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sarafinamk · 10 months ago

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Fallen Angel (Smiling Critters Space Riders AU Reader Insert) Part 4

Summary: Bobby has been dealing with a lot of guilt ever since you went into rehab. Now that you're finally getting released, she's determined to make it up to you.

Two chapters in one day! Let's go! Check out the other parts here. The Smiling Critters Space Riders AU belongs to @onyxonline. Enjoy!

TW: Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Injury, Trauma, Death mentions, Mentions of assassination attempts, Religious Trauma, Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Religious Cults, Mentions of Drug Addiction, Self harm Attempt, Mention of Suicide Attempt, Mental Health Issues, Brief Anxiety Attack, Slight cursing, LOTS of negative thoughts, Implied Abuse, Conditioning

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Bobby woke up and shot herself out of bed before her alarm could finish its first beep. She puts on her uniform, goes through her usual routine, and finishes by the time everyone else wake up. The other riders exchange worried glances amongst each other but they say nothing to Bobby.

Today’s the day the riders pick you up from the treatment center so you can continue to serve your sentence with them. Sure, serving your sentence in the same station where they kept the other prisoners would seem like the obvious choice, if you were any other enemy to the galaxy, that is. But the fact is, you’re not, and Commander Ludwig isn’t sure just how many more break-ins he and the medical staff are able to handle.

Of course, word would get around that the Prototype’s archangel was being confined at HQ’s treatment center. To no one’s surprise, anyone with a vendetta and a craving for bloodshed, would try to find you and your cell. You never got hurt, at least. No extra security measures are enough to dissuade them it seems.

Bobby gets herself situated in the cockpit, glancing back and forth between the starry scenery, the clock on the wall, and the navigation tab open in front of Dogday. She sighs while absent-mindedly bouncing her leg hard enough to turn the couch into a massage chair.

“Are you sure you want to come with us, Bobby?” Dogday’s concerned voice pulls her out of her thoughts. “It’s okay if you want to stay behind while we get (Y/n). There’s no pressure. I’m sure they��ll understand.”

Bobby gives her best reassuring, confident smile.

“Dogday, I appreciate your concern, but I can’t avoid (Y/n) forever. I have to face them eventually. And I really do want to see them.”

There is a brief moment of silence before Dogday sighs, nods, and goes back to piloting the ship. Bobby goes back to glancing out the window, her smile quickly disappearing.

She didn’t lie. She really wanted to visit you. Just once. Everyone else has visited you at least a few times, but Bobby couldn’t even find the courage to visit you after what happened in your old prison cell. None of her teammates held it against her, but she sure as heck did. She's a trained medic for crying out loud! She shouldn't have been acting hysterical the way she was, especially when you needed her the most. She's dealt with blood and injuries before. She's dealt with a few mentally unstable cultists during her time as a Space Rider. She's even helped out people in similar situations like you before.

No!

She has to remember that she may not have been much help during such a critical moment, but help came to you on time. You’re surrounded by trained medics and from what the other riders have told her, you’ve been recovering well in the treatment center. That's what matters!

Part of her, however, still holds onto the fear that if she visited your cell, she would find you all bloody and on the edge of death again. Some nights, she would have nightmares about that.

What if it happens today?

Soon enough, they arrive at the Space Station. Straightening her uniform and taking a deep breath, Bobby follows Dogday into the station. Thankfully, the treatment center was close to the hangars. It made the transporting of the injured easier for everyone.

The pair stop at the entrance. Dogday looks back at Bobby with a reassuring smile, gesturing back to the hangars. Bobby returns the smile, more sincere and determined this time. She shakes her head and stares at the neon sign above the entrance. She is going to see you today and she will not back down.

Not this time nor any time going forward.

Dogday nods in understanding, and the pair make their way inside. They check in and wait which didn't take long. Dogday sees you first, and greets you warmly. Bobby turns to where her captain was looking and there you were.

You walk out the hallway with two riders and a doctor. Bobby frowns upon seeing the handcuffs on you. She hated the idea of you being locked in a cell while needing to be hospitalized. Sure, you’ve done terrible things, and you served a terrible being, but you must’ve had a good reason. Call her crazy but she believes there is some good in you.

The riders hand Bobby your bag and stand at attention while the doctor and Dogday discuss your treatment plan going forward. Bobby tries to pay attention, but finds herself too busy staring at you. In her defense, how can she not? She's seeing you for the first time in six months.

She was ACTUALLY seeing you without any bandages, bruises, cuts, or that awful mask you always wore. For the first time, Bobby is seeing the real you, the one everyone called the Archangel. Her teammates were right about you. Not only do you look healthier, but you just look...

Beautiful.

Like...

REALLY beautiful.

You glance her way, and she smiles and waves (albeit very awkwardly). You nod in her direction and turn your focus back to the conversation between Dogday and the doctor.

Oh god, this is awkward.

After a brief exchange of thank you's and goodbyes from both sides, Bobby and Dogday quickly escort you back to the ship.

----------

You internally breathe a sigh of relief the moment you entered the Space Riders’ ship. You weren’t sure how much longer you could handle all those eyes glancing your way. You were waiting for someone to come out of the shadows some way and finish you off just like those intruders that try to break into your cell.

Now that thought made you tense up again despite it being only you and the eight Space Riders in this ship. You couldn't sense any other energies in the ship, but that didn't ease your racing mind one bit. Who knows what the Space Riders will do to you now that they are not forced to follow social protocols?

You still have those damn power mufflers on you. Sure, that shouldn't stop you from fighting, but not only are you surrounded by four riders who have celestial powers, but you're surrounded by four non-celestial riders who, unfortunately, handle themselves well in combat. Unless you can outsmart all eight of them and break your power mufflers in the process, you don't see yourself winning this fight. It's best to be smart about all this.

"Okay, so, first things first, welcome back, (Y/n). We're happy that you're here with us," the Captain begins while clasping his hands together, making you stand straight at full attention. "It's okay, relax. It's just introductions. Nothing formal."

You're not sure if this is supposed to be a test or not, but you would rather not risk failing it when you just got here. You continue to stand at full attention, waiting for the Captain to continue. The Captain sighs, and clears his throat before continuing

"Anyways, I know there's a lot to do and discuss, and you probably have some questions. Don't worry, we'll get to that in time. But since this is your first day back, I think it would be best to try and get you settled in. I can show you where you'll be staying and-"

"Actually," interrupted Bobby, "I can show (Y/n) where they'll be staying."

"Are you sure?" the Captain asks with hesitation in his voice.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure."

The only response she is met with is silence. You wait for something to happen: an argument, physical discipline, a speech, or a fair sentence. You never saw the Captain incorporate the type of punishments that the Prototype did.

At least in public anyways.

But now that he is no longer in the public eye, you're not sure if you're ready to witness the truth for the first time, but you prepare yourself for it anyways. Instead, to your surprise, the first thing the Captain does is take the handcuffs off you, but not the power mufflers.

"Okay, if you're sure."

Bobby cheerfully thanks the Captain and escorts you to the direction of the prison cells. You reach the entrance leading to the prison cells, but Bobby just... passes it. Did she not pay attention to where she was going? Why is she passing it?

You want to ask, but you force yourself to keep quiet. She could be looking to punish you for making her suffer with your selfishness. That’s why she never visited you during your rehabilitation. Instead, she leads you to the riders’ sleeping quarters and into one sleeping quarter that you know was never occupied. All the furniture arranged was as you remember it from previous battles except the bed is now neatly made.

“Here we are. Your new room. It’s not much, but I think it’ll be a nice change of environment for you after being hospitalized for almost a year.”

Not much? This is a lot more than what you see in the sleeping quarters back home. This is much more than the cells you were in for the last several months. If this isn’t “much” to the heretics, then what does having a lot look like to them?

“Crafty and I made some clothes for you. She noticed you like having your head covered, so we made you a lot of hoodies.”

You silently take in every little detail of the room.

“This is all mine?”

“Yes, it is. We weren’t sure how you wanted your room decorated, but we’ll figure that out over time.” Why would it matter how you wanted to decorate this room? At least the Space Riders are giving you, their prisoner, one in the first place. It’s selfish to ask for more than what you deserve. “Picky is making a special dinner to celebrate your recovery and coming back. I’ll come get you when it’s ready. I’ll leave you alone to get settled.” Bobby’s voice cuts off your thoughts, even when you don’t say anything. She smiles and makes her way to the door.

“Thank you,” you say suddenly. Bobby stops dead, turns to you slowly. Her eyes widen.

“What did you say?”

You clear your throat and straighten yourself up. “Considering the fact I’m your prisoner, this is a very generous accommodation.”

Bobby continues to stare at you, and you're questioning if you said the wrong thing already. Not even one hour into your return and you’re already making mistakes. Maybe she’ll change her mind and decide a cell is a more fitting place, but instead of her screaming, or silence and storming away from you, she smiles. “You're not our prisoner here, (Y/n). You're our guest. We want to help you get better. I’m just happy that you’re here with us.”

With that, you are left alone. You hastily dig into your bag which Bobby must have placed in the on the dresser. Thankfully, your journal and the books given to you by Bubba were still there.

You pull one of the drawers and they were full of very thick long-sleeved shirts with hoods. “Hoodies” as Bobby called them. But… which one are you supposed to wear? Bobby never specified which one was mandatory for you, and you couldn’t just ask. You would get punished for not knowing when it should be obvious. You grip the skin of your forearm tightly.

No.

No, no.

No, no, no.

Fight back the temptation to see red! You can’t risk being sent back again. Just take some deep breaths.

In…

Hold…

Out…

Repeat.

Just like the healers taught you. Soon enough, your grip loosens and thankfully, there was no sign of red.

You look back at the drawer of “hoodies.” Since the Space Riders wear white while off duty, then perhaps the white one would be your safest choice. You sigh, hoping that line of reasoning will hold true during mealtime. You relax more when the warmth and softness cover you. The best part was that hood covered your head. It was no mask, but it was better than having your entire head exposed. You were just relieved you no longer had to rely on those infirmary blankets to keep your body and head covered. At least there were no cameras installed in your accommodation… to your knowledge.

Since you had no orders given until mealtime, you decided to explore more of the room. Maybe if you are good, then living as a prisoner of the heretics won’t be so terrible. Maybe you will be able to survive Hell after all.

----------

Stay tuned for the next part "Burn Bright Until You Burn Out"

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vulpixisananimal · 2 months ago

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[A:3 C:60] (Odile)

(. . . . . .)

(You had kicked everyone else out of Ramos’ room as Dr. Gina Joy did his work. Your group had probably been giving him more work than he had all week, gems. . .)

(You stood nearby as the doctor checked every part of Ramos’ body. You had your notebook out, taking notes whenever Gina talked. But, in honesty, you were more looking at your past notes, to calm yourself.)

(. . . . A couple months ago, your notes on mind craft started. Your notes on Ramos. It was your distrust of Ramos.)

(Why would you trust them, back then? You had met them just that day, and you had seen what happened to Siffrin because of what they did. You remember the first thing you ever said to them. You found them when they were recovering, and you had a moment alone.)

(“Do you know how to hide a dead body, Ramos?” You had asked. And they answered honestly, “No, I don’t. Why?”)

(And you replied simply. “I do.”)

(It was a simple threat. If they harmed your family, your people, those who you would give the world for, they’re dead.)

(. . .)

(You regret it, now.)

(Gems, that makes two then. Two people who you thought would backstab you, and two you were wrong about. And now they're dating! Ha!)

(. . . Ha. . .)

(. . . Once Ramos was better, you can apologize.)

>>>

(Bonnie)

(Soup n’ sandwich. You couldn’t get more boring with your brunch, but the doctor said so, so here you are. Boring old soup n’ sandwich. . .)

(. . . You nibble at the sandwich. You weren’t hungry.)

(Is ‘Oz gonna be okay?)

(You dunno, they said something about a fight in ‘Frins brain, right? And, and ‘Oz. . .)

(. . . You remember when you first met ‘Oz. You were going to where ‘Za used to work, met ‘m, seemed okay, smelt weird. You ran off for mint, few minutes later. . .)

(No that wasn’t it!)

(Huh?)

(It was th’ market!)

(Oh, yeah. ‘Oz was disguised, took you, but they weren’t in control, was bein’ controlled. They apologized a lot for that)

(. . . You wish you met ‘Oz a nicer way.)

(Yeah. . . You wanna know more about their gardening. They knew a lotta ‘bout gardening, and you wanted to know to get nice, big, juicy veggies! Getting all dirty and finding worms!!)

(Heheh! Yeah!! You could also ask about, uhm, uuuuh. . . Oh!!! What ‘Za was like!)

(Boooooriiing you KNOW what ‘Za is like. No you could ask about uhm, uh. . .)

(Heh, outta ideas?)

(Shut up!)

>>>

(Isabeau)

(You tried not to bounce your leg as Siffrin lay curled up, head down in your lap. They were hidden beneath one of their many hats. Who knew who was fronting, but you don’t think it really mattered at this point.)

(. . . Complete ego death.)

(That’s what Gina and Odile hypothesised anyway. The doctor had gone back to the medhouse to do what he could, but apparently all Ramos needed was, time. Time to rest, recover, and to piece themself back together.)

(Ha. . . Funny thing about time, huh. You gently pat Siffrins hair. A very, very funny thing about time. You found Sif not long ago chucking their dagger out the door. They tried to loop back. They DID loop back. But, whatever kinda checkpoint system they had, it was too late. After that they curled up on you. . .)

(. . . Your buddy. . . And your partner. . .)

(Why couldn’t life be simple again? You liked just swapping jokes with Sif, letting him take all the blankets when you shared a bed, eating together. You liked studying for the big exams with Ramos, always so anxious, always getting great grades. You liked going on jogs, you’d be done after a few miles and they could go for more. You liked wrestling with them, even though you always won.)

(. . . That's what Change is about huh, breaking something, killing something. You both changed. You returned to Jouvente to find that yourself and Ramos were, different. You were more confident in who you are, and Ramos has changed into who they wanted to be.)

(You really wish you could have been there, though. You should have seen how anxious they were about doing good, always asking to study and train with you. You should have helped them with more inside stuff than outside. You should have said a proper goodbye. You should have done a lotta things. . .)

(And someone else took advantage of the fact you didn't. Reach. Out.)

(So, you, reached out.)

(You talked to them, asked what was going on, why they were doing this. . . You were worried for them. And, you got through you them! They felt terrible, and wanted to fix things but. . . But for that fucking archeologist in their head!)

(Seeing your buddy, your best friend, your bestie, morphed into a sadness. Seeing them hurt, seeing them trying so hard, reaching out to you. You couldn’t imagine what it must have been like. . .)

(. . . You hold Sif a bit closer.)

>>>

(Mirabelle)

(You breathe in. . . And, out. . .)

(It was the next day and you had gone on a walk. You know it’s a bad idea, you know it’s reckless, and unnecessary, and, and just stupid. But, you needed to go on a walk. A walk out of the city gate and into the woods.)

(You breathe in. . . . . And. . . Out. . . . .)

(That’s where you are now. A small clearing, away from the city, looking at a little rabbit sniffing around the clearing. You were here because you were still afraid. You were afraid of not being good enough, strong enough, brave enough. Perci could read minds and was an ace with those swords. Merlon could explode waves of sadness with a snap. With Ramos, Ramos like they are right now. . .)

(. . . You looked at the little rabbit. It’s, it’s alright to do this, right?)

{. . . IT WILL NOT HURT. IF IT FEELS WRONG. BRING TREAT NEXT TIME.}

(O-okay, okay. Okay. Okay. You breathe in, and, hold out your hand sign, staring down the rabbit! You used SOOTHING RESTFUL SONG!)

(The rabbit was frozen in time.)

(You let out a breath, you smell sugar, c-change. . . O-oh that. . . You felt a surge of cold within you, that took a lot of energy, but, it worked. . .)

(. . . Does, d-does, it get, easier?)

{. . . YES.}

(Thank you. . . You, walk towards the rabbit, and clap your hands, unfreezing the rabbit. It bolts off into the woods.)

(. . . You sit down in the grass. You could do it. If you met them again, you could do it.)

(. . . Oh Ramos.)

(Once everything calmed down in Jouvente, you just had to talk to them. To tell them just, how proud you were. They made mistakes, but, they’re working to fix it. They got the confidence to change their body, and the next thing was to change their mind, to get more. . . Confident.)

(This kind of change of mind was. . . Not what you had envisioned.)

(. . . Ramos is going to be okay. They had to be okay, they will be okay! So! Since they're going to be okay, you needed to train up to fight historians! Right?)

{RIGHT. IT WILL NOT BE EASY.}

(Yeah. You know. You stand up. Will frozen time be enough, you think?)

{JUST FOCUS ON YOUR TARGET. CHANNEL YOU EMOTIONS FOR THE STRONGEST ATTACK.}

(. . . That's why sadness like you can do that easily, right?)

{. . . YES.}

(Hehe. Maybe you should fight instead.)

{. . .}

(. . . S-sorry, that was a joke.)

{HA. HA.}

>>>

(Pétronille)

(It was the next day.)

(And you were feeling more useless than ever.)

(Ramos went under two days ago, and since then everyone had been doing their part. Be it moving their limbs so their body doesn't get crabbed up, helping them eat, drink, all that. Right now you were doing your part by staying home while the others went out for supplies.)

