, I’ll be in the market for a new lens. I’m getting back into video. I don’t know if I’ll get back into making fictional narratives. At this point in time, at the very least. I just need to start somewhere.

Turning disadvantages into my advantages: I live in New York City. A lot of people like this place; I’m not one of them. It’s expensive, windy, and even claustrophobic at times. The streets are too narrow. People walk really slow. I need to find a (new) way to capitalize on that. I’m seeing all these photos and videos taken by other people all throughout the city, and it’s the same goddamn thing. I’m sick and tired of it.

I’m stuck in this concrete jungle for the next 2 years or so. I’ve thought up of a few ways to make this city not look like New York City. It wasn’t easy. Nor am I certain I wanna go through with those concepts in the first place. I’m mentioning this bit because, while I mentioned above that I’m not certain I’ll go back to working on fictional narratives, I’m working on a screenplay. Potentially a novel, but it’s in a screenplay format for the time being.

I came up with the whole story in under an hour. Plot, characters, themes, you name it. It’s completed in my head. But do I wanna write the whole thing? Do I even have time to write it? I have time to write this shit, so I guess I have time to write it.

Back to the lens. I realize now that this shit is all over the place. My brain activity’s been hectic this entire Spring break. This was no break. I’ve been working on assignments for god knows how long. I’ve never typed this fast before, either. I haven’t looked at the keyboard once. How am I typing this so fast?

I wanna sell my 24-240mm lens at $700, minimum. It’d be great if I somehow managed to get $900 off of this, but I highly doubt it. I’m torn between 2 lenses: the FE 16-35mm f/4 or the FE 24-70mm f/4. Both Zeiss optics. The 16-35 has a close focus range of 28cm, while the 24-70 has a close focus range of 40cm. I’ve also been thinking about getting (back) into vlogs. The 16-35 would be a terrific choice, but who knows how often that’ll be REALLY needed. The 24-70 is versatile, but that close focus range is putting me off, it really is.

Next, a new editing software. I’m done with Final Cut Pro X. I’m done with using it on this Mac, specifically. It’s unbearably slow. It crashes every time I work on texts. The colors don’t look right to me anymore. In fact, no color looks right to me anymore. I don’t mean I’m going for black and white; I mean that every color that I can perceive looks off, in a way I can’t describe with words.

Something’s happening to my eyes. On good days, I can see things fine. On bad days, I can’t differentiate what’s close or what’s far. I can’t see in the light, can’t see in the dark. Colors can look inverted, even. I’m starting to have more bad days than good days. I need to get away from my computer, but my online class requires me to be in front of a computer. For nearly 2 weeks, I’ve been in front of my computer, working on assignments for that class for about 8 hours a day. My eyesight is undoubtedly going bad.

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gaydryad · 5 years ago

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What the heck is happening right now?!

in general or ?

well the US is planning to deport & expel 3000-5000 Chinese international graduate students (and maybe some professors? the reporting isn’t quite clear) within like, the next week,

there’s the rebellion in Minneapolis, haven’t checked back in this morning but no justice, no peace! I hope the protesters are being cautious but also royally fucking up some stuff because goddamn is it about time.

my state (california) is reopening WAY too fast and I’m terrified that we’ll be called back to my college campus and a ton of students will get sick,

apparently a white supremacist tried to gather a bunch of protestors in my city FOR TODAY (friday may 29) under the guise of supporting the Minneapolis protestors, thanks to my SD mutuals on twitter for exposing that,

( on that note my twitter, @gaydryad, tends to be a little more politically diverse than my tumblr. more international politics, at least. )

THE PRC (MAINLAND CHINA) PLANS TO REVOKE WHAT LITTLE AUTONOMY HONG KONG STILL HAS, WITH THE INTENTION OF USING THE NEW “NATIONAL SECURITY” LAW TO COMPLETELY SUPPRESS ALL DISSENT,

god knows if the #COLA movement succeeded in forcing the UC to come to the table and actually pay them a decent housing stipend, or if the UC workers’ union has had any successes

the earth continues to be on fire,

the global pandemic continues to infect and kill thousands a day thanks to many governments’ (minus SK and NZ, and maybe others of whom I’m unaware, good for y’all) FLAGRANT desire to LET those people die because commercial capitalism and the billionaire bottom line is way more important than actual human lives amirite (/sarcasm)

biden is still the democratic nominee and honestly thank god that that’s not the top-line debate topic because I am SO tired of this entire election season,

(but still going to vote blue because I’m not a pissbaby and understand that any democrat is still better than four more years of Trump)

and it’s the second-to-last week of classes, so I have many a final assignment due over the next five days.

and that’s the tea!

