#it's absolutely not the people i just mindlessly scroll and it's killing my brain

[battlecriesandroses]

so summer starts tomorrow (i start a day early yippee!!) and i would kind of like to get off the internet for i fear if i stay here any longer i will fall into a deeper pit of despair. this blog will be kind of inactive for the next three months. however if you can't get enough of me my discord is gnomeliker5000 feel free to hmu i have like two friends and one of them is my brother

[mrpenguinpants]

Genshin: Roommate HCs [V1]

To be honest, I just wanted to ramble some more and let my brainworms take over. This is sorta late but Happy Valentine’s everyone! I was gonna post this earlier but this honestly took me a long time to write so I moved it to today. 

Once again, this is 90% crack 10% content. Seriously, as much as I love writing this non-serious fics. Why do you people like this?

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Based off my ramblings with Keqing anon: Link

Genshin: Holding Hands [V1]

Genshin: When you’re cold [V1]

Genshin: University AU [V1]

Genshin: Royalty AU [V1]

[Masterlist]

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[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@youaskedfurret @diaxfeliz @wintergreen-aix @kaechu @thegayrubberducky @lovelykittycatmeow @yuunoagivesmelife​  @dokidokisama @rokipersonal​@minakohasmanyhusbandos​ @strwbrry-lia @tigerpriestess​ @yuu-yuukurotsuki​ @hanniejji​  @mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @sunnshiii​ @stanzastic @akaasea​ @xoneaboveallx​ @adoring-ghost​ @asheseiler​ @childelover​ @dilucsz​ @dai-tsukki-desu​ @thicmitten​ @nonniechan​ @htnicayh​ @genshins1mpact​ 

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Diluc

What? Diluc has a roommate? Did you blackmail him in living with you? Is that even possible? Did you throw yourself in front of his car because you needed someone to pay for your student loans and the easiest way was to file a lawsuit? In this economy no one would blame you. Diluc seems like such the self-isolated character that would murder his roommate in cold blood but in reality, he act’s detached from the world because he forgot how to socialize and he’s desperately trying to cover it up without choking. That or he’s trying to learn how to astral project. If he could drink away the pain he would but instead he buys 20 packs of grape Kool-Aid and injects it into his veins. 

Does not and will not ever have a normal sleeping schedule. You’ll wake up to him working, come back home to him working, and will sleep to him still working. His daily dose of Vitamin D is from the brightness of his screen rather than the sun and he’s filter feeding at this point. It’s concerning. He’s going to crumble and he’s bringing the world down with him. Through the power of tax evasion. But as soon as he needs to walk out into society, he pulls movie magic and looks like perfection. It’s both physically and mentally disgusting. 

He’s actually is a really nice roommate to have just so long as you give him space. Great cook and knows to clean up after himself. Though he does have crash and burn days where’s he’s completely out of commission. You could set the entire apartment on fire and he would sleep through it. The entire two weeks are dedicated to zombie eye marathons and then he’ll suddenly collapse and sleep for 46 hours straight. When he wakes up from his hibernation he’s the most groggy and nonsensical person. His life blood is coffee because you keep hiding the 5 hour energy away from him because, you know, life is enjoyable and those cancer bottles will actually kill him.  

“University sucks our money out of our bodies faster than our will to live.” 

Beidou [Happy Birthday Queen 💕]

Despite her appearance, she’s actually really strong and it scares the piss out of you when you’re doing something or scrolling through your phone mindlessly and you suddenly get your spine re-arranged when she slaps you on the back to ask what you’re doing. Likewise, when she hoists you up and throws you over her shoulder so you come with her on her 3am convivence store raids for alcohol. It’s either you change now or else we’re walking out of the apartment in your t-shirt and no pants self. She can and will carry you under her arm that way. It’s both incredibly attractive and horrifying at the same time. 

She’s really friendly and a great talker if you’re alright with her “I must hold you in my arms, fresh prince of bel air style”. It doesn’t matter if you’re taller than her, she’s doing it. She does however, get in a bit of trouble from her rowdiness and you often get noise complaints but Beidou just passes them off to Ningguang and everything is fixed. She has ovaries of steel when neighbors rather confront her personally and she’s ready to 1v1 in the parking lot. You’re trying to desperately hold onto her shirt to stop her from pile driving your neighbors for the third time this week but she’s too strong.  

She’s constant party until we die attitude and suffers the hangover in the morning. It’s actually really funny to catch her in her hangover moods because whatever filter Beidou had, which is none, is gone. She really takes “cursing like a sailor” or the next level and the amount of creativity she comes up with is actually impressive. She can be a bit messy but she’s really likeable and always down to go anywhere with you as long as you’ll do the same. It’s a very ride together, we die together situation. You’re my best friend, you’re dying with me. I’ll see you in hell. 

“Imma T pose over my dad and then crash the car into the parking garage.” 

Kaeya

Kaeya on the surface seems like such a chill roommate. And he is for the most part. But he’s such an ass. Your things are his things, no questions asked. If you just bought a really nice sweater or you had leftover food, that’s his now. He’s innocent until proven guilty even if he’s literally holding your lunch. The pure amount of bullshit he can spit out to convince you that no, he did not pull the fire alarm because he wanted an excuse for not going to work, puts him on Shakespeare level. He’s also very pretty, way too pretty, sir can you share some of your genes? 

But aside from that, he’s actually super dependable. You forgot something at home? Sure, he has nothing better to do so he can bring them for you. We’re missing eggs? No problem, he’s just by the store. You’re 95% sure that he just wants to be cheeky and make you thank him for 20 minutes before he actually hands you what you asked for. It’s better for you if you never tell him anything you’re afraid of because Kaeya has no social cues, or more like he throws them out the window, and he’s probably a psychopath. 

He’s incredibly private of his room and things despite his attitude towards yours. You’re convinced he either has a secret lab or that’s where he’s storing the bodies. I was the good guy but due to unfortunate circumstances, I need to stab a bitch. But he’s a really good serious talker for those 3am, because everything happens at 3am, talks about life and the meaning of the universe. It absolutely wrecks your sleep schedule but some of the things you talk about are the most crackhead things like what’s the lowest amount of money someone would have to pay you to walk outside without clothes? It’s a legitimate question. 

“Never before have I been so offended with something I 100% agree with.”

Jean

Okay, what world did you save in a past life to live with his absolutely wonderful woman? Mother Teresa take a load off, take a seat. You have nothing to worry about. She’ll bring home little treats back home and it’s the most wholesome thing ever?? Is this what love and affection feels like? We’ve been starved for so long. She says it’s not a big deal and anyone would do it BUT THE MOMENT SOMEONE BUYS FOOD FOR YOU. IT’S A MAGICAL MOMENT. They are forever stuck in your will until proven otherwise. An absolute ray of sunshine that must be protected. 

She does get super busy so you don’t often see each other or get to hang out as much. She’s a bit of a workaholic but a lot more easier to talk her into taking a break. She’s also a pretty decent cook but she prefers baking and jesus christ, girl can you calm down? Be still my beating heart, I’ve been smitten. Has mother hen vibes that you’re not sure if she’s your roommate or if she adopted you into her family. It’s time to start a petition for the Jean protection squad. Given the opportunity, I would aggressively hold your hand. 

She’s always open to whatever you want to do. Any recommendations or things that you like she will try out at least once despite her busy schedule. She’s lowkey lonely because work consumes her so any time you want to hang out or do something together, she jumps on it like she’s feral. She get’s a bit shy to ask if she can join in on your plans because she doesn’t want to bother you or intrude no matter how many times you tell her that’s okay, she still get’s a bit iffy about it. Please save this girl before she trips. In your arms. Platonically. Just kidding haha. Unless?

“I can’t wait to see you happy and not hating everyone again haha.”

Childe

First impressions of Childe were great, until he opened his mouth and you realized how much of a two brain cell child(e) he was. He has two braincells because they constantly have to 1v1 in his brain. He’s lived with a lot of siblings so he has no social awareness or concept of privacy that you’re lucky if you come home and he’s half-dressed. It doesn’t matter if you’re 2 weeks older than him, he’s going to call you 82 years old and why your bones aren’t being fossilized at this point. He’s such a little shit, this fucker licks the yogurt lid peel.  

He get’s really restless when he’s stuck under house arrest, because apparently 1v1ing in the parking lot of a Wendy’s is illegal for some reason, so he makes dying whale noises until he get’s to go outside again. But he’s actually a really wholesome guy, probably because of his younger siblings, that he’ll sometimes get you something because you seemed down and it’s such whiplash? Who is this man and where did he come from? You’re starting to have a change of heart before he tells you that he got banned from the library for accidently punching the school’s computer. How you “accidently” punch something you have no idea but Childe always comes home with some sort of injury. Maybe he’s just incredibly clumsy. For your sanity, you’re going to go with that. 

He’s actually so uncultured that it’s crippling. You can’t blame him too much considering his upbringing and it’s great that he’s so interested in learning new things but...child no...It makes you want to take your spine out of your ass and rip it like a Beyblade. Watching him take chopsticks and stab his food like it’s marshmallows makes you want to fall into a blackhole and let the chair consume you. 

“I, too, fantasize about beating the living shit out of people.”

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Is this another tag yourself game cause I resonate with Diluc. I’m crying in insomnia. As much as I enjoy writing these fics I absolutely hate tagging them. I remember I used to have a tag anon but that was back when I wrote for bnha. 

Valentine’s Day was fun tho. I had a drinking game with friends as we played league then ended it off with a movie night. 

[2dmenenthusiast]

Let’s be sad together (Peter Parker x Depressed Reader)

A/N PLEASE READ!!: heeey so before we get into this, this story is told in the first person, which I know some people don’t like but I felt it was best for this particular fic because there is some self-hate in here and I didn’t want the reader to feel targetted and make them feel like shit? I hope that made sense. keep in mind this fic deals with themes of DEPRESSION, something I myself struggle with. So if you’re not comfortable with this, please don’t read. I’ve read plenty of x depressed! reader fics, and most of what I read doesn’t do the feelings justice or it romanticises depression. It’s usually like “oh youre depressed? Well i love you and boom youre fixed!” Yeah I hate shit like that lol. But I am certainly not trying to romanticise depression or mental illness by writing this. I wanted to make a fic people like me can relate to, the thoughts and feelings, etc. It was honestly super difficult, I wrote the first draft and completely scrapped it cuz I hated it. I really tried my best here, guys, and I hope you like it. And always remember that you’re not alone and things do eventually get better. It just takes time and a little help. Once again I tried to keep the reader as nuetral as possible so everyone can read! (I fucking suck at titles btw)

Plot: Peter notices something’s been wrong with you lately, and you prepare yourself for the inevitable break-up once he confronts you about it.

Words: 2,562

Warnings: Themes of depression and anxiety, self hate, angst

Loving Peter Parker was absolutely suffocating.

Sometimes I couldn’t decide if dating him was the worst or best decision I ever made, but I knew one thing for sure. He had me wrapped around his finger, and there was no leaving him even if I tried. Not that I wanted to. Peter is… well, he’s perfect. Sure, he’s dorky and can ramble about technical stuff that I can’t even begin to understand for hours on end, but if anything, those things only added to the list of reasons why he’s perfect. Oh, and he’s Spiderman. My boyfriend is Spiderman. In other words, nights were spent worrying about whether he’d make it home safely or not, and some were spent patching him up when he came knocking on my window after a particularly bad fight. He made me happy. Happier than I had ever been probably. So… why did I still feel this way?

At first, a part of me thought that being with Peter would… fix things, I guess. That maybe if I was in a relationship, it would cause all the rushing thoughts inside my head to go away. And at first, it did help. There were more nights that I could sleep peacefully, and there wasn’t a constant feeling of anxiousness sitting in my stomach. But of course, that relief never lasted long. I knew it wouldn’t, but a part of me hoped it would.

Overthinking had always been an issue. Every situation had a “what if,” and this was no different. Thoughts of Peter leaving me began to occupy my mind almost every second of every day, and now, rather than feeling relaxed in his presence, I felt a constant feeling of anxiety. Like my heart was stuck in my throat and I couldn’t breathe, an invisible weight crushing my chest. Sometimes I’d get so overwhelmed with my feelings that I’d have to leave the room and calm myself down so that I wouldn’t cry. And other days I’d completely close myself off from everyone, laying in my bed all day and feeling so upset and worthless.

