#it's so rare to see anxiety depicted so accurately

[elialys]

ANNA TORV as Helen Norville (The Newsreader) | 1.02 Once in a Lifetime

[when-wax-wings-melt]

Keeper of the Lost Cities: A Love-Hate-Love Relationship, And What It Can Do To Your Psyche 

This is the essay you guys wanted to see after this presentation dropped; to be clear, this is the final draft. The presentation was made from the rough draft, so it's rather different.

Also, the essay prompt was to make it personal. So the italicized bits are where I was trying to do that, and they are both separate and a part of the essay. They break up the flow, but are also a response to the normal bits of the essay. You get it. Here we go.

In total, the Keeper of The Lost Cities (KOTLC) series by Shannon Messenger has over 7000 pages, split between nine and a half books (Book 8.5 was, uselessly, a novella) with a planned tenth coming in late 2024. It’s the kind of series that hooks you the same way a fisherman hooks a fish: with a promise of a treat that goes very, very unfulfilled. This is to say: KOTLC is a good series, at least at first. It’s certainly been my core obsession for a good (or bad) five years. It’s a hook because you can’t escape once you’ve begun. It’s my own personal brand of heroine, as Edward Cullen might say if Bella were a too-long book series that doesn’t resolve any plotlines or character arcs and instead piles more information on top of worldbuilding until contradictions are more plentiful than the packed main cast.

KOTLC is a good series, but the idea of recommending it feels like I’d be violating several articles of the Geneva Convention. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, and yet the thought of it ending is an impossibility on the scale of the apocalypse and I hope (I’d rather) the world ends before this series does. KOTLC is a minefield of sloppy worldbuilding, deeply compelling characters, and---where am i without it?---bits of myself woven into the many, many words, sinking under my skin and revealing what I think I have to offer. 

Sophie Foster is the protagonist of the series, trudging the long, never-ending path to what hopefully will be a happy ending. Like the author, Sophie has blonde hair and brown eyes, making her unique among her fellow elves, who all have blue eyes, including the rare-among-the-main-cast people of color.

There are so many things that make Sophie weird, strange, unique, attractive to every boy who sees her, and otherwise out of the ordinary: for example, she has five special abilities that allow her to teleport, read minds, inflict pain, speak any language, and enhance the abilities of others---i cannot do what she can, but she breathes and i do too---There are certain things she has very much in common with her fellow elves, such as her slender build and flawless skin, but much more makes her, as her childhood bullies would say, “A Special Sophie-Flake.”

Sophie was raised by humans, which not only means that the steadily growing pile of unique traits is now tottering dangerously above my head, but also that she’s clumsy and wildly insecure. This insecurity has a purpose and a source, making it one of the most annoyingly (and terrifyingly) accurate depictions of teenage anxiety in middle-grade media (if I were a vampire pulled from normal vampire lore rather than Twilight and I looked at her, I’d be invisible)---so do you get it? do i? 

which one of us is me---Sophie has intense imposter syndrome, never believing she’s worthy of the overwhelming support, approval, and desire heaped upon her throughout her years in the Lost Cities. In Book One, four teenage boys were no less than obsessed with her, possibly because she, presumably, talked to them sometimes. Valin, a “drooly boy” (named due to his constant drooling, as one might expect), is forced to ballroom dance with Sophie in detention, and later gives her a card and a bracelet professing his admiration. Dex Dizznee manages to sustain his crush until he finally makes his move in Book Six, and is rejected in humiliation after she kisses him to make him realize his feelings aren’t actually real---when I know that he was lying to himself, is lying to himself. truth is a phase and it ends once you hit age eight---After Book Six, only two remain: Fitz and Keefe, each of whom has made their crushes very, desperately, embarrassingly clear to someone who very clearly returns both sets of feelings.

“Sooner or later you're going to have to solve the triangle. Or should we get real and call it a square?” (Messenger Neverseen), notes Keefe, with his usual subtle confession of his feelings---only leaving me with questions: did he want her to know at all? is he chasing the person or the change? the girl or the excitement? the wanting or the wanted?---The love polygon of however many vertices is both acknowledged and not by Sophie— she’s aware of her feelings for Fitz from chapter two of Book One, becomes aware of her feelings for Keefe in Book Nine, and mentally friend-zones Dex every other sentence, even when it’s not really relevant to the rest of her inner monologue. Her inability to believe with confidence that she might be worthy of a crush (or any sort of positive acknowledgment) is layered beneath every thought where she considers the possibility of being liked, and then promptly dismisses it.

---she knows that admitting it means being wrong. i will be wrong, unless i guess right and am big-headed, full of myself. who am i---

Sophie’s oblivious nature stems from her human upbringing, directly resulting from the trauma of developing the ability to read minds at age five. She hears her parents wishing she were normal or better at making friends and fitting in, her sister complaining about her presence, and her classmates at school judging everything she does.

She sticks out like a sore thumb in the human world, only to come to the elven world and be called a freak, malfunctioning, a genetic experiment, and a failure, just when she thought she might fit in---when i am a puzzle piece, a corner without the connection---Her alienation in the human world (referred to as the Forbidden Cities in the series) comes from her level of success, skipping five grades due to her elven intelligence and photographic memory, and getting into Harvard at age twelve.

While she hates the combination of jealousy and admiration she’s constantly showered with there---who hates it and loves it at the same time? isolation and contradiction---in the elven world, she’s hated for other reasons: accidentally breaking laws, making mistakes, or simply being a blip on the seemingly perfect streak the elven world has for peace and security. Is there any mystery as to why she would never believe that people actually, genuinely care for her? She’s formed her protective coating of denial that lasts her through every time Fitz gives her a gift and she convinces herself it means nothing, or every time Dex shows his jealousy, or every time Keefe goes to her before anyone else.

Even when she kisses Dex, after he tells her in anything but words that he likes her, she doubts herself—are two sides of the same coin, where heads is insecurity and tails is egotism. question: who is she?---She doesn’t think he actually likes her, appreciates her, admires her. This doubt works its way into everything she does, every relationship she has, platonic, romantic, or otherwise. Yet again, she shows her status as a reflection---answer: she’s a mirror. i know who i am because she exists---reading into everything and still not believing or trusting that it truly exists outside of her imagination.

Any time Sophie sees a girl she perceives as prettier, more elegant, or smarter than she is, she instantly develops a jealousy complex—relating either to how Fitz acts around them, or how they project the confidence and normalcy she wishes she can achieve---to tell me whether or not i am alone---She surrounds herself with people who are described as incredibly stunning even in a world where every elf naturally matches the ideal Western beauty standard.

Yet she refuses to believe that she, too, might be beautiful, and instead considers herself dull and boring next to Biana, Linh, Marella, and Maruca---(and ten books later, i still do not have an answer)---Even Stina, who has committed the number one crime (it’s a federal offense) of having “a mass of frizzy curls” (KOTLC 164), is considered beautiful when her hair is “tamed” and slicked back. This framing of beauty applies to the boys, too, but none of Sophie’s descriptions are quite as detailed, quite as admiring, or quite as wistful as when she’s describing Biana Vacker’s heart-shaped, perfectly glossed lips---so, yes, i look at her and see myself. is that what i’m trying to say? is that what i am?---

But the queer-coding doesn’t stop (or begin, really) with Sophie’s dedicated denial of both her worth as a human being and her desire to kiss her pretty girl friends. A connection called a “Cognate Bond” is often referred to in the text as the closest two elves can become, emotionally and mentally.

Cognates exist when two Telepaths (such as Sophie) have such a deep and unbreakable trust bond that they become more skilled together than they were apart. In creating and maintaining this bond, they have to complete trust exercises and not hold back secrets keeping them from total confidentiality---she thrives on secrets---Sophie’s cognate is her friend (and love interest, and, debatably, ex-boyfriend) Fitz, whose romantic relationship was in a large part focused on their cognate one. Their trust exercises involve staring into each other’s eyes, holding hands, having matching rings, and Fitz telling Sophie that she’s the only person he can truly trust.

Fitz also asks his father at one point if cognates are allowed to date each other— his father affirms the statement. Notably, Alden has the authority to do so since he himself was a cognate, only undergoing a nasty breakup— sorry, only losing the bond, after his cognate, Quinlin, kept too many secrets. It’s implied that two other characters were once almost Cognates, only to grow too far apart when one of them, Prentice, had his sanity forcibly shattered and was locked in prison, leaving his (gay lover) best friend, Tiergan, to raise his son---while cognatedom thrives on truth, and also regret, and also the denial of both---The choice to parallel Fitz/Sophie, Alden/Quinlin, and Tiergan/Prentice was possibly not a conscious one but it still resonates with hundreds of queer teen readers who look at the portrayal of utter devotion and trust between two men and think, Wow. This is what I see in myself---but without the denial, without the regret, what are we left with? what do we see?

we see the truth.

We see ourselves.

There are so, so many other issues that I could easily delve into in this series (such as the strangely Western portrayal of gender roles, the racism concerning the Song family, irresponsible adults and the ethics of genetic experimentation, the girlboss and cardboardification of quite literally every woman, etc) and just as many things that make Keeper of the Lost Cities worth it (Fitz’s anger, the development of villains, Sophie’s trans-coding, Keefe’s trauma, physical ramifications of guilt, Marella and Fintans’ pyrokinesis/queer-coding, whatever Dimitar has going on, etc).

The series tends to skew to the “not good” side, although on occasion it will topple abruptly into the “incredible work of art and exploration of wildly interesting character dynamics” before rising like an angel back to heaven into its original position as “questionable in terms of taste.” Mostly, what defines KOTLC is how it’s interpreted rather than the content itself. Someone far different (and with far worse taste) than I might see Fitz’s quest for vengeance and call him a red flag in elven form, while I call it a ridiculously interesting exploration of what grief, near idol worship, toxic standards, and guilt can do to a teenage boy past his limit.

But I am not the voice of the fandom (even though I definitely should be). I look at Sophie Foster and see myself, but that does not make her me. These characters always feel so painfully real, desperately relatable, as if Messenger cobbled together a main cast from bits of my life, but they are not. In the end, they are just characters. In the end, it’s just a series made for middle schoolers, in the same way the sun is just the sun, and the stars are just there to twinkle merrily and not to be explored.

(where am i without it? I cannot do what she can, but she breathes and I do too so do you get it? do i?  which one of us is me when I know that he was lying to himself, is lying to himself. truth is a phase and it ends once you hit age eight only leaving me with questions: did he want her to know at all? is he chasing the person or the change? the girl or the excitement? the wanting or the wanted? she knows that admitting it means being wrong. i will be wrong, unless i guess right and am big-headed, full of myself. who am i when i am a puzzle piece, a corner without the connection who hates it and loves it at the same time? isolation and contradiction aretwo sides of the same coin, where heads is insecurity and tails is egotism. question: who is she? answer: she’s a mirror. i know who i am because she exists to tell me whether or not i am alone (and ten books later, i still do not have an answer) so, yes, i look at her and see myself. is that what i’m trying to say? is that what i am? she thrives on secrets while cognatedom thrives on truth, and also regret, and also the denial of both but without the denial, without the regret, what are we left with? what do we see? we see the truth. We see ourselves.

[radioactive-dazey]

Why I think people should be allowed to “water down” Remus 

Hi. I’d like to preface this by saying, I don’t really care how people write Remus. Typically if there's an interpretation of him I don’t like, I ignore it/don’t engage with it. Additionally, I personally do not like the interpretations in which I’m defending (baby-ifying and toning down his character are very often hard for me to consume due to it hitting a certain mind-numbing extreme, and it Takes Me Out of the story if it’s overdone). 

Also, this may get tangent-y, a lot of it boils down to my personal interpretation, how I like to write him, and the stuff I read/avoid reading.

Pings: @finchandthebard @existential-grackle @micropoet

My major point: Writing intrusive thoughts can be hard or disturbing. 

I have intrusive thoughts that overwhelmingly play heavily into my trauma. Because of that, I have to work into overdrive to portray Remus differently than how I experience intrusive thoughts. I have more fun writing him to be a chaotic entity rather than a disturbing one, it often fits better into the story if, instead of having him create visuals of murdering Thomas’s friends, he instead makes Thomas/others experience body dysmorphia, convince Thomas there's something wrong with his food, making sexual innuendos, etc. This is how I chose to “water him down.” Accurate portrayals of intrusive thoughts, includes examples of things he’s done in canon, but it very rarely goes further than this for me due to my own comfort levels, and what is necessary for my fics. 