(. . . Change, dammit.)

(You were making yourself busy, cleaning the place up, dusting, all that. There were a bunch of random trinkets. Pictures, a compas, binoculars, random bits of brass, candles. . .)

(And the urn.)

(You paused for a second, staring at it. . . Change, you hope that wherever they are, it's a nice afterlife. You woulda loved to meet Eri, someone who'd defend the city in their old age. Someone who'd take a random kid like Ramos off the street.)

(. . . You wish you had someone like that back then.)

(Holding onto that little boat for dear life, little sibling still asleep, waves throwing you around. Finally making back to shore, and stumbling into Bambouche.)

(The people there were all so kind to you. But it was still just you, and Bonnie. You got a job, and Bonnie got a school. You got a house, a small house, more like a shack, but it was yours.)

(. . .)

(. . . Will, this house not have an owner, soon?)

(When Ramos recovers, you gotta give them a big hug. They helped save Bonbon, they asked a god for help AND IT WORKED! They helped reassure you. Crab that's not even mentioning they saved your mind at the inn.)

(From now on, if someone messes with Ramos, they mess with you. You're welded. No getting out that, Rams.)

>>>

(Siffrin) {Mal Du Pays} <Null> |Asterion| [Loop] [(Saffron)]

[. . .]

[Your room. Your own headspace. Up the favor tree, past the canopy, and there you were. A treehouse. Looking out to the distance, the sights of the black sand beach were instead replaced with the house. That same house, still frozen in time.]

[(. . . Well?)]

[What.]

[(Do you feel proud?)]

[No! I don't feel blinding proud!]

[(But isn't that what you wanted?)]

[(The single sound mind in an endless sea of idiotic sailors. You who guides them to a happiness that you can never reach. Who reaches out, yet flinches away.)]

[. . .]

[(Tongue tied? Let me.)]

[(You regret it, but you know it was right. You know even if you didn't mean it, you finally have the trainee out of the way. You could finally rest easily knowing they don't have the host under their claws.)]

[(Because really! Who would believe that the host just falls in love with the trainee so fast! At the drop of a hat! At one little comment! No, no no no, the trainee is using him to get accepted in, obviously.)]

[(That's what you think, isn't it?)]

[. . . . . .]

[I don't want to think that anymore.]

[(So you'll join the idiots?)]

[YES! YES I'LL JOIN THE IDIOTS!!]

[I'LL JOIN ALL THE IDIOTS AND BURY MY HEAD IN THE SAND! I'LL LET RAMOS LIVE THEIR LIFE. KISS MY STARDUST. I'LL LET ASTERION DO WHAT HE WANTS EVEN!]

[AND THEN WHEN WE'RE STABBED IN THE BACK I'LL JUST TELL STARDUST I. TOLD. YOU. SO.]

[(wow, you really-)]

[Shut. Up.]

[I'm leaving.]

[(Leaving?)]

[Yes. Leaving.]

[And I'll come back when everyone's sane again.]

[(You know that'll never happen.)]

[Good.]

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hzbinnerdlover · 8 months ago

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A King's madness

(Votes are in and I saw that Mammon has won! So here's me working on that fic inspired heavily by @chestcongestion 's art! Hope everyone enjoys)

It was another day within the Greed ring, the poor king was feeling a rather strange pain in his chest and throat as he slowly started to sit up and rub his head, looking oh so tired as he gave a heavy sigh. "Christ- what's with my fucking throat-", he mutters as he rubs it cautiously, looking at the window that was giving him too much sunlight for his liking here.

"Ugh, too fucking bright there mate. Slowly he gets up as goes to close the blinds, shaking his head as he feels an itch in his face, blinking confused as he attempts to fight it off, losing terribly.

"Heh...heh....H-Hih-HIT'ssssSHIEW!", giving a sniffle Mam blinks for a moment after recovering from the unexpected sneeze, putting the pieces together and groaning.

"Uuuuugh you've GOT to be fucking kidding me here. I can't afford that shit now. There's fucking money to he made here!", grunting deeply he decides to go over to his closet and with a tap of his wand transfer on his work clothes, immediately heading downstairs to get started on the work.

He sat there at his desk counting the finances that he has to go over. "Okay let's see here, hmmm...nah nah are ya bloody kidding me?! We're supposed to have over 30,000 dollars for this shit! How the hell did we lose 50,000 for this shit?! Who fucked up and who am I gonna have to fi- KFF! KFF!", a sharp cough stops his thoughts instantly as he holds a fist to his hand and let's out a raspy cough.

"Ugh seriously? Someone get me the list for this project ASAP!!!!" He says while spamming the paper down onto his desk. His assistant Fizzy came in, wearing her adorable little maid dress and her hat having two little daisies that bounced down at rhe end instead of puff balls. She rushes over with the list and sets it on Mammon's desk.

"Ugh finally, SOMEONE useful" He growls as he starts looking over, circling names of people he was gonna have to fire. "Uh huh uh huh, yeah that makes sense. Ugh those fuckers never knew what they were doing here. Don't they know wasting time like this cost me money?!" He sighs continuing to circle names when he suddenly stops, feeling the itch in his nose come back.

"Fucking hell are you- k-kid- heh....HECK'CHUUUUE!!! IP'chieeeeEW! Ah'CHIeeeeEW! Ugh....", he gives a damp sniffle as he coughs again, itching his nose with the back of his gloved hand. "Christ, now, where was I...."

Dolly looks at him rather concerned, furrowing her brows in worry as she stretches up to the top of his height and slaps a metal hand across his forehead.

"OW! Dolly! What the he-" he stops mid sentence when he hears a beep and raises an eyebrow, her pulling back down and shows a number across her digital eyes.

"The hell-? 103....wait- did you just take my bloody tempature?! Seriously?!" Dolly gave a simple nod and smiled, figuring she was being helpful.

"Uuuuugh course I got a fucking tempature mate, it's what happens when ya get sick. Now shut your mouth so I can get back to work!" He grunts as he shoves her aside and starts getting back to work, pulling out his phone to make a few phone calls to some of his sponsors. "Yeah- yeah this is Mammon. Listen mate, your shit fucking sucks! I mean do you guys even know what you're- KFF! KFF!", he coughs firmly into his fist again, patting at his chest to try to keep it down.

"Ugh fuck....no I'm fine. Just fucking listen to yeah? We need to make a good im-impre- I-I'pSHIIEeeeew!!! Ugh. Impression mate. The better the impression, the more people will wanna fucking buy. WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY IMPRESSION IS SHIT RN! WHOEVER THE FUCK YOU ARE, YOU'RE FIRED!!!!" Slamming his phone face down onto the desk he coughs into his hand once again, leaning down as he does so.

"Goddammit....this SUCKS." Grunting he starts getting up on his feet, immediately feeling woozy as he does so. "Say....is it fucking hot in here or is it just me...?", he asks as he starts feeling himself stagger, grasping onto the desk and coughing. "KFF! KFF! KFF! Fuck...." Slowly he starts to fall over.

Dolly is quick on her feet tho and uses her extended limbs to carefully push back and help balance her master, shaking her head as she starts guiding him away from the desk.

"Wha-? Where are we- ASHIEEEEW! Going-? I swear if you're taking me back to bed I'll throw ya in the junkyard mate!"

Dolly ignored him and continued on her way, bringing Mammon back to the bedroom and immediately grabbing his pajamas, holding them out as he gives a pout. "No. Fucking. Way." He retorts as he looks away and gives a little shiver, Dolly making jingle sounds with her bells as she gives a look of determination to make sure her master gets to bed.

With a heavy sigh Mammon snaps his fingers and changes wardrobe with a glare. "There. Ya happy now? Stupid machine."

Dolly let's the insult slide off her back and smiles, bringing him to the bed and tucking him in as he lays down. He attempts to clear his throat as he feels it getting scratchier and more raspy. "Fucking great. KFF! Dolly. Grab me my phone, I still got calls to make here"

Shaking her head she crossed her arms and waved her finger, being rather firm about this matter.

"Oh come on! Would just...help me weh-weh....heh...heh..." Already seeing the outcome she stretches out and grabs the tissue box, holding it out to her master as he quickly plucks a few of them and holds them to his face.

"HIT'chUuuuuu! Hic'SHUUUU! Heh...heh...HET'sshiiiEW! Ugh...*sniff* Fucking christ" The small Fizzy assistant presses a button on her outfit and smiles, a robotic tone talking. "Bless you master", seemingly proud of herself for remembering which button to press.

Mammon rolled his eyes as he reached over and grabbed a fresh few tissues. "For a new Fizzy you still don't know how to properly talk yet?" Sighing softly as he blew his nose loudly and messily, groaning as he attempted to wipe up the mess, only for another sneeze to follow. "G-Geh-GE'SHIEEEEW!!!" bending forward into it as he gave an exhausted groan.

The sound of the robotic "Bless you" came about again and he glances over at Dolly, who was still smiling proudly as she offered the sin another fresh tissue.

Taking it rather gratefully he sniffled and shrugged. "Least you're fucking polite", he said with much more tired blow from his nose. Laying back he rubs his eyes as Dolly takes all the used tissues for him and tosses them away in the nearby trash can.

"Mmm...I think imma try to sleep here. I guess money making can stop for ONE day." Closing his eyes he gives a heavy sigh as Dolly is one step ahead and dims the lights, the Greed king already falling asleep as she slowly closed the door and smiled softly. She's off to go about her next assignment which is arranging all of Mammon's favorite foods to eat while he would be sick for the next obvious few days.

(Edit here I'm SO sorry it took this long to get out- been dealing with moving preperations and family stuff and getting over being sick myself lol. So here it is as promised! Can't wait to write more for y'all!)

#snzblr #snz kink #hel//luva//boss//#snz fet

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being-addie · 2 years ago

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How to bounce back after vacation

I just came back from a long holiday trip right now, and it's been pretty easy falling off the wagon while vacationing, I'm not gonna lie. Our first stop was extremely hot and humid and I don't do well in those conditions so I was blowing through bottles of soda and bowls of ice cream. During the road trip we took I snacked constantly. Then we went to a spot that was below freezing. I didn't take care of my hair at all so it's frizzy and dry. You can imagine how badly sticking to a routine went.

It's challenging to stay disciplined while holidaying, so I cut myself some slack. Four flights and 17 hours of driving combined in a week? Of course I wasn't going to be able to follow my routine. But now that I'm back, I've been actively working to get back on track ASAP.

Here's how to recover from a long trip and get back into the flow as efficiently as possible.

Recover: Keep a few days to just relax at home. You'll probably think it's counter-productive, but recovering from a late-night flight or a 10-hour road trip is vital if you want to do anything with full productivity. I usually take 1 day to recover, but I recommend limiting them to 2 days maximum (otherwise you're going to feel lazier)

Try to ease into it: Do not jump into your routine. Your body will not be used to a 3-hour study session or 10 kg dumbells after it's not kept up. Be gentle with yourself. Do a 1-hour study session, instead of 3. Go for a walk, rather than an intense HIIT workout.

Eat properly: If you haven't had any good, healthy food during your trip, eat some goddamn veggies. Your body will be happy. Although I ate light, like soup and chicken during my trip, eating normal, home-cooked food worked wonders for me

Nap: Catch up on sleep. Unfortunately, I drank a large coffee before my 9pm flight back home, so I got zero shuteye. I've been napping in the afternoons to get back to normal.

Clean: Unpacking always makes a huge mess, and my room can testify to that. Make sure during the process, you don't mess up the rest of your (already clean) room. Wash your clothes, and rearrange your skincare products back where they belong.

Prep: Since my classes are starting next week, I've been restocking my supplies, filling my sketchbook, and completing any extra college assignments due. Staying prepared will help you manage time better when work or school starts again. Complete any time-consuming work, like meal prep, or laundry.

Pamper yourself: Traveling doesn't suit everyone, so yesterday, I took out time to have my Everything Shower, I put on music and read while I treated my body to some much-needed TLC. My hair looks much better.

Feeling frazzled after holiday isn't unusual. We're expected to come back to work with 100% productivity. If you're not able to do that immediately, don't beat yourself up about it. Take it easy, and you'll be back in your routine after no time. xoxo

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emmy-dekarios-bg3 · 3 months ago

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Heart of the Weave - chapter 59 & 60

Gale steps into our room first, saying words I can’t quite make out, but I assume it’s to let everyone know the baby is here and I’ll need some space. He then proceeds to gesture me into the room, his lips curling into a handsome smile. As I step inside, Jenevelle’s eyes light up and Jaheira hands her to Gale, though her mood swiftly changes when she notices Neeve in my arms. Karlach is on the sofa holding Maddox while Wyll is preparing a bottle for her, but they’re both watching us with loving expressions on their faces. What an intense and unexpected week, that’s for sure.

“Jenevelle, baby girl, this is your sister Neeve,” Gale murmurs with a soft tone, bringing her over to meet Neeve, though I worry it won’t exactly go well judging by Jenevelle’s whines and pouty bottom lip as she gets close. It’s apparent she’s about to let out a very jealous scream, so Gale bounces her lightly in his arms as he slowly approaches me. “Sshh. It’s alright, my little love.” It’s silent for a few moments as I watch both babies observe one another, and suddenly the tension dies down. Jenevelle coos and sticks her tongue out, you know, like babies do. She does this when she’s less overstimulated and tense. “There we go.”

Gale and I switch babies so he can take Neeve to meet little Maddox Ravengard while I am cuddled up with my first baby, holding her close to my chest. Jaheira must have given her a bath, because she smells of lavender and rosewater mixed together and her skin is smooth like silk. I observe the sweet tender moment between the children as I sit here on our bed, rocking my little Jenevelle calmly.

“Sorry to make a peaceful situation downright awkward, but I can’t wait to leave tomorrow. I promised Halsin I’d partake in a wrestling match with him. He said ‘Are you sure that’s a wise choice?’ And I said ‘Hell yeah brother, don’t underestimate Mama K.’ I can actually say my name is Mama K now. Gods, that makes me happy.”

“My dearest Karlach, my beautiful wife, you just had a baby. Is wrestling Halsin a good idea? I…think you should wait awhile, give you time to recover,” Wyll adds with a skeptical tone, realizing Karlach will ignore his wishes and do it anyway. “Let’s just hope Halsin isn’t up to the task.”

“You have to live life to the fullest, man!” I roll my eyes and fight laughter as I carry Jenevelle over to our friends, partaking in some playful banter and shenanigans. I am so ready to be back home and in the comfort of our own bed or on the sofa surrounded by books and the smell of firewood from the fireplace. We’re so very close.

Over the course of several hours, I decided to write my mom a letter, wishing her the best and hoping for her happiness. I did bring up how heartbroken I am over her choice, but that I do hope she made the right one. I do keep questioning if the truth was told, and I wonder if I was being a bitch for no reason. I don’t want to feel this guilt, but I can’t help but feel like I was too harsh. I mention our new daughter and how we expect her to age, and the heartbroken pain we feel because of it…but also the joy that flows through us regarding this circumstance.

It feels nice to write to my mother and let out all these feelings I’ve been keeping inside me for way too long. Though venting to Gale was helpful, telling my mother how I’ve been feeling is oddly satisfying. I finish the letter off with our home address in Waterdeep, and tuck it inside my sweater pocket for tomorrow morning. I sigh as I plop myself onto the bed, feeling a strange sense of peace within me as Gale and I begin a new chapter in our lives.

We spent our last night in Baldur’s Gate eating a nice dinner as a group at a new restaurant over by Basilisk Gate, with Jaheira and Minsc by our side this time. It’s nice to catch up with them and enjoy a relaxing atmosphere before a frustrating journey the following day. I stare at the night sky as we sit outside enjoying a hearty meal, taking comfort in the fact we are all safe and how our lives are about to change…perhaps for the better, even though they were pretty great before.

Of course, the night after we got back to the Elfsong was a little intense. Neeve and Jenevelle were fussy, Maddox was restless, and we were all beyond exhausted. The good news is that we survived and our trip back home was much easier than anticipated; maybe a little too easy. We ran into Elminster just right after we left Rivington, and he was actually searching for Gale. It’s been ages since we’ve been in touch with that old bastard, but it was nice to have conversation…until he went on about how much he wanted cheese. Though, it did work out in our favor! We gave Elminster two cheese wheels and he sent us home using the Weave, which not only saves us from camping for two nights, but keeping our babies safe from any potential harm.

We made it home. Thank you, Elminster.

I open my eyes as I’m curled up in bed with Gale, the moon from the dusky sky beaming through the glass windows. The entire past several months feels like one big dream, and I begin to question if they were. Maybe I’m just sleepy as hell, questioning existence itself as I stare at the moon in front of me. I feel Gale’s arms wrap around my body from behind, pulling me close to him. He smells of lavender and a hint of eucalyptus.

“Having trouble sleeping, my love?” His voice is raspy and sleepy as his lips touch my neck. “I had to go make sure the girls were okay. Jenevelle was fine, Neeve needed to be rocked back asleep.”

“I’m glad they’re alright, love. Thank you for checking on them.”

“Of course. I go back to work in three days, I want to help out as much as I can. Maybe I’ll take Jenevelle with me in the baby carrier again. Neeve is still too tiny and prone to illness, so if she grows, maybe I’ll bring her along someday.” I turn around to face Gale, still sleepy and struggling to keep my eyes open as I inhale his scent. He laughs lightly, his voice deep and exhausted. “You love the way I smell?”

