#i really should do more past life regression that worked surprisingly well last time and I have crystals for the purpose now

[a-dragons-journal]

Tried that tarot spread I made earlier this week; interesting results which I’m going to talk about below the cut. Feel free to ignore; this is just for my own personal records.

(If you missed the spread I’m talking about, it can be found here.)

Deck used: Crystal Visions deck

Kin Life: Five of Swords reversed - forgiveness, justice, name being cleared, wanting fighting to be over, open to change, negotiation (as opposed to conflict), reaching out to old enemies to make amends, conflict following you, resentment, cannot please everyone. | For me, this card indicates that an important factor in my life was dealing with forgiveness and forgiving those who wronged me. I may have struggled with the fact that I could not please everyone, and combined with the Family/Relationships card later on in the reading, I may have grown tired of the conflict in my family which drove us apart.

Personality: The Moon - secretive, shadow self, subconscious/unconscious, projecting fear on present/future due to past experiences, psychic abilities, intuition, instinct/wild nature (ahahaha very funny tarot), illusion/deception, unsure of destination | The Moon is a card I’ve always associated with dreams, magic, and intuition particularly. This indicates that I was a bit reclusive - which lines up with what I picked up about my life from my one experience with past life regression - and relied on instinct and intuition heavily to guide me. I may have struggled to trust others because of past experiences with fear, which led to my decision to remain alone much of the time in my younger life. The Moon is also a card of psychic ability, perhaps literally in this case? Unsure.

Physical Traits: Knight of Wands reversed - loss of personal power, abuse of power, impulsive, reckless, rushing in | I won’t lie, I really don’t know how to interpret a physical traits card, and I didn’t know how I was going to when I made this spread. I just included it for kicks and for other people. Maybe I felt like I was strong enough to throw my weight around and do what I liked, but I wasn’t actually as tough as I thought? I know the one other dragon I saw in my past life regression was bigger than I was, but not by a huge margin. Hmm.

Environment/Home: Nine of Swords reversed - relief from distress, self-forgiveness, unnecessary stress, very telling dreams | This card doesn’t really tell me much aside from the fact that my home was a place of safety for me.

Family/Relationships: The Sun reversed - overconfidence, depression, ill health, difficulty finding the positive, feeling left out | This card indicates problems with family, though whether this is with the family I was born to or the family I found myself with much later in life I don’t know. (See also: Kin Life)

Important Experience: Three of Cups - family, friends, harmony, helping and being helped by others, receiving the love and support you need, taking time out, end of problems, community | Considering how the Family/Relationships card went, I feel distinctly like this was a turning point in my life when I realized that family is supposed to be about loving, supporting, and helping one another. Maybe that’s where I learned that lesson in general, and part of why it’s always been a natural understanding for me.

Death: Ten of Wands - burden, overworked, taken more than your share of work, resistance, uphill battle, responsibility, commitment, need to delegate, oppressed by outside forces | Well, we knew it probably wasn’t going to be a happy card. This one kind of speaks for itself. I will laugh if it turns out I literally worked myself to death, because I’m far too lazy in this life to do that.

Influence on Present: Two of Wands - authority, power, persuasiveness, trailblazer, risk-taker, partnership, choose where to invest time and energy, planning, progressing, discovery, stepping out of comfort zone, considering long-term goals, decisions | Yeah, pretty much. I’m still in the discovery phase here.

Lesson(s): Four of Cups - apathy, boredom, self-centered, introspection/withdrawal in uncertainty, re-evaluate the situation, examine yourself to find meaning and understanding, be open to new experiences, defensiveness, don’t detach from world, don’t need to make an immediate choice, don’t take life for granted | Kind of speaks for itself again. I need to make sure I don’t separate myself from the world - that kind of calls back to the Moon way back in Personality, and the fact that I’m pretty sure I was basically a recluse for a large portion of my young adult years. “Don’t do that again, stupid.” Okay, point taken.

How to Remember More: Judgement reversed - don’t indulge in doubt or self-judgement, move forward with confidence, take a moment to stop and think about what you can learn from the life, you have control, embrace change | Okay, this is just yelling at me now. I’m stuck in a bit of a cycle of “hey I think [x]. Wait, what if that’s just my imagination? There’s literally no way to tell. Maybe it’s safer to assume it’s my imagination... even though it feels right and I know this is a tendency of mine to do that...” right now. Cue the tarot animating and slapping me across the face with a “hey stupid you know the thing you’re doing right now that’s stressing you out? Stop that you’re being dumb”

[dutten-does-the-fanfic]

I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 2

Title: “I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great” Ch. 2 of 14 (ch. 1) Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim Warnings: Language, internalized homophobia and implied child abuse Word Count: 3950

AO3

Summary: The one where it’s been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all.

Present

Fuck.

Fucking, fuckity fucking fuck, fuck.

Isak’s fucked.

This was supposed to be his year. The year where he turned everything around, the year he got well again, managed to take care of himself again, the year where he wasn’t so damned sad, where he’d finally be happy again.

The year he’d finally get over Even fucking Bech Næsheim and get on with his life; move towards getting his degree in Biovitenskap where he’d finally managed to excel in that fucking physiology class last semester – he fucking aced all of the anatomy questions after having studied for three days straight with only one hour sleep – and things were going to get better, for fuck’s sake!

He’s so angry. His fists are clenched and he can’t keep his breathing under control. People on the street keep looking at him as if he’s about to attack anyone who walks too close. A mother moves her pram over onto the other side of the street and Isak wants to shout at her that he’s raging about the unfairness of his life, he’s not a baby-murderer.

Because everything is unfair. So unfair.

He’s worked too hard for this; for his friends, his education, this new life he’s trying to build – a life without Even – but somehow it’s all ruined again.

He knows the guys will ask too many questions, things are too suspicious and he can’t fucking answer any of them, fuck. And Magnus is Even’s biggest fan, he’s not getting out of this.

Isak’s panicking, he knows he is. He can’t breathe and he doesn’t know if he’s even headed towards the flat because the earth is spinning all around him and suddenly he’s on the ground, head hurting from the impact.

He’s not bleeding, at least, Isak can’t help but think as he sits up and looks around. There’s a group of young women warily watching him, not sure if they should go over and help or just pretend he doesn’t exist. Isak doesn’t know whether to shout or cry.

He hasn’t been this bad, hasn’t let himself fill his body to the brim with alcohol, for several months by now, and just the thought of how much he’s regressing just from seeing Even less than a second makes his throat tighten and chest hurt. He feels unshed tears burning in his eyes as he slowly gets up.

He needs to get home.

He stumbles forward and tries to ignore the group slowly beginning to go their own way, still keeping an eye out for him. The hard knock on his head was at least beneficial in startling him out of the full-blown panic attack he was about to have.

He’s not far from the apartment, actually, but when he glances at the clock on his phone, he sees it’s been at least four hours since he left fucking Mikael’s apartment.

The guys will surely be back by now; maybe they’ll have been there for a while because Isak ruined the party by freaking out. Maybe they’re still at the party and Magnus is hanging onto every sound that comes out of Even’s mouth, just like Isak once did.

Well, maybe not quite like Isak did, because he’s at least 79% percent sure Magnus isn’t interested in dicks – the male sex organ, not the personality, although Even sure does fit into both categories – but were Magnus to go gay for a guy, it would definitely be for Even.

He can almost hear Eskild huffing at that phrase, but Isak tries not to think of Eskild too much, even though it makes his stomach churn from guilt. Eskild, the only one who’s actually figured out Isak even though he never confirmed it as much as he fled the Kollektiv.

He’s good at that. Fleeing, that is.

But not as good as Even was.

Isak breathes out and tries to make the world stop spinning as he turns the corner and heads down the street he knows is a straight-way to the apartment.

It feels shorter than usual, though, even though he knows objectively it’s supposed to take nearly ten minutes, it feels like he blinked and then he’s typing in the code for the apartment complex’s front door and then he’s trudging up the stairs to get to his own front door.

He pats his front pockets, and then his back pockets, and then the front again because, fuck, if he’s dropped the keys somewhere he’s completely screwed. Not only does he not have enough money to get a spare made, Jonas will rip him a new one and he’ll be on kitchen duty for a month because of that stupid bet they’d made when they moved in.

He’d been so certain Magnus would be the first to lose, though, and Magnus makes the best pasta dishes in the entire world, so at the time it had seemed like a safe bet. Besides, Isak had never actually managed to lose anything important – sure, he’d forget a hat somewhere, his headphones if he was really scatter minded, but he’s never lost his keys or his wallet anywhere, which is something that can’t be said for the other guys.

“Fuck it,” Isak mutters, just about to bang his head against the door frame, body already moving towards the wall, when he feels a lump in the pocket in his jacket.

Alright, so he’s a forgetful idiot. He doesn’t even have the excuse of being drunk, because he hadn’t actually stuck around the party long enough to have more than one beer and then the two beers he’d had during their pregame before they’d left.

He fishes his keys out of his pocket, cringing every time he they clang against one another. His head is already starting to hurt, but he’s more bothered by the completely irrational idea that the guys – if they are even home yet – can hear every single noise he manages to make, but if he inserts the key really slowly and then twists it equally as slowly so that he can literally feel the movement of the lock sliding out back, then they won’t know he’s gotten home.