Writing extreme depictions of intrusive thoughts can be difficult due to it being detrimental to explore and engage with. It does have an impact on your mental health to only engage in the disturbing. (Side note: Do what you want, I’m not your mom). There’s already so many disturbing and scary parts of the internet and the greater world, and like me, many people use writing as a way to escape those topics. It goes both ways: if someone is inspired by their experiences to write Remus as disturbing or even more disturbing than how he appears in canon, they can and should do that! But if someone rather not, then that's okay too. I think it’s more harmful to expect every version of Remus to be a disturbing, sexual innuendo creating, Jeffery Dahmer idolizing creature than it is for someone to write a version of him that is “oc-ified.” 

Additionally, it can be hard to write in a respectful way, which is why I think some people avoid doing it. Remus is more digestible when he’s heavily censored. And while this could turn into an argument about how people who experience intrusive thoughts regularly may find it offensive to censor/remove that aspect of him, I personally don’t care (refer back to my statement of “If there’s an interpretation I don’t like, I ignore it).

Remus representing intrusive thoughts is not something that's always suitable for a fic or something that is able to be portrayed in fics. Take human Aus, for example. This can be mostly worked around, writing him to have intrusive thoughts instead of creating them, as Virgil is written to have anxiety rather than representing Thomas’s anxiety. However, beyond just finding it uncomfortable, someone may feel hesitant to write a scene indulging/engaging with/portraying intrusive thoughts. Not because they don’t want to, but rather because they can’t or are inexperienced. I think its weird to expect it automatically, especially if its a non-Remus centered fic. 

This all being said… In my experience, It's hard to write for Remus when so much of his character IS tied down to his role as intrusive thoughts and dark creativity. Attempting to separate him from the role is like trying to scrape gum off the sidewalk. I think this is why it's so jarring to see interpretations of this occurring; it’s just not Remus after a certain point. 

Ultimately, I think it boils down to a few ideas: personal interpretation and what the writer is willing to create. So really, I don’t think it's as deep as people are making it. The fandom heavily misinterprets all the characters anyway, and you can make similar arguments about any one of the sides (EX: Virgil is a helpless anxiety case (infantilizing anxiety), Roman is an obnoxious dick (just blatantly wrong, I could sit an analyze his character all day if given a chance), Patton is an emotionally manipulative baby (literally trying his best, makes mistakes, is working on it), and Janus is a glorified alcoholic who will fight a bitch (hmm… unfortunately this misinterpretation is inching ever so closely to canon, but once again, that discussion is for another day.)) 

Frankly, there are bigger issues I think the fandom should care about, such as how the Real Life Thomas keeps sweeping issues under the rug, but sure, let’s talk about Remus. 

Edit: there's a point to be made about the interpretation leading to a complete misinterpretation of how intrusive thoughts work as a whole, i.e., people thinking intrusive thoughts and impulsive thoughts are one and the same. I failed to consider this 😮‍💨 and yeah, that's really annoying but I think it's a separate broader issue that can't fully be tackled in a post about how Remus is written

[dovesndecay]

The visuals of Big Mouth and Human Resources are not beautiful to me. But I don't need them to be beautiful to see the value.

They utilize vulgarity and obscenities to highlight humanity in all its complexity, removing the veneer of Attractive Aesthetics and leaving exposed the true make-up of a human life.

The complicated, messy, gross, confusing, infuriating, profane, offensive, and incredibly authentic experiences in these shows have genuinely made me feel seen in ways that even the most visually stunning and morally correct media has never made me feel.

Both of these shows have shown more diversity and sincerity than anyone has given them credit for, and significantly more of it than other shows getting more credit than they frankly deserve.

But most importantly, I think it's really clear how many people have not realized that this show is doing something none of you seem to have thought about: De-radicalization.

The way this show has been presented to people has its downsides -- it will, on a purely surface level, rarely appeal to the people whose views already lean more to the left, people who have already disavowed offensive shows like Family Guy, The Simpsons, South Park, American Dad, or Rick And Morty -- the shows that Big Mouth and Human Resources most often get compared to.

However, people who are already inclined to watch shows like that might watch it. They might find the gross humor to be exactly to their tastes, and not know that they're going to see accurate and compassionate depictions of depression, anxiety, shame, racism, queerphobia, addiction, radicalization and rehabilitation, and so, so much more. They might find more compassion in themselves for the real life people who share these experiences because they saw someone model a better way in a show about the honest and vulgar human life.

[keigo-takamis-no-1-simp]

Ｈａｗｋｓ Ｘ Ｒｅａｄｅｒ : Ｄａｒｋ ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔｓ ａｎｄ ａ Ｈｏｌｌｏｗ Ｈｅａｒｔ （Ｏｎｅ ｓｈｏｔ）

CW/TW: mentions of death, cuts, depictions of violence, blood, self harm, self-destructive thoughts

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: Hawks x gn! Reader

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: Your depression is getting worse and worse as time goes on. You've never talked to your boyfriend about it, as you were always able to get through it on your own.

What happens when he comes home and finds you succumbing to those dark thoughts, leaving you left with a hollow heart?

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: Good Ol' Angst and Hurt/Comfort

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 2401

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

Dating the #2 hero is hard. 

Not only does it need to be hidden from the media (for both of your sakes), but it means him risking his life everyday. It means him disappearing off the face of the earth occasionally without warning. 

I can’t say much. I’m a pro hero too, after all. But with that comes the anxiety and trauma of not being able to save everyone. 

This is something Keigo knows well. Something I know well. 

We’ve talked about it before. While he’s able to manage these things well, I’m not quite so lucky. Being diagnosed with a myriad of mental health disorders is annoying. 

They’re all very much accurate but come on. 

Within the last few weeks, it’s been getting worse. The inability to take the medications that very much help me to function, patrols taking much more out of me than usual– if Keigo could see it, he didn’t say anything. 

Part of me is grateful for it. Another part of me wishes he’d call me out on it. After a particularly stressful patrol, I throw my apartment door open. 

Tossing my shoes in the general direction of the cabinets, I make my way to my bedroom. I’d failed to save several people. Killing those who needed to be erased from existence was one thing. 

Seeing those same glassy, empty eyes from my own failures? Much, much different. 

My eyes burn as I stalk to the bathroom. Taking off my hero costume and chucking it into the corner, I meet my gaze in the mirror. Blood splotches on my face, in my hair, and on my hands. 

I slam my fist into the mirror, shattering it with a cry. As pieces of reflective glass fall onto the counter, I slam my hand into the remaining pieces on the wall. 

I deserved the pain. I was a failure. 

And I couldn’t tell anyone. 

Panting, I step back. I sink onto the floor, covering my face with my good hand. Shaky breaths escape my lips as I curl up. Dark thoughts had started piling up in my mind a few days ago. Keigo, being the busy man he was, was rarely home. We technically shared the apartment, but lately he’d practically been living at his agency. 

Avoiding me, I’m sure. 

I mean, how could I blame him? Dark circles traced my eyes, my arms littered with new and healing cuts. I’d promised to go to him when I felt this way, but how could I? He had so much on his plate already. 

Rumi had been more talkative recently. We were friends, but it was a lot more often than usual that I received a text. A meme. Hell, she’d even called me a few times. 

Hot, fat tears rolled down my cheeks and splattered onto my thighs. “You deserve so much better. Why are you with me?” I murmur, rubbing my face with the heels of my palms. 

“Why deal with someone who can’t save anyone? Why try to save someone who’s nothing but a failure?” My voice cracks. Shaky, uneven breaths fall off my lips. 

I couldn’t go to him. I couldn’t talk to him, I couldn’t text him, I couldn’t bring myself to even stop by his agency. If I did, I dropped off a small lunch to his receptionist. 

She was much more attractive than me. No wonder she worked under him. Standing, I purse my lips. I pick out the shards of glass, letting them fall with a ‘clink’ into the trashcan. Rinsing off my hand, I close my eyes and tilt my head back. 

It hurt, don’t get me wrong. But the wave of pure calm that swept through my mind was comforting. I grab a towel and dry it off, flipping it to where the bloody side was against the wall, and cover the mirror. 

Sweeping the glass into the trash, I grab another towel and shower. The warm water running down my frame held me in it’s embrace. My eyes flutter closed as my arms wrap around me. 

How long has it been? A week? Several? It felt like an eternity. If I remember right, it’s been a month (or close to it). I clean up, dry off, then wrap my hand and arms. 

I couldn’t go to him, even if I wanted to. I’d been tempted more than once to text Rumi, or one of the other heroes I’d become friends with. But no matter how many times I wrote out that same text, I deleted it. 

If I did send it, I deleted it and replaced it with some stupid meme. 

Changing into one of his hoodies, I stop and throw it off. I pull one of my own over my head. I didn’t deserve to wear one of his. They didn’t smell like him anymore anyways.

Settling into bed, my eyes stare at the dark ceiling. Tears prick at my eyes, and I roll over. I needed to sleep before he came home… if he even did at all. Squeezing my eyes shut, my mind wanders to a stupid fanfiction I’d read several weeks ago. I grip the fluffy blanket I covered myself with.

I’d never have that kind of comfort. I didn’t deserve it. And he would never know just how much that hurt, because I would never tell. I couldn’t. No matter what I did, whether I said something or not, he’d be stressed.

So why add to it? I curl into myself more. “I’m so sorry,” My voice was pathetic. I wasn’t worth his time. I wasn’t worth his energy. He was too stressed. I wasn’t worth the effort. As my mind drifts off, a few more tears land on the pillows underneath me. 

Keigo

Landing on the balcony, I found it unlocked as usual. What was unusual was just how dark the inside of the apartment was. My brows furrow as I pull off my jacket. Sliding off my shoes, I take note of their own, thrown into a corner. 

My hours had been much longer than usual recently, and I knew that was hard on them. As awful as I felt, I couldn’t do much about it. With the commission up my ass, I had to work more and more to get an obscene amount of work done. Hell, I was lucky to come home at all.

All I wanted was to curl up and cuddle with my significant other, forgetting about how awful the real world is. Even if it’s only for a little while.

Speaking of which…

“Baby bird?” I call, setting my shoes down and making my way towards the bedroom. The shower wasn’t going, neither was any music from the office. The kitchen was empty, so that left one place. 

Slowly pushing open the door, my gaze panned across the room. The bathroom door was still open, their body curled up under the red fluffy blanket I got them a month ago for when I’m too far away.

I smile, the sight making my heart swell in my chest. That was until the moonlight hit their face, showing the drying tear tracks. 

I quietly make my way over and sit beside them, my head cocked to the side as I took in their features. Asleep, peaceful. Even though they’d been crying, they were still attractive as ever. 

I brush a piece of hair away from their eyes. My feather, which I’d given to them as a necklace, sat elsewhere. I couldn’t feel their heartbeat. 

As I carefully wipe away a tear, they begin to stir. I jolt up, shifting to the end of the bed to undress as if I hadn’t seen anything. My heart slamming against my ribcage, I toss my hero uniform shit onto the crappy chair in the corner. 

Meticulously, I slide on a t-shirt and thread my wings through. A soft yawn grabs my attention as I finish pulling up and tying my sweatpants. “Hey birdie,” I coo, crawling into bed beside them. Their breathing was shaky, even though they tried to hide it. 

I could hear it clear as day. 

“What happened?” Bringing their head to rest against, they lean into my touch. They let out a hum while I drag my fingers through their hair. 

“Just a lot of stress, it’s all good,” Their voice shakes as they speaks. I frown, cocking my head to the side again. 

“Angel, you can talk to me; you know that, right?” I prod them to turn and face me. Their lower lip quivers, and they nod. I cup their face with my hands. 

“Just had a bad patrol,” They start, shrugging. Their voice betrays that there is much, much more under the surface. “It’s ok though, I’m fine. Just stressed.” Repeating themselves, they bury their face into my neck.

I wrap my arms around their waist, my chin resting on their head. “Baby bird you gotta tell me what’s wrong, or I can’t help you.” I keep my voice gentle, but firm. Their breath hitches. 

“I can’t,” They whimper, gripping onto me tighter. My brows furrow. 

“What do you mean you can’t..?” I rub their back as they take in a shaky breath. 