(edit: #COLA is a movement started by the graduate students at UC Santa Cruz to object to the UC’s current pay for grad students, which is often so low that they have to take 2-3 jobs in addition to their classes and teaching positions just to pay for rent. I can talk about it more in depth if anyone is interested.)

#kat speaks #oh. I've also been vibing hard to edm and house lately #unashamedly late to the avicii train #Anonymail #void talks

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years ago

Text

The Kindness; Epilogue

Fandom: Fallout (3)

Pairing: Female Lone Wanderer/Charon

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thank you for enjoying!

Charon yawned, stretching with a low groan. Beside him, Spoon snuggled into his ribs. Spoon?! Charon started, half out of the bed before he recalled what had happened between them. A slow grin crept across his face. Holy shit, smoothskin. He relaxed back against her, noticing a tiny notebook clutched in her left hand. That's...

Charon remembered the little book from when they had been mauled by super mutants. Before they were sneak-attacked by raiders. In the brief interlude when they had fought and then awkwardly flirted. She'd been reading it when he had left to go 'keep watch'. His grin faded. Something like that can't ever happen again. I won't let it. Charon carefully, carefully managed to tug the notebook free of Spoon's fingers. A little stump of lead tumbled out when he opened it, and Charon caught it absently with his other hand.

'This book property of Eleanor Grace!' screamed the inside of the cover, the Vault-Tec insignia emblazoned over the neat, small handwriting. Charon closed the book a little harder than he intended, quickly putting it on the windowsill with the pencil as Spoon stirred.

Eleanor . Her name is Eleanor. Charon's head spun. Eleanor Grace.

“Y' can look at it if you want. Nothin' in there's secret.” Spoon slurred through a yawn. “Just my journey log.”

Charon fought back an embarrassed wince at being caught so easily, shrugging in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. “It fell open. I wasn't actually looking at it.”

“Mmhm.” Spoon hummed, her drowsy look no-nonsense as she took the notebook and pressed it into Charon's hands. “Study up. Test tomorrow.”

“Smoothskin...” She was either pretending to sleep or had already passed back out. Charon huffed in exasperation, propping himself up against the metal piping that served as a headboard and gingerly opening the notebook again.

'This book property of Eleanor Grace! Vault 101.'

The first page had a picture glued to it. A man and a woman wearing white lab coats, smiling for the camera. He had to fight the urge to see them as something awful, used and over-used to distrusting scientists.

'Always know that your mother and I love you very, very much, little one. Remember her verse, Rev. 21:6. You are our precious beautiful daughter. Happy birthday, Eleanor.'

The ghoul's throat tightened and he cleared it angrily. She wanted me to read this, dammit. Charon leafed through the pages. The first of them were covered with clippings from different books and magazines...maybe even some scientific papers, scaring up a few uneasy echos of the Institute. An Overseer. Stasis pods. The safety and comfort of a Vault-Tec vault.

There was a defined part where it became obvious that Spoon-- Eleanor had left the Vault. Heated, young-adult rants about tunnel snakes were traded for blood spattered across one of the pages, now old and brick red-brown against the beaten paper. On the other side was tiny, immaculate writing. Charon's heart clenched as he read the words of an obviously shaken young woman, a terrified girl baptized in the fire that was the Capital Wasteland.

'Dad is gone. The air out here is poison. The light burns. But if I stay down there, they'll kill me. Butch's mom almost got eaten alive by the huge...bugs. They bit me and I don't feel good. My stomach hurts. My arm hurts. Butch gave me his jacket and promised me I'd see him again if I'd stop being such a pussy. I punched him for that. My legs are okay. I can walk. I should walk. Far far far away.

Dad why did you leave me here?'

Charon flipped ahead a little ways, his stomach twisting when he caught sight of scrawled, capital letters. Silent screaming trailed across the page, a girl's plea to her father who had abandoned her. 'THIS IS WHAT YOU LEFT ME TO YOU DAD I'M BLEEDING I SHOULD BE GRATEFUL THAT HE DIDN'T KILL ME BUT I WANT TO DIE I FEEL FILTHY WHAT DO I DO DAD WHAT DO I--'

Charon shook his head, fighting the nausea that surged in the back of his throat as he hurriedly turned past those pages. What the hell kind of parent is this guy? Leaving his kid alone in a world like this...Christ. Next to him, Spoon groaned in her sleep. Charon pulled the blanket up over her, smoothing it across her shoulders.

