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primordial-shade · 2 years ago

Text

I wanna fix it

Ok, so here I am making a HOTD AU because I have seen a fair few and I am a mischievous crow who picks up shiny things and immediately gets consumed by them.

General warnings for this AU:

General HOTD fuckery and such.

Also I am Team Black but I do think the little Greens can be redeemed if they were gotten to young enough.

This was written whilst super very bored but also was stuck in training so please forgive the appaling spelling and grammar.

Ok so here we go!

The first Key difference is that Rhaenyra took an interest in her younger siblings.

Ok I know she has an issue with Alicent, which fair, and her father, which fair.

But these are her baby siblings. God when I think about how many she lost I just want to cry.

And yeah I get her resentment for possibly being replaced but after her father's reassurance of her being heir.

Listen, she must be so lonely.

Like Laenor and Laena have each other and the previous generation was full of people before all the untimely deaths.

Rhaenyra only really had Alicent and at times Laena and Laenor.

Why did my girl not have a contingency of Ladies in Waiting?? Thats like a thing? She should have got that.

Ok anyway, my point.

My point is that Rhaenyra is probbaly so fucking lonely so yeah. After she's assured she is going to be heir she goes and just... visits Aegon.

He's her only living sibling. She doesn't entirely love the name and what it represents but she knew her father wanted to call the kid Aemon after his dear uncle. But both Alicent and Rhaenys took this poorly for widely different reasons so it was a no go.

So anyway, baby Aegon. She heads to his nursery.

TO her shock and horror there is only a Nursemaid there.

Like, a single maid.

And a Hightower Guard who demands Rhaenyra leave under orders of the hand but is summarily 'excused' by Ser Erykwho is her swornshield still.

Ser Crispy Cunt may have won a Tourney but Eryk has been at Rhaenyra's side since she was born.

He is not giving that up, that is HIS baby girl your honor. Just because some Knight unseated him does not mean he is no longer her Kingsguard.

(I have this headcanon that Kingsguards are assigned to royal children Pretty much at birthand they stick with them, nothing except death will seperate them.)

Anyway, Rhaenyra is horrified.

Her mother was pregnant enough times that Rhaenyra learned what was required of a newborn baby, especially a royal one. And her brother is a royal dragon.

He doesn't even have an egg in his crib??!

Absolutely not. Not on her watch.

The nursemaid is questioned and she immediately spouts it all. She is a nursemaid of the Targaryeans, not the Hightowers despite their best efforts to try and get one in for the young prince. Viserys would not have it.

She says the Consort Alicent, because that is her proper title, has not visited the Prince at all since his birthand neither has Visery's.

(Viserys is still in his fucking guilt trip and Alicent, I'm sorry to admit I don't think was a good mother due to how young she was and the way she and her father went about things. I recgonise her victimhood but she is still a shitty person.)

And Rhaenyra instantly knows this is bad.

She has had motehring beat into her head since she was old enough. And Aemma was explicit on what is required of a Valryian dragon rider babe.

They need a Targaryean Parent, their natural fire will suffer if not regularly held by one. And, for those especially without dragons from birth, can cause extreme illness.

In fact thats when she realises that her baby brother wasn't quiet, he was sick with exhaustion.

So she wastes no time pciking him up and craddling him.

His nursemaid actively weeps in relief as the young Aegon instantly perks up in his sisters arms. Beginning to cry like a proper little dragon.

Rhaenyra spends the first hour with her brother holding him, helping the nursemaid feed him until he is looking much more alive than he has in weeks.

He clings to his sister with a strength of a proper dragon and Rhaenyra is as enamoured with him as she is enraged with her father and Alicent.

So she storms to her father's office.

Viserys is equally delighted at the sight of his daugher holding her brother as he is mildly terrified of the look of fury on her face.

His dear Rhaenyra took after her mother in many ways, but her fury was purely the good queen Alyssane's.

She nearly screams his whole model to the ground and by the end of their 'conversation' 5 more nursemaids nd maids of Targaryean loyalty are given to her brother, along with Ser Aryk as a Kingsguard.

And this is where, in my canon, Otto has FUCKED UP.

His daughter refuses to see his child and Otto is damned if any loyalist to house Targaryean goes near his priz-grandson.

Rhaenyra of course demands why a knight forbade her from her brothers nursey and Viserys gets angry.

The knight fucking buckles like wet bread and admits Otto said the young princess would kill her brother. And the Queen agreed.

It is the first time in an age that Viserys get angry.

Otto is dragged into his rooms by a gleeful Ser Erryk and his Twin who is equally as vindictive.

He is not killed but he is immediately banished with nothing but the clothes on his back and a knight instructed to return him to Oldtown immediately.

So Otto is GONE, but unfortunately not dead. Yet.

Anyway, Rhaenyra is now heavily invested in her brother's wellbeing and so takes both of them and their kingsguard to go an fetch and egg, dragging Visery's along as well and he is just so delighted right now.

And thus Aegon gets Sunfyre's egg and is moved to the nursery closer to her room.

It takes a few hours for Alicent to realise what has happened.

She is not an attentive mother. Every scene I saw her in she looks massively uncomfortable with motherhood and being around her kids. Which I get, don;t get me wrong. She is an utter stone cold bitch but I get why. But its not exactly conducive to stay in your rooms all day or hang out in the Saept like an 'ideal' aka religious obsessed, queen when you are trying to raise a Hightower loyal King.

She only hears about it when her father is removed from his rooms and unceremoniously marched off to Oldtown.

She goes fucking crazy.

The court nearly pisses itself when they hear she has been sent into seclusion 'until she regains her senses'

WHat they do not realise is that she tried to attack Rhaenyra with Aegon in hand.

Needless to say she has to so a lot of grovelling and is only let out due to being pregnant with Helaena.

But from this moment on Visery's places Rhaenyra as the family 'matriarch'. As in the person in charge of their immeidate family and the children.

Rhaenyra, immeidately claiming on this, asks for Rhaeny's to come and assist her as she is still young herself and will be looking to be married soon.

Visery's of course agrees, and then take on Rhaenyra's insistence he should employ her Velma as his new hand.

He so desperately wants his cousin to like him again he instantly agrees. SOrt of again leading into the idea that Targaryeans are very attached to each other.They are literally the last

And thus Rhaeny's returns triumphant as the new Hand of the King.

Rhaenyra has realised, after seeing what hs occured under he rbloody nose, that she is not being trained as she should. Her Velma is the most politically intelligent person she knows and she NEEDS that is she is protect her right and become somewhat politically skilled.

Rhaenys is informed of this plan and says 'Bet'

She is on it.

Honestly she has the unfortunate relisation that Rhaenyra is lacking a lot due to her mothers absence, not just due to her untimely MURDER but also due to her long term weakness and constant state of pregnancy and despair.

Rhaeny's realises she is one of the last Targaryean women alsmost suddenly.

Thousands of years of female tradition brought over is suddenly reliant entirely on her education and teaching of the only two other Targaryean girls in the world. The Lineage VIsenya and Rhaenys themselves had passed down.

Shit.

On an off note it genuinely persuades her to have another set of kids. Much to Corly's delight. Because holy shit, there are so few of them.

Anyway anyway.

Rhaenyra basically realises, with heart in her throat, what had been happening under her nose, what her once best friend, the girl she had loved, thought Rhaenyra would do to her own little brother.

After that and the way Alicent tried toattack her whilst she held her brother, Alicents own son, kills whatever love may have still exsisted in Rhaenyra.

Rhaenys basically, between ruling a kingdom as Hand of the King and trying to rework the system, begins raising and help raising Rhaenyra and her siblings alongside her own children.

Woman is busy, Corly's just adores his wife so much.

Alicent is not fucking happy. Honestly part of her major malfunction is the fact she also lost her mother at a young age and her father see's her more as a living tool than a child. Ss such she has no idea how to function outside thatand the instant she meets conflict or aggression due to 'her'actions she fucking buckles down on it.

In sneaks Larys.

Larys, painfully resentful of his brother and father despite howmuch both love him, and willing to take any chance to gain power.

Unforntunately for him Rhaenys is arguably one of the most intelligent politicians currently alive. Yes she has her faults but to keep her family in power she is willing to do anything.

Anyway, Rhaenyra finds herself going from no support to having the support of one of the richest and most powerful families besides her own.

Rhaenys is immediate in her expulsion of anyne she suspects to be a Hightower loyalist. Rhaenyra's aunt Jemma is more than happy to send Aryn loyal soldiers to replace them and Corly's quickly gathers and train more soldiers compeltely loyal to the Targaryean family.

Rhaenyra flourishes under her aunts care.She is educated in a way she was never allowed to be before, taken into council meetings as the heir should.

Rhaenys also gets her a proper retinue of young handmaidens, all from powerful families to endear herself to.

Rhaenyra begins taking her own initiative as well. She looks at the city and realises how poor the staution had become.

She uses her own funds to begin funding repairs to the city but it won;t be enough. She then realises she may have a business opportunity.

The street of silk.

It is always making money, even in the worst of times, and she is sure that like her many of the women would like better conditions.

Rhaenys thinks this is a clever idea, but she will need more funding and to be discreet.

What about the war of the Stepstones?

Rhaenys insists the girl train before joining her uncles and cousin in the war and quickly inlists someone to train her.

A year later Syrax and Rhaenyra leave Aegon in Rhaeny's hands and she comes back Queen of the Stepstones a mere 6 months later. Queen of the Goddamn stepstones.

Her father is obviously beside himself with delight and horror.

But his little girl presents him a crown and declares him King and all his forgotten and his little girl his home.

A little girl who thought in a war and helped take down a Crab King, a daughter who had shown herself to be a Vinsenya reborn.

Otto of course tries to use this to his by insinuating Rhaenyra was fucked by every male Valyrian and solider but it never catches in anyone except Viserys. Because he's really dumb

So, thus begins the royal Tour.

Rhaenyra is fuming. She also takes Aegon, Helaena, Laenor, Laena and Corlys with her. The only reason she doesn't take Rhaenys is because the council and the realm will fall apart.

Corly's has far to much fun as he is given the title of Professional vetter.

He wanted to marry her to Laenor but her and Rhaenys were blunt in how poor a choice that would be but Rhaenyra agreed to marry her first born to the first grandchild of the opposite sex born from Laena and that Laena and Laenor will be given positions in her court. And obviously Rhaenys is going to be her Hand as well.

Corly's is more than happy with this honestly. And it makes him take the job of vetting all the more seriously because thats going to be his grandchilds future spouse.

And no one is gonna piss off the Sea Snake or his feral children, especially after Laena and Rhaenyra head to Dragonstone to pick up some ancestral pieces for Rhaenyra to wear and Laena comes back with fucking Vhagar.

Laenor pouts, Corly's is proud but nearly has a fucking heart attack and Rhaeny's is just delighted.

Anyway, royal tour.

Aegon is absolutely not happy his sister is looking for a husband and delights in scaring away any possible suitor. Helaena seems calms but will absolutely wail if someone she hates comes near.

Rhaenyra trusts her siblings instincts and no one is willing to offend the baby prince or princess. Especially those who barely made it past Corlys.

Truth is he hated them but just let them past to have Aegon scream at them.

The they get to Storms end.

Lord Baratheon is being a shit and it takes all of seconds to send a raven to His wife.

But Rhaenyra takes it on like a chellenge.

Corly's is less able to Vet in this session because these are all important lords.

Aegon has no such issue and screams and cried when Jason Lanister Approaches.

Then the fight happens and Rhaeyra stops it and basically rips Lord Baratheon a new one for nearly allowing a Murder to happen on a royal procession.

All when one Cregan Stark walks in, a masive Grey Direwolf by his side.

He practically falls in Love at first sight when he see's his Silver Haired queen rip into the Storm Lord with fire.

Of course everyone freaks out when they see the future Lord of WInterfell and his huge Fucking Wolf and Rhaenyra soon realises.

She turns, Amethyst eyes meeting Steel and there is something instant.

He's respectful, calm and looks at her like she hung the sun itself.

Rhaenyra likes him.

And the best thing is, though Aegon tries, he is instantly won over by Cregan's wolf, known as Winter.

Rhaenyra head home with a Northern Fiance mcuh to her father's bemusement and Rhaeny's delight.

Pulling in one of the most powerful Kingdoms and one of two that chafed the most under the rule of their family?

Absolute game changer.

Anyway, in my Vision her and Cregan basically become like a new Rhaenys and Corlys. They match each other like, well, fire and Ice.

(Lol)

Anyway, Rhaenyra also comes back to a new little brother Aemond.

She is very unimpressed with her father but she quickly takes on her newest sibling with adoration, Much to Aliscents fury as she is still not allowed near the children without supervision and she keeps tripping up which means Rhaeny's has her by the neck.

Daemond is also pissy as hell because his Niece is picking someone else, especially when Laena catches the eye of one Harwin Strong.

He needs to get over it and both women tell him to fuck off and sulk elsewhere.

He does eventually get over it when he meets the Love of his life in the form of Lyra Mormont of Bear Island and she basically beats him in a fight five minutes after knowing him.

Maybe those of the First man Blood are ok?

Poor man, no Targaryean can resist these hnourable and blunt First man people apparently. (And yeah, harwin is technically of the First men and his family obviously looks after the Island of trees."

I have a theory they just go sort of feral for each other, Aegon I had to keep that shit underwraps after finding out because otherwise the locals couldstart taking advanatge.

Anyway they get super married and soon Jahaera is born, and obvs all his aunts and uncles adore him.

But they basically think they are Rhaenyra's kids anyway.

But fuck the throne, they don;t want that fucking thing.

Aegon basically grows up how he wants, impassioned by art and story telling and just flying his dragon.Most key is that he falls in love with the future Queen of Dorne and basically says, hey can I marry her. They say yes with the promisehis kid will then Marry Jacaery's kid. Which means a Dornish Queen.Prince consort in the next generation.

Dorne says ok, because they actually like how Westeros is changing. Also the yung princess adores Aegon and is like, 'Yes, this artsy pretty boy who adores me will be perfect."

Aemond, like many true Targaryean men, is a MaleWife. Yes I was live in sunspear with my spoiled dragon and have many pretty children.

In fact they have 10.

Rhaenyra and Cregan beat them at a whopping 14

And Rhaeny's and Corlys have another three girls. Much to his delight.

Targaryean baby boom, hells yeah.

Also Aemond and Helaena also get Betroathed, because por girl deserves a life of chilling with her bugs and going on adventures with her Love. They have 9 kids.

Lots of targaryeans and with it, a fuck load more Dragons. Each kid basically catches a dragon egg or a wild dragon.

Jahaeres grabs Vermithor and Laena's daughter with Harwin Rhaena, yes I know, gets Silverwing.

The people of Westeros go fucking Nutty for that.

Also Laena and Harwin have like 6 kids, mostly because after the the 6th giant baby Laena said no goddam more because the last set were triplets. All their kids are taller than her, their all giants.

Daemon and Lyra end up having 9 children, three sets of triplets, all girls. Their also all fucking amazons.

Daemon basically gets to live the life of his dreams. He fights Iron-Born on the regular and his wife's people love him, he barely has to do any work, the North actually likes his blunt rudeness, and his family is prosepering. All his daughters bully him as well. he adores his life.

Also can’t forget my boy Laenor. Love him. Basically lives a more open life with his partner Joffrey WHO DOESN’T DIE. Creates a new position known as Maester of Civilians, which is essentially taking care of education and etc, with his sister as co-Master. Rhaeny’s is hand of the Queen but eventually passes it on to her third child Aemma.

Also Jahaerys is Jon Snow. I don't make the rules, no yes I do and I want Jon to have loving alive parents. But the little fucker is also cursed to be the Prince that was Promised so here he is. But honestly bruv I gave you living parents who fucking love, an amazon wife who is really fucking smart, a big ass dragon.

Oh, also a wolf. Yeah, Cregan gets a direwolf up north but also finds a puppy for each of his kids. So Jon/Jaehaerys gets his Ghost back.

So yeah, the night King things comes a wee bit earlier, around when Jaehaery's hits 25.

But at that point there are about 60 Targaryeans and their fully grown Dragons.

Also Jaehaeras sister, Sansa, because I am funny and Cregan wanted half his kids to have Northern names, becomes Lady of Winterfell.

Because I say so.

Also the rest of Jon's siblings are reborn as his siblings because I watched a video abut the Starks tragedies and I am now in my feels about it. SO yeah, all of them. All get dragons and direwolves to. No more goddamn Stark deaths in this universe.

So yeah, Night King, dead, so fucking dead. He does try bless his stupid heart, but between Jaehaerys and his protective half feral family he is wiped the fuck out.

And no one dies. Because I said so no i don't care if its not realistic.

Afterwards its a golden age.

Maesters are got rid of and replaced with a more robust system with no connection to any religion, the Old gods and the 14 flames become the more popular religions but religious freedom is allowed. Quality for men and women because Rhaenyra and Jaehaerys are fully for women and say no to them. Say no to their dragons and direwolf. Go on, I dare you. So women can inherit, matriarchal lines are developed etc.

Also improvement to civilians lives. More education, better health, a functioning sewer system. Women and men can learn and teach and learn to fight, because what if something like the Night King happenes again?? Like fuck are they having half a fighting force. Also women can defend themselves from men now.

Jaehaerys even gets the first two female Kingsguard, much to his mother's anooyance and pride because goddamit she wanted to do that.

Basically Westeros becomes a better Valerian empire. No slavery, religious freedom, less wealth disparity and an ability for better social maneverability. Jaehaery's cousin Daenaery;s (leave me alone) by Aegon and his wife even heads over to Essos with her numerous dragon riding relatives to take out the slave masters and free the free cities.

Because she can and also fuck the slave masters and slavers. She even brings back her besties Missandei and Grey worm who get set up well in Westeros because otherwise I will cry.

#hotd #asoiaf #headcanon

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earlgreydream · 3 years ago

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pregnant.

| loki x reader | fluff |

anon requested. Loki x pregnant reader

You woke up with terrible nausea, feeling like the world was flipping you upside down. You laid back, breathing deeply and telling yourself that you were fine. The moment you started to sit up, you felt immensely ill, your stomach churning.

You ran into your en-suite and knelt on the cold tile, getting violently sick and emptying your stomach. You felt hands pull your hair back out of your face, and you were blinded with tears.

Your throat and eyes burned, and you were embarrassed to be throwing up in front of Loki. He held your hair in one hand, rubbing your back with the other, and softly telling you that you were going to be fine.

“I think I’m okay,” you said to Loki, grabbing his forearm as he helped you stand.

“Are you certain?”

You nodded and went to the sink, cleaning yourself up and brushing your teeth. You looked in the mirror and saw Loki start a shower for you, insisting you’d feel better. You felt too weak to argue, and you managed to keep upright and wash your skin and hair.

“I’m exhausted.”

“You can rest soon, my darling,” Loki promised as you slipped on clean pajamas.

You started toward your bed, but Loki lifted you up off your feet. He carried you out of your bedroom, but you were too weak to protest. Your fingers tightened around his soft cloak as you recognized Banner’s lab, a place you hated to end up.

“No,” you shook your head weakly, and Loki consoled you as he set you down on an exam table. Banner walked over, looking at his watch.

“You’re up early. What’s going on?” he asked kindly, and you sighed, explaining that you’d woken up sick that last couple of mornings. He frowned, checking your vitals. Loki sat beside you, holding your hand and gently kissing your knuckles as Banner took a blood sample from your arm.

You snuggled against Loki’s side as he ran some tests, consoled by the young god. He kissed the top of your head and traced tiny shapes on your arms, making you smile.

“Y/N!” Banner gasped, scaring you.

“What?! Am I dying?!” Your eyes widened and he shook his head.

“Quite the opposite actually. Were you aware that you’re pregnant?”