“You have a lot you’re dealing with already, I can’t add to that–” I pull them away and have them look at me again. Their eyes wide, a pang jolted through my subconscious. Maybe that was a little too rough–

“I want you to talk to me. No matter how busy I am, no matter what’s going on, I want to be here. I’m choosing to be here, every time.” I gently press my lips to their forehead. They're shaking. 

“But…” They try, hiccupping as a sob cuts them off. 

“C’mere,” I drag them into a hug. They hold onto the back of my shirt tightly, hands inches from the roots of my wings. This time, I didn’t care. Consciously, I slow my breathing. Calm. 

“I’m sorry,” Their voice cracks. I shush them, placing another kiss on their head. 

“Don’t apologize; we can talk when you’re ready.” they nod into my chest, exhaling shakily. A good few minutes pass with the sounds of their breathing filling the room. My hand continues to trace patterns on their back as they relax into my arms. 

They lean back finally, sitting cross-legged in front of me. “I’m… it’s getting bad again,” They purse their lips. I hum in response to show I’m listening, continuing to trace patterns on their back.

“I don’t… I can’t wrap my head around why you’re with me. I’m a lot, I know I’m a lot. I have so much shit you have to deal with, and I feel like you feel like you have to walk on eggshells a lot.” They take in a breath. 

“You deserve so, so much better. I’m a burden to you, taking up the time you should have to yourself. I take up space, I’m a waste of money and patience,” They sniffle. I hold them against me a little tighter. 

“I feel like I can’t talk to you because of how much you deal with already. I’m already such a shitty significant other, I don’t want to make it worse and make you leave. I can’t-” They cut themself off, taking in another shaky breath. 

“I can’t handle that.” 

I hook my finger under their chin and bring their lips to mine. They jump a little, then melts into it. Their hands move to my chest, gripping my shirt. I place a hand on the back of their head, not holding in place but resting it. 

After a few moments, we parted. I press small, chaste kisses across their face.

“I’m with you because I want to be. You have no idea just how special you are to me. And hell, I’m the one that doesn’t deserve you. You’ve helped me in so many ways that it’s hard to count, but I’ll start saying them if I have to.” 

They look at me, confusion swimming in their e/c eyes. I kiss the corners of them. “You’re an amazing person, and an amazing hero. You can’t save everyone, but I know that you do everything you can to do so even if you know that. I know you, and I know how much you care.” They sniffle. I place yet another kiss on their forehead. “You know I have a lot of my own shit. I don’t come to you as often as I should, frankly. I just work myself harder.” It was hard to admit, but it felt right. They look at me steadily now, placing their hands over my stubble. 

“I don’t have to walk on eggshells,” I take their hands in my own. “I want to protect you and make you feel safe. I’m not perfect but I try. That ties into how I talk and how I act with you. No eggshells, just love.” I smile. They smile back, though faintly. 

“As for you being a ‘shitty significant other’- who the fuck told you that? Cause it sure as hell wasn’t me– it would be a big ass lie.” Even though I kept the tone lighthearted, the last bit was firm. Their eyes widened more. 

“Seriously. You are sweet, caring, kind, beautiful, compassionate, intelligent- I could go on and on. And I will if you want me to.” They smile again, this time a little wider. 

“You’re no waste of anything. I’m happy to spend what I do on you, to spend time with you, and I choose to be patient because I understand to a degree.” I kiss their hands. 

“I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon, baby bird. You’re stuck with me,” I kiss their lips lightly. They lean into it, but I shift to their cheeks, then their nose, then their forehead. 

“Until you tell me to fuck off. I’m a selfish bastard after all. You got that?” They giggle, hugging me tightly. 

“Thank you,” They murmur with a sigh. Their arms are wrapped, as is one of their hands. I’d talk about it with them tomorrow. I hug back, my wings wrapping around the pair of us. 

“Of course. I love you,” My words are whispered into their hair, but they hear them clear as day. 

“I love you too.”

[pumpkinsouppe]

I haven’t played all of AA4 yet but I was thinking a lot about how uneasy the first case made me feel (in a good way) and I finally figured out why. (AA 4-1 spoilers btw) Part of it of course is the overall scheme: what happened 7 years ago and what are the answers to all these unresolved questions. But I genuinely don’t think I’ve seen a more accurate depiction of how I experienced GAD and social anxiety than I have with Apollo Justice.

Thankfully, I have learned to stand up for myself and I’ve controlled the majority of my anxiety but I can very clearly see that Apollo has not done that, at least yet. I am hoping hoping hoping we get to see him grow in this game because I know that AA5 and 6 won’t do that justice (lol). All throughout the first case, Apollo rarely spoke for himself. He was very much a follower and wanted approval, ergo he was very easy to manipulate. Kristoph and Phoenix both recognized this about him and were able to both use Apollo as their own puppets. He followed Kristoph’s orders whenever he gave them (‘expose phoenix’s lies’ ‘don’t embarrass me’) but he also was very willing to follow Phoenix’s orders too (‘point on the map for us’ ‘name the fourth person/killer’ ‘accuse Kristoph’). He followed who he thought was seeking the truth but he had to be told that doing these actions was for the truth.

I never was manipulated in court like Apollo experienced, but I was VERY quick to abandon plans for something else or act in ways if someone told me to. I remember sometimes even saying yes to things that made me super uncomfortable because I didn’t think for myself and didn’t want to disappoint or make anyone mad. And you can tell that Apollo really looked up to both Kristoph and Phoenix in that trial. He wasn’t sure who to believe so he followed both simultaneously until at the end when he realized both were assholes. I LOVE the unease I felt during the first case. It felt so real to me how Apollo was able to be so easily manipulated and how that was able to be used as a very interesting way to set up a new game and protagonist.

It’s amplified especially if you played all the past Phoenix Wright games. Hell, I finished PLvsPW an hour before picking up AA4 and that really influenced how much I wanted to also follow and believe Phoenix. So I absolutely love how this trial was used not only to play with the heart and mind of Apollo, but the players as well. There’s less reason to follow Kristoph since the players don’t have the same bond Kristoph and Apollo have since this was our first time meeting him, but because he’s our boss and he’s standing at the defense with us like Mia has, that adds to his credibility. Which is even better that Phoenix took Kristoph’s spot behind the defense bench when Kristoph was summoned to the stand. “Don’t believe that other guy, look at where he is now. Believe me instead, the person who just left that same spot.” You want to believe him, it’s Phoenix Wright! Teaching us the ways just like Mia. But what he’s actually done is replace Kristoph as the supposed voice of reason in Apollo’s ear. Yes that’s the spot for mentors, but does every mentor have your best intentions in mind? Are you able to distinguish genuine advice versus motivated advice?

I am truly fascinated and captivated by the writing. You can tell how much Shu Takumi has grown as a writer compared to the original AA1. I am so excited to play the rest of this game.

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

Why Outlander characters have not aged the best?

Everybody knows without makeup you see any actor look like an ordinary person. I did notice after they take a long break in a flash of season 8, Outlander’s actors appear not ageing without exception.

I am asking this because in this way none of them has struggled much starred their characters according to their age (non-ageing and still looking younger during this period of suffering, anxiety, habits and years of war were practically impossible in the XVIII century) It is difficult to believe that even actors and actresses in such a short duration of time try to play a role that appears out of reality while most people have struggled in every such field for years.

It is always good to dream and have something to look forward to, but not something that does not adapt to the real situation in time. It is a romance based on a fictional novel, the passage of time must also be reflected in the faces of both actors, although they usually look younger than the supposed age in fiction. No doubt it is difficult to believe.

The TV show is seen not be affected by the passage of time - where the characters age slowly or not at all. Or they exist in realities where the narrative is supposed to be limited to a period, regardless of how much time has passed in the “real world”, where more than thirty years were supposed to have passed when in reality the program lasts ten years.

It can create errors in the narrative canon - If the series lasts for years or even more than a decade, then there have been so many writers employed that keeping things accurate becomes difficult.

The leading actor SH now an executive producer may not want this to occur. He’s always very sensitive to his ageing and if his character’s primary appeal is his appearance, in and out of screen then birthdays and mentioning his age always have to be an unpleasant reminder to him.

At his age this is how JF should look.

I wonder what SH's contribution as an executive producer will be to help his character and the final story of Outlander. It’s rarely a source of humour (his favourite specialities) that could be used for dramatic tension, even then it’s very limited. It can be difficult to integrate it into the narrative.

If the executive producer doesn’t know, SH won’t add much to the show. The actor may not know it or care, but must be on set for every detail this is supposed part of his executive producer job; in the end, SH wanted this title in his resume. Sometimes STARZ’s politics in certain specific fields has no substance or foundation.

In their mid 60's this is how J&C should look.

Outlander series season seven takes place predominantly in 1776, more than 30 years after season one. Jamie and Claire are supposed to be nearing 60 years old, but the actors look over a decade younger. The majority of other actors are much closer in age to their characters.

If the depiction of a couple looking younger is what caused the attraction in the first place, particularly if they’re more than a couple of years younger than the character, and the difference can be quite large, at this point it’s almost comical. They can’t do to properly make a character credible.

As an addendum, the average age of the British soldier in the American Revolution was about thirty, with men well into their forties serving. Older soldiers in their thirties or even forties were common and effective.

Charles Cornwallis 1st Marquess Cornwallis was a British Army General, Leader of the British Army who served during the Revolutionary War. He led British forces to success in New York and Philadelphia before moving to the war's southern theater in 1780.

The Patriot (2000) - Tom Wilkinson as Gen. Lord Charles Cornwallis

The founding fathers in 1776 were younger than you’d think. It was very common in the 18th century for men to not age well.

George Washington, was 44, during American Independence War. He was older than most (but still, the same age as Sam Heughan) and you can see the difference how look a commander the Continental Army in the American Revolutionary War (1775–1783) as his age @ mount_vernon IG

This is the perspective in the 18th century….… You will never be younger than you are today.

Credit to the owners’ photos with age effects editor.

Posted 3rd April 2024

[theomnilegent]

Iris Kelly Doesn't Date by Ashley Herring Blake - Review

Slower to start than previous books, Ashley Herring Blake did a good job making the Kelly family so incredibly dislikable without actually making them terrible people. It was easy to empathise with Iris over her family's treatment of her, and how that fed into her own self-doubt.

Stevie's anxiety is one of the most accurate depictions of GAD I've ever read - I have GAD myself and while I'm rarely reduced to tears by it, I did find myself frequently wincing on Stevie's behalf. Ashley Herring Blake wrote her attacks so well it sometimes felt like I was about to have one myself! The tension really leapt off the page.

However, despite it being slow to start, once the pace picked up it really picked up. Iris and Stevie were pretty much head-over-heels for each other by 40% of the way through the book, and it didn't take long for the other characters to realise, either. Also, on that note, I commend Ashley Herring Blake on writing a character as truly dislikable as Adri. The way she took her jealousy out on Stevie and Iris made her a pretty interesting, if not compelling, villain. Still, I kind of wanted to throw the book across the room sometimes when she treated either one of the leads so horribly. I know in romance books you don't typically root for a breakup to happen, but I wanted Vanessa to do better than Adri, just like Stevie was.

The situation with Adri ends up resolved a little too neatly, in my opinion. I would have liked to see it get messy, would have liked a big confrontation between the characters involved. I'm not unhappy with how it played out in the story, I just think bigger would have been better in this instance.

The moment they finally got together was a bit of a letdown - all this build up for a very simple execution. It didn't quite meet the mark for me, personally, but I was thrilled that they'd finally decided to talk about things like grown ups. It did feel a little contrived, but it was necessary to further the plot at that point. However, what follows was incredibly frustrating for me. I mostly only stuck with it because I knew I was guaranteed a HEA - if there had been any doubt in my mind, I very easily could see this book ending up on my bedside table with a bookmark wedged in it around the chapter 33 mark for the rest of forever.

I am glad I stuck with it, because the ending was lovely and exactly what I was hoping for throughout the second act. Overall it's not my favourite of the Bright Falls series but I thought it sent off the main characters of the trilogy in a rather warm, kind way.

[welcome-to-green-hills]

This is fellow archeologist! I finally worked up the courage to dm you (anxiety and shyness, my eternal curse), but it says you only accept messages from tumblrs you follow. My sonic blog is @navy-the-tiger but you dont have to follow I am fine talking like this

Also I totally wasn't weird and scrolled through your entire archeologist tag. Feel you so much on being frustrated with the way archeology is portrayed in media. Rarely accurate, often a romanticized depiction of the early, unethical forms of archeology... It hurts every time.