This wasn’t Peter’s fault. No, he treated me like fucking royalty. This was due to my own dumb self and my own dumb emotions and my dumb fucking ways of overthinking shit I shouldn’t even be thinking about. But it’s always been like this, and no amount of listening to sad songs and telling myself everything was going to be okay was going to change that. I wasn’t immune to feeling insecure either. Especially when Peter hung out with his other friends, but I immediately told myself not to think about that stuff. I didn’t want to be that partner that gets jealous of their partner’s friends when I’m not getting every second of their attention. No, thinking that way felt toxic, and that was the last thing I wanted to be.

But sometimes, I couldn’t help those thoughts from sinking in. There were so many people out there. So many people that were funnier and better looking than me… So why did Peter settle for me? Why would he want to date someone with so much fucking baggage? Someone who could barely get out of bed in the morning while already wishing for the day to be over? Someone who thought so fucking little of themselves as a human being? There were times where I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror, because those were the days I really hated myself. Sometimes I feel like he fell out of love with me a long time ago and now he won’t leave me because he feels bad, which only made me feel worse for keeping him in a relationship he probably didn’t even want to be in. 

I couldn’t say anything to Peter about this. How could I? He would just try to fix everything and I didn’t need fixing. I just wanted him there to reassure me that he loved me as much as I loved him. That he wouldn’t leave me because of how mentally fucked I was. Even if he did tell me those things, I don’t know if I’d even believe him. My mind probably wouldn’t even let me. I imagined if I did try to tell him everything I was feeling, I probably wouldn’t be able to explain it in a way that he could understand. I was just so tired. Tired of waiting for the inevitable moment when Peter would break up with me, and I’d be left with an expected broken heart. I’ve even been preparing for the day it happens so that it doesn’t kill me when it hurts, just like I do with every situation. Rather than give my hopes up and be disappointed, I just assume the worst from the get-go. 

I don’t know how it hasn’t happened yet. How he hasn’t noticed the way I just shut down when the day gets hard. How I constantly look like I’m just in my own head, either when all of us are hanging out or when it’s just me and him. I want him to know. I want to tell him all the shit that’s running through my mind, but a part of me is terrified that I’ll just scare him away. So I just pretend it’s fine. Like I’m not ready to bust and rip open at the seams.

Today was another one of those days where I just felt like locking myself in my room and never coming out. However, the usual excuse of “I just don’t feel good,” didn’t work on Peter this time. He knew that there was something wrong. I could see it in the way he looked at me. I thought I had gotten away with it at first, laying in my bed and mindlessly scrolling on my phone, not even present in my head, just kind of there. But I knew I was screwed when I heard a knock on my window and opened my curtains just to see Peter sitting on the fire escape. I didn’t say anything as I opened the window, just watching as he stumbled into my room while pulling on the sleeves of my hoodie, something I often did when I felt that familiar anxiousness creeping in.

He made sure to shut the window after he was inside, and I immediately shrunk under his gaze when he turned to me, feeling too ashamed to meet his eyes.

“Hey, um…” 

He hesitated, and I watched the way he rubbed his palms against his jeans, almost as if he was feeling nervous. I could imagine how he was feeling, though. I was nervous too.

“I know this is kinda abrupt, um… but I just wanted to stop by and you know, make sure you’re feeling okay and all that. I was worried, so…”

Worried? He was worried about me? I blinked a few times, trying to rack my brain for a quick lie I could tell him, but that wasn’t what came out when I spoke.

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, I just… I guess I’ve just been feeling kinda low today.”

I immediately wanted to swallow the words that left my mouth, not believing that I actually willingly let him know that I wasn’t really feeling okay.

“Oh?” He took a step forward, which immediately made me want to take a step back. “How come? Was today just not a good day?”

Peter was so unbelievably sweet and considerate, I almost wanted to cry right then and there. He always treated me so well… but he deserved someone better. Someone that wasn’t me.

“I-I guess? I don’t know, it’s just kinda hard to explain,” I muttered, reaching a hand up to rub the back of my neck that felt strangely warm.

“Do you wanna talk about it? I have plenty of time. I actually left the group to come see you, so I don’t mind listening.”

My eyes slightly widened as my gaze quickly met his, looking at him as if he was crazy. Hell, he just might’ve been if he stopped hanging out with his friends just to see me.

“You… Why would you do that?” I asked softly, my voice almost a whisper as I tried to keep it from trembling.

His brows furrowed and he tilted his head slightly, looking at me almost incredulously as he stepped closer.

“Do I need a reason? I wanted to see you.”

He said it so confidently, as if he was so positive that he rather be spending his time with me than his buddies. It kind of made me feel a bit guilty. He could be spending his time with his friends and having fun, but instead, he was here, and I was trying not to break down in front of him.

“But your friends… wouldn’t you rather hang out with them?” I asked, arms crossing over my chest as if I was protecting myself from something.

Peter just smiled. “I could chill with them any time I want. Why would I skip out on an opportunity to see my baby, hm?”

My hand quickly shot up to cover my mouth, and I could feel tears starting to push through.

“He wouldn’t say that if he knew,” I thought, and it immediately became harder to contain the tears when he closed the short distance between us and placed his hands on my shoulders, his expression clearly one of concern.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

I shook my head, sniffling as I reached up and wiped at my teary eyes.

“I’m fine, I just-”

You’re not. You’re really not fine, y/n. This is not fine.

My walls were quickly crumbling down as a tear slipped down my cheek, which caused more to follow, and I let out a choked sob as Peter placed a hand on the back of my head and gently pulled me into his chest, his other hand running over my back. He didn’t say anything, just let me cry to my heart’s content as I gripped onto the front of his shirt for dear life.

“I… I’m not okay, Peter. Nothing’s okay,” I mumbled into his chest, and he gently pushed me back as he carefully held my face in his hands, thumbs wiping at my tear stained cheeks.

“What’s not okay, y/n? C’mon, talk to me.”

“Everything!” I yelled, and I could tell he was surprised by my sudden outburst as I pulled myself away from his embrace.

“Everything is not okay, Peter. Fuck, I just…” I brought my arm up over my eyes as my bottom lip quivered, my eyes burning as more tears fell. “Everything’s just so hard and I’m so tired. And I’m making everything so complicated for myself, it’s not even anyone’s fault that I’m feeling like this. It’s mine.” I sniffled and wiped at my eyes again, but it did nothing to stop the endless tears that had spent too much time being held in. “A-And I don’t know what to do, Peter. I really don’t. I’m so fucking tired of hurting and I just want the thoughts and feelings to stop. Fuck sometimes I just wish I felt nothing!”

I looked up at Peter when he didn’t say anything, and found that he was just looking at me. There wasn’t any judgement or disgust in his eyes. At least, not from what I could tell. He looked… worried. Maybe even a little sad. Was he upset over what I said? Is he bummed out that he found out what I’m actually like? I let out a sigh and wiped my nose against my sleeve, suddenly finding my feet very interesting as I looked down. The silence was fucking deafening, and in that moment, I wanted to throw myself off the fire escape and into traffic below.

“How long have you felt like this?” Peter suddenly asked, his voice quiet as if he was trying to not startle me.

I hesitantly looked up at him, pulling at my sleeves again as I shrugged my shoulders.

“If you’re talking about all the depressing shit, ever since my early teens, I guess. But um… I’ve been having other thoughts recently. Ever since we got together, actually.”

I winced as soon as the words left my mouth. Would I regret this? Most definitely. Did Peter need to know? No, but he deserved to.

Peter frowned. “Really? Like… what kind of thoughts?”

I sighed and ran a hand down my face.

“Fuck, Peter, I just… You’re Peter Parker. You’re Spiderman! And I’m just-”

“Amazing, beautiful, the best partner I could ever ask for. Should I go on?” he asked with a small smirk, and I let out an amused huff as I placed a hand against his chest and lightly pushed him.

“I’m serious, Peter. I’m just… I’m fucked up, okay? Nothing about me is normal, hell the thoughts I have certainly aren’t. And I doubt you wanna be with someone who has so much shit going on with them-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Peter interrupted, waving his hands in front of my face. “Who said anything about me not wanting to be with you?”

I scoffed. “I mean, it’s a no brainer, Peter. You saw me just now. I mean, sometimes I break down over the dumbest shit-”

“It’s not dumb if it makes you upset,” he said, his tone a bit harsh.

I didn’t know how to respond to that. No one had ever really validated my feelings like that before.

“I-”

“No, y/n. Why would you think any of this would be a problem for me? I mean… No, nevermind, I understand why you would think that. You can’t help it right? But listen to me.” He placed his hands on my arms, making sure I was focusing on him. “No matter how messed up you think you are… you’ll always be my favorite person, y/n. You don’t have to hide how you feel, you don’t need to be scared. If you’re having a bad day, tell me, and we can have a bad day together. We can lay in bed all day and munch on food that will probably take years off of our life, we can do anything you want. Just tell me, okay? If something ever happened to you… shit, y/n.”

He then pulled me into a bone crushing hug, holding onto me as if I’d disappear if he let me go.

“That’s my worst nightmare. I could handle being kicked out of the avengers or any other terrible stuff. But losing you? Just thinking about it breaks my heart, baby.”

I felt the tears rising once again as I took in what he said, not used to hearing someone say these things to me. Leave it to Peter Parker to make me feel completely vulnerable and open, something I usually hated. I immediately relaxed in his embrace, letting out a soft cry as my arms wrapped around his waist and I buried my face in his neck.

“I love you, Peter,” I muttered softly, my heart skipping when I felt Peter’s lips against my temple, smiling against my skin.

“I love you too, y/n. Please don’t ever forget that.”

Maybe opening up a bit wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

I wonder if I have depression . I have zero semf-esteem and some days I struggle heavily with suicidal ideation . I constantly struggle with doing homework and doing chores can be hard . My executive functions are shit . I have very little motivation for anything , even the things I adored as a child / teen and that I still love and even watching Netflix takes too much motivation . I spend most of my free time mindlessly scrolling Tumblr and Instagram . I have no impulse control about food .

sweetheart, i am Officially Diagnosed, and i have absolutely zero doubt in my mind that you have depression. you could be reading out a textbook definition right now. literally everything you just described is 100% major depressive disorder. you have depression.

i say that, repeatedly, in explicit sentences, because i know that depression is a hell of a drug and it just loves to try and convince you that it doesn’t exist. depression’s greatest trick is making you believe you don’t have depression, you’re just a fucking loser who isn’t trying hard enough and you don’t have any real reason to be miserable, everyone else has it worse, why are you being so stupid you should just make it easier for everyone else and kill yourself, and you DEFINITELY shouldn’t tell anyone else about this humiliating secret because they’ll laugh at you and tell you to get over it, which is what you should be doing anyway, you idiot.

all that? that’s depression. it’s not just feeling sad, it’s feeling blank and restless because you can’t find the energy to do anything interesting so you’re bored out of your mind even while you’re numb to pleasure or enjoyment. it’s being angry because you hate living like this and you hate feeling like this but you don’t know how to fix it. it’s reaching for anything that might make you feel good for even a few minutes, like food or drugs or buying things. it’s feeling like your entire life is falling apart and you have no future, but still managing to put on a smile whenever someone asks how you’re doing. it’s laughing even while thinking that you’d be better off dead.

you don’t need to have a “reason” to be depressed; even the person with the “most perfect” life in the world could be depressed, because it’s an illness in your brain, not an emotion or a choice. people with good lives can get cancer, right? you don’t have to justify depression with a “good enough reason” to be unhappy.

you may also be tempted to think it’s not “that bad” or even that you’re faking it, because there are periods where it gets better or even goes away completely. that’s because MDD is often cyclical, and it can come in episodes rather than a continuous level of depression. so if you spend a week unable to get out of bed or shower, then next week you can go back to school almost like normal? that’s not faking it, that’s an episode.

again, i’m trying to explain all of this because i want you to really, genuinely understand that your brain will try to talk you out of believing that your illness is real and that you need or even deserve help. you need professional help for this, because it’s real, and it’s extremely serious. 

wanting to die isn’t normal. thinking about how you’d do it isn’t normal. it’s not normal to find no joy in life and for it to take all of your strength to accomplish even the most basic tasks. and while some lifestyle changes can help, actually being able to make those changes is next to impossible without professional intervention. if you can find the right antidepressant for your brain’s needs, it will lift some of this fog and make things like exercise and eating better actually feasible.

there are a lot of misconceptions about antidepressants, so let me make a couple things clear here: antidepressants are not “happy pills.” if you don’t have depression, antidepressants literally won’t affect you. they work on a very specific biochemical process in the brain that is imbalanced by depression, and once you’re able to properly absorb the neurotransmitters you’re lacking, the depression starts to get better. it’s not instantaneous, it can take a few weeks before you see a change, and you may also have to try a few different medications before you find the one that works for you.

also, antidepressants don’t change or suppress “the real you”. you know what’s changing and suppressing the real you? depression. depression makes you other than who you truly are. antidepressants are a tool that helps you dig out of the hole depression has buried you in and lets you begin to rediscover your real self. 

also, there is literally nothing wrong with needing medication the rest of your life. people without depression are reliant on the exact same chemicals, they just are able to produce their own. if you can’t make your own neurotransmitters, storebought is fine. 

if you go on antidepressants or any other meds for mental illness, do not, under any circumstances, take yourself off of them. if you feel like you’re “better now” and “don’t need them anymore” that’s because they’re fucking working. i will come to your house and i will pee in your shoes if you ever take yourself off your meds without consulting your doctor. do not. ever. do that.

okay, i think that’s the most important information i have to share. i know it’s probably a lot to take in. but the crucial thing here is that you get help from a professional who is able to prescribe you medication, either a psychiatrist or a medical doctor. it may be beneficial to see a therapist or a psychologist, but they can’t prescribe medication. 

if you’re nervous about contacting a professional, please try reading my going to therapy tag and/or my going to the doctor tag for some step-by-step advice. if you don’t think you can afford going to a doctor, please check my therapy resources tag and healthcare tag. if you don’t know how to bring the subject up, my how to talk about it tag may help with that.

i also want you to go through my depression tag, suicide tag, and mental illness resources tag and bookmark them for whenever you need to be reminded that your problems are valid but not hopeless and you need some immediate help.

please, please do not let the illness convince you that you have to keep this a secret. that is depression’s biggest lie. depression loses so much of its power over you the day you decide to talk about it, because that’s the day you realize you aren’t alone and there are so many other people out there who not are not only going through the same thing, they want to help you. 

if you take away just one thing from this fucking long-ass post, please let it be this: talk about it.