Door unlocked, check, handle down, check, door opened to just a big enough slot that Isak can slither in smoothly?

Isak sneaks in past the doorstep, careful not to step on it because it creaks like hell, he turns around, holding onto the handle with one hand, the other hand pressed against the door on top of it as he slowly closes the door. He doesn’t dare to breathe until he’s heard the small click of the lock.

All the air he’d been holding comes out in a low whoosh as Isak straightens up, smirking at the door because he definitely won this round, thank you very much. Now he just needs to get to bed, and then –

He turns around to see Magnus, Mahdi, and Jonas all staring at him.

Their arms are crossed over their chests and Isak has a weird, unwanted vision of being the villain to their heroic tales where they take him down in their formation.

Isak shakes his head to get rid of the image, but stop as soon as he sees Jonas’ nostrils flare slightly.

“What the hell, man?” Mahdi asks. He looks like he wants to move towards Isak, but he doesn’t, and Isak is pretty sure his legs no longer function.

“Hva skjer?” Jonas asks. He looks so irritated, they all do in fact and, yup, Isak’s legs definitely don’t work anymore, but he’s pretty sure he’s about to cry, so he doesn’t have to worry about his lacrimal system.

“Where the hell have you been?” Jonas tries again. His arms are uncrossed, but he doesn’t look any less pissed, and Isak doesn’t know how to do this. “You’re supposed to pick up your phone when we call you. Are you aware of that? That’s how phones work?”

Isak opens his mouth, but he honestly isn’t sure if it’s to talk or to throw up. Maybe he’ll throw up some words – that would be a nice change, because he honestly doesn’t know what to fucking say.

“It’s been four hours, man!”

Magnus is surprisingly quiet and Isak can’t help but worry that this is the beginning of eternal silence because Isak is now a traitor. He clearly knew Even and had never introduced him and Magnus, and he loves Magnus, he really does despite all the Even-fangirling and the invasive questions and he’s still pretty sure he might cry any second now.

“What the hell happened at the party?” Jonas now sounds more angry than he looks, and Isak can’t stand to look at him but he can’t seem to look away either.

But now Jonas isn’t talking anymore, and Mahdi hasn’t said anything since his initial outburst and Magnus is still just looking at him, and Isak isn’t even sure if he looks worried or betrayed and his head hurts and he just wants to disappear. Right about now, actually, would be really, really great.

“Hmm?” Is all he manages to get out, and it’s the wrong thing to say. It’s quite possible the most wrong, the wrongest thing he could’ve said, because now even Magnus looks slightly angry and Mahdi is positively fuming.

“’Hmm’? Are you fucking kidding me? ‘Hmm’?” Mahdi repeats angrily, actually breaking superhero-team formation and taking at step towards him.

Isak instinctively takes a step back, his back hitting the door harshly and the force of it jars all the way up his spine.

Mahdi thankfully doesn’t notice, but Isak can’t tell if Jonas does or if it’s just a reflex to grab onto Mahdi’s shoulder to hold him back. Jonas’ facial expression doesn’t change at all, though, so maybe Isak’s lucky for once.

They’re all quiet, heavy breathing almost echoing throughout the flat. Isak can’t meet their eyes, so instead he looks at the shoe rack that none of them actually bother using, which is why he’s standing in a pile of shoes at the moment.

“Do you even have anything to say?” Jonas asks. His voice is harsh and Isak now feels the anger start to bubbling inside of him. Fuck, he’d promised himself that the angry outbursts were a thing of the past.

“You disappear for hours, and like that isn’t enough of a shitty-friend thing to do, Magnus met his goddamn hero tonight, and I know you for some reason don’t like the guy, but you could be a decent friend and support Magnus!”

Isak can’t hold the wince back. He’s not even sure if it’s because he feels bad about not being a better friend to Magnus or if it’s from hearing Even being spoken about as someone’s hero. Some fucking hero. Isak learnt that the hard way.

“Not even mentioning that Even – Even Bech Næsheim, world-famous director apparently knows your name? How do you know him?”

“Jonas…” Magnus starts, reaching his hand out to hold onto Jonas’ shoulder, but Jonas shrugs him off.

“No! I’m sick and tired of this. Are you going to start this shit again? You said you were going to stop, or was that just another lie?”

It feels like a slap. Or maybe a punch to the gut, because Isak can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and he needs, he needs –

He fumbles with the door handle without even turning around, mind barely registering that he needs to unlock the door first, but then his fingers apparently remember and he twists the handle, body thrown backwards with the force of the door opening and then he’s gone.

He can hear the boys shouting after him. He doesn’t even know if they’re trying to follow him – he just slams the door behind him and then starts running down the flight of stairs before he bumps into the front door.

He thinks he hears the apartment door open behind him with a last frightened “Isak!” but then he’s outside and he’s running and he doesn’t stop until he’s turning so many corners he’s managed to get himself lost.

Isak stumbles for a moment, trying to get his bearings back, but all it accomplishes is the nausea rising up until he’s throwing up on the side of the street.

There’s no one there to see it, thank god. He’s even more grateful no one’s there when the first sob escapes him.

Fuck.

Fuck.

This is not happening. This is so not happening. God, why is this happening to him? This was supposed to be his year, god damn it!

He bites down on the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to keep any and all sounds in. The last thing he needs right now is someone calling the police because of a disturbance, it’s bad enough that he’s publically intoxicated. At least he’s not a minor anymore.

Isak knows he can’t stay here, though. First of all, he’s in the middle of a street in a very nice area in Oslo, he clearly doesn’t belong here. Second, he’s absolutely freezing and he really doesn’t want to go home.

It almost feels like another punch when he realizes that it’s the first time in a couple of years that he feels like that. Alright, he needs to leave unless he wants to give himself another reason to be crying.

He gets up on wobbly legs, almost stumbling into the pile of vomit before he manages to grab onto a street light and balance his weight out properly.

He knows he should call Eskild up, but Isak knows Eskild will want to talk about everything and he’s definitely mad at him at this point for the radio silence.

Isak will survive. That’s all he seems to be good at, anyway. He hopes he’ll one day know how to live again.

He can find a basement somewhere. He was practically a pro at breaking into them back when he was starting high school; he’ll recall the practicalities when he gets there.

 Past

He shouldn’t have done this. He really shouldn’t have done this. He is an idiot for doing this, and he can’t stop pinching his underarms even though it hurts like hell, because he’s a goddamn idiot and he shouldn’t be doing this.

The coffee shop is loud around him, or behind him, really, seeing as he’s sitting at the elongated table along the window, nervously twisting his cup of black coffee in his hands. Isak watches the people’s reflections, trying his best not to pay attention to any couples or any mothers. There’s a small group of friends sitting near the back. They’re the furthest away from him, but they’re the ones he can hear the clearest.

Isak’s an idiot and he doesn’t even like coffee, especially not black coffee, but it’s all he can afford right now until either of his parents remembers his soon two-week overdue monthly allowance.

He shouldn’t have come. He’s already regretting this and Even hasn’t even shown up yet.

If he even shows up, a morbid part of Isak’s brain gets through before Isak can force himself to think differently.

Isak’s regretting showing up, because Even is clearly regretting asking him to come, because Even himself hasn’t even bothered to show up, and Isak kind of wants to leave, but then he really doesn’t want to risk it because what if Even actually does show up –

Oh god, what is he even going to say? Isak hasn’t prepared for this, despite not having thought about anything but Even since he kissed –

He can’t start blushing now, not if Even is just about to walk in – which he should be, considering he’s fifteen minutes late – because if he does, he’ll never be able to stop.

Although his face will be turning red for an entirely different reason if Even doesn’t show up soon. Not that there’s any actual public embarrassment in it – no one here knows that Isak’s supposed to be on a… on a date, oh my god, he was asked out on an honest to god date with a boy, with Even, and, yes, he’s blushing, but his pulse is also racing in a bad way because Even still isn’t here, and –

The small bell hanging over the door rings out clearly as the door pushes open, Even gracelessly stumbling in, eyes frantically moving over the people sitting in the café.

Even’s shoulders slump when he’s finished going through all of the people sitting at the tables; most of them at this point already done with the distraction to their everyday lives that Even had caused.

“Fuck,” Isak hears Even mutter, his hand raises to push his hair off of his sweaty forehead. Isak watches as Even’s entire body sort of just slumps in on itself.

Even lets out a shuddery exhale that Isak knows he’s only able to hear because he’s sitting right next to him.

“Fuck,” Even repeats, words coming out at an even lower volume this time. “Did he even show?”

“Maybe he’s fifteen minutes late,” Isak says, voice matter-of-factly as he tries to keep a straight enough face that he can take a sip of coffee without spilling all over himself.

He doesn’t even manage to take a sip before he’s sputtering into his cup because Even fucking jumps, one hand grabbing onto the table, the other grabbing onto his chest over his heart and Isak can’t wipe the smirk off of his face.

“Oh, you asshole,” Even moans, but he’s already sort of laughing as he doubles over, utterly failing in drawing in deep breaths. “Fuck, I have, fucking, palpitations!”

Isak actually lets out a startlingly loud laugh at that. “Oh, dear me.”