Also hearing about your job was super interesting! My dig (I have only been on one so far, a field school dig and internship that got me le certificate) was on the property of a house constructed between 1800 and 1810. Boss had to teach us what to do if we found any native american artifacts which was basically stop everything immediately, contact the local rep for either the organization you work for or something super similar to it, and essentially the dig would be over.

Also I really wanted to be a museum curator too! I've had to accept over the past few years that chronic illness means I'll never be able to hold a typical job, but I still love love love it. I was going to get a PhD in mineralogy and specialize in that kind if curation, but now sinking all that time and money when I will be unemployed sounds like a bad idea. Seeing someone else living my dream even if it isnt the same field and getting to hear about it is so heartwarming.

So sorry for rambling so much I just have many thoughts

Navy! It’s wonderful to finally meet with you. Hello! I’m so happy that you’re here! Welcome to Green Hills, your home away from home.❤️✨

I’m very happy that you’ve found my anthropology/archaeology posts enjoyable to read. Sometimes there’s rambling, other times it’s a clash between science and game characters. It’s fun! Archaeology is very (and this is me being polite) romanticized through vast forms of media. And because it’s very romanticized it gets a bit complicated to do my job. I am, however, very appreciative of those that ask questions about what we do—they want to know. I encourage curiosity.

Oooo! The dig that you’ve been on sounds very exciting! It’s interesting to hear that Indigenous artefacts were uncovered at the household. My curiosity is at an all time high. Fortunately for me and my team, we work under NAGPRA (Native American Graves Protection & Repatriation Act). We honor requests and always make sure to have representatives of each community working with us. It’s fun work!

Unfortunately, I am not a curator. I do wish to be a curator one day. I’m both a researcher and collections assistant. When I’m not doing field work (my region of the USA calls them “dirt archaeologists”), I work side-by-side with many curators to manage collections. It’s like an assistant manager. My job requires me to understand customs, languages, ethics, it’s history, and much more on what collections I’m working on. This actually does not require a PhD, but it’s preferred. The work I do can be easily accomplished with an AA, AS, BA, BS, MA, and/or an MS. As long as you have a mentor that is thrilled to work with you, then it can be achieved. Traditionally, archaeological collections that require a curator require their managers to have a PhD. I’m noticing more and more that those traditions are changing, but it’s a good thing. It’s allowing new ideas and voices to come and share insight on what they do. I’m very fortunate to have worked with my mentors for as long as I have. They will always have a special place in my heart.

What I’m trying to say through my rambling is this: don’t lose hope. Your dreams are possible. I believe in you. If you are a United States citizen and interested in furthering your education, please don’t hesitate to reach out. Universities, colleges, and community colleges have tons of programs and resources that help students achieve their dreams. If you are interested in managing collections, I highly encourage reaching out to museums FIRST and then a learning institution. Some museums may even help you with schooling and give you the foundation needed before going to school. You may never know! And if you have questions, ask me! This is what I’m here for. I’m more than happy to supply guidance.

Never apologize for rambling about your passions. Never. I’m always happy to hear them. It was wonderful to meet you, I hope that you have a fantastic day!❤️✨

[roskirambles]

Horror(?) Movie of the day: Jaws (1975)

Amity Island, a humble tourist resort in New England, is busy during the summer as its beaches are full yet again. That is, until one night a young woman called Chrissie Watkins is mysteriously killed in the water, her mangled remains washed ashore by the morning. It's concluded it was a shark attack, which means the beaches got to be closed. But when Police chief Martin Brody is forced to reopen them by the mayor after a local fisherman catches the wrong animal, a second attack on a kid called Alex Kintner takes place. Finally seeing the gravity of the threat, a team is formed to hunt down the man-eating creature: Brody himself, marine biologist Matt Hooper and a mysterious seaman referred as Quint embark on the Orca, doing their best to get along if they plan to succeed on their quest. Or even get out alive.

Based on Peter Benchley's eponymous 1974 novel, this is pretty much the perfect creature film: the use of cinematographic techniques to tell the story it wants to is pretty much flawless. With a masterful use of blocking and almost surgically precise pacing, even this short of 50 years later the film is still a breeze to watch. It makes some extensive changes from the novel too; making the characters infinitely more likable and bounce from each other in delightful ways, with Quint’s character stealing the show thanks to a stellar performance by the late Robert Shaw.

And then there’s John Williams' iconic ostinato of death. Taking a page from Bernard Hermann, it hammers in the anxiety of seeing the attacks from the point of view of the creature, making the audience feel like prey against this obscured menace. At least until those brief moments where you see it above the surface, which have aged the worst since the mechanical shark looks as real as its behavior is accurate to the real thing. Even with this little mishap tho, it's no wonder it put Spielberg's name on the map as the first true summer blockbuster.

Now, there’s a few obligatory talking points about this movie starting with the obvious one: It’s depiction of sharks as violent man eaters has had a devastating effect on the reputation of these animals that only now is seeing some form of push back (even if Benchley himself regretted writing the novel and dedicated his life to undo the effect upon learning about the animals further). The events of the book were inspired by the real-life shark attacks on Jersey Shore in 1916, as well as the mass attack on the USS Indianapolis’ wreckage in 1945 (which is referenced in the film itself). It has to be said these were indeed fairly violent incidents and led to multiple human deaths. And yet, the attack rate of sharks on humans is incredibly low with less than 100 yearly worldwide reported incidents, as they’re generally timid creatures. For comparison, dog attacks in USA alone surpass 2000 yearly reported incidents with ease. Worse yet, shark attacks are rarely predatory. While that was actually the case for the Indianapolis incident (since a lot of humans scattered in deep water made for easy pickings to hungry animals), most of the reported bites are exploratory. We’re talking about creatures with poor eyesight and no hands, so biting is a fairly common mechanism to investigate for them and many attacks on humans are effectively curious sharks just… experimenting on something they haven’t seen. More so, in certain circumstances wild sharks can be outright friendly to humans. I think it goes without saying the antagonism from the general public is unwarranted, and the damage done to their populations more than unfortunate. After all, when we enter the sea, we’re the actual invaders in their turf.

The second obvious talking point has to be the troubled production. To put it bluntly, almost everything that could’ve gone wrong went wrong in spectacular fashion. In fact, part of the brilliance of Jaws is the result of Spielberg having to work around Bruce (the nickname given to one of the three mechanical sharks used in the film, as well as the namesake of the shark in Finding Nemo for obvious reasons). Why? Well, the damn thing kept breaking down and simply didn’t work as intended even in the shots where it was partially operational. Turns out they made it for fresh water, and believe it or not, salt in water makes a world of difference. Save for the scenes were it was absolutely vital to have it on camera, they instead had the music and some underwater photography imply the action and rank the suspense up to 11. And yes, the fact salt water was a problem is due to a young, naive Steven Spielberg insisting to actually film on the ocean instead of a water tank because he thought it’d give authenticity to the movie. I cannot begin to tell you the multiple ways this is an incredibly bad and stupid idea, but they paid the price by facing broken equipment, camera problems, a sunk mechanical shark and even a sunk boat with all the film reels that they BARELY managed to salvage. It was so bad the team internally called the production “Flaws”, amidst disgruntled, tired actors, a dangerously ballooning budget, and being over schedule by seven months. In a nutshell, it was nothing short of a career ending disaster... or at least would have been had the movie not been as obscenely successful as it was. I wasn’t remotely exaggerating when I called it the first true summer blockbuster. It’s the movie that set the trend for studios to chase, which was later consolidated by Star Wars. But boy, was it a pain and a half to get there.

Lastly, a rather byzantine debate. You might have noted that little question mark in the header title. It’s there for a reason, mind you, as an awkward question lingers in the air: is Jaws actually a horror film? I’m not trying to be facetious here; this is genuinely a decades long ongoing debate. It undoubtedly has been spoken extensively in horror movie circles as most people would agree one of the goals of the movie (in which it succeeds spectacularly) is to elicit a negative emotional response of fright from the audience. And yet, in most movie sites and sources like Wikipedia it’s actually classified as a thriller, and the core narrative dynamic makes it equally close to an adventure film where a group of intrepid people go on the hunt of a dangerous monster. In a way, it speaks about the rather flimsy nature of genres as a tool to classify fiction, but either response carries interesting implications. If it isn’t a horror movie, what does that tells us about the thriller genre? What is the line between feeling exciting suspense and horrifying helplessness? On the other hand, if it is, what does it say that the first Summer blockbuster is a horror film? Because, on a similar note, The Exorcist was a notoriously viral film just two years prior so it certainly would speak about the importance and desire for the genre among not just a niche but the mass audiences. You be the judge of that, but it’s for sure a fascinating aspect of a film that already brings forward lots of things to talk about.

[upn-the-sky]

This post made return to the codex and one more time!! GOW Ragnarok and Valhalla blowed out my mind!! Valhalla's codex literally illustrated by Kratos, well, there is a bunch of Atreus's drawings too, but mostly Kratos do it himself and it is very interesting to analyze. ___ First of all, if you didn't notice, there is Kratos's greek handwriting on his drawings

Actually, sometimes it seems just like compulsively written letters, but nope, his handwriting completely shows his character and how busy with thoughts is his head all the time, like FASTER, FASTER!1

Just for comparison, here is Atreus's nordic handwriting

But let's return to Kratos's art style. His drawings are not very detailed in comparison with Atreus's and lineart is rougher and bolder, but the are very accurate anyway. Also his works are obedient to the certain rules, the more thoughts or feelings about the subject he has - the more angled geometry he put into it. Generally he draws square meanders - classic antient greek patterns, and when he draws these, he is THINKING and worrying.

Whrn his mind is calm, his drawings are just sketchy. Nothing special besides lil single meanders here and there. Kratos rarely do shades, and even more rarely do hatching. And his drawing are not very dimensional. Raeb by Atreus - Dead legioneer by Kratos

Also Kratos doesn't draw faces and hands properly. But in Valhalla his mind is pushing to the edge and his drawings sometimes starts to shows unspoken emotional responses about the things he forsed to remember.

Let's look at Helios.. GEOMETRY AND SYMMETRY appears. Meanders (agressively?) "looks" outside, seems like he didn't want to take efforts over this (but still made these drawings good %)). Honestly, he put more precision in drawing Ares's dead soldiers than in these two pieces. Understandable. Ares's soldiers can't speak.

OKay, we all know what Kratos feels about the Olympians, and here you can see the difference in a mood Orkos's stone, first lining of stone is rough, but then refined over it with a more precise, hard, black line, and all trapped in a circle. It is the first fully complete circle he drew, and all meanders "looks" inside (autoagression maybe or just a need to calm himself with familiar patterns? maybe both).

There is very much anxiety and saddness here, oh, and by the way, that's how Kratos see himself - an uneven, blurry shadow with swirling darkness inside - a "ghost" in one word

More geometry. Pandora drawing in a big BIG meander depicting a "maze". Small meanders "looks" inside again (autoagression?/need to calm himself?/both?) Oh and he wrote her name here.. Πανδώρα This drawing is not so compulsive as the previous, more thoughtfull. His actual frustration can be seen in this big "dot" near her name. Like he wanted to write more, but changed his mind. And the lowest meanders are inverted upside down like he forgot the direction he drew them.

Lysandra's pendant and Calliope's flute drawings Geometry, symmetry Pendan't patterns seems more trembling, insecure as he said he feels about his wife (but I also see "heart" shapes in it). His hand is more steady at flute drawing

What else did I found... After reviewing Ragnarok codex wishing to compare their art style, I noticed this piece. The Lyngbakr drawing made by Aterus, with his handwritings, fine detail, his significant swirls and wait- MEANDERS? this square geometry looks very outcast here, like it were drawn over swirles and circles turned into squares.

If you look at the banch of Atreus's drawings, you'll that he just doesn't draw square patterns, only round ones like waves, and these pointed ones which looks like uh claws?.. and and very rarely - schematic runic patterns

Well, if we remember, Lyngbakr's story impressed(?) Kratos very much.. Maybe Kratos returned to this pages in the codex and uh thoughtfully uh intervened in his son's drawing. %) Anyway, it was the single episode in Ragnarok codex and it can be just a coincedence, BUT THEN WE LOOK AT VALHALLA CODEX AND WHAT IS IT? Kratos is messing around with his symmetric geometry and meanders on Atreus's drawing again. He just misses his son, let's forgive him. And his scribbles are so dim like he tried to erase them..