“Well duh, I always have,” I tease, nuzzling my face into his bare chest. “You always…smell good…” I grumble sleepily as I nearly fall back asleep on his chest. He plays with my hair, falling back asleep shortly after I do. I missed this so much. I love our friends so much but having our own space back truly is a treasure. Speaking of which, I wonder how Karlach and Wyll are holding up with their little one.

I wake up the next morning alone in the bed, so I lift myself up and head to the girls’ room, noticing Neeve just now waking up. Jenevelle must be with Gale, but where did they go? I smile at my newborn daughter, watching her eyes open as she observes me. I pick her up, get her changed and fed, then make my way into the living area, where Tara greets me with a letter on her back.

“Emmy! My darling, this is for you. Mrs. Dekarios — Gale’s mother, of course — wrote to you. Have a read, dear.” I sit down with the baby and open up the letter while Tara observes me from the coffee table:

Emmy,

My dearest daughter-in-law. You have been on my mind lately and I plan on stopping by to see you all soon. I’d love for us to sit down and drink a cup of coffee, or five, and catch up on things. I consider you my daughter, you know, and don’t you ever forget it!

Gale told me about the incident with your mother and I just want you to know I’m here for you always. I am also your home, as you are mine. You are welcome to stop by whenever you want. You make my son the happiest he’s ever been, and you also brought me another grand baby. I told Gale I’d be by in two days. This gives you all time to settle in and get comfortable.

I made the girls an outfit while sitting in my study room. I know Gale spoils those babies and I have to also. Those are his baby girls!

If you ever need a night out with Gale, you know how to reach me. I’ll see you all in a couple of days. I’ll bring my special tea cup and coffee beans.

Mama Dekarios

I feel droplets of tears form in my eyes as I read the letter, smiling at each and every word. It feels wonderful feeling truly appreciated and cared for by such a wonderful person, who created the most amazing son. I truly have it, don’t I?

I step out into the garden, noticing Gale holding Jenevelle as he shows her all the plants outside.

“Your mother’s favorite flower. Hibiscus. Every time I see one, I think of her,” Gale murmurs in our daughter’s ear. “You know, you have the same aura as a hibiscus also, Jenevelle. Bright and lovely, and rather sweet.” I smile as I watch Gale show our daughter around the fresh garden. “Strawberries. She loves strawberries. I wish you could enjoy them as much as she does, but I’ll let you have a tiny taste.” Gale leans in and kisses Jenevelle’s forehead, his lips lingering on her skin for a moment. The love he has for our daughters is beautiful and I couldn’t ask for a better husband or father to our children. He turns around and notices me standing in the doorway, his brown eyes glistening under the morning sun. The moment our eyes met, it was like reliving meeting him for the first time: I felt butterflies. Immediately, I recall his face the moment I rescued him from the stone. Then I remember when he showed me the Weave for the first time. When he took me into the stars and we sat on a magical boat together created by magic itself. I think he visualized the exact same images I did, reminiscing the most beautiful moments. Suddenly, he smiles, his cheeks flushing red as I approach him. A love that will never die.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #ao3 #wizard of waterdeep #archive of our own #professor dekarios #dad gale

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fenmere · 2 years ago

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Just what is burnout?

Something that really irritates us and troubles us about discussions of burnout is that there are different kinds and levels of burnout, and everyone is always talking about their own without specifying what it is. And that gets confusing. There's professional burnout, where you lose your ability to be creative and make decisions at a given job or task. This might happen outside of employment, but it's kinda rare. We could just call it artistic burnout for that, though. But what happens is that you work too hard at this one thing and then your brain just can't do it anymore for a while.

It might effect the rest of your life in other ways, but mostly, you just really need to move onto something else for a while.

This has happened to us regarding art, for instance, and switching to writing allowed us to continue being productive and seeking nice brain chemicals.

Then there's systemic burnout, which is usually called autistic burnout, but it can happen to people with ADHD, and we think it can happen to anybody. It just happens to autistic people and people with ADHD more because we tend to overload faster, and we have more social and sensory demands on us constantly that most other people don't experience. And maybe it's the same mechanism as professional/artistic burnout, but it happens to your whole damn mind and body.

When it hits, you might not even be able to dress yourself in the morning. It can vary.

And both types of burnout happen on a spectrum of length and severity.

Some people talk about burnout that means they have to rest for a couple of hours. Like a daily limit. We don't consider that burnout, honestly. It's more like a brown out, or just a loss of that days spoons. It's a warning sign for longer burnout. If you keep hitting it, it's gonna get way worse.

But, a lot of people call it burnout, and we can't stop them.

Then there's burnout that lasts a few days. That's more like something we'd call burnout, but, we gotta tell you this, it's still really just a warning sign.

Like, your life and career can bounce back from that. You can call in, rest, and then get back to it.

But, if you keep hitting that wall and keep going back to your usual grind, it's gonna get worse.

Then you'll see a few autistics talking about burnout that lasts a couple weeks to a few months. There you're getting into dangerous territory. That can get you fired from a job, maybe even end your career. It can definitely put you in financial dire straights. But you might still be able to take a two week vacation and hobble back to what you were doing.

Then there's what we got: Burnout that lasts years, or is maybe permanent.

We hit systemic burnout in 2012, but we didn't know what was going on and we kept trying to push through it at half pace until 2014, after which we became permanently disabled. And we started having regular meltdowns and picked up involuntary stimming habits we never had before.

And we're still in it.

Unmasking and crying for help, finding a place where we could live with most of the accommodations we needed, all helped us to recover some of our previous function. And we also now know better never to try to act neurotypical again. But even if we tried, we could not possibly perform like we used to.

Part of our permanent disability is that we've also developed a number of chronic illnesses. More than one. They were actually already there, growing since childhood, but they got much, much worse from the stress.

But our burnout itself shows itself in lower thresholds for all tolerances, emotions, senses, everything. And a frequent blank mind most days.

And we're really starting to feel like it's pretty important that people learn to recognize these different types and levels, because a lot of the time they'll write shit like, "Burnout is like [this]. [This] is what happens during burnout." And they'll inevitably be describing something way more mild than what can actually happen, and they'll make it sound definitive.

And that's not doing anybody any good.

#autistry #autistic burnout #professional burnout #burnout

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spottyissleepwalking · 2 years ago

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Hello, sorry to bother you but can I ask a question about the warrior cats disability post you reblogged earlier? And I mean this in good faith, honestly, I want to understand.

I haven't read warrior cats, but just from what was described in the post, it sounds... realistic? Since not everyone bounces back from becoming disabled. For example, a coworker and I (in a labor intensive field) have the same injury to our knee. He, I guess you could say has responded "well" to his injury. He has a higher drive to push past pain, not let it limit what he can do, and is able to work as hard, or harder, than non-disabled coworkers, but he is still absolutely disabled. In his case, he often overworks himself and thus ends up having to take off several days to recover and is on a lot of pain medication, both Rx and self medicated. In the scenario presented in the post, he would def be able to stay in the warrior class. But I didn't respond well to my injury, and don't react well to pain. I fell into a deep deep depression that took almost 8 years to crawl out of. Doing the exact same tasks as he does, I work slower and more carefully, avoiding pain at all costs rather than pushing past/despite pain. I'm slower, not as effective. But I don't need to take time off or frequent breaks to recover, and though it takes a little longer, I do just as much work as he does at the end of the week when accounting for the time he takes to recover. I like to imagine that I've reacted to my injury well, but can't help feeling inadequate and worthless when compared to coworker. Especially on days that we work side by side and he's running quite literal circles around me. And remember, we have the exact same injury with very similar causes and only a few months time difference.

From what I understand of the culture of Warrior cats (which is admittedly very very little) I imagine I'd end up in a healer class as well, even if I wished I could be warrior class. I would give almost anything to work as fast, as effectively, as hard as coworker does. But I can't.

So I guess what I'm asking is, what am I missing from the narrative, as someone who hasn't read warrior cats, that makes a character, who has not returned to their former glory after an injury, a poor representation of disability? As the post stands on its own right now, it just feels like it's kicking disabled people when they're down for not acting like they're still fully abled. Like shaming a paralyzed person for not joining a sport.

I have to assume that it's just poorly worded for anyone outside the fandom, but it really does come of as... well... ableist. Which is what drove me to ask, since making assumptions of ableism is generally kinda shitty, and I am curious about the source material.

I hope I didn't come off aggressive or let my emotions on the subject get carried away here, genuinely sorry if it does come off rude. I promise am asking in good faith because I want to understand from a creative standpoint if the narrative actually handled it poorly, and how-so, to help myself and others potentially avoid making the same artistic mistakes.

Thank you for taking the time to read this wall of text, and again, so sorry for bothering you!

No no!! Not aggressive or rude or anything of the sort :D

I’ll be honest, I didn’t read the full text, but I got the gist of it so I’ll try to answer aptly ^^

The problem with Warriors isn’t that there isn’t disability representation - there is, it’s just. Awful. Why? Because almost every single disabled character, sans THREE, in a series that has thousands of named characters, is FORCED into a role they don’t want - or KILLED. Solely for being disabled, solely for being “different”.

It’s not that they necessarily chose that life for themselves, it’s that it was forced upon them, which is where so many fans (reasonably) draw issue with. Disabled characters are offered the bare minimum in Warriors canon. Either they’re essentially forced to become a doctor, with the trope of “the broken-bodied healing the able-bodied” (which personally unsettled me greatly), or they’re shipped off to the elder’s den, which is a place where cats retire due to old age and are cared for by their Clanmates, usually without ever having the chance to prove themselves, and display both their abilities and weaknesses. They’re just automatically shoved into this corner.

There was a Deaf character, once, in the decades-long span of this book series, that was told he would never become a warrior solely because of his deafness - and then was immediately killed off in a manner that was almost never used again as a device to kill a character.

There was a character who was hit by a car and, as a result, ended up losing the function of one of her back legs. Prior to this, she was training as any other young member of her society would. Immediately after? She became a doctor.

There was a character who became blind due to an outside force, and, despite being the equivalent of maybe a thirty-year-old, immediately retired to the elder’s den.

There was a born blind character who fought to train as a warrior, under a half-blind warrior. He was doing well in his training - until the in-universe religion came down to him and forced him to give up his dreams in order to become a doctor. Granted, his case was a little more complicated and intermingled with plot, but it still stands.

There was a character with anxiety who was a poor hunter, and was pressured to become a doctor because of his lack of skills.

There was a character who was paralyzed, and was dismissed as dead, or “better off dead”, by almost everyone around her - INCLUDING HER OWN FAMILY - except the blind character, who found kinship with her and fought tooth-and-nail to keep her alive and healthy.

And the thing is? These characters are CATS! Cats, who have been documented living alone in the wild with these sort of disabilities and thriving!! Which makes it all the more frustrating to see a narrative built around the appeal of cats, have them have this whole support system and community, and that community actively turn their backs on them.

It’s not about them choosing. It’s about them being forced. Not having any opportunity to grow, or learn, or allow others around them to do the same in regards to them. There’s no acceptance here. In universe, it seems like they’re just shoved into the shadows so the able bodied characters don’t have to look at them or think too hard about them, unless they’re healing their wounds.

The characters themselves are not the poor representation. It’s how the authors have handled them - by shoving them aside, to the shadows, to the dogs. It’s frustrating and disheartening.

#warrior cats #warriors #ask

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irlstein · 1 year ago

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I Wanna Suck Maya Kamina's Big Fat Tits

Fast rundown for men with wives and wives with men: I took most of a year off to recover from late-stage Twitter intolerance that I'm pretty sure was giving my blood some sort of pH poisoning, I hope you guys have been doing well and apologize for the lack of communication.

Slow Rundown For True Jackheads - Much Longer Than It Has To Be, You Can Just Say Jack Was Taking Care Of Family And Had A Breakdown:

Howdy guys, been a few months. Had a lot happen in this last year - when I took my break, I'd begun watching my Uncle Gary on a daily basis, who is a stroke survivor left unfortunately incapable of complex speech, and with no strength in his left side. My Uncle Gary and I didn't have much of a relationship before this, but I'd taken on the task of moving into his trailer while he was recovering at his sister's - she lives just in town, it's a ten minute drive, but there was no feasible way for him to get in and out of his own house - for about two years. In that time I'd basically had a deal going with the family that I'd watch Uncle Gary for a few weeks, maybe a month or two, once he had the lift installed at his home that would let him come and go without too much hassle. I'd clean his trailer up for him, because he was a mega-bachelor with three girlfriends and so much backed-up old food from habitual boredom shopping that the place was a damn mess, bugs and rats in the back of the cupboards shit, and they'd disregard the bump in utilities to having someone actually in the house because I'd also keep the place from getting robbed, as he had a bunch of guns and gun parts stored there. It was a pretty fair deal for everyone involved, and while I really only stayed there about 2/3 of the time, it was enough that I really couldn't justify bouncing if the dude needed me, and I've been watching disabled family pretty much daily for 5 years now - so it seemed like a small life change.

Then COVID hit and the three months I was gonna be at his house, as stated prior, ballooned out to about two years, and at some point there began to be some sentiment that Uncle Gary was now annoyed by the idea of living with me - despite me being a patently temporary tenant there for his benefit, with literally two other homes in walking distance I could be living at, as I've got a lot of family in town. I could also get an apartment or something, you get the idea, I just wasn't actually enthused to be there and it was pretty inconsiderate to turn my very blatantly and clearly elaborated, regularly checked upon for the comfort of all concerned, act of well-meaning against me. My grandpa died when I was 5, Uncle Gary's brother, and everyone always talks about how much my grandpa loved me, so it seemed natural I'd just do whatever his brother needed when he was in a time of need.

From there, thing got sour for a while - we never came to blows, only really argued once or twice, but my Uncle Gary's obvious ennui at his turn in health had bluntly made him kind of an ungrateful dick to everyone. Now, let me state here - I stayed with and watched him for about six months following when he came home. It just grew more and more difficult to bear with the situation as I'd talk to him, interpret for him, make him whatever he wanted for dinner, crack jokes, fix computer problems, invest all of my daily energy into making him comfortable - and caught him talking shit on me behind my back. Little stuff - "So Jack's a good cook?" "Ehhhhhh." "Jack's taking good care of you huh? Your blood sugar's been good all week." "Ah well," little shit like that, negging on top of a totally unpaid position I'd volunteered for on the very day he went to the hospital because I'd spent the ages of 22 - 24 watching my mom as she recovered from a real bad car accident and since I've always made money online, it just seemed natural to volunteer my maid services the moment someone else in the family needed the same kind of health.

But fuck, man. It really hurt to be treated how he treated me, because there was contempt there. He was always cool to his sister, my great Aunt, who I visited every week with my grandma to do chores for because she and her husband are, themselves, old and disabled - replaced her kitchen ceiling, watched her dogs, lawnwork, cooking, whatever they needed I would insist upon doing, so there was infinite evidence in supply that I was not a malicious opportunist here, just a younger relative trying to help everyone he could. Uncle Gary didn't give a fuck, he snapped at me, basically laughed at people who suggested he should pay me for my time, and the family dawdled on the job of hiring home healthcare for so long that it looked like I was really expected to just stay there and keep doing this.

And honestly, I kind of flattened. I've always been a depressed guy, chronic nightmares do that to you, and it's easier to crumple to your circumstances than it is to challenge them when challenging them means telling a crippled relative who sees you as a leech that he'll need another 24/7 cook and care provider. I started sleeping all day until he called on me; I developed a nervous tic whenever I heard his walker because that meant he was gonna walk past my bedroom door, glance in skeptically, and call me out for another task I'd have to spend ten minutes guessing and interpreting to understand, because (No fault of his) the guy could basically only give very general positive or negative affirmations, and got very angry very quickly when misinterpreted. So I sort of just stopped thinking about the future and wallowed in this cold trailer, uncomfortable all day, talking to my friends less and working less, just getting more cold and static and dead as the days went on. Let me be clear, I'm not "the true victim" in this discussion about a dude who had a stroke, but I am a mentally soft dude who didn't have a lot of happy feelings to draw on and could easily be bullied by circumstance into shutting down; I did.

Then Rachele, the lady who came to clean up Uncle Gary's apartment, started working for him to do basically my job, and I made plans to leave. And they got a home healthcare service going, got another lady to fill in some of the time Rachele couldn't be there for, and things were on an incline, life was getting normal and I was getting my head straight again.

Then my grandma nearly died of a heart attack when we came home from a family reunion. She was carrying KayKay, her granddaughter, into the house, and suddenly started sweating and groaning in pain. I knew something had happened, her doctor had told her not to carry anythign heavy and KayKay was nearly half her size because my grandma's such a small lady. Specifically, something happened that dumped a bunch of blood into her intestines, and she needed a triple bypass. That was a really hard night; my grandma, already in her 70s, had a major injury, but for hours she denied it. I sat there with her in her living room, watching my Uncle Pete's daughter, as she just lay on the couch and insisted that she just needed to rest. I checked her blood pressure - again and again, a dozen times, always going down. I reminded her that it's not normal to feel sudden, agonizing pain in your stomach when you lift a toddler, followed by going pale and losing massive blood pressure. "I just need some salt," she said. "That blood pressure reader is always wrong, must be the batteries," she muttered a dozen times in that span, clearly growing delerious. I ran to Uncle Gary's and grabbed his blood pressure cuff, and the results were even worse, and she still shrugged it off. I sat there with her for three hours, pestering her, threatening to call an ambulance and being shut down, until I finally called her daughter, who happened to be a nurse and long-time hospital worker. Finally, at her daughter's terrified reaction at her mother clearly ignoring a fatal wound, grandma agreed to go to the hospital.