[baby-army-ff]

meet cute -- Monte & Yoongi

God, the bells at the entrance to Catfish Vinyl echoed in Montego Bridges' worst nightmares.

Worst yet, Monte wasn't asleep or dreaming. And the bells gave away the fact that she was once again fifteen minutes late to clock in. Glancing around the empty lounge, she might have escaped the lecture this time.

It wasn't her fault that she didn't have reliable transportation to work. Of course, she might've lied about it in the interview. And maybe she would have reliable transportation if she didn't blow all her money at the recording studio. But it wasn't her fault. That's what they get for paying minimum wage!

Once she was clocked in, she took her place behind the cash register, whipping out her phone. Chances were no one would come in for the first hour of her shift. That's usually what happened anyways. Why Bruce was such a stuck up about being on time, she'd never know.

"Don't think I didn't hear you come in late again."

"Speaking of the devil." Monte set her phone down on the counter, standing up straight.

"Is that what you do when you're out here alone? Pray to the dark lord?"

She smirked. For all she knew, he could have been into that kind of stuff himself. Bruce had owned the vinyl lounge for longer than she'd been alive. He was one of the few people that could intimidate her, probably due to the fact that he looked right out of one of those mafia murder movies.

"No, I just mindlessly scroll on social media until my eyes glaze over, my brain goes numb, and I start believing that birds are actually government robots recording every aspect of our daily lives."

He shrugged. "That would make a lot of sense."

"And you say I'm the one on my phone too much." She went back to scrolling, popping a mint from the candy jar into her mouth. It was for the customers technically, but she hadn't had to refill the jar in a month. She was doing them a favor really. If they sat for too much longer, they'd probably poison someone.

"Funny, my phone says 4:30. Didn't your shift start at 4:00?"

Groaning, she set her phone down once again. "Are we back on that? If you want the truth, I lost my house keys and was looking everywhere for them."

"Did you find them in your nightstand?"

"How'd you know?" She feigned astonishment.

"That was yesterday's excuse too."

Shoot. She forgot she didn't use the house got flooded excuse yesterday.

"This is strike two, Monte." Bruce gave her the disappointed father look. Not that she knew what that really looked like—she never really got that look from her parents a day in her life.

"Bruce, come on. You know I'm the best worker here. And no one stops by before 5 o'clock."

"Your schedule says 4 o'clock. Period."

She shut her mouth, holding back the groan. When Bruce was serious, he really was serious. She didn't want to push his buttons any further. Though she was tempted to.

"I promise I'll be on time tomorrow. And I don't promise often."

He seemed appeased by her answer as he went back to sorting through vinyls. She was pretty sure they were in alphabetical order already, but he seemed to really like flipping through the tracks. It really was his passion.

"Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? That disappointed father look on your face is killing me." She was half joking. The other half was her just being bored and hoping he'd give her something to do.

"Sell a vinyl to this customer." He nodded his head towards the entrance.

She hadn't even noticed anyone walking towards the shop. Tucking the phone away in her pocket, the nightmare bells jingled again as her first customer of the day walked in.

"Welcome to Catfish!" She voiced towards the front door. She couldn't really tell anything about the guy that walked in, besides the fact that he had snow white skin. A baseball hat and sunglasses hid any other defining features.

She gestured to Bruce to go to the backroom. She hated when he judged her vinyl knowledge, and he always managed to steal her thunder with all that he knew. She wasn't about to lose this challenge.

She watched over his shoulder, taking note of which vinyls he chose to flip through. His choices were random at first. Of course he flipped through the Beatles. Everyone did that. Eminem. J. Cole. Not much of a selection there, but she could stan them.

"Are you looking for something specific?"

He turned around to look at her still standing behind the counter. "Me?"

She snickered. "No, the ghost next to you." She walked towards where he was standing. "If you like rap, then be prepared to have your world shook. Follow me."

He obeyed, trailing beside her and sipping the large iced coffee in his hand. Black coffee. He must be really desperate to have to drink that stuff.

"We have to stop by Animal Collective, because, well, they're my favorite. And this album is perfection. If I were stoned, not saying I've ever been there, this is what I would want playing in the background. Don't tell anyone I told you that though."

Without words, the boy smiled. That was enough to boost her confidence and keep the album under her arm as an option. Who knows, maybe he'd want it after all.

"Moving on, for rap, this is the best vinyl in the building. Wu-tang Clan. If you haven't heard them, you're missing out. It is my absolute favorite, and, if you don't buy it, I might just buy it for you myself because it's that good."

Pocketing his sunglasses, she was able to see his face as he took the vinyl in his hands. He was clearly Asian, with eyes that looked like they could shoot daggers. Though he looked innocent and gentle, and maybe not a day over twenty. She was a bad judge of age though.

"You know a lot.." He smiled, holding the vinyl carefully.

"I like vinyls. And rap. Unfortunately our rap vinyl collection here is kinda sucky."

"You like rap?"

"I love rap. I actually perform around the corner sometimes—"

"You rap?" His eyes lit up with amazement.

She was used to people being shocked that she wanted to rap. If there was an image to fit, she definitely didn't meet it. But the look in his eyes was more than just surprise. He looked excited.

"Just a little bit." She lied. She'd spent nearly every day for the past month recording at the studio down the street. It really wasn't a big deal though. It was a friend's recording studio, not like a record label or anything. That was still a far off dream.

"That's so cool." He walked to the counter with her, taking longer sips of his coffee along the way.

"So, where are you from?" She made small talk as she rang him up. Usually she hated these parts of the conversation, but she was actually interested this time.

"South Korea."

"What brought you here?"

"Music."

She watched his eyes. He was being genuine, that much she appreciated. She was so over the guys who came in acting like they knew everything about music and vinyls.

She handed over his receipt. "I'm Monte, in case you ever hear about me in the future or anything."

She smiled at his laughter, forcing it into her memory.

"I'm Yoongi."

"Well, come again, Yoongi." Please.

God, where was her head?

The bells jingled as he headed out the door, waving at her one last time. She waved before turning towards the office.

Bruce was already standing in the doorframe. "Are you okay? You look a little.. red in the face." He could hardly hold back the bubbling laughter.

"Whatever." She pulled her phone back out, blocking out his mocking. Why was she so shaken by the boy? There wasn't anything exceptional he said or did. Maybe that's what it was. He was genuinely authentic.

And he liked rap. So that was a plus in her book.

"He bought a vinyl?"

"Two." She said matter of factly. "He bought two."

"Consider your sins repaid. Now go get a drink of water before you overheat."

She ran a hand across her forehead. Since when did he keep the lounge so hot?

[allthephils]

Luna Ursi

Phil takes in a stray dog and soon realizes he’s found his other half.

Word count:  5209 so far Rated T

Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Excerpt: The autumn sun streams muted through the windows and Phil stirs. He wakes just before his alarm sounds. That hasn’t happened in ages. Most mornings, he’d grab his phone and scroll mindlessly for a while before even getting out of bed. Today, he can hear Bear’s sleepy breaths, like last night but calmer, softer like he’s not dreaming anymore. Phil stays cozy beneath the duvet and listens to the sound. He listens until he hears something that makes his breath catch in his throat. Holding it there so he can hear clearly, he waits and it comes again. A hum, just a small sleepy moan. It’s the sound you make when you’re comfortable and warm and just stirring from sleep, when a person is stirring from sleep. There’s someone else in the room.

He shuffles toward the headboard, knees to his chest. He wants to call for Bear but he doesn’t dare make a noise. Bear will keep him safe, he could scare off anyone. Where is Bear?

Read on AO3

Bear jumps onto the bed three times before he finally listens and lays down in his bed on the floor. It breaks his heart a little but Phil holds his ground. The dog takes up altogether too much space and it seems important to start building good habits if he’s going to live here now. Phil’s mind races with plans for his new life as a dog owner. Tomorrow morning, he’ll get online and find a good vet. He knows he’ll need to do a cursory search for Bear’s owner too, though he doesn’t think anyone who’d lose him twice in as many months truly deserves him. 

 Phil dreams of the woods again, of running fast through the trees, glowing silver around him. This time he’s not alone, Bear runs at his side. He can hardly keep up and he stops trying. He just runs, his blood pumping fire in his veins as the cold London air whips by. Bear is meters ahead, sprinting, weaving around roots and rocks and fallen branches, until he leaps without warning. He lands crouched, front paws coming down hard onto something grey and furry. Phil stands perfectly still, watching the small thing struggle under Bear’s powerful legs and eventually it hangs limp from his jaws. Bear looks back at Phil before turning to walk toward him. He lays his offering at Phil’s front paws, nudging it closer with his nose. Phil sniffs at their prey, lowering his head, and Bear nuzzles into the side of his face and the thick fur at his neck. 

 He wakes with a growling stomach but feeds it only a glass of water. Bears snuffling breaths are the sweetest sound in the dark of night. They sing him back to sleep. 

 The autumn sun streams muted through the windows and Phil stirs. He wakes just before his alarm sounds. That hasn’t happened in ages. Most mornings, he’d grab his phone and scroll mindlessly for a while before even getting out of bed. Today, he can hear Bear’s sleepy breaths, like last night but calmer, softer like he’s not dreaming anymore. Phil stays cozy beneath the duvet and listens to the sound. He listens until he hears something that makes his breath catch in his throat. Holding it there so he can hear clearly, he waits and it comes again. A hum, just a small sleepy moan. It’s the sound you make when you’re comfortable and warm and just stirring from sleep, when a person is stirring from sleep. There’s someone else in the room.

 He shuffles toward the headboard, knees to his chest. He wants to call for Bear but he doesn’t dare make a noise. Bear will keep him safe, he could scare off anyone. Where is Bear?

 “Who’s there?” Phils says. He’s trembling, struggling to sound strong and unafraid. “I have a very big dog and he will fuck you up. I’m not kidding.” 

 They’re moving, he can hear them moving. He steadies his breath as much as he can, struggling to stay just this side of absolute terror. His mind races. This person broke into his home, into his bedroom, his sanctuary. Everything of value is in the other rooms. Did he interrupt their burglary? Is he going to be killed or something far worse? Where the fuck is Bear? His legs prickle with heat, the blood rushing to fuel his escape. It doesn’t seem likely. He’ll have to fight. 

 Finally, a person comes into view, pushing off the floor to stand near the foot of his bed. Desperate, Phil gropes for his glasses on the nightstand and now he can finally see. It’s a man. A broad, tall man. He doesn’t stand a chance. As the man stands to full height, it dawns on Phil that he’s not wearing any clothing and fear takes over. Phil’s breath quickens as his body moves without him, jumping from the bed. 

 “Bear!” Phil calls out, the shake in his voice betraying him.