“’Oh, dear me’,” Even mocks as he clutches onto the vacant high chair next to Isak, already clambering onto it as he pushes against the metal step on the chair. “What are you, eighty?”

Isak snorts and tries to give Even an indignant look, but he can’t keep the grin off of his face.

“Well, let’s hope the guy you’re meeting is a little closer to your age than that, then,” Isak draws the coffee cup up to his face in order to hide his smirk away from Even.

“Asshole,” Even repeats, tone so fond and expression open and honest that Isak kind of forgets to draw in a breath.

Even hooks his foot around the leg of Isak’s chair, pulling back sharply and with enough force to actually move Isak’s chair towards his own. He’s grinning so widely even as Isak has to grab onto the table with both hands, nearly sending the cup flying as he drops it in order to save himself.

Even lets out a laugh as he grabs onto Isak’s left arm, curling his hand around his bicep, not letting go even as Isak manages to right his balance again. God, Isak is well on his way to palpitations.

They just sit there, not saying anything. Isak switches between actually looking at Even, who doesn’t seem to be able to look anywhere that isn’t at Isak, and looking out of the window, not seeing anything really. He doesn’t have any attention span left that isn’t already directed at Even.

“So what should I say to my date when I’ve shown up fifteen minutes late?” Even asks, gaze finally moving from Isak’s face to the coffee cup he’s pushing around on the table.

Isak hums, scolding his face into a completely serious grimace as his stomach flutters with giddiness at the word ‘date’. “Well, it depends.”

Even breaks character immediately, cheeks already splitting from a too wide grin. “On?” He prompts.

“Did you tell him you were going to be late?” Isak twists his upper body to better face Even, faux-serious expression on his face.

Even shakes his head whilst trying to mimic Isak’s facial expression. “No. You see, I was kind of an idiot and didn’t ask for his number, nor did I give him mine.”

“Ah,” Isak sighs out. “A rookie mistake,” Isak says, nodding slowly like he has a lifetime of experience on the matter.

“Hey,” Even whines indignantly, giving Isak’s arm a soft push before resting one arm on the backrest, the other on top of the table, his hands hanging in the air, wrists crossed over in front of his chest. “For your information, I was quite nervous when I asked him to meet me here!”

Isak doesn’t even try to hide the grin on his face. “Is that so?”

Even hums affirmatively, grinning back himself as he presses the tip of his shoe against the metal bar functioning as a foot rest on Isak’s chair. Isak can feel the side of his lower leg, all the way up to his knee, pressing against his own leg.

Forget palpitations, he might just combust on the spot.

Even clearly feels the same, because his hands can’t seem to stay still, so he reaches out and grabs onto Isak’s coffee cup, his hand so large it curls all the way around the cup, before drawing it to his lips.

Isak doesn’t even bother moaning about that Even is technically drinking his coffee.

Maybe he should’ve, though, in order to save Even from literally sputtering it back out.

“Jesus!” Isak exclaims, moving back instinctively even though Even didn’t even spit it in his direction, his hand already moving to pound Even on his back. “Are you okay?”

“What the hell is this?” Even coughs out, voice hoarse as he rubs his throat with his free hand.

Isak’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion. “Coffee?” This was a coffee shop, after all – surely that fact that he was drinking coffee shouldn’t come off as too big of a surprise.

“That was not coffee!” Even replies crossly as he puts the cup back down on the table. “That was…” Even stops as he searches for words to properly describe the atrocity he just tasted, “utter despair!”

Isak shouldn’t be laughing – he doesn’t think, anyway, that he should be, but the first laughter kind of just bubbles out of his chest all the way out of his mouth, and then he can’t really stop himself.

“Could you be any more dramatic?” Isak asks rhetorically once he’s managed to get his breath back.

And promptly regrets it from the look Even gets across his face.

“Wha–“ Isak starts out, but Even has already locked his hand around Isak’s wrist, tugging him off of the chair, only stopping long enough to make sure Isak doesn’t fall flat on his face.

“First, we’re getting some real coffee to drink,” Even starts out, twisting around so he’s walking backwards to the counter.

Isak laughs as he grabs onto Even’s hoodie, holding tight to make Even stop moving so he won’t bump into the woman standing in front of them in the line.

Even’s eyes are twinkling and Isak can’t look away.

“Does ‘real coffee’ mean overpriced, hot, sugary water?” Isak asks petulantly, making Even give him a look of faux-horror.

“Real coffee, Isak,” Even repeats. His hands curl around Isak’s wrists once again, pulling Isak closer until they’re standing toe to toe again.

It feels so much like the last time they were standing in front of each other that Isak almost pushes onto the tips of his toes so he can kiss Even. He probably would’ve if they hadn’t been standing in the middle of a busy coffee shop.

“And then,” Even continues without missing a beat. One of his hands leave Isak’s wrist to curl around Isak’s waist underneath his jacket instead, “We’re going to see the world.”

Isak thinks his own eyes might be twinkling as well.

Next part

[meshugana1]

Another idea, Rich's(28) girlfriend is tired of all her friends having babies and kids and wants one of her own. Rich disagrees. She ends up cursing him as he finds himself getting dumber and childish as he regressed to her little 3 year old toddler girl trapped in diapers he can't help but use while he can no longer read or do math or even speak properly.

   “Come on Rich, let’s just be mature and talk about it,” Ricki said. Her head hung low and her hands wore out the couch she sat on.“Babe, I really can’t talk about this, not again. I don’t care if all your buddies are doing it. I’m not ready to be a dad.”“Well, when will you be ready? For Christ’s sake your almost thirty, how much longer do I need to wait? Or are you hoping I’ll hit menopause before you’re ‘ready’?”“Don’t play that card, you know what my childhood was like.”“That excuse wore itself out a long time ago, Rich. I want a baby, I need a baby, why can’t you understand that?”“I do, I just don’t care. Do you forget just home much we earn? How much our car payments are? Our mortgage? And you want to drop a baby on top of that? I know you’re a woman and all but why don’t you take a second to actually think things through for once in your life?”“You think this is just cause I’m a woman? I can’t believe you! I told all my sisters you were different, that you really cared, but you’re just a sexist pig like all the rest!” Rich had had this conversation many times with countless women. The ending never really varied, they all leave him and find someone better.

   He braced, letting her vent, it always went over better that way. But all he heard from her was her irate breathing. “I try, goddamnit I try so hard Rich. I just wanted to talk, that’s all. But you and your damn stupid attitude, well fine. You don’t want to talk? You don’t have to talk ever again!” Rich felt weird energy about the room as she screamed at him. He was used to the yelling, but it almost felt like the room was hotter. It was a penetrating heat, the kind that drains you and makes your eyes flutter. Rich felt that as his head started to swoon, he slumped into his chair and saw Ricki grab her coat and storm out, not five minutes later he was asleep and elusive dreams played out in front of his eyes.

    Rich woke up to the smell of burning bacon, a trademark of Ricki’s cooking. He bristled, surprised she had stuck around unlike so many others, but expecting she did so only because she had much more to yell. Sitting up, something about his clothing felt just the slightest bit off, but sleeping in a lazy boy will do that. He carefully opened the door, finding Ricki at the stove. That was concerning enough, but she also hummed a lighthearted tune that didn’t really seem to fit the tenor of her rage last night. “Oh good, you’re up. I was worried that you might sleep right through breakfast.”“Um, thanks? But aren’t you like, mad? You were yelling pretty loud last night,” Rich said. He shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, rubbing his arm expecting the hammer to drop. Instead, she smiled, a motherly sort of smile. “Oh sweetie, it’s all water under the bridge. You were right, I was getting a little emotional, but I’ve taken some steps to fix everything, don’t you worry.” Rich was stunned, this was new. He smiled and practically felt like dancing. He nearly skipped to the table as Ricki brought him a platter of eggs, hash-browns, and various meats.

   Usually Rich didn’t go in for such lavish breakfasts, but this was apparently her form of apology. She didn’t wait for him to grab his fork and speared a healthy amount of scrambled eggs, bringing the prongs near his mouth. Still unwilling to rekindle the rage he saw last night, he opened his mouth and allowed her to feed him. It was surprisingly relaxing for him, there was a small part of him that said that this was emasculating, but it was much quieter than it normally was. He was also surprised by the quality of the food she was giving him. Typically, she could only produce black charcoal to eat, she must have been practicing lately. The thought of her, slaving away at a cookbook, working hard to improve herself, made a pit of guilt for in Rich’s stomach. Before he had time to apologize or truly process that guilt, his meal was done she ushered him to their room to prepare for the workday.

   He donned his usual business casual outfit, he didn’t vary too much in his work attire. This morning, however, his clothing didn’t quite sit right. His shoulders seemed almost narrower and his shirt sleeves rubbed against his wrists. His belt even required an extra notch to hold his pants up, that one was at least welcome. But, once again, before he had any time to process these laundry accidents, Ricki had handed him a bottle of water and a lunch and encouraged him into the car, which in another uncharacteristic move, she drove.