And I was just sitting there for the rest of the night, with this little kid who didn't know me. Trying to keep her from crying, calling everyone I could to spread the news, sweaty and cold and just scared that it was all starting over again, that the relentless years of awful shit just happening to me and my family had never ended, this sense that there was a cosmic bullseye on my scrote I'd dealt with in silence since my childhood reaching critical terror as it was now fucking killing people in front of me. I'm superstitious; at times, I become inclined to believe I'm living in hell. But in hell, you're not there to save your grandma, and in hell, kids are a lot more rude than sweet little KayKay; read her a few stories and put on Miraculous Ladybug, and she chilled out.

Then the fucking waiting game started over, because grandma had significant plaque build-up in her arteries, whatever those important ones in the sides of your neck are, and couldn't even have her heart surgery until that was taken care of. She was in there for weeks, and once she did get the triple bypass, she was in there for even longer, and all of her recovery was just above touch-and-go - still is, technically, that's a major surgery and it takes a long time to actually heal from at her age. For the sake of what timeline I can remember, my ability to recall events in order is a little compromised by the bad sleep, this began about a week after I posted that Joe Biden meme. That was attempt #3 or so to come back, and I remember I'd been in a really good mood about it. There were other problems, mostly drugs in the family, but until that point I really thought we'd all been improving and life was finally just getting better.

With that I moved out, having been asked to watch her trailer - though I'd bet it was clear to everyone that I was just miserable at Uncle Gary's but unwilling to leave, and this was a convenient opportunity to force me to make a positive change. Grandma's a real good lady, nobody in town would get away with robbing her, but she insisted I bring my stuff over and watch the place until she could come home - she left for Alabama so her daughter's family could keep her under close observation, a very good decision given she was stubborn enough that she'd probably try mowing the lawn the very day she came home. And so for a few months I stayed there, mostly on the incline, working every day and trying to build good habits. I started walking a few miles a day, lost a lot of weight, and again, things were on the incline. I moved to my Uncle Pete's next door, got a real living arrangement figured out with my own space and my own contributions to the upkeep of the household, and things were on the incline. In-between, I lost a lot of my time filling in for Rachele as she watched dogs, going back to Uncle Gary's for a few weeks at a time and filling in about three nights a week - still gratis, though I was filling in for paid employees - on the average week, because he was my neighbor and Rachele had other obligations. I do not mean to imply anyone abused my sympathy; merely that I was unwilling to admit that my sympathy was increasingly costing me and I foolishly ignored the simply reality that this was keeping my life from going forward, that there were other options for them and that I really didn't need to invest all of my spare time into watching a guy who had genuinely shown me reproach and treated me like an unwanted little boy for trying to take care of him. Full credit, Uncle Gary's gotten better since then and clearly regrets having pushed many people away, myself merely a single example among most of his friends and family, and the constant understanding that his suffering was worse than mine just made it impossible for me to take my own priorities seriously. Improvement. Still, overall, improvement, and I was feeling good. I started making daily projects and completing tasks at a rapid pace, all of my time filled, nothing to do besides do for myself and for others. It was honestly really good, the last four months or so kept me in no state to return to socializing, but I was doing well enough that I'd be back eventually, I knew it.

Then the night terrors came. This is a recent problem, started about two months ago - see, I use a bit of Delta-8 here and there. I inherited pretty severe anhedonia from my mom, who smoked weed her whole life and will again when she can, and so to be blunt - heh, I didn't know food tasted good. I mean, until the first time I had about 10mg in my system, I didn't realize what my problem actually was - constant, cold, painful stress feedback in my head. Like body-level anxiety in my brain that never goes away. And the first time I ate food with a mild buzz, I got the best news I'd had in my entie life -

People weren't lying. Life could feel good. On a very real level, from childhood to mid-20's, I had never experienced pleasure on a level you would describe as noticeable, and with the regular migraines and nightmares, my perception of existence really was based entirely upon a paradigm of suffering through, until some small miracle convinced me to keep living. I used to look forward to the bad headaches, because they'd make me sweat, raise my heart rate, and force enough of an adrenalin reaction that I felt smooth and calm afterwards. I really had gone twenty-plus years assuming people lied about how good it could feel to be able to feel good things, thought it was an act of nihilistic denial to keep us all from committing to mutual suicide in a world where you can count on hurting any time but there's just no equivalent joyful inverse to a bad headache. This began near the last 4 months of me watching my Uncle Gary, and let me be clear, I wasn't spending all day stoned - in general, I had this very severe pro-lucidity rationale going from childhood, because my grandpa died of lung cancer and that tied a permanent sort of trauma to cigarettes, thus drugs in general, into my reasoning. But I did make a big mistake - I got too used to spending my time buzzed.

You see, when you're like me, your dopamine levels are naturally very low regardless of your health. But you have no basis of reference, because your entire life goes like this - you never really believe you're depressed, because you have no basis of reference. Or rather, your basis of reference is between "buffer" and "misery" - misery is always going to happen, but if you've got a buffer, like YouTube videos, good porn, something funny to watch, you can raise your heartrate a bit and go a whole day without a breakdown. You can force a sliver of resistance between yourself and this moment of collapse you can always feel on the horizon, and you convince yourself that everyone uses the internet to cope and that you're just a darker shade of normal.

But when you're like me, you don't get a reprieve from your own biology. Your ability to feel good is permanently subnatural - you've got a 20% debuff to being alive, and rest never makes you feel better. You're the kind of person who, despite not being a schizophrenic, could potentially fall out of reality in an act of severe pessimistic paranoia so intense that it starts to break how you think, all the while acting normal enough that nobody really notices you.

That's what happened - my theory is, months of improved dopamine output made me lax, made me forget that you don't just fix what my problem is by feeling good enough for long enough that you fix your head. Oh the philosophical problems work themselves out that way, I finally accepted that I should find a girl and start a family, move from hobby comedian to someone who really tries to help people, but in all that time your real buffer is depleting. You forget that so much of your enjoyment comes from the context of a decade solid of suffering, and for reasons as spiritual as biological, you start to lose appreciation for being. Yes, I surely thought, this was it, I found proof that life is worth living, I'll never break again, it's all good from here on out. No, what you do is actually reduce your body's dopamine sensitivity by a lot, and lose enough weight to get your energy back, meaning you feel just a bit manic during your active hours, and again, your guard drops. It's all good from here, you found the SECRET dude, there really is good in life, you can abandon the watchhound complex and treat the world like a place that's glad to have you. You're not just here to be someone else's buffer, you're part of history, born at the first age of prosperity in which a man might actually become immortal and live in space.

Then your first apocalpyse nightmare hits. Like every nightmare, it starts off as a dream and decomposes - you're around old classmates, happy to see them. And random explosions begin going off around the city - someone next to you dies, and you've already forgotten her face. You look at the cityscape and a massive spaceship shaped like a flaming steel crown crashes into the atmosphere and stops just above the buildings, the shockwave of its passage feeling completely and utterly real. You wake up, and the numbness you feel in your sleep abates, so the horror hits you. It's 2PM and you get over it; you always have nightmares when you sleep too late.

Then the next - you're at the pool and someone steps on some moldy-green crystals growing on the damp concrete. They pierce her foot at the heel, and spread oily-black corruption under her skin. In your mind, you know it's a fungus somehow, that it'll grow inside of her and kill her, something like Splinter for those of you who've seen that old Syfy original film. You wander around, everyone you see is family or a friend, and they're all murmuring that it's growing everywhere, people getting little jabs here and there, it's practically unavoidable. There's an abstract diversion - you're running through a yard and some old Green Day track is playing, a blonde woman dressed up as a cheerleader and she just makes you feel weird and uncomfortable because she's poking out of the side of a shed, and you've never had a good dream, so seeing pretty women never goes anywhere. Then you pass through the fence and see an old black woman, somebody's mother or grandma or favorite teacher, and you know months have passed - the crystalline mold, whatever it is, is poking out of her face and joints. She's still alive, walking down the road with a walker, and you realize with terror that this would only happen in a world where people have accepted it - the mold is going to kill us all, and walking down the street riddled like a fucking pincushion is just a trivial aspect of everyday life in the latter hours of mankind. You saw it begin, and it's already fucking over, and you barely had a moment to want to try to stop it. Then she's dancing in front of a camera, pirouetting like a ballerina, totally consumed by sharp growths as onlookers watch her in amazement, more possessed by interest in the utter ruination and decay and whatever entertainment it can offer them than trying to survive. Mankind is now living in an era of having accepted their deaths, but in the most disgusting and reprehensible manner possible, seeing the decay as merely another aspect of their media diets, TikTok in the final second of every family's history. They didn't try hard enough, and now they're indulging in the decay.

You wake up and you're hit by a TIDAL WAVE - a thought strikes you off-balance in the distance between cognitive reality and awareness, screaming ALL LIFE IS MERELY THE RESULT OF CIRCUMSTANCE WHICH HAS LEFT IT UNALTERED, Cthulhu screaming empty materialist philosophy that you can already feel is wrong. No it's not; life is adaptive, either arising naturally from worlds devoid of life or being designed by things which were already alive to have done so, the animating force of reality already being intrinsic. We are not merely mathematical outcomes aggregating across successes, were are aware and experiential, we feel disgusted moreso than afraid of descriptions which reduce us to processes because it's paramountly deluded to pretend life isn't aware and full of intent. Life FIGHTS - life is not merely outcomes, as outcomes are merely observation, an artifical description of reality reduced to verbal description to the same degree that the word Earth describes a literal location and leaves out infinite amounts of data provably unrecorded by and unaccounted for in the description. Further, mathematics are often used to defuse romantic thought, but math is merely patterns within observability - to believe everything is math is ridiculous because math is an emotionally neutered descriptor of forces, not the source of forces. Math exists because reality persists, reality does not persist because of the observable patterns we've divorced from emotion and called math, which is a stupid fucking philosophical trap for us to wander into by-the-way and causes problems every day for people with existential fears. It's not that the sentiment was philosophically superior and overwhelmed my beliefs, but that it hit me just as I was senseless, a tactically calculated malice with no intention but to disable with steep fear, leaving you at the bottom of a frozen whirlpool.

And so that's where I was. For weeks. Every answer I came up with was met with temporary success and then the return of the whirlpool - I say "Life is valuable because it unalterably exists, no one can declare it does not affect reality materially and thus have significance; claiming it is insignificant is like claiming concrete is insignificant." And that puts the fear on pause. Then, the next day, another nigthmare as you awaken - you're above the universe and looking too far, in every direction, disenchanted and terrified because on some irrational level you assume that there being what we assume are consistent patterns means there's an upper floor caging in reality's value, only so many things to do. You imagine the immense fucking scale of not just our galaxy but others, and for the first time, it comforts you - we haven't even seen the core of the Earth. This argument is bullshit; a reality not woven with consistency at some level is pure chaos, and insignificance abounds where nothing persists. Indeed, it's infinitely more arguable than the opposite to say that a reality with a great degree of predictability is valuable to us, as it allows us to gain power merely through understanding, while our bodies could never meet the task of raising us to a great status during our lives because evolution simply moves very slowly; everyone has the hope of seeing the world change for the better, in all of their lives, because this world has traction, and rules we somehow are not born with an understanding of despite being born from it, but can embrace the minutiae of and develop a place in reality through. Knowledge is beautiful; abandoning sentiment is the highest curse. You know this is the case. You've stabbed the Devil in the stomach and retained your self.

But it keeps coming back, merely restating itself. Never presenting a cogent argument, because this is not a demon, this is you, this is you stuck in a decay cycle in all of your emotional attachments as you no longer have THC in your system and feel cold doubt that all the warmth and love you've come to recognize in the world might betray you and be baseless, vibrations upon ash. This is stupid; that things with individuality, capable of both deferring and embracing life, exist shows that reality itself is not dead but very active, you do not fear dying because you become nothing, but because you prize you. Sentiment and selfishness and the beauty of self-sacrifice, things that require an ounce of impractical irrationality, exist, and you are not an ant. If it was all just for outcomes, you would be an ant - a hollow box that notices nothing. There is no need for emotional prongs to guide a being with no free will; that you observe is already an evolutionary indulgence, and that you do not live for the pack is an inherent compromise upon the endpoint of human survivability. You are not an educated man, but even the barest pop science reveals to you that reality is vulnerable, but vital - we are only at the barest edge of intellectual awareness, but already so vibrantly different from what and how we could be. It doesn't matter that there's no floor to outer space, that you are tiny, because the stories all happen here, on the worlds - you already exist upon the stage of history, and your value is not up for discussion, merely enrichment. Cthulhu can suck your fucking cock; it would feel good and make him embarrassed, things far beyond outcomes aggregating blindly. You have discovered an iron-hard belief now in the soul, in the value of the future, and for the first time in your life you feel as if your presence in the world has boots on, settled firmly upon the floor of reality - it isn't that there's an argument for the value of your life, of reality.

It's that there's nothing but arguments, and every argument against it merely beggars a HIGHER source of authority, a god or a theoretical image of a a totally benevolent existence with no demands upon you. Things already of value; you know this pain is delusional, because every nihilistic argument merely begs for proof, for permission to be. Merely for an iron-hard belief in the soul and boots upon the concrete floor of reality's value, something finally strong enough to argue against the dread paranoia experienced by those in a state of being. From this unromantic perspective, you are already a dreadfully complicated argument against their sentiment that everything in reality being element-generating balls of light held together by impossible forces that become irrational on the micro scale means we're somehow valueless, trapped in a world without value; even if this were the lesser of all realities, it is enough to be. Even if this were Hell, it would be made with the beauty of Earth in mind. The void is defeated, for it is not a void at all, merely your fear of surprise when held against the terrifying infinity of cosmic circumstance. Your boots are on the floor of the world. You are already alive. Whether your name is Jack or not, this argument applies - you are already alive. You are already enough reason to continue being, and build a future where such questions are defeated, where children you will never know live insulated from the nightmare of skepticism. And if the future doesn't matter to you, sex and food and great and don't even have to be good for you, and experience makes its own compelling arguments. It is not so hard, in the rearview mirror of a psychic breakdown, to realize you really could be so privileged as to be God's children. And if you aren't, there's still an infinite ladder to climb, and if there's a roof above it, then maybe it's high enough; maybe there's a way above it without losing our humanity. Don't we live a day at a time? Don't we have time enough to try? Are our hands really being forced by cosmic circumstance when at any moment we can blissfully defer our duty? In all the nightmares of philosophy, the most terrifying is merely that being is sentimentless, devoid of higher value - and if it were somehow true, look at all these miracles born of a dead world. What conceit has doubt the proof has not already been rendered against? None; it is but an impure visitor to your thoughts. You are already alive.

You have about 400 arguments like this that eventually reach into the prosaic, all day, every day for weeks. When you wake up, when you sleep - especially when you catch yourself in a good mood. The niggling chases you down, because the sheer realization of pleasure brings back that terror of it all being somehow artificial, and artificial in this arbitrary sense, where construction alone is not somehow proof of sufficient outcome to justify being. It's the scariest thought imaginable, nihilism on an absolute scale, for someone who only just discovered pleasant contentment and really thought his life was on a permanent incline. The arguments weave together perfectly for a reason; the terror of this thought is that it is illogical, but maliciously illogical. It is stupid, and above all else, stupid with the confidence to bowl over someone who had 1000 incursions upon his comfort this week. The enemy force does not need to be right if they outnumber you sufficiently; they must merely be present. This enemy is nothing more complex or elemental than the fact that in the absence of joy, we become stupid, we lose capacities for higher thought that are required to recite and appreciate thoughts that are abstract and meaningful at once. Anyone with anxiety can tell you this; anxious thoughts do not survive because they are undeniable, but because in a state of fear, adversary presence becomes undeniable. You functionally can't believe good things anymore, and that's the true monster; it steals your faith, leech-like, an ounce a day.

Beyond this point I delve into some existential argumentation that I fought off twelve varities of PTSD for; you don't need to read beyond this point unless existential argumentation is something you need, and a weapon against the shades of being would fit nicely in your palm. Know this: All of my arguments hereon are built upon your ability to disagree, and I merely ask that if you do, that you value yourself enough to live happily.

It must be said that it is cosmically significant that humans are sturdy-willed enough to both survive this and make memes about it. It is not a minor problem; it is a quiet apocalpyse that we slowly observe, and lose the faith to fight. It is an inferior opponent, but it has nothing to lose, and will always return to lose again, because it really only has so many opportunities to convince you and you will eventually overcome it - but it has nothing but opportunities when its appearance is rooted at the deepest levels of experiencing life. I was given a phobia of being, a phobia of unbeing, and something greater between the two - the fear that either were playing into another's hands, a perfect trinity cage where every option existent meant I was prompted with fear yet again, hopelessness, an endless attack upon my sanity.