Silence fell over the room, and you turned to Loki with wide eyes. You were anxious to see how he would react to the news. You’d talked about possibly having a kid at some point, but not soon.

“My darling, we’re going to have baby!” Loki gasped, excitement bursting in his blue eyes.��

Relief flooded over you at his positive reaction, and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“You’re going to be great parents. We can get you started on some prenatal care, and I can give you something for the morning sickness,” Banner smiled at you.

“Okay,” you nodded slowly, still trying to process the fact there was a baby in your belly.

A grin stayed on Loki’s face the entire day, and he told everyone in Stark Tower. You giggled at how overjoyed he was, and it helped you feel grounded, settling your worries.

“We are going to have the most beautiful baby,” Loki grinned, kissing your lips before kneeling down and kissing your belly. You carded your fingers through his black curls, and he laid his hands on your stomach, as if he could feel the tiny fetus that was only two months along.

The more pregnant you got, the more overprotective Loki became. He was extremely attentive, and he didn’t let you do anything that required effort. You insisted to him that you were fine, even as you started to need his help standing up, off-balance with your baby bump.

“How far along are you now?” Parker asked as you sat helping him with his homework one evening.

“About eight months. Not too much longer,” you smiled.

“Then I won’t be the youngest here!” he grinned and you shook your head, ruffling his brown hair.

“I know, you won’t be my little baby spider anymore,” you teased, and he pouted, pretending to be offended.

“I’ll always be your baby spider.”

“Finish up this page of your essay, and I’ll help you edit it, okay?”

Parker nodded, and you stood up from the table, walking to the kitchen island to start baking the cookies you’d been craving. Loki walked in, squeezing Parker’s shoulder in greeting as he passed the boy.

“Hi,” you whispered, kissing Loki’s mouth.

“We could’ve had one of Stark’s chefs make cookies. You can rest, my darling.”

“I want to make them.”

Loki hummed, stealing some of the chocolate chips from your bowl. You appeased him by letting the god put them in the oven, protecting you from the possibility of burning yourself. He pulled your back against his chest, laying his hands over your stomach. Your tiny daughter kicked, making Loki smile into your hair.

“She loves you already,” you whispered, making Loki grin.

“I hope so.”

Parker called your name, and you walked over to him and looked over his essay. He stayed for cookies after, hanging around you and Loki for the evening.

“I got you something, Y/N,” Parker said finally, reaching into his bag and pulling out a box. You smiled, gently taking it from him.

“What is it?”

“It’s for baby Freyja, for the nursery” he explained, and you opened the box, grinning at the Brooklyn snow globe inside.

“Oh, Parker, I love it. Thank you.”

You handed it to Loki and pulled your friend into a hug, squeezing him tightly.

“You’re welcome.”

Everyone had gone to bed, but the insomnia was keeping you up. You stood in the nursery that was attached to your suite, decorated and ready for your baby girl. You placed the snow globe on a shelf, watching the little flakes fall over the tiny city.

Your fingers smoothed over the crib blankets that were patterned with silver moons and stars, everything faintly reminiscent of Asgard, the home that Loki desperately missed. You picked up a stuffed yellow rabbit that Bucky had given you, along with a blanket.

“Are you nervous?” Loki asked softly, leaning in the doorway.

“A little bit. What if I’m a terrible mother?” you confessed, watching magic patterns move and twist on the wooden bars of the crib.

“Come here, my darling.”

Loki sat down on your rocking chair, pulling you onto his lap.

“You’re going to be amazing, and perfect, and I will be here every step of the way. You’re not alone anymore, you don’t have to handle parenting by yourself.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, gently kissing him before laying your head down on his shoulder.

- six months later -

You heard Freyja cry from the nursery, and you sat up drowsily. It was nearly four in the morning, and you were so exhausted you could’ve wept.

“I’ve got her, go back to sleep, beautiful.” Loki kissed your cheek and slipped out of bed. You laid back down, but your body wouldn’t let you sleep with your child awake.

You wrapped Loki’s green cloak around you and walked into your nursery. Loki was gently rocking Freya in his arms, her black curls unruly on her head and her wide blue eyes the same shade as his. He soothed her with little green seidr stars that flickered and glittered above her face, before twisting into flowers and blooming in the air.

He looked up when you entered, giving you a small smile.

“Look, Freyja, it’s your lovely mum,” he kissed her cheek, and the tiny girl gazed at you, reaching out with her delicate hand.

“Hungry?” you asked her, sitting down in your rocking chair and letting Loki set her in your arms. You slipped the top of your dress down and got her settled and feeding on your chest. Her fingers rested on your skin, and she relaxed as she drank from you.

Loki knelt on the floor beside you, gazing up at you with admiration in his eyes. Your free hand went to his hair, and he leaned into your touch.

“Motherhood suits you,” he noted, and you smiled.

“You’re just happy because you get to see me shirtless more often,” you teased, making him laugh.

“Freyja is lucky,” he grinned, kissing her head.

“She looks like you,” you commented, and he nodded.

“But she has your sweet face.”

“It’s easy now, but wait until she starts performing magic, and she turns your hair gray,” you commented.

“I’ll teach her to use her magic, and never against her mother.”

You smiled at Loki, then down at your daughter.

“I love you both, endlessly.”

#earl grey loki #loki fanfic #loki #loki laufeyson #loki fluff #loki imagine #loki one shot #loki laufeyson fluff #loki x reader #loki x reader fluff #loki x you #loki x y/n #marvel au #marvel #avengers #avengers au #loki odinson #female reader

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xoxo-teddybear · 3 years ago

Text

Birthday Bummer - Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: Angst, Cursing, Fluff, cheating accusations, jealous Katsuki

Summary: You love your boyfriend! You do! And he loves you! However he’s always busy. You understand being a pro can be very occupational but when he does have days off, he spends them either training to doing some paper work. Doing everything he can to get ahead, and you of course support him! But sometimes you miss him and sometimes he misses..a lot

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

“Oh? You’re not gonna be able to make it again?” You said with sadness laced in your voice. The phone in your hand felt like led in your shaking palm as you spoke to your boyfriend.

“Yeah. I’m so sorry Teddy Bear. Endeavor won’t let me off especially with all the damaged I caused during our last battle.” He explained. Your lip began to quiver but you bit it to hide your expression.

“It’s fine, Suki. Really. I understand, you’re a hero and you’re busy. Don’t worry about it, Love.” You said with a reassuring tone.

“Are you already at the restaurant?” He asked with worry.

“No, I didn’t even leave the house yet. I was still getting ready. I was actually gonna text you to tell you I was gonna be a little late, but..yeah.” You said. Bakugou sighed in sadness.

“I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you baby.” Another empty promise. You licked your lips at his words and gave a disappointed sigh.

“Ok.” You replied.

“I love you.” He sweetly said.

“I love you too.”

“Bye Y/N!” Kirishima said from the other side of the phone.

“Shitty Hair said ‘bye’” Bakugou said, relaying the message.

“Heh, bye Kiri.” You said and hung up. You placed the phone down on the table and bounced your leg up and down as you let your head rest in your hand.

Of course. Like usual, Katsuki blew you off again for work. It’s not like it’s his fault but he never seems to turn his agency down. You understand that being a hero requires diligent work and good ethics but your boyfriend would always drop everything for work whenever, wherever. That includes you.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

You looked up to the man who was dressed in a clean suit with a white apron. “Would you like anything else?”

“Ha, I mean..unless you can get my date here, then just the check.” You joked. The kind waiter placed an understanding hand on your shoulder before placing down the bill. You sipped from your champagne glass and payed before grabbing your purse and walking out of the fancy restaurant. Maybe if your boyfriend were here, you would be getting in his car with him to go home, but instead, you were driving your own and sitting by yourself. You began your drive home to the empty house.

The usual. Katsuki blows you off for work, tries to make it up to you with something special, fails to show up for that, repeat cycle. This time..it was different though. It was supposed to be your special day. It was your birthday.

You hoped he would’ve remembered. I mean, it’s not like this was your first birthday with him. This was going to be your 4th birthday with him! And he forgot! And you would’ve let it slide had it not been for the fact that he had been blowing you off more and more for work. You understand he’s a pro and you get that with the sudden splurge of crime in Musutafu he’s been way busier but he didn’t even spare you a little “Happy Birthday, babe.”

As you pulled into the driveway, you looked at the doorway and saw an edible arrangement! Your eyes lit up as you ran out the car and went to examine the gift. Unfortunately, as you read the gift card, you saw it was from Mina and not Katsuki. You smiled nonetheless, appreciative of the gift.

You brought it in and enjoyed the sweet treats in the basket with a sad smile. You left it on the dining table along with all the other gifts. A beautiful set of rings, a new dress, a heart holding teddy bear, and a bouquet of roses from your father. You were always a daddy’s girl. You and your father were extremely close and only grew closer once you lost your mother. Growing up an only child, your father was your best friend. You loved him dearly. As you examined the flowers, you couldn’t help but notice his note that put a smile on your face.

Hello my Sweet Angel, Y/N. It’s been another year of you being in my life and I couldn’t be happier to have been blessed with you. I hope these roses will suffice but I know they pale in comparison to your beauty. I hope you enjoy this marvelous day and I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to spend it with you as we usually do. I love you Y/N

-Daddy

You called your father to thank him for the roses and to have a conversation with him. You hadn’t talked to many people today despite it being your birthday so talking to one of your favorite people should bring your mood to a better place.

“Alright, I should get going now. It’s pretty late and you need your rest.” You reminded your father.

“Of course dear. Have a nice night, goodnight sweetie.”

“Okay, goodnight Daddy!” You chirped.

“Goodnight!”

You enjoyed speaking to your father and you definitely did feel your mood brighten until you noticed a text from Katsuki. You foolishly hoped it was a last minute birthday mention but of course you were wrong.

‘I’ll be home soon, princess. Mind getting dinner started? Thanks <3’

You could only sigh and feel your mood drop once more.

Afterwards, you chose to ignore his request and went to your shared bedroom. You stripped out of your gorgeous outfit and took off your makeup that you spent hours on. You hoped Katsuki would’ve gotten to see you all dolled up for your special day but things happen..you guess. You ran a hot bath for yourself and filled it with all types of scented bath salts, soaps, and flower petals. You lit a few candles and set them up all pretty around the tub and hopped in, relishing in the warmth that wrapped around you. All you wanted to do was forget about today.

—

Bakugou walked through the door exhausted from the day’s work. He took a shower at the agency and was all set and dressed in a comfy tee and a pair of sweats. He dropped his case at the door and walked in, expecting dinner for him on the island, but instead was met with a bunch of gifts. He stood shocked but chuckled to himself at the thought of you doing such a nice thing for him out of nowhere. He guesses that this was better than dinner.

He walked to the gifts and examined them. An edible arrangement that seemed to be eaten? Rings that were obviously for a woman? A dress? Okay, by now he realized that these gift must’ve been for you but for what? He continued to look through the gifts and noticed the lovey dovey Teddy Bear and bouquet. He grew a little irked at the gifts that one would deem romantic but what really sent it was the note. The words made his blood boil and when he saw the note was signed “Daddy,” he exploded.

“Is she…” as Bakugou thought about it, he came to the conclusion that you must’ve been cheating on him with some sugar daddy. The gifts, the dress, the rings, the note?! It gave him all the signs. In a raging fit, he took the basket and slammed it to the floor. He ripped apart the Teddy Bear, tossed the rings, singed the dress, and stomped on the beautiful roses. Finally, he made his way to search for you as he spoke to himself. “Oh that cheating fucking bitch.”

—

You were all set with your bath and had already dried your hair. You were dressed in your favorite silk set as you laid on the king sized bed. Suddenly, the door busted open and your boyfriend walked through the door, and he was pissed.

“Katsuki! The door!” You exclaimed before Bakugou made his way over to you.

“Am I not enough for you?!” He screamed. You looked at him in silent confusion and your pause urged him to continue. “What?! Do I not make enough money to your liking?! Well sorry if I can’t fucking spoil you! I just thought you would’ve appreciated my fucking efforts a little damn more considering you don’t have to work at all!”

“Katsuki, what the hell are you talking about?” You questioned, sitting up a little straighter.

“I’m talking about you fucking cheating on me! You think I wouldn’t notice all the fucking gifts you got for spreading your legs for some rich bastard?!” He asked and threw your gifted dress on your lap. You looked at it in shock as you ran your fingers across the singes. “Why don’t you take that fucking dress and the rest of your stupid gifts, and get the fuck out of this ho-“

Without letting him finish, you pushed his chest away and ran downstairs to the island. You set your eyes on the island and you stopped in your tracks, covering your open mouth with your hands in shock. Bakugou followed you down the stairs so he could see your reaction to having your gifts ruined, thinking it was exactly what you deserved for “cheating.”

“No, no, no!” You said an ran to the scattered gifts, trying to collect them as best as you could. Tears fell down your face as you looked at all the broken pieces in your hand. It wasn’t that you cared about receiving gifts, it was that these gifts were from people who cared enough to remember the day you came into this world. A day your own boyfriend couldn’t even remember this year. You found the crushed bouquet and held it against your chest. A gift from your dear father, ruined.

“What is wrong with you?” You tearfully asked the blonde behind you. You stood on your feet as he smirked at you with crossed arms and scoffed.

“What’s wrong with you? Fucking cheating on me with some sugar daddy?! And don’t even try to lie your way out of this shit, I read the fucking card.” He stated. You gawked at him in confusion and looked around as if he was crazy.

“The bouquet was from my father, Bakugou! Not my fucking sugar daddy! I don’t fucking have one, you prick!” Your words made Bakugou’s eyes pop as his arms uncrossed and slowly fell to his sides.

“W-What?” He asked.

“My father! The roses were from my father! The edible arrangement was from Mina, the rings were from Momo, the teddy bear was from Kirishima, and the dress was from Jirou! They gave me these gifts because it’s my birthday! Remember?!”

Bakugou immediately felt guilt build up in his chest. A little relief with that fact that you weren’t cheating, but immediate guilt for accusing you of doing so, telling you to leave, breaking your gifts, and forgetting your birthday.

“Y-Y/N I-“

“Save it Bakugou. You want me to leave so bad? Then I’ll go.” With that, you slammed the destroyed flowers into his chest and ran to the bedroom to change and pack a small bag with Bakugou following your trail.

“Y/N! No, wait!” He shouted and chased after you. Before he could grab hold of you, you made it into the room and slammed the door in his face before locking it. “Baby! C’mon, open the door! I’m sorry!”

“Leave me alone!” You said as you changed.

“No! Baby, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I forgot your birthday, I’m sorry I accused you of cheating, I’m sorry I ruined your special day. Please just let me in to fix this!” He begged. You finally opened the door with an angry look. “Baby! Thank go-“

“You can’t fix this, Bakugou!” You said with tears poking at the ends of your eyes. His heart began to ache when he noticed them and the bag you carried. Not only that but ever since you started calling him Bakugou again, he felt weak.

“Baby..it’s Katsuki.” He said trying to reach out for you but you snatched your hand away.

“Don’t call me that and as of right now, no it’s not!” You tried to walk away but Bakugou grabbed onto your waist to stop you.

“Y/N, stop, please. Look, you don’t have to go, just stay here and we can talk about this. Please we don’t even have to talk, just stay here. I’ll sleep in the guest room just don’t go, please.” He pleaded with soft tears. You bit your lip before calming down and speaking to him.

“Katsuki, I can’t be around you right now.” You said with a broken voice. “I just need some space…please.”

Katsuki still refused to let you go and so you stood there for what felt like forever. Eventually, you felt his hold weaken and so you pulled his arms off before walking away. Bakugou quietly followed you to the exit and before you left, Bakugou grabbed your wrist.

“I’m sorry. Please..let me fix this.” He said with tears running down his eyes. You froze before going in to make a move. You sighed and placed your hands on his face and wiped away his tears with your thumb. Bakugou took the opportunity to hold you in his arms once more as he leaned in to your touch. You pulled his face in and pecked his cheek before placing your hand on the knob once more.

“We’ll talk when I get back.” You softly said. You didn’t bother to see his response before you shut the door and got in your car to drive away.

Talk about a birthday bummer.

A/N: UGH, HORRIBLE ENDING

Tag list: @sxcker4you @aomi04 @tessabrown101

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gumnut-logic · 3 years ago

Text

The Mechromancer

There may be more to this.

This started out as an attempt to write something completely different, but it was determined to do this instead. So you have a pile of fishTank, just a different pile than expected.

Warnings for angst, hurt/comfort.

Many thanks to @scribbles97 @janetm74 @tsarinatorment and @flyboytracy for all their help on this one. My brain fried in the middle of it and it is a little odd as a result. These wonderful peeps put up with an extremely whiney Nutty for a few days there so they should be congratulated for not hitting my over the head with something solid :D

I hope you enjoy this anyway.

-o-o-o-

They say mechromancy is born of the Earth, of rock and metal and the energies that drive the planet.

He can feel it.

Feel metal spinning as it is cut and cries out in its making, its shaping, its becoming. It resonates in his soul as he gives birth to a new creation.

He pulls the new shape off the lathe, the smell of hot metal curling in his nostrils. A rough edge catches skin and pricks a scratch.

Red iron smudges grey steel, metal on metal.

Virgil wipes it away with a stained rag and the cog gleams in the light of his workshop.

-o-o-o-

Gordon’s days were grey.

At first, waking was pain and fog. Everything was broken. The fine instrument he had built his body into no longer worked and was little more than a source of ongoing agony.

The doctors were brutally honest. He could not expect more than a life of grey walls and kindly nursing staff for the rest of his life.

That’s if he had one. There was always the opportunity of a sudden infection and an early termination of that agreement.

His family was there.

Always.

Grandma was in charge, no matter what the hospital thought. You didn’t cross his grandmother and survive. The fact there was a looming grey-eyed and very wealthy Jefferson Tracy gave much more weight to Doctor Tracy’s demands.

His father was there.

This was something both expected and unexpected. Father was a very busy man, but each time Gordon woke in those early days, his eyes would clear to find the silver-grey suited millionaire somewhere in the room. He didn’t say much, not being a man to show a great deal of emotion, but the fact he was there and there so often said enough.

Said how dire things really were.

The most consistent presence was Scott, of course. The man’s cane was heard in his sleep. Sometimes Gordon wanted to reach out and shake it from his brother’s grasp and break it in two across his knee.

But it was a fantasy. Because not only did he not have the strength to grab the cane, he no longer had any knees to break anything.

His legs were gone.

The thought flickered through his mind and he shied away.

Alan…Alan tried to cheer him up while trying not to cry himself. It was heartbreaking.

John reached out to brush fingers through his hair, a single tear falling unacknowledged down his cheek.

Gordon was in so much pain himself and yet also the cause of so much more. It tore at his heart.

Had his sole purpose in life been reduced to a bane on his family?

And Virgil…

He dreamt of his brother. His loving and gentle mechanic brother.

But he never saw him.

In the early days after Gordon had first opened his eyes after the accident, he had asked after Virgil. Scott’s eyes had been full of…something. His eldest brother always kept up his military stance, hiding his true thoughts should they present a vulnerability and those defences were ever so thick at the mere mention of Virgil.

Even in his bleary, pain-filled state, Gordon sensed there was something wrong, but he didn’t have the strength to pursue the question.

His days were awash with painkilling concoctions of his grandmother’s recommendations that took his mind along with the pain. Distorted versions of both his father and Scott were his earliest memories after the accident.

And the dreams…a sense of heat, holding him down, burning, preventing his escape. His own fear overlapped by someone else’s desperation and panic. Flame burning down his nerve endings demanding he stay.

Stay.

Whispers in his mother’s voice.

Denial and determination.

Ever so hot and hurting.

They always ended in such a flare of light and sound, he woke up yelling.

And Scott would be there. Words of reassurance and love.

Gordon always asked for Virgil after the dreams. They meant something, he was sure of it and they had something to do with Virgil.