   “Have a good day, Sweetie! I’ll pick you up later, just going to do some shopping.” Ricki said.“But, I can drive myself—” Rich began.“Don’t be silly, this way saves on gas and time. Now march on up there and make me proud.” Ricki said as she sped away, leaving Rich with very little choice in the matter. Rich stared at the tall building, feeling alone. His cuff chaffed his wrist, his bag lunch felt heavy in his hand, and he felt an odd sense of being out of place. His feeling was only compounded when he stepped through the threshold of the office door. The firm was already crawling with activity, which only served to unsettle Rich more. Everything seemed larger, not just in the physical sense, it almost seemed like everything here wasn’t meant for him. His awkward pace wasn’t peppy enough for someone, and he soon heard his name, followed by several expletives, and was commanded to join the others in the boardroom.

   “Alright everybody, I’m only gonna say this once, we’re in real deep shit. Our clients are pulling out, controversy after controversy has desensitized the public and they’re more litigious and organized than ever. If this advertising company is gonna survive, as it has managed to do for the past hundred years, we need a fresh new take. Something that will appease those whiny fuckin’ millennial and our diehards. I am not gonna be the one at the helm when this company goes down, so if anyone has an idea, you better speak up now.” Rich only feigned attention. He was a supposed to care, he wanted to care but something, a hazy sense of boredom held him back from it. It was as though the CEO were miles away speaking to him. An intern, especially one as hungry as he was should’ve leaped at the opportunity, sunk his claws into it and never let go. But instead, Rich sat quietly and doodled in a yellow legal pad. His scribbles were nothing a twenty-eight-year-old should be proud of, but in his mind, he was crafting a masterwork. Unicorns danced in fields, ballerina knights slew smelly dragons, and princesses adorned themselves with the prettiest dresses imaginable. “Who the hell are you?!” The CEO called out, directly at him. It was so loud and so jarring that it snapped him back violently to reality and his head swirled trying to regain his bearings. “M—me?” He said.“Yeah, you. This is a staff meeting and I certainly didn’t hire any teens recently. Are somebody’s kid or what?” Rich darted his eyes to and from each coworker, silently asking for help of any kind. “Um, I’m Rich, the intern?” He said, as unsure as everyone else seemed to be.“Bullshit. That guy is almost thirty, you little missy don’t look a day over sixteen. Now tell me who you are or get out, I’m not in the mood to play babysitter.” Sixteen? Missy? What was he talking about? But as Rich stood up and his shirt cuff swallowed his hand, and his pants nearly fell to his ankles, he had an idea of why he said what he said.

   Rich did as he was told and shuffled out of the boardroom, retaining his pants to his waist with his hand. His cheeks felt hot and his eyes were growing misty with anxious confusion. His first instinct was to run to the bathroom as fast as his small legs could take him. Is it secured hand slammed and locked the door. He approached the mirror cautiously, his boss hadn’t even recognized him and though there was no reason for it his legs moved like weights and his dress shirt dad is misty eyes preparing him for what he would see. In the cheap mirror, he could find almost no trace himself. His angular features had softened, his cheeks were puffy, his eyes were red, and here it lost and no less than a foot and a half of his former 5 foot 10. He watched his bottom lip quiver as his eyes search for any sort of answer. His shirt hung limply on slender shoulders and his hands could not be seen, but they felt delicate as if never having seen a day of work. His belt was all but useless and his pants fell to the floor. The elastic band of his underwear still did its job, but even beneath that had not been spared from whatever was happening to him. His cock was nothing to write home about before, but now it’s imprinted in his underwear is barely visible and to his distraught eyes seemed to grow even smaller.

   His legs panicked and he ran back to his desk giving no thought to his state of dress. He scrambles for the receiver of his office phone neither caring nor aware of the eyes watching his diminutive form. He punched in the numbers for Ricki’s phone, he knew the number by heart. At least he thought he did. Instead of his beautiful girlfriend, a crotchety old man answered the phone demanding why he called him at such a late hour. Rich apologized, claiming the old excuse or the wrong number. His finger must have slipped, so he tried again and of this time connected with the New York Museum of Natural History. He tried a third, fourth, and the fifth time, failing each. His eyes were no longer misty and full sorrowful tears cascaded down his soft cheeks. He sat on the floor using his sleeve to wipe his eyes, his shirt now functioning more like a dress. His coworkers around him stood confused, wondering just who have brought their daughter into work today. Before anyone else could take charge of the situation, someone strode in from the main door and kneeled down near the distraught 28-year-old man who sat in a small puddle of fear induced urine. “Shhh, it’s alright sweetie, mommy’s here.“

   “Alright now raise those arms!” Ricki said with a smile, feeling a purer joy that she could recall. The tiny, wet little girls arms shot into the air excitedly, happy to feel her mothers warm embrace again. The towel collected every stray bit of water that’s still clung to her body. “Okey-dokey sweetie, is my big girl ready for her diaper?“ She didn’t wait for an answer as she collected the supplies to change little girl. It was a well practice procedure by now and she already laid on the changing mat ready. She squeals excitedly as the powder tickled her thighs and covered her exposed bottom. Each noise of excitement fills Ricki with happiness that just days ago she felt she would never hear. Once the tapes are secured, the excitable little girl hops up and latches onto her mother’s leg. She doesn’t see the soft tear escaping from her mother’s eyes. “I didn’t want it to go this way Rich, but I’m so happy it did,” she said she lumbered into the kitchen, the happy weight still clinging to her leg, to prepare a beautiful steak dinner for herself, and a sliced hot dog for her beautiful daughter.

The End. Hope Y’all like it!

[bipolaireenivresse-blog]

Spring And My Own Goddess Of Spring And Winter Flowers

It was the best day in my life. I had rented a nice black car and I was driving east, fast and easy, on secondary roads through the rolling plains and plateaus of Champagne and Lorraine. It was 3 May 2017. The sky was blue with scattered white cumuli that were appearing much bigger, higher and greyer at the horizon. Something huge was forming there. I was on my way to see Fishbach’s concert in the Saint-Donat church in Arlon, Belgium, as part of the Aralunaires festival. I was high, very high, higher than I had ever been before. Of course I was smoking weed from noon to dawn. But it was only peripheral adjustment and support. The engine of the highness was endogenous, in my brain. With the precocious arrival of spring I had kicked out depression and been climbing unquestioningly through hypomania: I was not working, I had sufficiently money left; I was in perfect conditions for experimenting and enjoying unconditional happiness, euphoria, excitation and hedonism — the shiny side of bipolar disorder, the golden trick, the lovely upgoing slope to nowhere but inner paradise — whatever may happen subsequently. It was 3 May 2017. I was on my way to see my music idol producing herself with her band in a church (a church!). I would pass through a terrible storm at the border between France and Belgium, arrive little time before the show, sit at the first row in the church, receive an incredible emotional hit and see a tunnel opening in the light and stroboscope landscape like a pathway to another universe; have a short chat with Fishbach after the concert (she would comment the design of my notebook and leave a nice note in it), drink a pint of beer and a big cup of coffee in a bar of the deserted city centre, circle ecstatically in my car in the urban ring roads feeling weird gravity shifts, finally take the way back home, after midnight; once in France, ∼30 km south to the border, I would meet the customs officers, a joint of weed lying, red and hot, in the ashtray close to my small reserve box, and bore them with an unstoppable and improvised speech — I am a writer, I just come back from a concert of Fishbach, do you know Fishbach? No? You should listen, it’s great, she inspires me a lot, look these are the nice merchandising they gave at the show, OK, OK, this side of the car, really you have never heard about her?… — until they let me go; I would shout my joy at the stars in the sky, get lost through the complicated net of roads before home, arrive after the sun had risen, barely sleep before preparing myself for the next show, at night, at La Cigale in Paris — Fishbach again, of course, why questioning? Two concerts in two days, I was just a groupie. It was 3 May 2017. It was the best day in my life. I was precisely on the edge between reason and insanity, hypomania and mania, at the cerebral orgasmic point before snaky mental maze. Under my umbrella, smoking, my back pressed against the outside walls of the Saint-Donat church, on the top of the hill of Arlon, amazed and overwhelmed, I was listening to Fishbach vocalizing before the concert and there was nothing else to live.

Was I then in love with Flora Fischbach and was my tracking of her a psycho behaviour? My friends were concerned with this issue and would let me know. What I will write further will address the second part of the question. Now, about l.o.v.e.: of course I was in love with her. Everybody was in love with her. Well, let’s say, every person attracted sexually by women in her audience was in love with her. I mean, she was, she is too much: delivering brilliant and daring pop music, singing extraordinarily — love her or hate her, there is no middle point on this subject —, beautiful, sexy, even ambiguous in gender and age, naturally classy, and above all hypnotic, magnetic, psychetic; on scene, supported by great musicians, she was, she is fucking something. I fell at first listening and sight, as many, many others.

But my passion for Fishbach was of course well beyond and apart from lust. The discovery of her debut album À Ta Merci in the first days of February 2017 gave me an electroshock. As I alluded previously, I was exiting a long, deep, and chaotic depressive phase and she was just the perfect extra kick I could expect. It was like being a young teenager living his first musical crush once again. With the slight difference that my Fishbach’s crush was several orders of magnitude more intense than the musical crushes I had experimented when I was actually a young teenager, in the late 80’s. Fishbach’s music was just a glittering synthesis of most that I could have liked so far in music draped in the peculiar big sound of « French touch »: the mainstream pop music of Daniel Balavoine or Mylène Farmer, the synth-pop of Kraftwerk or Depeche Mode, the rock of Electrelane, the electro-rock of Ladytron, the lettered songs of Françoise Hardy or Françoiz Breut, …, with, from place to place, irresistible spans reminiscent of Tame Impala or Vangelis’ Blade Runner themes and atmospheres.