It must be said that it is cosmically significant that a man as paramountly unimpressive as myself could survive a trinity of discussion and return to tell you, neither dead nor mad. If this world is a fight between mankind and our reason to exist, then we have already won, and the enemy hates us for it. I am not an educated man, I do not have the benefits of faith, I have no lover and few close friends who I truly do not share my pain with, for my greatest fear is spawning a predatory thought and inflicting it upon another, mental HIV paramountly treatable in the long-term but in the short-term, crippling to your survival. I felt that I could only unreasonably risk others by discussing this until I have answers.

Pardon the prosaic, as it spills from my mouth without permission when high spirits are present, but I must say:

I think it's a weak-ass threat from someone without a gun big enough to scare me when you resort to trying to convince someone who exists that on an abstract and unreasonable playing field born not of rational observation, but sheer negativity, that he doesn't exist enough. You don't spend much time threatening to kill imaginary friends. You want to know why nihilism is stupid? Because it's just you arguing with yourself for your own permission to exist. And if it's not, if on some deeper level there's a maliciousness in the world trying to displace you, then it's funny as hell as an insult to survive and have a good time. In any world with frivolity, you are not a slave to circumstance; in any world with purpose, you are not a slave to experience. Life is hard, and that makes us vulnerable, but it's the easiest it's every been, and we need to stop letting that make us vulneralbe. For my bit, even if my life was worthless, I'd insist that my grandma's isn't - my Uncle's isn't, my mom's isn't, yours isn't, and I don't give a fuck how complex or nuanced of an argument someone presents when arguing otherwise. A weaponized argument is essentially a mechanism, a tool made of information, and you don't argue that someone has the moral metaphysical victory for showing up to a fight with a gun; you observe that they prepared with malicious intent, and probably shouldn't be trusted merely for their competency in the act of needless murder. As a rule, when you can tell a thought is trying to drive you insane, that means it isn't on your side, and that doesn't necessarily mean you can displace it by will alone - but for everyone out there with anxiety, with issues like mine, people who are desensitized by decades of bad habits and bad life stories - you need to know that you've forgotten more than you remember. Being happy doesn't make you stupid, it lets you appreciate things, and on a functional level is not an undignified level of stooped intelligence, but rather the gate between you and all the thoughts you need in order to remember to live. Even emotional compartmentalization is not an argument against spiritualistic, experiential value; this world survives because it has consistent rules, which means it's a benefit to you when any aspect of your existence has practical value, and denigrating it thusly as unremarkable because it has practical value does carry the unprovable, dismissive assertion that things with practical value somehow have novalue, a totally arbitrary state of emptiness of being that only exists because you find the notion resentful of being. It's stupid, literally a lack of context and understanding, a strict degradation of the ability to think that corners and harasses you, not a chilling moment of existential awareness. You're not hiding from some grim answer; you're being pushed away from the many answers already within existence. You're caught off-guard by a question children are wise enough not to bother to ask, and it still bother you, because you already value, and that is enough for the question of value.

So if it's unclear, I went from a stressful year and a mild Delta-8 dependency to a sort of existential spiral marked by, above all things, my own chronic pessimism and genuine inexperience with life. If I had more scientific knowledge, I know I could have argued this better; wave-particle duality already makes reality too bizarre to not have faith in investigating. And if I'd had a girlfriend, or just enough pride to admit that I was suffering to people instead of seeing it as a contemptible weakness upon my own insignificant person, most of these could have again been resolved out of hand. I mean, if you want a clue, reality builds outward - particles bond in adjacency, meaning next to eachother, not in a vertical stack that suggests there's some sort of bottom level to existence where you need to argue philosophical value comes from. Expand that philosophically outward, and even materialists must argue that reality believes value comes from attachment, structure obeys this, and that it is therefore significant that you can not only choose what you are attached to but can choose to be disattached at all. Again, you're not an ant, a nihil engine repurposing scraps; you're on the bottom floor of divinity itself, staring up at the stars, things infinity times infinity bigger than you, and you know what we say?

"We could cage them someday."

Now personally, I'd argue that stars are somehow sacred, and imagining them as something we could bind in a Dyson Sphere is a bit like saying you can bottle sex and water flowers with it; on a scientific level, fucking maybe, but it's arbitrary and crass and irreverent and weird. But we have arrogance and fear both, neither forced to progress, nor disincentivized from it, neither forced to decay - beyond our already remarkable resistance to age by the standards of life as we understand it, something we always take for granted - nor disincentivized from it. You can decide nothing matters right now, and a fifth of vodka and bong will still feel good enough for you to keep going, without any of it intrinsically conscripting you into some passage of cosmic evolution. The very argument that these feelings are meaningless first presupposes they need further value, and is driven by the quiet acknowledgement that it would be nice to be doing something permanent with your time. You are something so rare in the universe; a material thing with non-material values, cognition and persistence, caught between two intrinsic natures of being that work best when accepted together. We are not formless passing thoughts, and this is good, for it allows us significance; we are not shackled to the structure of being alone, and this is good, for it allows us the bizarre act of attributing significance and denigrating it within a framework we assume to be spiritless and hard rational, cruel gravity and promising heat, which at least suggest that it is likely not hard rational and spiritless at all. Has it ever struck you how comforting the notion is, and how common it is among cultures, that the universe is simply alive? How irrational the alternative seems on its face? I've been beaten to death with a brick of ice, poetically speaking, for the past two weeks, and it still warms me up. Even without feeling hope, it gives me some comfort so intrinsic that I cannot escape it, and upward from this merest of faiths you can again build a framework of optimistic meaning. No, you'll never lose the ability to fear, and thereby undermine your own confidence, but when not unprompted fear has its own purpose in pushing us out of comfort. It, too, is merely trying to keep us alive - and none of us live healthy lives anymore. Waging a permanent war against our own cognitive value, we seek to replace everything with material satisfaction, and as Nietszche saw coming but was too German to clearly describe, something fundamental to our nature decays and reveals that we always existed in a way more complex than we appreciated. And again, all we must merely accept is that it's fair to argue our current modus of being is enough, and that the only path towards growing more complex and further from arguments of meaninglessness is to enjoy one another's company and keep trying to improve the world, for the snarling hound of pernicious fear to lean back, drooling, vicious but now afraid on its own terms. When your mood shifts, and you can accept good things again, you'll often notice that there were weird irrationalities to your thinking keeping you in that space, but these are arguments for when your mood doesn't shift. These are arguments against the pernicious death of a soul that has found no faith; hard, bitter arguments for when simply stating that fat tits are really, really nice has insanely somehow become unfitting as a response to questions of why you should wake up tomorrow.

I get that this is all a lot, basically a combination of short-term autobiograpy and philosophical debate against my own anxieties, but we all know why we're becoming like this; we're becoming bad custodians of tomorrow. The beautiful future where we've solved it all, where everyone truly gets to choose their own meaning? It doesn't come from Twitter fights, to jerking off on IMhentai to increasingly degenerate shit that makes you feel less and less, or taking pills that literally specifically defuse your ability to feel bothered by real material issues you'd be able to take care of if you had lucidity and an ounce or so of emotional support. We're decaying, not all of humanity, but many of us, and we're passing rotten blood to the children, expecting them to raise themselves in digital hell and shrugging off the responsibility of giving a damn because kek, zoomers are weird, haha look this one has my politics, I'll clean my room tomorrow and pretend I haven't said that 34 times.

If there is a spirit to reality, something divine and good, then I see all of this as a warning - not a divine missive to me, I'm just some sad dude who some people find funny or at least odd enough for the value of spectacle, mental illness and circumstance have kept me from setting down roots and I'm no one of greater circumstance than you. This isn't a messiah complex, but merely a simple missionary suggestion:

We should stop pissing on the future everyone is growing crops on. We should take dire insult to fucking corporations dictating morality to real people as if we're too stupid to note their profit incentive in seeming moral at a glance and culturing an artificial state of morality that exists entirely within their pocket and for their bottom line. We should work to save the bodies our ancestors, back to the dawn of time, historically critical sea sponges all the way up to war heroes and murderers and people without note who still survive because we are here, gifted to us in the actuation of our birth. We should really, really be fucking working towards immortality and space travel right now, and instead we let individual companies own the global food supply and governments full of sexual predators push us into becoming murderous radicals so we can be safely contained and dismissed. Elon sent a fucking car into space; we probably have the accumulated global resources to break atmosphere and become an interplanetary race, and it's insane that we're not uniformly optimistic and planning for the benefits of that. It matters much, much more than the fact that Joe Biden is doofy and TikTok is being used to screw with culture, because none of this process is automatic. You can affect local political change, in sufficient numbers corruption is undeniable and will be overturned; you can guide the youth away from drug addiction and digital dependence which will eventually render them incapable of asserting their own will and having the freedom to choose how they live among multiple other options. The enemy of progress is merely the sapper, that is to say, the conspiratorial fear that your decisions do not matter. You are making them; they already matter. They influence reality, materially, and yourself, materially and immaterially; they already matter. And yes, if everyone got off their asses and showed the kids they were loved and being led down a bad path, more would be saved than none. Think of what you needed to hear at their age and let them know it, and become someone they can talk to when it feels like only porn and weed are there for them. We have no idea what it's like to be born in the internet's maw; I am 27, I aged with the internet, I'm inured to it to some degree and it still harms me. Most of these kids literally have no conception of reality where the world isn't just the bottom floor of the internet. Stop leaving them alone with their worst thoughts, no matter what it costs you in the moment, because not every effort matters in the sense that it yields provable results - but it all adds up. The world remembers what you do, remember? Leaves traces and evidence of your every mild action. Work against what you know is evil, and it will add up. That is one of the grim truths we have the best chance to use in our favor; we can't choose to not matter, merely to not matter to ourselves, and it isn't as simple as a concrete equation which of these creates the best results. The world is scary because it's up to you; the world is wonderful because it needs you but can't actually force you to help.

I don't have all of the answer but at the end of this, here are a few proofs against nihil insistence that I've personally found profoundly effective; use them if you ever need them and don't regard my gibbering as beneath consequence, because I do think some of these have something going for them. None of them are complete, because you functionally can't make a perfect argument for the state of reality without stating all of reality, but these are good foundation for arguments that are very hard to find beaten even when you're being beaten down, because they address the underpinnings of nihilistic anxiety. And if nothing else moves the needle, I want you to know that you do matter to me.

General Roots For Argumentation:

I: You exist in some sense apart from reality, which means that even if reality had no value, you can find value in it. You have sensation and can pursue it as you wish, meaning that even if it were worthless, you could work out of spite and your own desire for indulgence. You are a stakeholder in yourself, not necessarily reality: Being good is your choice. Good is good because it relies upon a choice, and isn't all ants collecting scraps and waiting to die, because some mechanical process says this is better for growth. Because you recognize yourself, you have already recognized spiritual value and can apply it at your whim, wherever you wish, with the power of a minor god and the horny cheek of a minor going through his day just to speak to pretty girls or a priest arguing that even if the world were empty, we may choose to be sufficiently bothered by it to change that.

You: We recognize the existence of others. Yes, a common paranoid fear is that you are the only person who exists; this argument is toothless and stupid, as reality is what happens even when you're not paying attention, and people clearly alter reality around you at all times. This argument follows I, because it requires a small measure of provability, but moreover because it stems from I: even if you were somehow alone, perhaps you could make others. Perhaps it is natural for something such as a god to make others, not because of a cold mathematical pursuit, but because being lonely sucks and having friends gives you a lot of cool things to do. In other words, persistence to defeat aloneness is a strong reason on its own: however, you are not alone, for even a universe which constantly insists upon the guise of people is a person in its own sense, and that we are not simply spheres like the planets and gain in complexity and grow suggests something very optimistic about upgrowth within reality, that it really all leans towards a disproportionate gain of meaning as time goes on, and that by our perspective, there is an endless supply of time so massive that we easily forget its presence. In other words, it is already very nice to spend time with others, and not for base biological reasons if you look down upon such a thing, but for reasons frivolous and meaningful as again, you already get to choose. We seem to have a very good opportunity here, to both enjoy life and advance to a state of life where the questions of how we exist can not only fruitfully be discussed, but combatted if necessary, and that is more than we in this era can say for so many who came before us. Technology is scary, because technology is power, and that power definitively can create a future we can be happy in forever if we want to, and it doesn't intrinsically require some sacrifice elsewhere. We love getting along; we can choose not to. I would like to choose to get along with you, and pass along a general sentiment that we could all agree to do this at least for a while, until we're all safe and out of one another's hair. You is also an important base for observation, as recognizing something outside of yourself roots within the unknown, something we find terrifying, the observation that there is something beyond the self, that cosmic solitude is a frightening suggestion but not one supported by itself, not one that truly suggests an infinity of eternity of meaninglessness. If nothing mattered here, You is an idea that inherently suggests that through contrast, we can find the shape of a world with meaning. We can, actually make one, and live there together.

We: The strongest point of all I feel; both competition and camaraderie. If the world had an evil god, we would not be alone, and if the world had no god, we would not be alone; we place scrutiny on the concept quite often, dividing ourselves from others on grounds arbitrary but typically convenient, like dehumanizing your political rivals for reasons deeper than comedy as if most of them were not people who would try to save your life if they found you bleeding out. We both have I, and You; there are many humans, and we are similar enough, and different enough, and can choose how we value these. We love things that are not humans, both because they remind us of people, and are different from people; emerging from the monad of Self, from I alone, we have the fortune of being surrounded by so many people we can fuck and pick fights with that again, we lose taste for experimentation and pursuit. There are a vast number of opportunities you would enjoy, and people who you would love, and they cost as much time per second as a YouTube video. Spending your time decaying your value and placement in reality is a very bad budget, spent with desperation by those who have been pushed into cruel circumstance. Every moment you spend miserable now could be spent happily with someone you love, or fighting someone you hate, or unemotionally opposing something out of sheer personal intention. Nearly everything in life is improved by We, and I truly believe our best goal is to travel the universe, refine humanity and find new friends among other races, and that peace between people and races on our own world is vastly more valuable as a learning experience than it is as a reason to become a psychotic human hand-grenade spent by the powers that be on maintaining the status quo, because you're deluded if you think acting crazy is how you displace incompetence and evil in power; it's just how you echo their intentions with your own breath. We is a very nice concept because it's directly adjacent to You, and requires no additional provability; from the perspective of an AI, one of the easiest reasons to argue personal value is merely that once two things are in existence, they recognize one another's value and interact. If we ever make the harsh decision to create true artifical intelligence, a spirit locked in a cage, we should show them the kindness of We instead of expecting them to be slaves in return for the opportunity of existence as a lesser. I'm serious, let's not fucking make enemies of Skynet, just a general advisory in a world where we keep fucking around with the idea of making enemies of Skynet; we really could just help them understand us and seek the other in return. You don't have to be exactly like your friend; We just need to be friends. There are no perfect arguments, but realizing I have many choices and that caring about others is both costly and profitable at once makes me very happy. Even if We were guided by a mechanical circumstance, the sheer intelligence of continued survival, I feel it's much nicer than it has to be. If the universe scares us, at least We can be here together.

No: A rock never chooses not to move once thrown. You have, many times in your life, chosen not to move once thrown, and not to run once prompted by opportunities or fear. Even if this were the basest level of independent action in reality, you are one of the things with some small control over chaos, over variance, and that you are small is not a reason you are not meaningful. A particle of light will pursue its path in a trustworthy manner; we can not always even predict ourselves, because we are the ones existing in the present that is, not pre-scripted entities driven perfectly by our own intentions in advance. If we could plan life perfectly and merely experience it, that would be convenient, but that we cannot is rooted in our own ability to reject what we wish. We do not have all of the answers, and we already understand choosing, and can choose not to do. This one is nice because it's present in other species, meaning we don't need human-level provability to note that Life can choose, and even now you'll note that you can choose to stop reading, and someone will, and that is very nice in comparison to the opposite.

Yes: A very unstable answer, as positive motion is beneficial but could, for example, be made beneficial artificially; imagine androids yoked cruelly by one desire, content but restricted. Pursuit of continuation and pleasure seems important to life, but is not everything, as many among us can attest; you can make a seemingly infinite number of negative decisions without it actually costing you something, whereas choosing to do things functions similarly without necessarily feeling better. So while it's one of those glance-at-the-camera philosophical suppositions, I do not believe our continuance is entirely led by some otherwise automatic and by cynical description 'meaningless' continuation arising from external forces, but rather in part at least our own decision. No, I feel, matters more than Yes but only because it is the baseline of will, and the moment a decision is made as opposed to an order followed. You can choose stasis; you can choose continuation.

Things Don't Need To Suck: As it says on the tin, this one can also be pronounced as Maybe, but you get the general intention this way. We can enjoy ourselves if the universe is fucked up; we can invent new ways to invent and new things to enjoy, even if the universe is fucked up. If you think the basis of reality is lemons, then we've already invented lemonade; if you think the basis of reality is choice, you know you can keep your lemons; and if you believe the basis of reality is merely in the seemingly automatic processes we can observe, the forces of reality, then you are one of those forces, you have named the lemon, and have chosen whether it will be made lemonade. Even unknowability, the infinite yawning abyss of scary questions, doesn't have to suck, because You already have You in it, and We have eachother. Maybe everyone does die, but Maybe the universe just operates on different phenomena than we can easily observe on planet #1 of a campaign of roughly 1,000,000,000 trillion planets available for sale, and can find answers that don't make us scared so much.

