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Antithesis Crucifix: Journal of an Orthodox Melancholic

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means (including electronic, photocopying, mechanical, manual or otherwise) without the prior express & written consent of the owner of the copyright of this book. ISBN#: 978-1-387-29727-6 ©2014 Valerie Lynn Stephens. All rights reserved.

ANTITHESIS CRUCIFIX:

JOURNAL OF AN ORTHODOX MELANCHOLIC

A WORK BY VALERIE LYNN STEPHENS

My dreams speak in the only language that I can understand. I trust only in their raw, uncensored reality. I am not sane, they say, for I see only the Truth. Yet I see through the lies embraced as Truth-and so am I even more insane, they tell me. I am not of sound mind. But what is sanity? What is insanity? Perhaps Machiavelli was right, that you must lie to win in this world.

Where has faith in righteousness gone? I am lost, but I am found. Things are different now. I am irrevocably changed. There is a point of no return where, once it is breached, the only thing left to do is to be. This is the beauty of growing older not only in body, but in mind. Old obsessions fade, to be replaced with an eager new confidence to bring to actualization all of the ambitions, ideals & dreams which devout reverie once sought to compensate for, or perhaps, could only idly ponder.

There is only one way to go henceforth-forward. I am not conditioned to walk backwards for too long of stretches. Nature will work for us, we must just trust in it. The nature of humankind is not to just someday die, but to realize what we are here for in the first place-to live! We are here to love! We are here, to actualize into that which the Divine Himself bore us for. All of the books of philosophy cannot match the Empiricist wisdom which Aristotle himself touted. We cannot be brought to any feasible conclusion about the true meaning of life without living the questions.

And what of those maladies, so pervasive & pandemic, brought about by the human condition-which is what blinds most to the very meaning of life-their own fear of their own intractable human condition manifesting itself in its various nightmarish guises?

There is no cure, and this, in & of itself, is The Answer, The Remedy. No metaphysician can heal that which presents no true illness other than psychosomatous & idiopathic.

But why should one want all of the answers when the very joi de vivre lies in these very vagaries & challenges which having “the answers” for would merely seek to betray? Transcendence is often misunderstood. It is not manifest in the loftiest states of being & consciousness, but in the nerve where foot meets earth, firmly & stoicly.

The eloquence of Life holds me in catatonic reverie, & I cannot even begin to express my ambivalence towards it without feeling both a fool & a criminal. The earth revolves daily around my dizzying evolution & I find my soul thrust into panoramic, kaleidoscopic mutations of internal climate with each tumultuous turn. Today forecasts a long, hot summer.

It forecasts one of those days where the Sun hangs like a half colon in the sky, a proclamation of something related to one's own contemplations, but non-sequitor. And sometimes the Sun emanates a hot point of exclamation, or uncontested proclamation. At other times, it is merely a big period, which looms perilously low & understated behind a lazy haze of cumulonibi.

On other days, there appears to be a little black dot thereupon its surface, glaring like the eye of some merciless predator, lying in ravenous wait for your next move. And it is on these days that one longs for a nuclear winter.

Yet even on those days, the heart still flutters beneath the breast in eager anticipation for something it cannot quite explain. It can never quite explain, which merely further serves to validate the utter weight & significance of that very something which eludes its identification & translation-into-action.

In this existence, mysteries always loom large in the surrounding air, despite those “airs” which human beings affect, of order & logic. For no matter how loudly & clearly Logic articulates itself into one's ear, the human heart possesses a logic all its very own. For how else can one explain when the question is posed concerning which voice to listen to, the reasoning mind chatters away deafeningly, while the heart is always content with a knowing and deafening silence? All of the life is slowly being squeezed from my soul. I suffocate in my own paranormal paranoia, as ghosts of Shame, Humiliation & Disillusionment threaten to brand my spirit with systematic demise by stagnation.

All of the anger & self-hatred must be exorcised from my cognizance or I will be possessed by the most immortal & omnipotent demons of the all-those which the Self creates for its own torment, ravaging edification & ultimate annihilation. For truly, this is often that creation of human design crafted with as much techné & mastery as one can muster. To create to create? Or to create to destroy? To destroy to create even? All nevertheless, are methods employed to bring equal measures of Absolution.

To destroy to destroy is perhaps pure Art at its height of depth, for that which lays the foundation for Nature's aesthetic architecture of Catharsis is that which also reveals Truth in its most redeeming anti-Manichean multiple manifestations.

To create to create is Destruction at its most subversive acuity in a world where the birth of Death is ever ordained. Yet the absurd tragi-comedy of the human drama is rarely unmasked for what it truly is-the same cog in the same old wheel of every man's mental machinery-the hunger to transcend that irony-brickaded barrier, housing as it does on each side, that which is natural & that which is sublime & transcendent.

The former being that which one needs to survive, the latter being that which one needs to thrive. Must we learn how to love? Must we learn how to hate-or is love indeed hate properly sublimated, therefore making Love & Hate beneficial bedfellows? A mind questioning things it cannot comprehend. A heart grasping desperately for things once felt. A soul starving from inhibition. A spirit estranged. A body writhing. A voice outspoken-yet still, unheard. A name held in contempt. An instinct weakened. A dream closing. A will crippled. A light, glaring & mocking. A truth forgotten. An honesty brutal, searing & seething. A peace unearthed. A love, a mind, a heart, a soul, a spirit, a body, a voice, a name, an instinct, a will, a light, a truth, an honesty, a peace, corrupt. A redemption, dire.

I have bade the devil to enter & he will not leave.

Oh for what Love is lost has Terror been returned in macabre measure to this iniquitous, frail fleshly ghost down to its crusty crux, leaving a residue, cruelly & compliantly fixed.

And what the mind fails to understand the soul sweetly demystifies through the slow but sure abreaction of implosive transgression, & I fall into a truistic trance of unruly oblivion & inert intuition.

This Shadow follows wherever we go. It needs no light to grant it substantiality or form. But at least I recognize it nowadays.

How long can one live a lie? Can I dance with Hypocrisy for longer than I have been able to bear dancing with Contradiction? Or are they perhaps, one & the same, set apart only by name? When will I truly begin to live for Life rather than for Death? I feel on the verge of psychotic immersion & frenzy. The complex architecture of Self-Hatred & Rage begins to construct itself, housing the space-time causation of an endless Void, echoing mnemonic remnants of humanity lost.

A quieted mind of inert dynamism. A heart filled to overflowing with relatively righteous wrath, the weaponry of Truth's loaded gun, cocked to endless assaults of systematically implosive suicide.

Atlas is on strike but has no idea just how lucky he is.

Everyone feels the insurmountable weight of each their own private lament & burdens, but at least Atlas had a Fate, destined, strictly & clearly pre-ordained by his creator. Everyone but the self feels that anyone's pain except their own is unjustified, insignificant-even blasphemous. But truly, the only heresy ever committed by man is when he fails to recognize that there is indeed such a thing as both solipsistic, subjective Reality & absolute Truth, and that they can & do-must-coexist. Yet the mortal human life is too often spent trying its best to deceive-to turn Truth into Falsity, Reality into Illusion, Myth into Reality. Yet those who embrace this state of being forget that lies have a life force all their own-equally as omnipotent as Truth. The lie will flourish & propagate to the end & the ones seduced into its lurid oblivion will eventually be forevermore deceived-forevermore lost.

The problem posed is not in distinguishing between what is truth & what is illusion. The true task is in extinguishing the fire inside, flame by flame, which lies at the very incendiary root of an individual's choice to embrace Lies over Truth. And lies can present themselves as being just as relative as any deep personal revelation of Truth. But the difference between a lie & a truth is that Truth speaks quietly for itself. Truth needs not be twisted so dexterously 'round the axis of Justice. Truth concerns what is Good & Holy. The lie may pose as Protagonist in the first few acts of any self-penned human drama, but will quickly be shown to be the worst villain of them all by curtain call. Even when one chooses to accept a lie which panders to the best possible interest of those being deceived, Truth will still not be denied, as it is the very air which a mortal soul must aspirate if it is to truly survive. Truth may bind the Soul within its engulfing enthrallment, but it is only through those things that we feel most encumbered by that we can ultimately find that most priceless Freedom of all-the prerogative to not only think, feel & understand for the sacrosanct mission of that of our own self-actualization & salvation, but the Freedom offered up by the Holy Spirit which enables one to know Truth, beyond the shadow of any doubt.

I am the darkness on the velvety black cloak of Night. The shadow of a man, six feet under. Lightning flashed on the surface of the Sun. White on white. Black on black. Grey on grey. Death on a tray, next to Life. Pain enmeshed with Pleasure, that ubiquitously unearthed treasure of infinite measure. Oh let those who've the eyes to see, see me, the distinguishably invisible.

I am filled with Sadness today. I wait for the cleansing but the tears do not come. I am filled with Madness today. I await in anguish for Catharsis but clarity & mellifluence of expression does not come, heeded by the futility of necessary neutrality. Absence of action in any mode betrays sentiment. “How are you today?” That's rhetorical, right? Knowing what one feels with more conviction than knowing what one knows or does not know. And so the “right mind” becomes lost amongst the passive-aggressive clamorings of the Heart's totalitarian rule. I am not sane for I feel too much, again they tell me. I am not sane for I feel too little, they also say. Yet still there is no confusion in the wake of Surrender, & I am finally, blissfully, dead awake.

If only what one feels, hopes, desires & knows could fly across the template of life with the same graceful eloquence as one's thoughts can fly across a page. During mortal hours such as these, every new day is foreshadowed with doom. And when it enters into my dreams, I am always still hoping, although not altogether so sure if this, too, will be another day that I can deftly discredit with the jagged blades of burgeoning wake. The dread is truly this: That one day, I will wake up, to never sleep or dream again.

It's hard to believe one is moving forward in a mind that is in continual rewind. Needing to move forward in a mind in continual rewind, puts one in quite an existential bind. To be or not to be-was never in question. There is equal validity to both the question & the answer-when one knows how to synchronize the dance & the dancer. But when one has not yet mastered this metaphysical maneuver? Then where does one find the lamb for such failings that not everyone else has already slaughtered in endless sacrifice? For trying too hard to spawn self-regard merely leaves one indelibly caught between surviving & just being all that one is not, in order that one may become more fully all that one already is. Someday perhaps the human soul might learn how to see Life as its own adequate cause in & of itself, however simple or profound its movements & variations.

What is this skin? It thins with age as I surrender all joie de vivre to the weathered cemeteries of cognitive sophistication. Where do I belong? In this skin, even I feel a misfit to myself. Nothing fits anymore save my own gnawing loathing. I cringe from within. At least I am better at disguise. Or am I? The skin is just too thin for the fires of earthly Hell that we stoke with our Insolence & Ignorance. What is right, is wrong. What once was wrong, is now right. So, whose opinion matters more? One's own used to suffice plenty. Is there no more fight left within me? Is this merely a state of induced, systematic falling away? To fall away. To just, fall away. I have already been caught. The more I am hated by this world, the more I feel that I may have found my place once again. What am I? I am utterly dehumanized. Have I no heart, no soul left? Mine eyes have seen both too little & too much. I can only pray that God has mercy upon my soul. He has had mercy in abundance all along but-Can I take any more than I already have only to squander it all on shame & self-reproach? I cannot take any more than I, myself, have given. I just do not have the stomach for it. I have already perhaps bitten off more than I can chew. I am not whole until I have given enough to receive without shame or reticence. And thus it seems to be, survival of the misfittest. I've plenty to offer, just seemingly no one to take the offerings for what they are truly worth. I am just not quite myself as of late. Will I ever return? I hope. I pray. I hate hating & being hated, but perhaps this is the mysterious miracle behind how we come, to fully & truly, love.

We all secretly yearn to give way to insanity, for Madness is the Abyss into which all, eventually fall. To lose control of that unnatural selection that barricades the earthen church of all that is both expedient and yet, forbidden. For truly, Life is often lived in masked revolt against the assured & systemic slaughter of one's truest & most ultimately redemptive Essence at the hand of so-called “survival”. This is why that “madness” so classified by the masses is perhaps the least ignoble state of the human condition.

It's been too late from early on. In the beginning, I came to know the end. Yet the end became the serendipitous burgeoning of Infinity & Eternity, totally unbound by Protocol. As of late, I have wondered if the mind is truly “our own”, or if it is merely an intangible extension of Intellectualis Dei, or Diabolus, after all. And my answers to such inquiries have come all too quickly, as they dangle at the border of thought & action like mismarked semi-colons, & rumble on mercilessly like run-on sentences that can no longer tell the difference between mere sophistry & relevancy. But the insinuating syntax of the full sentence of a human lifetime, is that it is all equally relevant & irrelevant. It is a matter of knowing when & where to speak out loud. It is a war of cognition & enterprise, whose casualties often begin & end in mute incomprehension & inertia born from the toxic yet fecund Womb of Apathy. For the world is only as we think it to be, no more, no less.

Love floods the dessicated crevices of the heart & the whole Soul is again saturated with the superencumbrant, unbearable levity of True Freedom & Life. And we always feel so foolish when we realize just how much we've missed, in shutting everything out. For one cannot exclude the Shadow without snuffing out the Light. And we also realize that perhaps the life which we have been living for so long in a state of hypervigilance & terror, was perhaps a spurious projection or substitution for our true Home. Any world outside the Womb of Agape, is not our true dwelling place. Although, these two spiritual realities exist & bear equal relevance to our metaphysical journey towards evolution & salvation, nevertheless. Yet the human Soul was not made to serve two antithetical masters. And in this life, one can come to be seduced by the notion of that “noble savagery” found in Chaos & Anarchy. But one comes to see that this is, indeed just a whim, or a romantic myth & nothing more. And we come to see that Paradox does not exist solely for the purpose of inflicting pain upon human beings, & that it is, in fact, another act of God's mercy & providence. Life & Death have always cavorted in celebratory diplomacy. We must just learn their dance, & join in.

Why are some so afraid of Sadness when it was Sadness from whence they were spawned? The melancholic heart is the Mother of all contemplative serenity & inward equilibrium, & hence, is the Creator of true happiness. The sorrow must come first if the joy is to spring forth from the Chrysalis of Conciliation & Revivification. For the human Soul, is becoming drunk on the blood of the weeping grapes of Solemnity in which this world steeps, & soon sleeps, within the ever-vigilant eye of its brother, Death, that it may be reborn unto the Eternality of its earthly doings.

Not known, yet presumed to to be known by many strange faces, non-kindred spirits. The masque, thus, is adorned again. For Oppression if the true-blood Mother of Stagnation & Existential Ennui & Dissipation. The Sphinx utters the riddle of me, & yet only I have the means to decipher it. Others can only guess not only at the answers to my riddles but also at the questions. And many allow themselves immersion into inauthenticity due to this fear of isolation. But alone is not to be feared-it is to be tongue-kissed. For the individual Fate withers away to nothing fed sweet-bread & wine, within the cold, steel-barred confines of staunch Conformity, & thrives best upon the bitter aliments of Individuation. For only from the Womb of Chaos can true Destiny be born. Without a leader from within oneself, leaders from without shall soon force one to follow to one's own ultimate detriment.

I feel with great doom & remorse, that I have been once more led astray by the ill pursuits of human tendency. Yet I am, in actuality, not unlike the innocent party who must now try to prove my guiltlessness in crimes which I have not committed. Yet they are nonetheless crimes which I feel deep within my Soul I have yet to be fully acquitted of within the private-sectored court of my own self-adjudication & condemnation. And Lady Justice, perched majestically upon the granite mantle of my conscience, appears to have now lost all sense of equilibrium & fairness. To compound matters, she also seems to have regained her sight-the blindfold has been undonned! She no longer wears the blindfold & is also thus, unceasing in her partiality & bias. Yet for the most part, she is not my advocate or my defending witness. Her scales are not calibrated to weigh in my favour or mercy. And when she is my defending attorney, how I deftly refuse her counsel, while simultaneously taking on the role of my own prosecution. And oh! What elocution! What poise! What an expert case I have prepared against myself when I have summoned to the chaotic courtroom of my tormented Psyche to be held time & time again in contempt but never removed. And when the gavel strikes, the verdict is almost always tried, convicted & innocent, the sentence being life in a miserable incarceration facility constructed & kept under unyielding watch & surveillance by none other then myself. The only parole I have the hope of ever receiving is granted only when I stand trial at yet another debasing self-indictment when the time has come once more. For I am indeed, my own best worst enemy. I am prosecutor, jury, judge & executioner. And I am the only one to be feared.

When the light goes out, the shadow is nary to be seen. But be not deceived, for it is just become, engulfing darkness. Seduced by the devil. Once again mistaking carnal freedom for grace, redemption. Yet redemption is coy by its very nature, though not the least bit sly. It is persistent, but not in the least loyal. It is fragile & fickle &, not unlike Fate, will abandon us if we neglect it. For then, both Shadow & Light may be lost to our sight, & henceforth may the darkness better deceive us. Shadow & light must coexist not because they compliment one another, but because, in due time, they will both reign in a state of metaphysical symbiosis, cancelling each other out altogether, & all that will be left, is Infinity & Eternity, an eager new Void, hopeful & teeming with Demiurgic prognostication.