 The man turns slowly and Phil reaches behind him to grab something, anything to protect himself. He finds himself with a ridiculous nin-nac in his hand, a ceramic lamb -banana hybrid that he bought for it’s sheer absurdity. Right now, it’s not the least bit funny. It is heavy though, it might not knock the guy out but it would slow him down. He stands stall, chest puffing, and takes a few steps towards the man. 

 As he comes face to face with Phil, the man takes a single step forward and Phil raises his arm, ready to defend himself.

 “No, no, no! Stop,” The man pleads, “Phil, please don’t freak out. You’re not in any danger. I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

 He can see all of him now. He’s completely naked, hands up in front of him, he looks terrified. Phil doesn’t lower the lambanana just yet.

 “How do you know my name? How did you get in here?” Phil shouts, his chest is heaving. “What did you do with my dog?!”

 “Phil,” the man says, “I know this is crazy, I’m so sorry I frightened you.”

 One more step forward and they are eye to eye. The man’s hands are still up, he’s defenseless. Phil lowers his weapon and just looks into brown eyes that feel so familiar. Despite his resistance, his gaze wanders over miles of smooth, champagne colored skin. He’s beautiful and Phil’s body warms and softens at this close proximity. 

 “Phil.” His voice is reassuring for no reason at all.

 “I don’t know how you know my name,” Phil says, “but you’re…”

 He steps back and sits on the edge of the bed. The fear that was so present a moment ago, pushing him to run or fight or scream, is gone. He can feel his heart reach out. 

 “Do I know you?” Phil says, his voice wobbly. “What the hell is going on?”

 “It’s me, Phil.” He approaches slowly and crouches down in front of Phil. He tilts his head as he looks up at him.

 “You?” Phil says, exasperated. 

 “My name is Dan. But Phil,” The man sighs. He reaches out and it looks as though he’s going to put a hand on Phil’s but he pulls it back. “It’s me. I know this sounds fucking mental but it’s me, it’s Bear.”

 “Okay, Dan is it?” He does his best to speak in a soft, measured tone. “You seem like a nice guy but I think you need a kind of help that maybe I can’t give you. There are people who know how to help you, so I’m just gonna make a call now.” Phil picks up his phone, ready to dial 999.

 “Wait, wait, wait, I can prove it,” Dan says, frantically, “you have emoji pajamas.”

 “Have you been watching me?” 

 “You have sonic the hedgehog underwear.”

 “Oh my God.” Whatever comfort he had found in Dan’s eyes is rapidly twisting itself into pure menacing danger. 

 “You have a little mole under your right arse cheek. It’s cute.” Dan says and he smiles a very small, very shy smile. 

 “Fuck,” Phil says, voice barely working as his throat siezes up with fear, “don’t come any closer. I’m calling 999.”

 “No! Shit, I’m fucking this all up.” Dan stands and paces the floor. 

 Phil dials 999 and lifts the phone to his ear.

 “Phil, please.” Dan scrubs his hands over his face. “You met me in the park. You called me pupper. You called me bear because I’m strong.”

 “Emergency. What service to you require?”

 Phil hears the operator but he doesn’t respond, he’s paralyzed, caught between astonishment and disbelief.

 “You brought me home but then I was gone.”

 Phil looks up at Dan, who cautiously moves closer. 

 “Hello? Emergency. Are you in need of service?”

 “So sorry,” Phil says into the phone, “my mistake.” He ends the call. 

 “It’s me, Phil. It’s Bear. Come closer. You know it’s me.” 

 “I don’t know,” Phil says, “I don’t know.”

 “Think for a second,“ Dan continues, “have you ever seen your dog during the day?”

 Phil stands.

 “You met me in the park, on the full moon, and then you didn’t see me again for a month. The next time you saw me was…”

 “The next full moon,” Phil whispers, before clasping his hand over his mouth. His eyes fill with tears but he’s not sure what they’re for.

 Stepping forward, Dan pulls Phil’s hand away and holds it. Tenderly, slowly, he brings their bodies together and leans to press his face into Phil’s long neck. He sniffs and nuzzles and Phil’s arms finally make their way around to hold him. He can deny the warmth in Dan’s eyes, the things he knows, he can deny the way this man smells like home to him. There is something else though, a visceral recognition that he can’t deny. Every piece of Phil’s body knows what his brain is trying desperately to catch up to. It’s him, it’s his Bear.

 “Bear,” He sighs as he pulls him closer.

 ***

 “You’re so beautiful.” It’s the third time Phil has said it. They’re sat on his sofa. Dan has the sleeves of Phil’s big oversized hoodie pulled down over his hands. He’s wearing a pair of Phil’s joggers too. His knees are pulled up to his chin, mug of tea held up close to his nose so he can smell the sweet floral fragrance. Phil is sat on the other end in a similar configuration. He’d been determined to wrap Dan up in warmth, not that he minded the view. He just feels this intense draw to make Dan cozy and safe.

 “Are you ok? Do you need anything?” Phil says, “Are you hungry? I might have some biscuits. Maybe something more substantial?” He starts to get up.

 “Phil. I’m ok.” Dan’s smile is so soft and lovely and Phil sits back down and stares.

 “You have to stop looking at me like that.”

 “Sorry. You’re just so…”

 “You have to stop saying that too. But, thank you.” Dan’s cheeks, already pink from the steam of his tea, deepen their color and Phil has to bite his tongue to avoid saying it again and again.

 “You’re ok?” Phil aks.

 “I’m ok.” Dan takes a sip before continuing. “This is really nice, Phil. I’m usually alone when I turn back and it’s, well, this is better.”

 Satisfaction settles in and Phil relaxes back into the cushions, pulling a blanket over his lap. He’s drinking his coffee and watching Dan sip his tea and it’s raining outside the window. It’s as close to perfect as he can imagine and his mind supplies a timeline of morning after morning, spent just like this. This isn’t something that has happened before. Phil has never met someone and imagined a future with them, at least not one so mundane and domestic, so real. No sooner has he lost himself in that fantasy than his mind supplies a storm of doubt. He doesn’t know if Dan sees Phil the way that Phil sees him. Maybe all the nuzzling and affection is just a dog thing. Are they even friends? Is Dan even single, is he even gay? It’s at that precise moment that Phil realizes, of all the questions currently vying for attention in his brain, none of them are about the fact that Dan is apparently a werewolf, or a weredog, or something. He can’t help but laugh.

 “What?” Dan asks.

 “This is insane,” Phil says, “You’re a fucking werewolf, Dan.”

 Dan raises his brows as if to say, yeah mate, I know.

 “I should be freaking out,” Phil says, “I should have questions.”

 Dan nods a small nod and curls in on himself a bit. He shrugs. “ What do you want to know?”

 Phil swallows. All he really wants to know is, is Dan warm enough, does he think Phil is good looking, does he feel the pull toward Phil that Phil feels toward him? He doesn’t ask those things.

“How long have you been…?” He doesn’t like saying the word. It doesn’t fit. 

 “I was 20, so 6 years?”

 “Are there more? Like do you know others, like you?”

 “There are, but I keep my distance. I’m not like them.”

 “So how did it happen? Who made you.. or… is that how it works?”

 Dans lips pull tight and he squares his shoulders. Phil knows he crossed a line and he desperately wants to take the question back.

 “Forget I asked that.” Phil says, “Different question?”

 Dan nods. He grabs the end of Phil’s blanket to pull over his legs and Phil moves a little closer to give him more to work with.

 “Can you turn anytime you want to?”

 “Yeah, as long as it’s night, and the moon is out. The sun drowns her out during the day, there has to be moonlight. And yes I know that light comes from the sun, I don’t make the rules.” Dan eyes are firmly on his own hands. His tea set aside, he’s started to twist the blanket in his fingers, fidgeting. “I can’t help it though, when the moon is full, and the days surrounding it. When it shines brightest in the sky, for those three days, I have to hunt. I need to run.” 

 “So how often do you turn when the moon isn’t full?”

 Dan huffs a breath, “Never.”

 “Why not?”

 “Because it’s awful. It scares me. What if i hurt someone?”

 “You wouldn’t.”

 Phil hasn’t looked away from Dan’s face since they started talking and he’s finally rewarded now. Brown eyes meet his, narrowing a bit, and he’s reminded again of the connection they have. He felt it when he first knelt down to pet Bear, when he’d  followed him home, when they walked side by side through the park. It’s so strange, this attraction, but it’s been there from the start, it’s natural. 

 “People fear me, dogs fear me, wolves attack. I’m all alone when I turn.”

 “People fear you?”

 “Well yeah, I look so scary.”

 “I mean, you’re a big boy,” Phil laughs a little, “but you just looked sweet to me, friendly. I saw someone I could be friends with.”

 “That’s what you saw?”

 “Yeah.”

 Dan unfolds his legs and scoots toward Phil under their shared blanket. Soon his head is on Phil’s shoulder, nose nuzzling against his neck and Phil’s fingers have found a home in Dan’s curls. He resists the urge to pet Dan’s head and instead rubs his fingerstips into his scalp, massaging and scratching to the sound of contented sighs.

  “Phil?” Dan’s voice is barely a whisper.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m glad you found me.”

  Phil’s heart feels tight, like Dan has crawled inside and there’s no room for anything else. “Me too, Bear,” he says. 

[mitchmarnier]

L.A Devotee | Chapter 3

Richie looked Eddie’s outfit up and down, and wrinkled up his nose. “Do you own anything that didn’t come from Aeropostale in 2009?” 

Eddie gave him a equally disgusted look in return. “Not really.” 

[or: child actor Richie Tozier was raised in The Industry, he knows how to play the game. He knows exactly how to keep his head down, and make his way through the famous life without attracting any extra drama. Until his management branch takes an up incoming band under their wing, and enlist Richie to publicly date the lead singer, and that all falls to shit.]

Richie was woken up by a heavy weight bouncing onto the bed beside him. He yelped, gripping angrily at the edge of his mattress as he nearly tumbled off while Audra continuing bouncing on her knees.

“RICHIE! GET UP! RICHARD!” Audra shook Richie’s shoulder until he groaned angrily and swatted at his best friend.

He hunched his shoulders up towards his ears and glowered at her. “You better not be waking me up because of that fuking recording studio shit.It’s not until 11, and I have an alarm set! Let me live!”

Audra yanked the blanket away from Richie’s body and tossed towards the bottom of Richie’s bed. “It’s not about that, but I do think you should take it a little bit more seriously. Nobody’s going to believe it, if you don’t start acting like it’s real.”

Richie rolled his eyes. It had been nearly four weeks since his management had demanded that he parade around with some pretty little songbird on his arm as though they were madly in love, and Richie could admit that he hadn’t seen much of the guy at all. After the awkwardness at the bar between them, he’d been giving Eddie a wide berth. There had been a few arranged meetings- enough that Eddie’s face showed up in tabloids and people Googled who Eddie was. His band’s YouTube channel and SoundCloud had skyrocketed in the last couple weeks, and the management felt now would be a good time to start dropping their singles. Richie was, of course, was expected to be present at the final recording today, if only to be spotted going in and out of the building with Eddie. He was still looking for a way to get out of actually having to sit through the recording process, simply because he’d gone this far without hearing Eddie Kaspbrak sing and he’d like to keep that trend up as long as possible.

Audra hit him with a pillow, and he tossed his hand out to whack at her shoulder. “Richard.” She said, an absolute overjoyed smile covering her face. She held her phone out-stretch towards him, wiggling it in his face. “They nominated you for an Oscar!”

Richie felt as though he went through twenty emotions all at once and didn’t seem to express any of them. He blinked once, and rolled to sit up in his bed. “Guess I’ll take a shower since I’m up anyway.”

He watched how Audra’s face fell and instantly felt bad. He supposed that he should have tried a little harder to act enthusiastic- or tried at all, really- but with the amount of things he was going to have to pretend to feel today, this just wasn’t something he could bring up the strength to do. “Look, I’ll send out a Tweet about being thankful later, I promise. It’s not like I’m going to win it.”

Audra made a wounded noise sound as Richie stood and moved past her towards the bathroom. “That’s so negative! You can’t go into this with such bullshit opinions of yourself! You’re a good actor, Richie!”

Richie rolled his eyes, and yanked his boxers down. He reached into the shower, and pulled the water on. Holding his hand under the stream to feel it warm up to his preferred temperature, he looked back over to Audra. “Okay, first of all- we both know this isn’t about having talent.” Richie continued to rush through as Audra opened her mouth to speak. “And also? That movie was absolute shit. If I had been up for like… Rage… then maybe I could see it. But Secret Window? Ohhh dude kills his wife, big fucking plot twist. We know that if it had been anything less than written and directed by Bill Denbrough that it would have been some trash ass straight-to-Netflix shit.”