Thinking about how Angrboda asked Atreus if Kratos draws and he laughed and said "no" but we see Kratos' journal and there are beautiful drawings of things he is describing haha

[philosophicalparadox]

An educational post for writers: the effects of malnutrition/starvation:

Malnutrition/starvation has a bunch of really fucky effects, and I see whump people use malnutrition/starvation from time to time, (i am utilizing it now, hence the post) but rarely do they depict the horrific suffering. I have actually starved before, so here's my medically accurate advice on what that looks like:

Among the most prominent of effects of lack of food/lack of nutritious food ironically not depicted, for it is the most common nutritional deficit on earth, is anemia - lack of iron means your body doesnt produce blood like it used to, which at a point makes you cold all the time! It also messes with your bodily sense of blood pressure, making you more likely to notice tiny changes, which in turn can trigger dizziness, severe anxiety, heart palpitations, fainting, and vascillations between cognitive clarity and a foggy feeling. Lack of iron causes lack of red blood cells, which means you can't distribute oxygen as efficiently. This causes fatigue, a general sense of unwellness, called "malaise", and causes you to breathe and your heart to beat faster than they normally should. This, in turn, can trigger more anxiety! Anemia is a very anxiety inducing deficiency on its own because your body knows it's in trouble and it definitely wants to tell you about it!

It only takes about 3-4 days without food to develop anemia to this degree, though it can take as little as 2 if you already have deficits. If you are eating food but it's lacking in iron this transition can take 2-3 weeks, as your body uses up its iron reserves located in your liver, spleen and bone marrow (where red blood cells are produced).

Malnutrition and especially starvation also screws with your electrolytes, making you prone to dizzy spells and vertigo, and can seriously affect the myelin sheathes around your nerves and the delicate proteins in your brain, which combined with electrolyte imbalance and probable anemia can cause anything from blurred vision, headaches, fatigue and cognitive impairment (pervasive brain fog), at best, all the way up to the moderate landing of muscle spasms and ataxia (loss of coordination) and functional loss of senses like sight and hearing, to the severe landing of seizures and total organ failure. Also, malnourished muscles hurt!!! They hurt to touch, they hurt to move, it hurts to exist!

I once went 8 full days with little to no food, so I know this stuff from experience. Let me tell you, hunger pains are God fucking awful and paradoxically make you feel very nauseous and can cause vomiting, (your body wants to get rid of the concentrated stomach acid) and are truly indescribable in their instinctual ability to instill desperation, depression and terror. You would eat a lot of things you never thought you would after just three days without food. At 8, I was very strongly considering eating my pet birds. I had already begun eating their seeds. The only thing that saved them was one measly bag of potato chips, the very last thing resembling human food in the pantry (the vending machine size chips) on day 6, which gave me just enough salt and fat to rethink that idea.

Anyway, muscles! Hurt!!! Especially if you don't eat a lot of protein to start out. Muscular degeneration or "digestion" (ketosis) can happen surprisingly fast if you arent eating anything at all. 5-7 days usually if you are healthy, though 3 is not unheard of, especially if you are expending a lot of calories and have very little fat. It's quirky hallmark? A strangely sweet and metallic taste in your mouth. Like a penny coated in sugar water. The ache is hard to describe, but it is constantly there, and honestly wore me down psychologically more than the hunger pains, which curiously went away after day 4, only coming back with a vengeance when I tried to eat anything. It hurt to move, it hurt to think about moving, and the constant low level pain was absolute torture. The fatigue didn't help. I normally slept about 6-9 hours. During that time after day 3 or so, I started sleeping 15 or more, in bursts, and had very little energy to do anything but rest. Every now and then I'd get a burst of restlessness, my body pushing me to find food or drink water. It was unpleasant. The headaches were pretty bad too, at first.

Malnutrition, and specifically a lack of protein, also causes pervasive muscle aches and all the neurologic issues mentioned above.

My experience led me to the development of ataxia that has never completely gone away. I remember the panic of nearly blacking out while trying to stand too, and not being able to cognitively focus on anything, much less visually focus. (Started about day 5). Mind you, I was 15 years old and weighed only 89 lbs prior to this period, with a fast metabolism and very little fat. After it I weighed 81 lbs. 8lbs in 8 days is a lot of weight to lose, and boy did my body hate me for some time after that. But my insomnia was cured for a while!

Anyway, i hope this proves insightful for all your whumping and torturous needs. I didn't plan on making it so personal, but hey, I've lived through that, so it seemed relevant to add that here.

Happy writing!

[dinthehottotty]

Little Lights

Summary: Din takes you to an emergency medical outlet when you think you’ve got appendicitis. Heads up. It’s not.

Rating: M, +18

Warnings: Angst, fluff, depictions of blood, unknown pregnancy, premature babies, mentions of ass eating and other suggestive language. (I have put very little research into this... If it’s not accurate. it’s fiction.) This ends much softer than I anticipated.

“You’re making the weird face again,” Din reminds you. Letting out a slow deep breath, you glance over at him. 

“Mhmm. Just... one sec...” You agree. Instead of resorting to the awkward, polite smile, you squeeze your eyes shut for the duration of the awful cramps. “Oof,” you grunt when it eases away. “It’s kind of going in waves.”

“Are you okay?” Din demands, moving to your side.

“Yeah, probably just something I ate, you know my stomach’s been all over the place.” Din glances around the new ship, uncomfortable. 

“Do you think you need medical attention?” He’s crowding you, as you wave your hand dismissively. 

“I think I’m either about to get a bad menstrual cycle or something’s not agreeing with me, you know?” Din unlatches his helmet and removes it. A rare occurrence, but you can see the concern on his face. He leans forward to kiss your forehead. He’d only recently started to show you his face, the kid’s been with the jedi almost a year now. Almost a year since he gave up the creed.

Your lover still liked to make out in the dark, he only occasionally took off his helmet to eat with you at the little table shoved in the corner of the hull. He was slowly getting better about showing you. More than anything though, he took the helmet off to kiss you. It was always one of those things you loved. Him leaning down to kiss you before he left. If you were still exhausted from the last bounty - which was becoming more frequent lately - he would crawl into the bed you’d shoved into a small alcove. 

He said it reminded him of the crest. You suspect he’s a little homesick of his old ship, even if he likes this one better. 

“I’m worried about you. I think you’re sick,” the Mandalorian urges. 

“I’ve probably just developed irritable bowel syndrome from those awful ration packets, but when we get to Nevarro, I’ll see a doctor, okay?” His eyes soften and there’s something about the sweet look he gives you, his open expressions of devotion that’s stirring something down low. 

“I would really like that,” he murmurs.

“Do you want to help me with my cramps?” You asks playfully, suggestively. His eyebrows raise in pleasant surprise and he gives you a quiet laugh.

“I don’t know if this is the time for that if you think you’re having bowel issues.” You giggle back and shimmy closer. 

“What can I say, you’re just really hot. To be fair, you’ve eaten my ass,” you respond and he laughs a little more. There’s so much affection in his gaze, you feel floaty. You would have never expected him to be hiding all of that under his helmet.  

“Let me catch this baby bounty and get you to Nevarro first.” Baby bounty was a term you’d got him saying. A reference to a quick and easy bounty. 

“Okay, okay,.. but what if I just blew you a little?” You try. He breaks out into actual laughter at this, pulling you flush with himself. 

“If you’re feeling better when I get back, I’ll eat you out until we hit Nevarro, got it?” Your giggles fill the air. 

“I might shave while you’re gone then...” you hum and he noses behind your ear. 

“Insatiable thing,” he rumbles. You allow yourself to lean against him. His hands find the hem of your shirt - gloves sliding over your aching back. “Go take a long shower, if I have time, I’ll grab you something to eat other than ration packets.

“I’m not even hungry right now,” you respond.

“You might be when I get back,” he counters. This. Right here. Was the best your life would get. You feel a knot start in your chest when your mandalorain walks away. Like this would change. The anxiety induced by him leaving was spurring on one thought.

I’m going to die. 

It was an absurd thought. You were just cramping pretty bad. Right?

...

When Din comes back with the bounty tagging along in cuffs, the fresher is still running. He moves the bounty into the carbonite chamber before going to check on you. The knock on the door is only answered by a whimper.

You look up at him when the door flies open, curled up under the water. 

“What’s wrong?” He demands, the food he’d had set on the floor so he can crumble to his knees beside you. 

“It fucking hurts! Like the worst cramps of my life! The water helps but I think I pissed myself it hurts so bad.”

“There’s got to be an emergency center on this planet. Do you want me to move you to the bed?” 

“No, no, please.” Din’s fluttering around you nervously. 

“I’ll be right back.” You are wishing you’d just black out by now. When the ship takes off, you assume he’s moving closer to an emergency clinic. Had the last bounty exposed you to some kind of neurotoxin? Was your apendix about to explode? Even you back hurt. 

Within minutes you were landing again. When Din finally had returned you couldn’t hold back the cries of pain, tears welling in your eyes. “Come on,” he urges, shutting off the water and grabbing a towel to dry you quickly. He hoists you off the floor when he’s satisfied. “Gotta get some clothes on you.”

“Just grab a blanket, please!” You’re thankful he’s so calm as he takes you back to bed. He settles you until your wrapped up in the blanket before hoisting you back up and marching off the ship. 

The sights around you surprise. “DID YOU LAND IN A BAZAAR?” You gasp.

“Yes, it’s closer.” He answers, marching across the crowd of people staring and whispering. The pain comes back full swing at this moment and you have to ignore them as he carries you into a building. 

“Welcome to-” a nurse droid starts to say.

“Get her a bed.” Din snarls. 

“Sir, there are other people waiting.” the receptionist starts to scold when you twist in his arms to glare at her. “Triage is right this way,” she gestures when Din stalks right up to the desk.

“You two can come this way.” A nurse calls and Din doesn’t linger by the receptionist. The curtain is drawn as he lowers you onto the bed. You wheeze through the pain as it thankfully lifts again. “Tell me what’s going on.” The nurse ask, as she sets up a contraption above you.

“She started off with cramping but it’s gotten worse over the course of the last few hours.”

“Is it just your stomach? Any recent injuries?” 

“At first it was. My back hurts now too. Laying down’s making it worse. Does appendicitis radiate?”

“No injuries at least not this week.” Lights start flashing as she hooks something onto your arm. Getting vitals. Quickly they’re appearing in red on the hallopad. Blood pressure and pulse up. 

You snag Din’s hand when another cramp wrecks you. You groan through your teeth.

The nurse pause then glances nervously between you. “Are you sexually active?" The nurse asks.

"Yeah," you grit out. "But I've got an implant. Just replaced six months ago." The nurse turns towards you.

"Let's rule out pregnancy, okay?" The nurse urges. "Can I do a quick pelvic exam?"

"Please just do whatever you have to," your voice breaks as the pain stops again. You're watching the nurses face as she leans down. It's when her mouth presses into a thin line that your heart sinks as her hand prods.

You yelp when something feels like it jabs you. "What the hell was that!"

"Get the doctor." She tells the Droid. And off it goes.

"What?" Din demands.

The nurse holds something up, the little 'T' shape makes your eyes fly wide. "DID YOU JUST PULL MY IUD OUT WITH YOUR HAND!" Your shriek has Din's hand hovering over his blaster.

"Yes. Hanging out out of one side of your cervix." She replies.

"One side?" You whimper. She nods at you, her face morbid.

"You're cervix has begun to dilate. We need to get you an ultrasound. Stat. You're probably not far along." You're world is spinning, tilting, flying apart. Dread begins to fill you. "I suspect your IUD wasn't placed right." Tears are spilling over.

What have I done? You cry. You should have known! How could you not know!

"What does that mean?" Din hovers. "What's happening!?" You can hear the panic in your voice but you can't respond.

"She's in active labor," the nurse explains just as a doctor walks in, followed closely by the doctor. "Judging by the size of you're belly, not very far along."

"Pregnant?" Din whispers, too stunned to respond beyond that. The nurse is yelling in the hallway for something after she passes the IUD off to the doctor.