I walk with reluctant command through the icy night air. The atmosphere is thick with loneliness & loss. The loss of things that cannot be regained or reclaimed. Now is now, a moment unlike any other. Things have changed. Things have shifted. The self is changed yet is still the self one has always known due to the persistence of mnemonics weighing heavily upon the Soul. One can't remember to forget the insignificant & trivial pursuit of a blam to soothe the pain no longer being inflicted independent of the Mind's redundant recycling of it. And so the future remains indefinite yet also immanently present & portentous viewed as it is through the splintering mosaic of the past. With every step forward, five steps back seem to follow, thus making every moment seem tortuously futile. Patience is the most coveted trait sought in the training of this unruly former self-child. The fight is not in being, but in becoming. A sustainment of Joy thus becomes shrouded in mystery & the misadventures of a mind compulsive with Skepticism become anguishingly mundane, fostering an incendiary contempt. I have strayed from Truth & Reason, or have they strayed from me? Is Madness, then, perhaps an essential phase of psychospiritual edification & fruition?

My existential nightmare is a nihilist's dream. It is an endless cycle of futility & meaninglessness. I can no longer feel anything, thus does life seem just as devoid. But I am, & life is always indeed, quite something. I do still know this from somewhere deep within. But the merits formerly awarded the poet, the artist & the philosophers are no more. It used to be that people were hungry for Truth. Now they have a seemingly unquenchable thirst & carnivorous taste for only Lies, more so lies of Omission. Ah, but I'm sure they delude themselves that their tastes have merely become more sophisticated, when in fact, the smorgasbord of popular society is both the least exotic, nourishing or sustaining.

This sadness, this deep sorrow no Joy could abolish. How long will my heart remain in chains? I am everything & nothing. I am everyone & no one. I am everywhere & nowhere. No mirror could adequately validate, with its reflective plays upon light & optical nerve, that I am truly or ever was, alive. I know that I am sometimes only due to the words here upon this page communicating themselves. I think, therefore I feel, therefore I write, there I am not altogether unheard & without a voice. I must put it all into words, give it substantiated form. I must transcend this quiescent hysteria that I may rise to a roaring existential crescendo of Being, for it has grown all too hushed in here. And lest my words be misread by the masses with a hysteria not my own, I shall take up the perfect disguise in subtle pseudonym & feigned congruency with them so that my words may reach all minds & hearts, even those indisposed to edification. For my truth is their truth, with one name & one face, of the human race. Although lies are more easily embraced & clung to by most, leaving the world in a vertiginous inertia which even the loyal persistence of the heavenly bodies in their succinct dance of numbers could not rouse to long, purposeful stride towards Heaven's gate. Yet even with Heaven as it lies in wait for those who belong to Him, we invite Hell into our lives, forgetting the ready availability of Heaven's abiding, even here upon this earth. Thus, the question becomes: How can one defy Hypocrisy & Paradox without incurring the fatal wrath of this world? How does one choose a side while remaining sane & whole? For if we do not choose devotion to God & Self, we betray all. For the world meets us only halfway regardless. Thus must we cultivate a mindfulness without mindlessness. Thus must we diligently choose that which edifies over that which comforts & gratifies. Yet sometimes what one must do to “survive” betrays what one must do to “thrive.” But the purpose of this very existence was laid out in the blueprint for this very lesson. All is well with my Soul, for Heaven & Hell both console. I am up high on low. I am everyone's exalting platform. When the barrier is down, everyone merely steps right on over you and goes gayly on their merry way. When the barrier is strongly standing secure & tall, everyone wants to see what's on the other side. Is making oneself scarce the only way to truly be seen? Is making oneself enticingly opaque without being too vulnerably transparent the only way to find anything of lasting value in this world? Yet one can still maintain the cornerstones of one's private cathedral without selling the whole lot to the Devil. And some fine day, I suppose, the fruits of Wisdom, both sacred & secular, will be fit for consumption. Until then, one must continue in the cultivation of the necessary self-awareness & erudition to get one there.

Most want to kill the Darkness inside of them. I want to kill the Light. For I cannot dwell in a world created only by that of my own doubting, reprobate, misanthropic mind. It is a wonder how any human entity transcends such wretchedness to sprout up on wings like eagle's & redeem oneself. But this just it-such a power cannot possibly come from the same self which plots that of its own demise with equal ferocity as that of its own exaltation. It must indeed be, the Holy Spirit which quickens in me when I am saved from myself. And if one does not learn to surrender to this self-sovereign force, one must learn to pray with all of one's heart, one's mind & one's soul, that God sends one straight-away to the very bowels of Hell. For all beings made in imago divinus must first descend to each their own Hades, to one day, enter Heaven.

Most dance around the flames. Then for some, this is not enough. Some must feel the burn, smell the putrid singe of flesh, hair, bone, trembling tendon, before they reach that place of Dionysian frenzy & ecstasy which releases their soul to whirl above them in the cool, ameliorative air, freed from the fiery furnace of the body & the grinding heat of the mind. Most dance around the flames or evade them at any & all costs. How does one go from one who knows well enough to keep away to one who not only plays with fire but must become fire itself? Where has Nature been perverted in this tragic sequence of existential human affairs? Or perhaps, it has been sanctified. When does the wisdom of the archaic mind turn to the Nietzschean, Pelagianistic propaganda of pseudo self-determinism? When does the human organism decide to stop the natural process of evolution itself with the infinite ideals, regiments & schemes brought forth by the preening, prying inventions of its day? When does an innate instinct to self-preserve become an almost a reverse-religious drive to self-destruct? How can one choose to place such blind faith in Death's fatal representation of Life as a means for mere “survival” until the end, over Truth's corrective lens of life for life's sake? This just shows what countless sages, poets, philosophers, & artists throughout human history have wrongly presumed to be so elusive-so inscrutable. The meaning of life is so simple, it is profound. It is to live. To be. To thrive. To self-actualize in imago divinus. But what of “survival” then? Should one live in abandonment of the confines of this amygdalian reflex? Perhaps though, it is not so much a matter of choosing a master as it is in finding a way to accept both with equal deference & regard. Although one must indeed serve only one. But survival as Life's goal is yet another trick of perception which the devil turns upon the human mind. Thus, again, the only way in which one can truly live & survive is by dying. It always comes back to this, doesn't it?

I feel a turn, a change from within myself. It is tinged with a sense of joyous exhilaration & yet portent, an ominous electric terror that I might just be finally emerging from out of the darkness & doubt which have crippled me for so long. The spirit has no memory of a past, only a sense of Amor Fati. And the Soul holds Past, Present & Future within the teeming Womb of continual renewal & Rebirth. I am still the “me” of old that I always knew, & yet, I am new at the same time. And this is where Fear & Doubt writhe & entwine themselves most insidiously. Truly the Future is an arbitrary confine to ponder, as it always, already present, ever immanently contained within the so-called forthwith. Present is future. Now is then. Yet perhaps the most pressing & encumbering inquiry wrought by this human condition is: Which must one guard most intently: the mortal Soul or the Spirit Divine?

The primeval Heart always bleeds while the Neoteric Mind knows not. And so, one must die in that one may live. A dying, not for Life, but a dying unto it. Yet why do we continue asking questions to which we already have the answers. Ah! But that's just it. Questions are content in their passivity. Answers, require action. But perhaps the inquiry in & of itself, acts as a soothing salve for wounded, Icarian wings. Yet the truth of the matter is, that such mortal creatures of flight-simulation must allow their wings to be clipped by their Almighty & Sovereign Creator if they are ever to truly soar. But this life is not a test of the Spirit-perfect in design, He, always is-but is a test of the earthbound mortal human Soul. For Transcendence is not measured in how high one can soar, but in how grounded & devoutly rooted one can remain, in the here & now.

There is no going back now. Something is inalterably changed. Something that was once so essential to my very being I fear has been lost to my cognizance. Is it still, an essential? Was it ever at all? I am malaised with a persistent, dull, idiopathic ache from deep within the microcosm of every cell, born of a benign yet nevertheless very plaguing Anxiety which presages some kind of downfall. Will my new knowledge lead to an corrosive cynicism & spiritual foreclosure? Will I be led, like so many countless other souls have, to a kind of compulsive, egregious nihilism? For there is already enough of this beyond the borders of Solipsis, entering into the realm of Universalism. For all collective chaos is first birthed from deep within the individual soul & ill-will. For once a state of persecutory fixation takes hold within a human soul, it takes a miracle to subdue it. But what is one to do when all of one's former methods of inoffensive posturing are no longer there to catch one's heel before one staggers in even the slightest bit, let alone falls flat. Will one be spared the indignities of playing poster-child for that voluminous Void there in between Gravity & Levity in all of their inherent vagaries, ignominy, disesteem & self-reproach? Or, is it merely inevitable that, in the face of existential peril, the human animal will always digress back to its more vestigially vile methods of preservation? For what else does the endangered one have save the baptismally neutralizing offertory of self-nullificaton? Must one regress to the zygotic phase of precognitive oblivion in such states of human extreme? Thus, the existential melodramas continue, the Antagonist played by none other than Survival, the Antagonist, Thrivance. One cannot serve two dramaturges, indeed. If a gun does not go off by the third act, the production must cease.

I awaken again to abysmal Despair, the source of which is too complex to be known, yet very much felt in full, nevertheless. My anguish exceeds any efforts to conceal it & remain, yet another casualty to gritty, harsh Ecclesiastical Realism. Everything sinks in, consumed by an infinite thirst for the metaphysically intoxicating wine of the inscrutable. Hope, for some, lies in Certainty-for others, in Enigma. For the latter, the science of fact is untactfully exact. Yet the scientology of applied fiction to the former, is a much coveted affliction. Yet both, when taken in proper measure, can be cure for the root of all ills, whenever Passion sleeps & Stoic Resignation further stills. I believe in God because I have seen the Devil. I believe in Heaven, because I have dwelt in Hell. Which one is precedent, antecedent? But such a question cannot always be definitively answered when the sentient organs of the mortal human experience, by Truth's indiscriminate hand, are dealt the first blows of the profane. Yet without first, recognition of Tragedy, even Comedy turns tragic & there is no immediate cause felt anymore for redeeming oneself. But perhaps we do not need tragedy of any turn or kind? Perhaps the true tragedy is the absurd convictions with which we create something out of nothing for our own ravaging edification. But, I suppose, as long as its means justify its ends. But the question still remains, how, once the acknowledgment of all of this remains, do we let it all go in that we may hold on? For the very act of surrender often requires an inscience of self-sense which we may not even be capable of-or, which may not be in our best interest to coddle. Must this life be so consumed by this matter? The answer is always-yes, if it matters. And of course, this is where the inherency of religious doctrination & strivings comes into play. The matter behind mind, & the mind behind matter & what ultimately, matters. The epic struggle between Good & Evil. The Temporal vs. The Eternal. The Material vs. The Discarnate. Indeed, many would posit that this struggle, itself, is at the heart of the very purpose of this human condition & existence itself. And such a statement, however seemingly reductionistic, betrays not legitimacy & relevancy, as more than half of our very lives are directly or indirectly concerned with the aforementioned themes. And it cannot be denied, that no matter how much we attempt to attribute a factor of nihility to our human existence, or to the machinations of the world or the universe, we still sense some pull towards a higher goal far from arbitrary. Even if we are suffering & have a will to die, we nevertheless feel the counterbalancing pull of Life calling us back to it. I have finally concluded that the doctrine of atheism (& indeed it is, the most dogmatic of them all) is the delusion of delusions, Satan's Manifesto, his Magnum Opus. For even the most faithless very fervently believe in their disbelief. And who is to determine what is 'real' & what is 'unreal'? For is not the human imagination-the realm of pure thought-that womb from whence all Actuality is midwifed into being? If only both things could live in such harmony now in what we call “the real world.” For although a synthesis of so-called “reality” & “fantasy” can be achieved in some moments of nouminosity, the deemed “quixotic” will, for the most part, always get short shrift. And for the Artist, the so-called “madman”, the idealist, the romantic, the eccentric genius, the dreamer, this verity of ecumenical existence qualifies the world a living Gehenna. For him, though he is indeed blessed, he is equally, if not more so, cursed due to his the cognitive & existential dissonance & displacement which he experiences daily. But he is fine again when he remembers, that this earth is not our final destination by any means. It is merely a psychospiritual evolutionary tool with which he can choose to smith his soul to Divine proportions, until such time as it is to return to Celestial Nativity.

In the company of the Beast, I am most myself. Though vile & repulsive, I am never alone. Weeping endures for the night, but woeful gnashing of the teeth unifies for all Eternity. I dwell above ground, but nothing here is real. I feed underground where the nourishment is faithfully inflicting & the alibis are irresistibly air-tight & enticing. For here, the lifeblood of God's love runs lukewarm & arsenic beneath the skin, & the shivering upset of the mind's flesh finds more than adequate incendiary preservation in the promise of Hell. And yet as the Devil draws his blunt instrument of Deception from the mind's flesh, you know that you have taken vow to your Eternal Master & have unleashed the one things inside of you that will never let you go-the thing that will not & cannot give up on the task of your Salvation, on your Redemption. One cannot kill the Darkness within, without snuffing out the Light. To be damned, is to be saved.

#literature

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randombubblegum · 3 years

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just. okay. this whole parasocial twitter trashfire is so..... stupid. lol 😐 just the fact that it COULD have been a turning point for how awsten and the fandom interact but he just refuses to learn, refuses to change, and is in fact dedicated to ruining his own life? apparently???

like sure okay all the twitter parxies are going after this one suckup big parxie for being a shitty person, WHICH SHE OBVIOUSLY IS, but theyre completely letting EVERY OTHER PERSON who does the exact same shit as her off the hook?? and even like agreeing with and sucking up to them. these other “big parxies” do the SAMEEE SHIT and just bc theyve turned on their former friend (pretty indicative of what awful ppl they are to gang up on a friend to save their skins but i digress) doesnt mean they havent spent years doing the exact same stupid shit acting like awsten was their friend and overstepping parasocial boundaries and starting fights and drama in the fandom for clout????

and all this started bc awsten expressed negative fan interactions take a toll on him!!! and then what did awsten do immediately after chaos broke out in his little parasocial enclave? thats right, he pretended to give himself a matching tattoo w another “big parxie” who fights for his attention and thinks theyre friends 😐😐😐 like howww HOW do you not see you are causing your own problems!!!! how do you refuse to understand that you should not be close with specific fans and single them out for increased attention from you? do you actually not see that you are fueling these interactions by offering a reward for incessant attempts to get your attention? WHY do you refuse to understand that that is what fuels the toxic parasocial fandom that you claim to hate so much. are you genuinely that fucking brain dead? or are you just unwilling to examine and change your own behavior??????

so now what weve got is the dunces on parx twitter struggling (granted, closer than ive seen them come before) to reach the logical conclusion that everyone with a brain and basic understanding of parasocial relationships (or human interaction in general) has had for years: that awsten should not be singling out specific fans to make them feel like his personal friends because it gives them a god complex and allows them to run rampant in his already insane fandom. and people who see that and want the same attention will suck up to those fans and create this toxic hierarchy among chronically online individuals that then spirals out of control and the blowback then hurts awsten and parx.

and yknow what? it makes being a fan of parx unfun. it sucks!!! even here on tumblr where most of us (most. not all) are sane and understand fan boundaries and why unchecked parasociality is bad, im having a bad time!!! all i do is repeat the same logic, like a broken record in an echo chamber, and bc i refuse to engage w the weirdos causing shit on twitter it never reaches the ppl who need to understand it most. and it sours my view of awsten and quite frankly ruins the enjoyment of engaging w parx?!!??! like how am i supposed to keep writing my silly little fics we all have fun with when i KNOW hes out there on twitter as we speak digging himself a deeper hole. like bitch this is the grave YOU DUG and the fans youve enabled are just the ones to push you in

anyway i dunno its just really sapped my affection towards parx and i like cant enjoy anything they do lately lol :/ like ill see awsten get travis on stage and ill be like “ok cool......... anyway” and it sucks tbh. i want to like parx. i do like parx? but awsten genuinely makes it so hard to be a fan of him and his band lately it is insane -__-

#SORRY TO VENT ITS JUST BEEN RLY RUINING MY FUN THIS WEEK and thinking about parx has made me :/#i dont feel its unreasonable to expect SOME maturity from these 30yos #like my bad maybe for thinkig parx fandom could stop being sooo awful for a sec but the members ARE OLD #older than me at least so why. mcyt ppl are way bigger AND more online and dont deal w this #neg

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awrldalone · 2 years

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18th January 2022, 10.19pm

The disconnect between the rational and the action, between the factual and the feeling, is appalling. Scary. Infuriating.

Why am I so mad if it does not make sense? If I were ten I would cry out of anger. The tears never came to me when they should.

I am not proud of it. I am not happy about it. I told N. he should not think I feel good about feeling what I feel. Jealousy, perhaps. I do not know what I feel. I told him I just want him to be happy, and I do, I really do, I just forgot to say I want him to be happy with me.

I’m selfish. Irrational. Sometimes I feel like the sane part of me is locked in a glass cage, and I see myself do things I know are wrong. Like when I cut, for example. Or when I want to throw up. Or when I get angry.

Anger is a weird feeling. I was never an angry child, just sad, but now that I have become more independent, more reactionary, I need to learn how to face this orange feeling.