“That doesn’t mean your performance was bad.” Audra challenged, but Richie could tell the words were weak. Richie had barely even bothered to memorize the lines for the movie, convinced that it was going to flop whether he worked for it or not. He’d only agreed to do it as a favour to Bill, who had given him so many good roles that he figured it wouldn’t hurt to do a bad one. He remembered being shocked how breaking the film had been and was now even a little bit insulted that it was the role he was being nodded over.

“I haven’t been up for an award since my Teen Choice days.” Richie chuckled. “Most people don’t jump straight from the surfboard to the golden statue. No matter how many years have passed in between.” Audra was still glaring at him and Richie sighed. “Are you done lecturing me? I’m getting in the shower.”

“I am absolutely not done!” Audra said firmly, grabbing the ends of her nightshirt and heaving it over her head. Richie rolled his eyes, stepping under the water and feeling Audra slide in behind him. They settled under the spray and Audra placed her hands on her hips, glaring up at him. ”You’re not giving yourself enough credit, Rich. As usual. You were good in the movie, you played crazy really well! I think it’s one of your best roles, personally. You deserved to be nominated. Take it for the compliment that it is.”

Richie huffed out a breath, pouring some of Audra’s pomegranate shampoo into his hands and reaching to rub it into her hair.  “But I don’t take it as compliment. This is just something that is going to make my life more complicated. An excuse to push me into doing more bullshit publicity- and I have enough of that going on.”

Audra raised one eyebrow at him, likely trying to look intimidating but falling flat with the her hair piled up top of her head in a white foam. Richie tried not to laugh. “Not everything is a big scheme with ulterior motives. You’re paranoid as fuck.”

Richie pushed his thumbs against Audra’s chin and encouraged her to tilt her head under the spray. “I don’t know how you aren’t more paranoid, honestly. You really just take things at face value.”

“Not everything,” Audra said, rubbing the soap into Richie’s face a little more aggressively than he felt was necessary. “But sometimes I think it’s okay to believe that something is just a nice thing. No strings attached.”

“There’s always strings.”

Richie waltzed into the recording room, trying to ignore Beverly’s other excited chattering in his ear. Like Audra, she seemed to believe that this nomination was a good thing. What wanted nothing more than to never hear the word “Oscar” again- all apologies to people with the name. He had already resigned himself to having a long couple of weeks, but he was already close to snapping when he noticed Kay perking up at the sight of him.

“Richie! Congratulation-” She hadn’t even finished getting the words out before Richie was waving her off impatiently and dropped himself into one of free cars in the room. He pulled his phone out, but simply scrolled mindlessly through his own photo gallery because the last thing he wanted to do was look anywhere near his social media.

“He’s in little bitch mode,” Beverly said, coming into the room and immediately going to fuss over Ben’s hair. “Just let him stew in it. Auds probably woke him up and you know how he gets when he doesn’t get at least ten hours.”

Richie held his middle finger high above his head and clenched his jaw as he heard the laughter bounce through the small room.

“What are we congratulating Richie for?” Eddie’s voice came then, and Richie couldn’t help glancing up at him. He was wearing a pair of seemingly fitted beige khakis and an actual pink polo shirt, complete with a collar and everything. He looked the perfect boyfriend to some Disney Channel Mary Sue, and it made the back of Richie’s neck burn. “Did he finally find a thrift store that accepts thousand dollars bills?”

God, he barely knew him and yet Eddie Kaspbrak could get under his skin like nobody ever had before. It seemed that he knew just the exact right words to make Richie bristle, and his soul was trained for the exact right moment to toss them out.

“He was nominated for his first Oscar,” Beverly answered, even just sounding like she was rolling her eyes. “And he seems to think that it’s the end of the world.”

“His first?” Eddie’s face seemed confused as he turned to look over at Richie. Richie held his gaze, daring Eddie to piss him off. Eddie just hummed, and turned back to fiddling with his headphones. “I’d have thought you already had at least one.”

Richie narrowed his eyes, brain still trying to decide if that was an insult or not when Stan stormed into the room. “I’m not doing this fucking song. I’m not.”

“Stan you wrote the song, babe.” Ben said softly, Beverly still nit-picking at individual strands of Ben’s hair as though he was going to be on camera at all outside of potential pap pics.

Stan glared at his boyfriend, but the look he cast in Eddie’s direction immediately after was much colder. “I wrote it three years ago, and I didn’t even want to record it for the album. It doesn’t match our sound.”

“It’s a good song, Stanley.” Eddie said sharply, sounding more irritated than Richie had ever heard him before. “It’s strong lyrically, and we’re all well practised in it. And it’ll be a good hook to get people to start listening to us seriously.”

“I don’t want to hook people in by releasing a song that doesn’t sound like any of the rest of the album, Eddie.” Stan’s voice was cold. “Unless, of course, you want to change that, too. We’ve made so many compromises this far, why not?”

Eddie’s shoulders went stiff, his eyes shutted shut and his jaw clenched. Richie marvelled that Eddie Kaspbrak was actually kind of hot when he was pissed off. “The record needs the finished product by midnight, Stanley. We’ve put this off long enough- we’re doing the song.”

Stan looked for a moment like he might keep arguing, but Ben came over and guided him into their booth. They, along with Mike, started mingling around inside with their instruments and Eddie stared blankly at them for a long moment before sighing and moving inside to join his bandmates. Richier couldn’t help staring after Eddie’s departure. Once he was sure that Eddie and his friends had been behind the soundproof area, he turned to Kay and shook his head. “You’re blowing a lot of money on this band. They aren’t going to make it.”

“You haven’t even heard on them yet.” Kay said simply, leaning over the music techs and pointing at certain keys on the board.

“I don’t need to hear them,” Richie said with a shrug. “They could be the most talented band since Queen, and they still aren’t going to make it if they can’t find a way to get along.” Kay pursed her lips and he watched as Beverly turned away nervously. He knew he was right, and he didn’t need an verbally confirmation. He’d told them as much when they’d talked in the bars all those weeks ago- if they conflict this early on, they were doomed to fall apart. It certainly seemed that the drift between Stanley and Eddie had only grown larger since then. Whether Stan was still mad about this little stunt, or if Eddie had done something else since then, Richie wasn’t sure. But he knew it wouldn’t spell anything good for them, if they didn’t work it out soon.

Kay gave Richie a quick signal to shut up, and pressed down on the SPEAK button. “Okay, guys. We’ve burned a lot of time, so we’re going to get right into it. On your four count.”

The other three men all pushed their instruments into place, as Eddie wrapped his hands around the hanging mic and leaned towards it. Some music that might have passed for punk, but definitely leaned more towards pop, came from them as Eddie took a deep breath.

“Used to keep it cool, used to be a fool, all about the bounce in my step… Watch it on the news, whatcha gonna do, I could hit refresh and forget...”

Richie tried not to look impressed, staring stubbornly at his phone. Eddie definitely had the voice for this, and he’d been right about the song being good lyrically. He remembered that when Kay first mentioned them, she’d called them an alternative band… and this was no alternative song. It would do well in the Top 40s- which was no doubt their management’s intention, and what was making Stanley so distressed. It was a sell out, for sure, but if they stuck with it then nobody except them would ever know. That was the way to do it, but it seemed that Eddie’s bandmates might put up a fight about it.

Richie let himself look at Eddie, seeming so Ken-Barbie like in his preppy clothes. It certainly didn’t fit the sound they wanted to sell, and barely fit that in which it seemed like were going to sell. Eddie looked like some Jesse McCartney, 2009 Justin Bieber ass mother fucker. He couldn’t believe Beverly had let it fly for this long.

“Watch me stand in the line, you’re only serving lies, you’ve got something to hide…”

As they wrapped, and the band came fumbling out of the soundbooth, Richie mimicked gagging loudly as Eddie exited. Eddie looked wounded for a moment, before seeming to realize it was Richie mocking him, and quickly flipped his fake boyfriend off. Richie chuckled and pushed to his feet. He patted Stan between the shoulder and nodded at him. “It is a good song, man. Take it as a compliment that they chose it, even if it’s not the one you wanted.”

He was hyper aware of Beverly muttering something about him being a fucking hypocrite, and smirked as he turned to face Eddie. He looked the boy up and down, and wrinkled up his face.”Do you own anything that didn’t come from Aeropostale in 2009?”

Eddie gave him an equally disgusted look in return. “Not really.”

“We’ll have to change that.” It had been a general “we”. It had been such an general we. The most general of we’s. We as in Eddie and somebody who was not Richie. Then Beverly took it upon herself to walk up to them, and placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing! Eddie really needs a new look!” Beverly cheered, looking overly smug. “It’s so nice of you to offer to take him, Rich!”

“What?” Richie gasped as Eddie’s mouth dropped open in matching shock. “No, I- I didn’t- I-” But Beverly was already winking at him and walking back to talk to Kay. No doubt to tell her all about how Richie was going to be taking Eddie out to buy new clothes, leaving Richie with no choice but to actually do so. Eddie clearly couldn’t be trusted to purchase his own clothes- hence what he was wearing now- but Richie genuinely hadn’t been expecting to be thrust into that terrible responsibility.

Eddie, to his own credit, looked rather horrified. “You want him to pick out clothes for me? Him? Look at him!” Eddie gestured towards Richie’s outfit, was which- admittedly- rather wild today. He’d paired the skinniest jeans he could find in his closet- a bright, hot pink- with a green shirt covered in cactus’. If you looked closely enough to it, you could see the words don’t be a prick written all over it. “Dude looks like a kiwi!”

Richie huffed. “Look, man. I’m not thrilled about it, either. The less time I have to spent with you the better.”

“I’m a fucking delight, I’ll have you know!” Eddie snapped, Richie watching how his jaw clenched and his eyes flashed. Richie tilted his head to the side, smiling slightly. Eddie’s cheeks began to flush and Richie’s soft smile turned into a wolfish grin.

“Let’s just go, yeah?” Richie said, trying to keep his tone light and friendly. This would be unbearable if Eddie spent the entire time in a funk. “Everybody likes shopping, and you have an endless supply of company money to do it with.”

Eddie was still eyeing him warily. “Promise I’m not going to end up dressing like you?”

“Sweetie. Nobody dresses like me.”

xx

Richie took hold of Eddie’s hand as soon as they stepped into the open parking lot. He felt the way the other boy stiffened, and squeezed as he feared Eddie would pull away. “We have to look like we’re dating,” Richie whispered to him, leaning close enough that their bodies rested together. “There’s going to be a hundred fucking teen bops here, your single drops tonight, and I was just nominated for an award. Eyes are going to be on us.”

“Maybe we’ve picked the wrong day to do this,” Eddie said lightly as he and Richie began walking into the fluorescent light mall.

Richie laughed, small and seemingly genuine. “Kid. From here on out, there’s never going to be a good day to do things. Didn’t you get the you’re-gonna-be-famous crash course? You’re never going to be doing anything again without eyes on you.”

Eddie was quiet for such a long time that Richie eventually had to turn and look at him. Eddie’s hand felt so small in his own, and when he looked at Eddie- he looked small, too. Young. Richie knew they were the same age, give or take a few months, but he supposed that Eddie hadn’t had to grow up the way Richie had. There was still lingering youth in him, confusion about the world he was entering. Richie needed to remind himself that maybe Eddie Kaspbrak was a person under all that attitude.

“Hey, listen.” Richie said, swinging his and Eddie’s joined hands to-and-fro. “It comes with the job. Today is going to be your first day when you absolutely don’t need to worry about money, like at all. I remember the first time I was handed a credit card and let loose in a mall. It was a religious experience.”

Eddie looked Richie up and down, and Richie fully expected another comment about Richie’s choice in clothes but Eddie just frowned. “And you were what? Ten? Even younger?” Richie gave a non-committed hum. He’d been seven when his mother had handed him his first credit card with his own name on it. “I feel bad for you. You have all this stuff, but you’ve never really been allowed to live.”

“I can do whatever I want,” Richie said, wondering if he was convincing Eddie or himself. “I just get in trouble when I do something wrong.”

“I’d wanted to be an actor, when I was little.” Eddie said. “I begged my dad to let me go to auditions, and he told me if I really wanted to be famous- I could wait until I was an adult. He said if you wanted to put your kids into show business, you might as well skip the show business part and stick them right in rehab.”

Richie pursed his lips, wondering how much about his life Eddie actually knew. Somethings could easily be found online, but those facts were never quite right. Even if they came from direct sources. “Your dad sounds like a smart guy. How’d he let you get into a situation like this?”