And Scott never quite answered.

-o-o-o-

He stokes the fire to exactly the right temperature, the coals glowing eye-blinding white, forcing his goggles onto his eyes. His skin pricks with the heat.

Cahelium requires it.

Metal hits flame in a shower of sparks and sucks up the energy, shining as brightly as the sun. He feels it breathe in, draw in the life-giving energy of creation.

His hammer shapes with each strike, the metal thinning as he bends it to his will. Muscles flexing as he swings, the energy of his body fighting, forcing form.

Sweat trickles down his brow as he frowns with the effort. His leather apron protects his vulnerable body, but the sparks still sneak through to embed in the bare skin of his arms and burn holes in his shirt.

He doesn’t care. He can feel the metal with his mind and it is becoming.

Scars in the making only record the process.

-o-o-o-

Days turn into weeks and still Virgil didn’t appear.

Scott had excuses but none of them rang true. Gordon created all kinds of scenarios in his head. Maybe Virgil was injured. Or sick. Maybe he had died. All of the above terrified him until one day while they were alone, he yelled at his big brother, demanding to know.

Only then did he get to see Virgil.

Scott wheeled him in.

Gordon stared. His engineer brother looked terrible.

“W-what happened?”

Virgil’s hands were swaddled in bandages and he was literally wilting in the chair. “Hey, Gords.” His eyelids were drooping.

Gordon looked up at Scott and his big brother’s eyes dropped to the floor.

“What happened?!” His body was busted but there was nothing wrong with his brain bar the concoctions they kept stabbing him with.

Virgil reached over and lay a bandaged hand on Gordon’s chest. “I’m well. I promise.”

“You look awful, Virg. What happened to your hands?” He stared at the swathed fingers on his broken body. Virgil’s magic fingers. His eyes widened, dreams and reality suddenly merging. “What did you do?!”

“Gordon…” His name was weariness itself, his brother’s usual baritone barely there. “You were dying. I had to.”

Gordon’s eyes shot to his brother’s bloodshot brown, so like his own. “You fix machines.”

“The human body is only another type of machine.”

“You fixed me?”

Virgil shook his head, his eyes closing. Scott, who had remained silent, knelt down beside the engineer in his chair and placed an arm around Virgil’s shoulders.

Virgil’s hand was still on Gordon’s chest. He fought with the sudden need to want it gone, yet desperately wanted to hold it in his own.

He settled for slowly, ever so slowly moving his right hand to land on top of Virgil’s as gently as he could.

“What did you do?”

“I fixed enough.” An exhausted exhale. “Just enough.”

“What has it done to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You look half dead.”

Virgil closed his eyes again. “I am well, Gordon. Don’t worry about it.”

Gordon turned to Scott, whose eyes again dropped to the floor. His big brother swallowed.

Back to Virgil. “You are a pathetic liar. You know that.”

Virgil’s eyes joined Scott’s on the floor. “I’m sorry, Gordon.”

“What?! It’s obvious that you foolishly did something that might have saved my ass, but trashed yours. Scott, tell me! What the hell did he do to himself?”

Virgil straightened up and a more familiar fire flared. “I did what had to be done. And I would do it again.”

“Then why the hell are you apologising?”

Virgil shrunk back and shook his head, but didn’t say anything further. If anything, he wilted in his chair further.

“Virgil…” It was an exhalation of his brother’s name. His eyes darted again to Scott seeking answers. His eldest brother still had a protective arm around Virgil’s shoulders. Whatever had happened, chances were it was bad.

Blue eyes looked up and caught Gordon’s. Scott’s lips thinned and his jaw tightened.

Very bad.

Virgil’s hand on Gordon’s chest was trembling.

“Tell me you will be well.” He begged Virgil to look at him so he could see the truth.

As if summoned, that dark-haired head rose, bloodshot, brown eyes caught his. “I will.” A swallow. “I promise.”

“And your hands?”

“They will heal.”

“And be as they were?” Please.

“They will heal.” It was a repetition, almost a self-reassurance.

Gordon swallowed hard, almost terrified to look beneath those bandages to discover exactly what his brother had done trying to ‘fix’ Gordon’s machine.

Virgil was suddenly pushing himself to his feet. Scott hurried to steady him. “Virgil, what are you doing?”

But their brother didn’t answer. He took a shaky step towards the bed and, leaning over, wrapped his arms as best he could around Gordon without disturbing him. “So good to see you, Fish.” There was an emotional shake in his voice and that tremble in his hand proved to be system wide.

Gordon lifted one hand the best he could and rested his temple against Virgil’s. “Glad to be here.” His voice was suddenly hoarse. “Thank you.”

There was a muffled sound in Gordon’s pillow he couldn’t identify. Then a rough, but firm, “Anytime.” Virgil shifted and pushed himself up a little, enough to catch Gordon’s eyes. “Anytime.”

And Scott was hauling Virgil up and back into his chair.

Gordon didn’t want his brother to go, but the man was sagging where he sat, alarming Gordon even more. A glance at Scott and he encountered that same worry there.

“Time to go back to bed, Virgil.” Their eldest brother secured him in the chair and unlatched the brakes.

If Gordon could have, he would have stretched out his arm. “Be well, Virgil.”

His weary brother nodded once and Scott pushed him out the door, leaving Gordon to stare at where his brother had been and what he had done.

-o-o-o-

He lines up the fine golden metal cladding and, with a punch he cast himself, embosses a detailed etch of an octopus into the hot cahelium-brass.

Beside it, he chooses to place a shark, its fins a sharp dent in the metal.

His breath is evaporated as he peers closely before punching in a twirled sea shell.

His fingers ache to touch the metal.

On the desk beside him lays the mechanisms. Setting the section of the cladding aside to cool, he returns to the final touches, the fine tuning of the gears and the delicate gyroscopes that will balance movement.

His fingers flicker as he reaches for information.

There is a thin screwdriver in his mouth, held across his lips as his hands correct and make minor adjustments. The metal tastes like possibilities.

His fingers twitch. There is still stiffness in his skin. They remember the feel of his brother’s broken body. Feel what was being lost.

What he was losing.

The heat needed to forge, to fix, had been unbearable, and it took from him, so much.

Now he is different. Part of him is with his brother, keeping him alive, like a donation of a body part. A donation of part of his soul.

Given willingly.

Virgil sighs and returns to the forge to shape more cladding.

The metal is warm under his fingertips.

-o-o-o-

FIN?

#thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #Gordon Tracy #Virgil Tracy #an attempt at Steampunk #Where there be dragons AU

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the-greatest-story-untold · 4 years ago

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I’m rambling abt NCT. Bear with me.

So, NCT 2020 Resonance Global Wave Beyond Live concert (sheesh, that’s long!) ended about 3 hours ago.

I finally got to sit and think through what I had experienced.

I’ve read through twitter, IG and of course, Tumblr.

I know quite a lot of fans are upset that SM went through with the concert when both Taeyong and Jisung are both unable to participate. And when Jisung was actually able to somewhat participate but Taeyong wasn’t, it ruffled some more feathers.

It is of course, very worrying that Taeyong may be injured/unwell enough to be completely uninvolved in the concert. I would have thought they would try to put in at least a clip of him wishing well to his team.

Then it occured to me that either way, fans won’t be happy. There will still be some that’ll bark that SM is not letting him rest or whatever.

In the end, yes, it would have been better if they could have postponed the concert till next year or whenever. But seriously, there is no promise that no one out of the 23 members will always be completely ok.

They’re a ridiculously large group with multiple members playing dual/multiple roles half the time. One of those members are bound to get tired or injured. I don’t want it to happen but hey, life is horrible and things happen.

(If you can’t already tell, I’m very much a pessimist. I don’t really look at the bright side of things. So excuse my morbid acceptance that people will get sick/ill/injured.)

I mean, at the rate that SM is pushing some of these members, it is not very subtle that the distribution of responsibilities are not even. We definitely see some faces more than others.

if you want to argue that Taeyong is the leader of the group, the backbone, the pillar, the very essence of NCT... I won’t stop you. I feel that way too. But seriously, the leader missing out on one online concert won’t render the team useless.

Taeyong is a great leader. I acknowledge it. And one major thing he has done well as a leader is to ensure the team carries on without their leader.

Watching the concert, I see how the different members who are often labelled the ‘mum’, ‘dad’, or ‘big brother’ of the team step up and lead the group.

Taeyong is NCT’s leader but I will argue he is not NCT’s only leader. We have Taeil and Johnny, both of whom stepped up to look over the members (regardless if it was a forced situation or not). We have Kun, himself the leader of WayV. We have Doyoung (and let’s throw in Jeno), who were in a way the co-captains of their units. We have Mark, lovely Mark, who was the unofficial Dream Leader but made official through Dreamies’ and NCTzens’ sheer will. Even Renjun and Haechan stepped up during the ‘Surprise Live’ to lead the youngsters.

So yeah, it was sad that Taeyong wasn’t in the concert. My heart ached when I didn’t see him performing his parts. But at the same time, I HAVE to admit, I felt so proud that his teammates were able to fill his parts so well.

And before anyone accuse me of saying Taeyong is replaceable, I must enforce that I DON’T. Taeyong is Taeyong, he brings his own charms and charisma to every song he performs. And that was made very obvious in the concert when it felt so blatantly ‘in-your-face’ that he was missing.

BUT. I will not diminish the effort put in by the other members who had to cover his parts. Kudos to them for taking the baton, it must have weighed heavy. I am sure that they are aware of the expectations EVERYONE has for Taeyong. So KUDOS to them for being able to carry that baton and YET, put in their own flair to it.

Apparently, Jeno was required to learn the first bit of ‘Make a Wish’ within an hour in the waiting room. Why? For the love of all things good, we know SM will never explain. But the fact that he did, and he did it WELL (he slayed it of course), KUDOS to him.

Sungchan covered Taeyong’s part in ‘BOSS’. It wasn’t Taeyong’s flair but Sungchan pulled it off with his own style, and just as fine.

Shotaro covered Taeyong’s part in ‘7th Sense’. You can clearly see he was a professional performer even before being part of NCT. He definitely threw in his own flair into that performance.

Yangyang covered Taeyong’s part in ‘Lightbulb’, and boy, he delivered. I watched that performance and I realised how much talent that young man has. It is disappointing he was not given a lot of parts (regardless if it was as WayV or NCT).

Jaehyun covered Taeyong’s part in ‘Kick It’, and of course he did great. We’ve already seen him cover for TY before. Yuta in turn covered Taeyong’s dance break in ‘Kick It’. Similarly, he shined.

Ten carried ‘Baby Don’t Stop’ all by himself! It must have been exhausting, he was performing consecutively from one song to another! He’s another one we must applaud for!

Overall, I feel very grateful towards NCT for being able to put up this concert. Performing in front of a live crowd would have been better but personally, I felt this online stage allowed them to perform/act a little more freely. It felt like a home stage that you put on only for those special to you... a little bit more personal compared to a real-live concert but definitely just as high quality.

I enjoyed the concert, I smiled so much through it. I am going to miss OT23, even more than I missed OT18. When NCT was just 18, I was just getting to know them. Now, they’re a full fledged 23 and counting.

Sungchan and Shotaro fit so well in the group, I forget that they were recent additions. WayV was so very much embraced by the OG NCT members that I forget the unit is only 1 year old (going to 2 soon!)

I love how NCT feels like a family. I am sure every fandom feels the same way about their own artists, but I’ve always felt NCT was different and special because their brand makes them a family of different units. I’ve grown up in a large extended family, and I feel that NCT is just like that. They are friends and yet family, colleagues and yet brothers.

I saw many wishes from NCTzens for the boys. I saw fans putting up placards saying NCT saved 2020. I’ve read many comments thanking NCT for uplifting them and making them feel present and here. I feel so proud that the boys are able to do that.

I may be just one more fan for NCT and I am sure they’re thankful either way. But I really want them to know how thankful I am for them too. They’ve had an extremely busy year, so I hope they get to rest. Not just some rest, but a full complete holistic break that lets their battery recharge.

I know their schedules are probably already packed and overflowing, but I want them to know that if any one of them needs a break from the hectic schedule, they should take that break AND NOT FEEL BAD ABOUT IT.

Self-care is essential:

“Rest and self-care are so important. When you take time to replenish your spirit, it allows you to serve others from the overflow. You cannot serve from an empty vessel.” - Eleanor Brownn

I love this quote and I wish to extend this advice to all 23 members of NCT too.

I am still looking forward to the projects NCT will put out of course. I’m excited to see the unit (new ones?) Sungchan and Shotaro will be in. I’m excited to see Mark back with Dream (*cough cough* rooftop fight?). I definitely want to know what more WayV has in store.

I hope they have a great year ahead but still think of themselves too once in a while.

Don’t worry boys, NCTzens will always be with you. We are the grass field that awaits you at the end of a ‘long ass ride’. Through the seasons, to infinity and beyond. We love you!

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makingspiritualityreal · 4 years ago

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When Depression Becomes your Comfort Zone

I am definitely not in a place I used to be compared to the extreme emotional lows of the past. What is mostly left by this point in my life is fear of my situation actually getting better.

Now because I am myself, this is not going to stop me from seizing any opportunities that appear in front of me and I work on my life in some small ways every day, even if it's not much. It might sound ridiculous, since technically a person with long lasting depression or enduring any kind of permanent suffering should be dying for an immediate improvement in their life. However, our survival psychology as human beings is such that we get used to everything, the good and the bad. A lot of suffering in our lives comes from the fact that a pattern is being broken in some way. Human beings hate being shaken out of their comfort zone and they often resist it in most ridiculous ways even to their detriment, when technically the change would mean pushing them in a better direction.

What I wanted to talk about here is a very complicated emotional process that goes on behind the scenes when you endure depression for a longer period of time. At the beginning, when in some way your life plummets there is a feeling of oppression and the lingering desire for freedom. Maybe freedom and expansion you experienced in the past, or maybe it was purely conceptual. That's what happened in my case, I wasn't even looking to my past to make my future mirror it, since I don't like to dwell in what's already gone, I just placed hope in my actions and potential new results coming from them. I was raised with an expectation of doing my best to achieve best results, so I grew up with an assumption that hard work always ultimately pays off. However, life is more complex than that, so in time as I grew up, things stopped working the way they used to work when I was younger. Every human being has a threshold for disappointment, everyone has an exhaustion limit to how much they can stand before they break down and something snaps in them. At a certain point in my life, I found myself encountering nothing but blocks and disappointments. My work and efforts amounted to nothing and wherever I would go I experienced closed doors. It's like there was a wall closing in around me telling me that no matter where I go, I will be ultimately stopped. I was used to a life that wasn't perfect...but it was a life that existed, something was alive around me, and in my own quirky way I was part of the world. Then I got to a stage where all of this was taken away from me. Since I'm extremely stubborn, I would still try to do my best. Every time I saw an opportunity, I did my best to take the most out of it. Enjoy the little things, a sunny day, good food, a small meeting with friends, when I still had them. Eventually, even those little things were taken away from me. I was forced to adapt to spending many years in a space where there was nothing and no one around me. In time, even though I was obviously miserable and probably still hoping for something deep down, I gave up on my efforts, seeing that they amounted to nothing.

Then, as I made the necessary psychological changes that this period required of me, after the transformation I needed to go through, I started to see openings. Things were not the same as before, and neither was I, but new things were appearing in their place. And as they were appearing I noticed how much I got used to staying in this narrow, suffocating space that was slowly killing me. I was always brave, even recklessly so, diving into any situation that seemed promising, and suddenly I was afraid to step out of my apartment and visit a friend, whose house I have been in countless times since childhood. I was afraid of going out into the world and outside of my depression bubble, because I was attacked by all the things that make a person feel alive, all the things that were taken away from me and that I felt were no longer for me. It hurt to be around people who were free of the burden that I’ve been carrying, people who would mock, misunderstand and not be able to relate to how diminished I felt as a person, and all the self hate that I carried inside.

This was the moment I realised how much energy goes into digging yourself out of depression once you are forced to crawl into it. It takes an immense effort to do things on a daily basis, and it feels draining. It’s draining to keep up interactions with people who might potentially hurt you and make you crawl back into depression if they prove to be hurtful. All this fear is enough to make you want to retreat and fall back into old comfortable habits, just to survive.

But we are not here on this planet to survive. We are here to thrive, each of us in our own unique way. Which is why even after everything that happened, I keep moving forward, I make new friends and I invest my time into those people who care for me, and new projects that matter to me. Whenever I would ask myself, would I go back to the past, the answer is no. The things I left behind needed to be left behind, because they were not right for me. I was not myself, not who I could fully be, so these parts of me needed to fall away, and since I was reluctant to part with this stage of my life, it had to be forced upon me. Whenever enormous losses happen to us, it seems unlikely at a time, but it is for our greater good. So often we enjoy superficial success with people and in situations that are not really right for us. Because it feels easy, we fall back on it, even if somewhere deep down there is a small part of us that is unfulfilled. The universe wants us to thrive, so it will keep removing those things that don’t work for us from our lives, even if to our eyes it looks like a huge personal loss.

So often doing any of this feels like too much and I feel so alone it’s difficult to keep staying alive in the first place. I force through my comfort zone every day and always risk everything. Even if there is a self destructive part of me that wants to retreat and never come out or try anything new, I realise the danger that comes with standing in my own way and being the source of my own self undoing. So even if there are things I can’t do immediately, or the things I know I have to do feel uncomfortable, I commit to them every day because this is the only way I will ever get anywhere.

#personal #depression

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ms-demeanor · 5 years ago

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I appreciate your positivity posts a lot, but there are a couple things that make me instinctively angry when i see them One, it really frustrates me that i cannot be good at everything. I know it may sound kinda stupid, but i feel jealous when i see people learning skills i know I'll never master cause they arent a priority over other skills im already working on Two, when im angry/frustrated and i see positivity, it only makes me angrier None of this is your fault, just needed to vent a little

(This post requires a table of contents)

Frustration that you can’t be good at everything - A

Frustration with positivity - B

Do I contradict myself? Kinda but not really - C

Ah-ha, but I have fooled us all - D

That doesn’t sound stupid at all, it actually sounds exactly like the insta-rage that I get from being bad at something or from hearing “anybody can do X.”

I know that sounds contradictory, considering that I’ve been saying “anybody can learn artistic skills with practice,” but I’ll explain in a sec.

Okay so I’m learning guitar right? Like, with all the hand-pain and dyspraxia and all I’m still giving it a go and it’s taking forever and it’s really frustrating.

It’s more frustrating because I realized I had to do it alone - if I’m practicing around people or a person is sitting next to me while I’m trying to learn a skill or get the fretting of a particular chord down or (especially this one) trying to memorize a sequence of notes and movements it’s. It’s extremely not pretty. It’s apparently very upsetting for the people who are around me when that happens.

I get furious with myself and I get frustrated because goddamnit fucking children can do this thing and I’m an adult and it’s a simple fucking sequence of five movements and I’m just getting it wrong because I’m a useless idiot.

It takes about four minutes with a guitar teacher or jamming with a friend for me to devolve into “attempt sequence > fuck sequence up > apologize > try again but now while more mad at myself > fuck it up worse > apologize > forget beginning of sequence > try really hard not to start calling myself a fucking idiot in front of a friend who really shouldn’t have to handle this.”

And when I do that it feels terrible. It feels bad, feels like my skills have regressed, makes me want to put the instrument down and not pick it up again.

The thing is, I do this with every skill that I’m learning. You should see me when I’m trying to learn a new version of some kind of software. It’s terrible. I’m at my absolute worst and lowest when I’m trying to find the new place Adobe has hidden a menu or what the new command is to format something in Word.

But here’s the deal: I know what this is when I’m doing it. This is emotional dysregulation.

Basically finding out that I have ADHD changed my life and got me to really start examining a lot of my reactions to things and the behavior patterns I’ve lived with for most of my life.

