#not trying to swing back into ed behavior but i need to for this job

[wlw-wombat]

thinking abt how much weight i need to lose right now has me feeling so drained

[edgineering-writes]

The Quiet One opening

I have been doing too much reading of  mediocre fiction lately on Kindle Unlimited. It drove me to want to write again, but because I was looking to challenge myself as well as get back into the swing of writing, I turned to using an AI tool to assist. It made for some interesting masturbation sessions but was otherwise uninspired.  So here I am, looking to write a background for a college age women-love-women story trying to get female perspectives that are believable in a relationship structure I don’t have any chance of personal experience for.

This setting is some mid-sized American college town in the school year prior to the main story of Elara and June. Don’t expect anything really sexual, this isn’t smut. It is an introduction and exploration of characters without conflict. It is writing practice.

~~~~

The below notes are references for myself. These were written by the AI, and as such are going to be only notes, reminders of what character attributes I might try and weave into the intro. 

Elara is a young, shy, yet curious college student who has recently moved into an off-campus apartment to escape the strict confines of dormitory life. She's been exploring her sexuality in the privacy of her new room, often indulging in self-bondage sessions to satisfy her submissive desires. With raven-black hair that falls in soft waves down her back and piercing green eyes, she has a gentle demeanor that contrasts with her hidden kinks. She's an art student with a penchant for the avant-garde, often lost in thought as she sketches scenes of mythical creatures and bound figures in her notebook. Her shyness often makes it difficult for her to express her desires to others, leading her to seek solace in her secret hobby.

June is Elara's outgoing and adventurous roommate, studying psychology with a keen interest in human behavior. She's the life of the party, often bringing friends over and filling their apartment with laughter and music. With a head of fiery red hair and a mischievous smile, she's a stark contrast to Elara's reserved nature. June has a tendency to snoop, driven by her curiosity about the inner workings of people's minds. Her curiosity is both her best and worst trait, often leading her to uncover secrets she wasn't meant to find. Despite her outgoing exterior, she's a caring and empathetic soul who tries to understand the people around her, even if their interests are a little...unconventional.

~~~~

More setting and character notes.

June’s sophomore year, Elara’s freshman year. Elara is digging right into art classes, while getting what general education work done that she must do. June is only just starting to get into basic psyc classes, having spent all her freshman year knocking out gen eds. Elara is in a dorm room with one of June’s friends, maybe in the same building as June?

Do either of them have a job? Elara eventually gets one as a clerk at the art supply store uptown. June? RA? Dorm food service? None? Could I explore June as an RA without diving deep into the D/s side? Maybe?

June declines to pledge; Elara’s roommate does pledge some sorority, leading June to need to find a roommate for next year since she was going to be that. Abigail or Abby.

June starts the year with a boyfriend? Ethan, not good, not bad, just a meh relationship that falls apart in a way that shows some of June’s traits? 

~~~~

The art piece was starting to take shape on her drafting desk, though it was still a far cry from the photo pinned at the top left. Elara sat back with a sigh and put her charcoal pencil down, stretching and trying to work her shoulders. A glance at the clock showed she had been at this still life for over an hour, so she might as well take a break. Brushing back her hair from her face leads to another sigh, she probably should have tied her black hair back to keep it away from her art and not risk a smudge.

Already a few weeks into the year and Spring Semester, and yet Elara is still having to work through the basics of art composition class. Boring bits that eat time and good supplies she would rather be using on fun pieces. Things she could put into a portfolio. Not… fruit on a table in “some lovely setting”. She takes a moment to look over her work, wondering how much her professor will dock her for doing the still life in grayscale. There are more than enough pieces in her folio that show color skills, between contrast, choice, blending and all the other little skills. If she is going to waste her time on this, she figures she might as well get another skill shown; trying to evoke the impression of color and depth in gray.

The sound of keys rattling into the door breaks Elara’s study of the piece, she slides over on her chair to look in the direction of the door as her roommate returns to the dorm. Abigail strolls in and just tosses her bag onto her bed and follows it down, falling into a heap of overly dramatic basic, light winter colors and blond highlights against pink sheets. There is a moment of snark as Elara ponders painting the scene for class and calling it something like Bubblegum Pumpkin Spice. “You good over there, Abby?” Elara tenures, suppressing a chuckle at her art thoughts.

A muffled, “I hate lab days,” issues out from her roommate, reminding Elara that Wednesdays are long days for anyone doing science courses. She snorts and chuckles a little, turning back to the still life, “What, would you rather be hunched over art like I am?”

Abigail rolls over and just stares at the underside of Elara’s bed bunked above her, “No, you can keep that mess, I guess. Just sick of risking my clothes doing chemistry.” Elara looks over to take in joggers, leggings and a simple sweater with a raised eyebrow. Abby looks up and then debates tossing her pillow at Elara, “As if you would know style!” The joke doesn’t sting like it did at first, said without malice, just a difference in how the roommates express themselves.

[medusapelagia]

11 AU-gust: Doppleganger

Rating: Teen and up Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson WT: no one WC: 1548

“This is not funny Eddie.” Steve says looking at the copy of himself that’s looking at him from the living room.

"Why not? I could do all the stuff you don’t want to do!”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! Go to work! Pick up the kids!”

Steve snorts “You’ll get me fired in two minutes and I don’t trust you driving the kids around.”

“Come on!!! I haven’t left this house in months!”

Steve sighs, when he dragged Eddie back from the Upside Down he didn’t know that he was bringing back a different person.

New Eddie is now capable of changing his features as he likes. The only problem is that he can change only into people he knows. That means that every day Steve has to fight with Eddie, trying to make him understand that he can’t transform into Dustin when he is at school because if his mother sees him she will become hysterical.

Or that Wayne still has a job and he would not be happy finding out that he has a twin he never knew.

“Come on, Stevie! Just a few hours of freedom!” He begs him and Steve really can’t resist those puppy’s eyes.

“Ok, ok, but we will go out tonight and you will wear sunglasses and a hat, ok?”

Eddie jumps onto his lap “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’ll be on my best behavior!” Eddie promises and when Steve leaves the house he can already tell that he made a huge mistake, but he promised and now he has to deal with that.

 ***

When he comes back from work he is half dead, Keith made him do the inventory, and all he would like to do is take a shower and go to bed, but he has promised Eddie that they would have to go somewhere and he doesn’t want to break his promise, so he showers quickly and goes back to his room to change. 

He distractedly looks at the pool and he sees something moving.

“Ed?” He calls, but none answers.

He runs down, his nailed bat in his hands.

“Hi, Steve. I’m sorry to disturb you. Were you having fun with Nancy?” Barbara Holland is glaring at him from his pool.

“Eddie, this is not fun!”

“What is not fun?”

Steve turns and the boy is hanging upside down from his balcony.

Steve turns again and Barb is nowhere to be seen.

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“Come on Steve! You promised!”

He did, so he goes back to his room and put back the nailed bat under his bed, ready to leave the house with Eddie.

The boy behind him keeps shifting form “Who can I turn into? One of the kids? Your dear friend Jason Carver? Or do you prefer Billy Hargrove?” He asks, changing his appearance.

“Stop it! It’s not funny!”

“Come on Stevie! Live a little!”

“Stop it!” he demands again.

“Steve! This is not real!”

Steve turns toward Eleven, who has appeared from nowhere.

“Happy thoughts!” She yells while she uses her powers against Eddie.

“Don’t hurt him!” Steve screams, trying to protect Eddie, but Eleven moves him out of the way.

For a moment he hears Robin screaming “Music! We need music!”

“Vecna?” He asks and Eleven nods.

Eddie shifts again and for a moment Steve sees the monster they are fighting “You were so desperate for some love! It was almost too easy to get into your mind.”

Happy thoughts… happy thoughts.

Eleven is at his side and is screaming “Run!”

Steve looks behind him. He could run or he could fight. He never was a good fighter. But that never stopped him.

He runs toward the monster while he thinks about his bat, he feels it in his arms, its weight, its shape.

He hits the monster with all his strength and the illusion flickers for a moment. No more swimming pool, no more Eddie, just the monster that they were desperately trying to fight.

He changes into his father for a moment, then he looks like Barbara and then he becomes Eddie once more.

“Why are you hitting me, Stevie?” He asks with eyes full of terror and Steve’s resolve falters for a moment.

“Don’t let him win!” El screams and he nods.

“This is for Barb!” He swings his bat “This is for Will!” He hits him again “And this is for Billy!”

If they are in his mind maybe he can bring them somewhere safer!

He grabs Eleven’s arm and starts to run from one memory to another.

They escape from three demodogs that growl at Vecna, they see Billy pushing him to the ground, the Russians under the Startcourt, and finally they find a little boy petting a horse.

“When I grow up, I want to be a cowboy.”

An old man a few feet away laughs.

“I’m sure you will, Steven.”

An old song is playing somewhere.

He sees the crack, his friends are calling his name.

“I think that this is my stop.” Steve says turning toward Eleven “Will you be ok?”

“I’m a superhero!” She replies with a little smile. Steve nods.

“Don’t make me wait.”

She shakes her head and he runs toward the crack, falling to the ground.

“Holy fucking shit! Harrington!”

Eddie is holding him tight.

Steve lifts his head, caressing his face “Are you ok Eddie?”

“I think he hit his head too hard.” Eddie says looking worriedly at Robin.

“What do you think about horses? I think I’d like to work in a riding stable.” 

Eddie knows nothing about the months that they have lived together in his mind, he doesn’t know that Steve has held his dying body, and Steve is too tired to explain it to him.

“Hey, hey, hey! Eyes on me Harrington! Eyes on me!” He yells, shaking him, but Steve is too tired and everything goes black.

***

When he wakes up he is lying in a bed inside what looks like a military tent

“What the fuck? Ohi!” he moans in pain.

“Are you awake?”

Steve turns his head toward the voice and sees Eddie sitting at his side.

“Eddie?”

He looks horrible, it seems that he hasn’t slept in days.

“One fucking week Harrington! You made me wait one fucking week!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Eddie gets closer to him “You have slept for a fucking week! We didn’t know if you were going to wake up or not! Supergirl couldn’t find you! You know how worried we were?! Robin stayed here night and day! And these chairs are horrible!”

Steve nods, confused and tired “I’m sorry I make you worried.”

“Why did you ask me about the horses?”

Steve stays in silence for a long moment. Should he tell him about the life they lived together in his mind? Probably not. It will only confirm that he is crazy.

“When I was a child my grandfather had a big mansion in the countryside, and he had many horses. I loved them and I’d like to work in a farm or a riding stable.”

“Steve Harrington working on a farm? Color me surprised.”

“Would you come with me if I did?”

“Why me?”

He smirks “Because I’d like to spend more time with you and I think you would like it.”

He really can see Eddie brush the horses and play with the cats.

“You know what? I think I would! And Wayne and my father grew up on a farm so maybe he could help us. Would you like to play Little House on a Prairie with me?”

“I think I’d like to do too many things with you.”

God, what did they put in his IV?

“When your leg will be okay we could search for a farm. There is nothing left of Hawkins.”

He tries to get up with a whimper but Eddie stops him “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

“The kids! Eleven! How are they?”

“Calm down, there were no casualties. Everyone is fine but there is nothing left of the town we knew. The government moved us into this little camp, you‘ll see your kid soon.”

He lies down on the bed, Eddie’s arms still on his shoulder.

“Why did you stay with me?”

“Someone had to. And I wanted to ask you about the horses.”

“Is that all?”

“Are you implying something, Harrington?”

“What if I am?”

“Let’s say that if when your drugs wear off you still think the same I’ll give you my answer.”

“That’s mean, Eddie!” he complains, but Eddie keeps smiling.

“Oh, sugar, I think you’ll find soon enough that I can be even meaner. Now rest. I’ll call the kids and Robin to tell them that you are awake. And maybe I’ll even call Wayne to ask him about farms and horses. It seems like a nice change of scenario.”

It really does, doesn’t it?

Steve doesn’t know if living with Eddie is going to be as he imagined when Vecna was playing with his mind, but he would really like to find out.

“Will you really ask him about the farm?”

Eddie grins “Of course I will. How could I pass on the idea of seeing King Steve shovel horse’s shit?”

[sixstepsaway]

My rant may have gotten a little unhinged there, so pardon the caps and and wild swerves in topic. You've got a great point in how their interactions show that they know Izzy is mostly talk. And Fang really is worried about poor Izzy's foot, isn't he? Also, in regards to that scene, when injured angry Izzy comes in snarling about the books not being thrown overboard, Ivan looks kinda taken aback. "It's a lot of books, Izzy." Not only is he comfortable talking back, Ivan seems surprised that Izzy would say something like that. I get the sense that while Izzy might be on everyone's ass about work, he isn't generally the type to push people to work harder if they're already doing their job. (I also think this suggests Izzy is afraid of Ed now in a way he wasn't before. They need to move fast, or who knows what Ed might do?) No one's had to deal with forced autocannibalism from Izzy on that crew. And I do know what you mean about the spat and pushing away with Stede. Ed tends to flee when rejected or feeling rejected. But my visions of the future have made me realize something so important. Point 1: We've established poor behavior on both Izzy and Fang's parts in regards to each other, and the need for communication. That means there's a good chance character development stuff might involve them communicating to one another. I have Reasons to believe the Izzy the Spewer incident might come up again as a topic for discussion. Point 2: Confirmed babygirl kinkster who is only capable of expressing physical affection toward men in violently charged interactions frequently pulls large, daddy-shaped man's beard. -dd anon

nonny. nonny. nonny. nonny of my heart. i've been staring at this fucking message since you sent it nonny and i havent gotten any less feral over my brain suddenly opening up and the skies parting and all i can see is izzy/fang. nonny. i had to sit here for this long before i could come up with a reply to the rest, nonny.

Okay, the rest:

I think maybe something that we're not really adding to our thoughts is that we've actually only really seen Izzy as attempting-to-be-first-mate of the Revenge? Not of Ed's ship?

So, as a brief rundown of the Revenge from what we've been shown so far: they are a crew who were scooped up from god knows where, on a ship that's pristine because it was literally built all of a month ago, the crew are being paid wages rather than having to work for their dinner, no one ever actually seems to do ship things except maybe Buttons who seems to have a clue what he's doing but I don't think I've seen him actually work either, and no matter how much some may argue they're real pirates, they all hide behind the ship in 1x01 when the English show up, just like Stede.

Furthermore, the ship's surgeon is actually the cook (and although he's sewed up his shoulder in the past and makes a bangin' orange cake and goes in to amputate Lucius' finger, we don't know that he's actually qualified to be the surgeon), Stede had no idea Jim was "really a woman" (I mean, they're not, but you get my drift for the early episodes), and in 1x02 they forgot to steer the ship, which is why they ran aground.

So when Izzy comes around in 1x05 and is trying to do his job, which is basically to oversee and wrangle the crew into doing their jobs, what he finds is that there are two functional crew members (Ivan and Fang, who they brought along from their ship), and a bunch of folks that... don't do their jobs.

Literally in 1x05 you have Frenchie who went off and put on nice clothes he found from their raid (which is not working, though he did look dapper), Stede and Ed very distracted by the invitation, Lucius and Stede swinging their legs watching Ivan do all the work of going through the bodies for loot, Fang who is--

Wait, hold on. What is Fang doing?