“He died when I was eleven. Cancer.” Eddie said it so nonchalantly, and Richie felt he might have given himself whiplash turning to look at him. “It was just me and Ma after that, and she wouldn’t hear anything about being famous. Wanted me to stay in Maine, working at some pharmacy downtown, until I died. Made me want it more.”

“So, you’re becoming famous out of spite.” Richie said lightly, always one to dodge any emotional conversation that he could. “I can dig that.”

“I’m trying to become famous because it’s what I’ve always wanted.” Eddie pointed out, clearly trying to control the annoyance on his face. He was already smart enough to know that pictures of them seemingly having a fight shouldn’t be circling so quickly into their relationship. “My Ma was just a big push factor.”

Richie nodded, and then pressed a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head for good measure. Eddie’s eyes went a little wide, but he seemed to manage his shock well otherwise. “We’re going to start here,” Richie said, gesturing towards the Turtle Shack.

Eddie eyed it a little apprehensively. “Do you show there?”

Richie actually laughed, gesturing his free hand towards the store full of blues, blacks and grays.  “Does it look like I’d buy anything from there? No, Eddie. If you’re going to be the frontman of some emo alternative band, you can’t walk around looking like Chad Michael Murray.”

“Who?” Eddie asked, frowning. Richie just rolled his eyes, and tugged Eddie into the store. He didn’t have the time or patience to deal with how it seemed that Eddie Kaspbrak had been raised under a big rock in Maine. Were there mountains in Maine? If so, Eddie was probably raised in one. With wolves. Wolves that wore cardigans.

Richie grabbed several shirts and hoodies off the racks and tossed them at Eddie, hardly giving them a full glance. He was firm believer, right now, that anything was an improvement. Eddie didn’t seem convinced, judging by the way he was turning up his nose at them. “Why am I doing this? I don’t get why I have to change my clothes. It feels like lying.”

“Oh, what?” Richie laughed, brushing his hand along his jawline. “Now you’re worried about lying? Try the clothes on, Edward. I was told to take you shopping, and we’re getting you clothes. I don’t care if you ever wear them after this. But you will.”

Eddie scowled, then seemed to remember himself. He came forward and kissed Richie’s cheek quickly, smiling shyly up at him. Batting his eyelashes, and even seeming to blush somehow. “Thanks, baby.”

Richie watched Eddie duck into the change room, shaking his head and knowing his expression was perfectly awestruck. Eddie could have done well, if he’d stuck with his first dream of going into acting. Richie fiddled around with the long racks of pants, fitted and ripped, picking out six or seven. He knocked on the door. “I’ve got pants for you.”

“You’re trying to get me out of my pants, too?” Eddie called over to him through the door. He opened it, already wearing one of the dark Tees. It was a Nirvana shirt, that Richie was sure that he had a matching hiding somewhere in the back of his closet. Taking his shirt off, and placing another on, had left Eddie’s hair flopping out of it’s usually primly styles swoop. He could see the natural curls that Eddie’s hair held, and it was a little endearing.

“Your hair looks good like that.” Richie said, dropping the pants into Eddies hands. Eddie raised his eyebrows and frowned. “Women love the messy look. You could do for that sort of extra boost in popularity.”

“I don’t really care what women find attractive.” Eddie said, smirking. He was joking, probably, but Richie wasn’t in the mood to let Eddie make dumb mistakes right now.

“You should care.”Richie said seriously. “Whether you want to admit it or not, women are going to support your career. It doesn’t matter if you’re gay- they’ll love that, too- but most straight women are still going to want to imagine they could date you.”

Eddie lowered the clothes and suddenly seemed exhausted. “Richie, is anything even real? Everything I’ve done since signing our label has been changing myself, changing my stuff, and pissing off my friends. What’s the point?”

Richie pushed at Eddie’s shoulders and guided them into the dressing room together, knowing that was going make fun headlines. “Kid,” he said seriously, putting the clothes and hanging them up. “You’re too new at this to be so cynical about it. If you’re already not enjoying it, drop out now before it’s too late. But can I give you some advice and you promise not to let it make you think we’re friends?”

“We’ll never be friends,” Eddie answered immediately, but with none that Kaspbrak sass that Richie had already come to recognize. He just sounded tired.

Richie gave him a small smile. “There’s nothing wrong here.  You’ve maybe had a bit of a rough beginning, but once your stuff starts circulating and you smooth things over with Stanley, it’s going to be worth it. Just push through.”

Eddie gave him a long, unreadable look then sighed. “Do I still have to get the clothes?”

“Yes.” Richie said with a firm nod. “You need them.”

[lady-alayne]

Game of Thrones: An Angry Recap

Season 7 Episode 5: Eastwatch

Winterfell:

Bran wargs a bunch of birds, sees that the army of the dead are approaching, and concludes that maybe it's time to tell people. Wait, what? The Night's Watch have been trying to tell people this since Season 1 Episode One 0:00:00 sec, but only now that a creepy kid is saying it, people are beginning to believe it? Ugh.

Meanwhile... Ohhhhh, Sansa is ruling the North like a pro! After the King in the North left the North to go shack up with some blonde emo chick with a bunch of dangerous pets, the Northern Lords are not too pleased about their ruler and go to his trueborn sister, WHO SHOULD BE THE QUEEN IN THE NORTH ANYWAY, to complain. They are joined by the Vale Lords, who for some reason 1) are still hanging out at Winterfell (who's holding the Vale at this point??? Shouldn't the hill tribes have taken over the Vale by now???) and 2) suddenly remember that they came in to help Sansa and not Jon, even though they had no problem proclaiming him King in the North last season instead of Sansa, WHO IS NED STARK'S OLDEST LIVING CHILD AND HEIR AND THE ONE THEY CAME IN TO RESCUE I'M STILL BITTER.

So anyway, the Northern and Vale Lords complain about their brand new king leaving them all. It's a brilliant opportunity for Sansa to do what she does best, which is being diplomatic and wonderful and handling explosive situations with charm, but also not taking anyone's shit. I would say Petyr has taught her well, but then I remember that Petyr never taught Sansa in the show because D&D decided to rape her instead, and I am angry again. Ugh. So apparently Sansa just picked these things up along the way, because the FIRST RULE OF STRONG FEMALE CHARACTERS(TM) dictates that being abused and raped always makes you a stronger woman, and is generally a wonderful thing for your character development.

Speaking of empowered abused women! Arya is not really on board with Sansa being the flawless Queen she is. Even though Ed Sheeran and his friends were super nice to her like three episodes ago, she still believes killing people is always the best way to solve problems and wastes no time suggesting just that to Sansa. The two sisters naturally disagree over this, and this ends in a very petty fight that came out of nowhere and made absolutely no sense but I guess the plot commanded it so of course it's perfectly acceptable and yet another reason why D&D totally deserve all the Emmys. Wait here while I go scream into a pillow.

Also screaming into her pillow, I am quite certain, is Random Northern Girl, who is the newest piece in Littlefinger's game. I mean, did you see how she leaned in when she was talking to him? That beautiful face of his will stay in her thoughts for a while, I am sure. Not to mention that she was close enough to smell him. Random Northern Girl, you're living the dream.

It turns out Littlefinger is kind of back to his old self again, and trying to scheme his way onto the Iron Throne and/or into Sansa's skirts. He super discreetly and not suspiciously at all obtains a very mysterious letter and hides it in his room to use that letter... to bring forth the Long Night, probably, because Petyr is so evil, according to people on the internet. (So it must be true.) But oh no! He forgot about Arya! That psycho killer child knows how to lurk! And how to break into his chambers! And how to search his chambers! Whooooaaa!!!! We find out the mysterious and suspicious letter was sent by Sansa wayyyy back in Season 1, asking Robb to come to King's Landing and bend the knee to Joffrey. BUT IT WAS A DOUBLE LURK YOU GUYS!!! Because just as Arya is leaving Petyr's chambers we find out that while he was suspiciously being suspicious and Arya was suspiciously lurking and watching him, he was suspiciously lurking and watching her suspiciously lurking and watching him suspiciously being suspicious! I'm so glad Petyr is back to his old, scheming self before he will inevitably meet his doom in two episodes.

The Reach:

Jaime has survived his fall into the lake, because apparently Bronn dived in right behind him and dragged him out. Seriously? So Jaime's armor does not weigh anything??? After we explicitly read in the books that knights who fall into bodies of water always drown because their armor is dragging them down? Oh, but I forgot, the show and the books are not the same.

A few miles down the road, and...

Oh boy. Daenerys is not done with her humanitarian mission, and rallies the surviving Lannister soldiers to “give them a choice:” Bend the knee, or burn alive. “I'm not here to murder,” she tells them after having murdered a bunch of people. “Now bend the knee before I murder you.”

Most of the soldiers bend the knee because, OF COURSE THEY WOULD, THEY DID NOT HAVE A CHOICE. Not so Randyll Tarly, who politely explains that he has moral concerns bending the knee to a foreign woman who just flew in on a mystical killer dragon and torched a bunch of people. Tyrion, who is... also there for some reason, urges Dany to chill the fuck out and maybe let him go to the wall, but Dany refuses to do so. Classic, and how very kind of her. I can totally see why people would want to follow her!

I wonder what happened to those other people who bent the knee. Did they have to follow Dany to Dragonstone? Or were they free to go home? Is anyone keeping track of the people who have bent the knee? Would it be possible to just bend the knee to avoid getting murdered, and then go back to King's Landing and rejoin the Lannister army?

Not to mention that we kept hearing about Randyll Tarly being a dick for, like, 6 seasons, and now he's the only man who still uses his brain and genuinely cares about his son beyond the “You shall be my heir” minimum. Speaking of his son... DICKON DID NOT DESERVE THIS. Rest in peace, House Tarly. Also, HOW DID DROGON KNOW WHO TO INCINERATE AND WHO TO SPARE???

Dragonstone:

Dany returns from her humanitarian mission of burning people, and it's heaving petting with Jon! Well, he pets Drogon, but close enough; Dany is turned on enough as it is. Jon chides her for murdering all those people, and Dany respons that she only killed them so she could help them. So she murdered out of love! That makes it totally acceptable.

Dany is just about to ask Jon about his res-erection, when Jorah returns AND IT HURTS WHAT WAS THE POINT OF HIM HAVING GREYSCALE ANYWAY AND HE IMMEDIATELY RUNS BACK TO HER AND IT HURTS TO WATCH HIM FRIENDZONE HIMSELF OVER AND OVER. He explains he found a cure for greyscale, one of the most deadly diseases known, and everyone is like, “Read: 2:53 pm.”

Jon Snow's only words to Jorah are that he served with his father, thus once again reminding everyone that he was A MEMBER OF THE NIGHT'S WATCH, and NO ONE thinks of asking him how he could possibly be King in the North, given that, you know, members of the Night's Watch vow to WEAR NO CROWNS AND WIN NO GLORY.

Meanwhile, Tyrion and Varys get drunk in the throne room and bond over their mutual predicament of serving a pretty mad tyrant queen who burns people alive when they displease her. A raven scroll reaches Jon, and he finds out Arya is still alive. ARYA, the girl he gave needle to. ARYA, his favorite sister. ARYA, the one he literally died for. But Jon seems to have forgotten all that, because all he wants to do is catch a wight! Oh dear, that sounds like a very stupid idea. Also, can we please talk about that camera angle? Was that the Dany going down on Jon POV shot? Yikes.

And so Jon and the gang make their way to Eastwatch...

King's Landing:

Jaime returns to Cersei, and the two hold an impromptu war council. “This isn't a war we can win,” concludes Jaime, which makes Cersei wonder about a possible armistice. Jaime also tells Cersei that it was Olenna who killed Joffrey because...... she wanted to be the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms?!?!?!?! FOR FUCK'S SAKE. IS EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER ON GOT TRYING TO BECOME RULER OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS????? And thus Olenna sadly joins the other cardboard cutouts of “generic person who wants the Iron Throne because reasons.” Queen of Thornes, you were deeper than that.

A little while later Davos and Tyrion have teleported to King's Landing and Tyrion sneaks into the dungeons beneath the Red Keep for a little brotime with Jaime to convince him to let them have an audience with Cersei once they have caught a wight. For a reason unfathomable by me, Bronn knew all of this before and thus was able to lure Jaime into the dungeons for this. Logic!(TM)

The brothers agree on an armistice, and Jaime brings Cersei the good news that Dany is not planning on incineratingher in the near future. Cersei also shares her good news: She's pregnant, and she will reveal her twincest, and then the family will live happily ever after! Aww, romance is real.