Who am I even angry towards? Why am I angry? Is it all the anger I have ever felt suddenly coming to the surface like some illness cause by bad habits?

Is anger any different from sadness? Blue and orange are complementary colors, after all.

N. is angry at me too, I think. He asked me if I am mad at him, and I lied and I said no, I think, and he jumped to the conclusion I am angry. Truth is, I am not sure whether I am angry at him, his new pseudo-boyfriend, or myself. Maybe all three.

At him because I feel like he has replaced me. At his new boy because I cannot help but feel like he is just a better version than me. He’s skinnier and prettier, and he lives close to N., and he probably has the same exact sense of humor as N., and he probably is better to talk to, and he probably never feels as bad as I feel, so he probably never is as hard to deal with. I am not hard to deal with, but sometimes I just need my time.

He said I broke his heart and that I had a year to tell him and that now that he is finally happy I choose to be mad at him because he found somebody who gives him the energy he deserve.

So I am angry at myself because how can I be so selfish, mean, rude. How can I be such a bad person that I am angry at someone I truly love - beyond romance - for being happy without me?

I wish I could sleep for eternity. I always do, but today a little more.

-c.

#diary

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sickassastrology · 3 years

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Who’s crushin on ya!? 😏🥰😍 This is a general pick a pile reading for the collective and your person. It may not resonate for all, so just take what sticks. Feel free to pick just one pile or take a look at them all. but please....be honest with your story. remember that timing is fluid and free will is something we all have. This could have already happened, your going through it, or will happen. Follow your heart always. -E 🌻💙

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PILE 1 ⭐️⭐️⭐️

So pile 1 your person is STUCK on you. This is someone from your past crushin on you. They just cant seem to get you out of their head-its literally making them sick. It’s like they have tried everything to distract themselves. But at the end of the day they are just worried sick, and have to speak whats on their mind. I see two 8s here so that number could be important to you or the connection. This person will be reaching out to you. this person lost you. You walked away from them and continued on with your life. And now that you left them, they are in a state of grief that you aren’t with them anymore. Ohhhhh, I see why you did....they were low vibes, huh? Had additions and didn’t want to come out of them either. Just stuck to their ball and chain. You gave A LOT to this connection. so much so that you were getting drained. I’m seeing a heart monitor, so it was like you were pumping love to this person on life support. And they were taking it. And it helped them, but they didn’t give it back because they didn’t have it. So-you had to leave. im getting that you had NOTHING left. Like even if you tried or wanted to give or have more for this person. they sucked you dry. And this hurt you. I am getting a betrayal energy from this person. They are stalking you too. If you moved on, they are looking at the new person around too. i heard the song “what we could have been“ by H.E.R. I see a guy driving around in his car at night listening to music smoking. So this person is dead in their feelings about you. They are reminiscing a lot about you. Don’t move too fast pile 1 because they are coming back. This person has done some work on themselves while they have been away too. They have been listening to spirit more. You were a divine light to them. you were placed in this persons path to help them with their addictions, help them be a better person. But nope they wanted to stay in the low vibes. like I always say, “and empress will never stay where she isn’t wanted. She will leave-BUT she will always be wanted back. She will always be needed. And this person, pile 1 needs you. i just heard I can’t live without you. So look out because they are coming around the mountain. Good luck. 😉

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PILE 2 🧿🧿🧿

Hi pile 2. Right off....this person wants to come back to you. But right now is a bad time. This person had a third party in the past and because of it, you cut them off. I don’t get the sense that this was a super long relationship. More of the beginning stages of developing into one. But this person was playing the field still. And you were having none of it. Youve been through enough. So you told them like it was, and if they try to come back again. You’ll tell them....again!! 😂 because you stood your ground, they view you as somebody different. I get that this person is used to getting over on people. But not with you so when you turned them away and cut them off. It forced them to make decision. and now their other options, I’m getting multiple people involved. They are done with them now. They have chosen you, and they are looking to come back. But boy oh boy they do have a ways to get there. This person could be at distance from you. I’m getting across water or state so they may travel to get there to you. but they have got to come correct because you are not playing! I get the sense of your not coming off of your throne-you just won’t do it. This group is no nonsense I mean honestly. 😩 your ready. You know your worth, and you are worthy of something good. You will not settle, nooooo not this time. Because youve already been through this. your heart can’t be played with anymore. This person is sad without you. They thought the other options would be better than you. Like oh “ill just go in my back pocket and choose from these”. But none were like you, so because of that....they feel STUPID. they feel so dumb, so sad that when they do come back. they won’t be able to even get a word in because you won’t hear them out. The “others“ are still coming for your person. Talk to them, be with them. But your person is just like no, I dont Want to be bothered, I want my bae back. But hey.....you may or may not be there when they decide to come. like they call you and if you answer then okay but if not, oh well. 😂 this person regrets what they've done. So dumb, so silly. To think....the other options were going to fulfill them. But they were sadly mistaken. pity boy, pity gal. 🥲 this person had options out the buttttt. They were playa playa from the Himalayas. this Person tried to play you, get over on you. And you found out. And said no not me, you WILL NOT do this to me. And they never had anyone do that to them. pile 2 I’m seeing you already know what it feels like to be not considered in a high regard. and You won’t do it again! Like if they want the others...go BYE! and now this person is feeling like they sabotaged this with you. They were living their ego. Somebody who has multiple options like that needs their ego to be fed. Like if the main person they want doesn’t work out or something happens they have backups. They can just go to someone else. Now this person feels like they aren’t enough for YOU! They now lack confidence, they are the jealous ones. They self-sabotaged. So yeah this person will come back with time, but your address may have changed by that time. *I just want to say I’m very proud of this group. A lot of lessons and growth!* best of luck! 😁

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PILE 3 🌸🌸🌸

alrighty pile 3, welcome! So this read will be more intuitive. Ironically enough, this group pulled three cards. So let’s get into it!.....*moment of silence because the energy is rather intense here*. I heard the song “baby come back” by player. I’m feeling this group has moved on from their person tbh. Like it’s just too little, too late for this person. This was somebody you walked away from. There was A LOTTT of love here. but also secrets and fears in this connection. With this person, your energy is coming up as “how could you do this to me-ME. Not in an egotistical way, but because you trusted and loved this person. And they loved you too. So when they did whatever they did to hurt or betray you, it was like how could you. 😩 I’m feeling like you weren’t even mad about it, more disappointed than anything. So after, you started just doing your own thing. Not really concerned with anything or anyone else. Just working on yourself. A reinvention. I’m seeing healthy eating or changing the color of your hair. Wearing sexy clothes (just for yourself) everything you started to do was about self love. And just when you started to move on or found someone new.....HERE THEY COME. like oh wait for me! i gotta be honest with y’all. I don’t feel like this person really cheated on you. I’m getting that maybe you thought they were doing you wrong but they weren’t. or a really bad agruement took place and something was said or done that was very distasteful and you felt betrayed by it. But I’m not getting strong cheating energy. You really thought it was something and it wasn’t and this person tried to explain and it went from there. (Downhill that is) there is so much sadness here. You really though this was going to work out and it didn’t. There has been some time that has passed here. This person didn’t know how to come back. no idea on what to say or do about the situation. But they daydream about it 24/7. They think about being intimate again and how it was like with you (if y’all were). this person wants to play something romantic. I’m seeing a dinner with candles a few drinks. Trying to take it back to the good times. But it took too long for this person. and now this person sees you with someone new And they can’t help but wonder...what if I would have gotten back in time. What if things would have worked out? This person does want to come back without a doubt! But will they? I’m not too sure, because it looks like you have someone else now. *PLOT TWIST*!!!! Pile 3 let me ask you this, do you love this new person like your old flame? I think NOT. You like this new person and everything, but your heart is with the person you broke up with. The new person is diggin you and likes you a lot. But there’s something thats just not hittin the same anymore. And your old person didn’t forget about you either. *i pulled extra cards for this group because I’m really feeling like this just may come back together. I’m getting that vibe heavy. For the outcome. I don’t see y’all coming back together ASAP because theres a decision that needs to be made and you don’t want to choose .your just kinda there. This connection right here is a divine pair. With the lovers and emperor here. But there’s still work that needs to be done by both parties and a conclusion by you. So you will be separated until then. I’m telling y’all...if you choose this person. Do not be surprised if this person gives you a ring. This person may right music or be into the arts. They may give you a gift that comes from their heart. a song. I heard melody. they could play an instrument or that was something you two had In common. The thought you of keeps this person sane while you aren’t with them. The thought of being with you again keeps them together. Like when they a bad day or something. Because you aren’t there physically, them daydreaming keeps them motivated. Pile 3, intuitively I gotta say it. I know y’all gotta make a decision and everything but this is going to work out. Idk when because time is fluid but it’s going to come back together. I’m telling y’all

now. its Going to take patience but in time it will. This connection is strong, y’all love each other too much. This person loves you. And they want to restore this! Like I said, this new person...your not fooling me! Yeah you like them, but that heart of yours didnt go anywhere. I’m going to say for this pile, your going to have to make the first moves because they feel like your done with them. They feel like there’s nothing they can do or say to get you back. WOW, you all have to let me know how this plays out because it will work out! I almost want to cry. can I get an invite to the wedding with a +1 please!?

#love #tarot #relationship #astrology

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chibimyumi · 4 years

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【Response to this post: “What does ‘transgender’ mean?” Explanation through a Pizza and Kuroshitsuji.】

Dear Anon,

I am by no means qualified to make statements about you since I don’t know who you are, but do allow me to suggest a few ideas.

The sexuality that comes to my mind from your ask is something that falls within the spectrum of Asexuality, named ‘Graysexuality’. As for what this is... I think it might be best if you read up on it a bit more if you’re interested, because this is too broad. But for now, I think this website might be helpful.

What you experience is not mainstream at all and rather complex, so forgive me for starting this post in what seems like a “Chibi, where the hell are you trying to go to?”

⚠️Disclaimer: EVERYTHING I will say below is simply food for thought. This post is by no means an essay to convince you (or anyone else) what sexuality you are.The below are simply SOME aspects from which you can consider whether asexuality applies to you. In the end of the day, whether you are ace or not, depends entirely on whether or not you feel comfortable calling yourself as such. ⚠️

1. Enjoyment of Romance vs Participation of Romance

The role of Fiction

First of all I would like to touch upon you saying that you do enjoy reading romance in fiction, but are horrified at the idea of actively participating in a romantic relationship.

I think your “I like it, but I also hate it” is a very normal thing. Fiction is a means through which people explore possibilities that would be impossible, dangerous/scary, or undesirable in real life. That is the whole point of fiction; that we are able to experience a life that doesn’t exist for us, or to re-live a life through someone else (who is just like us, or reversely, very different). That is why fiction matters, oh, people who have not noticed yet.

Perhaps active participation of romance is to you something that is ‘undesirable’ or even ‘dangerous/scary’, and that is why you enjoy it in fiction in the same way some people like reading dystopia stories. For example: “do people want to live in Victorian England where serial murders occur and people need to fight tooth and nail just to get by?” Well, I SURE HOPE NOT! But I know my blog audience consists mostly of Kuroshitsuji readers, and yet we are all here anyway.

Q1: Now, my first question to you is: “Do you perhaps only like the ‘idea of romance’ but not ‘romance it self’? Is ‘romance’ to you personally like ‘murderous 19th century England’? Exciting in theory, but terrible in practice?”

2. Allonormativity and “the broken aces”

Allonormativity - Socialisation and Romance-crazed-society

Our society is BONKERS about romance and treats the ‘achievement of romance’ as a person’s ‘holiest achievement’. Why? Because society wants us to make BABIES. But it can be a pain in the arse (literally), and many people might actually not want it. What did society do? Tell us that we WANT IT and sell us stories of GREAT LOVE sugarcoated in ✨romance✨. (A reminder that the notion of ‘romance’ being linked to ‘marriage’, and by extent, ‘procreation’ has not always existed in human society. It is since the more recent history that humans have come to think of these things to be intrinsically connected.)

Growing up, what is the most persistent question we hear? “Do you have a Boy/Girlfriend?”, “what is your type?”, “is that your partner, or are you JUST friends?” All these questions hold assumptions that it is ‘natural’ for people to want to be in a relationship. In particular, the last phrase also contains two very loaded words, namely 1. ‘partner’, and 2. ‘just’.

Partner: When the question about ‘partner’ is raised, people usually don’t ask: “My partner in what...? Partner in crime? Partner in business?” That is because there is a silent assumption that this refers to ‘romantic partner’. If you do ask what ‘partner’ should refer to, however, the answer will be a variant on: “you know.... your PARTNER, your ‘lover’”. The word ‘partner’ is actually just a term for someone we are supposed to work in a team with. But over time, a ‘partner’ has come to be interpreted as the ONE person you want to bang AND are supposed to be ‘in a team with.’ It is assumed that “you can’t be someone’s partner if you don’t want to kiss them, and share the rest of your life with.” The suggestion that comes with this word is that ‘if you don’t have a romantic partner, you are alone.” (How often do we hear people say: “I don’t want to be alone” when they actually mean: I don’t want to NOT be in a romantic relationship?) This is also where ‘your other half’ as a term comes in; there is an assumption that you are ‘incomplete’ without someone you want to bang (and have babies with).

JUST: As I have said before in this post, the word ‘just’ is a linguistic signifier that something is ‘trivial’ or ‘less important’. In this phrase, the ‘friend’ is assumed to be “not a partner” and likewise “less important than ‘partner’”.

Where am I going with this? As we can see, growing up we have been fed great stories of romance that brainwashed us with the idea that “it is normal to want a ‘partner’, or otherwise you are without someone to be in a team with.” You will be the ‘loner’ and excluded from ‘normal society’. This is allonormativity, wherein not being romantic is condemned. This is why many people rush into relationships, and often rather stay in a bad/abusive relationship than walk away; for fear of being ‘excluded’.

“The sad, traumatised, broken aces”

The next thing I would like to throw out also as food for thought is about the knee-jerk reaction of “did something happen in the past?” when someone says they are not interested in dating or sex. There seems to be a common assumption that if someone doesn’t want ““to love and be loved””, there is something wrong with them.

I really don’t know you, so I am forced to make conclusions based on the little information from your ask. Please by ALL means ignore me if I am wrong, but this is just food for thought:

Q2: “is it possible that you suspected something was ‘wrong’ with you, but have no ‘trauma’ to explain this ‘wrongness’ about the way you feel? And did this suspicion that you are ‘abnormal’ lead you to visit a ‘doctor’, who in turn might have reinforced the idea that it is “odd to not want to be in a romantic relationship without prior trauma”? In other words; were you confronted with allonormativity but find yourself not to fit this norm? (If your doctor did instill the idea in you that it is ‘odd’ to not be romantically inclined without trauma, please tell them to educate themselves on asexuality, please. Please.)

In case it wasn’t clear what I am trying to say: someone does not need to be ‘broken’ to not (always) desire romance and/or sex.

3. Chocolate vs Water

There is a also common misconception among even the people who are familiar with the term ‘asexuality’ or ‘ace spectrum’: namely that asexuality is the same as abstinence or the absence of desire for sex/romance. This however, is very far from the truth.

I would say that sex and/or romance to allo people is like water; it is a necessity. Without water, they feel like they lack a basic life necessity to stay sane and healthy.

To ace people however, I suggest romance/sex is chocolate. Some people like chocolate, some people don’t. When someone says: “I don’t like chocolate”, they are usually met with disbelief: “WHAT, you don’t like chocolate?! What’s wrong with you?”

Ace people who DON’T like chocolate just don’t want it, and they’re not ill or something. They don’t need a sob story of how they choked on it or had an allergic reaction when they were little. These people do not have to hate on chocolate though. Perhaps it is like: “sure, chocolate looks pretty in food art, but do I want to eat it? Nah.”

Ace people who DO like chocolate eat it happily sometimes, but they will survive fine without chocolate. It’s something you must ‘feel like’. Just imagine car-sickness for now. You might love chocolate, but you might not even want to see it when you’re car-sick. You don’t ‘feel like it’.

4. Afterword

Dear Anon, I have rambled quite a lot, but I hope it is comprehensive. Again, I am not trying to impose any labels on you, I am simply trying to list and unpack a few ideas that may not have been considered yet. Again: whether or not someone is x/y/z-sexual depends on whether they feel that label fits them, after all.

To other people, perhaps it is interesting for you to consider these things too? Have you too been battered with allonormativity? Are sex and/or romance water to you, or chocolate?

Anyway, I hope this helps a little bit! (*´▽｀*)ノ

#Asexuality #aromantism #ace #romance #allonormativity #ace stigma #basically an essay

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mandana-the-service-pup · 4 years

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Just a general update on our service dog training. Mandana and I are doing well. I have had her for a little over two months now.

For the first month we focused mainly on basic necessities. We figured out how to live together, what each of our needs are, what behavior we expect of her, etc. The beginning was difficult for all of us and just when we were starting to make real progress we had some health challenges. Doctors appointments, health testing, sprained ankle, and surgery combined with all of the pandemic challenges.

Now that we are starting to get on a schedule again we are buckling down on the regular training program. We are revisiting the first lessons and trying to become fluent (meaning to make her actions reliable). It takes time, practice, patience. I am extra exhausted this week from my chronic illnesses but I am making sure to keep things as steady as possible. She is just a toddler and requires predictability to keep things sane in her world.