I mean the general, main answer is "attending Ed", which makes sense because they're on someone else's ship and it makes perfect sense to have Fang nearby while Ed and Stede are distracted, just in case something bad happens.

But what is he actively doing in this scene? Is he knitting? Sewing? What? What? WHAT IS HE DOING WITH HIS HANDS? You literally only see him in this shot and I am losing my mind because I want to know what he's doing???? fuck!

Anyway, Fang is off skinning a guy for Ed after this, Lucius and Pete are fucking in the storeroom amongst the food while Wee John takes a nap, Frenchie and Oluwande go over to the ship with Ed and Stede, and when you get wide shots you can see literally no one is working on that ship.

Izzy is losing his shit and yelling at Lucius because every time he turns his head, no one is doing anything. It's a ship! It needs a crew because the crew keep it moving and functioning and clean.

Like, I understand if cleaning barnacles isn't Lucius' job, but someone has to do it?

So Izzy is presented with a ship whose crew is just, not doing their jobs, and all we really get to see is Izzy yelling at them and trying his darndest to actually get them to work, while they're just like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ meh it practically sails itself.

What we don't see is how Ed's ship runs. We don't see how his crew work, we don't see whether Izzy has to yell at everyone on that ship or if all he has to do is hand out a chore roster and everyone does their jobs.

If everyone is doing their jobs and pulling their weight, it's likely that they're treated with the respect they've earned and deserve as working and functioning members of the crew, and that their needs are also seen to, and who would be in charge of seeing to their needs?

Izzy.

Extra points: in the books scene, Ivan calls Izzy by his first name, Fang calls him 'boss', but the tone he uses makes it sound less like a mandatory title like when Izzy tells Lucius he expects sir or first mate hands or god or whatever, and more like he's showing him respect in return, the respect he's earned from that crew.

I get the sense that while Izzy might be on everyone's ass about work, he isn't generally the type to push people to work harder if they're already doing their job. (I also think this suggests Izzy is afraid of Ed now in a way he wasn't before. They need to move fast, or who knows what Ed might do?) No one's had to deal with forced autocannibalism from Izzy on that crew.

This, too. There's "expects the crew to do their jobs" and there's "is unreasonable about it", and there's no actual demonstration that Izzy is ever unreasonable about it. He just wants them to do their jobs and pull their weight!

[halo-jpeg]

Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 1

"Bill, why? Why would you say yes to that party? We don't know him! What if he's some serial killer? What if he tries to get us to do drugs? What if he kills us or lives in a dumpster or something?" Eddie is erratic, his drink still in his hand. They were hardly off the block of the little cafe known as Portland Authentic. Eddie hadn't been too fond of the guy behind the counter, mostly because he had written 'Eds' on his coffee cup. "I mean- we only just got to Portland and you're already going to get us killed or something!"

"Eddie, it'll be fine," Stan is the one to cut in with reassurance, taking a sip from his own cup and somehow not flinching at the taste of the straight caffeine, "Yeah, he was a little energetic but he didn't seem malicious. I think it'll be a good opportunity to get to know some new people." Eddie opened his mouth to speak, but Bill beat him to it, and no one had the disrespect to talk over Bill. That was just... off limits, so Eddie shut his mouth again and tried not to grimace.

"Buh-buh-besides," He started, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other soaking up the warmth of his cinnamon cappuccino, "It'll be guh-good to get out and see what kind of people Portland has to offer." With that, the discussion was closed, and Eddie let it drop with just a sigh, trying to shake away the lingering annoyance clinging to his mind. There were too many good things about Portland to worry about the bad things- in just a few days he would be working towards his dream as a doctor- he had always wanted to be a doctor. When he was younger, he had wanted his career to be within the health arena for the sake of reassuring his mother that he could take care of himself without being stuck behind a desk- now, though, he wanted to become a doctor to prove his mother wrong, to learn all sorts of things that would help him confirm that he wasn't sick, and had never been sick like Sonia Kaspbrak had said he was.

The rest of the walk back home was near silent, consisting of craned necks and obvious gawking- Portland really was gorgeous, and so different from Derry. Rather than the tiny, modest homes Eddie and his friends grew up knowing, almost everything in the downtown area was some form of 19th century architecture or something alike- each building consisted of warm tones, arched windows, grand streetlamps with pots of colourful flowers. Eddie can't even imagine what it must look like in the daylight.

"Oh, here's my work," Stan said, seeming not to have realized what street they were wandering down. The three halted outside of a small flower shop, Roses on Deane, and approached the large, open windows in the front. The lights were out inside, obviously, but it was still possible to make out the shapes of many many bouquets. Stan had managed to score a job a few months back thanks to a cousin who had a friend who owned the place, and though Stan never considered himself a huge fan of flowers, Eddie could see how the place would fit him. At least one of them had a job- Eddie shudders to think that there is yet another huge thing he needs to get done this weekend. If he doesn't have a job by next weekend then he won't be able to pitch in to help with rent. Bill, who had been working at the library back home, had been transferred here too, so he was also getting payed bi-weekly. Eddie was alone in his unemployment, but that was okay. He was smart, and efficient, and he would get a job sooner or later somewhere.

"When do you start?" He asked, finally bringing his rapidly-cooling drink up to his lips. He braced himself for a horrid taste, taking a slow, tentative sip, and almost letting a sound of approval slip past his lips. It didn't... It didn't taste horrible. Peppermint was okay, in his opinion, and it balanced out the bitterness of the coffee just right.

"Tuesday at 5:00," Stan took one last glance through the window, smiling serenely and turning to continue on to their new apartment. Again, the three fell into silence, calm and comfortable. They walked another three blocks before spotting their building, and Bill was the one to pull out an access card to scan at the door. Their bags were already up in their house, and Eddie had even made a few comments on how he appreciated the security. Electronic locks were unheard of to Eddie until today, and he was pleased. Now, he was too exhausted to be pleased. His coffee had him buzzing, and he would force himself to stay awake until his suitcase was unpacked, but he couldn't wait to curl up in his new bed, away from his hometown for the first time in years.

"We'll have to go grocery shopping tuh-tomorrow," Bill hummed half to himself as he stepped into the elevator, clicking the button labeled with a '2'. "We won't have any fuh-fuh-food. I'll buy us breakfast in the morning."

"Thanks, Bill," Stan smiles, "We can make a meal plan, budget things out. Just to make sure we can always make rent." Eddie nodded along, and took another long sip of the minty-bitter drink in his hand.

"We should go look at the campus. I want to find out where my classes are, maybe." Eddie found himself rocking back and forth on his heels, watching the little glowing number above the elevator buttons blink from 'G' to '1' to, at last, '2'. With a ding, the doors slid open, and a dim hallway was presented to them, the lights on low now that it was just about 10:00 pm.

"I want to go see Back Cove Park at some point. The bird watching is great. They have egrets sometimes, and other birds I haven't seen yet. I always go there when I visit- it's like tradition." Stifling a yawn (not because of the bird talk- Eddie was just tired) Eddie nodded his head. In all honesty, a nature walk sounded nice. Already, he was missing the Barrens, the poor dam he remembers building with Bill ages and ages ago. "It's right on the water, so we can go fishing too, or swimming if you guys wanted to. It isn't always as warm as it is tonight, and it's only getting colder, but..." Stan shrugs. They arrive at their apartment door, number 29, and yet again Bill is the one to pull out his key and stick it into the lock, giving it a twist and pushing the door wide open. Eddie steps inside first, flicking on the light and taking in the sight of his new apartment.

The door opened up into a short hallway. To his direct right there was a door leading to a small closet. A little ways ahead, the hallway broke both left and right, the left way leading to the kitchen and living room along with the doors to the balcony and Bill's room- in turn, the right way led to the main bathroom and the two other bedrooms reserved for Eddie and Stan.

"Wuh-well, I guess this is goodnight," Bill says, shutting the door behind him and kicking off his shoes, "We all have a l-lot of unpacking to do, I'm sh-sure." Both Stan and Eddie nod in near-perfect unison.

"Goodnight, you guys. Enjoy your first sleep in our new house." Stan speaks with a grin, staring at both Eddie and Bill with that intense hazel gaze that seems to communicate the intense reality of the situation. The three men had made it out of their childhood town, and now they were living on their own. They really weren't children anymore. Along with that look in Stan's eyes came a heavy feeling of bittersweetness- Derry was gone, now, and with it, Eddie's childhood. He smiled at his two best friends, and then turned down the hallway to greet his room.

-----

"Alright, that's everything," Ben says as the doors to the cafe swing shut and he locks them tight.

"Another job well done, boy! Another fantastic job, I'd say!" Richie throws one arm over Ben's shoulders, and then the other pulls in Bev by the arm. Crushing his two buddies in a double side-hug, he speaks in his almost-perfected MovieTone Newsreel Announcer Voice, disturbing the silence of the dark Portland streets, "You're both quite the caffeine-mixin' maestros, eh? You'll do great things for this world, great things!"

"Beep-beep, Richie. I'm exhausted." Beverly was smiling, sure, but Richie really could tell that she was done with today. He let both she and Ben go, toning down his behavior and pulling out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to each along with his lighter. Ben declined as politely as possible, so Richie and Bev were left to smoke without him.

"You'll get those beers for me, won't you?" Richie asks, taking a drag and relishing in the way the smoke filled his lungs. He should probably quit sooner or later, huh? Maybe one day. "I've got the cash back home. I'll give it to you and you can just go buy whatever you want. Party booze of your choice." Ben let out a chuckle, waving a hand in front of his face to show his dislike of the cigarette smoke. Richie mumbled something akin to an apology.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get it. And don't worry about paying me back, I'll be drinking it too." Richie beamed. With a light punch to the shoulder, he turned his attention to Bev, ready to play a little bit of Cupid.

"You're coming too, right Bevvie?" He asked the question as if it were nothing, oh-so subtly bumping Ben with his elbow. Beverly shrugged.

"Probably. It's basically a sin to miss out on an infamous Tozier party, isn't it?" She placed the cigarette against her lips, and puffed out smoke right after. "What else is happening other than drinking too much and getting the Police called on us for being too loud?" Richie couldn't help but snicker at that. The Police had, on numerous occasions, been called on him for playing his music at ungodly levels, but, I mean, come on, he has fantastic taste and the world needs to know it.

"Who knows, maybe some pin the tail on the donkey? Musical chairs?" Ben and Beverly both let out a snort, the redhead spinning to face Richie with suddenly bright eyes.

"Please," She said with a wide, bright smile, "I would pay to see you get annihilated by Ben."

"Excuse me, Miss Marsh, but I pride myself on being a musical chairs master! I was unbeatable in my fifth grade class!" Placing a feign-offended hand on his chest, Richie guffawed, upturning his nose in mock disgust. Beverly was laughing now, a light and cheery sound almost like the jingling of the bell in the cafe but a little less annoying. The bell also didn't make Ben's face light up, and he didn't want to hear the bell forever.

"Probably because you were built like string cheese, Richie- No offense, of course." Beverly only laughed harder at Ben's quip, and yeah, Richie admits that it was pretty good and about 99% true.

"The best damn string cheese you've ever tasted, Haystack," Richie shot his friend a wink, lifting one foot and crushing his cigarette out on the sole of his shoe, "Now, my dearests, I must depart- nice work we did today, you two!" Richie flicked the butt away, speaking over his shoulder as he set off in the direction of home. "I'll see you both at my party!" He spins on his heel, waving Ben and Bev off with one last peace sign before continuing on into the darkness. Richie hummed a little tune to himself, a pep in his step despite his light tiredness. Oh, how he wanted to get home- the idea of cracking open a soda and sitting in front of the TV sounded pretty damn great right about now. For a Friday night the world was surprisingly quiet- the same wouldn't be said about tomorrow. Toziers were born to party. Richie's dad had thrown some ragers in his teenage days, and so had his mom- now, it was his turn to take on the family name and keep that legacy going. Other than beer he probably needed some snacks, chips or cookies or as Ben had so wonderfully suggested string cheese because who doesn't like string cheese? He made a mental note to go grocery shopping tomorrow and hoped that he didn't forget it.

Richie's apartment came into view, a pretty little six floor building made of a nice red brick. He lived on the top floor and his neighbors probably hated him for reasons that should be obvious enough but he'd yet to be kicked out which meant he still had some boundaries to push. He'd been brewing up a new party playlist for a few days now and he made yet another mental note to throw on 'Dancing Queen'. Richie's humming transformed into whistling as he pulled open the door to his building, waving to the late-night receptionist, a kind young lady who hated his guts and probably thought he was flirting with her all the time when he really didn't even swing that way.

"Good evening, m'lady," He said with a goofy, lopsided grin, earning a scowl over the top of a home-deco magazine, "Quite the swell night it is," He didn't linger long, pressing the call button for the elevator and stepping inside. He tapped '6' and waited, his spirits high, excited for tomorrow. He liked getting ready for parties. He liked the decorations he always put up, the arrangement of the snacks that he put too much thought into, and the anticipation of being the host because that always meant most eyes were on him. Up up up the elevator went, and let out a happy little ding as the doors peeled back open and he went right to his door. Richie pulled out his keys, jamming them into the doorknob and pushing the door open to reveal the space inside. "Honey, I'm home!" He called out the words, arms out at his side in a motion of grandeur. Of course, there was no response, and he kicked the door shut with his heel. Richie tossed his keys onto the little table by the door, toeing off each shoe in turn and leaving them discarded in the middle of the entryway.

"Hey there, babes," His first stop was the fish tank on the kitchen counter, packed with swimming little neon tetra and angelfish and Richie's prized bala shark he named Bella- creative, he knows- to sprinkle in some food. The little jar was just beside the aquarium, and he popped off the lid, shaking it above the open water and watching his little pals swim forth for their dinner. With his lasting grin, Richie let out a chuckle, his heart swelling at the sight of his aquatic children as he set the food back on the counter and took a step away. His own stomach let out a growl, and he realized for the first time that he hasn't eaten since after his last class, way back at 3:00. Popping open his fridge, Richie scanned it's contents- yep, he really needed to go get food tomorrow. There was next to nothing. He settled half-reluctantly on some month-old instant ramen and cooked it up with ease. Richie hadn't had instant ramen in ages, but there was a good amount of nostalgia contained within the simple dish. It had carried him through high school one plastic cup at a time, helping him fight through long nights of studying and even a nasty breakup.

The microwave let out three beeps, calling out 'Hey! I'm done, come eat me!' with each and every one. Richie ate it as he hastily cleaned up the kitchen, throwing dishes in the dishwasher and even taking the time to watch a casserole dish by hand, putting on his playlist but keeping the speakers on a low volume for the sake of his neighbors. No more than 15 minutes passed and then he was done, finally allowing himself to do what he's been anticipating all day. With a Pepsi in hand, he made the couch his home, curling up in a knitted blanket and tuning into 'Friends'. As he watched, one eye always on the TV, he snatched the black nail polish from it's spot on the coffee table and began to paint it over the chipped remnants of what was already there. At some point, after they'd dried, he ended up falling asleep on the sofa.

[copias-thrall]

Can we get an NSFW head cannon with the papa’s+cardinal about which love potions they give their fav sister of sin?