I experience an impulse to be furious when people are more skilled than I am, I AM furious when I feel like my skills aren’t where I think they should be. But neither of those things are actually good for helping me learn to do the thing and I’d much rather learn to do the thing than be angry about not being good enough at it.

I spend a fair amount of time in therapy. I have worked on recognizing when I have the impulse to do something that is going to be unhelpful or reactive and attempting to approach that impulse with other options.

That’s not easy! And it doesn’t come naturally! My first response to a lot of things is still anger or frustration or despair.

But since I *know* that’s my first impulse and I’ve learned enough about my own behavior to understand that my first impulse is frequently the wrong course of action (grounded in panic or whatever) I’ve been working on accepting that my first reaction is typically negative and moving on more quickly to other, more helpful reactions.

(this has been really fantastic for increasing my feelings of agency and control over my own life; acting on your panic response all the time isn’t good for your long term stability)

You know you can’t be good at everything, you know that it takes a long time to acquire skills. That doesn’t make it any less frustrating that you don’t have the skills that you want to have. So it’s understandable that your first reaction to the skills positivity posts would be negative, and it’s understandable if you want to sit in that negativity for a little bit.

It’s also understandable to mourn the skills that you could have had. “If I hadn’t stopped practicing guitar in my teens I could be so much better now.” “If I hadn’t had to get a job with such a long commute I could be drawing daily and I’d be so much farther along.” “If I hadn’t been discouraged by my parents I’d have had so much more practice with music.” “If I hadn’t gotten injured I’d be such a good dancer right now.”

There’s a perfect you that lives in your head and they’ve had all the opportunities you missed and got to keep practicing when you couldn’t and have all the money you don’t and sleep you keep missing. I get wanting to be that person. I get wanting what they want.

But the you in your head isn’t real and it’s sad if you’re ignoring how wonderful the real you is because you’re not perfect in the same ways.

So if you can, I’d recommend trying to see if there’s a positive response you can practice remembering when you get frustrated about your skills.

(for me it’s honestly just saying “the next best time to plant a tree is today” and remembering that I’ve got a long time to learn to do all the things I want to do. It’s not a race, and if I can’t get to something now I can try later.)

You’re great. You’re great and you’re trying hard and if you wouldn’t yell at your friend for not learning a skill or being good at something you shouldn’t yell at yourself either.

So when I was like, 17, I wrote a bit of poetry that went like this:

I’m a casual cynicwho prays for optimistsbut it’s hard for me to be onewhen I’m talking with my fists.

I am a very, very negative, pessimistic person. Optimism and positivity irritate the hell out of me.

The frustrating thing about positivity is that it largely feels like criticism. It feels like “if you can’t do X, Y, or Z it’s because you choose not to.”

And I sure as fuck can’t blame people for being negative. I’m negative and the world is shitty and everything is difficult and expensive. I really, really don’t think that people are choosing not to do what they want to do.

So when you hear “you can do it!” it’s a very natural response to go “yeah, easy for you to say, you don’t have a million things preventing you from doing it.”

Part of this is that your brain is a filthy liar and it thinks that skills are easy to acquire. Your brain is going “if anyone can do it and I haven’t it’s because I’m lazy and I suck.”

I would like you to remind your brain that it is a filthy liar.

(I would also like to remind people that negativity that exists to the point that generic positivity posts upset you or make you angry is a symptom of depression)

But the other thing is that you probably DO have a million legitimate things that are keeping you from Doing The Thing and when you’re seeing someone else say “Do the thing!” you’re just seeing the shiny thing, not their million things that were in the way too.

Doing shit is HARD. It’s exhausting. It involves opportunity cost. If I want to make fanart I have do dedicate time to that that gets taken away from somewhere else and you know what sometimes it’s just better for me and more in line with my desires to re-read a 100k slow-burn than it is to make a drawing of the characters.

But it’s also really important to recognize which kinds of positivity actually contain criticism.

My initial statement in the Gru comic was “Talent is bullshit, nurture your skills with practice & make the content you want to see in the world.” This was in reaction to a simply-drawn comic that expressed that you need talent to make fanart and not everybody has talent.

A lot of people have seen that as criticism.

I am. Really, really not attempting to criticize people with these posts.

But also, yeah, being told “woah, hey, just calm down” when you’re already pissed isn’t going to make anyone’s afternoon any better. And there’s not much I can do about that (and I know you don’t want me to, you said you were just venting).

“You hate positivity and yet you make positivity posts, interesting.”

So the brand of positivity posts I hate are the “If I can do it anyone can!” posts and here’s why:

Not everyone can be on a Roller Derby team.

Breaking my back and having to quit roller derby made me reassess a lot of my attitudes about the world.

If you point to a specific activity and say “if I can do this anyone can do this” you are wrong. There are a lot of people who aren’t going to be able to do a thing. If you say “If I can lose the babyweight within three weeks of giving birth anyone can” there are a lot of people who can’t do that thing and there is a kind of implicit criticism there. “If I can get over my scoliosis and lift weights anyone can,” is kind of saying that the people with scoliosis who can’t lift weights just aren’t making an effort.

“If I can do this anyone can” is wrong. It ignores the fact that people are all in unique circumstances and have different limitations. No, not anyone can. Not everyone can be on a Roller Derby team.

But what I’m saying in my posts isn’t “anyone can draw” it is “if you practice a skill you will improve at it, so if you want to improve at drawing you need to practice.”

And I’ve been very clear in admitting that not everyone can do this, due to time constraints and low energy and physical limitations.

The one deviation I’ve made from that is to come pretty close to saying “anyone can do art” and again, I consider that a bit different because “art” is a very broad category and I do believe that pretty much anyone can create things that I would consider art, even if that art isn’t traditional visual media. And again, any of those kinds of art would also improve with practice.

The joke was on all of us all along, by the way. While I’m being pretty positive about the idea of practice and the fact that it will improve people’s performance at all skill levels there’s a secret:

That Gru post isn’t so much positive about practice as it is *incredibly* negative about the concept of talent.

Talent IS bullshit. There is a variable range of innate abilities that people can have that may jump-start a particular skill but proficiency in that skill is always going to be down to practice, not talent.

Talent was made up as a cover to explain the “brilliance” of people who had armies of laborers supporting them. I bet I’d be able to invent a lot of shit if I didn’t have to do laundry or worry about whether I was going to be able to afford both food and rent next month. Talent is a myth that pairs nicely with great man theory in that it is crap and I want people to understand that sucking at things for a long time is a part of not sucking at things eventually and also that you’re going to get a lot more done working with a group of motivated people than you are if you wait for one “talented genius” to change the world.

#long post #very long post #look you know it's a long post when *i'm* the one putting a long post warning on it

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thegeminisage · 4 years ago

Text

the south is like another country

i have an entire essay on how the current radicalism and steep political divide in this country can be traced directly back to the civil war - rural white southerners here playing the part pre-ww2 germany, the part of a resentful, conquered nation assimilated into the nation that conquered them, because if you think about it the south/the confederacy WAS its own nation for a time, that lost a very bloody war, and paid very steeply for it (not that slavers didn’t deserve every bit of misery the “carpetbaggers” threw at them), and the bitterness from that loss/the lost capital from having their slaves freed has been handed down through the generations, to people who now live in abject poverty while their livelihoods are destroyed by late stage capitalism, and their schools are so broke a lot of people here don’t even know how to read, and their towns are eaten alive with meth, and they’re still looked down upon by most of the country for being racist uneducated backwater hicks (to be clear, we should always look down on racism and racists, but it’s not making them any less bitter/ripe for being drawn into the cult of tr*mp’s america and f*cism).

but anyway this post isn’t about that! this post is about how when i go up north and i say “y’all it really is like i’m living in a different country” NOBODY BELIEVES ME. we speak the same language, we’re all americans, right? PFFFFFT. this amazon van thing just drives it home (pun intended). here’s a list of differences from the deep south* to the rest of the country*:

*the deep south here meaning the RURAL deep south. sorry to everyone who lives in cities/the suburbs and/or in border states like maryland and virginia. i’ve been to maryland and virginia and they are technically southern and some of this applies to them but it is not quite as extreme as it is here. the rest of the country includes the other states i’ve been to (california, washington state, new york, etc), which are in mostly every area except the midwest. i cannot personally vouch for the midwest. sorry, midwesterners! rural midwest probably has a lot of things in common with the deep south because rural life is different and also how easily people move around this country, but whatever

this is a long-ass post get ready

difference #1: DRIVING. driving & pedestrians are entirely different un rural areas vs urban areas. for starters, southern towns often do not even have sidewalks. this is because of 1. budget and 2. racism.

budget: rural towns are very spread out, and it costs major $$$ to put sidewalks in. it’s just not worth the trouble, financially, to put a sidewalk where only 12 people are ever going to use it, AND spend the money to maintain it. never gonna happen. racism: initially, suburbs especially in the south were seen as safe havens where people could get away from the stress of living in “urban” (re: integrated) areas. that the neighborhoods were only accessible by car and NOT by people who were too poor (black) to afford automobiles were just an added bonus.

as such, the first time i left the southeast, i was SHOCKED to see people walking and biking WITH (or indifferent to) the flow of traffic. down here we are taught that if you are walking along the road (or biking, because bikers get lumped in with pedestrians down here), it is very very very crucial that you walk against the flow of traffic, because you cannot expect drivers to see you and not mow you down. the onus is on YOU to get out of THEIR way. additionally, walking in knee-high grass along the side of the road sucks, and because there aren’t many people here, the roads are usually totally empty. so oftentimes pedestrians just straight up walk ON the road. and if you do that you absolutely have to be able to see a car coming from a long way away, because rural drivers on completely empty roads tend to take them at extremely high speeds just for fun. the people who live diagonally across from me have had to replace their mailbox four times because folks take that blind curve at 90mph. i had a cat get hit by a car on that road. (they all live indoors now.) i even witnessed a car accident happen there when i was just outside minding my own business. ever see a tire fly 12 feet into the air and come down into someone’s windshield? that’s what happens when you hit power line pole driving like that.

the first time i ever encountered one of those pedestrian crossing buttons was in california in the early 2010s. i had literally never seen one before because we simply don’t have them here. they’re not very self-explanatory if you have been jaywalking your whole entire life because all you’re taught to do is look both ways and make sure the street is empty before you cross. northern/urban roadways are made so that pedestrians and drivers can both get to where they’re going. in rural/southern areas pedestrians might as well not bother.

interestingly, while not an entirely southern problem, there’s a loose correlation between rural areas and more problems with drunk drivers.

on the driving side, driving in a city is batshit insane. it’s both faster and slower. there is NO space and you’re expected to go whenever you have so much as an inch to worm your way in. there’s more traffic, and the traffic totally dictates your speed. in the south you can change lanes if you want to drive faster or slower and weave around traffic or let it weave around you, but in a city there’s no other lane to change to and if you don’t drive at the speed of the people ahead of and behind you you will die. you turn fast, you brake fast, etc. whenever i come back from driving in a city the people who ride with me think i’m insane. you don’t PULL ONTO A ROAD if you can SEE ANOTHER CAR THERE, what the fuck? meanwhile i’m like “lol that is six miles of space i have plenty of time” and give everyone in my vicinity heart palpitations until i readjust.

tailgating in a rural area is something only assholes do (done by people on a two-lane road to encourage the person in front of them to go faster because the only other lane is for oncoming traffic), and if someone gets within one car length of me on a two-lane road i can very passively aggressively slow my vehicle to a crawl until they back the fuck off. in a city you’re lucky if you have a twelve inches between your bumper and the next car’s hood ornament.

difference #2: LANGUAGE. this is a small one, but the southern dialect combined with the lack of literacy means i am learning certain things late in life. phrases i have heard verbally with my ears but had never seen written out include: “chest of drawers” which i thought was “chester drawers” - “seven year itch” which i thought was “seven year each” - “albeit” which i thought was “i’ll be it.” i’ve made a deliberate effort to unlearn mine own accent/dialect but i run into weird shit all the time. remotes are mashers, shopping carts are buggies, you put stuff up instead of putting it away, i fix you a drink instead of pouring you one, we shoot the game instead of play it. my mom LITERALLY can’t understand me if i speak too quickly - she has to remind me all the time to slow down and put on my southern.

difference #3: TECHNOLOGY. issue of whether or not you personally have the creepy amazon vans aside, the rural south is behind the rest of the country on technology. things in cities are AUTOMATED. things like the little button you press to cross the street, tickets you take at parking garages, even the parking meters you find in cities, that’s just the beginning of it. one time i came across a little computer touch screen in a MCDONALDS where you put your order in. you didn’t even go up to the counter. you just put your order on the screen and swiped your card and then they got it ready for you and you never had to speak to a human person. self-checkouts, gas pumps where you can swipe your card and not go in and pay at first...the south got those YEARS behind everybody else. in the mid-2010s i went to DC and visited a target for maybe the 5th time ever and i was BAFFLED by the self-checkout. i had no idea how to use it! it was like less than ten years ago and i was IN MY TWENTIES and i had never seen one before! when we send a package we have to talk to a human person. when we order food we usually have to talk to a human person. apps for places like dominos and subway have not been in use here for very long. my county just got doordash LAST YEAR.

because i am 31, and because the south is so technologically behind, i am actually old enough to remember how when you used to go to a gas station an attendant would not only pump your gas but wash your windshield for you while you just SAT IN THE CAR. that seems like something from the 50s but it actually was a thing here in my childhood IN the 90s. i wish i was making this up.

difference #4: INFRASTRUCTURE. this sort of goes hand-in-hand w/ the last point because so much of our infrastructure is made of technology, and it’s also more of a rural/urban thing than a south/north thing. but just for fun here’s a non-exhaustive list of things i don’t have in my town:

starbucks* - the first time i went to a starbucks i was in my 20s

a public pool - we used to, but now the only pool here requires a YMCA membership. the only baseball diamond in this county is also at the Y.

walmart

in fact, ANYWHERE to buy clothes that is not a goodwill or other secondhand store. i cannot buy clothing unless i order it online or LEAVE MY TOWN. almost all of the clothing i own is from walmart because it’s one of the only places in my entire county where you can actually PURCHASE clothing.

grocery store chains? pffft. my town has two entire stores and both are small southern chains. i didn’t go into a publix for the first time until two years ago when i went to florida. i’ve NEVER entered a whole foods.

food delivery? yeah, no. like i said, we got doordash last year, but before that the only place you could get delivery from was a pizza chain. we only have two pizza places in my town that deliver, and one is a local place, not attached to any chain, so i can’t spend my loyalty points there. (it’s very expensive there too.) last year it was CLOSED for six months because the manager got caught dealing meth. every last one of the delivery drivers was trafficking it for him. they all got fired and had to restart from the ground up. for that short time, it was not possible to get any food delivered to your house whatsoever.

a hospital/ambulance services - if someone is sick, we have to take them to the hospital in laurens, the town next door (about 15-20 minutes by car). the town i live in lucky - we have our own police and fire departments. (acab but you know what i mean.) joanna is a smaller town next to mine that isn’t a real town - it’s been demoted to a census designated area because only 2000 people live there. if they have an emergency, they have to use OUR fire and police departments, and LAURENS’s ambulance/hospital system

after-school places kids can go to keep from getting into trouble. we have the Y, if you have money (no one here has money), and we have churches, but mostly schools can’t afford to run too many extracurriculars. there’s nothing to do here but church and meth.

food banks: zero. we have food DRIVES sometimes where people will come from further away and bring free food, but if you’re hungry, there’s nowhere you can go for help - you have to wait for help to come to you.

libraries: we don’t have our own library. we have a branch of the county library that’s physically located in our town. but we share books with the rest of the entire county, so everything is always checked out or at the other branch.

*we technically have a starbucks that’s in the local college campus, but only college students are allowed to be there. they’ll still serve people without a college ID because no one gives a fuck, but you can’t linger and loiter and hang out like you do in a normal starbucks. we also have one in the barnes and noble in greenville, which is about an hour away by car, but again, it’s a mini starbucks that serves a limited menu and none of that weird Starbucks Culture™

here’s a few things i don’t have in my ENTIRE COUNTY:

movie theaters - technically. we have a Historial™ one-screen theater in laurens that shows one movie for two weeks a month after it hits regular theaters and then switches to another, and if you miss it, too bad. this is a VERY recent addition - it wasn’t restores until i was in my 20s as a kid and a teenager i had to ride in a car an hour or more to go to the movies.

target. only commies and yankees have target. down here we do walmart.

malls

arcades

skate parks/skating rinks

bowling

museums

zoos/aquariums

campgrounds

fairs. our county fairground got razed a decade ago because there just werent enough people showing up to justify the expense. so no more fairs. you have to have people to fund things and down here there just aren’t enough people anywhere.

you get the idea. we don’t have entertainment. like i said, nothing to do but church and meth.

CLASSES FOR STUFF: knitting classes, dancing classes, driving classes? nope. gymnastics, karate dojos, golf, knitting groups, books clubs, cooking classes? [GAMESHOW BUZZER]. you can’t even hire a clown for a birthday party out here. we do have a shooting range. ONE. in the entire county. and a race track. and a rather infamous former kkk memorabilia store. they made a movie about that (serious tw for this trailer - they’ve got white hoods, burning crosses, pepper spray, the whole nine), which, yes, takes place in laurens, aka right next door to me. i used to walk by that place all the time when i was playing pokemon go. haven’t seen the movie but the shooting locations in the trailer make laurens look a lot bigger and prettier than it really is in real life - especially the racetrack, which, in the trailer, is actually PAVED. (this is inaccurate to real life.)