Soon, listening to Fishbach’s music became an almost full-time, delighting occupation; she was a drug and she was better with drug. Obviously and corolarilly, there was a noticeable feedback loop between her and my mood level: the more I listened to her music the more I felt hypomaniac and vice versa. Last but not least, there was the song called « Mortel » and its two strangely diverging versions (one on the 2015 Fishbach EP, one on the À Ta Merci album). I was totally stunned: listening to this song was like feeling an harmless though harrowing arrow passing through all the nodes of my entire existence. I swear I watched hundreds of time the YouTube Vevo Dscvr live version of the song. The emotion provoked was indescribable and undecipherable.

I booked a ticket for her upcoming concert in La Cigale, Paris, 4 May 2017. But it was too far… When I discovered that she was actually about to perform her very big touring date in the same place 14 March, I went crazily impatient; I managed to buy, the day before the event, a black market ticket on the Internet. 14 March 2017 was a spring sunny and cool Tuesday. In the morning, in order to lower my excitation, I went running 20 km. I arrived at La Cigale very early in order to be able to place myself in the first or second row in the audience. I was 15. It was my first concert ever. I smoke only one joint and drank only one beer. After the show I was not the same person anymore. Some ravishing wasp come from outer space had bitten me, injecting in my body and soul a sweet and fatal venom. Her name was Flora and, with my poor erudition, I remembered that Flora was the goddess of something in some ancient mythology; I checked on the Internet: indeed, Flore or Flora was, in roman divinity, the goddess of flowers and spring. It was too much, too poetic: the reflection of my own renewal in music and emerging star. And, from then on, everything started to lovely burst.

As I told to the customs officers in the night of 3 May, in these times, I was effectively and vainly trying to write a « novel ». I intended to describe the dying of the light-like loss — or, actually, the refusal of loss — of past euphoria existing in bipolar disorder treatment and stabilisation. Nevertheless, after seeing Fishbach live for the first time, this literature direction split up into various and poorly coherent drafts as I more and more focused my writing energy in composing letters to Fishbach. And, yeah, in the end, I went totally psycho with that. Everything started around 15 of 16 March (i.e., no more than two days after the show in La Cigale): I felt an uninhibited, overwhelming, irresistible, almost vital need of telling her in writing what I had felted during the concert and since the discovery of her music — and acknowledging her. Surprisingly, I had found an email address at her name in a public page in Internet; it was obviously obsolete but I considered this way better than sending a post mail to her family in Charlevilles-Mézières in the northeastern corner of France. She would probably never read the email I had written but, who cared? Just the fact of sending the stuff was delivering me from a weight — yes, I am the boy who listened too many times to « Tous les cris les SOS » by Daniel Balavoine. Nevertheless, I started to dream about the possibility of meeting her and telling her about the mail. From 15 I was regressing to 14 or even 13. The possibility became probabilitywhen I decided to go with some friends to a concert of Cléa Vincent in La Gaîté Lyrique, Paris: the latter singer was kind of friend with Fishbach and Fishbach was not programmed anywhere on that day. It was 12 April and, at that date, my hypomania had enhanced exponentially and, in that night more precisely, my disinhibition was strengthened by a mix of alcohol, weed, and MDMA. Of course Fishbach was there, a few metres from me, in the background of the concert room; and of course, overcoming any fear of being ridiculous, I went straight to her, told her about the mail, « I would like you to read it », verifying the obsolescence of the abovementioned address, finally telling her my first name and surname at her demand. Believe me or not, living such a teenage dream when you are 40-years old — with the physical, psychological and chemical means allowed by time — is quite of a thing. It is totally, absolutely childish but when you are bipolar in a jumping, junkie hypomaniac phase it is the best shoot of heroin you can beg for — then, just add the right dose of romanticism looking at your heroine walking in beauty like the night just as in one of your preferred Suede songs and you are in paradise. From that moment, I started to write other emails to the same address, which from emotional reports of a bipolar fan in euphoria rapidly turned into more and more complex interpretations of the Fishbach’s song lyrics, and especially of the « Mortel » lyrics. Since I met her a few times after shows, I had clues that she was at least receiving my texts; but, strangely, maybe by fear, maybe because my reality was progressively colonised by hallucinations, I would prefer to leave a thick sheet of doubt on what I was in my inner me quite pretentiously dreaming the most — having her as my reader. During the first part of May, as I was sliding on a slippery slope with readings of quantum metaphysics mixed with foreseen theories about the control of technology and Internet over Humanity, my « letters » to Fishbach drowned into delusions: I was for example persuaded that « Mortel » had travelled in time through my consciousness (and of course from hers) between its first version release date (November 2015) and my discovery of Fishbach (February 2017) with consequences on my existence trajectory. It was still not that worrying: in a way, considering the frequently odd nature of Fishbach’s lyrics, this may have been considered as funny. I could have continued my role of freaky, half-crazy groupie: there was so many touring dates to come. For example, I had won tickets for a concert in the suburbs of Paris where both Fishbach and Cléa Vincent were programmed! It was 15 May. But, that day in the afternoon, I got my first psychotic paranoid crisis: I destroyed almost all my electronic devices at home, especially the Internet box that I smashed with a hammer and drowned in the toilets before washing it with burning water and squeezing it in the outside bin. This crisis left me exhausted and I did not went to the concert. I would never see Fishbach again during the 2017 year. I had opened a new territory in my psychosis: after sending her an heavy chain of intriguing playlists and images, I stopped this vain, one-way correspondence. What for writing when you can communicate through quantum telepathy? It was only the beginning of my relation with the virtual, computed part of Fishbach: I would deliver her from the sick program in her brain and we, as one, would save the world. I had some beautiful days waiting for me in the psychiatric hospital.

At the end, if I analyse my relation with Fishbach’s person, band and music, there is one important remaining idea: it is a question of faith. When, nowadays, absolutely sober and cautious with my possible hypomania trends, I look back at this special date of 3 May 2017, I confess I feel a kind of nostalgia. How could I feel different? That day I truly believed I was blessed by her. She was my own Flore, my own goddess of spring and flowers. I will never forget how, before losing control, during a few weeks of a sunny spring, I felt a strong convergence between my delighted mood rises and my Fishbach-related emotional events. I told previously about a feedback loop. Between hypomania and Fishbach, was there a dominating cause-to-effect way? Who knows? Maybe I just have to let myself go and believe in Fishbach. After all, even outside hypomania and without any drug, I still feel the same emotions and energy listening to her music: I am entranced by it/her. Oddly, yesterday, she was performing on a boat in Paris, a kind of VIP, quickly sold out event. On Twitter, I started joking with someone from her record label: even if it was sold out I could try to come swimming or parachuting. Maybe last year I would have been sufficiently insane to try something like that. However, whereas some miles away from me this boat was carrying her, I was running in a deep and dense forest, crossing stags and snakes, fascinated by the diffusion of vespertine lights through the deep green canopy, imagining the beloved beat of « Mortel » entwined in my heart pulses. Despite the extreme heat, I was sometimes shivering; there was something, someone in there, in the air, through the sky and towards the sinking sun. And I was softly riddled by random shots of life.

[linkspooky]

What do you think about Shuu screaming about wanting to eat Kaneki? It sounded so much like he was regressing and definitely not going forward, I was so upset when I read it. His speech sounded so beautiful and heartfelt and I feel like it got ruined. Is it actual comic relief or maybe Shuu is regressing into the past, like Amon, Akira and Hide, and Touka dying her hair like in the first half of the series?

I’m going to break down Shuu’s speech the best I can. I want everybody to remember this is my interpretation, if you interpret this speech as a perfectly happy speech on Shuu’s part and growth for his character that is fine. 

I think there is a lot of genuine love represented in this chapter. Tsukiyama is obviously trying to look past the situation, and realize what he wanted is for his friend to be happy. That’s a simple and basic desire and it’s not a wrong one. What Tsukiyama talks about, are the simple pleasures in life that Kaneki would lose in killing himself, and also the ones he would lose if he disappeared completely into the role of king.

This matches up a lot with his birthday poem. I’ve always loved Shuu’s poem, because it’s so beautiful, kind, and accepting. It’s such a stark contrast to the empty sounded messes that are Furuta and Sasaki’s birthday poems.

It will be alright.

The world will grow to be kind.Everything will be okay.

Even if it’s only one person, someone will definitely understand you.

Someone will surely love you.Even if you are hurt due to loneliness, someone will surely embrace you.

[x]

Haise’s:

Someone said this:

“Even if you have no memories of being loved, for as long as you have memories of loving someone, you can continue to live.”

…But how is someone who has never been loved be capable of loving someone else?

A child who wasn’t able to receive the minimal love they required at the time they needed it the most will continue to gaze at the illusion of affection and never know how to love until the day they die.

Well, how about me? Can I continue to live?

[x]

Furuta’s:

How stupid.