Hi, anon! What a saucy ask! Here we go …

*dubcon*

Papa Nihil: [Ed. I’m going to deviate a little here] He once discovered a potion to bring back lost love from a traveling priestess of Hecate. He was dubious at first, but she gave him a vial with just enough for one dose, which he then surreptitiously put in Sister Imperator’s tea. It worked like—well—a charm. By late afternoon, Imperator was in his office, nothing under her habit but racy red lingerie with garters and a riding crop hidden up her sleeve. She’d made him prostrate himself and kiss her patent Mary Janes while asking for forgiveness. She then made him worship her by having him eat her out on his desk with strict orders he was not to touch himself. Once she was satisfied, she had him kneel at her feet in the nude. Then—as she counted out his Hail Satan’s full of ungrace—she whipped his hard cock with her crop as his penance until he begged her for release. She ordered him to get up and stand against the wall, where she gave him a quick and perfunctory hand job, making him lick his spend off her fingers.

That night, Nihil bought every last drop of potion from the priestess. The priestess left on the next full moon with the warning to use the potion only to coax the cold ashes of their love back into an ember—all of which went into one ear and out the other. Papa is not known for self reflection or a willingness to change his behavior, so he simply got used to putting a drop in her cup every morning. They had a swinging good reunion … until he stopped dosing her (surely she must love him again by now!). No longer under the thrall of the potion, she became suspicious, and when she found the vials …. She became spitting mad and flew at Nihil in a righteous rage, nearly slitting his throat with a wicked letter opener. 

Three Ghouls had to pull her off him! 

In addition to dumping out the contents of the bottles, she made Nihil her slave for the same duration to really hit home what he’d done. (He was smart enough not to tell her that it was actually quite enjoyable for him, especially when the crop made more appearances for correction.) Now, he likes to think they can look back and laugh about it, but everyone else seems to notice her eye twitch when he recounts the “escapade.”

Papa I: He just wants to feel that first blush of ardent, youthful love again. His potion is less about creating false feelings and more about amplifying what’s already there. He invites you to his chambers for a quiet meal, the wine goblets both laced with the draught. After the meal is eaten and the wine is drunk, Papa I leads you to his bedchambers, where he slowly undresses you, reverently. Despite his ostentatious, ceremonial vestments, Papa I isn’t a man obsessed with fine things, so under your habit you’re dressed in simple, cotton undergarments (you tried wearing mesh and lace once, but he only perfunctorily complimented you, then took them off). As he slips off your bra and panties, he makes sure to run a light touch over your nipples and your ass. It makes you shiver, your skin goosepimpling. As he bends to help you out of your panties, he places a chaste kiss on each ankle bone. Then your calves. Then the inside of your knee. Soon he’s kneeling, hands traveling up your haunches, so he can reach first the inside of your thighs before placing a kiss to the lips of your cunt. He’d probably even be happy to eat you out like that, but you pull him up by his vestments—eager to remove them—and the two of you share a deepening kiss before tumbling onto the bed. 

He makes love to you slow and close, whispering praises into your skin—and then the feelings hit you like an explosion. He must feel them too, because all of a sudden you’re both gasping and clutching at each other for dear life. You feel such overwhelming love for this man! The sun rises and the moon set with him, and even if you got excommunicated from the Church, it would be ok as long as you had him by your side. Your climax is a soft, quiet thing even as his has him stuttering and moaning out. Soon, he’s covering your face in kisses, and you realize that he’s crying; so you make sure to kiss each and every teardrop away.

The next day you feel like a truck backed over you. Papa I is clearly in no better shape the way he’s curled in on himself next to you. The feeling from the night before seems just within reach—even if trying to capture it again is like trying to hold fistfuls of sand. Papa is shaking, and you realize it’s because he’s crying, so you roll him into you, letting him bury his tears into your shoulder.

Papa II: His chosen love potion isn’t about making you love him at all—it’s about making sure you don’t love anybody else. He’s going back on tour soon, and he can’t stand the idea that you may fall into another’s arms while he’s away. It’s the night before the before, and he has you strung up in cuffs, your toes just about touching the floor. His teasing is making your twist and turn about, but to no avail. A gloved swipes at your nipple.

“And what’s this?” he asks.

“Yours, sir!” you gasp.

“And this?” he asks again as he squeezes your ass.

Again you respond that it’s his. He repeats his question as he teases every inch of your body. He finally gets to your pussy, tracing a leather finger down each lip before plunging in between your folds.

“And who belongs here?” as asks, now close into your ear as he fingers you.

“Only you, sir!” you cry out.

For once you don’t try to get away as he fondles you close to orgasm. Close to orgasm. He removes his fingers from your clit and his body from yours just when you’re close to tipping over. You wine and try to twist toward him, but he’s just out of reach. There’s a crack on your behind, and then he’s asking you to stick out your tongue. He produces the bottle and puts two drops on your tongue before ordering you to swallow.

He leaves you then, only coming back intermittently to bring you close to climaxing, before leaving you again. You cry and beg for him, but he’s not swayed; he’s never swayed. The next time he comes back, it’s with a brother of sin—one you’ve openly expressed thirst for. The guy is pale, the whites of his eyes showing. Papa II pushes him toward you.

“Well, go on, boy. Seduce her.”

He gives one, last, nervous look at Papa, before he’s in your space. His hands hover before finally settling on manipulating your nipples. And it’s all wrong, it’s not him—not Papa. All you can feel is a strong revulsion toward this boy. You try to twist and squirm away from him—the look on his face pure misery—until Papa II calls out Enough. He dismisses the Brother you once found so appealing—who all but hightails it in a cloud of dust—and comes over to pet and coo at you. He praises you and calls you his good girl. He covers your cunt with his hand.

“Now, my pet—whose are you?”

“Yours! Only yours, Sir!”

His finger slips into you, rests there.

“And whose commands do you follow?”

“Yours, sir!”

His finger begins to move, just a little.

“And if I command you to let a Ghoul administer this potion to you every 48hrs? Will you do so without resistance or complaint?”

“YES, SIR.”

His other hand grips you by the jaw and forces you to meet his two-toned gaze.

“Yes. I think you will.”

After that, he brings you to a screaming climax before he lets you down and fucks your pliant body. He’s nothing if not a stickler, so—after some aftercare and nap—he has you sign an amendment to your contract. You could have told him that his measures were unnecessary, but some part of you is thrilled that his affection for you hasn’t waned.

Papa III: He is all about sexual pleasure. Love schmove! Lust is his sin, baby, and he doesn’t need to worry about someone beating their chest and rending their garments because of him. He just wants to make you feel good. He won’t say how he acquired it—and he uses it sparingly enough—but he has a love potion that can connect lovers intimately. He explains that you both have to take it and exchange … fluids … to connect, but when you inquire as to how it works, he just wiggles his fingers and singsongs, Magic. He places several drops on his tongue, and you stick out your tongue, but instead of putting some on your tongue, he draws you into a deep kiss. He practically sucks your tongue into his mouth as his twists and tangles against your soft palate.

When he pulls away, spit strings still connecting the two of you, he says, “What? Did you think I meant other kinds of fluids?”

You slap at him, and he pretends that you’ve wounded him terribly, causing you to giggle. The two of you begin to hastily undress each other, hindered only by both of you pausing to nip and suck at each other’s flesh as it becomes uncovered. Soon enough you’re both naked and tangled in the sheets and each other. Papa III is a generous lover on his worst days, but tonight the two of you are eager to feel each other through this supposed bond, so the foreplay is a little rushed.

Even so, you’re still wet and ready to go when Papa urges you on top of him. You brace your hands on the heated skin of his chest as you sink down on his hard cock. And that’s when you feel it—a sudden spike of pleasure that you’re positive is not your own (being filled by his cock is always nice, but it usually takes a little more stimulation to get you as amped up as you suddenly feel). Your surprised moan is almost drowned out by the guttural one Papa III punches from his gut. You meant to ride the fuck out of him, but the feeling of his pleasure has your back arching and your head lolling sloppily.

Papa is suddenly upright and in your space, sucking at the exposed line of your neck. Your nails dig into his arms as he bounces you on his cock, and you feel the echo of the pained pleasure of it. Papa moans at the echo of your pleasure at his, and it’s not long before the two of you are raw nerves. You thought you’d both be going at it like rabbits, but the pleasure loop is making it hard for either of you to do anything but grind at each other in slow, deliberate circles. You have no idea how you’re barely moving and yet still such a vibrating, live wire.

The echo is getting closer, louder. You don’t think you’re moving at all, but still your arousal ratchets up and fills you from your curling toes to your open, silent mouth. You thought you’d be able to tell the difference between your pleasure and his, but right now you just feel. You’re like a balloon, and your latex is beginning to stretch and strain. Eyes rolling back, all you can feel is the unrelenting pulse of pleasure as Papa pants and mewls into your skin.

The bubble bursting seems inevitable, but it’s still a surprise when you burst, and somehow this is the best and the worst part of the whole experience. It’s almost too much to feel, too much to comprehend, and you seize up as the white-hot, blinding light knocks all sense and thought from you. Someone’s screaming bloody murder—and at some point you realize it’s you—but fuck if you care. Who even knows what sound Papa III is making, but you’re dimly aware of him mouthing at your shoulder.

It’s hard to tell how long the feedback loop goes on for, but when you begin to regain your senses, you realize that you’re on your side and clasped tight into Papa’s chest. And that’s as far as you get before the exhaustion hits you, and it makes sense—you are feeling everything double after all.

Copia: The problem Copia has is that before Ghost, he wasn’t in such high demand. He was by no means celibate, but the sheer volume of offers just weren’t there. At first, he reveled in the attention—rolled around in it, and rubbed it all over himself—but the shine soon wore off when he began to realize some of his lovers only found his position with the clergy attractive. His wake up call was when—in the middle of heated foreplay—one of his conquests accidentally touched his pudge on the way down to his cock, and they recoiled in disgust. After that, Copia couldn’t stop seeing all the little tells when a lover wasn’t really into him.

Obviously, on tour it doesn’t matter—the groupies are only there for the night, and even the hopeful initiates only really require one taking. But back at the Abbey, it’s a different story. Copia is now hyper aware that any Sibling who shows interest could be faking it. Which is why he uses a love potion on you. You, who were all blushes and ducked heads at first, but are now heated glances and lascivious touches. He just needs to be sure, so he finds a love potion meant to amplify feelings. 

Now, was that 2 drops or 3 …?

You show up at his quarters for a nightcap. It’s been a busy week, and the two of you have only had the briefest of interactions, so this is a welcome invitation. For some reason the drink goes straight to your head, and soon you’re looking at Copia like he’s a tall glass of water in the middle of the desert. You want him desperately, and you manhandle him into his bedroom. The desire to own him, to show him that he’s yours, overwhelms you. You order him onto the bed as you fish around in your drawer for your cock and a bottle of lube. He complies as you buckle your cock around your hips.

As you climb onto the bed, you press him down into the mattress. With lube-slick fingers you test his hole and prep him appropriately as he moans in pleasure. You drape yourself over his back to hiss into his ear, “You’re mine, Copia,” before you push your cock into him. He lets out a moan of ecstasy even as you push his face down into the pillow. Gripping his hips tight, you make sure your angle hits his sweet spot as you thrust into him. He’s scrabbling at the sheets, but you’re relentless in showing him how much you own his body with your cock. The closer he gets, the more grabby you get. Copia is panting and trembling—you can tell he’s close—so you turn on your vibration.

“You make me so fucking hot,” you growl.

With the help of your hand, he’s soon cumming hard—you following close on his heels. Even after your orgasm, the intense feelings of ownership don’t subside; you’re clutching Copia to you and rubbing your juices all over his skin. “Everyone should smell me on you,” you grumble as you try to meld into his skin while grabbing at his flesh. You end up falling asleep like that.

When you wake up, it’s to profound embarrassment—how could you act that way? Of course you don’t own Copia. Why did you do that? He’s still dead asleep, but when you try to leave the bed, he wakes enough to draw you back to him. Feeling guilty, you try and bring up the night before with him—but he just snuggles you closer and says that he could never be mad at someone whose affection for him was true.

[lotustories]

Define: Love

Pairing: Jungkook x F. Reader

Type: fluff, slight angst, slight smut

Warning: rude behavior, vulgar language, mentions of alcohol use and sexual activity, mentions of food, mentions of eating habits.

Chapter Navigation

Chapter 2

Sunday. You had one more free day before you had to start classes. You were less nervous than when you first arrived. The people were welcoming, well most of them.

You found the photography club that you wanted to join the day before. You wanted to apologize for amber pulling you away mid conversation. The door was semi empty, a small blonde walking around with papers in her hands. “Hi, uhm is Jenny here?” You grabbed her attention. She snapped her eyes to you in confusion and shook her head. “No, Jenny is not in yet. Can I help you with something?” She questioned. Small excitement in her eyes. “I just wanted to apologize for yesterday and explain that i rushed a sorority, so I won’t be able to join.” She frowned but nodded. “They don’t allow other clubs, i understand.” She sighed, then gave a soft shrug. “It’s okay, i can tell Jenny.” She offered. “I just know she really needed more recruits so I feel bad.” She shook her head. “We got our needed recruits. We’ll be okay!” She gleamed. “It’s fine ange, we don’t need people like her in our club anyway.” A voice broke your attention away. “I’m sorry, what’s that supposed to mean?” Your eyes met a doe eyed boy. “Privileged rich girls who only care for themselves.” He retorted, sitting down on the desk. “I’m not privileged,” you stutter “uh, who are you?” You blinked. Trying your best not to get defensive. “The kid you ran into yesterday, I’m fine by the way. I’ll survive without the sorry you didn’t give me for running into me and breaking my camera.” He snarled. “Now I have to rent every time this club meets because I can’t just replace things as easy as you.” He continued. “That was an accident, I didn’t do it on purpose.” You looked down at the school camera bag. “Can we start already?” He ignored you, his eyes going to the blonde. “Jungkook, we have to wait for Jenny.” She seemed tense. Awkward by his aggression. “I’m sorry for bumping into you, it want my fault and I didn’t get a chance to stop.” He continued ignoring you. “Please tell Jenny I was interested, but i can’t.” You turned your attention to the girl, a scoff coming from jungkook as he tapped his pen on the table. Clearly irritated by your presence.

Asshole. You groaned as you left the room. Huffing as you walked the hall, you must’ve been distracted by Jungkook’s attitude that you didn’t notice the class room door swing open. Your body collided with it, hard. You suddenly felt hands wrap around your arms to steady you. Your unfocused eyes looking up to the man in front of you. wow. His beauty immediately mesmerizing you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to swing the door open that much.” He smiled as he tried to speak gently to you. “It’s okay, i wasn’t paying attention.” You laughed awkwardly. He had unique eyes, one of his eyelids was a double lid and the other mono. He was beautiful. “You’ve got paint on your cheek.” You motioned to your skin. His cheek covered in yellow paint. He reached his hands up and wiped it. Missing. “Oh, no.” You motioned again. “Still there.” You laughed as he tried once again only to miss once more. “Here.” You hesitantly reaches your hand up to wipe his cheek bone. You wiped the yellow paint on your finger off on your jeans making him squeal. “No! You’ve ruined your jeans.” He panicked but you only smiled. “They’re just jeans.” You looked down to your jeans, the stripe of yellow along your thigh. “What’s your name?” He leaned against the wall. “I’m yn.” He smiled at your name. His boxy smile making your heart flutter. “You?” You nodded, his lip pulling in between his teeth. “Taehyung.” His paint stained hands rummaging through his bag, finally finding what he was looking for. “I have to run, but if you ever are interested in being a model for me.” He handed you a card. “Beauty like you deserved to be appreciated.” He smiled once more before leaving you alone.