I follow along with other service dog teams. It’s not uncommon to see 4, 5 or 6 month old puppies acting like little service dogs. They respond to commands quick and already know a few tasks, but I’m not worried.

1. Social media is filtered. Most people, including myself, are more than happy to document their success. It’s the struggles that get redacted. That’s fine. Service dog training is difficult enough without constantly reminding yourself and others of your shortcomings. I use this platform as a way to remind myself of our progress. It doesn’t make sense to get discouraged by comparing puppies.

2. I follow Kate Olson’s service dog training program. Part of her philosophy is establishing and maintaining a very stable foundation. This can and will certainly slow things down. It took me two minutes to train Mandana to close the door for me. That’s the fun stuff. Teaching her to focus on me by default, come to me when she is having difficulties, normalizing every sight, sound and activity around us, etc. Those are the things that take time. Years even. So yes, puppies can learn flashy tricks super fast. But to train a service dog in such a way that they don’t get burned out after a few years of active duty. That takes time and I’m ok with that.

3. I have chronic illness and am training my own service dog. Service dog training is a full time job for a healthy person. So to take someone who needs assistance and have them learn how to train an animal in advanced service sounds crazy. There are many benefits. It’s $20,000+ cheaper. We get to develop a deep understanding of each other. I can control exactly what she learns and not risk being cheated by a so called “organization”. My husband gets his first puppy. It counts as mandatory physical therapy every single day. The downside is that I am physically exhausted and have many health setbacks as I push myself beyond my limits on a regular basis. It’s slow going as I try to balance my abilities with her needs.

So yes, progress is slow; but in conclusion, I am pleased with how we are progressing and will post a detailed list of what she knows and how she is doing with different activities later.

#future service dog #service dog training

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survivingthejungle · 5 years

Text

soft; jerome x reader

ive never written anything this fluffy in my god damn life... hopefully its not a complete flop? idk

You hadn’t committed a crime.

Regardless of whatever conclusion the jury had come to, you would always maintain that you hadn’t committed a crime. Because, what crime is there in justice?

One of the men who had tried to assault you had just been a little too lazy with his knife, and in a moment of instinctual self-defence, you had pushed it back in on himself.

Unfortunately for you, the other man—the one who hadn’t been stabbed—had managed to pay off the jury to convict you of first degree murder, and the only way you would avoid going to straight-up prison would be taking the insanity plea.

You fought it—oh, how you fought it, tooth-and-nail— but in the end, you and your family didn’t have the resources, and the corrupt rich of Gotham once again won the day. The playout of your hearing had caused outrage throughout the city, and no one believed that you deserved to go to an asylum, but the public backlash surrounding your conviction still was not enough to get the decision overturned.

Some of the staff at Arkham were sympathetic to your case and did all they could to treat you like the normal girl you were, not like one of the truly mentally-ill patients who were there for good reason. Of course, not every staff member was this accommodating— Dr. Strange had been wanting to use you as an guinea pig for a while now. The only thing keeping him from doing so was your family’s constant visits and the fact that he couldn’t be sure that the nurses and guards who knew you and your story wouldn’t rebel against him.

About a month into your incarceration— one down, two to go— there was a change in atmosphere. An unusual burst of activity came about one morning; while you were in your cell, brushing your teeth and washing your face, a handful of guards all stormed past, seemingly guiding someone along with them. You peeked out of the small window on your door, but couldn’t see much aside from the guards and a quick flash of a tuft of bright red hair.

To ensure that your safety was never compromised and that all of the staff knew you were no real threat, it had been decided within the Asylum that you were not to wear the same black-and-white striped garments as all of the other inmates. Instead, you had been given a handful of simple, white cotton slips, and you had been allowed to bring some of your own sweaters, shoes, and socks from home. You had been allowed your own pajamas from home, so you decided to bring two pairs of basketball shots, two t-shirts, and a big sweatshirt to sleep in. In addition, yo also brought a handful of your favorite scrunchies and hair clips, and a notebook and pen to keep track of your thoughts and write letters while you were away. To say you stood out like a sore thumb would be an understatement; you didn’t look exactly like an inmate, you certainly didn’t look like staff, and you didn’t look like a normal teenage girl either. You just looked different, and you were okay with that. You were content just keeping to yourself, minding your own business, writing and reading when you had the opportunity, and getting the hell out of this asylum.

Until recently. A new inmate had recently been admitted; around your age, tall, vivid red hair, an unnerving laugh, and arrested on a count of matricide. When they brought him in, he was strapped up in a straight jacket and being wheeled around. He caught sight of you in the rec room and winked, and you, being caught in a trance-like daze, had simply lifted your hand and waved with a straight face. It didn’t help that he was an objectively attractive guy; if you had seen him anywhere outside of an asylum, you probably would’ve heart-eyed him with your friends. But you were in an asylum, the both of you, so you decided to maintain your earlier resolve of keeping to yourself and not interacting with anyone else.

The next day, you saw him come into the rec room. You were sitting in an old, worn-out bean bag reading one of the old hand-me-down books from a shelf in the corner. It was Madame Bovary, a title you’d heard repeated many times but never really looked into until now. You were halfway through and so engrossed with the tragic story that you didn’t notice a presence seat itself beside you until you heard a voice speaking.

“Hi gorgeous, I’m Jerome.” It was the redhead from yesterday, grinning at you.

“Hi. That’s not my name,” you responded, pulling your eyes away from him and back to your book.

“Well then, by all means, spill! What can I call you?” His voice was deep but had a childlike lilt, like everything he said was purposefully over-theatrical. He placed his chin on his fist, staring intently at you.

“My name is (Y/N). I don’t really wanna talk to anyone right now, so can you just leave me alone?”

“Jeez, just trying to be polite… Y’know, a girl could really use some friends in a place like this.”

“No, not really. I’m fine how I am. Thanks, though.”

He paused and looked at you quizzically as though he had just noticed something that he hadn’t before. “Hey, how come you don’t wear stripes like the rest of us, huh?”

“Because I’m not like the rest of you. I’m not supposed to be in here.”

“Ugh, believe me, babe, I tried that line too. Didn’t work. C’mon, what’d you do to get in here? Now I’m curious,” he prodded.

You were silent for a moment. Some people had no problem admitting that they had done something like that; in fact, some reveled in it. But you were not the kind of girl who could just openly declare that I killed a man. “...It was self defense.”

“Oh yeah,” he lightly scoffed, “Then how’d you end up here, and not scot-free out there?”

“This is Gotham,” you shot back, “There’s no justice in this city. If a rich man wants a girl locked up, she gets locked up. End of story.”

“Ain’t that the truth, sister.” He let out a sigh and leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. “Tell me something, though,” he started, staring at you. “Are you being serious?”

“You tell me… I’m already in an asylum. If I was really guilty, I would’ve admitted it by now, right?”

“Huh.” He shook his head, looking away from you. “Huh. You got me there. Well… that sucks for you, doesn’t it?”

“You’re telling me; I’m the one wrongly incarcerated.”

“Hey! That’s perfect! So you really do need a friend in this place, otherwise all the rest of these crazies are gonna eat you up…” he got closer to you before continuing. “Y’know, it’s really not safe for you here if you’re the only sane person. I think we should be friends.”

“If it gets you off my case, then sure, I guess.” A grin lit up his face and he leaned back out of your personal space; he did not, however, show any signs of leaving you alone anytime soon. “Will you leave me alone now, please?” you asked.

“What kind of a friend would I be, leaving you alone out here to fend for yourself? Nah, see, these other guys in here, they’ll do bad things to a pretty girl if she’s all alone. I’m just looking out for you.”

You considered his words for a moment. Although no one had truly tried to harm you yet, you hadn’t been here long. And some of the creepier inmates had been staring you down recently, now that you thought about it… “I’m not gonna, like… talk to you, a lot. I just read a lot. And write. And draw, sometimes. But I’m not a big conversationalist. So if that’s what you wanted from me, you got the wrong girl.”

“Hey, that’s fine by me,” he responded. “You just sit there and look pretty till you get to go home. I’ll be your silent protector.”

Not very silent, you thought. “Why… why do you even wanna be my friend, then? If you’re not looking for someone to talk to… You just wanna ‘help me out’? You’re a wannabe serial killer, you don’t really seem like the kind of guy who tries to help a girl out of the goodness of his heart.”

“What can I say?” he asked you. “I can be unpredictable. And you seemed kinda… Sad. Lonely. I dunno. But a pretty, innocent girl locked up in here shouldn’t have to fend for herself. I may be bad, alright, but I’m not completely souless!” He snickered to himself. “Heh, get it? ‘Cause I’m a ginger.” You let out a soft, breathy laugh at that; one you couldn’t contain. “Hey,” he reached out and nudged your cheek, “There’s that smile. Go on, I’m sorry, read your book. I’ll just chill here… Hangin’ out.”

The asylum was particularly chilly today, so you slipped an oversized, washed-out pastel sweater over your dress, as well as a pair of mismatched thick socks. You slid into a pair of plain brown ankle boots with loose laces and clipped two red barrettes into your hair, a yellow scrunchie on your wrist. According to the little red antique clock in your cell, it was nearly eight A.M.— breakfast, which Jerome would always walk down to with you. He always delayed the guards as much as possible before passing your cell, so that you could be escorted down with him.

It had been about two weeks since your first encounter, and while you were initially wary of the prospect of being chummy with a convicted murderer, there was something about him that drew you in. Maybe it was how charming he could be, or how protective he acted of you or how he definitely wasn’t the most unattractive person you’d ever seen, but you weren’t as opposed as you used to be towards being his friend. You heard the sound of struggling increase as it got closer and closer to your door, and you knew it was Jerome come to “pick you up” for the day. You waited at your door, looking out the barred slot as the guards got closer and closer.

“Excuse me? Could I be taken down to breakfast as well?” you asked them, and one with a key ring unlocked your door and let you step outside into the hall.

“Mornin’, (Y/N).” It was Anthony, a guard that you felt you had a good standing with. He was always respectful to you because he had been keeping up with your trial while it was in the news, and he firmly believed that you had done nothing to end up in this place.

“Good morning. How are you?”

“I’m just well, thanks! Did you sleep alright?”

“Yeah, I did! Do you know what variation of gruel they’re feeding us today?” Jerome snorted at this. “Hey, Jerome. What’s up?”

“Oh, y’know, not much.”

“Sounds fun.”

Breakfast was, in fact, another variation of gruel. You had been given a choice between cinnamon and apple oatmeal, lazily slopped onto a tray before being shoved into your arms with a spoon.

You took a seat at an unoccupied table and began to eat and read— you were rereading Gatsby, now—until Jerome joined you.

“Hey, J,” you greeted him, not looking up from your book.

“Hey there, girlie,” he greets, nudging you when he sits down beside you. “What’s the plan today?”

“They have me in group today. Something about having to ‘act like we’re making progress’,” you slightly mocked.

Jerome gasped. “Well, hey! Whadaya know? I’m in group today, too!” The possibility that you were not in the same group was slim to none; your proximity in age and the fact that both of your cells were on the same floor meant that in any group setting, you were bound to end up together.

“Have they put you in it before?” you wondered.

“Oh, yeah, once or twice,” he told you, taking another spoonful of oatmeal before continuing. “Don’t be nervous about it. All they do is sit you in a circle and give you pens and paper and have you talk about your feelings and why you killed people.” That was still a touchy subject. You’d never verbally say that you ‘killed’ a person; there was a difference between murder and self-defense, and there was absolutely no way in hell you’d ever be convinced they were the same. Jerome noticed a shift in your attitude. “Well, I mean, you never killed anyone. So I guess you won’t have to participate too much.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you agreed. A burly looking man the approached Jerome, eyeing you all the while.

“Jerome.” He looked up and rolled his eyes at the man.

“Can I help you with something, Greenwood?”

“Yeah. Just wondering when you’re gonna share your little lady friend with the rest of us.” He sat down opposite both of you. “She looks tasty.”

In shock, you couldn’t properly formulate a response to the man’s lewd comments, so while you sat there, eyes fixated on your oatmeal, Jerome took the liberty of speaking up on your behalf. “She’s off limits, pal. Don’t touch her,” he told him, grinning all the while. “Or I’ll flay you and feed you to the rats.”

“Oh, little J’s got himself a girlfriend now, huh? What, you gonna chop her up just like you chopped up your mommy?” Greenwood inched closer and closer to Jerome while taunting him, and your friend was getting visibly aggravated.

His fist clenched and he slammed it on the table. You put your hand over his forearm to draw his attention over to you instead. “Jerome. Stop,” you requested.

“What?” he asked you. “Why me? What about him?”

“Because I know you can be rational,” you told him, maintaining eye contact. “It’s not worth it. Don’t give him the reaction he wants.”

He let out a short breath and turned his attention back to Greenwood. “You know what? She’s right. You’re not worth my foot. Go back to playing with your little dolls, Greenwood,” he taunted, gesturing with his free hand. Greenwood snarled, but got up and walked away anyways. Jerome looked back to you. “Y’know, you’re starting to rub off on me. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll be a goody two-shoes just like you!” he joked, snickering. You just rolled your eyes, the ghost of a soft smile on your face.

“Hey,” you warned, “Don’t start getting soft. That’s my thing,” you shot back.

“Yeah, I know,” he smirked at you, catching your hand—the one that was on his forearm—in his. “Jeez, (Y/N), why are you so cold?” he asked you. His hands were exponentially warmer than yours, and you appreciated the heat warming up your own.

“It’s the middle of January and I have terrible circulation. Plus, no one in this place cares enough to turn the heat up.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he laughed. Then he was putting his head on top of yours, so you leaned your head onto his shoulder.

“What time is it?” You yawned. He told you that it was roughly eight-thirty. “Gross.” Jerome chuckled and gave a murmur of assent. He took his hand out of yours and put his arm around your shoulders instead.

“I’ll wake you up when they make us leave,” he assured you as you closed your eyes, thanking him. Then you were off to sleep again, catching up on all of the hours you had missed since you had been incarcerated. He grabbed your book off of the table and began reading it for himself. He kept one hand lightly trailing through your hand while the other was used to flip the pages until, at 9:20, the nurses came to inform the both of you that it was time for therapy.

If someone would’ve asked you what had been discussed in that session, you wouldn’t’ve had a clue. You sat next to your only friend in the place, of course, latching onto the only person you’d truly felt comfortable with since you’d been brought in. The two of you had passed notes back and forth the whole time, decorated with goofy little doodles and cartoons to entertain one another. When Jerome had cracked a joke to you following one of the other inmates’ comments, you could barely suppress your giggle, and you both had ended up making a bit of a scene.

“Jerome. (Y/N). Cut it out,” the therapist had reprimanded you. Jerome just gave her a nod, but you had verbally apologized and promised that it wouldn’t happen again.

A few seconds later, another note was passed onto your lap. SORRY FOR BEING A BAD INFLUENCE, it had read. You flipped it over to respond on the other side.

we balance each other out

like a negative and a positive

Two months later, and you were finally free to return to the rest of the world. You were overjoyed; you couldn’t wait to get back to your friends and family. You couldn’t wait to get back to school, something you never thought you’d say to yourself. You were also surprised at how well Jerome had responded when you’d told him that you were finally going home.

“You’ll write to me, right?” he asked you.

“Of course,” you verified.

“And visit?”

“I’ll try my damndest,” you promised.

He had seemed like he was making so much progress when you were around. At least, that’s what the nurses and therapists had all noted. For his own sake, they all secretly wished that you would keep coming back to help him out.

After another month, the whole city was erupted into chaos.

There had been some sort of gas leak at Arkham, followed by a breakout; your friend among the escapees. The next time you saw him had been on the T.V. in the midst of attempting to blow up a school bus full of cheerleaders from Gotham High.

You felt your heart break in your chest as you sat on your bed that morning watching the news. You’d really, truly let yourself believe that he wasn’t as bad of a person as the media had portrayed him, especially during his trial. You knew him firsthand! He was such a good friend to you, and was always watching your back. It was hard for you to believe that the boy who passed you notes in therapy and made you laugh all day was the same boy who had just kidnapped and murdered seven dock workers and attempted to blow up a bus full of cheerleaders the same age as him.

But, sadly, this was the reality that you lived in. I guess he really fooled me, huh, you thought to yourself.

Around noon that same day, while watching some documentary on Netflix and sending texts back and forth with one of your best friends, you heard a loud knocking outside of your window. “Holy shit!” you exclaimed, heart nearly leaping out of your chest. When your adrenaline rush finally slowed, you looked to see what had caused the noise, and—

“Holy shit!” Lo and behold; it was none other than Jerome Valeska. He grinned at you, waving emphatically.

“Open up, wouldya?” He spoke through the window. “Let’s catch up!”

You walked over to your windowsill but didn’t open the window, instead choosing to lock it. “Why should I let you into my house, Jerome? I’d be harboring a fugitive. That’s a crime. Just like kidnapping, murder, and arson,” you glared at him. “Why would you do that, J?” you asked, hurt evident in your eyes, even through the glass separating you.

“Let me in, (Y/N), I really wanna talk. You know I’d never hurt you.” You immediately believed him, having to consciously remind yourself that you might’ve been being led into a trap. That was, until he held up a fist and extended his pinky. “I pinky swear.” Damn, the boy knows I love me a good pinky swear. You gave up your resolve and cracked the window just enough to reach your own hand through, locking your fingers together before opening it the rest of the way.