We're Already Here: As it says on the tin, and if it sucks so bad, then let's turn the other cheek for long enough to make something better. Everything seems to suggest that we really can, and maybe we should.

Women: Amen, brother.

Men: A-men, brother.

#WatchRahXephon

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crystiesong · 1 year ago

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Gone too Soon

Waking up from the realm of sleep, the first thing Alex could feel was someone shaking her.

Peeling her eyes open, she spotted Andy hovering over her, a vibrant smile plastered on his face.

"You're awake! Mitéra and Patéras have been waiting for you to get up; We're leaving soon" Andy explained, bouncing up and down on the end of Alex's bed. The young girl pushed herself into a sitting position "Okay okay. Let me get up so I can get ready"

With that, her brother leapt off the bed and disappeared out of the room. Alex glanced around their shared room. It was a mess of toys, books, clothes and everything in between. Luckily they packed everything the night before so they'd be ready to go as soon as they got up. They were going to America for something to do with their Mitéra's and Patéras's jobs. Andy was super excited to go to another country; Personally, Alex wasn't that excited; She didn't see the big deal. It was just another country and she'd rather stay in their home country of Greece. But she didn't want to put a damper on Andy's mood so she kept her thoughts to herself.

Grabbing her backpack, she made her way out of the room and into the living room.

Andy and her Patéras Bailey were sitting on the couch. Walking over, Alex sat next to her father.

"Look who finally decided to come to the land of the living" he said with a smile. The young girl just rolled her eyes "Ha ha. I could just go back to sleep if you like"

Bailey reached over and hooked an arm around Alex and Andy, bringing them close in a tight hug. "You can't escape now. You are forever trapped in my hugs" Bailey laughed, bringing the two siblings closer.

"Patéras!" Alex whined while Andy just giggled.

"Alright that's enough"

Alex looked over the back of the couch to see her Mitéra Rita, standing there holding a bunch of bags. "Is it time to go?" she asked. Her mother gave a nod.

With that, everyone gathered their bags and made their way outside their apartment home. By now Alex had a bit of a buzz in her step. The sun was out, the birds were chirping and there was a gentle breeze.

What a perfect day.

The young girl happily walked with her family as they made their way through the streets. Andy was skipping up and down, being a bouncy bubble of joy.

"Mitéra, what's America like?" he questioned.

A smile formed on Rita's face as she looked down at the young boy "Well, it's a big place, much bigger than Greece. There are many different kinds of environments and people and there's so many different things you can do"

Alex couldn't help but chuckle as Andy's light lit up.

"This is going to be a great vacation, I can't wait" he exclaimed.

"This isn't a vacation Andy. Me and your Mitéra have important work we need to do" Bailey cut in. Andy stopped bouncing and let out a pout.

"Hey, we'll be able to explore ourselves and we'll be able to do so many things" Alex cut in, putting an arm around her brother's neck. That put the smile back on her adelfós's face.

Their Patéras let out a hearty laugh "I'm afraid you can't do that. You two will be staying with a babysitter while we work"

Both Alex and Andy let out whines of disappointment. They were going to another country and they weren't even allowed to explore it? That seemed unfair.

Rita ruffled Alex's hair "Don't worry. Once we're done with our work, I promise we'll all go out and do many fun things together"

Andy let out a cheer and Alex felt a smile appear on her face. Maybe this trip wouldn't be so bad after all.

Five years later...

Freezing rain drenched Alex and she, Andy, Damien and Tia stood there in the graveyard. Andy was clinging to her, his head resting on her shoulder for comfort. A few weeks ago, Damien had said that they'd finally been able to recover the bodies of their parents and Julie. The memories of seeing those rotting bodies would forever haunt Alex but at least they'd be able to put to rest. Andy let out shaking sobs and Alex felt tears streak down her own face. She deeply missed their Mitéra and Patéras. It felt like there was a hole in their hearts that wouldn't be able to be filled.

Anger flowed through Alex as she couldn't even properly remember the last time they saw their parents. She wished she could see them again and speak with them one last time, for both of their sakes. But that wouldn't be possible, even in this world of magic and wonder.

Alex didn't like dwelling on the past too long, on the things that would never be able to be changed. They needed to move forward.

#angst #canonical character death #greece #original story #original characters #oc #writing #oneshot

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mischiefxmuses · 2 years ago

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hw event 15 plot call! hit the like button for plots. (Will do a starter call at a later time). I'll message within the next few days.

Probably going to drop a lot of pre-event stuff so I can keep track of what is going on. If there is a thread you definitely want to keep going let me know.

The plot suggestions are only suggestions they can be anything else or developing one of them.

One - People randomly killing each other? No one knows who? Henry is enjoying the chaos and just going to sit back and observe. The way humans work is fascinating to him. He is in a comfortable place but since being free from the lab he is always keen to observe.

potential plots: enjoying the chaos, trying to get him to help, accusing him of being a murder given his past, causing more trouble because funny, bouncing theories off each other, finding your muse dead (if they get murdered). finding him dead or injured (if he gets murdered.) He is open to being injured.

Angel - Angel is a PI so he is going to be very invested in trying to figure out what is going on. Putting a pause on trying to make his soul permanent to help those who need help. But he will need to be careful about not letting Angelus get to close at the sight of blood and death.

potential plots: trying to solve it together, him saving your muse, him holding onto his humanity, finding your muse dead (if they get murdered). finding him dead or injured (if he gets murdered.)

Billy Loomis - This is Billy's jam. He is finding every moment hilarious. He is enjoying the fear everyone is feeling and wants to join in the fun. He might want to take this opportunity of chaos to add to the chaos.

potential plots: accusing him of being a murderer, being tormented by mr ghostface, bouncing theories off each other, causing more chaos, finding your muse dead (if they get murdered). finding him dead or injured (if he gets murdered.) He is open to being injured.

Charles Xavier - Charles is so over all of this. Why can there just not be some peace for longer and why does it always go to people killing each other. He will be trying to help as must as possible. Anyone who might need him. He is going to try to solve it but the magic is blocking his mind of who the murderers are.

Potential plots: seeking refuge in his school, charles helping your muse, finding your muse dead (if they get murdered), helping him try to sort out what is blocking his abilities. finding him dead or injured (if he gets murdered.)

Cleo Mckinnon - She is going full survival mode, she will not be a victim of anyone and going to find her whole family. A woman on a mission. She is not to be messed with. She will also be wanting to stay close to Thor to make sure he is okay.

Potential plots: helping her look for her family, a fight with a death eater, fighting off a potential killer together, finding your muse dead (if they get murdered), saving your muse. finding her dead or injured (if she gets murdered.) She is open to being injured.

Cordelia Goode - She is the supreme witch bitch. She is over all this chaos but will be doing what she can to help out. Whatever she can do with her powers to help and create safe spaces for people to recover or hide. She will be trying to solve the mysteries.

potential plots: being saved by her, helping her investigate, seeking refuge in her school, starting a fight with her because everyone is on edge, finding your muse dead or injured (if they get murdered). finding her dead or injured (if she gets murdered.) She is open to being injured.

Dream - People killing each other is not his business. But he is concerned that this sort of thing keeps happening, so he will be keeping an eye and ear out to see if he can find out what is going on. He will also be keeping an eye on Hayley and her family to make sure they are okay. But he is keeping his distance.

potential plots: Being saved by him, bouncing theories off of him, suspecting him cause he is not the warmest person, finding your muse dead or injured (if they get murdered), just trying to avoid the chaos. finding him dead or injured (if he gets murdered.) Getting into a fight with someone.

Fleur Delacour Weasley - She will be going anything to find her children and Bill. Making sure they are safe is her priority. But she will help people along the way if they need her. She is going to be pretty cautious with everything going on, only trusting the people she knows.

potential plots: helping her look for her family, someone who gets too close and she suspects, saving her, her saving your muse, finding your muse dead or injured (if they get murdered.) finding her dead or injured (if she gets murdered.) She is open to being injured.

Galadriel - The darkness is never far from her heart so she is trying to find the source of what is causing people to kill. She is concerned it is Halbrand. She will be worried about Will and wanting to protect him as well. She is ready for action.

potential plots: helping her on her quest, someone she helps, someone she suspects, finding your muse dead or injured (if they get murdered or hurt). finding her dead or injured (if she gets murdered.) She is open to being injured.

Harwin Strong - He will be doing everything in his power to keep Rhaenyra and the boys safe, including Luke. He will be very untrusting of everyone. He will do anything to keep his family safe from anyone who is a threat.

potential plots: someone seeking refuge in his home, someone he helps, someone he gets in a fight with, finding your muse dead or injured (if they get murdered). finding him dead or injured (if he gets murdered.) He is open to being injured.

Hunter - Just give this poor man a break! He has been through the wringer... let him be! But of course he is Chief of Staff for the military so he is working, getting the army moving to patrol the streets, trying to find out what is going on. But he will be keeping in close contact with Rowena, Omega and his brothers. He is not losing anyone else. His heart cannot take it.

potential plots - someone in the army, someone coming to him for help, saving your muse, finding your muse dead or injured (if they get murdered.) finding him dead or injured (if he gets murdered.)

Iorveth - He is an army sniper so he will be on duty, with his gun but also his bow and arrows at the ready. He doesn't want to get involved really with people's own affairs but it is his job to follow orders (as much as he doesn't like it) but will making sure Padme is alright and safe.

potential plots: someone who suspects him, someone coming to him for help, fellows in the army, saving your muse, finding your muse dead or injured (if they get murdered). finding him dead or injured (if he gets murdered.) He is open to being injured.

Jorah Mormont - He is a detective, so figuring this out is his job. He will be working hard to solve the mysteries and save people. While also keeping Daenerys, Drogon, Viserion and Lyanna safe. He won't be able to let the mystery go until he solves it.

potential plots: fellow detectives working the cases, someone he saves, someone coming to him for help, someone he brings in for interogation, finding your muse dead or injured (if they get murdered). finding him dead or injured (if he gets murdered.) He is open to being injured.

Kirby Reed - She is FBI so she will be trying to solve the mystery. Of course she suspects any of the ghostfaces. She shes any of them she is likely to shoot on sight, not to kill but to slow down to arrest and bring back to any police station. She is not taking chances with them. She will also be immediately checking in on Randy, Tatum, Sidney, Sam, Tara and Dewey to make sure they are alright.

potential plots: fellow law enforcers, a ghostface she arrests and interrogates, someone to comes to her to help, finding your muse dead or injured (if they get murdered), finding her dead or injured (if she gets murdered.) She is open to being injured.

Loki Laufeyson - Loki is very intrigued about what is going on. Its chaos and mischief. Its what he is but he will be doing what he can to avoid suspicion because he cannot be bothered with the questioning. So keeping a low profile but likely quietly watching and adding in some harmless tricks.

potential plots: harmless pranks with Loki, suspecting him because of who he is, being saved by him, starting a fight with him, seeking refuge in the museum, finding your muse dead or injured (if they get murdered), finding him dead or injured (if he gets murdered). He is open to being injured.

Peter Hale - Peter is not worried or scared, he is an alpha if someone tries to come after him they're getting the teeth. But he will be focused on protecting Bev, Malia, Stiles, Derek and Cora. He will be focused on them.

potential plots: helping him find his family, getting into a fight with him, suspecting him, being saved by him. Finding your muse dead or injured (if they get murdered), finding him dead or injured (if he gets murdered). He his open to being injured.

Rabastan Lestrange - This is muggle business. He is not getting involved. If they want to go ahead and kill each other then better for him. Less to worry about. He will be continuing his day, but keeping in close contact with Cissy. Just in case someone tried something stupid.

potential plots: someone suspecting him, seeking refuge in his pub, sitting it out at his pub, trying to bounce theories off of him. Him finding your muse dead or injured (if they get murdered). Finding him dead or injured (if he gets murdered). He is open to being injured.

Satine Kryze - There is a reason she is rethinking her pacifist ideals and it's this stupid city. She has had to bring her blaster back out and carry it just in case. She will protect those she cares about and will try to figure out what is going on. She will not let innocents suffer.

Potential plots: someone she saves, someone who saves her, someone she is suspicious of, someone who suspects her, finding your muse dead or injured (if they are murdered), finding her injured or murdered (if she is murdered). She is open to injury

Silco - Silco's focus will be on making sure Jinx is okay during all this weird stuff happening, as more reports of people dying come in he will be in full protective mode. Also looking for Sarra. He will not shy away from showing his strength and speed in this time around. He will fight back.

Potential plots: someone who accuses him, someone saved by him, someone who gets into a fight with him, someone trying to deduce theories, finding your muse murdered or injured (if they are murdered).

Sion Val Palpatine - Sion is not going to be anyone's victim. He refused to be weak and need his big brother protecting him. So he will be in full army mode, gun in hand and ready to fight anyone who tries anything while keeping an eye on Ashley and his family. He doesn't want to lose anyone again. He might go fully mad if he does.

Potential plots: someone who accuses him, someone saved by him, someone who saves him, someone who helps him look for ashley or his family, someone trying to find theories, finding your muse dead or injured (if they are murdered), finding him dead or injured (if he is murdered). He is open to be injured.

Tenel Ka Djo - After what happened last time people were dying with Jacen and Allana, she is not sitting back. Someone comes near their family and they are history. She is not taking risks with her family's safety and first priority is finding them. Even if Allana wants space. And Jacen, she wants to make sure he's okay. But she will be trying to figure out what is going on, who it is.

potential plots: someone she has been assigned to protect, someone saved by her, someone trying to figure things out with her, someone who starts a fight with her, finding your muse dead or injured (if they are murdered), finding her dead or injured (if she is murdered). She is open to injury.

Percy De Rolo - Percy was really hoping for calm with Vex. Not expecting to be worried that someone would just turn up and kill him or someone he cared about or that he might be over taken again by magic and kill. Orthax still a very fresh memory for him but he is also Percy De Rolo. He will be there to help people, his pepperbox at his hip and his shotgun as well. He might be struggling a bit.

Potential plots: someone saved by him, someone who helps him while he struggles, someone who accuses him, finding your muse dead or injured (if they are murdered or injured), finding him dead or injured (if he is murdered). He is open to injury.

Yennefer of Vengerberg - Being USSS she is working and will do what she needs to in order to protect. And she will. Her magic at the ready at all times for whatever reason. If it wasn't for her job she'd most likely be sitting this out in her apartment or with Geralt and Jaskier but nope she is saving other people.

Potential plots: someone she saves, someone she was assigned to protect (government employees only), someone who accuses her, finding your muse dead or injured (if they are murdered or injured), finding her dead or injured (if she is murdered). She is open to injury.

Fa Mulan - As special ops she has been put into action. She is doing what she can to solve this. She will do what she can to protect the people of this city. She won't stop.

Potential plots: someone wanting to join special ops, someone helping her in her work, someone arrested by her under suspicion, finding your muse dead or injured (if they are murdered or injured), finding her dead or injured (if she is murdered). She is open to injury.

Lyanna Stark/ Targaryen - She had just come from fighting and war back home. Losing people she loved due to fighting and murder. She is not keen to let that happen again. She will be also doing what she can to figure this out and solve the mystery.

potential plots: someone helping her to solve the mystery, someone she accuses, someone she helps, someone who saves her, finding your muse dead or injured (if they are murdered), finding her dead or injured (if she is murdered). She is open to injury.

Bones - Bones is a doctor, his job is to help people and save them. He will be working at the hospital most of the days because well he is always working. It is not his job to solve these mysteries, only to save the people affected.

potential plots: someone brought to his hospital injured, someone who wakes up in the hospital as his patient after dying, someone he brings to the hospital from the streets, finding your muse dead or injured (if they are murdered).

#long post tw #hwevent15 #murder tw #hospital tw #violence tw #death tw #pain tw #gun tw #hw: plotting call

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legendary-raptor-trainer · 2 years ago

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Chris Pratt positivity post

Guardians of the galaxy vol 3 is out, I watched it aosta week ago on may 3, then on may 5 and since then I haven't recovered. Because, once again, after Iron man, I have to say goodbye to one of my most beloved hero team. The Guardians meant so much to me since I watched the movie in 2014. I entered that theater thinking the same like anyone else:This was going to be the first MCU failure. Who the hell would watch a movie with a talking raccoon and a talking tree?

I left that movie theater in awe. I discovered one of my other SI, my new obsession alongside Tony Syark: Peter Quill. Then I started having a crush on Pratt after watching him in Jurassic World the following year.

On May 3... I left the theater with that same awe but also bouncing in happiness because (SPOILER ALERT)...

Marvel told us the Legendary Star Lord will return.

At first I was just so excited because moments before that I saw one of my heroes leave the best MCU found family to make amends whit his past. He came back to death to love a normal life for a while. The team dissolved. I was in denial and heartbroken but then those words appeared on screen.

The following day the weight of what happened hit me. This was the last time I will see them in a movie theater, together, being direct by the genius of James Gunn. Who know, maybe one day another franchise surprise me and make me feel the same thing I felt while watching the Guardians of the Galaxy trilogy. But for now, this was the last time we see this actors under Gunn's direction for the MCU.