EDUCATION: lots of people can’t read. we have two schools for illiterate adults, one religious college, and one branch of one of the state colleges that has a skeleton staff and a fuck ton of computers (you basically just go there to distance learn/e-learn - if you want to take real classes from this college, you have to drive at least an hour.)

support groups/group therapy: almost none. we have al-anon and weight watchers, but that’s about it. there’s only half a dozen therapists in my entire county, and none that operate from my town. mental healthcare down here is bullshit.

on food: we don’t have many sit-down restaurants, where servers bring you your menu and your food. if you don’t count waffle houses, my town has 4. my county has 9. in and out, 5 guys, applebees, ruby tuesday, red lobster, olive garden, panda epxress? forget it. those places were and still are rare treats. i’ve only been to an olive garden twice. red lobster once. whenever i leave my county i BEG for chinese because there’s only two chinese restaurants in our entire county and one of them is crazy expensive and the other one sucks.

we also don’t have the more important stores you need to like, live. if we need to exchange our router at a charter store? yeah, we don’t have one. need to visit the sprint store to get your phone repaired? nuh-uh, we don’t have any phone stores either. my family recently switched to at&t because it was the only company that had a physical location in our county. before that, we had to drive an hour for even the smallest repair.

on a grimer note: we don’t have homeless shelters! homeless in laurens county? too bad for you. we do have homeless PEOPLE. they just have nowhere to go except the churches

hospitals? only kind of. like i said, our county has one, but it’s not equipped to take seriously sick people. when my mom had a heart attack she had to be driven straight to greenwood, which is 45 minutes away if you’re not in an ambulance. they obviously made it faster than that, but still. that was scary. it took them a long time to get here. i had a distant relative of mine die before the ambulance made it because they were SO far out in the sticks, even further than me.

we also don’t have any specialty stores. sporting goods, gamestops, shoe stores, florists, craft stores, bookstores, best buys...forget it. if you can’t buy it at walmart, you just can’t buy it. the exceptions: my TOWN has one jewelry store, two hardware stores, and two auto repair stores. my COUNTY has three clothing stores, none of which are in my town, one place that sells used TVs, and one movie rental place. thrilling, right? i can rent a movie if i drive out of town. (i know streaming killed the rental business, but we also only had two places when i was a kid, if you counted the rental section in the grocery store.)

so, yeah. i know the term “shithole” is really loaded these days, but rural areas are just plain less developed, and often in seriously poor repair because nobody fucking uses them. there USED to be more stuff here - my mom was on a bowling league, and as a kid i had a birthday party at a skating rink - but late stage capitalism and drugs destroyed it all. people ran out of money to do things like skate and bowl and so those places closed. the south is full of empty store fronts and deserted strip malls slowly being eaten by kudzu. my brother got out of this town and whenever he winds up back here (not often) he remarks on how completely and utterly dead everything feels. “my friends who live in greenwood now think they’re all rural,” he said once. “they complain constantly about how remote it is. but they have no idea. they wouldn’t make it five minutes out here.” greenwood has its own movie theater, mall, starbucks, homeless shelter, food bank, and hospital.

so, yeah! if you were wondering what rural white southerners are so fucking mad about, that’s part of it. propaganda and xenophobia and racism has their anger directed ENTIRELY at the wrong people, but it’s hard to argue that the anger itself isn’t just a little bit justified.

difference #5: CULTURE. specifically culture around food, and the culture around the civil war. i could write an entire other essay about the culture of the church being everything because the church IS the only semblance of infrastructure we have and this is why the south is so homophobic, but we’ll skip that for now.

food: this is a quickie, because i sort of touched on it already, but there are like, almost NO vegetarian options here. there’s very limited choices of cuisine. it’s ALL waffle house and soul food. we have a lot of mexican places because we’re physically close to the mexican border, but aside from that, forget finding like indian or thai or japanese or anything like that. no sushi. forget finding a menu that has meals that are halal or kosher. there’s just. no culture here. no variety. you know? like i said, our entire county doesn’t even hit double-digits for proper sit-down restaurants.

civil war: i’m not going to go into the big stuff since i sort of covered it at the top and also this post is getting way too long, but to other white rural southerners there is legitimate baggage around the fact that my mom married a yankee and that i am half-yankee. and he’s not even a real yankee! he was born up north but raised in southern florida. (florida is weird. the further south you go geographically, the less southern you are culturally.) yet: my family makes jokes that are sometimes not jokes about this. when i drop this information in casual conversation people get that look on their faces like: ah, that explains it. it being that i am not religious and don’t laugh at racist jokes and maybe i am queer?? (strangers tend to be unsure about this last part, even when i’m wearing rainbows.) it’s because i’m half-yank! that explains everything! the xenophobia is SO strong here that white people are even xenophobic at OTHER WHITE PEOPLE.

so in conclusion when i say the north is like another country, it’s because the people who raised me think of it like another country. and culturally! it is buck wild! the differences that there are! when i leave this town i feel like i step into fucking star trek! if you are not from the rural south, and you have never been to the rural south, please do not come here! i’ve been to a few different places now and this is definitely my least favorite one.

#personal #i guess #it's ok to rb if you want to though??? tbh i don't think most people will even get to the end lol #anyway here's my college lecture about the south it's not very good or college level actually lmao #this is AIRQUOTE FIELD STUDY AIRQUOTE #the experiences u have as a half-yank white person in the rural south are crazy #bc other white people think you're okay to listen to them say what they REALLY think #and then backtrack rapidly when they realize you aren't #now that i'm grown and woke i can't believe half-yankee is even a thing.#anyway this post brought to you by the maddening realization of how technologically far behind we are #WE DON'T EVEN HAVE THE CREEPY AMAZON VANS #the automated package sending...what i wouldn't give not to have to talk to people to mail stuff #rip. :/

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sign-from-god-complex · 5 years ago

Text

cuddles and catnaps

Summary: Logan was absolutely exhausted. Thankfully, Roman’s there to help.

Pairing: Platonic logince

Warnings: Brief description of emotional numbness, very non-serious mention of hypothetical murder and lots of sleep-deprivation/insomnia-related things.

A/N: I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to write the logince conversation I wish they’d have in canon. Just let my boys get along!!! It’s what they deserve.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a quiet night, and Logan was awake.

This wasn't uncommon necessarily—rest did not always come easily to the logical side and it had been a particularly busy week—but it was frustrating nonetheless. He'd tried to relax, tried breathing techniques and distractions and anything else he could think of but it was no use; Logan simply couldn't sleep.

It had been a problem for the past few nights, in fact. Logan's mind wouldn't stop whirring with all the potential outcomes or solutions to the most recent dilemma Thomas was having and he was unable to untangle his thoughts from it.

He thought that he managed to get an hour or so of sleep last night but honestly he couldn't say for sure; things were beginning to blend together slightly.

As the clock hit 3 am, Logan decided to give up trying. He recalled hearing about how merely pretending to sleep makes you feel more rested than if you were to get up and stay awake but, quite honestly, if Logan had to lay here one more minute he felt he may figuratively explode.

Slipping out from under the sheets, he walked over to open the door and head down to the commons, hoping that if he generated a change in scenery it might prompt his body to allow him at least a nap. Best-case scenario, he would manage to fall asleep on the couch while watching a documentary.

He crept down the hallway as quietly as possible, noting the absence of light from under the doors of his fellow sides. It was common for them to be in bed at this time—provided Thomas was as well—but it also wasn't unheard of for them to be a little too worked up to get to sleep, much as Logan was right now. It seemed, however, that the others were asleep, which simultaneously comforted and distressed him.

It was obviously beneficial for the other three to be getting optimal sleep and rest. Not only was it better for them but it was better for Thomas as well—things tended to go awry when any one side was particularly sleep-deprived.

Roman's reaction to lack of sleep was actually quite typical. You could tell Roman hadn't been sleeping well simply because he seemed tired. Not sleepy, that was vastly different. No, Roman tended to look exhausted, trailing around and reacting sluggishly to any input from the other sides. His usual vigour and bounce were missing, replaced with mostly blank looks and absent stares.

It was actually the easiest of the four's behaviours to recognise and the other sides always rushed to get him to bed when they picked up on it. They could always afford a day off for Roman's health.

Plus, of course, Thomas's productivity greatly suffered when Roman wasn't at his best. Without Thomas's creativity, videos were extremely difficult if not impossible to complete, with any attempted acting being subpar and any attempted writing being worse than that. That's not even to mention the kind of slump Thomas fell into when Roman became particularly exhausted; it was upsetting to witness their host look so dejected and quiet. Truly, taking a day off was always the best course of action.

Virgil's response to sleep deprivation was mostly avoidance. He tended to put as much distance between himself and the other three as was possible, and luckily enough, the three of them had quickly learnt to spot it.

Getting Virgil to sleep was actually vastly more difficult than Roman. Roman generally whined slightly but was really too exhausted to protest all that much; Virgil, however, got angry when he was tired. His jabs were never taken personally past the first time it occurred—the others understood that Virgil's lashing out was not out of malice but more out of frustration and a feeling of being overwhelmed—though it was still jarring. Virgil was usually angry for them more so than at them nowadays but with exhaustion he became terse, snapping at anyone who dared to lend a helping hand.

Though it took slightly more effort, they usually got through the facade pretty quickly, watching Virgil just entirely deflate and forcibly cuddling him to sleep.

And when Virgil was tired and angry and distant, Thomas was a wreck. Thomas dealt with his emotions far better than Virgil did but that didn't mean he didn't feel them. When Virgil was like this, all the little things that Thomas could normally deal with managed to get to him—sharp noises and abrupt motions causing him to flinch and glare and any small inconvenience suddenly becoming the indicator of a horrible day. Thomas's optimism tended to fly right out the window when Virgil hadn't slept and it was troublesome, to say the least.

Patton became considerably stressed when he was tired. It was something that seemed to tie in quite closely to his general need to bottle up his feelings. Instead of dealing with his insomnia, Patton would stress clean, would obsess over every tiny detail and was just not capable of turning off for even a second. It wasn't uncommon on days like that to see Patton puttering around the mindscape, fixing things that didn't need fixing and straightening things that didn't need straightening—picking at every perceived flaw he came across.

Getting Patton to bed was potentially the hardest. He was always so worked up, so tense and so fixated that it was like dragging Logan away in the middle of hyperfocusing. Patton wouldn't fight them the way Virgil did but he just wouldn't take a single breath and it would take several hours of calming distractions and soft blankets to get him to drift away.

Thomas did not tend to be productive on those days. When Patton was as consumed by his thoughts as he was, Thomas couldn't concentrate in the slightest, instead, he tended to opt for rewatching old episodes of his favourite TV shows and steadily ignoring his growing piles of responsibilities with some form of detached concern. He knows he should be worried but quite honestly, he couldn't bring himself to feel much at all besides numb.

Patton would always apologise over and over in the wake of the incident but Thomas was always very kind in his responses, citing that it was probably time he took a rest day anyway.

Logan wasn't exactly sure what his own reaction was to being sleep deprived, not the way he was aware of the other sides. It wasn't something he'd had to pay all that much attention to, considering with the others he was always needed to help resolve the situation, however, with himself he clearly was not. There was one thing Logan was sure of, though.

Lack of sleep made Logan stupid.

It wasn't necessarily the nicest way to put it but he would be lying if he said he didn't think it was accurate.

When Logan was tired, he made mistakes—stupid mistakes, mistakes he couldn't really afford to make. They didn't always have real-world consequences, such as accidentally spreading Crofters onto his cell phone instead of his toast, but sometimes they did. Sometimes Logan calculated the risks incorrectly or gave Thomas faulty information and the guilt ate him up inside every single time. It wasn't as if he was doing it maliciously but that wasn't the point, the point was that Logan should be more careful. Exhaustion just made it harder for him to do that.

And one of the kinds of frivolous mistakes Logan tended to make in his fatigue was with his emotions.

Logan kept his emotions largely under lock and key, however, when he becomes tired they tend to get the best of him, generally presenting itself in some unwarranted and entirely uncalled for tears. His crying could be due to anything—it could be due to a change in schedule or a misplaced document or even a lack of milk—or it could be due to absolutely nothing at all. Logan hated it. He hated feeling out of control and he hated the pitying looks he received from the other sides as they tried to comfort him and make him sleep.

Because another mistake Logan made with his emotions when he was tired was his want for physical affection.

Logan was willing to indulge in physical contact for the sake of the other sides—for example, if Patton was sad and required a hug or to help Virgil stay calm and relaxed as he tried to get some sleep—but Logan did not need those things himself. He found them to be largely unnecessary and marginally uncomfortable—though he wouldn't tell the others that because he's still willing to suffer through it for their sakes.

Sleep-deprived Logan, however, never seemed to get the memo.

When Logan reached a certain point of exhaustion, he found himself craving the warmth of the other sides. Wanting soft hands threading through his hair and limbs tangled in with his, wanting to feel limitless and infinite in the darkness and yet so small in relation to the vast expanse of the universe. He wanted to go somewhere in the imagination where they could see the stars, to feel the wind brushing past his skin but feeling secure in the knowledge that he was safe and warm and loved wrapped up in the others’ arms.

Fatigue also made him maudlin, though he would not for the life of him admit it.

Logan descended the stairs, wincing somewhat as one of the steps creaked under his foot and pausing for a moment, waiting to receive confirmation that he hadn't awoken any of the other sides. Hearing nothing, Logan continued his journey, settling onto the living room floor with a quiet exhale. He glanced in the direction of the couches and hesitated as he noticed a glow coming from the television. Though the brightness was turned down quite considerably, the TV was unmistakably on.

Knowing that he was the last person to leave the commons that evening lead Logan to the conclusion that he was incorrect in his assumption that the other sides were all asleep in their rooms. All he could see on the couch, however, was a pile of blankets and cushions.

Possibly he had just forgotten to turn the TV off after he left. Or, maybe, one of the others had come down at some point during the evening before once again retiring to their rooms, and they had forgotten to turn it off. He had to admit that it didn't seem likely that he had left the TV on, though given his current state it may not be entirely out of the realm of possibility.

Logan took a seat next to the pile of blankets on the couch and after grabbing the remote from in between the couch cushions, changed the channel over to the Discovery Channel and turned the volume down low. It seemed to be some documentary on symbiotic animal relationships or something to that extent, and while Logan would normally be interested he was quite honestly too tired to really follow along.

There were a few minutes of Logan attempting to parse the images on the screen before he decided that a blanket would likely be conducive to falling asleep. He went to grab one off of the top of the pile—the red knitted one Roman tended to prefer. In this action, however, he uncovered a body.

And Logan, still too tired to process anything useful, fell off the couch.

His immediate assumption was that Virgil had murdered someone and tried to hide the body under every blanket and cushion he could find in the house. He quickly—though not as quickly as he would have liked—dismissed this as a nonsensical thought. Virgil was far too anxious to kill anyone. He entertained the idea of Roman having killed someone for a slightly longer moment before also rejecting the idea. Roman had morals, or something to that extent anyway, even if he was far more likely to think that hiding a body under a mound of blankets was a good strategy.

Finally, Logan realised that he’d been sitting on the floor for approximately 3 whole minutes and getting up to take a look at the body on the couch may be the most reasonable course of action. He shook his head with a sigh. He really was off today.

Rising to his feet, Logan peered at the figure on the couch. Though the person was primarily obscured by the mountain of blankets, he could see a glimpse of red and gold pyjama pants. They looked startlingly similar to Roman’s pair—a Christmas present from Patton that had since become his go-to—thus, Logan concluded either this person was dressed up in Roman’s clothes or it was Roman and he was inclined to believe the latter.

Logan removed a few more blankets from the pile in an attempt to validate his assumption and was greeted by brown hair, closed eyes and a soft expression. It was, indeed, Roman.

Now, Logan had a decision to make. Either he could turn the TV off, leave Roman to sleep and head back to his room where he would remain alone until the other sides woke up for breakfast…

Or he could wake Roman up.

He knew the desire was selfish but with Roman looking as peaceful as he was he couldn’t help but wish to join him in his cocoon. It looked so warm and Logan was so, so tired.

He only really considered it for a moment before giving in. With enough sacrificed Crofter’s and endured teasing, Roman would forgive him, and he was too exhausted to have any sense of self-control.

Logan placed his hand on Roman’s shoulder, rocking him back and forth in an attempt to wake him up without jarring him too much. As he was pulled from sleep, Roman made a sound similar to those "startup noises" that cats make when you first touch them, blinking open his eyes. Something about it was strangely endearing and Logan tried to ignore the way he felt his chest warm at the sight.

“Lo?” Roman mumbled, rubbing at his eyes sleepily, “What’re you doin’ up?”

“I was… unable to sleep.”

Logan shuffled his feet awkwardly, feeling a sense of embarrassment rush through him. Dear lord, this was utterly pathetic. What was he thinking? He had absolutely no need to awaken Roman, just because his skin felt so cold and he was so, so tired and he only wanted to be held and warm and loved-

Ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. Roman, at most, tolerated his presence and Logan was firmly overstepping his boundaries here.

Roman stared blankly for a few seconds. “Oh…”

“I apologise for waking you, Roman,” Logan said, attempting to rectify his obvious mistake, “I should go back to my room now.”

He made a motion to turn back towards the stairs, trying to fight the disappointment in his chest and the craving for warmth that was still gnawing at him but was interrupted by Roman putting out a hand to stop him. Roman shook his head a few times, blinking quickly as he tried to wake himself up a little bit more.

“No, no, wait. What is it?”

“I was just…” Logan cleared his throat, trying to steel himself for Roman’s possible reaction. “I was wondering if I could…”

He trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the mountain of blankets Roman was still encompassed in. Roman’s face broke into a small smile and he reached out to grab Logan’s hand, tugging it gently, just enough to prompt him to take a step forward.

“C’mere, nerd.” Roman’s voice was incredibly fond and Logan was slightly worried that he may start crying just from the sound of it.

Ducking his head, Logan climbed onto the couch near Roman, trying not to startle as Roman grabbed his arm and pulled him into the blankets beside him.

The blanket pile was incredibly warm and soft. Almost the second Logan landed, he could feel his heart rate decreasing—already infinitely calmer than he had been upstairs. He closed his eyes as he felt Roman wrap his arms around him, tears leaking out the corners of them without his permission.

Gods, this was so much better than being alone.

He could feel Roman pressed against him, warmth sinking to his core and melting away all of the stress and tension his body had been holding onto. A hand had sunk into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and giving him a pleasant sensation to focus on to calm his thoughts. He pressed in closer to Roman, burying his head in the crook of his neck as his body betrayed him and he just started to sob.

He hated this—he hated it because it was never his choice, just a constant build-up of emotions that expanded in his chest until it burst—but Roman felt safe. So maybe, just once, it was okay.

There was gentle shushing, whispered affirmations as Roman held Logan’s shaking frame as tight as he could and ran his hands lightly along his skin. He didn’t know how long they remained there—whether it was 5 minutes or an hour—but once Logan was able to catch his breath he choked out an apology. An apology that was quickly brushed off.

“You have nothing to apologise for, Lo,” Roman insisted, carding his hand through Logan’s hair and watching the other lean into it, “I want to help you. I know I haven’t always been… the best, when it comes to dealing with you but… I just need you to know that though I may argue with Logic, that doesn’t mean I’m arguing with Logan.”

Logan untucked his head from Roman’s shoulder, bringing his gaze up to give him a confused look.

“We are the same person, Roman.”

Roman screwed up his face for a moment. “No, no, I mean… just because we argue doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you, you know? We, by definition, are always going to have differing opinions but even though I'm bad at admitting it, I do recognise your things are important too. I’m just stubborn. And despite our disagreements, I do enjoy having you around, Logan.”

“Oh.”

Logan blinked, processing that for a moment.

It wasn’t as if he’d thought Roman hated him; he didn’t believe any of the sides truly hated each other (except potentially Virgil and Deceit, though even that, he theorised, was born from a place of caring too much). Simply, Logan had felt as if Roman put up with him mostly out of necessity. As Roman had stated, Logic was crucial—despite how little he liked to admit it—and, of course, it would be unwise to disregard Logan completely. Roman’s admission was certainly… unexpected.

“Well… you too, Roman,” Logan replied softly.

Roman’s eyebrows shot up, face vulnerable and uncertain. “Really?”

“Of course.”

There was something about being here—enclosed in Roman’s arms so late in the night, the only illumination of their forms coming from the TV behind him, the air almost silent—that made Logan feel as if the consequences of being open may not be as bad as he feared.

So, instead of ending his statement there, Logan pushed on.

“I don’t… understand a lot of the things you consider to be important. I don’t understand fantasy or metaphors or how to please people. If I was left in sole control of writing the scripts for Thomas’s content, though the final product would be educational and factually accurate, it would be… boring. I am boring, I know this. I just… I don’t appreciate having to rely on other people—and I don’t like not understanding things—and more often than not, I take that frustration out on you. That is unfair of me.”

Roman chuckled, low and quiet, and it felt like an acknowledgement of all the mistakes they’d made and all of the mistakes they would no doubt continue to make. “I suppose we both have things to work on, then.”

In response, Logan simply hummed. He felt drowsy and content, reassured that despite what he may have thought, everything between them was okay. They lay there for a while more, Logan teetering on the edge of unconsciousness before Roman spoke again, breaking the silence between them.

“You aren’t boring though, you know that, right?”

Logan made a questioning sound, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“I mean, you get so excited about space that you wave your hands around as you explain things and you have such strong opinions about the smallest of things and you’re stubborn and quick-tempered and absolutely brilliant.” At that declaration, Logan did open his eyes, seeing Roman looking down at him with a shy smile on his face. “You could never be boring, Logan. Not really.”

“Thank you.” It was a whispered response, tired and grateful, but Roman heard it nonetheless.

Logan moved a hand up in front of his face to stifle a yawn and he saw Roman grin, drawing Logan closer into his chest. “Sleep now, nerd. You can talk about how much you love and adore me in the morning.”

“You are incorrigible,” Logan replied but his tone was teasing rather than cruel.