“Okay. Talk,” you told him as he climbed through and stepped into your room. You took a seat on the edge of your bed, and he followed suit.

“This guy, Theo… he’s the one who broke us all out,” Jerome began to explain. “Kinda boring dude. But also kinda cool. He’s like the weird, rich uncle I never had,” he joked, making you crack a small smile. He smiled himself at that, nudging you playfully. “Anyways, he gives this whole speech about how we all have ‘vision’ and ‘talent’ and yada yada yada… So I know he gets me.

“Says he wants us to just go crazy, right? ‘Paint the town red’, other junk like that,” he continued. “The last guy who tried to leave, Sionis… He had him stabbed to death. Right in front of us all.” Your eyes shot up to his, shocked. “I can’t very well follow in his footsteps,” he told you.

“Oh, Jerome… That’s awful. I’m sorry.” You wrapped an arm around his side, implying that you’d mostly forgiven him for what he’d been doing recently. It’s not his fault, you reasoned, he’s scared for his life. “What if I call the cops so they can keep you safe from him? You don’t have to keep hurting people,” you offered.

“No, (Y/N), please don’t,” he begged. “They’ll just send me straight back to Arkham, I don’t wanna go back there, I hate that place—”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I understand. I won’t call anyone. Be safe, though? I mean… try as much as you can to not hurt anyone if you can help it.”

“I will. You were right, y’know. About balancing each other out. I think we make a good pair,” he told you, a smile that looked genuine on his face.

“Best friends,” you offered back. Then you gave him a solid hug, burying your face in his chest.

And you’d never have seen it, but that genuine smile suddenly became cunning and devious once more. Gotcha...

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fandom-necromancer · 5 years

Text

202. continuation

The just too awesome @valyurse had requested a continuation! Have fun!

part1

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

Nines looked over to their desks, where Gavin was standing red-faced and staring at him. His first expression had been anger, but there was fear too. Then panic. His partner looked around, seemingly only now realising the whole precinct was staring at him. As the embarrassment was getting too much for the man to handle, he simply jumped from his seat and bolted for the door.

Normally Nines wouldn't have let it come to this, would have acted in a way that would have spared Gavin, would have kept him from fleeing the scene. But his mind had hang up on the other's words. And the consequence of them had him fall into the equivalent of a blue screen. It was Connor's gentle touch that brought him out of it and he flinched in surprise. 'Hey, everything alright?' It was careful. Connor knew exactly that nothing was alright. 'I- He doesn't love me?' Somehow saying it aloud made it worse than just thinking about it and sent his LED to a flaming red. 'Shhh, you cannot know that.' 'Connor, he screamed it through the whole precinct!' 'Nines, please calm down.' The RK800 looked around and realised that now that Reed was gone, they were the new centre of attention. He made eye contact with Hank, who simply nudged him in the direction of the toilets.

Once the door was closed behind the two androids, Connor hugged the bigger RK900 and mumbled encouraging words to his distressed brother. 'Calm down, Nines, he didn't mean it. You know he didn't mean it. He was as red as your LED now as he burst it out.' 'That's because he is embarrassed at the thought. I mean, I'm an android, he is a human. It's only logical he doesn't want a machine. Maybe he already has a human, maybe he-' 'Shh, Nines. You know him. He thinks far too much about other people's opinions of him. When he heard what you were talking about, he automatically thought others did too. Believe me, brother. I am sure you two are at least very good friends. You should go after him and talk it out.' 'But my shift hasn't ended yet.' 'Really? That's your problem? Go! I'll take care of it.'

Nines emerged from the restrooms and went over to their desks. Thankfully, only a fraction of the people from before were watching him, as he shut off both his and Gavin's still running computer and took their belongings. Gavin had forgotten his jacket and car-keys. He couldn't have come far yet. In fact, Nines found him as soon as he left the building. Gavin sat on the stairs, a slight line of smoke coming from a cigarette hanging loosely in his mouth. Nines looked at him for a while, then took the few steps until he was standing next to him. He offered the human's jacket wordlessly, before sitting down next to him.

'I'm sorry, tin-can', Gavin mumbled through the cigarette, puffing out a little cloud. Nines had made it his own personal mission to get the man to quit the habit. Now he didn't say anything. 'I have to apologize, Detective. I shouldn't have talked about it this openly, especially when it's a topic you are this abrasive to. I'm sorry if I overstepped bounds. I didn't go to Connor with the intent to embarrass you, I simply wanted to know whether what I felt was something real. Connor has far more experience than me.' 'I know, Nines. It wasn't the first time you went to him, after all. It's just... Phcking hell, the whole precinct was watching!' 'I know now that I should have been more secretive. It won't happen again. And if you want to keep your distance from me after this... I understand.'

'Why the hell should I want that?' Gavin took the cigarette from his lips, exhaled a vast amount of smoke and watched the end glowing, before flicking it into the nearest tray. 'What do you mean?' 'What do I mean? Nines, you analysed me. Tell me again, how the most advanced android Cyberlife has ever created could be wrong in their conclusion.' 'I don't understand.' 'You said it yourself: I'm showing the symptoms. Elevated heartbeat, nervous sweating. Staring at you when I think you don't notice... Seriously how the hell? I stared at you when you had turned around. You don't have eyes in the back of your head, have you?' 'Then why did you-' 'Flip as you announced the whole precinct, that the asshole detective, the don't-have-around-at-inspections kinda guy has a soft spot and shows the symptoms of love? By the way it's not an illness, don't talk about it that way! Come on, you know me, you know the answer. I am just like that.'

'So you don't mind I'm an android?' 'Nines, do you mind I'm a human? At least I get the best android there is and you are getting disaster human Reed. If anything you are drawing the short end.' Nines took a deep breath he didn't need. Sometimes it just helped stretching his components. 'So, you are in love with me and you want to try it?' 'Yes Nines. God knows no sane human would ever like me, so I'm extremely lucky a handsome, extraordinary intelligent and yet stupid enough android decided to go down this road.'

The RK900 smiled as he got up and watched the - his - human rise too. 'I think I owe you at least a coffee for this, am I right?' 'Yep. And you are paying. It's a date.'

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #Gavin Reed #RK900 #Good thing I'm embarrassed too its good immersion #while betareading I found I originally had written 'Nines emerged from the toilet'#He's the toilet guardian - guardian of the drains - Gavin quivers before him #Okay my sanity has just waved goodbye

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dimensionhoppinghybrids · 4 years

Text

First progress (Drabble)

First of, HOLY SHIT this took me a while to write. I want to warn, this is about 10 pages worth in writing, I can understand if you don’t want to read it, but this is just a “report” or so on Joseph to show what he’s getting himself into. None of this is exact to the game, as I hope it shouldn’t be. I may have skipped over things, but who cares! Enjoy!

Joseph found himself waking up in a dingy, ill lit room. He gave a groan as his throbbing head complained from him moving his head. He blearily opened his eyes and looked around.

“Ah, you’re finally awake.” He heard a voice say as he stirred. He tried to look around, but he found his head throbbing in pain as he tried, so he stopped. His mouth felt like a horribly dried sponge and his throat like sandpaper.

He tried to move his hands but found that he was chained together in a sort of firm handcuff that kept them locked at his front, leaving him slouched down and on his knees. Well that explained the neck pain somewhat. But it didn’t explain the damned headache.

“Someone catch the face of the damned dragon that hit me?” He managed out in a raspy voice.

“What?” Asked the voice in confusion.

“Nevermind.” Joseph dismissed and grunted. “So.” He asked. “What is going on?” He asked. He winced as he felt a lancing pain go through his left arm and a sickly green glow coming from there. He moved his head, and saw that his chained hands, or rather hand, was glowing and sparking.

“Well. That isn’t normal.” He mumbled.

“Glad to see that we agree.” Said the voice again, it was female, heavily laden with some sort of accent. He looked up and saw that he was surrounded by soldiers with swords trained on him. All looking at him with fear and wonder. Damn, had his disguise slipped? He looked at his hands. No, still fleshy and white, like a human. Well, Elf. Best disguise he had.

His disguise that he had made him look like a fair, black haired, blue eyed elf that was on the shorter side, and a bit pudgy and baby faced. He at least still had his original armor on, and boots that fit comfortably so that it sold on the disguise.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you, elf.” Said the female voice. He looked to see a black haired woman, clad in armor herself, with another woman, red haired, giving him a scrutinizing look, piercing, hard. Like if she stared at him long enough with her determined scowl she could read his mind like an open book.

“The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

Joseph had to blink. His mind racing to what he last remembered. He closed his eyes, trying to focus. He remembered a dark place. Something screeching behind him, skittering, a voice calling, distant but pleading. He had run, climbed up a stone that led its way up, to safety. A golden glow of a person in shape reached out to him. Pleading, his hand sparking, in pain. After that, not much more.

“I. Am sorry.” He said with genuine pity. “But I don’t remember. What Conclave?” He asked her. Her face morphed into one of horrible anger. She lunged to him and grabbed at the manacles that held his left arm. “Explain this!” She said in a quiet, but clearly angry tone.

He looked at the palm that seemed to spark and stutter with green light. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. That’s as much of a mystery to me as to why I am in this cell.” He said as he pointed to the dingy, ill lit room with what seemed to be four guards ready with swords, all expecting him to lunge at them and attack them like a demon.

“What do you mean you can’t?!” She demanded of him.

“Exactly that.” He said with a nod. “I have no prior memory to what had happened before this.” He said with a shrug. He was taking this all a little too calmly. Perhaps dangerously so. But, he couldn’t help it. He was scared, sure. But he was also curious. And he had been credited to be able to handle bad scenarios in a calm way.

Perhaps that irritated the woman before him so much. She looked ready to punch him in the face.

“Liar!” She roared and she gave him a good left hook on the jaw. He felt his face flare up in pain, but he bit back the yell of pain he wanted to scream. Instead he grimaced and spit out a wad of blood.

“Ow.” He said calmly and grimaced as he moved his jaw. Okay, maybe he had deserved that one. He was way too calm for this.

The other woman, the woman in the robes rushed in to pull the woman that was beating him away.

“We need him Cassandra, alive.” She pressed. The woman looked like she wanted to do nothing else but continue pounding away at him.

“Okay.” He said as he moved his jaw a little. It lanced with pain, and he knew he had a split lip and would be getting a bruise. “I’m sorry. But I am confused. I don’t know what is going on. Take it as you will, but it’s the truth.” He grunted. Sounding a bit irritated with being punched, but eh. That was normal.

“Do you remember what happened?” Asked the robed woman, still holding a hand to Cassandra’s chest. Trying to keep her calm.

Joseph blinked again. “I remember running and being chased. Climbing up a wall, trying to reach.. Someone. A woman I think? I can’t remember. Her face, her form.. It's not distinct.” He said as he shook his head.

“A woman?” Asked the robed figure.

“Yes, she was reaching out to me but then..” He hesitated, trying to remember more. He shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t offer more than that.” He said, and he could see clearly that there was disappointment in the woman’s eyes, but she didn’t let it show.

The woman, Cassandra. Stepped in and moved to her friend and nudged her away. Looking at Joseph with hostility and distrust. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana.” She said and scowled. “I will take him to the rift. Let him see what he brought down upon the Conclave.” She said, clearly having already decided that he was as guilty as charged.

The robed woman, Leliana looked to Cassandra and gave a hesitant nod.

With her leaving, Cassandra went to Joseph and knelt down and started to unlock the chains that prevented him from standing up, then roughly dragged him.

“Come. Let me show you what happened.” She said as she roughly pushed him forward. Taking the hint, he walked with her away from the cells, and up to the main floor of wherever they were.

Up topside, as the door opened for them, he felt the bite of cool air touch his face. He saw that they were in a sort of village maybe, or something similar. It was at least some sort of outpost.

As he walked outside, he could feel his hand sparking and biting at him in small pricks of pain. It was severely uncomfortable.

Cassandra remained silent as she walked ahead of him. Leading him on. He looked around, and then looked up as he noticed the same sickly green glow coming from the sky. His eyes widened as he saw a large rift that seemed to have rent the sky open.

“What the hell happened?” Asked Joseph in shock.

“We call it “The Breach.” It's a massive rift into the world of Demons.” Cassandra said as she looked back to Joseph. A hand on her sword, her scowl clear. “It grows larger with each passing hour.” She stated, accusation in every word and syllable as she spoke.

“It is not the only such rift. But it is the largest by far. And all were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

She stayed silent as she let the words sink in.

“An explosion couldn’t do that.” Joseph said finally as he looked up at the rift in clear shock, awe and disturbance.

“This one did.” Cassandra said, her tone final and foreboding. “Unless we act, it will swallow the world.” She said and she looked up to the rift, her face set in a stern way as she looked up.

Suddenly the rift gave a harsh pulse and the mark on Joseph’s hands pulsed with it. Finally he let out a pained scream as his left hand acted up. He tried to clench his fist reflexively, but unable too. So he did his best to hold the hand close to his chest, but his shackles prevented him from doing so fully.

He finally managed to close the hand, and he closed it firmly. The pain felt like it was lancing up his arm and into his whole body.

“Each time the rift expands, so does the mark on your hand.” Cassandra said as she came closed to him, looking like she was debating if she should help him up. Coming to a decision, she reached down and lifted him up by the arm.

“And it's killing you.” She said after a moment of silence.

The silence lingered on further as that sunk in.

“Oh. Joy.” Joseph couldn’t help but say in clear sarcasm.

Cassandra looked at Joseph like he had grown a second head.

“You are taking this way too calmly. Do you wish to die?” She asked him, now clearly confused by his reaction.

“No.” Answered Joseph. “But it isn’t the first time I have been close to death in such a situation. What’s one more.” He said the final bit in sarcasm and grunted.

Cassandra shook her head. “You are the strangest Elf I have ever come across.” She muttered.

“Glad I could be something new then.” Joseph couldn’t help but retort.

Cassandra let him go and gave a growl. “There is a reason we need you alive, Elf.” She said, ignoring his comment. “That mark on your hand could be the key to close the rift, it is the only logical conclusion we have so far. But there isn’t much time to waste.” She turned around and looked at him. Waiting for his answer.

Joseph had to pause and look up at the Rift. He could do the math, it was easy. If he didn’t help. He would be dooming more people than just himself.

“You still think I’m guilty though.” He said. It wasn’t a question, it was simply a statement.

She gave him a hard look. The look she gave him was unreadable, but it held an anger that was fading, being replaced with regret.

“Not, intentionally.” She finally admitted. “I don’t think anyone could do something like this, something that could kill themselves with a sane mind. You are odd. But clearly not crazy.” She admitted.

At least she was admitting in her own way, that she was wrong, mused Joseph.

Joseph looked at the shackles on his hands, and gave a grunt. “I want to help.” He said to her. “If it helps me stay alive, all the better.”

He looked up to the rift. “I don’t know what happened, miss.” He said gently to her. “But I do want to help.” He said in earnest.

She gave him a nod. “I see.” She said and motioned him to move with her. “If you wish to prove your innocence. I would suggest you cooperate with us, willingly and fully.” She told him.

“Well what do you think I am going to do? Sit on my ass and do a jig?” He asked in a sarcastic tone. She looked back at him with a glare which caused him to stop. They only looked at one another and he gave a sigh. “Wow, tough crowd.” He muttered.

“Are you making a fool of me?” She demanded of him.

“No.” Joseph said in response. “I’m trying to lift the mood a little. Just a little. Also your statement was stupid. Of course I will cooperate with you willingly, and not act like a total buffoon.” He retorted, his voice holding more bite to it then he intentioned and it caused the woman to flinch. He moved away and walked forward. “Now come on then. We’ve got a breach to close.”

With that said, she led him on towards the breach. Staying silent and not looking at him the whole way. Which was fine by him.

On their way there, they walked past a throng of people that had erected tents. They were all staring, jeering and hollering at him in his chains. They had already decided his guilt.

“They need this.” Cassandra said to him after being silent for a while. “Our most holy, Divine Justinia died in that explosion. The Conclave was hers. She was the head of the Chantry.” She explained as she walked with him.

After they got some distance away, he could only say; “I’m sorry.” For what, he wasn’t sure. But it felt like the right thing to say.

She looked back to him, but didn’t deign to answer him. Instead, they kept on walking. “It was a chance you know, to gain peace between both mages and Templars.” She noted. “She brought their leaders together. Now they are all dead.”

She led him to a gate, which opened for them wide. Joseph looked around as they walked inside. “We lash out.” Cassandra continued. “Like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves I feel. Like she did.” She paused. “Like Lady Justinia.” She elaborated.

She took out a key and moved to take off his manacles. The lock clicked and came loose. He sighed as he rubbed at his wrists. It felt good to have his hands free again.

“You will get a trial. This I promise at least.” She said to him, and she gave him a hard stare. But it wasn’t held with as much animosity as before. Maybe she took a little pity on him. He was weathering all of this scorn and judgement pretty well considered. But he was placed in a situation where he had no memory of doing an act that had clearly killed hundreds of people.

He felt bad for that. Whatever had happened, it had been bad. And he wasn’t sure if he had been the cause or not. But he was sorry all the same.