'I disarmed the bomb! I did it! I spent half the day chewing Mentats and reading all of Moira's old Duck and Cover issues. That, plus what I remembered from James's jabbering about nukes. Guess the old bastard had something to offer me after all. It's weird. For the first time since I was. Well. I felt surprisingly alive with my arms elbow deep in that bomb, clipping wires and listening to Simms hold his breath. Alive but at peace. Out here there seems to be this screaming insanity people mistake for living, the rushrushrush of survival. But today up to my armpits in nuke I realized that not much of it matters. I cut one wrong wire and I'm very very dead. Maybe it was the Mentats but I was alright with it. I just knew that I couldn't fail, that's all.'

'I got drunk for the first time last night. Vodka burns but apparently it gives me the strength of an angry Brahmin. Jericho was nursing a busted nose come morning, and Gob high-fived me when Moriarty wasn't looking. Poor Nova was tired out from the festivities though, and I 'rented' her for the day so she could get some sleep. It's getting a little more difficult to keep up this male ruse, especially with my hair being how it is, so technically getting Nova's room was a strategic move. I'm still flattered that Nova seems to think I'm a goddamn gentleman either way. But even if I was a guy I don't think I'd do that to Gob. Poor bastard.'

'The wasteland is so much bigger than I am. The vault was tiny compared to this world I have now. Moira says I'm suffering from depression, but she doesn't understand. I know what depression is. Depression is being trapped in a sunless hellhole, with no one around who actually cares about you. Depression is being used, being left battered and broken in a ditch somewhere. Moira has some jobs for me to 'get me out of the house' and I'll do my best to complete them. She's worried about me. I hate that. She shouldn't worry. I'm fine.'

Charon's brow furrowed and he looked down. Spoon was soundly sleeping against his side. He stroked her hair absently as he continued to read.

'People wonder why I'm Spoon. Not anything special, honestly. I'm not Eleanor anymore, so I picked a different name. One that lets me fit in a little better out here. And yeah, Spoon doesn't have the same impact as 'Murder' when you introduce yourself, but spoons are useful. I'd rather be useful than scary. Also it's unassuming. Who expects a person named Spoon to murder them in their sleep?'

'James if you're still out there, I'll find you. I want answers, you fuck. Why did you leave me in the vault? I'm so lost. Like you always said, I'm too cocky and sloppy for my own good. Is that why you left me behind? Because I'm messy? Or because I was just in the way of your favorite kid, your goddamn Project Purity? I'm punching you in the face when I find you, you selfish prick.'

Charon cocked his head. Project Purity?

'Set out from Megaton today to go to...

I met the Brotherhood of Steel! And I killed a...

Underworld is so strange! Ghouls everywhere. Winthrop asked me...'

Water had obviously gotten onto the pages at some point, a few of them dried together or smeared. He couldn't hold back his chuckle when he came across the entries involving him.

'I'm finding myself a companion, little book. I've decided that it's lonely as hell out here and extra protection from something terrible happening again wouldn't be so bad. One I've got my sights set on for sure. His name is Charon, like the ferryman of the Styx. He's a big, big ghoul, and he's bored to tears. I don't know why he sticks around The Ninth Circle really. I would ask him but he appears to be under some strict fucking orders. I wonder what Ahzrukhal did to him to have a huge guy like that so pliant. I hope he isn't abusing him. I thought ghouls didn't abuse one another? Out of some kind of mutual understanding that they already have it bad enough? Maybe I've got it all wrong.'

'Sometimes I catch him looking at me. Out of the corner of my eye. Maybe he thinks I'm trouble. Maybe I irritate him by not being so scared of him. Shit, maybe he just flat-out doesn't like me. It's probably my funny hat. Or how I talk. I wonder if he would try to kill me if I was able to hire him. He's obviously not a giant fan of 'smoothskins'. No one down here really seems to be but I guess I'm tolerable enough.'

'Wow was I nervous talking business with Ahzrukhal! That ghoul is a goddamn snakey motherfucker. He wants so many caps for that precious contract. I'm going to have to go clear to Rivet to get that amount for the crap that I scavenge. And that's on top of keeping all the scrap metal so I can trade it to Winthrop. This bleeding heart stuff is exhausting sometimes. Still no new leads on James. Fuck it. I hope this is all worth it. I told Charon I'd be back soon. I saw his arms flex, so I know he's at least interested!'

'The way Ahzrukhal stressed the word “employee” has me colored nineteen shades of curious. Maybe suspicious would be a better word. I feel like there's a lot more going on there than he's letting on. Did he get Charon from slavers? Raiders? Watching Charon hoist Patches like he weighed nothing was a little terrifying. I think I surprised him though. He turned around to head back to The Ninth Circle and his eyes got all kinds of spooked when he saw me there. Touching him definitely used up most of my very limited courage store. He radiates heat like a furnace. It was odd. Are all ghouls that hot? Have to ask Gob. That must be awful.'