"Let's have a look then," the doctor murmurs to himself sliding on gloves.

Din glances at you for a long moment, just as another contraction starts. Only now your moaning, and mourning.

While Din's demanding, you've been counting. You've been insatiable for months. You've been sick on and off for ages. The cravings, the mood swings, the tender breasts. How could you have not seen. Hell you thought the fluttering in your belly was gas.

No prenatal care.

There was no way this baby was full term. Being this premature, you feel nothing but dread at the life you've neglected inside of you. You just close your eyes through the contraction and the tears.

"When was your last cycle? Dr. Xi'us, by the way." The doctor asks.

"I don't know," you mutter.

“Is she okay?” He asks. 

“Premature labor.”

“I didn’t ask that! I asked if my wife is okay?”

“It’s not so simple, sir. She’s had very little prenatal care. She could have gone into labor from illness, infection-”

Something smooth slides over your cheek. When you open your eyes, it's Din, hovering over you, gloved fingers stroking your face.

"It'll be okay." He promises.

"I'm sorry, I should have known."

"You'll be okay," he murmurs to you.

"But the baby- Din, the baby." He smooths your hair back. "It'll be too little."

"I just need you," he begs. Your heart breaks. It breaks at the strain to his voice. It breaks at the shaking of his hands. It breaks because couples are supposed to be kissing and smiling and saying things like ‘I hope the baby has your nose’. Instead, you have the most dangerous bounty hunter in the galaxy... choosing you over your baby. Din is choosing you over your child. It crushes you.

“Gonna feel some cold gel-” When did the nurse come back? Din’s helmet presses against your head. You could hear him helplessly repeating the same thing.

You’ll be okay.

The probe presses to your belly and-

Wom wom wom wom wom wom wom.

That’s a heart beat. Terror rises in you because somehow, you were hoping that this wasn’t actually a baby. You were hoping that it was actually your appendix bursting. That way it wouldn’t have killed your baby. 

“The baby’s further along than I thought.” Doctor is watching over the shoulder of the nurse.

Another contraction. 

“That will still be cutting it close,” he continues, as if you weren’t writhing in pain. “You’re baby can’t be more than 28 weeks. I suppose just let me know when you feel like pushing,” the doctor nudges. 

“Can’t you give me something to delay labor until full term?” You demand. He shakes his head.

“No, you’re too far into labor for that.” You look at the nurse desperately. She was giving you a worried look, her eyes holding your own. You close them, accepting that this was happening. 

“Do you want to know the gender?”

________

“So you’re ready to push, huh?” The doctor calls out. 

You glower at him under your arm. You were already on your knees on the bed, gripping the head board, bent over. You couldn’t help but bear down and groan. 

“We’re gonna need you to lie on your back dear.” 

“Fuck off,” you snarl and grab Din’s hand. The doctor startles.

“She pushes in whatever position she wants,” Din calls out, you feel his hands rubbing your back as he says becomes more hostile. Oh, bless him. 

You’d barely spoken to each other in the last hour, both just absorbing the news that you’d created life. Twenty minutes was spent with the nurse droid helping you find a comfortable position.

“Really, the back is-” Din shifts, you glance up to see his blaster pulled.

“She doesn’t want to push on her back.”

“Fine, fine. Put the blaster away, sir.” The doctor lined up behind you.

Between pushes, Din continues to caress you, leaning close to your ear to hum into you ear. “You’re doing great.” More sweating and pushing. “You’ll be okay.”

You lean over to Din in between pushing attempts and kiss his helmet over his mouth. When you went to resume pushing, your Mando leans into your ear. “I love you,” he murmurs. It feels good to hear him say that.

“Here comes the head-” Something shifted lower. “Come on, just the shoulders now.” 

“Come on, cyar’ika.” And you collapse against Din when the pain stops. Din leaned against you in return. 

“Where’s the cry?” You pant as he holds you against his cool armor. His hands tremble on your back, one hand holding your head close to his shoulder. 

“There he is.” Doctor murmurs. “

“Please cry,” you mutter against a beskar shoulder.

“Suction.”

Finally, a high pitch cry rises, a squeal that doesn’t sound like a normal baby sound. It breaks the air and you relax in Din’s hold. He’s gripping you even tighter.

...

It’s been several hours. You’re tucked away in a dark little room with your lover, you’ve both just been watching the little incubator humming in the corner. 

“Did you call me your wife earlier?” You ask, murmuring against his chest.

“What? No.”

You lift your chin to look up at his helmet. Still tucked against his armor.

“You totally did.”

“No, I definitely didn’t.”

“Bullshit,” you hum. “You didn’t have to pull you blaster on the doctor, either.” 

“Asshole doctor.” He squeezes you against his chest. You relax against him, eyes drifting slowly shut. 

You delivered a baby boy. You still hadn’t decided on a name, hadn’t even mentioned it yet. The bacta spray was doing wonders for your pain though.

“I didn’t want you to...”

“Hm?”

“I... I didn’t want you to see how small he was,” he murmured. “If he didn’t make it, I didn’t want you to see.” There is a deep ache in your chest again.

“This just got a whole lot more complicated.”

“Yeah, it did.”

“Greef’s gonna lose his shit.” Din actually groans.

“Locking you up when we get out of here.” You giggle quietly. 

“What are we gonna do? He’s so little, Din. Fuck, were not even married.”

“Who gives a shit if were married. They already said his lungs were sounding better. When we leave, we’ll go back to Nevarro. No hunting for a few weeks at least.” 

“Are... are you happy?”

“I’m... scared.” He heaves a sigh. “I don’t want to lose you. Scared the hell out of me.”

“Din,” you hum. “I love you.”

“I love you. We don’t have to have it figured out, you know.”

“I’m glad you’re still here.” 

“So am I.” His arms tighten around you.

The high pitched squealing begins again. You lift your head. “I’ll grab him.” You adjust slightly and glance down at your aching breast. You work to pull the blankets down your chest, the buttons on the gown moving too. A drop of something nearly clear is welling at your chest.

“Think he’s hungry,” Din is so careful with lifting the baby up, not really needing both hands for the tiny baby as. You slide to the far edge of the bed. “They said the more he feeds, the more milk I’ll produce and my boobs... kind of hurt right now.” Din is so delicate to hand him over. He’d missed that part when he’d finally gone to move the ship. 

The rattling cry only stops when the tiny mouth latches on to a wet nipple. You feel Din sinking down beside you on the bed, leaning in close to watch. It’s then that you realize he’s not wearing his gloves. He traces your son’s crown gently with a fingertip. “Can I name him?” Din asks. You blink over at him.

“What were you thinking of?” Din rests his helm against your shoulder, nuzzling your neck with cool metal.

“Kean,” he hums. “It was my father’s name.” 

“I like it.”

“Mando! To what do I owe this pleasure,” you hear Kagra’s voice carry from the cock pit. You’re quiet climbing the ladder. 

“We’re on our way,” 

“That bounty took longer than I expected, did he give you more difficulty than we expected?” Kagra offers, “Not that there is a match for the two of you.” You move to the co pilot seat, careful not to be loud enough to wake the baby that Din’s been cradling for the better part of an hour, murmuring softly to him. 

“The bounty wasn’t the issue. We had to stop at the emergency medical outlet.” He replies and Kagra’s face twists in distress. 

“Is everyone o- Hold on, Cara. Is everyone okay?” Cara was obviously hovering over Kagra’s left shoulder. 

“Yeah, but we’re going to need time off for a while.” Kagra’s concern deepens.

“What happened!? Did someone get hurt?” There is a tiny cry at the commotion. One that has Din tilting his head down toward the bundle in his arms. Kagra seems to notice this and sits forward in his own chair. 

“No one’s hurt, just a surprise.” He quietly hushes the bundle in his arms, gently brushing a finger over the little one’s cheek. 

“Another foundling! Delightful!” Kagra gasps. 

“Actually,” Din responds, “This is our son. We... we didn’t know we were expecting.” You smile at him. 

“What!?” Is heard shouted and Kagra goes toppling to the side. Cara leans into view. “You’re telling me you two pushed out a kid?”

“Two? I’m pretty sure it was my vagina that he cracked out of!” You protest, leaning over Din’s shoulder.

“Do you think you both could set us up a house for when we arrive on Nevarro?” Din asks. 

“Absolutely!” Kagra calls. “How did this even happen though!? How did you not know that you were pregnant.”

“We’ll explain when we get there. But he’s early, and very small,” you hum.

“Well, we’ll be here, ready to welcome all three of you when you arrive.” Din’s fingers thread through your hair on the screen, making you smile over at him. 

“Thank you,” Din replies. 

“He’s about to get fussy, needs to eat.” You hum. “Can I steal him back?” 

“Of course.”

“I’ll give him right back.” He adjusts to hand him back to you. 

“A boy?” Kagra celebrates.

“Yes, a boy.” Soon you settle out of sight, adjusting to get ready to nurse. “We should be there tomorrow, I know it’s short notice.”

“Non-sense! We’ll ensure everything’s ready, even if your move into my own place. We’ll get everything ready for you both. Now go be with your family, my friend.” When the holopad lowers, Din removes his helmet before turning toward you. He’s illuminated by the little lights of hyperspace. 

Nothing needs to be said, as you stroke the warm little body resting on your own, a quiet suckling rising. But Din finds a moment to make this moment more intimate.

“I’ll marry you soon. Not because of him... just so you know.” He responds. It makes you beam at him.

“Come kiss me, Din.”

Taglist:  @lxdyred, @boliv-jenta, @amidjarin, @qhbr2013

[funnywormz]

also wow i'm always surprised (in a good way) at how openly anti capitalism this anime is

i thought they handled tendo's anxiety/ptsd rlly well in this episode, it's pretty rare for any kind of media to depict anxiety attacks this accurately. they successfully showed how freaked out he was without going overboard with it either. as someone who tends to just shut down and become rlly quiet and compliant when i'm anxious it was very relatable to see tendo be the same

also i'm so glad we're seeing more of shizuka! the scene with her and the RV she liked was so cute........ i love how the guys are already undermining her no nonsense exterior lol she gets just a little sillier with every episode that passes and it's great. the hint at a backstory for her was also intriguing 🤔

latest zom100 episode was extremely fun, i love how they just spend a good few minutes fangirling over RVs........ very very relatable

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH 1.

This is a reader insert I originally started posting on AO3. I’m cross posting here because I know some of the fandom still lives here.

Quick Disclaimer:

This is a fic I'm writing for my own comfort.

I was inspired by RaeBees (you can check out their works over on Quotev and AO3), and how they characterize the "proxies". Having always seen the characters different than most of the fandom I've interacted with I never really shared my thoughts until now. This work is only placed in the Creepypasta tag so it reaches its demographic. However, I am fully aware of the fact that no main character is considered a Pasta.

It may also appear to lean more Toby X Protag in the beginning but end goal is protag with all three, and Brian and Tim already in a relationship. How I picture it now is a slowburn but Toby and Protag will be in a friends with benefits relationship before either has any feelings, so I think that counts. Some may be confused by the asexual protag tag but it'll be explained in story, as an Ace myself I get frustrated with media that only show one version and say it goes for us all. That being said I don't represent the whole Ace community but I hope to provide a bit more representation for some others out there.

Protag will be depicted as agender, and will have a few tics that stem from their Autism. Again I don't speak for any others with Autism but I hope to provide some representation for those in similar positions.

Tags will be updated as the story progresses. Canon-Typical violence and mental health issues are to be expected if you feel uncomfortable with those aspects I advise you to not engage. This story will also have a lot of NSFW themes and scenes so I highly discourage anyone under the age of 18 from viewing this work. You will get warnings on chapters with NSFW and I will make it skippable as well.

I'm also very nitpicky and gave the main characters birthdays just because it irritates me when it gets mentioned once and you have to do the math or imagine your own conversation when a birthday was too close to a character's.

Tim January 1st, home state Alabama

Toby April 28th, home state Virginia (saw this years ago no clue if it's accurate)

Protag May 13th, home state Virginia

Brian May 23rd, home state Alabama

Connor the service dog July 18th, home state Kentucky

I've referred to Protag as Protag here but in story they're referred to as YN.