“Shit happens.” He said finally. “What’s done is done, and all we can do right now is figure out what happened.” He mused.

She looked at him and then gave a nod. “Aye. I suppose that is correct.” She said and led him away. “Come, we must test that mark of yours on something smaller before we start on the breach. The road will be dangerous towards a smaller rift.” She said as she started to lead him away.

“Hey, what about my stuff?” He asked as he walked to her. She looked back at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean my gear. My shield, my mace? All my stuff?” He asked her.

She looked at him with a hard look. “I will not arm you.” She stated flatly.

“But I can help.” He argued.

"I don't care." She said as she started to walk off towards the other end of the bridge they were on, where another large gate rested.

Joseph wanted to argue further but he sighed as he walked on with her. As they walked towards the other end, he saw that they had some gear here, but he wasn’t allowed to take any of it. He only gave a grumble in response. Then he stopped as he looked at some of the guards, and what looked to be mages surrounding something and talking amongst themselves.

Growing curious, he looked to Cassandra, who seemed to be only interested in going forward. So he checked out what was going on. And found that people were going over his gear. One of them was holding the tablet he usually kept in his pocket. Trying to fiddle with it, but of course it was locked, and others were holding out the gauntlet that was his shield, trying to make it work.

“Hey, hey!” Joseph barked, feeling possessive of his things. “Be careful with that!” He barked at them as he rushed forward, drawing Cassandra’s attention and her ire slightly.

At his approach, the others backed off. “Those are my things!” He said as he grabbed the tablet and shoved it quickly into his pocket.

“Hey, that’s our-” but the poor soldier was cut off at the glare that the smaller elf gave him. “I don’t care. That’s mine. You can say whatever you want but you don’t just pilfer someone else's stuff!” He barked at them and growled as he took his shield too and strapped it on his hand with quick practices motions. He then clicked it to activate and formed the shield, then the crossbow part and checked his stuff over, specifically the ammo. “Okay, good, you didn’t mess anything up.” He mumbled, and out of habit grabbed the club or “stick” that was his mace, checked it over as well to make sure it was okay. It extended out and the blunt end formed.

He quickly checked it over and gave a nod of satisfaction. “Good, it’s all still in good condition.” He said as he sighed.

“What do you think you are doing?” Asked Cassandra as she looked at how he handled the gear he had. She had to wonder how he knew to handle these things, as when they had brought it in when he had been captured, they had no idea how to operate any of it.

“And where did you get it?” Asked one of the mages with curiosity, some of the soldiers looked at his stuff with awe.

“My father made it for me.” Was the only response they got from him.

“Then I am sure you won’t mind losing it, since he can just make more.” Cassandra said dismissively.

“No. I do mind.” He said sternly. “Because it's my stuff and it's irreplaceable.” He said firmly and Cassandra seemed to hesitate at that. He didn’t explain further, but let her translate that as she wished.

She finally gave a sigh. “Fine. Don’t make me regret it, elf.” She said and turned away. Giving only a grin, the baby faced elf grabbed the belt of knives he had with him and strapped it quickly on. Some of the mages and guards looking on with jealousy. They hadn’t known what any of that gear did, but it had all looked expensive.

As they went towards the gate further, there was a warning of; “Incoming!” And Joseph looked up to the sky and saw that there was something coming towards them.

“I hope I don’t regret this either.” He said and rushed forward to Cassandra who stood there like an idiot and vaulted them both over the bridge. A loud explosion sounded as the two landed on the thick ice of the river.

Oh yeah, this would be a long day.

And it was. The day consisted of meeting a Elf named Solas, fighting their way through hordes of demons, or spirits, or whatever they were. At first Cassandra had been hesitant to let him fight, calling him off to stay back. But after finding an arrow in an opponent's throat when her back was turned, she had consented to letting him fight with them.

The fight itself had been harrowing and dangerous, but eventually they had come to one of the smaller rifts, and Joseph had been able to close it with his mark.

Joseph looked at the mark on his hand and gave a frown. “What does this mean?” He asked more to himself than anyone.

“What do you mean?” Asked Solas as he looked towards Joseph with curiosity and a bit of indifference. Joseph looked to him and gave a frown. “I mean that this doesn’t make much sense now does it?” He told him as he looked towards the bald elf towards the larger rift above them. “Me having this mark? Getting stuck in this situation? What is there to gain? No, what was there to gain?” He asked.

Solas only stayed quiet for a few moments before giving a shrug. “I do not know.” He said finally. “But I am sure if we close that larger rift up there, we will find out.” He said to him, and Joseph could only nod.

“Right. A job to do, and more things to fight.” He said and they made their way upwards, towards the mountains.

On the way they came across a Dwarf that was fighting with more soldiers, his name was Verrick and he seemed to be holding a odd crossbow in his hands, and fighting quite well with it too.

He and Cassandra seemed to know each other too. As they fought, or made their way further up, Joseph managed to get a bit more to know about Verrick, and found that he could easily talk to the Dwarf, and the Dwarf in return was interested to hear what Joseph had to say so far about what had happened so far.

“So Joseph, you remember nothing?” Asked Verrick. “Nope, not a thing at least when it considers the Conclave. I remember my own history just fine. But it’s like the whole part of just that event got erased.” He said as he walked beside him. Verrick gave a hum in thought. “Odd.” Was the only thing he could say on that.

Later on they were forced to make a choice. Either fight their way with the soldiers head on, or take a side passage. Joseph had opted to take the side passage up the mountains, explaining that it was their best route. He was told that soldiers would die, and he said grimly in response; “That’s what happens in battles. People die. But we need to trust those soldiers to do their job, and they ours.” He had said, and sounded sad for it, though Cassandra could understand his reasoning.

On their way through the journey, after having gone through what could only be an old outpost of some sort, and down the mountain path, they had rescued a scouting party, and directed them to head where they had come.

And when it came to close the rift, well. Joseph had seen the extent of the damage.

“Oh. Dear. Gods.” Joseph mumbled softly as he looked on at the wreck of a place. Odd red crystals were about in different sizes. Giving off an odd aura that seemed to hum in the air.

Verrick warned that it was Red Lyrium and that it was dangerous. So Joseph steered clear as best he could.

“Is.. Is this..?” He asked and looked to Cassandra who could only nod. “Yes. This is the result of what happened. A great explosion came from here and..” She pointed at the crater that was left in the middle of what had been the Conclave. Cassandra had explained it had been a large and opulent building. Housing hundreds of people.

If Joseph wasn’t so used to death, he might have lost his lunch. Instead he only shook his head, and swallowed down the nervous feeling down his throat. “Let’s get a move on.” He urged.

The rest of the soldiers joined them soon enough, and inside the crater, where Joseph had to close the rift, he and the others had to fight many demons. Joseph hadn’t relented, and all the blows he dealt had been powerful and ended the fight quickly.

And when the last foe; a large demon that had tried to maul them all fell, Joseph was able to close the rift.

With the help of mages and the encouragement of Solas on his part, they were able to close the Breach with effort. The breach closed, and sent a large shockwave that brought Joseph to his knees, and everyone else to blow back, though none had been hurt.

“You did it.” Said Cassandra, who had managed to warm up a bit towards Joseph.

“Yeah, with your help.” Joseph said as he smiled at her, and he took her outstretched arm as she helped him up. “Thank you.” He said and looked to everyone else.

They had all managed to close this Breach, which was a good thing.

But he found out later that it wouldn’t stop. That he was being called the Herald of Andraste by some, and that it was catching on quick.

He was forced to go and do many more things, since they needed him to close the rifts. He was the key to it all.

They formed friendships, conquered hardships, and did many things to fight back the demons, and learned many secrets along the way.

And after all of it he was unaware that he would take up a mantle that he didn’t want to take in the future. The mantle of Inquisitor.

And through that mantle, he would become a leader, a symbol, many things he didn’t want to be, but was forced too.

#First Progress (Drabble)#story

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sadprose-auroras · 5 years

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‘About Time’ - Roger TaylorxFem!Reader (Part 1)

A/N: Hello my darlings! I can’t decide if I hate this or not, and I’m not sure if I’ll continue writing this, depends on the response. Please let me know if you want me to continue it (it would probably require way more parts, like a full on series). Hope you enjoy! - Also, this can apply to Ben Hardy’s portrayal of Roger. Whatever you prefer!

(This was totally inspired by a couple time travel fics I read a few weeks ago, I can’t remember the authors or the names but all credits to them for the time travel idea…. LOVE. IT. I just HAD to write my own, crappier version)

Find my other works here!

You sunk to the floor, your knees giving out beneath you. You felt ridiculous, curling up in a ball, in your wardrobe, but you had reached your breaking point; everything had suddenly hit you. As you hugged your knees, sobbing, your jeans became tear-soaked. Your mind wandered, as your cheeks flamed in embarrassment and shame about your current state, despite nobody being around. How did you get here? A few months ago, your life was great. You had a great job, a great circle of friends and boyfriend, and you were pursuing your passion; studying fashion design. Then, everything began to crumble around you. All your friends turned on you, you got fired, and your studies began to slip as a result, causing you to fail an exam.

If all that wasn’t bad enough, you found out your boyfriend of two years had been cheating on you for a year and 11 months. Go figure. It was as if the universe was playing some long, cruel joke on you, just to see how long before you gave up on trying to pursue any kind of happiness. Just as you came to the conclusion that you really had nothing to fight for, leaning your head back on the wall behind you and closing your eyes, the strangest feeling overcame you. Your head began to spin, and pins and needles covered your entire body. You tried to open your eyes, to move your body, but you were frozen. Your heart rate increased rapidly, and you began to think that this was really it. Whatever was happening, you were going to die. Strangely enough, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

By some miracle, everything stopped. The pins and needles ceased, and, save a throbbing headache, you felt much better. You experimentally wiggled your toes, and you had feeling back again. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, looking around you. It was dark, but you could make out the shapes of the clothes hanging around you. Oddly, you didn’t recognise any of them. The chair that was next to you when you closed your eyes was gone, replaced by a shoe rack.

You stood up, closed your eyes again and rubbed your temples, trying to rid of the probable hallucinations. You racked your brain, thinking back to when you studied psychosis in high school. You couldn’t remember a thing. Was temporary paralysis a symptom?

You decided you needed to call a doctor. You pulled your iPhone out of your pocket, still in the dark, and opened up safari. You had no wifi, and no reception. Frowning, you opened the wardrobe door, the knob feeling unfamiliar, to be greeted by a figure doing the same. The door swung open suddenly, bouncing on its hinges.

You both screamed loudly, and, without looking at the figure in front of you, you tried to push past to get away, however, a hand gripped you and pulled you back.

Your eyes became fixed on the man in front of you. You frowned, unable to tear your eyes off him. The hallucinations were getting worse; you were conjuring up images of people in your home. Hang on. You knew his face all too well; you had spent hours watching him drum and sing at concerts on YouTube. It couldn’t be, could it?

“Who are you, and what the hell are you doing in my wardrobe!?” he asked, releasing his grip on you. You winced, rubbing where his fingernails had dug into you. This was all too much.

“I should be asking you the same thing, why are you in my house? What’s going on?” you looked around the room, expecting to see your familiar bedroom; your posters plastered around the walls, your colourful duvet, and your plush white carpet. Instead, the walls were empty, the duvet was blue, and the carpet was grey.

“I need to sit down,” you said, overwhelmed, perching on the edge of the unfamiliar bed. You glanced up at the man in front of you, his expression still shocked and wide-eyed, as he looked you up and down, his brows furrowing.

“God, you seem so real,” you laughed. “But there’s no way.”“What the fuck do you mean?” he replied. “I know I’m real, but I can’t say the same about you. I’ve never known anyone who can just appear out of thin air,” he shook his head in disbelief.

You frowned, rubbing your hands through your hair. “What do you mean, I appeared out of thin air?” your stomach began to sink. For reasons you couldn’t explain, something else was going on. Something much weirder than you initially thought.

“Well, I don’t see how you could have got into my wardrobe without me seeing. I’ve been in my room for 20 minutes.” You glanced at his legs, frowning. What kind of person wears flared jeans anymore?

“I, um,” you began, a laugh escaping your lips despite yourself. This was all too ridiculous. You were actively avoiding eye contact with him. You figured if you acknowledged that it was him, at that age, in front of you, this would all go away. It was impossible. Suddenly, it all came together, as shocking as it was. It wasn’t him that was in the wrong place, it was you. This wasn’t your house. You had no wifi or reception. And, Roger Taylor, looking as he did circa 1972, was right in front of you. Had you time travelled? Your head span at the possibility. What else could explain these strange occurrences?

“What year is it?” you asked, this time properly meeting his eyes this time. Photos didn’t do the real thing justice; his baby blue eyes were maintaining steady eye contact with you, his lips were slightly parted, and his hair looked so soft and angelic. He was insanely beautiful. You internally cursed yourself. Now was definitely not the time.

“1972…” he said, becoming even more confused. Your theory was confirmed. You’d watched all of the Back to the Future movies countless times, but you’d never imagined anything like that could ever really happen. Especially to you; plain, boring, old you.

“I know you’re probably not inclined to believe the crazy girl from your wardrobe, but I think,” you bit your lip, concerned at how he would take the news. “I think I’m from the future.”

----------

“So, you’re telling me you didn’t do anything for this to actually happen?” Roger asked. After trying to explain to him a million times, that yes, you were in fact just as confused as him, and no, you didn’t climb through his window, you tried to remain patient. He had every right to be confused as hell, you would definitely react the same if you were in his shoes. Despite this though, he was oddly trusting, allowing you to remain in his house and actually giving you the time of day to explain your side of the story. He even offered you a glass of water and something to eat, which you accepted gratefully. You were starving.

“Yes, I was literally just in my wardrobe, then the next thing I knew we were screaming in each other’s faces.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? You don’t seem very sane so far. I’m going to need some proof. You could just be a crazy girl who will do anything to sleep with me,” he smirked. You rolled your eyes. So the stories were true, he really was cocky.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Taylor,” you retorted. “And no,” you said quickly, as he opened his mouth to speak, “I don’t know your surname because I’m a crazy stalker.” Your mind wandered to your extensive Queen record and CD collection. Okay, so maybe you were a little, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I know because Queen makes it big. I mean, massive.” You bit your lip nervously. If Back to the Future taught you anything, nobody should know too much about their own future. For the first time in your life, you had to think about what you said before you said it.

“How can I convince you?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “What year do you claim to come from, anyway?”

“2019,” you bit your lip.

His eyes widened in disbelief. “Shit,” he mumbled. “Am I….?”

“Still alive? Yeah.” Suddenly, you had an idea. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, thankful it was still charged. You turned it on, the time and date you had left still displayed on the screen (18th January 2019, 11:00), in front of a picture of Queen from 1975. You turned the screen towards him.

“Holy shit, is that me?” he gasped, leaning forward. “2019.” He looked up at you, and you shrugged and nodded. You were thankful he didn’t know the implications of having a picture of somebody as your lockscreen.

“There’s something else,” you unlocked your phone, opening music and searching for ‘Doing Alright.’ You pressed play, the song pouring out of the speakers.

Yesterday, my life was in ruin

Now today, I know what I’m doing…

“Oh my god, that’s our song! We haven’t even released it yet.” He chuckled. You couldn’t help but grin at his excitement, encapsulated by his gorgeous smile.

“Wanna hear more?” you smirked. It’s funny, you had never felt so comfortable around somebody so quickly. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but something about him relaxed you.

----------

“Have you noticed I haven’t asked about that thing you’re holding, ‘cause I’m too scared to?”

You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand. You’d spent the last half an hour playing Roger a few more Queen songs. A small nagging voice in the back of your mind was telling you to stop, to not reveal anything about his future, no matter how small. But Roger’s pleading to hear more won.

“It’s actually a phone,” you said, to answer his question. “Well, that’s its main purpose anyway. You can use it to take and store pictures, play music, and use the internet. Which, well, you’ll find out about in approximately 18 years.”

“I’m intrigued, what’s the internet?” he asked. You thought of all the unspeakable things you had come across on social media, and shook your head.“You don’t want to know.” He raised an eyebrow at you, and you tried to suppress a blush.

You cleared your throat, averting your eyes from him as you straightened up in your seat. “What’s the time?” you asked. He glanced down at his watch. “3am,” he laughed in disbelief. “We should probably get some sleep. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You shook your head rapidly, taken aback by his utter kindness. “Oh my god no, please, I will. It’s your house,” you said, getting up from the chair you were sitting on. He did the same. You both stood awkwardly, basically staring at each other. You couldn’t help but think of the times you watched a Queen documentary on TV, with the Roger of your time’s commentary. It was hard to believe the man in front of you was the same person.

He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes off you, and going into his bedroom, mumbling something about getting something for you to sleep in.

As you awaited his return, you couldn’t help but wonder why you were so focused on how flustered you were around Roger, and not worried about the fact that you were literally stuck in the wrong year, and had no idea how to get back. The funny thing was, you had no desire to. You hadn’t felt so at home in a long time, than when you were laughing and talking with Roger. He made you feel so safe, so quickly. And that feeling would only grow stronger when you both gave up on convincing the other to sleep on the couch, and ended up sharing his bed.