It was almost 5pm. In a few hours you were supposed to go on a date with Jimin, so with nothing else to do you went to get ready. Making your way to the showers. Dorm. Dorm. Dorm. Dorm. Dorm. Where the hell were the showers. Yesterday you used the facilities around the school, never the ones in the building. You didn’t think to find them until now. “Are you lost princess?” A familiar voice calling out to you. You turned to find Jimin walking toward you with a towel around his neck. “Where the hell are the showers?” You furrowed your brows in frustration. “This way.” He led you down the hallway, the co-ed bathroom making you come to a halt. “It’s okay, the bathrooms have their own private area. Nobody will see you or bother you.” You gave a hesitant look before pulling your lips into a half smile. Entering the shower to a two part compartment. The first part is like a changing area. A small bench with a curtain leading out and the other side a door. You placed your clothes down and went through the door, spacious for a college shower. Locking the door behind you, you undressed and turned the shower handle. The water flowing effortlessly making your body relax. You stayed in there maybe 20 minutes longer than you should’ve. The hot water turned cold and your entire body refused to get out. By the time you got out, Jimin was waiting by the door. His messy pink hair sticking to his face as he stood there patiently. “Have you been waiting the whole time?” You asked shocked. Jimin’s head peeking up as he heard your voice, smiling at you as you both started walking. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

8 came around quickly, you had dressed nicely. You had no idea where you’d go, so you didn’t want to over or underdress. Jimin waited patiently outside your dorm, dressed in a nice button up with regular dress pants. It suited him so well, his chest slightly exposed as the small chain around his neck brought your attention to his exposed skin. “Wow.” He huffed, eyeing you up and down before meeting your eyes with a wide smile. “Wow Yourself.” really? He motioned for you to walk first, keeping you close by as you walked to the downside of campus. The school was super busy at night. Many kids out, hanging with their newly made friends. Laughing and screaming as College was freedom to many. An escape from home. “So, I know we’re a grade level apart.” Jimin broke the silence. Your attention pulling away from your surroundings. “But I promise I’m not flirting with you to get into your pants. I just want to say that now.” He admitted, his voice nervous. “I wouldn’t have said yes to this date if I thought that.” Your answer made him relax. “Glad to know that just because I’m in a frat doesn’t mean you think I’m a whore.” You giggled at his comment. “Well, to be fair I am in a sorority now. I’m nothing like Jada.” You whispered and he nodded his head in agreement. “Thank god for that.” He held open the restaurant door for you.

“Hi, table for two?” The hostesses eyes widened as she looked at Jimin, but she remained professional. “Reservation for Park.” She gave a fake smile as she clenched the menus in her hand, nodding as she walked us to the table. “Here you are, your server will be with you in a minute.” She put the menus down and walked away. “Are you liked by like everybody?” You joked and he gave a small smile. “I don’t care for them. Most of them want my money, a few want one night stands.” He shrugged. “And you’re used to it? It doesn’t intrigue you?” Your eyebrow raised, he put his menu down. His attention fully to you. “I have yet to have someone catch my attention until now.” You could feel your face warm. “What’s good here?” You bit down your smile. “I really like the pasta.” He smiled, looking down at his menu as he talked about the food. “Hi, my name is Mer. I will be caring for you tonight.” She smiled, her attention on both of you before turning to Jimin to wait for his drink . “I’ll have a water.” He looked to you to order for yourself. “Do you guys have unsweetened tea?” You questioned, you could see the corner of jimins mouth perk up in a smile. “Yes, would you like lemon in that?” Her attention on the pad. “Oh, yes.” You answered. Finally a girl who wasn’t fully interested in Jimin. “Can we add some to my water as well, please.” Jimin interrupted. She shut her eyes tightly, cursing under her breath at herself as she nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry. I should’ve asked.” She paused, licking her lips as she clicked her pen 3 times. “Are you ready to order, or do we need another minute?” She spoke softly. “I’m ready if you are.” Jimin looked to you, his eyes soft as you looked back down. “I’ll have this chicken pasta with the broccoli.” You tapped as she wrote. Jimin looked down to his to order. “I’ll take the steak, medium rare.” She nodded and looked back to him. “and for your side?” She was nervous. This job was new for her. “A Sunday after to share with my date.” He looked at you. A small smile on his lips as he gathered the menus to hand back to her. “Very well, I’ll get this in.” He thanked her as she hurried off. “Way to make a girl feel skinny. I ordered a whole meal. Steak.” You joked as his eyes crinkled. “You are perfect. There’s nothing wrong with loving food, I just can’t eat much because of my stomach.” He admitted. Immediately feeling bad you pouted. “Why not?” He smiled, reaching his hand across the table to hold yours. “Usually, if I eat more than my fist. I get terrible stomach cramps. I try to behave and not eat more than I can handle. It’s just a me thing, sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.” His thumb caressing your hand. “No, why would I feel uncomfortable?” He fake smiled this time. “My last girlfriend hated it. Said I was doing it just to make her feel bad about herself.” You immediately grew angry. “Why the hell would you even,” You paused, lowering your voice. “Thank you for telling me, it doesn’t bother me.” You reassured him. “and it never will. There is no reason for me to be offended by something you can’t control.” He squeezed your hand. before you knew it, your food arrived. The night went quickly, Jimin and you talked and laughed and got along really well. Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. It was time to head back to your dorm.

On the walk back, Jimin held your hand in his. It felt natural as you walked through the campus hand in hand. Since you met he had been nothing but caring and protective. Even if you didn’t ask him to be, he was wary of making sure you were okay. It wasn’t overpowering to the point he made you feel like you couldn’t do things by yourself. He knew his line and stayed behind it. “Classes start tomorrow, you excited?” You shrugged, “Yes and no.” You sighed. “I have to take a club, I wanted to do the photography one, but according to amber.” You paused. “I can’t” Jimin tskd. “Join it, worse comes worse. They kick you out, but truthfully” he paused. “That sorority and frat shit isn’t worth anything. I joined foolishly and I’m stuck in it til I graduate.” He sounded sad. “Do what makes you happy, not what others want. College is freedom to make your own decisions. You didn’t come to school to start listening to a bunch of others tell you what you can and can’t do.” You smiled at him. Both of you standing in front of your door. “Thank you for tonight.” You laughed softly. “I really didn’t expect to be on a date my second day here.” He laughed, his eyes crinkling as he licked his lips trying to bite down on his smile. “I didn’t think I’d be on a date either. It’s been a while, but it feels natural with you. Thank you for tonight as well.” You both stood there for a minute. Unsure of what to do next, but before you could do anything he leaned down. Pressing his lips to yours softly. You flinched at the sudden contact, but you relaxed seconds later. Kissing him back you could feel him smile. “Sorry, I wanted to do that since I met you.” He pulled away. “Have a good night, I hope to see you again soon.” He planted one last kiss on your cheek, before leaving you to enter your dorm. You leaned your back against your closed door, your finger tracing your lips with a smile on your face. His lips felt like pillows, or whatever that saying was when the person had plump soft lips.

Classes tomorrow, but you couldn’t sleep without thinking of jimins lips on yours.

[jq37]

Have you done breakdowns of the last few episodes yet? If not 👀

**spoilers for a new york wedding**

Prologue: I had a partially free day today (as in the day I started writing this which is now two days ago) so I decided to swing by Central Park and check out the Bethesda Fountain where I saw both a proposal and a man on a segway with a live snake around his neck so, yeah, New York is just Like That.

"Here's a possibly magic crown. Why don't we ask the butt stuff guy about that?"

The face Brennan makes when Emily says, "I used to do colonics at the salon," is great. Like, "We are two minutes into this ep, your sentence isn't even complete, and I already can't handle it."

So they get out of the sewers and Bethesda Fountain has been attacked (which is a shame just aesthetically because, having now seen it in person, it's a really pretty fountain). Em is devastated and explains that the fountain is like a Important magical symbol of good change and a source of divine purification magic.

Another side note about the fountain: There are these little cherub figures around it in additional to the Angel. I wonder if those are sentient too. Also-also, the promenade across from the fountain has these cool murals of the seasons. My point is, there's a lot of fodder for possible lore just in that small area of the park.

Misty finds ashes by the fountain (concerning) and wipes it on Kugrash's fur (rude).  

I love that Emily thought Pete was pouring one out (one being one bag of cocaine).

"Sophie, your magic is that you're a wonderful person and you jump really good."

"The Bread Wedding"

Kudos to Brennan for all the wide range of crazy voices he had to do in this ep. Don Confetti. The Golem. Perry the Pigeon. That can't be easy on the throat.

Sophie is fully ready to fistfight Don Confetti over their last names which is wild for a lot of reasons we're not gonna get into.

So Brennan has everyone roll a Wis save and everyone did OK except I think Ricky. Brennan never explains why he had them roll that. Concerning. I'm wondering now if it was something that would have needed a nat 20 to save from it or something where the people who saved didn't realized they saved from it and the people who didn't are just ticking time bombs or sleeper agents or something else awful.

Pete is such a dangerous friend to be around when you're emotionally compromised. His solution to everything is drugs.

"It's an off-white!" --Misty upon being called out for wearing white to a wedding.

Brennan has Perry go on a wild 39 second monologue about relationships that Pete interrupts by stuffing drugs down his gullet--see again my previous bullet about Pete.

Sophie notices that a lot of the pixies recognize her which pm confirms her brother is In This which, to use the word of the day again, *Concerning*.

Emily having Sophie get really emotional but also struggling to keep the laughter out of her face is always super funny to watch.

So Pete finds a table of vampires. Brennan spends a couple of minutes describing them before he gets to it outright but it's pretty immediately clear they're vamps. Well, vamps plus a suspicious older guy and a girl (Melissa) who seems to be playing Renfield to the vamps. Getting high so they can drink her blood and get high. Pete brilliantly confirms this by getting the suspicious guy (Rob, as far as we know) to go off on Politics and then deep mind-reading the girl. That's one of the most clever RP things I've seen a player do. Pete also sees that Rob is hanging out with the vamps but he doesn't seem to be one.

Pete fails his wild magic check but nothing happened that we know of. A lot of stuff on the wild magic table is situational though (like the reincarnate spell from Bloodkeep with the potion Sohkbarr drank).

Rob implies he knows what happened with Pete's dad. Pete goes into a tailspin, as if he isn't constantly in one.

Everyone dancing so they can talk in public instead of just, like, having a sidebar. Just that entire sequence is peak comedy.

Ricky, the good boy, is dancing with his pigeon date while everyone else is mystery solving (or, in Soph's case, crying in a closet or something).

Rob is supposedly in finance. Last time there was a character involved in finance/banking in D20 it was the whole KVX fiasco in FH.

"Did I use up my favor? I could have had anything in the world."

Sophie upon seeing anything young woman in any kind of situation immediately springs into action, ready to drag them out by any means necessary. I love her.

Robert works at a hedge fund and Kug recognizes him. Brennan explains how he knows him in a very vague way which the rest of the table clocks instantly. Murph asks if Rob knows Gabriela. He does. Who the hell is Gabriela, Misty and I wonder.

Emily goes galaxy brain and theorizes that the bad guys are laundering souls which is equal parts bonkers and brilliant. The camera unhelpfully *doesn't* cut back to Brennan so I can attempt to read his DM poker face. I am reminded of Emily wondering if [redacted] was in the sword in a recent ep of Naddpod and Murph just deciding that they were on the spot because it was cooler than what he had planned. I know you can't win at DnD but I think Emily is winning at DnD.

I mentioned this in passing I think last recap, but Pete's magic is really interesting to me because Pete doesn't know what his character sheet looks like and he's not someone like Kingston or Ricky who's been doing their thing for a while and knows that they can do and what the things he can do are called. So Ally has to get a little creative about activating abilities (like True Strike in this ep) without being too meta, if that makes sense.

Kug knows Rob from a while ago (from the 80's he later says) but he doesn't seem to have aged. The group is thinking vampire, but he wasn't drinking blood in the memory Pete saw. Suspicious. Put a pin in that with everything else on my conspiracy board.

Misty: Eyyyy Macarena!

Kug kisses the pigeon. Sure.

Misty/Siobhan also does a clever thing and suggests taking a selfie with the vamp table in the background to see who shows up. Only Melissa and Rob do, so they're not vamps for sure.

So they go back to Kingston's place and he, Pete, and Sophie cook for everyone which has basically nothing really to do with the plot but I think it was a nice character beat for them.

Kingston and Misty fought a mummy on Long Island back in the day. As you do. Sidenote, when I was in Central Park today (two days ago), I passed by a big-ass obelisk that apparently exists and that I am *certain* Brennan has lore for, even if it doesn't come up.

Misty, a very wealthy Broadway star: If you pay for the Metropolitan Museum, you're a Goddamn fool.

Sophie had not put together that Misty is a fairy before now and I was like ??? for a second but, actually, with the info she has, that's not necessarily the conclusion she would draw. She could just be a really short lady with magic. It's been that kind of week.

Kingston presses Kug on how he knows Rob and Kug reluctantly confesses that HE USED TO BE A GUY. Zac blindly guesses that he was a stockbroker which is ALSO CORRECT.

"movie horse breeder" is such a specific job to pull out of thin air.

Siobhan, making a choice: Let me tell you about my good friend, John Wilkes Booth.

Brennan's total break of composure when Zac/Ricky says, "I wasn't always a firefighter." Zac lowkey has the best comic timing of everyone on the squad. He's just really understated about it.

Anyway, there are levels to this. How long has Kug been a rat??? I feel like it must have been a while because of all the weird ass stuff that he does. Also, he excuses a lot of his behaviors due to being a rat considering he's actually a rat-MAN, emphasis on the man. The stock broker thing surprised me more considering that Kug is introduced doing some pretty altruistic, non-stockbroker-y things. Did Kug piss off a homeless witch and get Beauty and the Beast-ed? He never actually answered the question about how he knows Rob since everyone got sidetracked by the fact that he used to be a whole-ass HUMAN MAN. Did Rob curse him for less moral lesson reasons? What's going on here????

Esther and Ale have been researching. The grey baby is apparently named Nod, just like the place, and it (it specifically, not him or her) like the ruler of there.

There's this whole group bit Brennan, Ally, and Siobahn do about how you can take the L train really far and then catch a shuttle bus that can only be seen by the pure of heart to get to Nod and it's really funny but how funny would it be if they actually tried to do it in a dire moment and also Ricky could do it for sure send tweet.

Kingston is trying so-so hard to keep everyone on task all episode. Bless him.

Kug asks Esther about her mom, which surprises her. He says they used to be friends (Did *SHE* curse him????). Esther says she hasn't seen her in a long time, since she was 5 or 6. Of course, it's easy to want to connect this to the Gabriela he was asking about earlier but we'll see about that. I think I saw some people speculating that he's Esther's dad which I'm even more skeptical about considering what we learn later but wouldn't that be wild?

Ricky decides to shoot his shot with Esther. His brain is full of love, determination, civic responsibility, and absolutely nothing else, bless his golden retriever heart.

Brennan as Esther drops the best stealth joke (though, it has a very high likelihood of crossing from joke to plot point) in D20 so far with the Imperial Axiom/Sinatra's Law explanation. It was a full, "Wait. What? Oh!" Big gold star for Brennan for that one. I had to take a second and recover from that when I heard it the first time.  Beyond the joke, it also seems like a likely hook for the eventual Big Bad of the campaign. First NY, then the world, you know?