'He's six-ten if he's an inch. The hair he has left is a rusty red color. I think his eyes were blue at one point. Hard to tell with the ghoul film over them. I wish there was more research done on ghouls! I'm so curious about why it happens only to certain people...it's strange. The only weapon I've seen him with is an old combat shotgun. Drum mag-fed, back holster. I've never actually seen him use it though. Normally he just hefts ghouls up bodily to toss them out.'

Charon rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little overwhelmed. His smoothskin didn't miss a trick. “Observant little fuck, aren't you.” He grunted. “I did think you were up to no good. You'd nurse your fucking vodka and just watch everyone in the place. And the weird way people would talk to you and ask for help like you guys were old friends confused me.” The ghoul stroked her hair again, carefully separating out the seven braids. “I think I understand a little better now.”

'Talon Mercs. How on earth did I attract them? Took a damned hunk out of my hip too. Good thing I'm not queasy about blood, otherwise I'd be screwed. I've patched myself up as best as I can with what I've got, but it might be a little trickier than I thought getting back to Underworld. Especially with all the stuff in my pack I couldn't pawn off on Flak or Shrapnel. Butch laughed at me for saving up to buy Charon's contract, saying that I was such a pussy. Why didn't I just shoot Ahzrukhal? Even after I explained to him that I was at least slightly trusted in Underworld and I didn't want to ruin it with murder, he didn't understand. I wasn't really all that surprised. He said I was pretty after that though. That surprised me. He didn't try to do anything about it though, except wink at me and add, “For a little nosebleed like yourself”. Also surprising. The Bitch Butch I grew up with would have jumped at a chance to coerce a decent looking girl to grease his genitals. Maybe since he got out of the vault, he's had more options and it's evened him out? ...oh no, what if he's grown up?'

'Willow is a goddamn lifesaver! I'd been out of ammo for a little while and my knifework wasn't cutting it (forgive the pun). I was sure I was a goner and then that red-lipped beauty popped the last Talon square in the head. I gave her a pack of cigs for that, and I promised her another before I left. She just rumpled my hair and told me I was the worst tourist she'd ever seen. I went straight to the Chop Shop. In fact, that's where I am right now. Doc Barrows told me Ethyl and Meat can't see through the glass of their prison, but I'm pretty sure they can. I don't mind them though, they seem okay. Glowing ones out in the Wasteland I'd pump full of lead for sure, and I guess a lot of other ghouls would do the same.'

Charon suppressed a shudder. Glowing ones gave him the creeps, and he was pretty sure Barrows keeping them around was a bad move for everyone in Underworld. The pull that they had over the ferals was a little too much like mind control for Charon to be comfortable around them. The few times he had seen them they did look oddly docile, even bored. Not exactly the blood-thirsty, pack-leading 'Pulsers' he was used to.

'Barrows says I lost a lot of blood and my hip is missing a chunk of bone about the size of a golf ball. A Stim would've reset the bone if it was still there. Ah well. I told him not to worry about it, it just 'added character'. He swore at me for that, but he laughed afterward so I think I did good. I've got to get over to The Ninth Circle soon though. I want to make sure Charon knows I'm back before I go trade the rest of my bits and pieces. I want Ahzrukhal to shake in his greasy boots with the knowledge that I'm coming to take his giant buddy away. Hell, this is probably the most proactive thing I've ever done! I'm grinning from ear to ear like some stupid little kid. I wonder if once I get his contract, I can give it to him or something? I'll have to ask Charon about that, once he can talk to me freely. One thing's for sure, I don't want to stick him in a corner like a damn chair or lamp.'

'What an asskicker! Charon is the man with the goddamn plan not a doubt in my mind about that. It's awful that I can't give him his contract and set him free, but...I'm okay with having him around for a while I think. I've been keeping up this 'man' facade for some time now, just because it makes me feel safer. I never thought...after what happened, I figured I'd never want to be a girl again. But being around Charon makes me want to be okay, if just for a little while. He makes me feel safe. Hopefully writing these things down will help me work them out of my system.'

'Charon says it's not a problem that I'm a girl. “I don't recall your gender ever coming up in conversation”. Just like that. He's not angry. He fucking carried me home. He helped patch me up. ...I don't know what to do with myself. It's almost a relief that someone knows. At the same time I'm sorry for making his job tougher. Now he has to...to worry about something happening like I have to worry.'

Charon grumbled low in his throat, watching Spoon's chest rise and fall as she slept beside him. Smoothskin...