Everything felt impossibly dull; your senses, the dark room you're currently in, the noise coming from the fan just to the left of the bed on which you laid. Turning to the window beside your head you stare out into that weird midnight summer sky. More of a gray than a true dark blue night, cast in an orange glow that made the night seem closer to day than it truly was. While the time was just half past twelve, you felt it may have been more accurate to say it was closer to four in the morning.

You're exhausted but that true sort of exhaustion where whatever energy you have left buzzes all around. It consumes your entire being, dances between being deafeningly loud in your ears to giving you twitches in your legs. You'd laid down hours ago thinking you'd be tired enough to sleep once your tics started to spasm in closer intervals, but to no avail were you able to rest. That buzzing preventing you from dreamland. Maybe the hum of your body was right, you didn't really need to sleep, you just wanted it to feel normal.

Knowing the battle had already been lost you push yourself off the bed and grab a pair of shorts off the floor. Slipping them on you contemplate your options for the night. Going into town was out since it was Sunday...well Monday now, but there would be nothing but bars open and you were never one for drinking. And as fun as a drive sounds right now, you feel the buzzing in your bones grow stronger, you need to move. A late night hike should keep you occupied, with it being so quiet and the middle of the night you wouldn't even have to take your headphones to cancel out the sounds of other people, you aren't likely to run into many people tonight.

Deciding on a hike you grab a mask and car keys and make your way to your yellow Kia Soul. A going away present from your parents that they gave you the moment you got your driver's license after your 24th birthday. Having anxiety throughout your life you'd never been in the head space to start driving till later on, and while you still don't enjoy driving you are pretty good at it even with your “late” start. Surfing through radio stations as you let the car warm up you find your latest obsession, it's a conspiracy theory podcast that someone in Kepler managed to blast through the limited air ways of the town. Impressive considering Kepler was in a radio quiet zone and even cell phones couldn't work in the small town, luckily you lived just outside of the zone so you could send texts and call your parents every weekend.

It seemed today's episode was a rerun, Mothman: Murderer, Man, or Myth. It was actually one of your favorites, the paranormal stories tended to be more entertaining than hearing about how a man could murder sixteen people while working as a cop ruining evidence to lead the others off his trail. Humans could be more vial and cruel than any little gray alien from the future or tall Fresno Nightcrawler could ever be. And they weren't as entertaining to hear about, nor were their exploits as impressive. You could always see patterns, either connecting clues first or finding connections no one else saw, it was never hard to tell where a certain case would lead so you'd always end up disappointed in humanity when they overlooked such obvious clues. Though that often led you down a path of deep diving for information to see just how obvious it was, more often than not you'd find that the most logical conclusion was shady public officers. After investigating so many cold cases you're sure if you're ever in trouble you'll never involve the police, in the end they'd probably just ignore you and rule your case closed if anything ever did happen to you.

'I'd haunt them if they did.' You decide and you shift gears and begin driving to the Monongahela National Forest, as the timeline of Mothman sightings and events play out before for your ears.

Instead of going through town and possibly loosing the signal of the show, you drive on the old dirt road that runs along the very edge of the town, partially covered in trees. This over grown road is the main reason Kepler doesn't see many visitors, the second someone makes their way onto it coming off the interstate they floor it until they see civilization. Over the few months you've been here you've nearly been run right off the road by spooked tourists, trying to escape whatever ghouls their wild imaginations created. The only real thing on this road was a mini mart gas station, and even though it was shady as hell the cashier didn't bug you too much when you came in in the dead of night. Plus they had a cat, how could you not stop in and say hi to little ole Magnolia?

Speaking of which you should probably get a drink for your hike, you could already feel your throat drying out. Turning into the parking lot you're happy to see no other cars around, putting your face mask on you make your way inside. As usual the store is dead at this time, and Ronnie is manning the desk. What's unusual is the man also behind the counter, he has dark brown hair that he's tied into a small and low ponytail, thick sideburns frame his face. You immediately take note of the slight imperfections of his face, most would see the slit in his eyebrow as following the current trend or even just a genetic thing, but you can see the slightly off color of a healed scar that starts just above his eyebrow and ends mid eyelid, he has a few smaller discolorations on his crooked nose, you'd guess he's had it broken at least twice.

Briefly taking a glance to his brown eyes before looking away, today is not an eye contact day. Nodding in their directions, the best acknowledgment you can give right now, you make your way to the freezers. From the freezer section you can hear Ronnie “explain” you.

“That's YN, a regular mainly at night though. A bit skittish and rarely ever says more than 'thanks have a nice day'” Even though she's whispering you can hear everything. Including the high octave her voice takes to mimic you, it feels more like mocking.

If being mocked hadn't already put you on edge the eyes boring into you have. The eyes may not be roaming over your body but the icky crawling of your skin sure makes it feel that way. The feeling of being put under a microscope has always made you sick, the stares, the leers and sneers, and the judgment just makes you want to implode on the spot. Cease existence, be swallowed into the abyss. You're about to set yourself into an anxiety attack with all these thoughts.

'Mask, mask, mask' you repeat over and over in your head, it's the only thing you can focus on. You are wearing a mask, there is one thing they can't perceive, the face is the most important for humans to perceive, your mask protects you.

Without looking you pull a water bottle from the cooler. You don't think you like this brand but the sports mouth makes up for it, and you can't focus enough to grab another. As the imaginary spiders crawl their way under your skin and your breath hitches you make your way over to the counter head down, never looking up at the employees beyond the counter. Your vision is blurring in time with the beating of your heart, you can't tell if it's due to nerves or from being up for five days in a row.

“Hey YN, how're you?” Ronnie asks, her tone is different from the past times you've been in. It's higher and has a lilt in it that you'd expect from a teasing friend. But Ronnie isn't a friend and has never spoken to you like this, you hate it. You nod to politely move on with the process, between the crawling of your skin and the buzzing underneath it you feel sick. And you're now very aware of the existence of your eyelids, you try to focus on ignoring that awareness. You need to move.

“Hmm, that's good. Anyway this is Tim! He's just started so go easy on him.” you hear the sound of a hand hitting fabric and assume she's patted Tim's shoulder as she introduced Tim to you. Why was she doing this, what purpose could introducing you two have? You nod again, was anyone going to ring you out?

“Hi, this all?” a deep voice asked, it isn't extremely deep more of a standard baritone that has a slight raspy quality, probably a reformed smoker. You don't smell cigarettes currently so he could've quit after years. Unfortunately despite your efforts to stave them off your blinking tics emerge. Making it difficult to keep your eyes open for longer than a nano second.

Startled and ticcing you look up and catch his eyes, you see pity in them, before casting your glance back to the counter. You can never tell what's worse people seeing you as weird or seeing you as something needing to be fixed. Nodding again, Tim tells you the total; a dollar fifty eight, and you hand him two dollars from your wallet.

Tim doesn't ask if you want the receipt or a bag, he prints out the receipt and hands you your change. The change goes immediately into the cat food fund for Magnolia. She got diagnosed with diabetes about a month ago and having worked in shelters and pet stores you know just how expensive her prescription food is. After folding the receipt into your wallet, Tim gently slides the water bottle over to you.

“Have a good night.” he says it so low and gentle, as if he thinks you'll shatter in front of him. As kind as the gesture seems, you aren't that fragile...or maybe you are if you have to keep repeating 'mask' over and over in your head to ground yourself. With a final nod you turn and make your way to the door, and just as you open it you hear Ronnie call out.

“Awwww, c'mon YN at least say 'Hi' to Tim.” You really don't like how she squeaked out 'hi'.

Taking a deep breath you prepare yourself, you'll show them both you can do this simple task. Even if you can't stop blinking long enough to see straight. Once you've steadied yourself you turn and look at Tim. He's sending you a look that says 'You don't have to' all that's missing is a slow head shake to complete his unease with this “peer pressure”.

But you can do this you can say 'Hi, Tim.' Two words super simple, nothing complex like 'Hi, Tim, nice to meet you.' and so much better than the option of your next meeting saying 'Hi, Tim. Sorry for spazzing out the other night.'. Yup you can do this just breathe, you open your mouth and...and you've forgotten what to say. Looking like a deer in headlights, well at least the tics stopped, you say the first thing that pops in.

“Mask.” You've said it loud and clear both cashiers heard you.

Tim stares with wide eyes and you see Ronnie failing to hide her laughter. Out of all the ways this could've gone this was probably the best outcome for her. The blinking has started up again, this time growing more frequent. You can't even hold your eyes open, to the two cashiers it must look like you're in pain or crying. And while you want to die of embarrassment, crying is a bit of an extreme for you.

So with red face and the inability to see you leave through the door, and try to make your way back to your car. Once in you lock the doors, switch the car on, and rest your head on the steering wheel. Out of every way this stop could've gone, being perceived by a new comer and Ronnie was not what you expected. While this hadn't been the worst five minutes or so of your life, it definitely would be another thing keeping you up at night for the next twenty years.

Calming down in the cool quiet dark of your car your slowly brought back to the world by the beginning of a new episode. This one talking about the Tailypo legend. A favorite story of yours from when you were a kid living on the coast of Virginia. So with yet another deep breath and the wave of nostalgia, you pull out of the parking lot and slowly coast down the old dirt road. Heading yet again for the Monongahela forest.

It's nearly two in the morning when you roll up to see an RV parked by the forgotten entrance of the park. It isn't surprising at all to find an RV out here since the Monongahela Forest is one of the most beautiful parks you've ever been to. You also don't think anything of them being parked by this unused entrance because you use it all the time since finding it accidentally. Figuring they just wanted to camp and be left to their own devices rather than use the RV sites and be bothered with other campers here for the summer.

Climbing out of your car you notice the RV isn't new by any means but it isn't a total rust bucket either, looks like it's been passed around throughout the years. There isn't anything to suggest it's been here a while, nothing left set up outside, must have just gotten into town then. You do happen to notice dog tracks around the sandy dirt you've parked in, good to know they have a dog before you slammed your car door. Closing the door gently behind you so you don't startle a pup and wake up it's owner or owners, you make your way through the woods. No real direction in mind, with no real thought in your head. Just the thought of moving and to keep on moving.

You could walk the same path every time you came through and always find something different. In fact that's exactly what happens, you're almost positive that you've deepened the imprint of the path just from walking through several times a week. Following the same winding path you usually do, climbing over the fallen tree, and through a scattering of blueberry thicket's you find yourself on the edge of one of the forest's many streams. It's your favorite spot in the forest so far, and about as far as you've gotten considering these hikes of yours take place during the dead of night.

The wind picks up and sends a chill through you, taking that as a sign you slide down to sit by the stream. Vans placed to your side as you sink your feet into the cool water. It's peaceful out here, so cool, and quiet, save for the slight noises the stream makes, various bubbling and drips. You try to think on things like your recent move, your job, the embarrassing 'mask' incident, just life in general. But you can't seem to form a single thought, this happens a lot, you've recently been conscious of the fact that you've been running on auto pilot for the past two months, hell a lot longer than that. You think everyone must get like this from time to time, but you think you've always been this way. Keen to dissociating and slipping in and out of existence.

It's quite nice really, except for the times like right now where you'd love to figure out why the silence in your head is so painfully loud. The more you think on it the louder it gets and the stronger the buzzing under your skin feels. And right now the static in your mind has been getting louder and louder for the past few minutes. You feel your head jerk to the right of it's own accord, moving back in place it happens for a second time, and then a third, then jerks up, before jerking a forth time to the right effectively cracking you neck.

“There we go.” you mumble, you can relax a bit as the verbal tic indicates the end of this round of tics.

Sighing you look at the sky...that can't be right. The sky has been painted it's fresh baby blues for the day, but again that can't be right. You just got to the stream, that path is a thirty minute walk meaning it should be just about two thirty in the morning, but the sky suggests it's five or six at the latest. Reaching for your water bottle you find it empty next to you. You didn't fall asleep you know that much, perhaps you did dissociate tonight. Well this hike was disappointing if you knew you were going to dissociate you'd have saved yourself that embarrassment and stayed home. Maybe done some painting or tidied up.

Sighing you push yourself off the ground, collecting you vans you're about to put them on when you notice a figure off in the distance. You freeze out of shock and stare at the figure, it stares back. The figure is about ten yards away, god your near sighted ass should really remember to not leave your glasses in the car when hiking. The figure starts to make it's way to you and after a few steps you realize it hasn't moved from it's spot. Rolling your eyes you ignore the hallucination.