The fact that the highways go against the grain of magic leylines of NY in this world is such a good detail and it makes a lot of sense intuitively.

Zac breaks Brennan again with the, "Traffic's really bad," comment.

Please let Ricky's big dumb puppy self win over Esther. "It's really hard for me." Riiiickyyyy.

So Kingston goes to see Willy, the Williamsburg golem about Lazarus from the Bible (New Testament). Aren't golems de facto Jewish? I think. I am correct. However, as much as Willy doesn't know about the New Testament, he *does* know about the Statue of Liberty which is convenient because--shoutout to the people who figured it out in advance--Lazarus is not Lazarus from the Bible. It's Emma Lazarus who wrote the poem on the Statue of Liberty. This of course means that I need to do a close read of that poem at some point but not today baby because I need more information before I start going full Pepe Silvia. Sidenote: What a great place for Kingston to be when figuring out that info. Close enough that Willy can just point out the statue. It's cinematic. Fantastic.

(Also, I made a post about the fact that Siobahn just knew Emma's name off the top of her head, but when it cut to the other side of the table, Emily's eyes got all big too).

Emily gets a nat20 which RUINS her plans because she runs into Isabella aka the woman her husband left her for. They have an adult Means Girls stand-off where Sophie finds out they're getting married (or at least having a ceremony bc Dale didn't send her divorce papers yet). Big ups to Emily for staying in character and ditching all the sleuthing she was going to do because there is no way Sophie would be stable enough for that to be her top priority at the moment (even though I really wanted her to do all that stuff!)

Also, I'm looking forward to watching Sophie rip her to shreds when she inevitably turns out to be a succubus/demon/fiend/whatever. Honestly, she can just barfight her and I'd be satisfied.  

So Misty goes home and finds a present waiting for her. It's a big ass mirror. Correction. It's a big ass mirror that Titania immediately uses to angry Skype her. Yikes.

It seems like her shoes of Titania are literally that, stolen from Titania (love that Titania was barefoot in her character art btw). I know they let her cast a certain spell in an earlier episode but I'm wondering why she stole them. Maybe they helped her cross over from Faerie (which happened ~400 years ago we ind out)?

Titania is pissed that Misty is stealing "glamour" that should be hers (via playing her in the new show). Glamour in the fairy sense is like a disguise. Glamour in the DnD sense is a fey-based bard option (which is the class I'm guessing Titania will be if they have to fight her). Curious to get a deeper explanation on that later.  

Misty is able to cover back up the mirror but she breaks a hip in the process because of Titania's mojo and has to call Kingston. I already said this but I love their relationship.

(Sidenote, I meant to mention this earlier, but I think whiffs of the undead came up a couple of times in this ep which makes me wonder if the mummy situation Kingston mentioned is going to come back).

"Please, use any one of the guestrooms."

I FORGOT ABOUT KUG'S STUFF AT THE END

Ugh, this ep is an emotional roller coaster

"Wherever you are Rat Jesus, know that I love you. From Wally." What a good boy. 

Everyone reacting to Murph's reaction to Wally before they Find Out is like, an experience. It's like that airpods meme.

OK, I'm not going to go through a whole play by play because nothing I could say would be better than watching the scene but I guess Murph/Bren decided in for a penny, in for a pound because we find out via a conversation between Wally and his businessman brother David that he is Kug's SON. HIS SON. S O N.

Wally is convinced that their dad wouldn't have just left them. David thinks Wally is being naive. I want to die.

Everyone around the table except maybe Ally is so visibly upset at this new information and Ally goes, "FUCK!" at the end so you know we all express emotions in different ways.

God, it's so sad! And I'm not gonna say, "I knew it!" because I didn't. I super didn't. But when Wally was introduced (man that scene hits differently now) I remember thinking, this is such an oddly specific NPC. Like, you know when you're playing a game and the stuff you can click is slightly better rendered and you can kind of tell what you should focus on and what's background art? That's how he felt.

Anyway, again, I'm sad. (GMYeah!.gif)

Watching *OVER* you Murph. OVER you. That's how you make it not creepy!

Meanwhile, Pete lets a bunch of bug monsters out of his dream into real New York City which, tbh, I'm not surprised. This seems like the kind of thing that would happen. Pete is exactly the worst kind of person to be the dream avatar in terms of being responsible.

I love that Siobhan is like, “I have a broken hip” as if all but one of them don’t have literal magic powers. That’s a very fixable problem compared to other stuff they’ve dealt with that day alone. 

Anyway next time, a wasp centaur (thanks, I hate it) and a nat 20! See you then.

[builder051]

Like the ocean in a fire

For @xxx-cat-xxx.  Nat on Fire 7.0, this time fitting in the Endgame time frame.

Warnings for emeto, ED behaviors (no body issues, though), and mild Endgame spoilers (are we still worried about those?  I hope not.)

_____

Death comes sweeping through the hallway, like a lady's dress Death comes driving down the highway, in it's Sunday best

A fire of unknown origin took my baby away

_____

Earth’s secretary.  That’s what she is now.  Or at least that’s what Nat feels like, sitting with her feet up on the desk, answering video calls and setting up intergalactic board meetings.  She’s role played as the lowly girl with the human resources job often enough to know that this isn’t it, but it’s still too close to comfort.  Or maybe too far away.  Nat would give a lot to backtrack a few years and show up in Pepper Potts’s airy CEO office where the work was easy and the views were good.

Now all she has a view of is the bottom of the bag of peanut butter M&Ms and the cluttered desk below it.  She meant to take it slow, eat one per document she read and call it dinner, but she’s read nothing and swallowed the candy by the handful.  She sighs at herself and shrugs.  Figures.  She’s always been impulsive.

Nat runs her tongue over her teeth, wishing she had more hard sugary coating to crack on the tip of her tongue.  Not because it tastes particularly good, but because it hurts.  Tiny cuts form on the inside of her mouth where the shards of hardened sweetness press into her flesh too hard, allowing the sugar and fat to hit her bloodstream directly, like tobacco under an addict’s lip.

Nat is an addict.  She’s kicked her previous poisons of cocaine and nicotine, but this one seems to refuse to fade.  She swallows a last gritty mouthful of candy and stands up, crumpling the empty bag and all but running for the bathroom.  Her finger is halfway down her throat before she has the toilet lid up, as if going faster will make the action less sinful.  

Nat gags, tasting chocolate and clammy perspiration when her tongue presses against her palm.  She pulls her hand back and vomits freely for a moment, a viscous mix brown and tan stuck to her lower lip until she cuts it with her teeth and sputters.  Blood pounds in Nat’s ears, and she blinks away stars until she has the strength to swallow her hand again.

She only gets it halfway in before something else is pounding, though.  The unmistakable clatter of a powerful fist against the stronghold’s door rings out along with an equally unmistakable shout.  

“Nat?  Open up.”

She doesn’t hear the ‘It’s me’ tagged on the end because she’s too busy cursing, but no matter.  She already knows it’s Steve outside, begging to be let in.  He won’t come in of his own accord; he always waits for Nat to unlock and usher him in.  It would be easy enough for him to take the key down to Home Depot and make a copy, or even to bust the door down and repair it in the same amount of time.  But no.  He waits for Nat.

It’s an expression of respect, just in case he catches her in a compromising position.  Those are the words Steve used the first time he locked himself out on purpose.  “What, like masturbating?” Nat had guffawed.  Steve went a shade of carnation straight out of a box of Crayolas and shrugged, trying to play it off, but Nat knew he agreed with her on one point.  That there was no one left around after the snap worth fucking.

“Nat?”  Long pause.  “You ok?”

She’s not and he knows it, though Steve’s still oblivious to the specifics.  Nat’s barely emptied out half of the offending bag of sweets, and her face and hand are smeared with snot and peanut butter.

“I will break down this door if you don’t answer.  I… I don’t care what you’re doing.”

It probably took a lot of guts for him to say that.  And that means he’s serious.  

“Fuck…” Nat mumbles thickly, using her thumb to scrape gunk from between her fingers.

“I’ll give you till three.  One…”

“God dammit.”  Nat considers smashing her forehead into the tank of the toilet, but thinks better of it.  She’ll have to pay to fix it.  And the door.  And probably Steve, too, once he’s scarred with the vision of what she’s doing.

“Two…”

“I’m coming,” Nat croaks, knowing Steve can hear her even though her voice is soft and crackly.  “Fuck.”  She stumbles on her way down the hall and reaches for the wall to catch herself.  It leaves a gooey handprint on the dull white paint, and the sight of it makes her curse again.

“Nat?”

She scrubs her hand down the side of her pants to get off the worst of the mess, then attacks the doorknob with her shaking fingers.  “Patience, Rogers,” she mutters.  The lock finally clicks and the door swings open.  Nat steps back to keep it from hitting her in the face, and she uses the momentary shadow to wipe her face in the crook of her elbow.  “What?”

“Are...are you ok?”

Nat doesn’t make eye contact.  It hits her that she’s the definition of unprofessional in sweats and a camisole, hair down, and the unspeakable still sticky on her hands.  It’s especially bad compared to Steve’s neat khakis.  Nat wonders for a moment if she’s ever seen him in jeans.  She supposes she must have, but can’t put a finger on the time or place.

“You’re not ok.”  It isn’t a question this time.

“I’m fine,” Nat coughs defiantly.  “Just…” She searches for something to say to reassure him, but she knows it’s no use.  “Just mind your own business, Rogers.”

“Ok, ok.”  Steve takes a step backward, expertly avoiding the uneven terrain of the doormat.  “I promise I will, just as soon as I’m sure you’re alright.”  He squints at Nat as if looking through her.  Nat hopes he isn’t, because there are bottles of Delsym and Smirnoff on the desk along with the empty M&Ms bag.

“I’m fine,” Nat mutters again.  But as she speaks, something hot and bitter rises in the back of her throat.  There’s no warning wave of nausea, just a rush of thick and sticky that winds up on the floor between her stocking feet.

“Nat?”  Steve grabs her by one skinny arm to keep her from toppling over.  He seems unphased by the sickness, just over involved like usual.  “Ok.  Uh, come on.”  He spins Nat sideways with a delicate motion and sweeps her legs out from under her.  Nat’s lost for a second, then realizes she’s being carried in a bridal hold.  

“What happened?”  Steve pauses in front of the offending handprint on the wall, then sets her down in the doorway of the bathroom.

“What do you think, dumbass?”  Nat sniffles and gulps, wishing she felt sick enough to vomit again and not just the annoyingly queasy in-between.  “Compromising--” she pauses to quell a belch.  “Position.”

“Oh.”  It’s clearly  not what Steve expected.  He starts to go red in the cheeks, but he goes pale instead when Nat feels herself blanch.  

“Get out of here, ok?”  Nat gives him a shove and turns back to the toilet for a fruitless gag.  She has her fingers in her mouth again before she can stop herself, bending deeply at the waist to get gravity on her side.  The door clicks shut, and she breathes out a sigh of relief until a hand appears on her back and realizes Steve’s on the wrong side of it.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he whispers, supporting Nat’s ass with one hip so as to be as decorous as possible.  He snakes one arm around her waist and thumps her on the back with the other hand.  “But you do have to get it all up.”

“God, what do you think I did?  OD?” Nat hacks between heaves.

“Only if your drug of choice is peanut butter.”  Steve doesn’t laugh, but he leaves the space for one.  

“Right.”  Nat sputters until the dregs of mucous are gone from her lips, then flushes the toilet with her sticky fingers.  “Lemme go.”

“Only if you promise not to fall.”

“I think I can take one step without you, Captain…”  She means to follow it up with a rude nickname, like Obvious or Unhelpful, but she can’t think of something quickly enough.  Or at least something that’s true.

“Ok.”  Steve moves his hands to Nat’s hips like a backward slow dance as she hunches over the sink for a quick wash.  She still leaves shadows of chocolate on the hand towel when she’s finished, but she’s cleaner than she was.  Nat exhales, trying for a nonverbal ‘get off me,’ but Steve doesn’t budge.

“You, uh, want to talk?”  He makes eye contact with her in the mirror.

“Not particularly.”  Nat clears her throat.  “You think we need to?”

“Well,” Steve sighs.  “If you’re leaving the desk unmanned and doing...whatever you’re doing…” he trails off, looking embarrassed again.  

“Sorry to make you so uncomfortable,” Nat says, crossing her arms over her aching stomach.  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Oh, I understand.”  Steve takes in Nat’s tremor and puts a hand on her again.  “Maybe not your reasoning, but the, uh, thing itself.”

“What, you do--?”  Nat gestures at the unclean toilet.

“I--no.”  Steve swallows, as if the words themselves are nauseating.  “When I was younger.  And only if I was already sick.”

“Ah,” Nat nods.  “The ol’ get it over with?”

Steve presses his lips together.  “Yeah.”

“Who says that’s not what I’m doing?”

“I…”  Steve starts.  “I guess I don’t know.”

“Ok,” Nat says.  “How about we keep it that way.”

Steve sighs, knowing he’s lost.  “Ok.”

“Alright.”  Nat pulls the hand towel from the rack and uses it to wipe out the sink.  She wads it between her hands, unsure if she’s supposed to leave or stay put.  She wants to escape to her bedroom at the end of the hall, but she imagines Steve following her in there, too, and she has to fight a cringe.

The ring of the satellite phone interrupts Nat’s thoughts, and she breathes a sigh of relief.  She takes a step toward the door, swallowing thick saliva as she looks introspectively for a shot of confidence that doesn’t come from a bottle.

“Here.  I got this one.”  Steve pats Nat’s shoulder and edges out the door before she can stop him.  “Take a break.  Maybe a rest.”

“You wish,” Nat mumbles, turning the faucet on and off again.

Steve’s footsteps retreat down the hall, then Nat hears the beep of the phone’s holographic feature turning on.

“You’re not Tash.”  It’s Rhodey’s voice on the other end of the call.

“Sorry,” Steve tells him.  “Nat can’t come to the phone right now.”

“Ok, I’ll just save the world on my own, I guess.”  She can practically hear the man’s sarcastic shrug.  “There’s a threat over west Asia.”

“Can you handle it?” Steve asks.  “I’m needed on this side of the globe.”

“I, uh, I guess…”

“Good.  Thanks, Rhodey.”

“Cool deal, boss.”

The call cuts out, and heavy footfalls meander through the tiny kitchen and back up the hallway before dying out into a damp scrape as Steve cleans the disgusting handprint from the wall.

Nat decides she can’t take it anymore.  “Hey.”  She balls her hands into fists by her sides.  “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I do,” Steve says.  “Maybe it’s the only thing I can do.”  He gives her a hard look.

Nat’s eyes burn, and she reluctantly looks away first. “Fine,” she murmurs.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Nat.  You’re always welcome.”

[relbyshock]

Amy Winehouse, Princess Diana, Britney Spears, Marilyn Monroe, Aileen Wuornos, Angelina Jolie, Adolf Hitler, Darrell Hammond, Pete Davidson, Winona Ryder, Vincent Van Gogh, Tommy Tiernan….

What do they all have in common? Apart from being famous figures, they all suffer(ed) or were rumored to have suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder.

Hey, me too.

I’m over the moon to have something in common with Princess Di (apart from our shared plight with bulimia), but I have to say, I’d rather not have anything in common with Aileen or Adolf…..