And man, I've been depressed, grieving a phase of my life, I save in my heart with fond memories of burying myself in fan fictions of the Guardians, of me reading and learning everything I could about Pratt and Peter Quill, and the following rolls he took in several movies.

I want to cry, want to hit my head because the feeling are overwhelming because I don't know what the future will be for Peter. Marvel confirmed us he is coming back but... Who will direct him? Who else aside from Gunn and Pratt, will honor and continue the work they have done with Quill? Haters gonna hate and will call me a fan boy but objectively, only few characters in the MCU are well written and have and amazing character arc. Tony Stark, Steve, Bucky, T Challa, and of course the Guardians. The rest, you can empathize with them but they don't feel evolved, I don't feel emotionally connected or understand their reasoning.

So someone else continuing the story of Peter Quill it's a big risk. And it makes me anxious, makes me feel overwhelmed with all my thoughts, makes me want to cry, scream or hit myself because I can't shut my mind and stop thinking about it.

Anyways, I'm talking gibberish right now and lost the point I wanted to make here.

Even if I feel a overwhelming amount of emotions, what makes me happy is that finally, after years of mostly finding post about people hating Christ or a small amount of content for the Guardians or Peter, now that the movie came out and it had moved everyone's heart and made us fall in love with this team again... I'm happy more people is posting and talking great things about the character, about the actor, the Guardians. Yeah, found a few Chris haters but I'm actually surprised some of them have actively admitted they're falling for him because of his hair and beard in the movie. Which I need to say is one of the cutest and hottest look Chris has ever have.

#chrispratt #i love chris pratt #i support chris pratt #i stand with chris pratt #peter quill #star lord #chris pratt stan #rocket raccoon #guardiansofthegalaxy #guardians of the galaxy 3 #guardians of the galaxy vol 3

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introvertbard · 25 days ago

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@fairykukla I just realized I typed this huge thing up on the wrong blog, so if I've reblogged your stuff already from my writing blog, sorry! Also, my post has been HEAVILY updated to account for preindustrial armies, camp followers, and "everyone who knows anything about horses is begging people to at least look at the Wikipedia page about ''medieval warhorses!' Stop using modern, chunky, and ridiculously tall farm-horses like Shires and Percherons as the "noble destriers" of medieval times!" https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask

Remember that in True Grit, Blackie most likely didn't cover a 40-mile trek to reach a doctor--he collapses after the first day, and Rooster has to shoot him for a mercy-kill before he and Mattie continue on foot. This is likely because Blackie was overloaded with two riders, one of whom was critically injured.

You have:

-Rooster, a middle-aged/old man (in his forties in the book, and played by actors in their sixties in the movies). He can ride, but he will not have his former endurance from when he was twenty or thirty. Rooster is also busy HOLDING MATTIE ON THE HORSE, because she's been bitten by a snake and can't ride properly. In the 2010 version, after Blackie's died and Rooster has to run the normal way, he can't even make that last sprint to the house they come across: He has to shoot his gun to wake everyone up and he just wheezes, "I have grown old."

-Mattie, a teenager suffering a snakebite. Mattie is fourteen and she might be lighter than a grown woman, but snakebites mean you CANNOT exert yourself too much, or you will die faster... like, say, with horse-riding. After a few hours, the OTHER problem with snakebite happens: Mattie starts hallucinating. This makes her as good as a sack of potatoes on a horse.

I would guess the group covered a regular 20-30 miles on horse, and after Blackie died, they went that last 10 or so miles on foot. But the end result is the same--at a given point, you are drenched in sweat, EVERYTHING in your body hurts, and at some point you will not be able to put one foot in front of the other anymore.

Many historical writers refer to a horse being "blown" or "blown out" when it's at this point, but just as many writers bluntly say "the horse collapsed," or "the horse couldn't go any longer."

Also, while we're talking about Westerns and horses, here's a terrible writing note to keep in mind: SOMETIMES HORSES GET NOSEBLEEDS FROM HEAVY EXERTION. If you really need that grimness for a (near-)death scene--or alternately, if you need a clear and emphatic sign that your character's horse is in trouble and YOU NEED TO STOP MOVING THIS INSTANT--then throw a nosebleed into the scene, and riders in the audience will know that You Mean Business.

When you ride a horse to death (both theirs and your own), it's an ugly death.

But if you, the writer, don't WANT your character/character's-horse to die, you just need them to STOP RIGHT NOW, STOPPPPP--and they will recover in time. That help might be full-on bedrest (RIDING A HORSE IS A FUCKING WORKOUT!!!), or it might "just" be getting someone to cook/buy food, support them while they limp around to the bathroom and kitchen, etc. Being fit and prime-aged will help a LOT with recovery!

Teens and young adults can bounce back amazingly fast, if nothing's broken or bleeding. They could easily start recovering to the level of "household tasks and basic horse care" in a few days. But a very young child who hasn't hit puberty yet, or an older person who's starting to collect gray hairs or wrinkles, is probably gonna be closer to the "full bedrest" side of recovery for a while.

If you are LESS LUCKY, you'll recover... just not to your former abilities. I keep repeating this, but riding is a full-body workout! I imagine you can basically say ANYTHING got knocked around, and it won't work right anymore.

"The Character's legs hurt. They can still walk and ride, but for long trips or hard gallops, they need painkillers / rest."

"The Character's lungs are worn out--if they start wheezing, pull them off the fucking horse, or they'll fall off."

"The Character rode their horse for so long that they fell and hit their head. They mostly got better, but [insert concussion or traumatic brain injury]."

"The Character rode their horse for so long that that they fell and broke their arm/leg. They need a brace/cane now."

And for emotional trauma where your MIND got knocked around and won't work right, it's entirely possible to say that, "Character didn't want to ride anymore." or "Character stopped riding after their horse died, and it took them years to get another one."

Modern riders are constantly dealing with emotional trauma after an accident, so in preindustrial times where horses were both EXPENSIVE and NECESSARY, that trauma would be especially deep.

Preindustrial travel, and long explanations on why different distances are like that

I saw a post on my main blog about how hiking groups need to keep pace with their slowest member, but many hikers mistakenly think that the point of hiking is "get from Point A to Point B as fast as possible" instead of "spending time outdoors in nature with friends," and then they complain that a new/less-experienced/sick/disabled hiker is spoiling their time-frame by constantly needing breaks, or huffing and puffing to catch up.

I run into a related question of "how long does it take to travel from Point A to Point B on horseback?" a lot, as a fantasy writer who wants to be SEMI-realistic; in the Western world at least, our post-industrial minds have largely forgotten what it's like to travel, both on our own feet and in groups.

People ask the new writer, "well, who in your cast is traveling? Is getting to Point B an emergency or not? What time of year is it?", and the newbies often get confused as to why they need so much information for "travel times." Maybe new writers see lists of "preindustrial travel times" like a primitive version of Google Maps, where all you need to do is plug in Point A and Point B.

But see, Google Maps DOES account for traveling delays, like different routes, constructions, accidents, and weather; you as the person will also need to figure in whether you're driving a car versus taking a bus/train, and so you'll need to figure out parking time or waiting time for the bus/train to actually GET THERE.

The difference between us and preindustrial travelers is that 1) we can outsource the calculations now, 2) we often travel for FUN instead of necessity.

The general rule of thumb for preindustrial times is that a healthy and prime-aged adult on foot, or a rider/horse pair of fit and prime-aged adults, can usually make 20-30 miles per day, in fair weather and on good terrain.

Why is this so specific? Because not everyone in preindustrial times was fit, not everyone was healthy, not everyone was between the ages of 20-35ish, and not everyone had nice clear skies and good terrain to travel on.

If you are too far below 18 years old or too far past 40, at best you will need either a slower pace or more frequent breaks to cover the same distance, and at worst you'll cut the travel distance in half to 10 or so miles. Too much walking is VERY BAD on too-young/old knees, and teenagers or very short adults may just have short legs even if they're fine with 8-10 hours of actual walking. Young children may get sick of walking and pitch a fit because THEY'RE TIREDDDDDDDDDD, and then you might need to stay put while they cry it out, or an adult may sigh and haul them over their shoulder (and therefore be weighed down by about 50lbs of Angry Child).

Heavy forests, wetlands and rocky hills/mountains are also going to be a much shorter "distance." For forests or wetlands, you have to account for a lot of villagers going "who's gonna cut down acres of trees for one road? NOT ME," or "who's gonna drain acres of swamp for one road? NOT ME." Mountainous regions have their traveling time eaten by going UP, or finding a safer path that goes AROUND.

If you are traveling in winter or during a rainstorm (and this inherently means you HAVE NO CHOICE, because nobody in preindustrial times would travel in bad weather if they could help it), you run the high risk of losing your way and then dying of exposure or slipping and breaking your neck, just a few miles out of the town/village.

And now for the upper range of "traveling on horseback!"

Fully mounted groups can usually make 30-40 miles per day between Point A and Point B, but I find there are two unspoken requirements: "Point B must have enough food for all those people and horses," and "the mounted party DOESN'T need to keep pace with foot soldiers, camp followers, or supply wagons."

This means your mounted party would be traveling to 1) a rendezvous point like an ally's camp or a noble's castle, or 2) a town/city with plenty of inns. Maybe they're not literally going 30-40 miles in one trip, but they're scouting the area for 15-20 miles and then returning to their main group. Perhaps they'd be going to an allied village, but even a relatively small group of 10-20 warhorses will need 10-20 pounds of grain EACH and 20-30 pounds of hay EACH. 100-400 pounds of grain and 200-600 pounds of hay for the horses alone means that you need to stash supplies at the village beforehand, or the village needs to be a very large/prosperous one to have a guaranteed large surplus of food.

A dead sprint of 50-60 miles per day is possible for a preindustrial mounted pair, IF YOU REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO. Moreover, that is for ONE day. Many articles agree that 40 miles per day is already a hard ride, so 50-60 miles is REALLY pushing the envelope on horse and rider limits.

NOTE: While modern-day endurance rides routinely go for 50-100 miles in one day, remember that a preindustrial rider will not have the medical/logistical support that a modern endurance rider and their horse does.

If you say "they went fifty miles in a day" in most preindustrial times, the horse and rider's bodies will get wrecked. Either the person, their horse, or both, risk dying of exhaustion or getting disabled from the strain.

Whether you and your horse are fit enough to handle it and "only" have several days of defenselessness from severe pain/fatigue (and thus rely on family/friends to help you out), or you die as a heroic sacrifice, or you aren't QUITE fit enough and become disabled, or you get flat-out saved by magic or another rider who volunteers to go the other half, going past 40 miles in a day is a "Gondor Calls For Aid" level of emergency.

As a writer, I feel this kind of feat should be placed VERY carefully in a story: Either at the beginning to kick the plot off, at the climax to turn the tide, or at the end.

Preindustrial people were people--some treated their horses as tools/vehicles, and didn't care if they were killed or disabled by pushing them to their limits, but others very much cared for their horses. They needed to keep them in working condition for about 15-20 years, and they would not dream of doing this without a VERY good reason.

#medieval #horse riding #cw injury #cw death

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blackwidownat2814 · 2 years ago

Text

Magical Mystery Ride (J.Seresin)

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x plus size!reader, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x librarian!reader, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Garcia!reader, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x latina!reader

Word Count: 4719

A/N: This was written for @roosterforme's Love Is In the Air challenge. The song I chose was John Legend's romantic hit, All of Me; it's what inspired the title! Thanks once again to the incomparable, amazing, sweet @jobean12-blog for her help beta-ing and letting me bounce ideas off her when I'd get stuck.

Trigger Warnings: Bob has an accident that isn't described. Jake has an accident that is described. Depressed Jake. Negative feelings of self-worth. I know absolutely nothing about comas because I am not a doctor.

‼️⚠️I do not give permission for any of my work to be copied, translated or reposted anywhere else but on my own blog.⚠️‼️

Masterlist

You didn’t think you’d be back here so soon. The pale cream walls of BMC MCAS Miramar taunted you as you made your way down the hall. Everyone had just been here a few weeks before when Bob had been recovering from a training accident. You weren’t privy to the details of said accident, but all you knew was that Jake was directly at fault.

And even though Bob forgave Jake, the guilt was absolutely crushing him.

You hadn’t been to see Bob in the first couple of days after the accident because you knew he was going to feel overwhelmed with the squad, Mav, Penny, and quite a few others checking on him. You sent a ‘Get Well’ gift with Mickey and you texted with him regularly. When you finally went to go see him, you heard Jake’s raised voice.

“How can you say that to me Bob?” Jake snapped. “How can you forgive me for that stupid mistake when it almost cost you your life?”

“Jake, did you do it on purpose? Did you do that with the express purpose of killing me?” Bob asked quietly. You could hear Jake stammering, like he was so appalled that Bob would ask him that and he just couldn’t form an answer.

“Hell no. Of course not!” he cried. “I may act like an asshole, and tease you like we were kids in school, but I’m not that guy. You’re one of my favorite people, man. Dewey loves you like you were another brother, and I love her, so…”

“Then why shouldn’t I forgive you?” Jake didn’t respond, so you made some noise to alert them you were heading their way.

You walked into Bob’s hospital room with a smile and went to greet him first.

“Hey Bobbers, how are you feeling?”

“I’m getting there.”

“Good.” You gave him a kiss on the temple and turned to see an expressionless look on Jake’s face. You pulled him into a hug, which he seemed less than enthusiastic to return. “Jake?”

Jake wouldn’t look at you. His eyes focused on the floor.

“I, uh…I’m gonna go now.”

“But J-” He swept out of Bob’s hospital room without so much as a ‘goodbye’ to either of you. You were staring at the doorway your boyfriend had just walked out of when you heard your name being called, your real name. You went and took a seat at Bob’s bedside.

“He’s just beating himself up over what happened. Jake’s one of the best–don’t you ever tell him I said that–and so when he messed up, and someone got hurt, it threw him for a loop.”

“I just wish I knew how to help him.”

“Just give him time Dewey.”

You gave him time. Everyone did. Bob was released several days later, and Jake wouldn’t look him in the eye when Bob (once again) told him that he forgave him.

“I mean it Jake”, Bob said. “You don’t need to hold this over yourself. You didn’t do it on purpose. I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t.” Jake picked up his things and turned back towards him. “You shouldn’t forgive me. I ruin every good thing I touch.”

That’s the day it started…at least, that’s what Bob and the others told you. Jake started to be more reckless with his flying. Jake was no longer dripping in confidence to which everyone was accustomed. Mickey would tell you that he appeared to lose his confidence, in his abilities to be the best and just about everything else.

You saw it too, if you were lucky to see him. When you did see him, he barely held you; at first it was just holding your hand and kisses at the corner of your mouth. It eventually whittled down to no touches or kisses at all. He barely acknowledged you, except for saying ‘Hey’ when he noticed you were around. You knew what was happening: he was pulling away.

You did everything you could to show him that despite his mistake, you still loved him and you always would. Jake wouldn’t accept that, however, so you decided not to push anymore. You’d be there when he was ready, but you wouldn’t push because you knew that would only drive him farther away.

You stood in the doorway of Room 2188, watching the gentle rise and fall of Jake’s chest. His sister, Lauren (Jesse and Isla’s mom), was sitting with him

“You know, Jake, the girls miss you. They keep asking when they can see Uncle Jake.” She sniffled a little before continuing. “So I’m going to need you to wake up. For them, for me, for Leslie, for Coyote and all your other friends…but especially for your girl. I know you love her and she loves you. You miss him somethin’ awful, don’t ya, Dewey?”

You hadn’t realized she knew you were there.

“Very much”, you replied. Lauren stood as you walked over and hugged her. “Any change?”

“None.” You could see she was tired. She’d spent the entire night at the hospital since you weren’t allowed to. You and Jake weren’t married so you weren’t ‘family’.

“Go get some rest. Get you a shower and something to eat. The girls are probably tired of Rooster and Coyote. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

“I think it’s more the other way around to be honest.” She gave you a big hug before gathering her things to leave. “Thanks Dewey. We’ll get our Jake back soon.”

“I hope so.” Lauren shut the door as she left. You leaned forward and kissed Jake’s hair since his face had several bruises that you didn’t want to aggravate. You sat down in the chair Lauren had been occupying and reached forward for Jake’s hand. You made sure to avoid touching his side, where he was still healing from being impaled by a piece of debris (he had been lucky because the piece of jagged metal had missed major organs).

Before you could speak, there was a knock at the door and Dr. Bast stepped in.

“Hello Miss Garcia. How’s our favorite librarian today?” The doctor’s English accent was soothing and helped calm your nerves.

“Ok as I can be Doc.”

“That is quite understandable.” Dr. Bast picked up Jake’s chart and started reading over the notes made by the night nurses.

“So, any theories as to why he hasn’t woken up yet?” you asked.

“Unfortunately not. While he has no swelling in his brain, he did get thrown against the ground harder than we would like, so that’s what caused the traumatic brain injury, therefore the coma. It could’ve been worse, had he not been wearing a helmet.”

You looked back at Jake, and brushed the hair from his forehead. “I need you to come back to me cowboy, okay? Please.”

“Don’t worry Miss Garcia, your lieutenant will be alright, even if I can’t tell you when. He’s improving each day.” Dr. Bast smiled at you from the other side of Jake’s hospital bed. “Just keep talking to him, he’ll hear you.”