PART 2: BONUS CONTENT THAT I WROTE THE SAME DAY AS PART ONE. I’M NOT GOING TO CONTINUE IT BUT WHAT’S THE POINT OF HAVING IT IN A WORD DOC N NOT POSTING IT?

When I was writing this, I couldn’t stop imagining rom-com moments. Like, the outfit section? A cute montage with a cute song. Damn I wish I could express the images in my head more clearly, in words. My writing sucks.

“Y/N, wake up. Y/N!!” A familiar, yet foreign, voice startled you. As you came to your senses, you realised your usual soft, silky sheets were replaced with cotton ones, and an unusual smell wafted around you. You slowly opened your eyes, to be greeted by Roger leaning over you, a slightly annoyed look on his face. Fuck. It was real. He must’ve read your disappointment on your face, and he smiled sympathetically and nodded.

“Yep, you’re still here,” he mumbled. You couldn’t help but sigh; you’d hoped it was a really long, unusual dream.

“I have to go to rehearsal for a gig tonight. Do you wanna come?” Of course you didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to meet the rest of the band, and literally see the magic happen, you couldn’t help but feel like you were invading. But then again, who could say they had the chance to sit in on an early Queen rehearsal, especially knowing how successful and impactful they were going to become?

“I don’t – I don’t want to intrude,” you mumbled, sitting up in the bed and clutching the duvet around you, suddenly feeling exposed in Roger’s white shirt.

“Well it’s your choice, I understand that you probably don’t want to sit around with us when you could be finding a way back home or finding your parents or something,” he said.

Although you would never admit it, you wanted nothing more than to go with him. Not only was it literally history in the making, but the absence of your birth parents in your life, leading to a childhood of foster families who couldn’t care less about you, gave you a sense of independence at a young age. You knew how to be alone, seeking solace in music. Music created by the greats like Queen made you feel less alone, as silly as it sounded. It was your escape from the struggles in your real life.

“Wait, no. I want to come. If you don’t mind. But I need something 70s appropriate to wear,” you chuckled, glancing over at your high-waisted skinny jeans and cropped knit jumper folded neatly on a chair.

“I think that can be arranged.” Roger grinned at you, and you were struck with yet another wave of disbelief. Roger Taylor was going to lend you come of his iconic clothes.

After spending a couple of hours going through Roger’s clothes, which was your absolute dream, you finally settled on a pair of pants that were a little too short, and a shirt that was slightly too tight across the chest. You tried to spice up the outfit with a few of Roger’s necklaces, much to his dismay.

“Do I look okay?” you asked when you stepped out, twirling around with your arms out.

Roger, standing with a pile of clothes in his arms that you had rejected, furrowed his brows and looked you up and down. You couldn’t help but stifle a giggle at the sight; he was taking his job as your stylist very seriously.

“You’ll almost fit in,” he said, “although, the shirt is too tight,” he finished bluntly, gesturing to your chest. You folded your arms instinctively.

“Don’t worry, I won’t look at your boobs.” You frowned at this. Was that meant to make you feel better? Why did you feel slightly disappointed?

“Um, thanks?” you scoffed. “What should I do with my hair?” you tugged on each of your French braids. Roger walked towards you without warning, and pulled out your hair ties, running his fingers through your hair.

“Just leave it loose.” He said hoarsely, his face dangerously close to yours. Your heart was beating rapidly, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him. He was biting his lip in concentration, his eyes squinting as he adjusted your hair. It took everything in you to not lean into his touch; his fingers were so delicate. As he pushed a strand of hair out of your face, his eyes met yours.

“Perfect,” he almost whispered, his breath sending shivers down your spine. You knew you should pull away. You knew this would get way too complicated. Your rationality was telling you to snap out of it. But as his hands smoothly came to rest around your neck, bringing you closer, something else entirely was driving your actions. Just as you began to lean in, he pulled away, clearing his throat loudly.

“Let me get you a coat,” he said, quickly rushing away from you. You bit your lip, cheeks flaming. You were humiliated. What were you thinking, trying to kiss him? He obviously wasn’t attracted to you; the weird, pathetic crazy time-traveller. You didn’t even belong here anyway, how could you possibly think he would want you? Your eyes began to well up, you just had to get out of there.

As you quickly began to gather your clothes and phone, furiously wiping the tears from your eyes, Roger returned with a fur coat in his arms.

“Here, this should fit – wait, what’s wrong?” he asked, realising your state.

“I’m just gonna go. I’m so sorry to have invaded your life like this, you shouldn’t have to deal with my weird ass problems. Thank you for everything. It was nice meeting you, I guess. I’ll never forget you,” you rambled, becoming increasingly embarrassed, trying to walk past him. He gently placed his hands on your upper arms, turning you to face him.

“Hey, hey, I don’t have to help you, okay? I want to. If you’ll let me.” he said, a surprisingly vulnerable look on his face.

“But, I’m burdening you too much! You can’t have me holding you back from living your normal life. You don’t want me clinging to your side like some kind of….” You paused, struggling to find the right words in your frazzled state. “Some kind of leech. I mean, I’m just annoying. For God’s sake, we have nothing in common! I’m technically young enough to be your daughter!”

Roger laughed softly. “Okay, first of all, you’re not a leech. And yes, it’s weird that you’re from the future, and I’ll probably never wrap my head around it, but so what? We shouldn’t get along, but we do.” You hoped he couldn’t notice your blush at this.

“And, lastly,” he said, a cheeky smirk on his face, “the thought of you being my daughter is gross, but me being your daddy on the other hand…”

“Oh my god, Roger! No!” you couldn’t help but laugh, as you rapidly shook your head. You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not; you secretly hoped he wasn’t.

“So, do you still wanna come to rehearsal?” he asked, all joking aside.

You sighed, hoping you weren’t being a burden. “Okay, give me that then,” you grabbed the coat off him, pulling it on.

“Do I look normal?” you asked.

“No,” he smirked, and you raised your eyebrows at him. “In a good way, though. Come on,” he said, grabbing your hand. You tried to ignore the jolts of electricity you felt from this sweet gesture. You never thought simply holding hands with someone would give you so many butterflies.

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #queen #queen band #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #brian may #freddie mercury #john deacon #queen imagine #fanfic #queen fanfic

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hawthornewhisperer · 6 years

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Emotional Reticence and Role Swapping: Clarke and Bellamy in 505

I have so, so many bellarke related thoughts from last night’s episode, which was a delightful and sincerely appreciated surprise, but what I really want to talk about is Clarke’s reticence to opening up to Bellamy.

Before I get started, however, a disclaimer: this is gonna talk about E.cho and be.cho and yes, I am bellarke af BUT I also genuinely enjoy the be.cho dynamic and the complications that will bring. So that means by continuing to read this, you’re making a deal with me: I will not try to make you ship be.cho and you, in turn, will keep all “wow I hate that bitch” comments off my post, up to and including the “I really dislike be.cho but I actually liked this!” type comments because honestly, I do not need to know you dislike be.cho. Comments like that majorly bum me out, even if you think you’re being positive and respectful. And if you think this disclaimer is overly dramatic: you’re right, it is! But please take a look at any post and/or ficlet I have written for s5 that includes a mention of be.cho because right now, 90% of them have SOME FORM of I-hate-echo-itis in the comments anyway and I promise you, I’m just as tired of having to make these disclaimers as you are of reading them.

But back to Clarke and her feelings. Something that has stood out to me in 504 and 505 is how quiet Clarke is. She’s never been the loudest or most talkative of the characters, but she’s usually fairly communicative, especially with Bellamy. In fact, she’s usually the one prodding him to reveal his feelings, as in 108/313/406, where she’s basically like “I can tell you’re having emotions now, want to process them with me?” and Bellamy is like “no honestly I’d rather just be alone in my sadness, thank you, also here’s everything that has been bothering me since childhood.”

Except now, that dynamic is almost completely reversed: Bellamy is the one pressing Clarke for more details on her emotional state and she’s the one withholding. The difference is, of course, Bellamy of seasons 1-4 generally caved and bared his entire bleeding, aching soul to Clarke after .05 seconds of patient silence from her, whereas Clarke-- who has always been a little bit more guarded in her emotions-- has more practice at Conceal Don’t Feel-ing her way through life.

In 504, after their reunion in the holding cell, Clarke actually says *nothing* to Bellamy for the rest of the episode, and what she does say to him in 505 is very restrained. And when she does open up to him in the head and heart conversation, it��s not about herself, it’s about him. I think once Clarke got over her initial disbelief that Bellamy was really there, she started mentally cataloguing the changes she noticed in him. There’s the beard, obviously, but there’s also the general softness he’s let come to the surface. Clarke knew that gentleness existed, but Bellamy usually tried to hide it from everyone else and now he’s not even bothering. He’s also far more strategic, but notably Clarke only seems to recognize that by saving her life he saved Madi’s, which is a very Season One Bellamy thing to do in terms of My Life Doesn’t Matter, Only My Sort Of Daughter’s Does.

Now, I’m not sure Bellamy has noticed how different Clarke is yet. He’s always been incredibly emotionally intelligent, but I honestly think that the shock of finding out she’s alive has blinded him to noticing that she’s changed. Clarke spent six years talking to a static, imaginary version of Bellamy with the assumption that he would one day return to her, but Bellamy has spent six years mourning a very-real-but-still-static version of Clarke. Clarke probably knew he would come back a little different, so now she’s busy ascertaining just how different he is, whereas Bellamy is still processing the fact that she’s even there.

So now let’s talk about their little campfire chat in 505. It actually mostly reminds me of the beach scene in 406, in that in 406, Clarke is recognizing that what Bellamy has been dealing with with Octavia is really emotionally challenging and she’s reminding him that he’s special and she cares about him. Bellamy’s reaction is typical s1-4 Bellamy, which is to basically be like “lol whatever I’m garbage and I really wish you wouldn’t be so nice to me I’m literally gonna have to be on a different planet from you to process that kthnxbai.” But in 505, Bellamy is the one pointing out that what Clarke went through in the six years they were apart was really emotionally challenging, and he expresses his admiration for her, and she just...shuts him down.

And Clarke is not one to shirk credit for her accomplishments. This is “you may be the chancellor but I’m in charge” Clarke Motherfucking Griffin here. She doesn’t do the “aw shucks” thing-- she knows she’s a fucking badass and she owns it. So when Bellamy says “surviving alone is impressive,” it’s notable that she immediately shoots him down. On the surface of it, what Bellamy says isn’t particularly emotional-- it’s just a statement, saying “damn you’re a badass.” But it’s also more than that, because Bellamy doesn’t just say it. His voice gets deeper and softer, and he’s deliberately changing the subject from what Clarke wants to talk about-- other people-- to what was, quite frankly, a really challenging time for Clarke.

Clarke doesn’t regret staying behind, of course. It got her friends to safety and it allowed her to find Madi, and Madi is basically her whole world at this point. But it was still incredibly hard. Clarke was suicidal before she found Eden, and even once she had Madi being the new mother of a semi-feral murder child at age 20 is not exactly easy.

And how she got through it is actually very simple: she had Bellamy. She talked to him every goddamn day for six fucking years, because the memory of who he was-- and who he was to her-- kept her sane. Remember, she said “doing this keeps me sane” shortly before Eligius lands, not in her intial batch of radio calls in the months after they leave. Because she still needs him, even when she’s no longer alone.

But then Bellamy comes back, and he’s different. And now she’s probably feeling a little vulnerable and exposed and maybe even a little foolish because she structured so much of herself around who he was that adapting to who he is is making her uncomfortable. So when he says “wow, you’re really impressive” Clarke immediately bails on that conversation, like

She cannot get out of there fast enough, and then the next time there’s a chance for a soft, intimate conversation, she immediately steers the topic to Bellamy by noting how he’s changed. I think that was also Clarke’s way of trying to feel out this New And Emotionally Healthy Bellamy to try and figure out if it’s a permanent change or just a temporary one.

But (and here’s where we get to the be.cho so please, refer to the disclaimer at the beginning before you say anything) I don’t think Clarke really grasped how deeply he had changed until she saw him kissing E.cho. Now, I don’t think Clarke actually bears E.cho any ill will per se-- I don’t think she liked her very much, but I also don’t think she really gave E.cho much thought one way or another. Clarke wasn’t in Mount Weather with Bellamy in s2, and she completely missed the entire Mount Weather Goes Boom set up because she was acting as bait in Polis. Yeah, E.cho held a sword to her throat in 401 but at this point, who HASN’T held Clarke at knifepoint? Both Murphy and Roan have, and she got over that pretty fast.

So Clarke doesn’t really have any serious animosity towards E.cho, but she does know that when Bellamy left, he didn’t want E.cho to come with them. He expressed his doubts about her coming along in one of their last conversations (a conversation Clarke clearly remembers very vividly) and now he’s running across a desert to kiss her because he’s so glad she’s safe. It’s not a betrayal to Clarke (because even if Clarke has realized she has feelings for Bellamy: Romantic Stylez she knows he’s likely unaware of them); it’s a revelation. Bellamy really, truly has changed, and I think when she sees him kiss E.cho, she’s probably secretly a little relieved she didn’t bare her soul to him about the radio because that would have meant admitting Heart-and-Pants Feelings to someone who didn’t necessarily return them, and Heart-and-Pants Feelings are the one feeling Clarke has historically struggled with. (Bellamy, on the other hand, has struggled with all feelings except Heart-and-Pants feelings, because while he might not have acted on his feelings for Clarke before he was certainly well aware of them.)

I think she’ll take it as proof that the Bellamy who came back to her is not the Bellamy who left (and I do think that’s an accurate assessment on her part), but I also think she’ll take it as confirmation that whatever they had was in the past, and that is clearly not true. Everything in Bellamy’s demeanor towards her-- you saved us, surviving alone couldn’t have been easy, I thought about you in every decision I made in the last six years-- speaks of someone who is still deeply in love with her and only just realizing that what he thought was dead and buried is alive and well and quite possibly in love with him too. I think it will lead to more emotionally reticent!Clarke and more emotionally open!Bellamy, and I think this episode was really about setting up the reveals that will come more than anything else.

So in conclusion: Clarke is being very earlier seasons!Bellamy about her feelings at the moment, Bellamy is being very earlier seasons!Clarke about his feelings, and I think they’re on a collision course with be.cho that’s gonna bring pain, tears, and so much delicious angst I cannot WAIT.

Author’s Note 2.0: I’m really not kidding. I’m fine with you not liking E.cho or be.cho, but please do not tell me you dislike her or their relationship in any way. It harshes my buzz in what is otherwise such a delightful season.

#bellarke #bellarke meta #t100 rebel spy #need some spaces so it stays out of the show tags #one more should do it there we go #the 100 spoilers #505 spoilers

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basshouse · 5 years

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Of Politics and Road Trips

Welp, it seems like the time has come to address one of the gnarliest and most frequently asked questions of all time. To be clear, that's gnarly for me and to me, respectively. I’d also like to memorialize a recent road trip. Before I start, though, let’s get grounded in the current context: it’s late summer IN MARCH; We are headed intro autumn, and there has been enough early snow that Mount Hutt was open for skiing (what?!?!). I started my new job at Jade Software; the kids started a new school year in January, with Anily headed off to her first year of high school (5 years of high school here); both kids have changed to a new soccer club, which is much closer to the house (thank god); Anily made the A team; James is playing soccer and basketball and ridiculous amounts of Fortnite. It’ll soon be a year that we’ve been here. We are right in the middle of a full 12 weeks of visitors and trips from/to the US. And in case you were wondering, the cat has managed to escape through open windows and doors a few times, but he’s always come back so I guess he’s ours for real :-)

I still haven't submitted my dreadfully complicated tax return. I am seriously procrastinating, and having visitors and reasons to road trip is helping/hurting.

So! BFGFAQ (big fat gnarly...you get it): It’s the political one. From the Kiwis this usually comes in the form of “are you a Trump refugee?” or “what do you make of what’s going on over there?” And even if it’s not an explicit question, how can I possibly answer the most frequent Q of all time -- “why did you move to New Zealand?” without considering how the political landscape of the US factored in? I mean, you don't just up and move across the globe and leave a great place and a fabulous life without at least a mental checklist of pros and cons. At least, most of us wouldn't. And if you’re a grown-up (which we sadly have established that I am) and a contributing, aware, member of society (which I would argue that I am), your list must include considerations of the way your taxes are spent and people are treated in the place you live and how the outcomes of those things impact your lifestyle, your life, and the lives of other human beings. Right? Right!

MAJOR UPDATE: A handful of days after I posted this, someone (likely an asshole white supremacist) shot and killed people in a CHCH mosque. The city is still in lock down as I write this. It is terrible and sad that things like this happen anywhere, ever. And I just want to say that as you read the ideas below, I’ll be watching closely the response of the NZ government.

If there’s one thing that moving around the world to a place you’ve never been before, with a small family and no friends, and taking up a real life with a paycheck and a rent and a job does really well, it’s create an opportunity to reflect on the differences between where you were and where you are. It also is extremely useful for considering, in a very real way, how the values you hold are (or are not) reflected in both a political system and a local way of living. You really notice how political decisions, socioeconomic forces and cultural norms trickle into investments, infrastructure, bureaucracy, language, aesthetics, and interactions that impact you as you move through your day-to-day and learn how to get things done. And because you’re an observer who is trying to become an insider, you may operate with less bias and pre- disposition to judge, more of a natural curiosity and interest in gathering information and then assimilating it and deciding over time. Chalk one up for perspective! Happy to say this was the kind of experience and growth I hoped we’d all get through this adventure.