In response, Roman gave a breathy laugh. Evidently, he decided it wasn’t worth it to argue, instead, reaching to grab one of the blankets and tugging it over their bodies. He clicked off the TV, tossing the remote onto the couch away from them.

“Goodnight, Lo,” Roman said, voice barely more than an exhale.

Logan mumbled a vague response, feeling himself relax completely once again, his eyes falling shut and breathing steadying out. Rather than circling, planning and plotting a hundred different scenarios for tomorrow or solutions to problems that don’t even exist yet, Logan’s thoughts were quiet. All of his focus was on the heat of Roman’s body and the darkness covering them both like a blanket.

And, after just a few short moments—Logan feeling safe and warm, wrapped up in Roman’s arms—Logan finally fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun @teadays @sandersships @mctaetae613 @autism-goblin @deadlyhuggles6 @romanthestarstruckqueer @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear @rainboots-are-for-snobs @sanders-and-sides @spirits-in-my-thoughts @kee-and-co @autistic-virgil @stop-it-anxiety @figurative-falsehood @jadedfantasies231 @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @poisonedapples @sanders-screams

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #roman sanders #logan sanders #logince #platonic logince #lo can write #long post #on mobile anyway #cause the cut doesn't work cause tumblr's a hell app #it'll work in a reblog though

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phykios · 4 years ago

Text

the marble king, part 6 [read on ao3]

It came upon him quite suddenly, and with no hint of a warning.

They had stayed two extra days in the ancient settlement at Olbia, for which Percy was extraordinarily grateful. He had spent much of the first day in something of a state of total exhaustion; after his morning ministrations, he had sat himself in front of the Empress , fully intent on making her riverworthy by lunchtime, and the next thing he knew, Annabeth had been shaking him awake, the sun frighteningly low in the sky. Thankfully, she did not comment on his fatigue, but suggested that they extend their rest for one more day, citing her own need for rest, rather than drawing attention to his.

That extra day had worked wonders for his health, however, and on the third morning, they set sail on the Danapris , with clear eyes and bright spirits, leaving the Pontus Axeinos behind entirely. The current did not prove to be much of an issue, thankfully, the waters easily obeying his commands, and they made good time traveling Northwards.

For the first time in quite a while, he was feeling rather good about his situation. Yes, he was cast adrift from his people, and yes, he was harboring the most secret of devotions towards a woman who, were it not for their circumstances, likely would have nothing to do with him--yet the sun was high, the wind was swift, and the Empress sailed smoothly. As a son of the sea, there was not much else that Percy required.

So, of course, that was when he felt it.

His friends had, once upon a time, attempted to relate to him the feeling of suddenly being beneath the waves. It had been mostly described as a feeling of shock, an abrupt disturbance to one’s sense of self, cold and terrible. For Percy, who thrived in the water, he could not sympathize, not one iota. Submerging himself in the ocean felt like coming home, like his father’s warm embrace, a rare and precious gift among children of his kind. To dread and fear it would be anathema to his very being.

He imagined this is what his friends had attempted to describe.

The cold draped over him like a cloak, fastening around his neck, blanketing his shoulders and his spine. Percy felt as though something had scratched long, spindly nails across his most sensitive nerves, jarring and grating, sending shivers up and down his skin.

He felt seasick--a virtual impossibility, but that was the only way he could make sense of it. He felt as though there was something churning in his stomach, pulling him back and forth along an invisible line, so small it could be nearly undetectable, were it not for the fact that, should this continue for much longer, he would be violently ill.

Something pulled at his heart, grasping, fingers threading their way through his ribs and wrapping their digits around his bones, holding him down, holding him back, but the current of the river could not be broken so easily, and he was yanked forward, falling to his hands and knees to the deck with a violent thud .

“Percy!”

He could not even enjoy the fact that Annabeth had rushed to his side in concern.

Her hands patted at his shoulders and his neck, propping him upright against the side of their boat. “Percy,” she said, worry warping her sweet voice, “Percy, what is it? Are you ill? Should we stop? If you require it, we can take another day to rest--”

“What was that?” he wondered, hissing as he tried to sit up straighter. His abdomen ached, the muscles seizing as though he had been put through one of Clarice’s more intense training regimens, and he nearly folded over again, pulled tight. In a flash, one of Annabeth’s hands was at his stomach, rubbing over the taut flesh in a soothing, relaxing manner. “It felt--” he gasped, “it felt like--”

“Breathe, Percy,” she murmured. “Give yourself a moment to breathe.”

Closing his eyes against the cold light of the sun and the sudden sting of tears, he breathed in as Chiron had taught him, first through the nose, then held for a count of four, then released through the mouth. Little by little, he relaxed, the muscles easing beneath her fingers. He shuddered, his breath coming in short, sharp pants, his whole frame shaking as she continued to gentle him.

In any other situation, this arrangement would have felt like something plucked straight from one of his dreams, only now he could feel no pleasure at the touch of her hand. There was only shame and sorrow in him, a groaning loss for something that he could not name swelling deep inside of his body, a coldness from within. He felt empty, as though pieces of him had suddenly vanished, stolen by the chill hand that had crept its way into his body.

But all waves must crest, and this one did as well, crashing over him in a final, agonizing swell, before ebbing back into the fog of unidentified emotion, leaving behind a void of feeling.

“There,” said Annabeth. “Just breathe.”

Slowly, he came back into himself, his consciousness spreading once again into each nerve and extremity. His breath was harsh, panting, and all at once, they both realized that Annabeth’s hands were still on him, long after they should have been. She retracted them, a faint blush dusting her nose and her cheeks.

“Are you alright?” she asked, looking just left of his ear.

“Yes,” he groaned, feeling nothing of the sort, “I am fine, I merely--ugh.” He shook himself, rather like a dog, as though he could liberate himself from the phantom feeling of fingers around his heart. “Did you feel that?”

She frowned, her lip between her teeth. “I… no. Not--not like you, clearly.”

“ Malaka .” Groping around with a hand, his fingers only met the hard wood, until Annabeth, somehow able to divine his needs, pressed her waterskin into his hand. He did not drink from it, but poured it over his head instead, and the familiar feeling helped pull him back into himself. “That was most unpleasant.”

“Should we stop for a rest?” she asked.

On unsteady legs, he pulled himself up, grasping the edge of the Empress for support, Annabeth rising with him, her hands fluttering about his person like frantic birds. “No,” he grunted. “We have tarried here too long already. I shall be fine.”

“Are you sure? I am more than happy to--”

The Empress jerked forward. “Enough,” Percy said. “We continue on. Tighten the sail.”

Casting him a doubtful look, nevertheless, she complied, and they return to their speedy, steady glide. She retreated to the bow of the boat, her gaze turned ever North, so she could not see Percy curl himself over the lip, nearly folded in half, his stomach roiling as he peered into the depths of the Danapris .

The river was freshwater--he could smell it, could sense it in the vapors coming off of the surface, settling into his very skin--its color a deep, deep blue, a careless brushstroke through the emerald green fields and forests which surrounded them, at once familiar and so utterly alien to his sensibilities. It was not empty, no, for he could sense the fish and the insects and the birds which depended on it for its very survival, but it felt… strange.

There were presences, he could tell, down at the bottom of the river, spirits of the water who watched them pass, cold and apathetic. Had he not been a wiser man, he may have mistaken them for naiads, who pledged their fealty to his father, and honored the lord of the sea, though they did not serve in his court. The naiads would give Percy the same honors, should he happen upon their homes, or require their assistance.

These spirits, he knew, would not.

We bear you no ill will, he thought, sending his request down to the spirits below, though perhaps foolishly, as he was unsure whether or not they would heed his words at all, let alone comply. Let us go in peace .

No creature made to stop them, neither magical nor mundane, and Percy and Annabeth carried on in silence.

Then, the voice.

Tarry not, thalassinos, he thought he it say, a slithering, whispering thing, sliding through his ear, winding its way down his spine. Be on your way, and do not return, lest you and the svear come to an unfortunate end.

Annabeth looked back at him, worry creasing her brow. He gingerly sat himself down in the stern of the ship, his hand still clutching the wood of the boat, for support, for something real, something he could grasp and touch and know to be solid.

Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back, breathing as quietly as he could. In the silence of his thoughts, he imagined that he could hear these strange river spirits still, chattering away to themselves in a language he did not understand, honeyed and smooth and dark all at once, words of gossip and of warning.

In its most wild spaces, it seemed that the world still possessed some magic after all. Here in these lands so strange to him, at least there was power to behold, magic to be seen and felt and known. Unlike the Aegean, the court of Poseidon. Unlike his home, now lost to the merciless march of time.

Percy tried to find comfort in that.

***

Seven rapids, Annabeth had told him. Well, by his count, they were on the fifth.

Portaging the Empress had not, as he feared, been too difficult a task to undertake. They were both quite strong for their small frames, as well as, in Percy’s case, bolstered by a quick touch of the river. When they could not tip the boat upside down, as the mast prevented them from doing so, they took their cue from their old Ottoman enemies, and cut down a few of the thinner trees in order to make a portable log road. Annabeth, using her ropes, devised a pulley system, and between the two of them, they made fair enough time.

Fair enough time, he said. In truth, it was long, grueling work. Each cataract took the better part of a day to circumnavigate, and this was just the two of them and their pitifully dwindling amount of food. Percy simply could not imagine the time and effort it had taken to move great, big Viking longships, with all their passengers and cargo, back and forth, South and North. The very thought of it was enough to cause his head to ache.

It was the fifth day, and Percy was unloading the logs which they had taken with them up the river, the Empress docked on the shore. Another clever idea from his companion; this way, they could reuse the wood they had already gathered, and they would not have to waste time cutting more trees for a similar purpose. Annabeth had gone on ahead to scout their path, as she had done each day prior, for the way was no longer so clear, and they did not want to expend their energy on pointless endeavors.

A grave error, as they would soon come to discover.

The roaring of the waters of the rapid could be heard even this far away from it, a wall of titanic sound, yet even that was shattered by the piercing scream which rang out all around him.

Percy froze, casting around his gaze. “Annabeth?” he called after a moment, but he received no response.

Then again, a scream.

It was unmistakably hers.

Dropping the log onto the dirt, he charged North in the direction of the terrible sound, his steel sword drawn and at the ready. He and Annabeth had kept their mortal weapons on their person for this very purpose, in case they should meet mortal danger upon the road, though of course, he had his magical blade in his pocket should he ever require it.

He was not sure which danger he would have preferred.

Up ahead, he could hear men’s voices, talking loudly amongst themselves, in a tongue he could not understand, but oh, he recognized that tone of voice they had, boorish, oafish, and cruel. Skidding to a sort of a stop, he ducked behind a tree, Annabeth’s soft voice suddenly in his ear, bidding him to have a look about his surroundings before he did anything rash or foolish. Heart in his throat, he peeked round the trunk, his battle-honed instincts absorbing the field in a single second: three men, armored in patchwork; no horses that he could see nor sense, which implied a lack of reinforcements to come; three swords brandished, two of a more reasonable size and one absolute brute of a blade, which looked as though it had to be wielded by two hands; Annabeth, on her knees, snarling up at the man who had her hair in his fist.

Percy saw red.

The man nearest him, the poor soul, never even saw it coming. One moment he stood, leering at his captive, then the next, he toppled over, red blooming through the weave of his unprotected back.

Fortunately for the brute who dared to lay his hands on Annabeth, Percy’s path to him was blocked by the barrel-chested man with the long, heavy sword, who leveled his weapon at Percy’s chest, sneering. He should have probably thanked his own god, whoever it might have been, that Percy was so far from the River right now. Because if they had been even a few paces closer, he’d probably already be drowning where he stood.

Ugly, pale-faced, and foul, he jerked his head towards Annabeth. “ Gunai ?” he asked, hairy brow raised, then laughed at Percy’s deepening scowl.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Annabeth move up off of her knees to a kind of crouch, subtle enough that, to the man who held her, it seemed that she was merely struggling. Once she caught his gaze, she flicked her eyes downwards, towards her feet, where he saw that she had moved the bulk of her weight to one leg, the other one outstretched.

She would trip her target, leaving the man with the long sword to Percy. A part of him, eternally fourteen and as annoyed with the daughter of Athena as he was in love with her, rankled at the thought that she did not actually need his help, but the more rational part of himself--even from that time--knew that, sometimes, she did. And in those times, they could work together towards victory, as always.

So to draw the men’s attention from her, he let out a battle cry worthy of Pan, and let loose upon the larger man with a strident clash of metal on metal. In his periphery, he saw a flash of brown, then a yelp and a muted thud. Unfortunately, he could not spare any more attention to Annabeth, who had her situation well in hand, it sounded, as the brute with the giant sword bore down on him.

Percy’s arms shook as their blades met, again and again. Clearly, this man was used to his strength and height working towards his advantage, for he loomed large over Percy, and Percy was not a small man. Step by step, he hammered at Percy’s guard, forcing him back towards the edge of the clearing. His blade skipped off of Percy’s, glancing him in the arm, leaving a line of searing fire, and Percy cried out.

For any normal man, he would have been doomed, up against such a monster. For Percy, however, who at the tender age of twelve had challenged the god of war to a duel and won, it was not so much of a challenge.

Sidestepping the man’s ever-widening slash, he darted in with his shorter sword, cutting a line through the skin of his exposed stomach. As a mighty tree, the man crashed to the ground, falling face first into the dirt.

He turned to see Annabeth similarly victorious over her own opponent, her clothes disheveled and askew, her hair thrown wildly about. Where he lay on his back, the handle of a knife stuck out from his chest, sunken deep into his body. With a growl, she spat on the man’s corpse, and she hissed, “ Patzinak! ”

“Are you alright?” He asked, eyes scanning her body for any sign of an injury.

“I am fine, phykios ,” she snapped, then paused, as she seemed to remember all that had just transpired. She looked at him with a frown, then asked, “Are you?”

“It is only a flesh wound.” He held up his arm so that she could see for herself.

“They probably have a water skin around here somewhere,” she said. “We can treat you and then clean off.”

The men may have had a camp nearby, but perhaps they carried water on them. Kneeling down, he gingerly lifted the dead man’s body from the ground, searching for any supplies he may have had.

“Oh…” he heard Annabeth then groan. Frantic, he whirled towards her, terrified he had missed some life threatening wound upon her person, tormented by visions of her pale and bleeding--but no, she remained upright, standing tall and proud, her long hair gathered in her hands as she looked at it distastefully. “ Malaka ,” she swore under her breath. “This will be an absolute nightmare to clean.”

Percy opened his mouth, ostensibly to offer his assistance, or some comfort, but… well, she was not incorrect.

What was not covered in dirt was hopelessly, perhaps irreversibly tangled up on itself, a bird’s nest of black gold, limp and ragged and lifeless. Where the dead man had grasped it in his fist, it clumped together in thick, rigid lines, matted with dark blood.

Chewing her lip, she contemplated her hair, then turned back to the bandit who still lay bleeding a few feet away. “Percy,” she said, her voice sort of far away. “You should cut my hair.”

He was so startled he dropped his sword, inhaling his own saliva, nearly choking on it. “Wha--” he stammered, “what--”

“It is more trouble than it’s worth, truly,” she said, demonstrating her point as she tried to untangle a particularly stubborn curl. “Rather than waste time trying to fix it, it should be easier for you to remove it.”

“I--” he coughed. “But, why me?” Percy winced at his tone, hoarse and broken. “Surely you could cut it off yourself.” The blood was mostly on the end bits, hanging down over her shoulder and her… well, they were easily within her grasp.

Annabeth pursed her lips, casting her eyes to the ground. “I…” she swallowed. “It will not be even if I do it myself,” she offered, weakly. “And I will not be able to reach it all.”

Stepping over the fallen trunk, she made her way over to him, her knife in her hand, wiping the blood off on her dress, a sight which Percy knew well. Annabeth had had him at knifepoint more times than he cared to remember, sometimes seriously, sometimes in a joking manner, but now she held it out to him, hilt first, grey eyes shaded and unreadable.

“I would ask this favor of you, Percy,” she said. “Please.”

For a moment, they only breathed together. The wind blew gently, the fallen leaves at their feet wrapping them in a circle of jade and emerald, entwined.

He nodded. “Very well,” he said, taking the knife from her hands. After a moment’s hesitation, she turned round, presenting her hair and her back to him.

A dangerous position for a daughter of Athena, he supposed, to turn her back on a son of Poseidon, armed with a knife.

He tucked the knife in his belt, and lay a hand on her shoulder instead, and she jumped. “I apologize,” he said. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

“It--it is fine.” He brought his hand to her hair, and her shoulders tensed even further. “Proceed as you will.”

“I will cut about here,” he said, fingering the muddy strands just below her shoulder. “Above where it is most saturated with blood.” She could still braid it then, though not as gloriously as before.

Her hair moved in his hand as she shook her head. “Further.”

This close, he could feel her shiver as he moved his hand higher. Now, it lay at the base of her neck. Her skin was warm, the little hairs there soft against his palm. “Here?” he asked.

“Further.”

His eyes widened. “You can’t mean--”

“I do,” she said. “I want it all gone.”

This was extreme, to say the least. “Are you certain? Surely it cannot be that difficult to keep so tidy.”

And, well, perhaps he was being selfish. Such beautiful hair, it gave her the air of a princess. Or an empress , his traitorous mind supplied him, a noble, golden woman, whose hair fell down in twin plaits over her body--

“Those men targeted me,” she said, cutting into his poorly-timed fantasy, “because they thought me to be your… because I am a woman.” He could not see her blush, but he could feel it, hot against his hand. “I should not like to experience that again. I can don a shirt and trousers with ease, but my hair is too obviously a symbol of my gender, and thus, I should like to part with it, for we still have a long way to go before we reach my father’s house.”

Of course. This was a precautionary measure, one that might better ensure her safety. Feeling rather ashamed of himself for his impure thoughts towards, he put all notion of her beautiful, beautiful visage aside, and resolved to grant her this favor. Her hair, her appearance, her loveliness, these things did not matter, he chastised himself furiously, in comparison to her health and security.

“Alright,” he said, so softly. “Allow me.”

He had some experience with braids. His darling sister, little Esther, had their mother’s long brown hair, thick and wavy, which puffed up in the humidity of summer, wild and untamable. In this respect, Annabeth’s hair was quite similar, though of course, the mud and blood made it somewhat stiffer. Still, he persevered, weaving strand over strand in order to more easily remove it in one fell swoop, and with each pass of his hand, he felt Annabeth relax, until she nearly dropped out of her perfect posture.

Though he had lost track of the days long ago, he knew that this was the most time he had spent with her since their childhood adventures searching for the fleece of Colchis. During that time, they had found themselves at the mercy of one of several monsters, the beguiling island of the Sirens. Annabeth, in a fit of curiosity worthy of her bloodline, wished to hear the voices of the Sirens for herself, as the great Odysseus once had. Though Percy had bound her to the mast as she had requested, he had foolishly forgotten to relieve her of her knife--the same blade which she had given him just now--and she had escaped her bonds, and would have nearly died upon the rocks, had Percy not leapt in after her, taking her with him underneath the water where the Sirens’ cries could not reach her. In that dark and sacred space, a pocket of air at the bottom of the sea, she had wept in his arms, tormented by a vision of utopia, a piece of which he had mistakenly seen for himself.

They had been so young, then. So young, their friendship so fresh, and yet she still had trusted him with that knowledge. She had trusted him again, during the siege, and now, beside the ever violent rapid, which roared in the distance, churning angrily, yet unable to penetrate the quiet which surrounded them now.

Her plait finished, he ran a hand down the length of it, long and beautiful, and said a silent farewell. “I will cut it now,” he told her, and he felt her nod.

Hesitating for a single heartbeat, he brought the flat of the blade to her ear, and she flinched.