Borderline Personality Disorder is a confusing term to say the least. On the borderline of what and what? Well, in the ‘30s, it meant you fell somewhere between psychosis (untreatable) and neurosis (treatable).

Great, that’s reassuring.

Come the ‘70s, BPD sufferers were described as being very emotional, needy, difficult, at risk for suicide, and to have an “overall unstable level of functioning”.

Check. *sings “Welcome to My Life” by Simple Plan*

We also have rapidly fluctuating mood swings, unstable self-image, and a fear of abandonment. This disorder wasn’t even recognized by the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) until 1980.

Today, we know far more about BPD – “neurosis” is no longer used in the diagnosis, and BPD is no longer considered a psychotic disorder.

 So what are we then?

Crazy?

Hormonal?

According to my family, yes. But in reality, the problem lies within our brains. Let me nerd out here for a minute:

The Amygdala (Ah-mig-dah-lah) is composed of two almond-shaped parts of the brain, deep in the medial temporal lobe, that regulate fear and aggression. People with BPD have amygdala’s that are noticeably smaller than that of a healthy person. The smaller the amygdala, the more overactive it is.

Like short guys with bad attitudes, or what I like to refer to as “little man syndrome”.

And then we have the Hippocampus – no, not pachyderm college. The hippocampus is responsible for spatial orientation (not falling over), long and short-term memory, and emotional regulation. Put simply, the hippocampus chooses the correct response to environmental events: Fight or flight.

You may be wondering if I was dropped on my head as a child. The answer is yes – frequently – but the chances of minor brain trauma causing BPD are slim.

The causes of Borderline Personality Disorder are unclear. It seems to involve genetic, brain, environmental and social factors. There are rumours that people with BPD have issues with serotonin production, which has been linked to depression, aggression and having a hard time controlling “destructive urges”.

As for environmental factors, those who have been a victim of emotional/physical/sexual abuse, as well as being exposed to chronic fear or distress as a child have a high likelihood of developing BPD. This is because our relationship with our parents and family has a HUGE influence on how we see the world, and how we feel about other people.

Gals are also diagnosed 3 times as often as guys. You’ve gotta wonder if that’s due to the fact that men tend to be more weary of the doctor, therefore avoiding a diagnosis altogether. This is pure speculation.

Shall we take a dive into the “Signs and Symptoms” as listed by Wikipedia?

-Markedly disturbed sense of identity

-Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment and extreme reactions

-Splitting (black and white thinking)

-Impulsivity

-Intense and uncontrollable emotional reactions that often seem disproportionate to the event or situation

-Unstable and chaotic interpersonal relationships

-Self-damaging behavior (ie, substance abuse)

-Distorted self-image

-Dissociation

-Frequently accompanied by depression, anxiety, anger, substance abuse or rage

We are also aware of the intensity of our negative emotional reactions, and since we can’t regulate them, we shut them down completely. What my doctor and I refer to as feeling “flat”.

BPD sufferers are also extremely sensitive to real or perceived rejection. Let’s explain with a meme, shall we:

*looking at an unanswered text from 12 minutes ago*

You: They must be in the shower or just busy, they’ll respond when they have a chance.

Me: Ok well they were active on Instagram 6 minutes ago and they just posted a snap story….they’re ignoring me, why do they hate me? What did I do? Are they mad at me? Should I send another text to get their attention or is that too needy?

If you’re annoyed just reading that, TRY LIVING IN MY BRAIN.

I annoy myself.

I feel grief, overwhelming shame and humiliation where others would feel mildly embarrassed. A minor inconvenience such as cancelled plans takes me from excited to absolutely miserable.

In the past, an unflattering photo on Facebook has caused me to reevaluate my self-worth, and even my life.

The Sickboy podcast explained it beautifully: Borderline Personality Disorder is like having a third degree burn on your emotions. I feel that. Everything hurts me just a little bit more than the average bear (or human).

Why am I telling you this? Because boys and girls, today is Bell Let’s Talk Day here in Canada. I’ll include the link at the bottom. Basically, in 2010, Bell began a new conversation about Canada’s mental health. They’ve enlisted such figures as Howie Mandel, Michael Landsberg, and Clara Hughes to share their stories of struggle and strength in the face of mental health.

I thought today was as good as any other to address the stigma surrounding mental health, but more specifically, the stigma around BPD.

I can’t pretend to know all the answers – I’m not and won’t pretend to be a psychiatrist. But this is what the world looks like through my lens.

If someone honks at me while I’m driving to work, I’m upset ALL DAY. I never want to drive again, I want to pull over and cry, or turn around and go home.

If I get a moderately rude email, my brain fills with cutting, angry, and just plain mean remarks to respond with. “I’m sorry your father never hugged you as a child” is not a suitable response to a professional email, but that’s where my brain goes.

When I make plans with friends weeks in advance and they bail 10 minutes before, I am a heap of inconsolable sobs for the rest of the evening, and even into the next day. This plays into the fear of “real or imagined abandonment”. My BPD brain does not care that something came up or you’re feeling under the weather. BPD tells me that you hate me and you never want to see me again and you were just pretending to like me this whole time and you’ve finally made your escape. My logical brain tries to tell me that it’s ok, and we’ll plan something for another time, but usually, my BPD brain wins the fight.

When I get nervous and start to ramble trying to tell a story and my mom cuts me off with “Anyways.” I want to crawl in a hole and die, but I also sort of want to throw a plate at her face. My mother is a saint, so why do I feel this way about her sometimes?

Let’s get back to the causes of Borderline Personality Disorder. Dad, Mom, maybe stop reading here…or don’t…but here’s your warning. You aren’t going to like this next part.

I was severely neglected as a child. Not physically – I had food to eat, clothes to wear, a roof over my head – but emotionally and mentally. The minor relationship I did have with my father was marked by him coming home from a long shift (as a firefighter) and starting a fight with me about my weight, my shoes at the front door, my marks in school, and more often than not, “why are you always crying?!”. My mom also worked full time at a stressful sales job. So by the time she got home, she didn’t want to have to deal with anyone else’s issues.

So when I would have issues with anything from being bullied at school to just having a ‘bad mental health day’, I had nowhere to turn.

See, my brother and I were latch-key kids. We got home from school at least an hour before my parents got home from work. He and I never got along, so some sort of fight would ensue, and by the time our parents got home, he had made me cry. I was deemed dramatic and sent away to my bedroom, while the 3 of them would eat dinner together (usually something I refused to eat – like meat – which would be another reason to fight).

I’ve voiced this to my mom before, and she remembers my childhood very differently than I do.

As long as I have been alive, I have come second to my brother.

No, honey, we can’t go to (insert activity I wanted to do) because Maxx has hockey/a book report due/needs a ride to the bike track, etc.

Every dinner or event we went to was with HIS friends and THEIR parents, who ended up becoming my parents’ best friends (still to this day). I was always the only girl; so naturally, I stayed with the adults, because the boys wouldn’t have me.

But the adults didn’t want me there either. I felt like a constant annoyance.

Thinking back on it, I realize that I may not have been as unwanted as I perceived myself to be. Remember, BPD brains are sensitive to even slight facial expressions and tones of voice. But, when I voiced this to my parents, that I felt unwanted, and why couldn’t we do things with my friends and their parents, etc. I was told that I was being ridiculous.

Enter: Invalidation

Invalidation is the number one cause of BPD, according to my psychiatrist. Growing up in an environment where nothing you do is good enough will cause you to internalize everything.

I have no memories or examples of healthy emotional behaviour or relationships. In our house, we got the point across by screaming at or just plain ignoring each other. So when I get hurt, or I feel let down, I have absolutely no idea how to deal with my feelings. Further reinforcing my belief that the world is full of bad people who are out to ruin your day and be unkind, because that’s all I’ve ever known.

Research shows that if you already experience these difficulties as a child, experiencing trauma as an adult could make things worse.

Dad - now is really the time to stop reading.

(Sometimes I feel like I live inside the DSM definition of BPD)

At the age of 21 – fresh out of college and trying to start my career in the fashion world – I was sexually assaulted. Cue the downward spiral.

I didn’t report. I didn’t seek help. I confided in a close friend, and was called a liar. But that’s a story for another time.

So I buried that part of me so deep, that sometimes I could convince myself that it never happened. Sometimes.

I reached the end of my rope in 2016. I knew that if I didn’t seek help, I would not survive. I finally went to my doctor and spent hours with her, just sobbing and telling her everything.

She hooked me up with a psychiatrist, and put me in Dialectical Behavioural Therapy, and started me on an SSRI (anti-depressant) immediately.

As of today, it has been 1172 days since the assault. I only told my mother this past summer.

Since reaching out for help, I have begun to repair the relationship with my parents. My mom and I are closer than ever, and my dad and I are working on it.

As I write this, I feel the judgements pouring in. But I have decided that this year, I don’t care. I am not ashamed of my story. I will no longer hide the things I have been through in order to make others more comfortable. I will not keep my pain to myself because it’s easier for others if I stay silent. If bearing my soul can help even one person seek the help they need, then I have succeeded, and all this pain has been worth it.

The long and short of it is SPEAK UP! There is nothing embarrassing about mental illness. If you aren’t feeling right, there are people who care and are here to help you, including me. The first step is to tell someone.

The best advice I can give is to find your people. People who trust you, who lift you up, who validate your feelings, who listen and take you seriously when you say you’re having a bad day. I have spent the past year painstakingly building my support system, because the truth of the matter is, I can’t do this alone. And that’s ok.

Today and every single day, be kind to each other – it’s the only thing that matters.

https://letstalk.bell.ca/en/bell-lets-talk-day

[twothumbsandnostakeincanon]

Severance

Inspired by this post, for @areiton <3 I wrote this on my phone while stopped for construction on 101 so mistakes are considered part of the rustic charm, okay?

__________

Here’s the thing: Stiles never intended to become the world’s worst pool boy. He’d needed the job desperately when he’d gotten it.

But his manuscript had been accepted by a publisher exactly one week after getting hired. He was not only accepted, but contracted for a three book deal.

And yeah, he could have quit. But he’d been hired through an agency. A really good agency, who gave their employees severance if they were let go by the agency.

The third but was that the agency wouldn’t let you go unless you were fired by every house to which you’d been assigned.

And the fourth but belonged to Derek Hale.

_________

The idea started out so simple: be the worst pool boy known to the greater Hollywood area, and then collect the severance package to pad the publishing deal he’d be living on while he wrote his next two books.

He didn’t show up for two of his appointments and was promptly fired by those homeowners. At the third house he deliberately shoved handfuls of leaves into the filter and then pretended to not understand why it wasn’t working. His fourth house fired him after he arrived wearing a “Show Me Your Kitties” t-shirt.

The fifth house belonged to Derek Hale.

Stiles had seriously considered staying on just at Derek’s house. The first time he’d seen the astonishingly beautiful man, he’d immediately formulated a plan involving his shortest swim shorts and a stepped-up ab workout.

But he didn’t get the severance package unless he was fired by everyone. So Stiles kissed away his dreams of seducing Derek with his slutty pool cleaning moves, and showed up in his boxers with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Sup,” he said when Derek greeted him in the backyard. He was idly swinging the skimmer around in circles, not even looking at the water.

“Not much,” Derek answered, his little bunny teeth peering out from behind a small smile. Stiles’ determination to get fired waivered. God, he was just so fucking cute.

But no. The Severance Package.

“I forgot the chemicals today, hope that’s cool,” Stiles said blandly. “You probably won’t get, like, too much algae growing before next week.”

“That’s okay!” Derek assured him. “I forget things all the time. I forgot to buy milk the last two times I went to the grocery store.” He chuckled at himself and Stiles got lost in the sound for a moment before giving himself a stern little shake.

He pulled his cigarette out of his mouth and tapped the ashes off into the pool. Derek watched them fall, and Stiles watched the muscles around his eyes tighten. This was it-

“Well, thanks for coming!” Derek said. “I’ll see you again next week!”

He strode off into the house, Stiles’ mouth hanging open as he watched.

Damn it. It was a wonderful view, but damn it.

__________

The next week he showed up in his shortest booty shorts (the ones that had been part of his original plan) and didn’t bring any cleaning supplies at all. He was disappointed when he realized Derek’s car wasn’t in the driveway, but decided to use the opportunity to its fullest potential.

He let himself into the backyard, and then entered the house through the backdoor that Derek never kept locked. He meandered around, spotting a wine rack.

“Oooh!” His favorite rosé lay on one of the rails and he took it out, considering if he was willing to go that far.

He totally was.

He went to the kitchen to dig around in the drawers for a corkscrew and popped it open. He continued wandering around, drinking straight from the bottle. He found himself in front of the stereo, staring consideringly at the iphone dock.

Still holding the wine bottle with one hand, he took out his phone and scrolled through his playlists. Tapping his absolute favorite, he set it in the dock and took another drink while he waited for the first song to start at full volume.

“The snow glows white on the hm-hm hm-hmm, not a hm-hm to be seeeeeeeen.”

He strolled around the living room, looking at the pictures. God, he was just so pretty. Holy shit, was he a library volunteer? Stiles looked closer at the picture and yep. He even had his own volunteer button pin, not just a sticker like they give to the people who show up once a year.

Fuck, the next picture was of him reading to preschoolers, Stiles was actually going to die.

“Let it goooooo, let it GOOOOOO!” He set down the wine on the stereo and tried not to think about how he was about to get fired by the perfect man. “Can’t hold it back any-MOOOOOOOOOORE-”

“What the- what? What’s happening?”

Stiles had completely missed the front door opening. Derek had not missed the performance.

“Oh, hey,” Stiles said, lackadaisical. “I love this wine.” He grabbed the bottle off the stereo and took another drink before handing it out to Derek in offer.

Derek took it, dazed, and stared at the half empty bottle for a moment before looking back up at Stiles.

“My hm-hmm flurries hm-hm air into the ground! My duh duh duh duh duh duh FROZEN FRACTALS ALL AROUND! God I love Elsa. She’s so badass. They totally should have her marry a fire queen in the sequel.” Stiles continued wandering around, making sure to touch every object that looked particularly fragile.

“Yeah,” Derek said distantly. “Um, don’t take this the wrong way, but why aren’t you out by the pool?”

“I didn’t bring any of my pool cleaning stuff. Just slipped my mind.” He grinned at Derek. “Thought I’d check out your abode. Pretty fuckin’ sweet dude.”

“Thanks,” Derek said, with an honest to God smile. An actual fact, true as balls smile. Stiles was stunned.

“Sorry you forgot your things again,” Derek continued with sincerity. “Memory problems can be so hard-”

“Oh my GOD are you seriously this nice??” Stiles threw his arms up in the air and turned away, walking in a circle. His hands landed on his hips. “I got fired by everyone else on the first day!! You can’t possibly believe this is acceptable behavior from a pool cleaner!!” Stiles finally turned around to look back at Derek, and caught him just in time to see his eyes snap up from his midsection to his face.

Derek was frozen. Stiles was frozen. They both unElsa-ed at the same time.

“Were you staring at my ass??”

“You’re trying to get fired??”

“Okay, okay-” Stiles held up his hands palms forward. “Okay. Let me explain. It’s a money thing.”