He rubbed a hand across his face, feeling a little less exhausted after his long nap. Charon shimmied up to slump against the headboard, his movements sending dust motes spiraling up into the shafts of sunlight that seared their way through the partially-boarded windows. He turned his attention back to the chronicle, patchworked fingers turning the pages slowly.

Sometimes there were sketches. Her rifle, the view from what he assumed was the door of Vault 101. A few of him, the muscle groups in his face and shoulders clearly labeled. Charon snorted when he came across a rather gratuitous sketch of himself with his pants unbuttoned, his fingers resting on his belt and the muscles of his legs clearly visible and labeled through his pants. Sometimes he stumbled over words, having to sound them out in his head. Sometimes Spoon's writing was illegible, too small or smeared to read. She had a habit of cramming words together if she was coming towards the end of a page, her loops and lines squashing themselves in a vain effort to make more room. Have to keep an eye out for extra paper. Don't want her running low.

'I could have lost him today with those super mutants. I panicked. He could have died. He could have died and I can't fix that. I can't fix that. What the hell am I going to do? I'm already way more attached than I should be but he's been through more than enough! What is wrong with me?! Why the heck did I get so worked up? Jesus. I can't afford to be this way! 'This thing did a number on me' he says like he got love-tapped instead of thrown across the room. Stupid me I'm so stupid! We're okay now but God do I feel like an idiot.'

'Caring for someone else is weird. It's been ages. I mean yeah Wadsworth Gob and Nova. Moira. Carol. Even Winthrop. Just since James I figured I never would again. Thought it would be easy. Then I met Gob in the bar and I knew I was screwed. He's the first ghoul I ever saw and he was just...he was so sad all the time and it made me so angry. He didn't do anything wrong and yet here's this other guy spitting on his existence! Making him his free labor! I don't understand how people can get away with that. Simms frustrates the hell out of me sometimes because he ignores it. I know he's just trying to keep the peace but really?'

'Charon says he's been passed around and that he's broken. I can understand at least one of those things and I'm going to do everything I can to help. I'm tired of pretending we're just partners. We're friends damn it. From the day I followed him tossing out Patches I knew I needed to help. Even while I was getting turned into Swiss cheese by the Talons I understood that failure wasn't an option. I don't have much to live for out here honestly. The allure of finding my dad and punching him in the groin for abandoning me kind of wore off years ago. But if I can keep helping...keep doing what I think is right even after everything else...I don't know. Maybe I'll make a difference. Three Dog talks about me and it's like he's talking about a different person. I can't do great things. I can barely clean my rifle right. I can do good things though. I think.'

Charon closed the notebook, trying to collect his thoughts. He took a deep breath to clear his head and felt Spoon's fingers close around his limp hand slowly, like a reflex while she was asleep. “You're wrong, Spoon.” He rasped, his throat rougher than usual. The smoothskin hummed, obviously not awake. Charon felt his chin quiver a little. “Fuck's sake, you don't even see how much you do, you...you fuckin'...you disarmed a nuke for these people. You're so damn good and you can't even see it, spitting in the damn face of the Talons and raiders and slavers.” He slid down until he was laying beside her again, taking her face in his hands and shakily kissing her forehead. “Christ, smoothskin. Jesus fucking Christ. I told you I'd follow, 'I will make my services worth your kindness'. But I fucking can't. I failed. You've done so much more for me than I could ever...so much awful shit has happened to me and then your contrary ass comes walking in acting like I still deserve to have good in my life.” Charon shook his head in disbelief.

“Don' cry.” Spoon murmured, putting a finger over his mouth. Charon hadn't even noticed the tears making their way down his face. “S'okay. No bad dreams. I'm here. Gotcha'.”

“Spoon...”

“M' here.” She repeated, wrapping herself around him protectively. “Right here. M' gonna' be here when y' wake up. Then we gotta' kill s'more baddies.”

“Of course.” Charon tried to smile, wiping at his cheeks haphazardly. “For good or ill, remember?”

“How 'bout 'for quiet an' let Spoon sleep', s'at sound okay?” The smoothskin mumbled, scrunching up her nose when Charon kissed it. “M'poss'ble bigass ghouly-ghoul, stoppit.”

“I've been called much worse than that, smoothskin.”

You are my heart. I will be with you always, for good or ill, and I promise I will be worth your kindness. Thank you.

#fallout three #fallout 3 #Charon the ghoul #Female!Lone Wanderer #rewrite #hurt/comfort #canon-typical violence #video games #slow burn #charon/F!LW #Charon/Female Lone Wanderer

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