Meanwhile, Davos is on a tour through Flea Bottom looking for someone, and then.... IT'S GENDRY, YOU GUYS!!! He did not row all the way across the sunset sea, he rowed straight back to King's Landing and into his old job! While casual show watchers try to remember who the fuck Gendry was, snobby book readers rejoice when they see his badass war hammer; just like the one his dad good ole King Robert used to fight with (except Robert's war hammer was probably not so obviously made out of plastic).

Gendry joins the band because HE WANTS REVENGEEEE ON THE LANNISTERS, once again underlining the message of Game of Thrones: Violence begets violence, and it's awesome! GRRM would be turning in his grave. What's that, you say? He isn't dead? Then where is The Winds of Winter??????

Speaking of violence, Gendry immediately puts that war hammer to use to mindlessly kill two gold cloaks who are admittedly a bit nose, but in no way nosy enough to deserve such a cruel death. RIP Member of the City Watch #1, and RIP Member of the City Watch #2.

Oldtown:

OH MY GOD. ARE YOU KIDDING ME. WHAT THE FUCK. D&D JUST DECIDE TO CASUALLY MENTION THAT RHAEGAR GOT AN ANNULMENT FROM ELIA LIKE IT'S NO BIG DEAL. OH MY GOD. I THOUGHT THE WHOLE “SAM FINDING A CURE FOR GREYSCALE IN EPISODE 2” THING WAS THE MOST RIDICULOUS PLOT COMING OUT OF OLDTOWN BUT THAT WAS BEFORE THE WHOLE “RHAEGAR GOT AN ANNULMENT FROM ELIA” THING.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME??????? AN ANNULLMENT. AN ANNULMENT?????? RHAEGAR WAS MARRIED TO ELIA OF DORNE AND THEY HAD CHILDREN AND IT WAS ALSO A POLITICAL ALLIANCE FORGED FOR VARIOUS POLITICAL REASONS. IT'S NOT LIKE RHEAGAR AND ELIA GOT DRUNK MARRIED IN LAS VEGAS TWO DAYS BEFORE. THEY HAD A LEGIT WEDDING CEREMONY AND THEY HAD CHILDREN. YOU CAN'T JUST ANNUL A MARRIAGE BECAUSE, OH, YOU MET SOMEONE HOTTER A WEEK AGO. OH MY GOD. NO. NO. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Eastwatch:

Davos is really teleporting all over the map this episode, and he reaches Eastwatch after a short row in a tiny little rowboat. I guess that was because the sea is generally so smooth in winter, and not frozen at all. Jon and gang sit down to talk to Tormund about Operation Catch a Wight, and he is understandably not convinced, but eventually decides to give them a little help by hosting a quick speed dating round of men wanting to go beyond the wall, which—surprise!—includes the Hound and Beric Dondarrion! Reunion #2556123 in Season 7 alone!

Because they are all breathing, the men decide to set aside their differences, and embark on their next adventure. Let's hope Jon makes it back in time for the epic boat sex.

[survivingart]

HOW TO BUILD A GOOD FOUNDATION FOR YOUR CREATIVITY

When we think about creativity and inspiration, we might picture an image of a spirit, a muse, that comes forth from the heavens and touches us in funny places at the most random of times imaginable.

But these moments aren’t random, and there really is no extraterrestrial or divine power fondling our brains. It’s all an illusion, a misunderstanding of causality and how our perception and thinking work.

While the idea of inspiration coming from outside of us isn’t that far from the truth — the building blocks of any idea are build, similarly to dreams, from our encounters with reality — it’s not the outside that needs to come into alignment for us to get a “great” idea. 

It’s our insides.

Before writing this blog, I struggled with sitting down and doing my thing for about 4 hours; mindlessly scrolling Facebook, checking my podcast stats and Mailchimp settings and playing around with the WordPress installation of my website, all just trying to find something, anything that would make me sit down and actually get to work.

Well, it didn’t work — even though you’re reading my blog as always — it didn’t happen because I magically got inspiration from my YouTube analytics page. It happened because I went for a run.

Let me explain.

The creative “spirit” or, because I don’t believe in metaphysical phenomena, let’s call it creative thought, is a very primitive beast. Not as primitive as our most basic drives to eat, sleep and copulate, but it’s not the super-computer everybody thinks it is.

It’s a state. 

And like with all human states, it needs to be cultivated, nourished and forced if necessary — because to be honest, 99% of us don’t need to be creative; we are well fed, we have clothes and a home and wi-fi and nice sneakers. 

Many of us get through life without ever encountering real danger or opposition. And no, having a mean boss doesn’t count. Having a bad day at school doesn’t even come close and neither does your car breaking down, your favourite pair of pants ripping or your beloved Netflix show being cancelled.

Creativity is an evolutionary trait that came to be because we humans are a weak species when it comes to physical strength, speed and most other types of bodily capabilities that various other animal species possess to stay alive in this jungle that we call life. 

So evolution, chance and a myriad of other forces produced in us a strong capacity to simulate — to think ahead and imagine what could be.

Alfred North Whitehead famously said: “the purpose of thinking is to let the ideas die instead of us dying” and he was right. In the olden times this was our only defence against going extinct; famine was prevented because people that used to live in my country decided to toil away on fields the whole summer, so that they could survive the harsh winters with the produce they cultivated.

Opposition back in the day was real and the threats were much harsher and more unforgiving that they are now — thanks to advances in politics, technology and medicine, not to say in our basic understanding of what humanity is all about.

Even just 70 years ago, my grandfather knew a completely different opposition from the ones we know today (at least in Europe and other developed countries). 

He and a bunch of other men, women and even children stood half naked and sometimes barefoot in the coldest months of winter, clothed in semi-functional rags and maybe a pair of boots that were almost definitely too big or god forbid too small — much more likely, which usually meant they cut off the boots’ toes, effectively making them about as winter proof as a silk handkerchief — and waited to repel a foreign force that was armed with automatic machine guns, tanks and the belief that all slavs are wild beasts that need to be eradicated from the face of the earth so as to give the “true, rightful breed of humanity” the ability to rule the earth.

Many of them died. There was no “equality”, no ethics and no morality. No social services or HR person to complain to — the only human resources that were measured were the amounts of people that were sent into oblivion, because a few people decided that having a certain face shape and eye colour wasn’t exactly to god’s standard.

Not to get off track here, I myself am only an observer, so who am I to even judge or tell such tales, but I grew up with them and embodied them as a child. I only wish to propose them as a broad context for what I’d like to talk about today — discipline and adversity.

Not exactly the kind that the army enforces upon its members, but not exactly unalike either. Creative discipline is something a lot of us lack and more of us forget — even if just from time to time.

Nobody is born with it, nobody even remotely thinks they need it — especially us creative types, that want to be “free” and roam the pastures of life, exploring and playing around in our self-constructed heavens of the sublime.

Discipline is earned by hard work and lost by nothing more than a brief hiatus. But the biggest problem with creative discipline is, that unlike physical discipline — where the goal is to induce a moderate amount of pain and suffering to the practitioner, so that they may cultivate a masochistic part inside of them over the long run and enjoy the actively and predominantly self-induced pain and even find solace in it — creative discipline is harder to manifest. And even more so over the long run.

Creativity is play, not work. And as such, play must be free, undisturbed by any outside forces that might distort or even break the illusion that play provides for those that are partaking in it.

Think of a simple game like playing family (where children enact the power dynamics that unfold inside a family); one child will play the baby, one the mother and the other will play the father and/or mother and all the combinations in between — this is an open minded blog, so I have no idea what the “contemporary” family unit is comprised of in leftist-heavy places, but whatever it is, let’s also include that and any other ones into our example to not delve too deep into politics, as nobody cares about them, or closer to the truth, I don’t care about them; live and let live.

If someone disturbed this charade of social roles that is taking place; if the child playing the daddy decides he wants to be mommy now, they will break the spell of the game and playtime has ceased to be — even is just for a moment.

It’s the same if two teams play football and each team has one player that is absolutely horrendous at the sport — if they wish to make the game enjoyable for all the other players, they need to get rid of the bad ones, so that the flow of the game isn’t disturbed by anyone being out of line. 

And there are many other ways of disturbing games — game theory being a wonderful field to have a go at for anyone interested — I just want to focus on the fact that one can break the game.

And to get back to discipline; discipline can break the game. Not in the same way as the two prior examples, but in an even more detrimental way. Unlike being bad at a game or one of the players deciding to boycott the game and kill the vibe for the other players, discipline kills the whole essence of a game.

That’s why learning anything new isn’t fun until you can at least do the basics. Nobody likes guitar if all they ever did was practice the G scale for 2 weeks. Nobody will like basketball if all they did was train how to dribble the ball for a month without ever actually playing the game.

Only the people that get to the point of proficiency, where they can at least semi-competently execute rudimentary instances of any game, get to the point of feeling a positive connection with it.

And the real goal is to balance the scale, so as to have enough discipline to never stop growing and always deliver whatever it is you should be delivering — it doesn’t have to be good, it only needs to be regular — and to never stop liking the game and enjoying it whenever possible, so as to not grow too far apart from the actual reason that made you start playing in the first place.

So, a run made me do this blog — and usually when I write my blunders, I do them in one take. One hour, sometimes two and that’s it. The hard part is never making them, but to start making them.

Therefore I started to discipline myself; I wrote daily for almost half a year until recently, when I had too many other responsibilities and work related things on my calendar, where I decided to only make one a week and rather than focusing on quantity, give quality priority.

But the main point for me is to run. Why?

Because I never liked it. To run was to me equal to wasting my life, a metaphor for running away from my responsibilities and issues and it felt not only demeaning, but boring. And it was the boredom that I couldn’t face.

But now I run three times a week, sometimes more and sometimes less, but I try to do about three each week. Because going for a run and consequently doing weight exercises doesn’t only give me a physical boost and a more health body — not saying having four times the stamina as I had a year ago isn’t a big plus — it gives me a strong kick in the ass to do what I otherwise wouldn’t do. 

And it does it in perpetuity. 

I know there are those of you that don’t need such regimes — and kudos to you all — but I do, and I bet there are a lot of us out there that would, for the love of god, rather smoke weed and drink cold ale all day than actually do what we love. 

Not hate, or ought to, but love!

And now to why running works (for me). It might be sleeping for you for all I know, the point is, each of us has to find their own thing and stick to it.

Running for me makes me do something I don’t like (albeit to be fair, I have grown accustomed to doing it now and only partially hate it — I might even someday like it). And doing something I don’t like that much teaches my body not to whine and to act whenever it needs to, not only when it feels like it.

Because there is no real danger to my life (and believe me, our bodies know that running out of Snickers bars or tobacco isn’t the same as being chased by an angry Nazi or wild cat), my body starts to become dull, inattentive and unresponsive to stimuli — especially cognitive, coming from my own mind. 

That’s the adversity that we’ve lost because of the safety we now enjoy in developed countries — and don’t get me wrong, I am incredibly grateful for it, but we have to pay the piper, too.    

And because there is no real outside threat that we feel, our bodies become lazy and stubborn — why move if I can lay in bed all day? Why cook if I can order pizza? Why do anything, really? In the end, isn’t all life purposeless and void of meaning?

That’s when nihilism slowly seeps in and starts to gnaw at the soul. And the problem is, it’s not a fallacy — life is void of meaning in the grander scheme of things, and a dull and fatty body that only cares about instant gratification will always sway the mind to become at least in a way a proponent of nihilism — even for those of us that aren’t as attentive to know what nihilism is will tell you the populist version of it: They don’t give a fuck.

But this force is quite older than nihilism.

In his book The War of Art, Steven Pressfield describes it as The Resistance, but it had names even before plumbing was invented. The original Hebrew term sâtan is derived from a verb meaning primarily “to obstruct, oppose”. And if used with the definite article (ha-sâtan), it means the heavenly accuser himself — the devil. But you had Apep in Egypt and Erebus in Old Greece too.

The point is, the Obstructor has been around since the dawn of man, whispering and lightly influencing each and every decision our ancestors made. And he is still going strong. 

When you don’t really feel like it and decide — 5 min before getting to work on your new painting — that you’ll rather start tomorrow, he’s there. When you then persuade yourself that starting tomorrow is actually better because of a lack of materials, your schedule, something about your spouse … he’s there too. 

And he is absolutely there when the alarm goes off and you decide to “just close your eyes for a sec” the very next day. He practically invented the snooze button on your phone.

The question therefore is: What can we do when this immortal, supernatural force is exploiting our weaknesses and curating our demise?