Derek was silent as he waited for more. When none was forthcoming, he incredulously said “That’s your explanation? ‘A money thing’? How is being the worst pool boy on earth going to get you money?”

“Severance.” Stiles shrugged.

“Oh.”

“Look, my issues are vast and unendingly stupid. What we need to be talking about right now is my ass, and your eyes looking at it.” Stiles was smirking now, arms crossed.

Derek’s cheeks flushed pink and his adorable eyebrows pulled together.

“It’s- I just- I mean-” He blew out a breath, frustrated. “Those shorts!!” he finally burst out. “Your ass goes very well with them!! And the rest of you!!” He gestured widely to all of Stiles.

“The rest of me, hm?” Stiles said. “So let me get this straight: you agree that I’m the worst pool boy on earth. Which means that you’re keeping me around for a reason other than my pool cleaning abilities.”

Derek flushed deeper.

“How about a deal: Fire me. Call up the agency, tell them how awful I am, and I’ll be out of a job with a free afternoon. Completely free to say yes to a date with me, you, and these shorts.” He pointed to his butt. “And possibly, if you keep smiling at me with that adorable face, and tell me about your volunteer work, we can have a second date without the shorts.”

Derek was grinning by the end of Stiles’ suggestion, and already had his phone out.

“Hello, Siren Pool Cleaners? I’d like to report one of your employees…”

[goodfortune-au]

Good Fortune (Soulmate AU) Chapter 9: Winter Blues

The blustery chill of December has swept over Derry in a dense blanket of fresh fallen snow, a sentimental au revoir to the last lingering notes of autumn and a greeting to the shivering delight of winter. The season has quickly come into full swing, and the white on the ground has gotten so cumbersome that snowplows have already taken to diligently freeing the thoroughfares of its icy burden on a day to day basis. Bellringers are posted outside the local grocery, coaxing spare change out of the occasional passerby and boisterously wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. The citizens have started donning full winter regalia every time they leave the house, including Angel whose winter wardrobe consisted almost exclusively of black turtlenecks, scarves, and cozy fleece leggings with snow boots. Decorations are peppered heavily throughout town, singing the festive cheer of the upcoming holidays with jubilant glee and fervor. The scent of cinnamon seems almost elegantly ubiquitous, even outside amongst the great, big, snowcapped pines. It is unquestionably a winter wonderland, a scene inescapable in the heart of majestic Maine. But the town is not without grim reminders of its history, with impersonal missing posters still plastered visibly all over store windows, billboards and alleyways and a brand new curfew in effect. This had been put into place recently after one disappearance too many, and was announced via a stern warning posted on the letterboard outside the Derry Elementary School. “Remember the curfew,” it says. Similarly worded signs are all over the inner walls of the library too. Angel got an uneasy feeling every time she passed them.

School had recently let out for winter break, and the Losers were all appropriately excited for the long-awaited reprieve, as it gave them all much-needed respite from the trials and tribulations of being young outcasts. Angel sympathized with this struggle quite well; she remembered always counting the days before school ended even as a young child, putting her everything into school projects to distract herself from how miserable she was everyday and just waiting for the clock to strike three on each fateful quarter’s end. She remembered it vividly as much as she wished she didn’t, painful memories of adversity she wished she could simply forget. She could at the very least grant that it was over now, and none of it could hurt her anymore. The kids had come over the first day of break, and had brought with them tales of what was clearly an eventful season at school.

“Bowers almost caught my ass last day before break, do you guys remember?”

“Yeah, dude, I’ve never seen you so white. How’d you get away?”

“Lost him in the crowd.” Richie says, reclining back on the couch. “On the way out I ran back around to homeroom and hid under teach’s desk. I swear, that idiot has a baby’s concept of object permanence. Wouldn’t be able to find his own ass with two hands and a flashlight.”

“You’re lucky she wasn’t there.” Angel says, laughing behind a mug of schnapps-spiked hot chocolate. “That raggedy old bitch would have ratted you out. She still the worst?”

Richie snorts. “You know it. She almost sent Eds to the principal last week for blowing his nose too loud. Claimed he was ‘passing notes through morse code.’”

“God, what a load of bullshit.”

But ever since then, it’d been pretty quiet. There were times like these, to tell the truth, when the Losers were all simply busy with their own lives and she was busy with hers. Communication would fall to the wayside for a time on occasion but things would always go back to normal eventually. She simply expected they were off having adventures, contending with their own challenges and childhood adversities that she had at one point grappled with herself; getting into scrapes, maybe even making a couple new friends along the way. She smiles at the thought. Never too many in a group like theirs. And she would simply continue in her own occupations, continue the routine she had fallen into. Work was autopilot for her at this point, and easy, if a bit tedious and mind-numbing. She tried to remind herself of that as she worked day to day; in these times of difficulty it was good practice to count your blessings and try not to take them for granted. This was a good job, and one that was certainly a far cry better than the last one she had. She knew it was not something to be squandered.

But even still, she cannot deny the growing feeling of crushing ennui festering in her head, that familiar sinking dread as her alarm went off every morning, jarring her out of peaceful, oblivious slumber and bringing her back to all her obligations, her duties and responsibilities that she could evade for a time just by setting her head back on the pillow. Present in all the incidents of the last couple months were telling warnings of a brewing storm, a funk she would likely not come out of for months if she wasn’t careful. She was fighting it with everything she had, but everything she had didn’t necessarily amount to a lot when she felt as low as she did. With the increasing lack of company, she had no reason to keep up appearances so long as she wasn’t working, so Angel would get caught in feedback loops of the same unhealthy behaviors.

She would shower once a week at most, keeping the oil in her hair at bay with the aid of dry shampoo and body odors hidden with a thick veneer of deodorant and perfume. She was indulging too much in things that lacked any sort of nutritious substance and when she did cook, it was large doses of unnecessarily decadent frippery; cookies, cakes, pies, anything to fill the void. She would spend most of her free hours watching TV, would flit through the channels in sometimes futile errand to find the Derry Children’s Hour, a fickle discovery that could never seem to be found at the same time every day. It varied from week to week; sometimes it was on everyday in the morning before she left for work. Sometimes it was on during the evenings, and sometimes it seemed to start just as she was flipping through the channels. Sometimes it wasn’t on at all. When it wasn’t on at all, Angel would do one of two things; she would spend some time making new art of her muse, or she would go to bed in the hopes of seeing him in her dreams. When she slept, it was far too much, trying in vain to ignore how things were worsening; the unforgiving monotony of work, her loss of interest in her hobbies, the way her clothes were getting just a little bit tighter, just enough for her to be able to know. Maybe living by herself was harder than she made it out to be. She was far too proud to admit it though.

So she ignored it all, trying to raise her spirits enough in time for Christmas to make its much-anticipated arrival, before she would leave town and head out to Haven to see her family again. She only had so much time to get her shit together, so she tries to make a conscious effort to be present in all the holiday cheer. She had gone out to the thrift store just outside of town a couple weeks before in a hunt for decorations and had come back with a veritable melange of Christmas decor; bags upon bags of tacky, old ornaments, golden tinsel, ribbons, lights and fragrant candles, and even a wreath she’d hung outside her front door, but not before mounting an old picture of Khan Noonien Singh in the middle of it. She didn’t care if no one else found it funny. She’d pulled an album off her shelf (The Smiths, The Queen is Dead ) and set it to play on her Sony turntable, and then quickly got lost in an afternoon of covering the house from top to bottom in festive finery. By the time she was done she could hardly recognize the place and neither could Mayor Jello, who was so disrupted by the changes in scenery that he broke two ornaments almost immediately. She was so gratified by a single productive afternoon that she treated herself to a big dinner and then promptly fell asleep, taking her from the early evening of one day into the late afternoon of the next.

She’d not felt particularly festive after that, unfortunately, as it turns out, a cornucopia of Christmas decorations was not enough to erase all of her problems. Her increasing fixation on Pennywise, as thrilling and refreshing as it was, seemed to clearly illustrate another trouble she was facing as of late; loneliness. It was a difficulty she’d had all her life, so she could hardly call it new. It had existed with her for almost as long as she could process memories, and had been one of her strongest and most consistent demons all throughout her childhood. She’d grown up a child to parents working graveyard shifts so they’d spent a great majority of her adolescence asleep during the day; she was decidedly unpopular in school, and was always the last picked from games of dodgeball in gym to group projects in reading class; even her adult life, although enriched by the presence of the Losers, was spent relatively in solitude. But one specific, categorical subset of loneliness was the worst of them all, and the one that plagued her the most consistently. It was rather a dumb thing to be insecure over, but just as Angel was the last to be picked for dodgeball and group projects, she was also the last one picked when it came to being anyone’s romantic prospect. As unpopular as she was socially, she seemed to get on even worse when it came to matters such as these, and the rumors perpetually circulating about her didn’t help things at all. She tried to ignore it, knowing that there was really nothing that could be done about it, but it still crushed her all the same when she would see happy couples all around her on the ever-dreaded Valentine’s Day, when she would be the only one without a date to all the stupid little school dances, when she couldn’t even get a decent friend to stick around let alone someone to hold her hand. She knew there were better things to get bent out of shape over, but she couldn’t shake the feelings of inadequacy all the same. It was just too hard.

That was why she leaned so hard into her coping mechanisms, her little crushes and all the things that made her happy. Distractions. She needed them desperately, or her mind was dead set on killing her, and she didn’t want to land herself in an early grave if she could help it. The crush on Pennywise was just such a distraction that kept her going from day to day, as were the continuing gifts from her guardian angel. The gifts were something all their own. In a sense, the gifts were a soothing balm to all the raw, aching emptiness she felt; she could delude herself with the fantasy that something actually liked her enough to court her, seek her interest. She knows she should be much more wary of such innocent offerings in a place like Derry; hell, if she were anyone else she probably would be. But this was Angel. Long ignored, long suffering, long neglected, long forgotten Angel. Try as she might, she simply couldn’t spurn such benevolence, because she had spent her whole life wishing for just such a kindness.

Ever since Thanksgiving she’d become increasingly more in tune to a growing pattern; that is, she had started to notice that the gifts would often correspond with her emotions or the way she was feeling. If she was feeling sad or dejected or otherwise deflated or downtrodden, she would start to get that ever-familiar feeling, that strange surge in energy she could only categorize as unexplainable; otherworldly; alien. And then, in a convenient place nearby, she would always find it, and when she did, she would somehow know that it was meant just for her. A gift. As time went on and she collected more and more things she started to feel closer to whatever it was, this being or force that was watching over her, this manifestation of good fortune that had seen fit to choose her, to have a fondness for her and for no one else. It was exciting, it was thrilling, it… Made her feel special.

So, in an effort to display her gratitude, Angel had started leaving gifts of her own. Since that Thanksgiving eve when she had set her hair scrunchie adrift in the dark dusk of Derry’s night sky, she could swear she’d felt that feeling surge and swell within it as it disappeared from sight, almost as though she could feel the beat of her guardian’s heart pulsing with hers like one. It was a feeling so genuinely different from what she felt before that she laid in bed that night electrified, and though she had no dream of Pennywise, she’d woke the next morning in a glow all the same. From then it had become a game of simple exchange. Angel would keep some kind of an item or trinket on her person; a necklace, earrings, maybe a tube of chapstick or a pack of chewing gum, and when she stumbled across their unmistakable calling card, she would leave something behind in the place of what she had taken. The feeling every time she would do so was unforgettable, and plainly addicting in a way she couldn’t put words to. So much so that she couldn’t stop herself from fretting over what she was going to leave for them next, from stressing herself out in that oh-so-delightful way that one does when deciding what to buy for their significant other on a date night.

Pennywise was finding himself in similar dire straits; he was not normally a creature of such indecisive quality, but this was his soulmate, and she deserved only the best. He also hadn’t expected such eager reciprocation of his attentions, eventual as they were, and to be frank it had quite taken him by surprise. It was a pleasant surprise, but a surprise all the same. And now that she was starting to reciprocate, he’d suddenly grown something of a self-consciousness regarding his gifts. He didn’t want to leave her too many of the same thing; he didn’t want her to think his gifts were repetitive or worse yet, boring. He wanted to keep her attention, keep it in a vice, and only tighten the grip with time. So, during the long hours of the day when he spends time ruminating and choosing his meals, when he has all the time in the world to mull and think and brood, he’s thinking of her, and thinking what he might take next, what he might leave next that will make her happy. He knows that Christmas is an important time for humans, and he has an idea what he might give her, something special that can only come from him. He’ll set to making it immediately.

With Christmas speedily approaching, Angel is making her final preparations before she sets out for Haven. She’s packed up some clothes, cleaned the house (or, as much as she could be bothered to), and crammed a feeder full of food for Mayor Jello to keep him satisfied during her absence. She would only be gone a few days at most, so she knew he would be fine on his own. Before she sets out, she leaves a gift behind, along with a note (“Be back in a few days ♡”), set on the dining room table. It’s a Christmas tree ornament, one she’d found thrifting of a colorful mardi gras clown. She loved it, but decided it was something best left for her guardian angel. She figured the gift would mean more if there was sentimental value attached to it, and Christmas was a time of giving after all. So she leaves it behind and departs for Haven. The cab ride over is surprisingly quick and painless, and in no time at all she finds herself stepping outside to the welcoming committee of her family, who’s gathered outside her home to greet her.

The holiday in Haven is a pleasant one, if exhausting. She and her family make easy, casual conversation, catching up after months of not being in one another’s company. The day before Christmas is a hectic one, as they had all set up to do a little window shopping in an effort to get immersed in the Christmas spirit. They’d journeyed a little ways north to the Bangor shopping mall, and Angel found herself charmed by the nostalgic value of the outing, which she remembered from years past as her family always celebrated Christmas. She’d gotten a couple things while she was out, little trinkets from the likes of stores like Claire’s and Spencer’s Gifts. From Claire’s she got a small assortment of jewelry and makeup (things she could likely leave for her guardian angel, she finds herself thinking). From Spencer’s her purchases are a little more daring and scandalous, things she surely couldn’t ever divulge owning to her family. A few toys, things only an adult could enjoy. Angel had a fondness for things like this if she were frank, and it was the only outlet she had to explore her own sexuality, so she tried not to garner any shame when it came to owning them. She kept it hidden in her purse when she’d bought it, so as not to arouse any unwanted attention, and looked forward to trying them out when she got home.

Then came Christmas Eve dinner, which was much more draining, believe it or not. Angel hadn’t been looking forward to it all day, because she knew what was to come. More conversation, more needling questions about her life back in Derry. She knew they only meant well, and they were only parents concerned about their child, but she couldn’t help but dread it all as someone who hated invasive personal inquiries. Worse still was the fact that she was still as drained and tired here as she was back home. She thought leaving for a spell would do her some good but she’s just as groggy and irritated, and all she could do surrounded by family was try her damnedest to hide it.

“So, ██████, how are things back in Derry? Anything exciting happening lately?”

Ah, yes, and this is how it always started. A fairly innocuous question that would surely give way to more in depth lines of inquiry.

“Oh, not much.” She says through a mouthful of potatoes. She did always love the food her parents made. Nothing beat hot champ with a nice, big dollop of butter in the middle. Mix in peas and it was the ultimate comfort food. “I guess you could say work is getting easier.”

“That’s good to hear.” Her stepfather says. “Paying bills on time, keeping all your ducks in a row?”

“Yeah, pops, think things are running pretty smooth so far. I’m starting to really like living on my own.” She lies. No need to let her parents know how much she was struggling lately. She knew they would swoop into protective mode, and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want help. Didn’t need it, no sir.