What’s so joyous about birthdays, I wonder.Never in my life have I ever felt grateful for being born.

But for you people, how are you still celebrating your life despite how hopelessly stupid or ugly you are?

I am genuinely impressed.

Doesn’t it make you want to die?

[x]

Remember, Haise is generally considered to be the most mentally healthy and sound of all the Kaneki’s. Even the Kirishima birthday poem sounds like this.

The children who were meant to be born, died. The vision of the future convulses.

Someone declared that they’ll crush only half of the broad bean.The gene is in a severe bipolar state.The nucleic acid sequence having no recollection of its own actions.

All of the fingers that were supposed to be connected from start to end, are scattered around; it’s annoying.

If you look closely at the knot, you can see that it can be surprisingly easy to untie.

[x]

And Touka is the one whose spent this arc trying to reconcile Kaneki, and inspire him to live again. Even Hinami’s wish for Kaneki and Touka to live sounds like this.

“You’re going to be depressed and miserable but live I guess....”

It makes sense for their to be one character who genuinely believes in a happy ending and a happy life, and one character who believes he can make it there. It makes sense for that character to be Shuu, because from the beginning what Shuu is and always has been is somebody who appreciates the beauty of life. He’s a social sciences major. Not only is he a musician, he’s a great singer, and he learned several different languages just because he thinks linguistics are beautiful. 

Shuu’s good qualities have always been his own appreciation for life. His bad qualities is his own unhinged indulgence to that pleasure, that he would take it at the cost of others. Shuu’s always been a character focused around happiness which I think is still an important arc to learn... really the last 40 chapters even with Kaneki’s want to live satisfied, he’s been mopey and miserable almost the entire time. 

It’s not enough to simply live and survive. 

On the other hand, Shuu is clearly once again doing what all the other characters in the manga do and transferring their wishes onto Kaneki. Karren’s last wish was meant for Shuu and Shuu alone, and also herself. 

It’s exactly the same as as Hinami transferring her mother’s last words to live, which were clearly meant for her onto Kaneki.

The one who should be doing this is Hinami. The one who should be living with Karren’s sacrifice is Tsukiyama. Especially since Kaneki murdered Karren in cold blood. 

Yet we see once again the characters are transferring their desires onto the empty Kaneki, and using him as a mechanism to fulfill them. Itori and Shuu’s speech are both lies, but Itori’s was meant to convince the ghouls into passivity while Shuu’s to rile them up into action.

Generally I would say, for this speech Tsukiyama’s eyes not shown = Lies. Tsukiyama’s eyes shown = Tsukiyama’s genuine feelings.

Once again I spent the entire first half of this talking about how this is Tsukiyama’s genuine sentiment.

THen we have that old chestnut. “I get to eat Kaneki.” Soemthing that has been proven long ago, was actually just Shuu’s misconstruing of his own feelings, which is once again what Shuu is likely doing here. Shuu wants Kaneki to live and he wants to confront Kaneki for real this time, but I don’t think he wants to save Kaneki from all the conseqeunces of his actions, or live entirely for Kaneki’s own actions as he’s presenting himself with in his speech. 

If anything, Shuu’s speech is about how the members of Goat should perceive Kaneki as a person with his own wants and needs, not just the instrument of their vengeance. 

At the same time though, Shuu kind of dehumanizes Kaneki in the opposite direction. Goat doesn’t exist for the sake of Kaneki’s happiness, all of those ghouls who had lost loved ones to the CCG their grievances are still valid and should not be forogtten.

The ideal should be found in a medium between the two, but Shuu himself is not the most emotionally smart of people. It makes sense that he’d try to correct and then swing far and wild in the opposite direction. 

As I’ve said in my previous asks too, at the moment there is no Kaneki to confront. If Shuu decided right at this moment “Fuck Kaneki I’m going home,” that would be great for his character yes but it would lead to absolutely nothing. Tokyo Ghoul also sometimes has to work as a story and a sequence of events too rather than just character piece after character piece.

I think the editor’s text is important to understanding Shuu’s viewpoint too. He still sees himself as a sword to Kaneki, which is to say not a person but rather an asset to use. Both of those viewpoints are equally dehumanizing, Kaneki being a tool for Goat, and Goat being a tool for Kaneki, and ideally what should happen eventually is Kaneki the person and also Goat’s individual members being recognized and cared about as people too, and more than just the ones that Kaneki individually cares about as people but we’re obviosuly not there yet and we can’t really get there with Kaneki as a giant worm either.

Perhaps it’s not the most clear or smart way to tell it, but basically all this chapter does is motivate the characters involved not to give up on Kaneki. “There’s still things I need to say to him” that’s what the majority of the goat members agree upon.

When Kaneki the person is there, that’s when it makes more sense for the flaws in his actions to be addressed. 

[themattress]

Ranking OUAT’s Villain Redemptions

10. Mr. Gold / Rumpelstiltskin - What redemption!?  Rumple was an out-and-out villain in S1, and he didn’t truly change at all in S2 no matter how often he publicly restrained himself to appease Belle.  S3 was the only time he made an honest effort at redemption, but it was fraught with failures, temptation, doubt and relapses into asshole behavior.  The only thing that made it succeed was that it occurred in a very specific set of ideal circumstances...and that Rumple died at the end of it all.  After being resurrected and losing his son, Rumple quickly regressed into the villainy he’s comfortable with, becoming the Big Bad of S4.  In S5, we had that brief “hero Gold” arc that was not only morally insulting and nonsensical, but also pointless since he ends up choosing to become the Dark One again by the end of it...the Darkest Dark One, in fact, who is thoroughly unpleasant up until the very end of S6, where - after being faced with the consequences of his own evil actions, consequences that include the potential destruction of the entire multiverse - he does the right thing once, which leads to Belle taking him back, allowing him to help raise their son, and him getting accepted at the big family dinner by all of his victims. What the actual fuck!?  That’s not a redemption - Rumple hasn’t repented of his evil ways, he hasn’t given up his dark powers, he hasn’t sacrificed one damn thing, and he only did something good after his own evildoing backfired on him. He is literally responsible for the crisis he helped resolve.  And yet he gets rewarded with his own “happy beginning” with his abused wife and helpless infant son?  Fuck off, A&E.

9. Regina Mills / The Evil Queen - I technically consider Regina to have the worst redemption on the show since I refuse to accept Rumple as even having a redemption. Regina’s first attempt at redemption happened quickly into S2, some may argue too quickly. While it seemed to be going well at first, it soon became apparent that she was only doing it in order to regain custody over Henry rather than out of any true remorse or desire to change. The moment something goes wrong for her, she turns evil again, and ends up being even more heinous a bitch than she was before.  If the show had been operating under any logic, Regina should have been considered irredeemable at this point.  But instead, she is given another chance, and for most of S3 she does a surprisingly good job...until the last five episodes, where her redemption is suddenly fasts-forwarded so that she receives all the rewards she has not yet done anything to deserve: a new boyfriend, easy reconciliation with Snow and with Henry, a True Love’s Kiss with Henry that breaks the Dark Curse, light magic out of nowhere that defeats her previously more powerful sister, and the complete trust and forgiveness of the entire town despite her past victimization of them. But then one thing goes wrong for her, and while she resists falling back into full-on villainy, she still returns to being a whiny, spiteful, self-pitying woman-child who is always looking for the easy way to get what she wants and occasionally does do evil things to achieve this, yet is paradoxically treated by the rest of the cast as a messianic saint, someone who has come so far and worked so hard and deserves her happy ending, with the narrative frequently giving her all of the big hero moments at Emma’s expense.  In fact, much of her development comes at Emma’s expense, since A&E clearly see her as the true star of the show.  And that show just isn’t any fun to me.

8. Cora Mills / The Queen of Hearts - This one is just bizarre. Cora was a villain of the highest order all the way up to her death, where she had a dying epiphany as to where she went wrong in regards to her daughter.  But for some reason, her death is treated as such a tragedy and as such a source of guilt for Snow (not how she killed Cora, no, just that she killed Cora at all) that one would think Cora redeemed herself before her death, which just isn’t so.  Things got iffier when Cora showed up in the Underworld during 5B, and after doing one good deed in reconciling with her daughters and getting them to reconcile with each other, she is allowed to go to Heaven.  While I personally find this acceptable since Cora actually did repent of her villainy and fully acknowledge that she would deserve to go to Hell if that was her fate, I can see why many would be bugged about one of the most evil villains in the show’s history being shown going to Heaven while other characters higher above her on the moral scale - Milah, Gaston, Auntie Em, and even Prince James in the same episode - are condemned to the River of Lost Souls.  When put into that context, it seems less like a good lesson on divine mercy and more a case of creator favoritism toward the character. Cora probably should have just remained in the Underworld to continue her redemption.