You'd really needed to get sleep last night, today is day six of no sleep and though you haven't had many episodes these past few days, you have a feeling they'll start to get more prominent today. Hopefully tonight you can manage to get some rest, the longer you go without sleep the more realistic the hallucinations become. But for today you're content with the knowledge that it's just shadow like beings that you'll be seeing.

After putting on your shoes you start the thirty minute hike back to your car. You're thankful for the weather in Kepler, nothing like back on the coast. Here you can go for a morning hike through the forest while a gentle breeze passes by and the sun starts to give the area a pleasant warmth. Back on the coast you couldn't run and grab the mail without getting drenched in moisture from either sweat, humidity, or a mixture of both.  The coast sucks, hell Virginia sucks altogether, you're glad to be in Kepler.

“I want to go home, home.” you say out of nowhere.

Before you reach the entrance you hear barking, oh the RV campers must be up. Should you be careful not to scare them, or just walk normally and say 'Good morning' in passing, maybe just nod your head in greeting. Oh and you've stopped just beside the entrance as you got lost in your rambling. You didn't mean to come to a stop here, and as you try to move you notice how silent it's gotten. Did the dog go inside, maybe they've already passed...no it's too quiet for that. No the silence is oppressive like the one you deal with nightly, there's a reason for the silence. The situation's making you feel uneasy, but that could be the sleep deprivation talking.

You're about to brush it off and move when you hear a whispered, “Seriously man, I don't think anyone's out there. Let's get inside.”

There's a noise of agreement before you hear shuffling. Oh no, you zoned out and now you look like a weirdo stalker. Just perfect, maybe if you wait around a little more you'll seem more normal or at least feel normal. Not knowing how long to wait you walk along the tree line for a bit, looking at the ground as you do making sure you won't step on any snakes. In you quest to not step on any snakes you spot something suspiciously off white. It seems purposefully buried under a dead blueberry bush and some fallen branches.

Having listened to too many true crime shows, you know better than to implicate yourself in a murder. Grabbing a stick off the ground you gently brush the foliage away from the supposed corpse. No way, you can't believe your luck, it's an actual fucking skull. An intact skull of a deer! That is so cool, you've only seen taxidermists on TikTok getting so lucky and finding these dudes. Since the jaw bone is connected by tissue it of course isn't with the skull but maybe it's close by? Clearly this got planted or hidden by someone, maybe they were planning on pranking a friend by 'uncovering' a skull later. Oh well, finders keepers and all that, you have way better plans for this guy, hopefully you can find that jaw bone.

You set off searching through the foliage and near by bushes with the branch while holding the skull in your other arm. After searching about three feet around and finding no more bones you decide that this is the only part of the deer's skeleton in this area. A little disappointed but still thrilled with your find, you decide it must be a good time to go back to your car.

Surely you won't look weird now. You a little forager with their treasure in hand. Looks like you'll be busy cleaning, then bleaching, and cleaning these bones today. Is that the order to treat found bones? You aren't sure but you can look into that later. Placing the skull in the trunk so it doesn't roll about and get damaged you make sure it's secure before closing the trunk and getting into your car and locking the doors.

Not once did you notice the pairs of eyes that had been watching you. One watching as you found the deer skull, and the other set seeing you place bones into your car. They kept watching as you fiddled with the radio while the car was starting up. They watched as you pulled out of the sandy dirt lot and drove back down the old road a little faster than before now that you could clearly see.

[stars-are-just-ghosts]

harrisco 12.

Here it is! I hope you enjoy it! -QD

* * *

It was nearly two a.m. by the time everyone began to leave the West's house, the Christmas party fully wound down and people exhausted from the frivolity. Harry had never really been much for parties of any sort before getting close to Team Flash. And normally, he'd been able to weedle his way out of them. Claim he was content on his own, or tired, or busy. None of which anyone really believed, but they also knew how stubborn he was.

The problem there was Cisco Ramon could be just as stubborn at times.

This time, he'd practically shoved an ugly Christmas sweater into Harry's face and demanded that he get off his 'tall-dark-and-brooding ass' and get moving. When Harry barely budged, he then informed him he'd hidden Harry's pulse rifle and was not ever giving it back unless he came.

The result was Harry begrudgingly wearing a very colorful and festive sweater with a depiction of Grumpy Cat in a Santa hat, and following... well, grumpily... along.

He never counted on enjoying these things.

It always surprised him when he did.

Watching Caitlin and Barry sing on the pint-sized karaoke machine, the lady Snow half buzzed off of spiked egg nog, had been a small delight. During dinner, Iris ended up inhaling a bit of too-spicy apple cider and flipped a spoonful of pumpkin pie at Joe's face during her coughing fit, which had Harry chuckling before he could stop himself. And at one point, he even let himself enjoy a badly played game of charades with everyone.

Though the highlight of the entire evening, start to finish, was Ramon.

The man was effortless in his joy and happiness tonight. It oozed off him, sinking into everyone around him. And for some reason, he seemed to be doubling down his efforts on getting it to latch on to Harry. Not that Harry would complain in the least. A slightly clingy, pushy, somewhat buzzed and completely glee-ridden Cisco Ramon was a gift in itself.

The easy bickering between them flourished with each passing hour, till they'd been practically in tune with each other's words in a way that only they ever seemed to accomplish. Cisco spent a great deal of time sitting right next to Harry, lined up side by side like he was trying to steal Harry's warmth. Or maybe his soul. It was hard to tell. And Cisco would touch him a little more than usual.

There had always been this thing between them. Nothing Harry could ever put a name to, nothing he could accurately describe. It hung in the air like a promise... like a piece of mistletoe, just waiting for one of them to make a decision.

And after tonight, it was very clear to Harry now what decision he would make. If he trusted himself enough. Truth was, he'd fallen for Cisco Ramon a long time ago. But he would never allow himself to tell the other man. It wasn't the idea of rejection, or even of losing their friendship. It was the idea that he could ever hurt Cisco. And he knew he could. His temper, his past, his... everything. He wasn't an ideal partner, not for anyone. He was better off alone. And Cisco was better being with literally anyone else. Or so Harry tried to convince himself.

Tonight, it was a little bit harder to feed himself his own lie.

They'd been walking for nearly ten minutes, Harry's hand hooked easily into Cisco's arm to keep him from slipping all over the place. It had snowed that morning. Nothing heavy. But the ground was wet and slushy and Cisco was one or two more drinks away from being drunk. He was also tired, Harry could tell. By the heavy way his eyes blinked, and how he would breathe in deeply every now and then just to let the cold air wake him enough to keep walking.

Cisco could have taken a cab, but had insisted on needing the fresh air. Harry hadn't been about to let him walk alone.

"You're glad you came tonight." Cisco said as they got to a crosswalk, looking up at Harry. Ramon's cheeks were slightly flushed, steam billowing out from between his plush lips into the cold air, his hair somehow still perfectly in place, his scarf haphazardly wrapped around his neck and shoulders. He looked... delightful. He looked like a dream.

He was a dream.

"You're assuming." Harry forced himself to say. Cisco chuckled and began walking again.

"Don't think I didn't see you, Harry. You can't deny how much fun you actually had. I was watching you the whole time." Cisco's comment made Harry raise a brow, slow his steps once they got to the other sidewalk. Cisco paused as well, both men stopping. But Ramon was looking at him with curiosity.

"What were you doing watching me?" He asked pointedly. Ramon's brows slowly went up. And the flush in his cheeks got even redder almost instantly.

"I, well... ya know. You..." He stopped talking, something thoughtful passing over his features. Harry couldn't help but stare right now, at the sparkling in Cisco's beautifully dark eyes, at the way he focused on Harry's own hues. It took Harry's breath away, like it almost always did. And he almost always could hide it. But something passed over Ramon's features, a look, a knowing. "What are we doing?" He suddenly asked. The question made Harry's brows furrow lightly.

"We're talking?" Question for a question.

"No duh, Harry." There was a soft dusting of humor in Cisco's eyes. "I mean... all the time. You and me. We're... close. Not just friend or colleague close. Closer than that. And I feel like we're getting closer every day." He stepped right into Harry, reaching up and tugging Harry's coat lapel a little flatter. "But we're always dancing around each other, ya know?" His words made Harry's heart stutter, flare, and ache all at the same time. But Cisco couldn't be saying what Harry thought he was saying. It just... wasn't possible. Right?

"I don't recall there being any dancing tonight. Unless you count Iris attempting to do the macarena during charades." He smirked a little, the slight curve of his lips catching Cisco's gaze. The shorter man chuckled and shook his head.

"Not what I meant, Harry, and you know it." Ramon sighed a little. "If I'm wrong, and I really don't think I am, then tell me I'm wrong. Right here, right now. And I'll never say another word about it." Cisco demanded, but softly.

Harry could read nearly every emotion Cisco had to offer by now. And what Harry saw on his face, in his eyes, was hope. And fear. Hope that Harry wouldn't reject him. Fear that he might. It made Harry swallow hard, his own anxiety flaring. Because, fuck... he didn't want to reject Cisco. Not Cisco. Never Cisco. But could he live with himself if he went into this knowing that someday he might just hurt him? Could he really so selfishly subject Ramon to his anger and grief and self-loathing ways on such a level? Could he-

Harry froze in place.

He didn't get the chance to finish running through his thoughts and reply to Ramon. Because the shorter man had a much different idea.

The feel of Cisco's cold but softer than soft lips on his own erased every thought, every worry, every possible argument Harry might have had. And before he could think logically about it, he was relaxing. He let himself move against Cisco, their lips slipping together in deliriously wonderful presses. Harry brought his hand up to the back of Cisco's head, fingers curling into his hair, his other sliding around to Ramon's back and holding him firm. Cisco's hands had minds of their own, clinging to Harry in near desperation as they began to deepen that kiss into something far more encompassing.

Cisco tasted like eggnog and warmth and... did joy have a taste? Because he tasted like joy. The way his tongue slid along with Harry's was just like dancing. And Harry couldn't get enough of this, would never get enough of Ramon.

The kiss ended naturally, leaving them both heaving hot breath into the winter air, hands still decidedly stuck to each other, foreheads pressed together as though separating themselves would be a truly horrible idea.

"I knew I wasn't wrong." Cisco whispered, then smiled. Bright, beautiful, joyous.

"Are you sure about this, Ramon?" Harry had to ask, had to know. He lifted his head, studied the slight swollen quality to Ramon's mouth, brought a thumb up and slipped it across Cisco's lower lip. Goddammit, he was delicious. He blinked at the urge to take those lips again, and forced himself to look in Cisco's eyes. Because this was important. Very, very important. "I'm not..." He swallowed, cleared his throat a little, let his hand fall, "I shouldn't be anyone's first choice." Cisco's expression grew stern in a heartbeat.

"You think I don't know what kind of asshole you can be?" He scolded. "Cause I do. And I know you think you don't deserve to be happy, either. Which is total crap." He sighed a little at what had to be a stunned expression on Harry's face. Then he brought his mouth back up, a soothing kiss lingering for a few breaths before he pulled away again. "I also know you're the strongest, bravest, most intelligent, caring, loving man I've ever met. Which means I'm good with all the stuff you think I shouldn't be. Because I can handle all that, as long as it means I get to have the rest."

Harry's smile was slow, but full-blown affectionate in a way he would never be able to disguise.

Kissing Cisco again was all the response he had.

Eventually, they made it the last two blocks to Ramon's apartment building, just to stop on the stone stairs and kiss again. And again. Now that they could, it was like they didn't want to stop.

"You can spend the night, if you want..." Ramon offered, when they'd separated just long enough to get a word in. Harry chuckled, pulling back enough to really examine Cisco's face. "And don't you dare ask me if I'm sure, because I am. I'm very..." Cisco inhaled sharply as he looked Harry over, "Very sure."

Harry couldn't say no to that.

He'd learned he couldn't say no to much of anything when it came to Cisco Ramon. Not that he regretted that in the least.

He did stay the night. In fact, he rarely slept in his own bed again after that.

Life went on exactly as it had before. He and Cisco kept their well-earned rhythm, their dynamic changing only as much as how physical they were with each other and how annoying it was to everyone else.

Cisco never once thought it had been a bad decision. Harry found himself steadily agreeing, a little more every day.

And eventually, he began feeling something he didn't know he could feel... joy.

All thanks to the stubborn love of Cisco Ramon.