Cutting her hair was not as simple a task as he had imagined it to be. Even the cleaner sections were thick, the knife blade simply not sharp enough to slice through them so easily. It took a little bit of work in the arm, the cut on his bicep aching a bit as he sawed through her locks. There was no sound now, save for their mingled breaths, and the near-silent shick of the knife as it met resistance.

Before either of them had realized it, Percy had reached the other side. Her braid hung on by a handful of threads. “Nearly there,” he said. She nodded, ever so faintly.

And like that, it was gone. With a final cut, he severed the last few strands, and the thing came off in its entirety, that golden rope so heavy in his hand. “There,” he said, sorrowful in a manner he could not quite name. “It is finished.”

She lifted a hand to her head, running her fingers through the newly shorn locks. “It feels so light,” she wondered at it, her fingertips dancing around the base of her skull, searching for something long gone. “As though the burden of the sky has been lifted from my shoulders once more.”

He huffed a laugh. “Surely it could not have been that irritating,” he said. It had been too beautiful for it to be such trouble for her. And she had kept it long the entire time he’d known her.

Then she turned.

Oh, no , he thought.

“Well?” she asked, suddenly quite shy. Her hand still rested on top of her head, her eyes full of trepidation. “Am I sufficiently boyish?”

“You…” he licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “You…”

If he had thought she was beautiful before with her gorgeous hair, he was utterly unprepared for how adorable she was without it.

Her curls now fell just beneath her eyes, the gold highlighting the silver. Her eyes, seemingly larger than they used to be, now gazed at him free of impediment, from a face entirely unobstructed and free. Without the curtain of her hair, she did seem to stand straighter, the light catching on her high cheekbones and the sweet slope of her nose.

It took a moment to realize that he was staring. “Well,” he said, flushing, “you look… um…”

Before his passing, Carlo had attempted to instruct him in the ways of wooing women. Now that he recalled it, actually, the man did seem to put a strange emphasis on speaking to children of Athena. In any case, one of his chief lessons was thus, that there was a fine line to tread when speaking to a woman about her beauty. One could neither flatter too much nor too little, for both were false claims, and women preferred it when men spoke plainly.

But how could he tell her that she shone even more brightly in his eyes now than she ever had before? How could he be honest with her when her stated goal was to shun feminine beauty, and pass undetected beneath the cruel man’s gaze?

“I am… not certain you could pass as a man,” he said, carefully, “though, perhaps, you could be seen as a particularly delicate one.”

Were she a boy, he wished to say, then she would be the loveliest boy that Percy had seen in his entire life, even more beautiful than Adonis, Narcissus, or Ganymede. He thought back to two of the mortal men whom he had greatly admired, Lukas and Iason, both handsome blond men, and surmised, with a slight air of hysteria, that Annabeth made for an even more handsome man than either of them.

At that, she scowled. “It will have to do,” she growled, stalking back over to the dead man. “Go and gather what is left of our supplies.”

Immediately, he protested. “And leave you here? There could be more bandits around.”

She glared at him, so fierce and full of fury that he physically retreated. “I will be taking this man’s shirt,” she snapped, “and I would prefer to do so without any company.”

Oh. “Ah--of course,” he said, backing up even further and tripping over a dead branch. “I will… leave you to it.” Then, red-faced, he turned on his heel, and ran back to the Empress.

#percabeth #my fic #pjo #the marble king #and we pine.... and we pine some more........#darkmagyk

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firebirdsdaughter · 4 years ago

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We really ignoring Horobi murdering Izu who not trying to kill him and the fact while he didn’t started this cycle. He sure as hell doing himself no favors by murdering Izu who Artuo closet ally and act all surprised when Artuo hate him. Not acknowledging he the cause for this malice in Artuo. Should Artuo still try to get though to him even though he murder Izu who got no back up compare to Jin who died before and can very well be bought back again?

…

Uh.

Can I just ask… Why are you on my blog? It’s not like I’ve been subtle about my love for Horobi. And you must be on my blog bc I’m pretty sure I haven’t put any of those thoughts in the main tag, and have been carefully tagging them as complaining/negativity/opinions/salt.

1) I’m not saying Horobi was ‘right,’ I’m saying he isn’t in a sane place right now and this wasn’t a ‘cold blooded murder,’ esp bc I’m pretty sure he understands that he regrets it now. He’s been trained for more than ten years to respond to things w/ extremity and violence, as evidenced by the Ark having him repeatedly take out or try to take out things/people that were making him feel in any way—what happened w/ Midori, why he was driven to attack Jin in 41. From Horobi’s extremely damaged and fucked up perspective, he just wanted to make the pain and confusion go away. He didn’t try to hunt out Izu, she approached him, and knowingly endangered herself. Which is why I’m also calling the fact that we’ve seen Izu move faster than a car, she could have dodged the shot and didn’t, so it’s ineffective as drama bc it was easily preventable. I’m calling bs on the writing.

2) Horobi’s definitely not surprised that Aruto hates him? He might be surprised that Aruto went full Ark (I am, too, that feels out of character, I would’ve expected him to just go regular berserk on his own). I’m not saying it’s wrong for Aruto to be mad. Like I just said, I would have expected him to go berserk on his own, which might have ended up leading to Jin’s death anyway. Like… Where did you get that. Actually don’t answer that. Aruto getting angry and going after Horobi would have been one thing, though the way he went Ark is weird to me. What bugs me is the way it’s being treated/reacted to as a ‘black and white’ situation when it should be more grey. Horobi is mentally unwell, and there were multiple factors at work/responsible for the situation. This isn’t just ‘Horobi is a bad person it’s all his fault.’ This is also ‘contrived drama by the writers who are hoping we forgot Izu can break land-speed records.’

2.5) I’m not expecting Aruto to reach out to him at this point. Hell, I’m not even saying ‘forgive’ him, even though I think by this point Horobi has figured out he regrets it. What should really happen is someone else intervenes and keeps them away from each other until both are more stable. Really, someone should have stepped in to control that on both ends. Aruto shouldn’t have been left alone. Neither of them should have. I do think more effort should have gone into reaching out to him before it happened. If they hadn’t been alone in there/if someone w/ a little more ‘emotional/mental experience’ had been present, things might’ve gone differently.

3) Izu still not having a back up is ridiculous, literally everyone knows Aruto is Zero-One, this feels like just terrible planning/lack lustre writing imo, and on top of that, Horobi didn’t know she had no backup. Still doesn’t make his reaction ‘okay,’ bc violence is never the answer, but he’s shown before he believes in bringing AI back through backups, so it may not even have occurred to him that she wouldn’t have one. Additionally, we don’t know Jin has a back up. We can’t say he ‘can very well be brought back again’ bc we don’t actually know that. We don’t know if ZAIA kept that data, Williamson just said they ‘repaired’ him. And that’s also it, even if it exists, ZAIA has it. Not Horobi. Also… This is KR, they could figure out some MacGyver to bring Izu back, even if it’s not clear now, though that’s more of a meta thing. Actually, what I would love to happen is Horobi helps bring her back, maybe as part of therapy.

Look, disagreeing is fine. That’s why I’ve been trying to keep my negative reactions out of the main tag. I’m not trying to get into fights, I’m just venting. I’m analysing what I see and interpret. It’s not that Horobi was ‘right’ it’s that he’s mentally and emotionally unstable rn bc of what happened to him, he should not be expected to know how to react calmly to things, esp if under pressure and in an intense situation. I also literally just wrote a post about how I don’t think it’s fair to blame Izu entirely, either. I comment about blaming the humans (esp Yua and Fuwa (whom I love dearly), but they did escalate the situation and then leave Aruto alone there, wtf did they leave him alone???) bc if they’d listened to Izu at the start we’d likely not be in this mess, or if they’d actually tried to reach out to him before, things could have gone differently.

This is my point of view. If this is upsetting to you, which it seems to be from the tone of this Ask, I recommend blocking my blog, bc these are my feelings on this, and I’m not going to change. I’d block you so that you wouldn’t have to see my posts, but then you wouldn’t be able to see this answer, which I hope explains some of my position, so I’ll leave it for now. Besides, in the end, it’s just a tv show, and it doesn’t actually matter, for all I can get very emotional about things, esp bc Horobi as a character became very important to me.

I hope at least some of that was coherent. I have a hard time articulating my thoughts (part of why I repeat myself so much), and I have been extremely exhausted for the past few days bc my sleep schedule is messed up, so it’s even worse.

I’m not apologising for having an opinion and an interpretation of a piece of media, and I never will. That’s not something I should be required to apologise for. I’m not hurting anyone, bc, again, it’s just a tv show. I’m just in my corner, rambling. I don’t mean any of it as an attack against people who disagree, everyone interpret things differently. For instance, I have things in media that I dislike so much it makes me feel physically ill to think about them, but I just filter them out and it’s fine. I’m even on friendly terms (I hope?) w/ people who like some of those things that make me feel sick, but it’s fine, bc we just don’t discuss them. I know people I disagree about things w/, less viscerally, and have actually had discussions w/ them about that stuff.

Having differing opinions is one thing, but I don’t appreciate the aggressive tone here. I’m saying this partially bc I do understand getting very fired up about something, even if it’s fictional (*looks pointedly at my own blog*), so I’m assuming you just feel very strongly on the subject, but please be aware of how your words might come across—bc the another part of the reason I’m saying this is that I know if I had been in a slightly different mood when I saw this, it might have greatly upset me to unwell levels. I hope it was not your intention to attack me on anything, and that this is just something you feel passionate about, but as someone who often struggles w/ tone and knows it… Please consider it. It can be harmful.

#Anonymous #Asks #Firebird Opinions #Firebird Personal #Firebird Negativity #Spoilers #as it is… I have a stress headache #lovely #like I said I hope you were not intending to cause harm #it's just a tv show sure but sometimes its not what the words are about it's the tone #and for someone w/ depression and anxiety that manifest as paranoia and nonexistent self esteem…#you're lucky I was on my walk and listening to music otherwise I'd've been much less reasonable #…#that sounds like a threat doesn't it #I didn't mean it like that #I know I struggle w/ tone when I get passionate #so I'm trying to spread awareness #I hope you didn't meant to be hurtful #but please know that your words did come across that way

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harryweaver · 4 years ago

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Baseline

Individual Point of Perception is Dependent on Conditioned Mode of Thought.

Our conditioned mode of thought is determined by a number of aspects including:

our formal educational conditioning;

our cultural background;

the perceived power personalities that influence our sociological conditioning;

...to name a few.

I originally began this article with a view to confining it within the first classification of educational conditioning, but by way of natural process all seemed to apply.

Then, as it felt presumptuous and unwieldy to force a subject scope worthy of a treatise into a blog format, I have had to restrict the situation to how science has influenced and placed limits on our thinking.

Very much in shorthand....

All of science is based on direction defined by philosophy and Rene Descartes appears to have been the pivotal point in this instance. He introduced a way of perceiving things that took an observable entity and broke it down, analytically, into its individual unit parts. Dualism and other aspects, illuminating then, seem second nature to us now.

The evolution of this form of thinking was passed on into the capable hands of Francis Bacon who, in turn, hand balled it to Isaac Newton, both of whom provided substantial modifications to advance this concept of fragmentation. What we have inherited is what might be termed the 'Doctrine of Direction' for the entire westernised civilisation.

What these theorists neglected to consider and what Quantum theory is in the process of giving back, to those of us who care to take note, is an appreciation of the 'links' or aspects of interrelationship between these basic building blocks of fragmented, alienated entities. An aspect every bit as important as the 'units' themselves, as it is only by way of these continuously, communicating interfaces that we arrive at wholistic entities that are greater than the sum of their individual parts.

Unfortunately, we still model our mode of individual and collective advancement on the thought structures that built Empires that have long ago ceased to exist. Momentum, obviously, is capable of carrying us too far in the wrong direction.

I don't wish to appear to be a detractor of the theories of these giants of our past, or even of the ones who 'stood on their shoulders', who took those theories and gave them application within the sociological framework. What I am attempting is to show how the limited style of scientific mindset, that is drilled into us by way of our current educational process, has engendered our individual and therefore collective point of perception. This in turn has determined our current life situation. Man is a reflection of his environment, yes, but the opposite is every bit as true.

We have made fantastic advances with our 'scientific' thinking. We can gauge, almost to the centimetre, where we can land a rocket on the moon, over an almost unimaginable distance, with a mind numbing number of variables all taken into account. And after that, bring it back again. We are communicating concepts through mediums such as we are employing at this very moment, as you read this, and there are a myriad of other examples.

But, there is a dark side.

Having adopted, through conditioning, this mode of perception, we have alienated ourselves from our environment, from each other and even created alienation within our very selves. Our 'self' from this viewpoint, by way of illustration, does not include our body. 'I' am a separate entity and my body is a mere physical, mechanical housing, when in fact our bodies are a fully incorporated aspect of our 'selves'.

'Us and Them' is destroying 'Us'.

Take a look at what our alienating point of perception is doing:

(1) to our shared environment. We consider our 'selves' to be a separate entity to our environment, rather than an integral, interacting aspect of it, so any harm we inflict on the environment has no real effect on our situation, we surmise. (The comparative example of this would be that of a race of people, traveling through endless space, systematically destroying the space ship they are traveling in.) There have been highly qualified, dissenting voices to this supposition. Even economists, like E.F. Schumacher, who advise that, "If we ever find ourselves in the position of winning our battle with nature, we will automatically find ourselves on the losing side". Conditioned thought structure, however, pays little heed to logic, unless it is incorporated into an 'approved' educational process and therefore transposed into the paradigm;

(2) to our estranged sense of interrelationships. By over emphasising the self concept, to compensate for a social structure that appears intent on drowning the individual in a sea of homogenised anonymity, we automatically place almost insurmountable barriers to interpersonal integration;

(3) within our fragmented personal selves. In this context, the major effort appears to be the creation and continuous maintenance of a self image rather than the cultivation of the actual personality. A self image that bears little relation to the real person hiding within, who sadly perceives the camouflage to be more socially acceptable than him 'self'. Applied to extreme, the individual places so much personal energy into the maintenance of this persona, that he 'starves' himself. A major cause of mental dis-ease and what can amount to total breakdown of the individual existence.

Relationships can only exist between personalities. Relationships are not possible between facades, which are essentially illusions, so the illusion that they do doesn't exist for any length of time. This somewhat pointless exercise only exists because many believe that it's all they have to offer, as the real entity is seen as being insufficient to the situation.

One of the many sociological phenomena that appears to endorse all this is the fact that, in all westernised countries, divorce statistics come close to equaling marriage statistics and quite commonly surpass them.

It's a little unfair, however, to endow philosophers and scientists with the full responsibility of our present life situation. There are other buttressing influences. Sir Isaac Newton's writings within other fields were for all intents and purposes totally ignored, as they still are. The bias of thought at that time was all for the new clockwork bent that held so much potential for industrial advancement, as it still does. An illustration as to how long the industrial lobby, by way of political sway, has been placing paradigms on the full spectrum potential of our advancement as a species.

So, just while we are in the vicinity:

A corporate entity doesn't have a personality, other than the one on loan and frequently patched from the public relations departments, so don't look for human qualities;

The corporate ideal is to be in the position of dictating to the marketplace (yes, that's you!) and they never sleep in the pursuit of this goal;

Corporate entities see themselves as being subject to only one law and that's the law of economics. When economic precept shows any potential to limit short term profit, they're not above bending that out of shape either.

This latter point requires a little expansion, I feel.

Feel free to disagree.

According to the science of economics, there are two varieties of resource: rivalrous and non-rivalrous. A rivalrous resource is one that can be used up faster than it can be replaced, if it can be replaced at all, e.g., fossil fuels and the natural environment. A non-rivalrous resource, on the other hand, is a resource that is inexhaustible, i.e., it can't be exhausted as it is continuously replacing itself at a rate faster than it can be employed.

Now, considering the fact that human beings breed their own replacements, in the sort of volumes commonly described as 'population explosions', which of these two categories do you imagine employees slot into, within the corporate mindset, in these days of outsourcing?

`Safety before Production’, is the corporate catchphrase, but it will never be the reality because it doesn't need to be. An appearance is put up in order to establish a good 'Employer Brand Name', yes, but mostly because other powerful economic entities like insurance companies 'persuade' them to do so. And insurance companies are only prepared to do that because it has direct bearing on their own economic status.

This automatically creates another translation of the 'Us and Them' syndrome, the 'Divide and Rule' format. Musashi's 'The Book of Five Rings' and Sun Tzu's 'The Art of War', amongst other treatise on war strategy, make their way into every board room these days under the arms of those who would subordinate their productive work force to their will. Strategies that work within one set of environmental circumstances don't necessarily translate well into others, however, and 'Divide and Rule' is a classic example. When looking at a combined productive exercise, it simply isn't profitable to view and treat your production sector as though they are the enemy. This will automatically cost you money and the longer you persist with a faulty strategy, the more it will cost you. The variety of tactics employed, to gain the 'ascendency', are far from what is required to assist in establishing a sense of cooperation and self worth within the individuals that make up the bulk of westernised populations. And a sense of self worth is the foundation stone of a happy individual. A happy employee is more productive and produces a better quality product, so the strategy is obviously flawed.

Our mode of technological advancement has cost us dear, obvious in the stultified mental and spiritually bereft realms we have allocated to ourselves, from a set of values that is blinkered to the full spectrum definition of wealth. I have met people who, having worked continuously for, say, $500.00/week for a number of years, don't even consider pressing for more when their mode of employment changes, because they have been conditioned, over time, into believing that $500.00/week is their sum total worth as a human being. The comprehensive definitions of degradation and defeat are achieved when the victim is persuaded.

If western civilisation (sic), would just halt its frenetic, lemming-like race to the cliff edge long enough to look at the life philosophies of the various indigenous cultures on this planet, we would be in a position to provide ourselves with the requisite wholistic life perception required to save ourselves, and those same indigenous communities, from that inevitable extinction that we are imposing on other species at this very moment.

A different way of seeing is there, for our adoption, any time we want it. We find it not just in the wholistic, indigenous community and environmental Gaia mindsets, but in the most obscure of niches as well as the most obvious of places.

By way of an 'obscure' example, I recall reading Aleister Crowley's 'Magick' in the dawning of my adolescent rebellion, somewhere between Enid Blyton and 'The Russians'.

Wholly from memory:

`The practitioner of Black Magic employs his art to raise his level of existence above that of his environment’ - which doesn't sound so bad really, does it? Just looking round, it appears to be what everybody is doing, or attempting to do. Yes/No?

But then he goes on to say:

`Whereas the practitioner of White Magic employs his talent to raise the level of his environment, and in so doing raises his own level of existence’.

A totally different translation of existence, richer by far, achieved by a mere shift in perception.

As a natural extension of our adopting this different definition of existence, the changes within our culture would be dynamic to say the least. Mental health institutions would almost cease to exist, as the dysfunctional personality is no more than a symptom of the dysfunctional group. The dysfunctional group, no more than a symptom of a dysfunctional social order. Primary catalysts of physical ill health, such as stress, would almost cease to exist also, along with associated overloaded hospital systems and massive requirement for, along with associated abuse of, medication.

Street people would not feel a need to retreat to the streets anymore, but would see a form of society that they would want to be a part of. A form of society that they could see themselves as being a part of, alienated no longer.

Dare I mention prisons?

I could continue, but I'm sure you get the gist.

All aspects of our social and personal direction are compromised when we operate from a biased or false premise. Our proud, emphatic (dare I say, arrogant?) denunciations of 'this is wrong', or 'that's not right' appear as shallow as mainstream media. Any observation from a false premise can only produce an inaccurate end assessment. A silk purse don't come from no sows ear, boy!

Therefore it naturally follows that judging others, or even ourselves, by our own standards is automatically a travesty of natural justice and nothing more than a gross, if unintended, hypocrisy. Because we, unquestioningly, inherit standards of judgment also.