7. Maleficent & Ursula - Two thirds of the Queens of Darkness (the other one, Cruella, was an irredeemable sociopath in life and in death), both of them have things that work about their redemption and things that don’t work.  For Ursula, her redemption comes when, after Hook brings her father Poseidon to town who restores her singing voice, she realizes that her true happy ending wasn’t recovering that but reconciling with her father, who is now repentant of his past patriarchal abuse of her.  This is all well and good, but Ursula really didn’t do all that much evil for the redemption to be powerful.  She always came off as lost and confused and hanging out with the wrong crowd, not truly villainous.  And then there’s Maleficent, who has the opposite problem.  Her happy ending is also reuniting with a family member, her long-lost daughter Lily.  It’s sweet and touching, but it also glosses over all of Maleficent’s established villainy.  Maleficent cursed people, burned people alive, destroyed a village, was deemed as having the greatest potential for darkness by a Chernabog, but none of it matters in the end. Even her sworn vendetta against Snow and Charming (whom were made to look like villains and Maleficent their victim) is abruptly dropped and she’s suddenly getting along with them. It’s pretty much Regina’s bullshit redemption but on a mercifully smaller scale.  Since Maleficent did not actually repent of her evildoing, the show should have treated her character accordingly - as still a villain and a potential threat, but also a loving mother.  At the end, she’d be the gray-shading which is complimented by Ursula’s white and Cruella’s black. 

6. Tinkerbell - Aside from the villain-to-hero journeys of Regina, Rumple and Hook in 3A, we also got Tinkerbell, who was an ex-fairy turned trusted partner of Peter Pan.  The Nevengers persuade her to help them, but only if there’s something in it for her (namely, leaving Neverland and being able to confront the Blue Fairy about getting her wings back).  In the end, inspired by Regina and Hook’s progress, Tink learns to believe in herself and earns her fairy status back.  It’s a nice little arc, but it’s missing one crucial detail - the nature of her villainy.  We never see her and Pan interact, we never learn exactly what kind of work she did for him to make him trust her so much.  We see that she’s a scavenger who is prone to violence, but that’s it.  Wendy, Pan’s longtime prisoner, is friends with her, so she couldn’t have been all that bad.  This lack of clarity undermines what is otherwise a good redemption.

5. Zelena Mills / The Wicked Witch -  For the most part, Zelena’s redemption in S5 and S6 really works.  She was never as bad as Regina, so already her changing is more believable. When she realizes that her wicked lifestyle is actually harmful to her baby daughter, she allows Regina and Robin to take her in order to keep her safe.  She doesn’t join Hades despite him professing his love for her until she thinks she can use her own love for him to redeem him.  And when it becomes apparent that it won’t and never will, Zelena kills him in order to protect her sister and everyone else in Storybrooke.  When Regina is an ungrateful bitch and blames her for Robin’s death, Zelena is ostracized from everyone else.  But even when the Evil Queen comes along and tempts her to return to her wicked roots, Zelena keeps firmly out of the conflict, preferring to remain a neutral party for her baby’s sake until her hand is forced and she joins the side of good despite it not really getting her anything and no hero save for Belle caring much for her.  This commitment to doing the right thing comes to a head when she actually sacrifices her magic, the thing she’d defined herself by for so long, to help stop the Black Fairy, a sacrifice Regina should have made long ago but never did. After this, the other heroes fully embrace her as one of their own.  It’s a great redemption, but there is one snag - Robin, both the man and the baby named after him.  The baby Zelena conceived through deceiving Robin into thinking she was Marian.  By - let’s not mince words here - raping him.  It’s not quite as bad as Regina with Graham, especially since Zelena didn't kill Robin and Robin was willing to give her a second chance of his own volition prior to his death, but it’s still rape all the same, and to have the rape victim die while the rapist keeps the baby is extremely squicky, no matter how surprisingly good a mother Zelena may be. This one aspect casts a shadow over Zelena’s redemption and it never should have happened. 

4. King Arthur - Arthur was a villain in 5A, a corrupt monarch obsessed with fulfilling his destiny and ruling over Camelot at all costs.  While despicable, Arthur was also somewhat sympathetic too, as he became more evidently pathetic as the arc went on and Merlin really did screw him up by filling his head with visions of a future he felt the need to achieve.  In the climax of 5B, Arthur escapes prison only to be promptly murdered by Hades.  Down in the Underworld, Hook confronts Arthur with the truth: he was a terrible king and will probably go to Hell if he doesn’t do something to atone.  Note that at first this is the reason why Arthur helps Hook in his quest for the book: he just wants to avoid the consequences of his villainy.  But as the episode goes on, a clear change in Arthur can be seen as he sees the depth of Hook’s feelings for Emma, his bravery and his nobility...in this lowly pirate, Arthur sees the man he had wanted to be and failed to become, making him feel true remorse.  Arthur then becomes invested in the quest to the point where he is willing to sacrifice himself to the River of Lost Souls so that Hook can get to the book.  And at the end, when a doorway to Heaven is open and Arthur has the chance to go through it, which was the whole reason he joined Hook on this quest at the start, he declines and opts to stay in the Underworld, to rule it as a benevolent king and make it a better place, which a short on the S5 DVD shows that he did indeed do.  In just one episode, Arthur had one of the best redemptions on the show, from a selfish cad to a noble hero.  While like Zelena, he also has a rape-like situation with Guinevere that remains untouched upon (he used magic dust on her to keep her from leaving him and turn her into his compliant wife), there was no confirmation of actual rape and even some proof against it (he was too consumed by his obsession with Exaclibur to do anything romantic for Guinevere, let alone sexual), so it’s not quite as harmful to his redemption.

3. Ingrid / The Snow Queen - Ingrid is an even better example of a great redemption being accomplished in just one episode.  Despite being terrifying, prejudiced and insane, Ingrid was also one of the most tragic and sympathetic villains to ever be on the show, with an absolutely heartbreaking backstory and her sole motivation being to have a family who loves her.  She cast the Shattered Sight spell in order to make everyone in Storybrooke kill each other save for Emma and Elsa, who would become her new sisters, but when Anna shows her a letter from her sister Gerta expressing remorse for imprisoning her and confirming that she still loved her, Ingrid realizes the error of her ways.  In one of the best redemptive villain lines in the series, she says “I am a monster. Not because of my powers, but because of what I let them turn me into!”  She then reverses the spell at the cost of her own life, telling Emma, Elsa and Anna that they are all amazing people and that she is proud of them, then saying that her happy ending will be to join her sisters in death.  The whole scene is acted and scored beautifully, and I can’t help but cry anytime I see it.  By acknowledging what she did wrong and accepting responsibility for it, Ingrid is one of the show’s best redeemed villains.

2. Anastasia / The Red Queen - One of the two main villains of Once Upon in Wonderland, Anastasia quickly began to look more appealing, sympathetic and redeemable in contrast to the monstrous villainy of Jafar.  Her main crimes, apart from aiding him, were giving up love for power and being a neglectful ruler to her people...and she was helping Jafar in the hopes of getting to change the past so that she never did any of that.  When this failed and it became clear that she wasn’t going to be able to take the easy way out, Anastasia gave up on her aspirations and finally took full responsibility for being a terrible queen, vowing to make it up to the people of Wonderland by fighting to save them from Jafar, a fight that she stuck through even when it got her tortured by the Jabberwocky and then murdered by Jafar. In the end, her redemption earned her life, being revived by the water from the Well of Wonders, and won her back the love of Will Scarlet.  Years later, she is still ruling Wonderland but now as the White Queen, who actively works to bring love, hope and joy to her people. Anastasia’s redemption is everything that Regina’s is not, with her being fully self-aware of her villainy, truly remorseful of her actions once she starts her redemption, and with purely altruistic motives - doing the right thing just because it’s the right thing and she wants to help make amends for her past mistakes.  Add in Emma Rigby’s performance and it’s nigh-perfect.

1. Killian Jones / Captain Hook - Hook’s redemption starts at the very end of S2, inspired by his regrets for failing Baelfire long ago and not wanting to do the same with his son Henry, putting aside his desire for revenge in favor of doing the right thing.  He had everything to gain by not making this decision, but he does so anyway.  Throughout 3A, he does an admirable job helping the heroes through Neverland and returning to being the honorable man he was long ago, although his motives aren’t entirely pure as he hopes to woo Emma. When he is separated from Emma and gives up hope of reuniting with her, he tries to go back to his villainous pirate ways, but is overcome with remorse after doing so, realizing that his time with Emma changed him to the point where it’s not just for her that he wants to reform for, but for himself too.  When he learns that Emma’s family is in danger and that he must find her and get her to go help them, he trades the Jolly Roger - and his home, crew, livelihood and reputation along with it - in order to do so.  He continues to do good not to “get into Emma’s pants” but to ensure her happiness regardless of whether she ever returns his feelings, and to be the hero he now sincerely wants to be. His redemption comes to a climax in S5, where he becomes evil again after Emma forces the Darkness upon him to save his life, and is once again put into a position where he’d gain everything he wants by following through on his villainy, but remembering that this is not the man he wants to be, he once again does the heroic thing instead, at the cost of his own life.  In the Underworld, Hook learns the value of self-forgiveness and accepts the possibility of a second chance at life, but when it looks like this is impossible, he promises Emma to move on to Heaven when she asks him too.  Unable to do so until his unfinished business of helping Emma defeat Hades is resolved, Hook has a heroic quest alongside Arthur where he proves just how far he’s come, and when he goes into the light to fulfill his pledge to Emma at the end of it, he is instead resurrected by Zeus, deeming him a True Hero worthy of being reunited with his True Love.  