It is really, really hard to go at it alone. But there is a trick that simplifies the process immensely. It is in fact so simple, it made the inventor of the cure one of the biggest names in our society and his products have been gathering a cult following for decades.

It’s even universal; works for painters the same as it does for musicians — even actors and actresses can use it. Hell, even bankers, busboys and businessmen can, it just works every single time.

The secret?

Just do it.

from Surviving Art https://ift.tt/2ZTEY9H via IFTTT

[infiniteconedrill]

Far Cry 5 review and other ramblings

My experience with the Far Cry series has always been a bit spotty, with nothing to blame but my tendency to get easily distracted.  When I fist purchased my PS3 in the spring of 2009, I bought all kinds of games in order to catch myself up.  I had just finished college, and had been intentionally starving myself of the gaming experience in favor of focusing only on my studies with absolutely no other distractions.  I know myself well, ya see, and I knew that if I allowed my brain to wander into game land, I would be fucked in terms of getting that important homework done on time.   During the buying spree I found myself in once I graduated, I stumbled upon Far Cry 2 which I had read great things about.  I tucked the game aside with the plan to dive into the experience once I was done playing the other games I was more interested in, like Elder Scrolls: Oblivion, and Metal Gear 4.  FC 2 always beckoned me, though, and I couldn’t wait to dive into its world.  

Fast forward to 2012, and several Dead Spaces later.  My video games were accumulating, and several titles I had meant to get to were still collecting dust in their still-sealed states, among them, FC 2.  I still looked longingly at it, but began thinking to myself “Hmm, the game is now 4 years old, and the graphics are going to look rough.  I’ve probably missed out on any charm it once had, and I’ve only got myself to blame.  Ahh, fuck it, I’ll get to it eventually.  Maybe.”  It made more sense to me to start playing FC 3 since that was the newest latest, and I had just been given the game for free to test out and review for the Amazon Vine program.  “I’ll make time”, I lied.  

Skip ahead yet again to early 2016, with both FC 2 and FC 3, sealed and snuggled deep inside a box behind my TV, untouched and nearly forgotten about.  Amazon Vine once again offered me the latest Unisoft release, Far Cry Primal.  Wondering if it would just become another one of my untraversed gaming terrains, I reminded myself that if I order FCP, I will HAVE to play it as the Vine program requires reviewers to submit their opinion of the game rather than making it optional.  This is exactly the kind of forced motivation I needed to get shit done.  Besides that, I was still beckoned at this point, forcefully tapped on the shoulder to hurry up and play this series that I had been blowing off for literally 7 years up to this point.  I received the game after a few days, and made the first step in actually removing the seal from a FC game disc -- a momentous feat upon itself.  I wondered if FCP would be much different than all of the numbered FC’s -- after all, FCP had invented its own tribal, prehistoric language and apparently (by what I had read) created a world that existed outside the bad guy/villain framework of the rest of the games in the series.  I fired up the PS4, and the intro began, thus beginning my adventures into the FC world.  

Once I began playing FCP, I couldn’t put the controller down.  I mean, I was really impressed.  What I loved about the game is how the developers inherently knew what gamers want to experience.  The game was great about giving you reality where you want to experience reality, then giving you an over-the-top, bombastic experience at precisely the right time.  Designing games this big isn’t easy, and when you can balance all of the elements in a way that makes gamers want to keep coming back for more, you’re doing something pretty special.  FCP didn’t do anything groundbreaking -- it was more or less a sandbox game with all of the typical open-world tropes -- but the little touches and peripheral details are what developers have to do to make the game stand out as unique.  For example, I was extremely impressed with the language created in this game, and how the characters all communicated with each other.  Not a lick of any discernible language is spoken in this game, and that’s a risk in itself.  The risk paid off. It made the story easy to get lost in, and I couldn’t help but feel I hadn’t had this type of gaming frame before.  By the time I ended the main storyline, I kept playing, hungry for more.  Unfortunately, Ubisoft never released any DLC for this game, so I placed it on its shelf and went about to other games in my library.  

So FC 2 and 3 still sat on my shelf during this time, and I knew FC 4 existed, though I was determined to not think about it as I didn’t want THREE unplayed FC games taking space in my library.  Enter FC 5.  The game gets announced, and for once, I am determined to order the game, and not only have the game on day one, but actually play the fucking thing, too.  I order the Gold Edition as I see that FC 3 will be getting a remaster, and the buyer will have access to all of the DLC as well.  I’m going all-in this time, goddammit.  Release day comes, and I download the goods.  I have read nothing at all about the game’s story, and have no frame of reference about the plot or characters.  I am ready as I’ll ever be...let’s do this shit.  

The first element that strikes me is the landscape, and its similarities to FCP.  The terrain is gorgeous and well-detailed, flush with animal life and vegetation.  I’ve never been to Montana (where the game is set), but I would imagine it looks and sounds just like it’s portrayed in this game, with eagles squawking loudly and rivers flowing freely.  Based on the surroundings alone, this is a game that’s easy to get lost in.  

The story is an interesting one, and I would guess that Americans in particular will be able to feel something sharp about its meaning and import.  The idea of a brainwashed cult is appealing, and the four bosses you must best in this game are all well-fleshed out.  Essentially, the plot of the main storyline revolves around some religious kooks who mindlessly follow the Father (Joseph Seed) while getting hopped up on a drug called Bliss in order to be more sheeplike in their mindless worship of a deity who gives them answers to questions they would rather not think about.  Sound familiar?  In the context of a pure video gaming framework, this can be as boring as you want it to be, but for those who choose to apply this type of tale to our current surroundings, the plot of the story has the ability to take on a hell of a lot of meaning.  

Once this groundwork has been established, the meat of the game is your standard fetch-quest type business.  An NPC will ask you to get something for them, you’ll go and get it, and they’ll like you a whole lot -- nothing new there.  An aspect of the game I really enjoyed that usually irks the shit out of me is the ability to acquire “guns for hire”.  Basically, you can recruit nine different characters to fight alongside you, and you can direct them to attack specific enemies.  The nine characters are all different in their abilities, and they even offers dozen of verbal asides to keep you entertained as you traipse through the underbrush.  My favorites were Jess Black (“nice pussy!”), and Peaches, the unstoppable cougar with frightening stealth skills.  What’s fun about multiple guns for hire is that they react to each other and comment to particular skill sets, giving the game a more immersive feel.  

The variety of guns is solid as hell.  You get all the typical selections, from sniper rifles and shotguns, to strange alien death vacuums.  The ammo is plentiful, and it’s easy to fill up as there dozens of NPCs who wander the landscape ready to trade with you.  The fast travel feature is great as well, giving you the option to go to any part of the map that you have already cleared out or liberated.  

The fighting in FC 5 is an absolute blast.  It’s intuitive and flawless, and I haven’t experienced a single technical hiccup or delay anywhere.  The AI is average -- in fact, most times the enemy will see you way before you see them.  The human enemies you face are more or less just braindead thugs yelling out shit like “I’m gonna kill you!”, but occasionally they’ll say something funny or unique.  The body animations as you shoot people is really cool giving the game more depth and realism.  For instance, if you shoot someone in the back whilst they’re running away, their back will arc and their arms will flail upward, making you feel satisfied that the scumbag making your life difficult won’t be getting back up.  

The voice acting is solid, and is sparse enough to not pull you out of the experience.  My favorite characterizations are Jess Black (as I mentioned before), Jacob Seed, and Joseph Seed.  There’s some real depth to these characters, giving a lot of life through their real-life voice actors.  

The menu is well-laid out and intuitive -- not once did I feel lumbered with trying to navigate an overly-complicated system.  

Of course, the game isn’t perfect, and there are a few things that could stand to get cleaned up.  One thing that frustrated me about the game is how chaotic the battles can get.  I enjoy organized chaos, don’t get me wrong, but FC 5 could stand to separate different functions by laying out the design a little differently.  Something that frustrated me is when 10 enemies would be coming at me at once, I’d have both of my guns for hire in place, and then my teammates wouldn’t do anything.  They’d sometimes seem to just freeze in place without fighting back, and this would be in totally open areas with no obstructions to their targets.  Also, when you kill an enemy, you can loot them, but you can also swap your weapons out with theirs.  Fair enough, but it can be cumbersome to try and position yourself in the right spot as to only loot and not swap.  When you’re in the heat of the battle, and you just want to loot and not swap, it can be rather annoying trying to do one action but getting another.  I can see a lot of players enjoying this type of unpredictability, but it rather bothered me.  

Another piece of the game that frustrated me was the inconsistency of the map tracking system.  There’s a side quest in the game where you have to go and destroy all of the shrines in Faith’s region, and if you get the proper map, you can see where they all are.  I was going through this mission, and about halfway through it, the map stopped showing me where they were.  Was there a reason for this?  I dunno.  I’m not sure if this was a glitch, but it was a head-scratcher for the tracking system to stop working mid-way though the lengthy quest.  

I did tend to feel myself getting pulled out of the experience somewhat by the meatheaded-ness (I declare this a word) of some of the quests.  There’s a quest where you literally have to run around collecting bull testicles.  I’m as immature as the next white male, but seriously?  There’s another quest where an inbred redneck requests that you kill four antlered animals and bring the roadkill back for him to BBQ.  No thanks.  There’s also a lot of boneheaded swearing in the game that seems superfluous rather than colorful.  I love to swear, but when every other word is “fuck”, it just gets boring rather than amusing or interesting.  “Fuck” in and of itself isn’t offensive or hardcore, it’s just juvenile and dopey if it’s not used creatively.  Then again, when one of the characters declared his son was “dumber than a box of shit”, I literally laughed out loud, so chances are I don’t know what I’m talking about.  I guess what I’m saying is give the swearing some context, motherfuckers.  

There are also some problems with Ubisoft’s updates.  I downloaded the 1.06 update, and as soon as I did, my Gold Edition DLC vanished.  I had a few weapons that were DLC exclusive, that I paid real money for, and they ended up just disappearing with the update.  Not cool, especially when you’re just about to take on Joseph Seed at the end of the main storyline.  

Despite these relatively minor drawbacks, the game as a whole is a blast to play.  What I love most about FC 5 at the end of the day is how fun it is.  That sounds simple, but redefining a fun video game in this day and age takes skill and thought.  “Fun” can be a balancing act, and a lot of developers get lost and what’s too real.  To give you an example, one very simple aspect of FC 5 I love the most is that you can sprint across the landscape without losing stamina.  One thing that has always bugged me about video games is a stamina meter, always tracking your level of energy.  It’s a fucking video game, it doesn’t have to be THAT real!  Yes, give me realism with the trees and cars and sky and water and facial animations -- that’s what we want.  But a stamina meter?  Fuck off!  This is what the developers of FC 5 understand the most, and that’s what makes this game so damn playable.  

But what of the ending?  When the credits rolled, I couldn’t help but think that a lot of players will have a real problem with the way it concludes, and I’m sure the game developers knew this.  Personally, I was extremely impressed with the way the game leaves us.  It was absolutely not what I was expecting, and actually made me think about its message long after I turned off my console.  How often does that happen in video games?  I think Americans in particular will have a problem with the ending given that there is very little, if any, resolution.  What will bother a lot of Americans, I’m guessing, is the way the game taunts the flag-waving, gun-toting, bible-thumping culture that is more prevalent than ever in the US.  The end of the game essentially tells us that no matter how much we resist, no matter the level of our intellectualism, and no matter the strength of our character as individuals, we will always be outnumbered by the braindead sheep, dooming ourselves for failure.  Now that’s a message worth chewing on.  As an atheist, this is the spin I give the game, and I’m sure a religious person will spin it another way.  The way I see it, the FC 5 writing team make a ballsy move in regard to the ending, and I applaud them for the decisions they make.  In all great art, it comes down to choice and interpretation, and if all people approve of the artistic gesture, then the message has failed.  Some people will hate this ending, and that’s nothing but a good thing.  Joseph Seed also bears more than just a passing resemblance to David Koresh as well, and I encourage anyone who’s never heard this name to Google him right now.  When you put games in the right framework, those emotional connections follow, ya see.  

So what has FC 5 and FCP done for me in terms of finally lighting a fire under my ass and inspiring me to play my FC 2 disc that I’ve had for nine years?  Well, I just purchased FC 4, and I’m about to download the classic edition of FC 3, included with my Gold Edition Season Pass.  I have removed FC 2 from its box, and placed it on my TV stand where I can no longer ignore it.  This will be the summer of Far Cry for me, and I can no longer put off its brilliance.  I guess nine is my lucky number.  

Final Score:  9/10