It is possible to establish valid existence only by exploring the depths of established standards, understand where they stem from and, by doing so, determine as to whether they still have relevance in regard to personal existence, now, in our current environment. Retain the standards that do have relevance, rid ourselves of false standards that represent the crippling detritus in our lives, and adopt any new standards that are seen to promote required existential standing.

This is normally considered to be the philosophers function, yes, but a little philosophy won't hurt any of us if it results in our finally reaping the substantial rewards of a valid sense of social responsibility. We have that duty to ourselves, each other and toward our shared environment. Wholistically.

The answer to all the worlds' problems lie in the future within our children, but we need people qualified to teach them how to move the world, through a paradigm shift, from here to there. There's only one way to achieve that, so we need to get to work on ourselves, individually, very quickly.

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terrebus-fc · 5 years ago

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how do all y'all recommend getting into football for a newcomer? just pick a team and start watching them? or like watch previous tournaments or something?

first of all, welcome to football :3

there’s some similarities to the terror so i think you might find it quite familiar:

get ready for some rambling below the cut!

i think it’s easiest to start by watching a bigger international tournament while it’s happening. the world cup, obviously, is the biggest event in football, but other tournaments like the european championships or the copa américa (or whatever is going on where you’re from) also work well and are happening sooner (in 2020). follow the country you’re from if they qualified or pick any other country you like, really, and… just watch.

the advantage of those tournaments are that you’ll usually get to see a good mix of teams that are actually playing to win, that it all happens within the span of a month and that there will be extensive media coverage of the matches, part of it tailored to new viewers. don’t worry too much about the details of all the rules, you’ll get into the important ones quite quickly after watching some matches. part of being a football fan also is angrily disagreeing with the rules so not much knowledge is required. the emotions are the important thing. when the tournament is over you can follow the players you got to know during it back to their clubs and slip nicely into watching club football and selling your soul to the beautiful game.

of course you can also start with club football and randomly see what sticks. football is all about irrational attachments so… whatever works. (if you’re looking for club matches, this is a good site to find a stream!)

we agreed on our discord to each recommend a past match and an upcoming one to watch. i’ve thought about it for a bit and always kept coming back to the same match that’s a classic one and though it’s cliché i’m biased enough not to care. so. world cup 2014 semifinal between germany and brazil. i promise you the pay-off is very good (unless you support brazil).

for an upcoming match there’s a women’s football match between england and germany happening on 9th november. i know we’re all here for guys being lads but if you feel like it, check out the women playing, too.

- frauke

past match: my past match recommendation is Germany vs England, World Cup 2010, Round of 16. I think it’s a beautiful example of football at its best (Germany’s incredibly fluid style of play, feat. one of my favorite goals of all time) and worst (a referee completely failing to call a goal: a farcically monstrous error on the world stage). I love this game because despite everyone’s tactics, despite everyone’s efforts, the entire game arguably hinges on one incredibly stupid, incredibly human mistake, and what comes after. In a way it is a little bit like the Franklin expedition! And even nine years later the thought of what could have been evokes hilarity in some (three fifths of this mod team) and despair in others (one fifth of this mod team). That’s football babey! [WATCH IT HERE]

upcoming match: I’m gonna recommend a club match for this one! I’m a fan of German football and the Berlin derby (Union Berlin vs Hertha Berlin) is coming up this Saturday (Nov 2) at 5:30PM GMT! This is the first time these teams will be playing each other in the top league of German football, and it’s likely to be a good example of what rivalries in club football can be like. Union Berlin has a great underdog story–this is their first year ever in the Bundesliga–and it should be a lot of fun all around! Also, one week later, on Nov 9 at 4:30PM GMT, Borussia Dortmund take on perennial juggernauts Bayern Munich. Over the last decade or so Dortmund’s fast-paced, attacking football has been the only real challenge to Bayern’s throne, and with Bayern (my team, for better or worse) not playing nearly as well as they should this season, this could shape up to be an exciting match!

-ireny

past match: so i heard you like this very english show about these very english boys? you also like to suffer? FANTASTIC! croatia vs. england, the world cup 2018 semifinals, is the only match that matters on the planet and you should watch it immediately. underdog narratives on both sides! nobody expected either team to make it as far as they did – england because they’ve got a long history of disappointing in national tournaments, croatia because they’re considered a small country in football terms and because they hadn’t gotten past the group stages since 1998. england scored early, croatia equalized in the second half to drag them to extra time – their third game in a row that went to 120+ minutes – and despite how ragged and exhausted the team was, my #1 player of all time ever mario mandžukić scored the winning goal that got croatia through to their first ever world cup final. it was a truly transcendent moment. no matter whose side you’re on (i mean, there is only one right side, but who am i to judge) it’s a thrilling, scrappy game to watch. i want you to watch it so badly, i have a link for you.

upcoming match: outside of frothing at the mouth about my national team, i watch the italian league religiously. if you’d like to try out club football, this weekend has a couple high profile games in italy. on saturday (nov. 2) at 7:00 AM PT, you can watch roma vs. napoli, which are two teams that are considered hipster to like despite the fact that they’re actually massive. napoli are, regrettably, usually very good, but have had a poor start to their season, so they’ll be looking to dominate on-fire roma. it should be a shitshow, i can’t wait! meanwhile, at 12:45 PM PT you can watch the derby della mole, torino vs. juventus. juve is the most successful team in serie a, and torino are their cross-town rivals who are EXTREMELY lovable but also Not Very Good At Football. watch it and root for torino and have your heart broken (and then come talk to me about either team/any players you like because i can prime you equally on both!) (not ronaldo.)

- caitlin

past match: W O W do the attacks against england just keep coming and coming huh just like Tuunbaq huh!!!! Aside from that, the perennial sense of crisis, setback after setback, English people suffering, madness and disappointment, and betrayal of everything you hold dear are also some of the ways in which England resembles The Terror and therefore why you should also watch us.

In the spirit of England, I’m going to recommend a match in which we lose: England 1-1 West Germany, 4-3 on penalties, at the 1990 World Cup. We lose to Germany a lot. (Pls hold: 1966, babey.) But 1990 was the first time that we reached the semi-finals since ‘66, and it was crazily emotionally charged; our coach Bobby Robson was leaving amidst a scandal, there’d been fights between the police and fans, and of course there was a palpable sense of christ, we could actually do it. (I say ‘we’ as in the way football fans say ‘we’, since in 1990 I was -5 years old.) The game is rip-roaring, furious, dramatic - look for Gazza’s Tears - and also introduces you to the concept of extra time, aka sitting in your seats for a full half-hour more than you expected, and penalties, aka something we are so famously bad at that when we finally won a penalty shootout last year we celebrated as if we had won the cup itself.

upcoming match: The Engl attacks made me defend myself and I couldn’t recommend a club game, which I would otherwise have (United 2-1 Arsenal ‘99, for those interested) because my club’s current football is SO DIRE I would not recommend it to anyone unless I wanted to turn them off of football forever. You might want to tune in next week for Liverpool Vs Man City (4:30 PM GMT, 10 Nov), a giant clash with probably entertaining football for everyone except United fans, who will desperately be cheering on Team Sinkhole.

- rach

I have something to add, which is that football has a weird and wild history, and I recommend looking up something like ‘the 10 most inexplicable moments in football’, or ‘five of the most unhinged things the most unhinged managers have ever said’ to get a taste. The sport is about enjoying the actual movement of the ball across the grass, but it’s also about basking in the massive array of bizarre personalities.

past match: a lot of good bases have already been covered re: Germany so I won’t pile on by recommending our 4-0 battering of Argentina in 2010 :3c I present to you instead the FA Cup final from 2014, Arsenal-Hull City. (Have a link!) Arsenal hadn’t won a trophy in nine years. The fan discontent with iconic manager Arsene Wenger was getting nasty. Hull City was the decided underdog. An underdog who promptly scored twice in the first ten minutes. Through a mix of lovely skill and scrappy luck the match ended happily for Arsenal, and even knowing that the Wenger story wasn’t entirely on the up and up after breaking that long drought, seeing the sheer joy and relief on everyone’ faces still makes me feel a whole lot of things.

upcoming match: that aside, Arsenal are currently playing as though they’ve got lost in a damp paper bag and have yet to soggily wander their way out. Despite that I’m going to recommend Leicester-Arsenal next weekend (9 Nov, 18.30 CET). Leicester have been absolutely swanning about (they annihilated Southampton last week 0-9 in the joint-largest prem league scoreline ever) and Arsenal at the moment, with their negative confidence and cotton wool defence are precisely in position to be smashed. But we’ve also done historically quite well against Leicester, and it could be the sort of match where Arsenal get their heads up and deliver the kind of easy-passing, smooth-running performance they’re supposed to be known for. It has great potential to be either a misery or a cheer-up charm for me, and regardless it’ll be a good time for you.

- Sabina

#anonymous #anon thank you for this opportunity to basically just yell about our teams #which is what football is actually about #(very germany and england heavy simply because the mods are who they are)#the orlop

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anianimol · 4 years ago

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Hiiiii!!! May I ask for a matchup??? INFP, Leo :) I’m five-foot tall. With short (mid-length) wavy, black hair. My eyes are dark brown, like almost the darkest shade, but it appears lighter when there’s light. I have a cute nose (it’s not THAT flat.) I have lots of pimple marks on my face, and more on the chubbier side. i’m a female (though i’m not completely sure. i’m not interested with anyone as of the moment.) (1/?) - 🍂 (if this is available)

a/n: hello my love!! I am EXTREMELY sorry that it has taken me so long to get to your request🥺I’ve been trying to figure out how to get back into doing matchups in a different style so I hope you enjoy this!!

I would like to match you up with....

ushijima wakatoshi!

aside from the fact that the two of you would be absolutely adorable together—you being all pint-sized next to this tower of a man—I think your personalities would mesh very nicely!

I think while toshi isn’t completely avoidant of others, he definitely does not go out of his way to be around them. as someone who leads a very diligent lifestyle and is equally as independent, your daily lives would be suited for one another!

while ushijima is still learning to open up, to be more expressive, one thing he does not need to learn is respect. he’d completely understand your need for time alone, and requires his own personal time as well. though neither of you desires or needs constant attention, the quality time you do spend together is heaven.❤️

life together!

friday night is cooking night!! the two of you spend the evening whipping up a nice homeade meal together, cuddling up on the couch afterwards

after an exhausting week, you prefer to spend a good amount of the weekends cuddled up on the couch, reading or watching late night movies!

moonlit walks into town have become a ritual, his hand encasing yours as you bask in each other’s company, reveling in the peace and quiet of the atmosphere

ushijima absolutely melts when he sees you up in the stands at his games: he knows how you feel about being around large crowds, and is so greatful that you make the effort to come support him. post game cuddles are an absolute must

at home, I can see him being a bit more touchy, wrapping you up in bear hugs from behind, tucking you into his chest or propping you up on his lap as you relax together

as time passes, you become more open with one another, learning together how to express your feelings and confide in one another☺️

#🍂anon #molly’s matchups🥰

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jayne-hecate-writer · 4 years ago

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Ducati and Lego...

Things are getting weird with Lego of late, from bad decisions regarding the sources of Technic models, to crunchy gear boxes and then this, the Ducati Panigale V4 R…

From the get go, I was really excited by the prospect of the Technic Ducati. The box looked great, with the model on the front looking really exciting, thanks to the clever and beautiful photography. I had to have one and I argued with myself for several days about spending a significant amount of my severely limited resources on what is in effect a silly, children’s toy. When it came to ordering, we were in the middle of Covid lockdown, Lego were sold out and Amazon was stating that toy orders would take six to eight weeks to deliver, it was not looking good. However, through on line shopping and a little bit of time on google, I found me a toy shop in Northern England that had one in stock and for a good price too.

Now let me tell you a little story, several years ago I was working part time for a national bicycle franchise here in the UK, it was the busy pre-Christmas, super busy sales time and I was on my own in the bike department. I sold a kids bike and the new owner wanted to take it away in a box. I went out the back to the storeroom and tried to retrieve the bike box from a pile stacked up on a shelf, which collapsed on me, crushing a nerve in my neck and right arm. The pain did not not start right away, instead it built up in intensity until I was struggling to take deep breaths had to ask my boss to take me to hospital. I was X-Rayed, poked, prodded and suddenly strapped down hard to a table when a Doctor found shadow across one of my vertebrate that indicated that I had broken my neck! Luckily, it was not broken and I have no idea what that little dark line on the X-Ray image of my tiny bone was. The damage was done though and the nerve that runs from my neck, down my arm and through my elbow was permanently damaged. I was given a lot of medical treatment, went through an awful lot of pain and I was off work for three months because of the injury and grew extremely bored and depressed. The relief to my suffering came in a surprising fashion, when my partner picked up for me, a Lego Technic motorbike to build.

That little Lego motorbike was a revelation, it looked great, it worked brilliantly and it came with instructions to build a second model from the same kit. The kit came with stickers and the whole thing was a bright orange colour that resembled a KTM motocross bike. Days later, e-Bay brought me a bright green one that despite not being as good, was still fabulous and my addiction to Lego, a hobby I started as a child and had put aside as an adult, came back and bit me hard. For me, Lego Technic motorbikes will always be a little bit special because when I cannot ride my own, I can at least build one out of Lego which I enjoy rather than wasting a couple of hours watching brain dead TV or feeling worthless and bored.

Which brings me right up to date. My injured arm and hand never fully recovered, despite hours of physio and exercise. Other injuries came and I was soon left disabled and with a rapidly growing Lego Technic collection. These days, I am an AFOL spend my time building MOC ( Adult Fan of Lego and My Own Creation for non Lego people) machines of varying kinds, although I really enjoy big heavy trucks for some reason. I rarely buy a Technic kit these days, preferring to buy the parts I want in order to construct a particular model. So for me to buy a whole set, means that it is special.

The box of the Ducati does an awesome job of selling the model, it has a photo of the real bike on the back and they go to great lengths to take photos of the Lego model from all of its very best angles. They have also made some new parts specifically for this set and they are pretty good. The new USD suspension forks look amazing and they actually work. The disk rotors look cool. The new wide rear tyres is awesome and looks the part and it is not hard to imagine this machine riding around a race track, but we will come to that later.

However, on closer inspection, there are some gaping holes in the Ducati that in my opinion leave it looking unfinished. The front forks really are great, but with out a front hugger or even brake calipers it just looks wrong, like there is a big chunk missing from the front of the model. Then we come to the windscreen, which is a soft piece of fogged up plastic film that fits so badly, it is a wonder it was ever signed off by the Ducati engineers! The V-4 engine and working gear box do nothing simply because you cannot see them, rendering the visual impact of the moving engine parts pointless. The final drive for the fake motor from the rear wheel is by a little white elastic band which to my view is a bit disappointing. Then came my biggest bugbear of all. The sheer number of stickers the builder needs to attach. I will make no secret of the fact that I thoroughly hate stickers on Lego parts for the following reasons. Firstly, they can be an absolute bastard to fit accurately. Secondly, they tend to peel off over time or lift a corner and get furry with dust which makes them look even worse. Finally, heavily stickered up pieces prevent you from using the pieces in other MOC constructions. At least with printed pieces, the final model actually looks great for display, even if you cannot use the printed parts elsewhere. Stickers are just a massive pain in the arse and some of the stickers on this set are tiny, so I refused to fit them, meaning that the final model looks a bit flat and dull. Yes, this is my fault for not using the stickers, but we get onto a circular argument here.

With the model finished and sat on my desk, I was, I have to admit, feeling a little disappointed. Then it fell over. Unlike other Technic bikes that have gone before, this bike has no side stand. Instead it comes with a paddock stand, which does not fit well or work properly. The finished model is so unstable that it has to be balanced just right to stop it falling over, meaning that it is also not a good model for display for both the practical and aesthetic reasons. The handle bars are designed to look like real clip on bars, they are very prettily done and there is even a brake fluid reservoir for the front brake… But no brake lever. Similarly, the rear fluid reservoir is present, but again, no brake pedal. Yes, I know that these are small points to make, but when the designer has gone to the effort to add tiny details, why omit the actual main bits that require the small details?

Sadly, this model is deeply flawed and the front screen is the final insult. This scrap of plastic film is held in place by two bright red Ninjago swords, leaving a five millimetre gap on either side. No matter what I tried, I could not get it to sit nicely and the foggy plastic looked awful anyway. The under engine exhaust gets a similar lacklustre treatment and the huge double bend pipe work looks out of scale. The real shame here is that the actual front fairing of this model is a thing of beauty that looks suitably menacing. But with the lack of front guard below and the pathetic screen above, it ends up looking like a nasty custom from a bad biker build off show. There was so much potential for this model to be amazing and Lego seemed to cut too many corners with the final result. For example, the front disk rotors are beautifully designed, but why are they moulded in standard light stone grey? They should have been done in a beautiful pearl silver. The bad screen is simply unforgivable, but there is a fix to this and it involves a clear plastic bottle, a pair of scissors and fifteen minutes to get it to sit just right! The useless paddock stand is annoying and having built my own in the past for custom models, I know how much easier they are to make.

What about the bikes that came before this one? To be honest, the not quite a Triumph Street Triple is still my favourite. It is so clearly a model of the Triumph modern classic, one has to ask why it did not have an official endorsement, especially given that it was and remains one of the most beautiful motorbikes in the Technic range. It also comes with some printed pieces too, making the final model even more beautiful.

The big BMW GS1200 is an ugly brute of a bike in reality, but the Lego model of it is fabulous with the unique telelever suspension and huge pannier boxes... even if the flat twin engine is a bit lame looking with a huge gap between cylinder and head.

The truth is that no Technic motorbike will ever be perfect, although the Street triple does come very close. Compared to these, the Ducati feels like a rushed and unfinished model, which is a real shame given (and I say this a dedicated Suzuki owner) the absolute beauty of the real thing.

So, what can I do next with this bloody thing, it’s not like I can chuck a motor on it and set it off across the car park like I can do with the Corvette they released this year, is it? Wellllllll…. It would be rude not to try and this has been for a while now, an on going project for me to build an actual working Lego Motorbike, running on Technic Power functions kit. To date and prior to this new Ducati, I have had a single working prototype model that was able to ride and steer just like a real motorcycle. A moving weighted brick causes the bike to lean over, which steers the bike. As the weight moves back, the bike stands up again and continues in a straight line. It is not yet perfect and I have lost it under a couple of cars as I experiment. I tried to modify the Ducati chassis to accept this steering and drive set up of a pair of motors and a battery pack and the result was more ugly than me with a post migraine hangover, having woken up with my head covered in drool!

Sadly, the chain drive could not deliver the power needed to spin the wheel fast enough with enough torque to propel the bike, so I had to resort to a shaft drive on both sides of the wheel replacing the swing arm. By the time I was finished, the final bike looked like a cheap Fake Lego rip off and when I tested it on the smooth tarmac of the car park, it fell over after moving less than a foot!

So that is it for me. I give up. I have tried time and time again and I simply cannot make a working model Ducati motorcycle using Power Functions. If you look on You Tube, others have made working models and I have no idea how they have done it. One person has used a Buwhizz unit, which over volts the motors giving the bike a real blast of speed. But for those of you with a Physics mind, the way a bike works is super intricate and has nothing at all to do with centrifugal force (yes, I am aware that this is a misnomer, but it has been used for decades to explain a complicated process). Do go and look up how motorbikes steer and balance because the in-depth science of it is fascinating. No really, it is fantastic and for years I have thought so wrongly about how it all works. In the mean time, if any of you out there can figure out how to make a Power Functions controlled motorbike, I shall take my hat off to you. You are clearly a better builder than I.

youtube

#Ducati #lego technic #motorcycles #afol #Lego Group #Model motorbikes #Power Functions #Lego motorbikes #triumph street triple r #BMW 1200 GS #Lego MOC #Lego builder #Adult builder of Lego

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