Now, from the Americans this question usually comes in the form of something like “OMG, are you so glad you’re not here for this?” or “are public healthcare and lack of gun violence really as amazing as they seem from here?”. Because, like me, most people I talk with on a regular basis feel something like this:

t least you do now, thanks to Willie Wonka’s and friend above, and this:

So while I am not here in NZ without political bias or personal ideas of what’s right, wrong and important, I am more open minded to considering what’s good for this country and this context, and I have a stronger appreciation for the complexities of things all across the board since I’ve now gathered more data and had more experience.

So, my American friends, in the interest of helping you draw some of your own conclusions, here is a segment I like to call Fact, Figures and Feelings:

America is amazing. You have SO much of everything. Including great food, tons of money, vast political power, and a really noticeable amount of homeless people. I mean! When I was in San Jose I felt so conflicted by both where to go for every meal and the fact that to get where I wanted to go I was uncomfortable with my own feelings and anxiety about possible conflict with the homeless and mentally ill folks I passed constantly. And it was often while I was walking into a convention center full of people trying to give away millions of dollars, listening to speakers who had made millions through technology. And while the dog adoption station on site and the furry friends in it made me feel a little better in the moment, could there be anything more cliche? Embarrassing. And yet is it fundamentally bad to have cute dogs making rich people feel good and maybe getting adopted? No. But it maybe uniquely American.

Know what else you have a lot of, USA? DRAMA. Seriously. The NZ morning news is usually about 25-50% reporting on the shitshow that is US and Brexit, and it turns out that when people say “if you get homesick, just listen to the news” they are correct.

So what about NZ? Well, when you live in a country with SO MANY FEWER (like so many!) people and a much smaller GDP, your reality is very different. Not so loud. Not so busy. Not so many options. Much much simpler and frankly, it feels more sane. But we know the Mexican food sucks. So... six of one/half dozen of the other? This is what I am saying: I cannot tell you if Enchiladas and Aveda products make up for dealing with the opioid crisis if you’re seeing it every day, or if leaving Tito’s vodka and a much higher salary on the table is balanced out by the fact that police here in CHCH carried guns last week and this is how people think about it:

FUN FACT: During the “summer holidays” (December-Jan), the morning news show on public radio literally went off air. They replaced it with special summer programming, mostly dedicated to personal profiles and reviews of music and activities. The only headlines they read each day were almost entirely about the US (shut downs) and UK (Brexit). Apparently it’s possible for time off to extend to politics and news. WOW. Just notice how you feel about that.

Now, NZ is certainly not the rainbows and unicorns utopia we liberals like to think a place with a public healthcare system and affordable education and far fewer guns will be -- there’s a growing imbalance in the distribution of wealth, the abortion laws are archaic, affordable housing is a big issue, nurses and teachers strike because they don’t get paid enough.

Politics was not the only motivator for our move, but we considered it -- sure seemed like a nice time to be out of the US, and it is. It’s certainly not a clear #NZFTW-100% -they -nailed-it situation, though. Every place and every system has its bad sides, and I have a lot to learn to really decide how the pros and cons balance out. All I know is that it’s really, really nice to be in a place where the political conversation is much simpler and more focused on politics and their outcomes on people than on hateful rhetoric. I am disappointed when I think of the lost opportunity due to the amount of resources you are wasting on unproductive, unkind conversations in the USA, when you have so much. I feel bad for not being there to help stand up for the rights of people I believe in, but when you don't wake up angry every day at the headlines and the people you share space with, when the dialog is a little more open and productive, when the headlines are not so likely to be violent and sad, you start with a much better mental health baseline. You just can’t eat a great caesar salad whenever you feel like it, and it’s expensive as hell to leave the island and you don’t get paid enough to be able to do it often, which may really stress you out. For now, I’m really ok with it. But over time will the flaws in the NZ system (every system has them) outweigh the positive? Do the opportunities in the US outweigh the negative?

In the interest of letting you form some your own opinions: Take a look at the the top headlines of 2018 in New Zealand. They include a pregnant PM; visits from Ed Sheeran, the Royals, and Obama; a handful of natural disasters; a bunch of news about other countries and sports; and the BIG BIG Drama which “unfolded over several deeply uncomfortable days” and ended in a minister being briefly admitted to a mental health facility and broad discussions about mental health. Consider if the US was as concerned about its politicians’ mental health when they did crazy shit :-).

Oh also, this is my CEO at work on Friday (hee hee):

So far this year Lime Scooters (people get hurt on them, and people break the rules and double ride with no helmets -- gasp!) and the potential of a capital gains tax have been in the news pretty much daily. And that’s about it. Boring? Yes! Nice? Also yes! Did you know NZ is the only country in the OECD to not have a CGT? Are you impressed with my knowledge of initialisms? Worldly is the word you’re looking for to describe me.

I know, it looks like I am pooping on a trail, but I am actually doing squats mid-hike IN A SKIRT. Probably gives me enough credibility to become a world leader, or at least present these numbers for your consideration:

Now that you have something to think about -- because you weren't already thinking about politics enough (sorry!) -- let’s turn to a less political, but more important spiritual and philosophical topic: The Art of the Road Trip.

Pro tip: It’s easier to be a Road Trip Rembrandt with the right tools -- like these:

Mountains + Vans = Roadtrip Masterpiece

I think I mentioned in an earlier post that one of the things we’ve been doing a lot of is road tripping. Not so different from Seattle, eh? True. But since we can surf so close to the house and we have such a beautiful country to explore and a slightly less active social life, the road trips are more frequent and more varied. As we are all happiest when we’re in the flow and hitting the right balance between challenge and success, I guess it makes sense. Because if I do say so myself, we are damn good at the road trip, but there’s no way to have 2 to 6 people in a small space with a lot of stuff and a windy road ahead and podcasts and music to choose without challenge.

#vanlifeisthebestlife.

Here’s a map of where we’ve been on our travels thorough the country so far:

So what’s the art of the road trip? Composition:

And the science? One part great music, one part planning, and at least two parts having a sense of humor and joy about all the chaos.

Like when there’s no where for you to sit:

My most recent road trips were extra awesome due to the fact that Leslie Lapham (AKA Alex, AKA LL) was here and we took off on a few fun adventures. Now, Leslie is great for a lot of reasons and it was super fun to have her here for 5 weeks...and one of her best qualities, she takes great pictures!

Here’s what I like to say about our first trip: it started with a bang and ended with a bee sting.

Here’s the bang -- this is what happens when some dickhead decides to pass you on the right at high speed on a highway while you are TURNING RIGHT into a campground:

So, that sucked. Especially because aforementioned dickhead did not stop to see if we were ok, just left us there in the dark on our own. Luckily the Taupe Donkey was still drivable and packing enough duct tape to make it work. So, off we headed from Kaikoura to make ourselves feel better in the vineyards and wineries of Marlborough.

The Cloudy Bay Winery was not a bad place to spend an afternoon!

Watson’s Way (not pictured) was a really weird place to spend a night though -- we were basically parked in a gravel parking lot in someone’s yard. But man, did we have some good food!

Although oops, I accidentally tried to take a grapevine as a souvenir. And I swear this was before I even did a tasting!

After wine tasting and an amazing dinner at Arbor, we headed to the Marlborough Sounds, starting at Havelock, the mussel capital of the world!

We did a cool tour on the mailboat, which literally delivers mail, packages, animals, groceries, and god knows what else (possibly the odd tourist by accident?) to the residents of the remote 300 or so bays in the region, which can only be reached by boat.

We ate a lot, of course. But we ordered more than we could eat.

After that we headed south on the inland route and camped overnight at the Tasman Lakes National Park.

There were eels, pretty views, and random dock yoga.

And last but definitely not least, we topped off the trip by meeting Jason at the always fabulous Hanmer Springs Thermal Pools. What a drive to get there, too! I did get stung by a bee while I was soaking, which was a total and pretty painful shock, despite the signs warning people to watch out for bees. Little fuckers!

After that, back to co-working and a couple weekends in CHCH:

Then...Lois!!!

Now this blog is not about all the visitors and it’s already so long I dare not start going on about having Leslie and Lois here together. Suffice it to say we had some fun times, some great food, and after 8 hours in the emergency room we did a quick road trip to Oamaru. There were PENGUINS!!!!

There were penguins!!! We saw them waddle onto the beach at dusk after swimming 50K through the ocean all day. Alas, you cannot take pictures of them, so you’ll have to settle for 3 Generations of Wachsmuth Women in the Wild until next time. XO.

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thecpdiary · 2 years

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Masking Up Again

I never stop tiring of writing in Covid-19, because being confined to my home, my writing is keeping me sane.

Anna Camp’s Covid experiences

Anna Camp from ‘Pitch Perfect’ talks about the fact that ‘anyone can catch the virus.’ Where Anna has opened-up about her symptoms, she urges people to continue to wear face masks.

Anna knows that anyone can catch Covid. Having followed the precautionary measures throughout by wearing a mask and hand-sanitising, just as public places opened-up again, on the one occasion she decided not to wear a mask, she caught Covid. The virus hasn’t gone, just because restrictions have been lifted.

Covid isn’t like the flu

Talking through her experiences, she talked about how Covid-19 was nothing like the flu. “Contracting a virus that is untreatable, that no-one knows about or what the long-term irreparable damage is, or what it does to your immunity, is stressful.”

Anna lost her sense of taste and smell and/or not knowing when they would return, she said was scary and disorientating. For Anna that included extreme fatigue, dizziness, impacted sinuses. She also had nausea, vomiting, a stomach upset and a fever. The actress acknowledged, ‘everyone must do their part and wear a mask.’

Wearing a mask is saving lives

She said, “wearing a mask is saving lives. Thank you to everyone who reached out to check on me during this scary time. Please be safe out there. Let’s all do our part and wear a mask. I don’t want any of you to go through what I did. Even though it’s a little thing, it can have a huge impact, and it’s so incredibly easy to do.” (Source: yahoo.com)

Conclusion

On the 24th February, the UK government decided to lift precautionary measures for Covid, with independent scientists saying very little about the fact the measures have been lifted, even though it has been proved that masking up can help reduce Covid-19.

Because of lifting restrictions and being high risk, I am now confined to my home. I go out for walks masked up. It may feel like an inconvenience because you want your life back, but without keeping yourself safe, there will be little of a life to get back into. Covid doesn't care whose lives it touches.

The biggest inconvenience will be having to take time to nurse yourself around a virus that is untreatable. Scientists haven’t talked about or confirmed there is a cure. There is no end to Covid.

Anna Camp is right. Masking Up is important if we are to help reduce Covid-19, save illness and save lives.

For more inspirational, life-changing blogs, please check out my site https://www.thecpdiary.com

#thecpdiary #blog #MaskingUpAgain #backtomasks #fullcircle #sanitise #handsfacespace #Covid #Coronavirus #Delta #Omicron

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gelderon52 · 3 years

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The Age of Exterminations (III). Why you Should be Worried. Very Worried

Disclaimer. I am no prophet and I have no crystal ball. I am just trying to find patterns in history. And I think many historical events can be explained simply on the basis of the tendency of people to try to make money whenever possible, even at the cost of doing the most evil things imaginable. That sometimes leads me to making rather somber predictions, as in this post, the 3rd of a series on mass exterminations (part one and part two). Sorry about this, but think that I may well be wrong -- and I hope so!

The extermination of social subgroups is a relatively recent phenomenon in history but, unfortunately, it seems to have become more and more frequent in recent times. Often, as in the case of the witch-hunting age, extermination is the result of a perfectly rational attitude that develops in societies under heavy stress. When a social subgroup is relatively wealthy, can be identified, and can't offer significant military resistance, there are good chances that its members will be exterminated and their assets confiscated. That was what happened to the people branded as "witches" in Europe during the 16th and 17th century in Europe. Another classic case was that of the Jews, a few centuries later.

At this point, considering that our society is surely under heavy stress, the question is: which subgroup could be the next target for extermination? I asked this question to the readers in a previous post of this series, but almost nobody could identify the right target. Now I think I can propose the answer:

The most likely target for the next extermination round are middle-class retirees.

Retirees satisfy all the requirements: They are identifiable, of course, they are old! They are often relatively wealthy and, more than that, they cost a lot of money in terms of health care. Finally, they can hardly put up serious military resistance. Exterminating the middle-class elders would be both easy and profitable.

Let's make a few calculations. In the US, there are nowadays about 46 million retirees living on social security. The US spends about 7% of its GDP on pensions, that is, about 1.5 trillion dollars per year (about $30.000/person/year). That's more than the about 1 trillion dollars that the US government spends for the military budget, bloated as it is.

Assuming that you could remove just 10% of the retirees, it would mean saving some 150 billion dollars per year. But, in practice, much more than that if you take into account the health care costs. For instance, summing nursing care facilities and home care for the elderly, we are talking of something close to 300 billion dollars per year, and that does not include hospitalization costs. The potential savings are truly huge: hundreds of billions of dollars.

Of course, exterminating the elderly cannot be done using the same demonization techniques used in the past against the witches and the Jews. Old people are fathers and grandfathers and their offspring won't normally like to see them burned at the stake or gassed in extermination chambers. But extermination takes many forms, and it is rarely explicitly proclaimed. After all, it never happened in history that you could find a sign with the words "extermination camp" at the gate of an extermination camp. During WWII. for instance, the Germans were told that the Jews were just being relocated, not that they were being exterminated. In other cases, the people being exterminated were glorified as heroes.

So, what form could the extermination of old people take? It would be done using well-known propaganda techniques, the main one being to state the exact opposite of what is being done. In other words, when the idea is to kill some people, propaganda will convince everybody that it is done to do them a favor (do you remember the "humanitarian bombs" dropped on Serbia?)

In practice, the weak spot of the middle-class retirees is that they need medical assistance and that they cannot normally pay the skyrocketing costs on their personal saving. So, they could be gently removed from the state budget by degrading the public health care system while saying that it is being modified in order to protect them. A clever way of doing it would be to focus so much on curing a specific single disease that the result would be a decline of the care for the illnesses that mostly affect aged people: cardiovascular diseases and tumors. A parallel measure to intensify the effect would be to degrade the quality of the food available, making it become less nutritious and contaminated with all sorts of pollutants.This method would not affect the elites, who can pay for good health care and and good food, but it will hit directly those who live on pensions.

Now, let's take a look at the current situation. In 2020 the average life expectancy in the US has declined by nearly 2% for a total of 600,000 extra deaths, most of them old people. So, we are talking of some 20 billion dollars saved just in terms of pensions. But it is much more than that considering the saving in health care costs. These numbers are not large in comparison to the US budget, but not peanuts, either. And what we are seeing is just the start of a trend.

At this point, it is customary to start screaming: "

conspiracy theory!"

It is true that the world is so huge and complicated that it unthinkable to see what happens as the result of a group of evil people collecting, say, in the basement of

Bill Gates' mansion

in Seattle. The mechanism that leads to collective events is collective:

society as a whole is a complex network with a certain ability to process information.

It does that without being "conscious" of what is being done, but often the results are to move society in a specific direction. In this case, Western Society seems to perceive the problem created by an excess of elderly people, and it is moving to solve it. It is brutal, yes, but only individuals have moral restraints, society as a whole has none. Every decision taken individually affects all the other decisions, and we are seeing the results. It is nothing new in history where, typically, everything that happens, happens because it had to happen.

_______________________________________________________________________

This said we have arrived at a worrisome (to say the least) conclusion. Most readers of the "Seneca Effect" blog are middle-class Westerners (maybe Mr. Gates reads my blog? Unlikely but who knows?). And sooner or later we are all going to become middle-class retirees and we are going to experience the ongoing trends. Of course, we are not going to be "exterminated" in the literal sense of the word. That is, no firing squads, gas chambers, or the like. But we will have to live on a progressively poorer diet and we won't have the same kind of health care that our parents and grandparents had.

What can we do about that? The answer is, unfortunately, "very little." Of course, you'll do well in following a healthy lifestyle, exercise, try to avoid the worst kinds of junk food, all that. A sane mistrust in doctors and their unhealthy concoctions may also help a lot. But you have to face it: the life expectancy of the people who are alive today is going to drop like a stone. It will be a classic example of a Seneca Cliff.

But is it so bad? I don't think we should take this as a reason for despair. At least we'll avoid the sad trap of overmedicalization in which so many of our elders fell. When my father was 87, he had a heart attack. I remember that while we were waiting for the ambulance, he said, "I think it is time for me to go." He was not happy, but I think he understood what was happening to him and perhaps he savored the idea of being reunited with his wife, who had died the year before. But that was not to happen. He was kept alive for five more years, every year worse than the previous year, until he was reduced to a vegetal, his mind completely gone, kept alive by tubes and machinery. Being humiliated in that way is not something anyone would desire. When it is time to go it is better to leave this world in peace. If possible, at home.

If you have time, you may do well in reading Lucius Annaeus Seneca's "De Brevitate Vitae" ("on the shortness of life"). Seneca was not so great as a teacher of wisdom and he made some egregiously unwise mistakes (with Queen Boudica, for instance). But when his time came, he died an honorable death. The death of a true stoic.

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