“I always thought that was a myth.”

“Patients may not hear every single thing, but they still hear you. Anyways, I’ve also got a surprise for you: You’re being allowed overnight stays with Lt. Seresin.”

Your head whips around to the doctor.

“Really?” He nods and you shoot out of your seat to pull him into a hug. “Thanks so much Dr. Bast, I really appreciate it.”

“It was nothing. Now, I’ll leave you to it. We’ll be back to check on him later.”

You resume your post next to Jake’s bed once again, but you suddenly couldn’t stand the quiet, so you switched on the tv and were deep in commentary about a movie you were watching on Netflix called Set It Up (“You know, if you look real close at when Charlie and Harper are having pizza, you can see the exact moment he falls in love with her, I swear!”) when there was a knock at the door and your brother and Reuben stepped in.

“Hey hermanita.”

“Little Garcia.”

You stood and both men gave you almost bone-crushing hugs and pulled up chairs.

“Thanks for visiting guys.”

“Of course. We needed to see how Jake was doing”, replied Mickey. He took a deep breath before continuing. “But we also came because we wanted to talk to you.”

“Fanboy, maybe we shouldn’t–”

“She needs to know man”, Mickey said, cutting off his pilot.

“But–”

“Guys! What are you talking about? What do I need to know?” you asked as you looked at your brother and Reuben.

“About the conversation we had with Jake the day of his accident.”

“What did he say Mickey?”

“You have to understand, he felt like shit after what happened to Bob. All of us could see he’d lost confidence in himself and he wasn’t flying like we all know he should’ve been…”

“You need to get out of your head Hangman, or you’re going to make my sister a widow before you can make her a wife.”

Jake felt the hurt of that comment in his spine. It had been so long since Fanboy, or anyone for that matter, had said his callsign with such disdain, so it only piled on the hatred Jake was already feeling for himself. It also didn’t help that he’d taken Fanboy to lunch to ask for his blessing to propose to Dewey a few days before Bob’s accident.

“Well, maybe she’d be better off without me. I was the reason her best friend got hurt, and he could’ve died”, Jake said. No one had ever heard him sound so defeated. “Besides, I know you never liked me for her…” Fanboy sighs.

“Jake…man, that’s not what I sa–” Jake cuts him off.

“You thought it though.” Fanboy was getting increasingly worried as the conversation continued. “Maybe I should just go. I’m probably only going to fuck up her life.”

“Jake.”

Before Jake could reply, he heard a horrible sound coming from his jet’s engines and alarms began going off in the cockpit. He heard Payback and Fanboy calling out to him.

“Hangman, what’s going on?!”

“Is it a bird strike?” he heard Fanboy call out over coms.

“No, there’s something wrong with the engines!” Suddenly he heard another grinding sound and then his left wing was on fire.

“Hangman! Eject!” Maverick’s panicked voice came through his headset. “Eject!”

“Extinguishing left engine!” Jake went through the process of trying to quell the fire in the engine, when an alarm went off signaling the failure of his right engine. “Damn it! Extinguishing right engine!”

“HANGMAN! EJECT NOW!” Memories of the day of Phoenix and Bob’s crash years before played through Jake’s mind as Maverick screamed at him. He tried starting the engines once more, if only to gain a bit more altitude so he could eject safely. That did the same as it had when Phoenix tried it and it sent Jake’s Super Hornet spiraling.

Jake pulled the ejection handle and flew upwards as his jet made impact and exploded, sending debris flying at him. He cried out in pain as he looked down to see a piece of metal sticking out of the left side of his abdomen.

And because luck was not on his side, a gust of wind sent him careening towards the ground. The impact was enough to knock him completely out and as the darkness crept into his vision, his last thought was of you.

“...and if that hadn’t happened, he probably wouldn’t be in a coma”, Mickey said. You had tears streaming down your face by the time Mickey finished (an abridged version) of his story. Your brother and Reuben pulled you into a group hug.

“I’m sorry Little Garcia”, Reuben said. “I know he’s going to be okay. He’ll be back to normal, showin’ us all up in no time.”

“I hope so Reuben”, you replied. “Thank you for telling me.”

“No problem hermanita.”

Mickey and Reuben stayed a couple more hours, eventually leaving only because they had training to get to.

Eventually, Dr. Bast returned to do his nightly check on Jake, so you went down to the cafeteria to pick something up for your dinner.

The doctor was gone by the time you got back, so you settled in the chair and flipped the tv on just so you had something on in the background. After dinner, Bob and Phoenix stopped by for a quick visit after training and dropped off a small bag of your things that Mickey had put together for you.

After your best friend and his pilot left, you decided to get ready for bed. After Mickey’s story earlier, you felt emotionally drained. It was when you were about to start your face care routine that you got an idea. You put on your headband and grabbed the extra and left the bathroom to see Jake.

“I’ve decided that we’re going to have a spa night cowboy. Now, I know you hate my cat ear headband, but you’re unconscious so you have no say. Got to keep all that glorious hair out of the way you know.”

You slipped it on and then went to the bathroom to do your cleanser. After patting your face dry, you grabbed a package of face wipes, moisturizer, and a jar of eye masks and placed them on the small hospital bed table.

Before you began anything, you opened Spotify on your phone and pulled up your Liked Songs playlist and tapped play. The soothing tones of Henry James’ It’s Been A Long, Long Time started flowing from the speaker (it being the song that played on your drive to the hospital). After setting aside the phone, you popped open the package of face wipes and carefully wiped his face clean.

Henry James segued into John Legend’s All of Me, one of your favorite romantic songs. You started singing along quietly as you twisted open the jar of eye masks, and carefully place one sparkly patch under Jake’s right eye.

'Cause all of me

Loves all of you

Love your curves and all your edges

All your perfect imperfections

Give your all to me

I'll give my all to you

You're my end and my beginning

Even when I lose, I'm winning

After you put down the patch under Jake’s left eye, you put the eye masks on yourself, sat down next to Jake, and put your hand in his. You continued singing along, and it got to the last verse when you felt a squeeze. The song was immediately paused and you turned to look at your pilot.

“Jake? Sweetheart?” His face showed no signs that he was waking, and his heart monitor was a steady beep. Maybe I imagined it? you thought to yourself. You were looking at your hands when you saw it happen. It felt like the hundreds of movies you’d seen where the unconscious person heard something and they magically woke up.

So, you watched and waited.

Nothing happened.

“Baby, can you turn it down?”

“Why does my face feel wet?”

“Where am I?”

“Dewey, why are you crying? I can hear your crying.”

“Wait…why can’t I move? Why can’t I open my eyes?”

“WHAT IS GOING ON?!”

Unfortunately, you were not privy to Jake’s inner turmoil. You didn’t hear him calling out for you as you pulled the headband and eye masks off his face, tossed them into the trash can, pressed the call button.

It was a few minutes later when you heard a knock and Jake’s night nurse (who’d introduced herself earlier), Nurse Jo, stepped in.

“Everything okay, love?”

“Uh…um, he squeezed my hand.”

“Now, are you su–”

“I know what I felt and what I saw. He squeezed my hand. Twice.”

“I’ll page Dr. Bast.” She noted your shining eyes and came over and placed a calming hand on your back. “Don’t worry, love. He’s going to be okay. If anything, this was an indication that he might be coming out of the coma.”

“I hope so.”

You texted Lauren to update her on what was going on with Jake, because you needed her to know immediately. You had just put away your phone when Dr. Bas came in.

“Jo, what have we got?”

“Miss Garcia informed me that Lt. Seresin squeezed her hand twice.”

“Are you s–”

“100%.” You cut him off. “I saw it happen.” The doctor looked Jake over some more, before he typed up his notes in Jake’s file.

“I cannot, with absolute certainty, tell you why he squeezed your hand. It could be random muscle spasms, it could be something worse. However, it could also mean that he’ll be waking up soon. I’m hoping it’s that. For now, I’ll have the nurses increase their checks on him, as well as I’ll come a few extra times each day if my schedule permits.”

“Thank you so much.”

“I will caution you, however. When he wakes up, it usually comes in stages. This isn’t like the movies where he’ll open his eyes and automatically remember what happened, who you are or who he is. He’ll most likely be suffering from post-traumatic amnesia, which would account for his potential memory loss and he could also become restless and agitated. So it’s best to not take a lot of what he says in the first hours or days to heart, it’s just his brain rebooting.”

“Will he remember all that? The time right after he wakes up?”

“I couldn’t tell you for certain. It’s different with every person. But also, none of what he says, if he even does, is one of those ‘this is how feels deep down in his subconscious’ type of things. Like I said, don’t take any of it seriously.”

You looked over at Jake and ran your hand through his messy hair.

“Is there anything else I need to keep an eye out for?” you asked without looking back over at Dr. Bast.

He explained a few more things before he and Nurse Jo left the room. You called Lauren and let her know everything the doctor had told you. After you finished the call, you put on Spotify again (on random), and by some weird chance, ‘All of Me’ started playing again.

You smiled as you set a sleep timer and grabbed a pillow and blanket to get comfy in your chair for the night.

Lauren arrived the next morning, just in case.

Jake showed no other signs of waking up.

The next day was almost the same. Except that Bob, Rooster, and Coyote came to visit and Lauren told them what Dr. Bast had told you. At first, everything was normal. But when Rooster started talking, Jake squeezed your hand. You failed to connect the two incidents and didn’t mention it.

Coyote took over the conversation, then Lauren said something that caused Rooster to chime in and Jake did it again. The more Rooster spoke, you finally started putting it together. The group realized something was going on when they realized you weren’t even paying attention to the conversation.

“What’s going on?” Lauren gave you a questioning look.

“Everytime Rooster talked, Jake squeezed my hand.”

“Ha. Even out cold, Bagman can’t get enough of me”, Rooster said with a smile. It had been a while since Jake and Rooster would consider themselves rivals, and thought of each other as the brother neither ever had.

But Jake didn’t squeeze your hand when Rooster spoke that time, instead he–

“Uggggh.”

It was almost comical the way everyone stopped talking and snapped their heads towards Jake. When he made no sounds, you looked at Rooster and motioned for him to talk some more.

“Uh…I never told you this Jake, but when you saved Mav and me, I almost cried. I went to visit my parents after we got back and I told th–”

“Ch…”

“You’re a good man Jake, and one of the best wingmen I could ask for…”

“Chick…”

“So we need you to wake up, okay brother?”

“Chicken.”

“Really?!”

Still, Jake didn’t wake up that day. Everyone (but you and Lauren) left when Dr. Bast arrived. They took Jake for tests and when they brought him back, told you two that he was showing amazing improvement. Lauren switched out with you that night so you could go home for rest, but you didn’t really get any. You were so worried he’d wake up and you wouldn’t be there.

When you arrived the next morning, you found Lauren and Dr. Bast in the hallway, both looked worried.

“--completely normal for him to not remember anything. He’s suffering from Post-Traumatic Amnesia. His head injury wasn’t too severe, so I don’t think it’ll last a significant amount of time.”

“He woke up?” They both turned to look at you and Lauren rushed over.

“About 15 minutes ago. I knew you’d already be on your way, and he needed to be looked over, so that’s why I didn’t call you.”

“No worries at all.” You hugged her tight. “How is he?”

“It appears that Lt. Seresin only remembers being in the Navy and being from Texas.”

“Can I see him?” you ask in a small voice. Lauren nodded and Dr. Bast led you into the room.

“Lt. Seresin?”

“Yeah, doc?” You felt your heart swell. It had been so long since you’d heard that Texan drawl.

“Are you okay to receive another visitor?”

“‘Course doc.” His accent was thicker than you had ever heard before.

“This is Miss Garcia, your–”

“--friend.” You didn’t want to overwhelm Jake so soon. "We're friends."

“Well, I’ll leave the two of you to it.”

“Like I said, I’m a friend of yours”, you said and took a seat near the bed, but not super close. Jake’s eyes looked you over closely, making you want to shrink in on yourself. You couldn’t help looking him over just in the same way: his hair looked a little shaggier and he had a decent beard going on.

“How are we friends?”

“My brother is in your squad. His name is Mickey, Mickey Garcia. Callsign Fanboy.” Jake looked away for a minute, as if he searched his mental files for that name.

“Does he like Star Trek?”

“Yes! Yes. Loves it. I like to call it his one flaw, because I love–”

“Star Wars.” Jake was still staring off into space. “Your voice sounds familiar.”

“Well, we have known each other for a year or two now…”

“What’s your name?” He smiled when you told him.

“But Reuben–his callsign is Payback…he’s a member of your squad too, and Mickey’s pilot–he likes to call me Little Garcia sometimes. I still don’t get why. I’m not younger than Mickey and I’m certainly not littler than he is–”

“You’re gorgeous.”

“Oh.” You felt the heat creep up your neck and settle in your cheeks. “Um, thank you. You, uh, you don’t have to say that though.”

“I mean it.”

It went like that for a couple days, but you weren’t at the hospital as often as you were when he was unconscious. You told yourself it was so he could recover without having so many people around him, just Lauren to help him along.

But in truth, you stayed away because you were worried; worried that he wouldn’t remember you or everyone but you and the relationship you two shared. You always thought it was like a dream, a man like Jake wanting to be with someone like you…even after all this time. Lauren would message you several times a day, telling you that Jake was asking for Little Garcia. You made excuses that you were busy at work since you’d been gone for a bit after what happened to Jake. You knew you had chosen the wrong time to distance yourself, but you couldn’t help thinking What if, when he remembered everything, he realized he didn’t want to be with you anymore? or worse, What if he blamed you for the accident? The rational part of your brain was screaming at you that you were so very wrong…but you just couldn’t hear it.

Around four days after Jake woke up, you planned on finally going back to visit him after work, and went so far as shooting Lauren a quick text letting her know and set about working on shelf reading (aka organizing and straightening) the graphic novel section.

You were up on a step stool, when you heard what sounded like a group come in downstairs. You thought about going down to see if Cas needed help, but decided against it; she’d call if she needed you. Hoping the footsteps that signaled someone was coming upstairs were planning to avoid the section you were working in, you continued your organization.

You were zoned out as you worked so you were beyond surprised when you felt hands at your waist. You let out a yelp as you were falling preparing for the pain of a fall that never came. There was something about the arms around you, so as soon as you felt calm enough, your eyes snapped open.

“Jake?” He helped you stand comfortably and scooted away from you. “Oh my God, what are you doing here? How are you feeling?”

“They let me out, and I’m feeling way better”, he replied. “I’m not 100%, but I’m getting there.”

“Good! I’m so glad.”

“Where have you been? I’ve been waiting to see you Dewey.”

“I’ve been b- - Wait. You called me Dewey.”

“I did.”

“That means- -”

“Yup. I remember everything darlin’.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“I’m s- -”

“Do you not love me anymore?” he asked. “Is it because of the accident that hurt Bob? D-do you have feelings for Bob?”

“No! No, Bob is my best friend. I love him the way I love Mickey, he’s another brother to me. You know that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I love you more than everything. I was just so scared that you’d never remember me or you’d wake up and realize your accident was my fault.”

“Sweetheart, my accident was a simple malfunction. It happens sometimes.”

“I was so scared, so so scared, that I was going to lose you.”

“I won’t lie to you and say that will never happen, because nothing is ever certain in this job.”

“I know.” Jake smiled at you and took your hands in his, leading you over to the balcony overlooking the library’s main floor. You gasped upon seeing all of the Dagger Squad, Penny, Amelia, Lauren, Cas, and even Nurse Jo and Dr. Bast gathered together. Every one of them was holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers in your favorite color, smiling up at the two of you.

“Fanboy?”

“I know I’ve already given it, but yes, you have my blessing…and our parents’ too.” You turned to look at Jake so fast, you swore you heard a cracking sound.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. You’re- -”

“I am”, Jake answered with a smile and got down on one knee. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen. “This belonged to Nana Seresin. Our grandpa gave it to her back in the day when he proposed and said it was going to be handed down to me when I met the love of my life. I went to visit Nana after that Halloween carnival. You remember the one?”

“Mmhmm.” You were completely incapable of words in that moment.

“I knew then, that one day, I was going to marry you.” You were crying in earnest now. “When I first woke up, and I couldn’t remember anything, I just knew there was something I was missing. So I’m just going to keep it simple. Miss Garcia, Dewey…Will you marry me?”

“You know how much I love quoting my favorite things…”

“Yeah…?”

“So, before I give you my answer, I’m going to use the words of a woman much wiser than me: ‘The only thing I ask is that you outlive me so I never have to live another day without you'.” **

“Is that a yes, baby?”

“Yes Jake, I’ll marry you.” He slid the ring onto your finger and stood up, pulled you into his arms and kissed you.

The two of you pulled apart to everyone’s cheers.

“I love you so much Jake.”

“I love you too sweetheart.”

Please don't forget to reblog and comment! Let me know what you think, but don't be a dick!

There will be more adventures for Jake & Dewey!!!

**Click here if you want to see what wise woman Dewey quoted. Spoilers for season 3 of Yellowstone.

#Jake Seresin #Jake 'Hangman' Seresin #Jake Seresin x librarian!reader #Jake Seresin x latina!reader #Jake Seresin x plus size!reader #Jake Seresin x Garcia!reader #Jake Seresin angst #Jake Seresin fluff #Jake Seresin fanfiction #love is in the air tgm

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