Hook’s redemption is superb not just because of the events that transpire and his growth throughout it, but because of his overall attitude toward the whole thing.  He knows full well that he was a villain, is remorseful for every crime he committed and takes full responsibility for them, and whenever the chance to make things right with someone he wronged comes up, he takes it.  It takes a long time for him to fully get past his self-loathing for his past sins, as he doesn’t feel entitled to happiness just because he’s changed and is doing heroic deeds now, as opposed to Regina, Rumple and initially Zelena who all believed themselves entitled to a happy ending, their crimes and victims be damned.  And lastly, also unlike them, every privilege that Hook has by the end of the series he has earned through his own hard work at redeeming himself.  He has no leftovers from anything he gained as a result of his villainy, even the rings on his fingers have changed from ones that belonged to dead victims to new ones he presumably fairly bought.  His new wife and family, his friendships with others, his house, his ship, his job as deputy sheriff, his very life...all thanks to his heroism and the good karma it rewarded him with.  All of this is why Hook’s redemption is truly the series’ finest.

[malpractice123]

The Chronicles of M&M... FINALE

So, it's been almost 3 years since my last post of the Chronicles of M&M. After I posted that, a lot of people messaged me with words of encouragement or questions etc. Well, here's an update because I kinda feel obligated to post it. I've read stories where the author doesn't finish them or I can't find the next part and it tears me apart trying to figure out what the hell happened, so here's what happened. Be warned, it's a long one (also, slight trigger warning for self harm and weight issues) So on November 29th, 2014, my high school had its last football game. I'm not sure what information I put in my last posts, but I know I said he was section leader of the sousaphones and I was section leader of the flutes. So, this was our last football game of our senior year, our last marching band show. I had wandered up towards the sousaphones and was talking with them during our free time, pouting about how he was off somewhere else doing God knows what (I found out later that he was looking for me). Finally, in the last couple minutes of our free time, I found him by the side of the bleachers. We huddled together for warmth and he put his arm around me (squee!). I stole some of his fries and we huddled together until free time was over. After the game we went back to the bus and cuddled up under a fleece blanket, trying to get warm. This was the day we had our first date. We went to the movies after the game and saw Big Hero 6. I spent most of the movie either cooing at the adorableness of Baymax or begging him silently to hold my hand (he didn't until we were walking out of the movie theater). Fast forward to December 10th. We have our first kiss in his pick-up truck. I still know exactly what I was wearing. We spent every moment together that we could, either just sitting in the parking lot after school or meeting up at one of our houses. We went to our band's semi-formal (it was my first dance where I had an actual date) and we went to prom together. So finally, it comes to leaving for college. We were both really torn up about this. We were scared that, even though we would only be half an hour away from each other, the distance would hurt our relationship. During this exchange we both cried in each other's arms for a very long time. Eventually I mustered up the ability to give him what I had planned to. I took my special bow ring off of my finger and gave it to him. I told him that, whenever he missed me or was having a particularly difficult time at school, that he would always have me and that no matter what, I'd be close to his heart. He put it on a chain and never took it off. He fiddled with it constantly and I don't know if he ever took it off. Over the next year I fell farther and farther in love with this man. He was my best friend in the entire world. He knew all of my secrets and knew the best ways to make me smile. Like a naive teenager, I started visualizing our future, naming children, talking about how the house was going to look and where it was going to be. He was 100% in on this plan and often helped make them. Usually his were the more fun, outrageous ideas (i.e. a wave pool in the backyard) and they always made me laugh and feel good because he was so passionate about the future and he knew exactly what he wanted out of life. I couldn't imagine my life without him. We bought bus tickets to get from place to place as neither of us had cars. We went to football games and went ice skating. I met all of his friends and he met mine. Over the summer after freshmen year, we both had jobs that worked us hard, but we managed to hang out a lot. My favorite was when we went to a drive in movie at a place close by. We packed up an air mattress, a bunch of blankets and pillows, and watched the movies while snacking on kit-kats and Reese's. We watched the Independence day fireworks together, and I couldn't have asked for a better time. I couldn't imagine my life without him. Sophomore year of college things changed. He was able to have his truck on campus so that would, supposedly make it easier for us to see each other. We were both excited and hopeful that this semester would go better for both of us. However, he was insistent on focusing on grades and school. I could accept this. Around Halloween, we started talking less and less. We grew distant and I was scared. I didn't really have all that many friends in college, and wasn't involved in much. So I felt like all I had was him. And I thought I was losing him. When I came back for Thanksgiving break, he told me we needed to talk, and he met me at my house after I had a doctor's appointment (I'd been having a lot of health problems and I didn't know what the heck it was). When he pulled up he got out and he was crying. He told me he thought we should break up. He said we didn't have anything in common anymore and he wanted somebody who went outside more (I'm addicted to Tumblr, what the hell was I supposed to do). Anyways, we broke up, but kept talking. I couldn't lose my best friend like that. I was really upset that the reason he didn't think we should date anymore was the fact that we didn't​ have anything in common anymore. So I typed up all my reasons for why I didn't think we should break up. He said he'd think about it. And a couple days later (officially the 30th of November, the day after our 2 year anniversary) he asked me to be his girlfriend again. My life was back in order. I had my best friend back. Things went back to the way they were. It was almost like nothing had happened. The second semester started and with it came hell in the form of school and workload. We became very wrapped up in work, and after February, we practically didn't see each other at all. Spring break came and went (we had different times for break, which made things really shitty) and we were back in school. His birthday was in March so I figured I'd go back on birth control and surprise him for his 20th birthday (we are both consenting adults, deep breaths). But we didn't see each other for his birthday. Every time I wanted to see him there was some reason we couldn't. Exams or projects for his dorm council etc. We stopped skyping (it had been our lifeline for the past 2 years). My grades were gradually getting better after the hell my health had put me through, and even though I felt like a piece of me was drifting away, I figured that it would get better in the summer when we could see each other without school stress and homework. Fast forward to the last day of school. He had been out of school for a week at that point and at home for a week off before he started working at the same place he did last year. My parents spring on me that my dad had accepted a job in another state (the state we are originally from) and we were moving at the end of the summer. My heart drops and I realize that moving out of state wasn't going to bring us together. If anything it would do the opposite. So I did what I usually do when I don't know what to do and I'm scared and upset. I called my best friend. I told him what was happening, and I asked if he would just try, try and keep this up and work on it. I would still be going to the same college, so we'd be close during school, but I'd be living in a different state at other times. The silence I got from that was deafening. Finally it got out that he realized he didn't love me the same anymore. That he wasn't willing to put in the effort needed for this relationship to work out. And that maybe it wasn't meant to be. At this point I clarified that this was it, that we were over, and hung up, going to throw up in the bathroom and cry the rest of my guts out. Over the next couple days we continued to talk. I knew that this time it was over for real, and no matter how much effort I poured into it that it wouldn't fix it. But I still needed my best friend. Especially now that my family was moving. I was asking him reasons why and everything. Surprisingly, when I talked to him about things I was okay, but whenever my parents came to talk to me about something or offered that we go out and shop or whatever (looking at new colleges was a very big thing at this point) I would break down and regress back into the depression and slight self-harm tendencies that I'd gone through before we had moved to the state we live in now. But talking with him made it better. I could calm down, he could say something to make it all better. Eventually I got up the courage to ask the question that had been going through my mind, if him not being in love with me the same way had anything to do with my weight. He admitted that, although he didn't want it to, my weight had been a factor. Side-notes about the weight - When we started dating in high school I was just under 140 lbs. I was happy with my body and my weight. Then college. Everybody knows what happens in college. My freshman 15 turned into a freshmen 30, then a sophomore 30. Now I weigh approximately 190 lbs. I had been working hard and have lost 10ish pounds in the past couple months because I wanted to work on it. I wasn't happy with my body and it was getting really frustrating that I didn't have clothing that fit. So I had started to work on my weight. I knew that I didn't look the same as I did in high school. And I wasn't proud of that fact. This was something that I had shared with him frequently. He encouraged me to start working on it. I found a friend and we had started to work out together. Anyways, before y'all get all uppity about how my weight shouldn't have any say in the relationship and it doesn't matter what you look like etc, if he didn't find me attractive anymore, then he shouldn't have to pretend he does, right? He was upset about this himself, saying it made him feel like somebody he didn't want to be, who valued looks more than personality. I understand where he is coming from, and this won't send me on a spiral into eating disorders and such. Currently (it being just over a week since this happened), I am okay. I've started more vigorously adhering to a diet and have plans set in place for exercise. I've been accepted into a nursing program at a satellite campus for the college I have been attending for the past 2 years. I got a 93.3% on the TEAS exam (a nursing entrance exam where the national average is a 64%) which placed me in the 99th percentile of people who have taken it. This post isn't meant to bring in pity or sympathy. I'm not trying to gain attention for what happened to me or anything. I just wanted to finish out something I started almost 3 years ago and talk out what happened because typing all this stuff felt really good. If anybody is still reading at this point, feel free to PM me any questions or anything, I'd be happy to answer them. Anybody needing advice is welcome too, though I can't promise any professional advise or anything, remember, I too am merely a Tumblr addict and you may just get a response with a picture of a cat or a Harry Potter meme… Less than three, Me :)