“Good. We were pretty worried at first, having you stay there on your own. If you ever need help, you know, you can always come to us. We’re your safety net, remember?”

“Yeah I know.” She says, blushing. “I’m fine, though. Ever since I started working the library, I haven’t been super worried about money. I’m even keeping a little at the end of each paycheck.”

“Putting it in savings? That’s important, you know.”

“Yeah yeah, I know.”

Her mom leans forward on her elbows. “Have you been making any new friends? You’re still hanging out with those kids, right?”

“Bill, Rich, Stan and Eds? Yeah. Besides them I kind of keep to myself, though. You know I was always that kind of kid.”

“True.” Her brother says. “Not much for crowds.”

And then, the burning question. She knew it was coming, and she resented it every time it came up. Didn’t know who would ask it though.

“Found a boyfriend yet?”

Cool, there it was, courtesy of her mother.

“Mom!” she says, her face flaring up with heat again.

“Sorry, I just worry about you sometimes. I think you should have someone to take care of you, you know, something like dad and I have. All we’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

Angel chuckles nervously. “Yeah, uh, I know.” She pushes her plate away. “Sorry to cut this short, but can I go? I hate to ditch early, but I’m feeling pretty exhausted and I think I should sleep.”

“Sure, honey, whatever you need.”

Angel had been vastly displeased with this line of questioning. She knew it was coming, but she hated it all the same. Just what was she supposed to say to something like that? It was such an awkward question to pose, and one she’d heard throughout her teen years much to her utter dismay. She wasn’t popular in that regard, she wasn’t popular at all to begin with, and she fwished her parents would understand that rather than egg her on in something that was ultimately hopeless. As she lays in bed in the guest room she stares up at the ceiling, stewing in unpleasant thought. All that loneliness, the self-hatred, the feelings of inadequacy come bubbling up to the surface again and she tries so hard to forget it. She finds herself thinking of Pennywise now and she clings to the change in topic desperately. Her mind starts to swim with little fantasies of him, letting herself entertain the thought of… Dating him. She wonders what he might look like underneath all the makeup. He seemed attractive enough in costume, but what was underneath might be even better. Even so, she starts to blush at the thought of holding his gloved hand, him parading her on his arm, making her laugh… Kissing her with those full red lips... She turns onto her side and starts to hug her pillow, burying her face in the cool, plush security of the cotton-covered stuffing. She wished she could have one of those dreams again, she missed them so terribly. She truly had no idea why they had stopped when she’d been having them so regularly, it was an anomaly just as puzzling as the existence of her guardian angel. Just as puzzling as the night she’d heard that voice behind her on the couch, the night that Patrick disappeared; puzzling as the pattern of disappearances in general, and puzzling as the monster that lurked in the shadows. She had no idea what to make of it, of any of it. All she knew was that she had no business questioning it.

That night she had no dream, and she’d woken up patently dissatisfied but not surprised in the least. Christmas passed without incident; she and her family played games, had another dinner, opened a few presents, and then Angel made her departure towards home once more. She plays with the pearl heart around her neck as she vacantly stares out the window of the cab, and though she’s relieved to be done with all the social pressures of the holiday she also feels a pang of sadness, knowing that once she gets back home it’ll just be more of the same. As she pulls up to her house she pays her fare and thanks the cab driver, and then she collects her bags, unlocks her front door, and heads back inside. It’s late, the room is dark, and when she turns on the light she finds Mayor Jello asleep on the arm of the couch. She smiles. She’s about to go to her room to start unpacking but once she lets her eyes fall to the floor she notices something sitting underneath her Christmas tree. Another gift? She drops her bags and wastes no time; she crouches near the tree and picks it up, turning it over, inspecting the beautiful gold and red wrapping paper with joy. The tag says, “To Angel, from your angel.” Her heart thunders in her chest.

She tears open the wrapping paper. There, hidden within, is a long sleeved blouse, almost like a sweater, black in color and so soft to the touch that she can’t help herself from rubbing her face against it. It feels like some sort of silk and, excited, she strips right there in the living room to try it on. She feels that familiar feeling as she slips it on over her chest, and the cool silk is heaven on her skin. She notes with wonder at the perfect fit; it’s almost as though it was tailor-made, just for her, and when she takes it back off she hugs it to her heart tight. This was such a welcome gesture after an utterly taxing weekend, she can’t stop herself from being absolutely delighted with it. After such an embarrassing Christmas Eve dinner, being poked and prodded with questions, with… That question, with all the feelings of loneliness that had come welling up, she felt special all over again. For just a moment, there in the living room, her problems didn’t exist. It was nice.

The disappointing pattern of having no dreams continued into New Years, another holiday which Angel would spend alone. To be fair, she hadn’t stopped having dreams in general, she just hadn’t been having dreams of him. They were dreams she would forget almost immediately after she woke up, though she didn’t necessarily care given that they weren’t what she was holding out for. New Years Eve was quiet, and Angel had already slept through about half of it. Radio silence from the Losers, but she expected that- she assumed they were all beholden to their families for this holiday. Once she’d gotten up, she made herself something to eat and sank into the couch, turning on the TV. Truthfully, she’d all but forgotten that today was New Years Eve, and had only remembered once the programs on the screen reminded her, all debuting special broadcasts for the occasion. Everything she could find that would normally be entertaining was all re-runs she’d seen just about a thousand times before, and she finds herself dissatisfied with the lack of quality entertainment, so she finds herself dozing off on the couch once more. Sleep is simply a blank canvas for the duration of her nap, and she doesn’t wake up until she’s jolted awake by Mayor Jello, who has chosen to put all his weight onto a single paw when he steps onto her chest.

“Ow ow owwww. Get off me you asshole.” She gently pushes him down, and he meows indignantly before slinking around the back of the couch to find somewhere else to lay down. She looks up at the TV again. Nothing good, as per usual. Glancing at the clock, she notices it’s already almost midnight. To tell the truth, Angel never cared much for this holiday; it was always something of a disappointment (just like most things, she thinks pessimistically). She gets up off the couch and meanders lazily into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she plucks out a bottle of champagne and studies it for a moment. Popping it open, she takes a big, hearty swig, and wipes her lips with the crook of her arm before making her way back over to the couch. Didn’t matter if she waited until midnight; it’s not like there was anybody here anyway. She flips through the TV channels again, pausing momentarily on one program or another to pass the time but never lingering too long on any one show. She gets more than pleasantly tipsy as time goes on, and in the span of half an hour she’s polished off the entire bottle. Getting up to throw it out, she’s clumsy on her feet, her mind is swimming and she can feel the warmth settling over her. When she drops onto the couch again it’s close to 11:30 and she starts to flit through the channels again. Nothing, nothing, nothing… Another re-run, another re-run, nothing… News broadcast, an odd recording of a baseball game… Pausing, she makes her way back to Channel 27. She hadn’t found anything earlier in the day but, who knows, maybe it was worth a shot to take another look. She flips back through another assortment of bland choices, and when she finally lands on it her heart stops. There it is.

Another installment of the Derry Children’s Hour, but the backdrop is slightly altered. There’s balloons everywhere accompanied by lit paper lanterns, and hanging over the top of the screen is a banner that reads “Happy New Year!” It looked to be a special New Years episode, and based on the way they were talking it seemed as though it were a re-run of some kind, although she wasn’t sure how she had missed it earlier. Maybe it had played while she was sleeping. She watches eagerly, having missed this strange ritual of hers, and finds herself soothed as always by the voice of the hostess and the friendly way she engages with the children. She’s drunk now and finding it all the more difficult to concentrate, but her mind is dead set on one missing detail. She wanted to see Pennywise.

He wasn’t present, not yet at least, and she finds herself disappointed but tries to be optimistic in her inebriated haze. He might show up- after all, what was a New Years celebration without a clown to liven things up, right? The hostess carries on about your standard New Years topics; about the New Year being a fresh start, about setting goals for the New Year… She asks the children what goals they might have and they give an assortment of answers. One says he’s going to do his chores more, another admits she wants to do better in school, one even said he wanted to try to be nicer to his sister. This continues until she naturally segues into a new topic, one that creates a pit in Angel’s stomach.

“And that brings us to our last topic, kids, the New Years kiss!”

Oh, she hated that. Growing up unpopular in… That regard, Angel had never had the pleasure of experiencing that magical New Years kiss. She’d heard people at school brag about getting ones from their significant others, but she had never been so lucky, not that anyone would care to hear about it anyway if she was. Even in her intoxicated state she cannot help the dismay settling over her now, growing increasingly more upset as she watches the hostess prattle on, going on about how the New Years kiss is supposed to bring good fortune in love for the following year and how you should only do it with someone special. She turns off the TV. She shouldn’t be feeling this way, it was so stupid. It didn’t matter. Still, she’s grown dolorous and sad, and all she can think to do now is go to sleep; leave this day, this awful year behind her. She didn’t even get to see Pennywise, who she knew would’ve made her feel better about the whole thing, at least for a little while. She sits up and drunkenly ambles down the hall to her bedroom, where she strips and crawls into bed. She thinks of him until she falls asleep.

The dreamscape begins in the black as always, and then she dreams for a time about nothing that interesting. She dreams that she and the Losers are working in a call center together, then dreams that Mayor Jello suddenly gained the ability to speak and was now criticizing her fashion choices; she has a brief intermission of a dream in which everything about her was the same except for the fact that she inexplicably had no tongue, and then its the black again. It's nothing but black and emptiness, her mind nothing but a void, and then suddenly it's something else, something new. She wakes up in bed, same as always, but she feels… Empty. She slips out of bed, she dresses for work, she feels empty. She walks to work, she doesn’t find any gifts, she feels empty. She works her shift, she helps patrons out with their book selections, she feels empty. It's nothing but an empty, sinking feeling, plaguing her consciousness, and nothing will alleviate it. She finishes her shift, she clocks out, and it’s more of the same. Until.

She steps out the door, and a gust of that familiar wind sweeps through her. It’s a warmth, it’s something wonderful, and it’s calling to her. All she can do is follow that feeling, follow its pushing guidance behind her, and she finally comes upon a place she hadn’t seen before, a place on the outskirts of town. The street sign reads Neibolt Street. She finds herself drawn to the only sight to see, an old, battered house on the brink of ruin, standing there in a lawn of ugly, yellow weeds, guarded by a rusty, broken fence. It’s just after sunset now, though she hadn’t any idea how the time had passed so quickly between now and the end of her shift. The smell of the peeling wallpaper is old when she steps past the front door, there’s creaking in the floorboards beneath her boot heels. She ducks under cobwebs until she reaches the end of the room, and there’s a staircase there, just beckoning her upwards into the upper half of the house. The stairs moan underneath her feet as she trudges up the steps, and now she can hear delicate, paper-thin whispers guiding her towards the center room. They seem to know that she’s sad, they console her; they comfort her as she continues on, encouraging her with each step she takes. There’s windows peeking out into the field of sunflowers across the way, and she’s mesmerized by them as she looks out the glass in wonder. Then, behind her, the door closes. She turns, and her heart leaps into her throat. It’s him.

He steps toward her with a charming bow. He towers over her, but she doesn’t feel small. She feels safe.

“...You waited for me, my pet.”

Her stomach flutters, and she’s shy, but she speaks.

“Yeah, I… I waited so long. I was...Worried I might not see you again. I was worried you were gone.”

His eyes are blue but they glint with something warm. He laughs and she blushes.

“Oh darling, don’t worry. So long as you keep me in your pretty little head, I won’t ever go away. Ever.” He beams at her, and holds out his hand. “ Promise promise. ” His voice is in her mind, a welcome intruder that makes her shiver.

Come to me, darling. Come to Pennywise.

She’s numb but her body is buzzing all the same. She has to resist the urge to run to him, has to force herself to keep cool but her mind is screaming with desire. She walks toward him, extending her own hand, experiencing that all-too-crucial moment of lucidity where she’s afraid the dream might end this way as it had so many times before. He’s there, he doesn’t move, and as the distance between them increasingly closes she can see his eyes fade from blue into gold. And when their hands finally touch, it’s… Indescribable. She can feel her body, her stomach bloom with something beautiful and her heart is racing when he pulls her close. She looks up into his eyes. His stare is intense but it doesn’t scare her. Rather, it simply makes her want more.

“You won’t be alone forever, my darling.” He whispers. “This won’t last forever, I’ll make sure of it.”

He sweeps her into a dip and she squeaks at the sudden movement, at the adrenaline rushing through her veins. There in each other's arms there’s a moment of unspeakable tension between them, a beat of eternal silence, and then when she’s certain this will all turn into a nightmare of some kind, he leans in close. She can practically taste his warm breath as he draws near, the cloying scent of cotton candy mixed with popcorn washing over her drunken senses when he comes in for the kiss. The moment their lips touch is divine and she's all but stopped breathing; she wants it to last forever, but then-

She jolts awake. She remembers everything, and she looks at her alarm clock. It’s a new year.

[tinderthecity]

Mr. Mindful

It’s been a while, but I thought it would be fun to post a keeper of a date from a while back, just in time for Valentine’s Day.

I began dating again sometime in October. It’s always helpful to give yourself time to heal after a rough breakup, so naturally I tried to jump back in almost immediately. I didn’t want to go right back into Tinder or Bumble, it felt overwhelming, but luckily social media is really creepy about their advertising and for a while I saw an ad floating around for a dating app called “Meet Mindful,” which is for people who are into mindfulness (they have a dating app for everything now, I know). My thought was - wow, maybe this will help me immediately weed out people who have a fundamentally different understanding of the world than I do.

You’d think at 26 I’d be less naive.

Early on I started talking to Mr. Mindful. After some chatting he asked me to grab dinner at a pizza place that served gluten and dairy free pizza, so naturally I agreed.

As I started walking to the pizza place that Friday, tears started streaming down my face, and then I broke into full out sobs. I pulled myself together by the next block, and then I was back in sobs two blocks later. It was a cycle for about 15 minutes. I texted my girlfriends, I called my mom, I had been really solidly single for a little over a month and I realized I just wasn’t ready.

I told Mr. Mindful the truth, I gave him a little back story to my situation, told him I was crying, and that I didn’t think it was fair for either of us if I went on this date. His response was extremely understanding:

“Hey Chloé, as much as I wish you didn’t cancel on me, I appreciate you letting me know your situation, as I can understand that. I’d be willing to try and meet up again at some point.”

So wonderful. Points for Mr. Mindful. I was extremely relieved and skipped gleefully all the way home.

About a month later I started to feel comfortable with the notion of dating again, I re-opened my Bumble and Tinder accounts, and I was baby stepping towards opening up. Around that same time Mr. Mindful texted me asking if I’d felt comfortable to try and meet up again soon.

I had actually considered reaching out to him myself, after his kind and accepting response the last go around, I was willing to give it a shot.

We decided on the pizza place again, and this time as I walked to our date I didn’t cry once ;D

When I first meet him, I realize pretty immediately that I’m not entirely attracted to him, but that’s ok. I also realize pretty immediately that he is VERY awkward. He has a hard time looking at me when he speaks and instead focuses his attention on shifting around his utensils and swirling around his water.

I know some people can get really nervous on first dates, I also know some people have more awkwardness to them than others, so I never want to make a snap judgment or shut down into discomfort, it’s always my goal to make the situation as chill, casual, and comfortable as possible, so I do my best.  

We small talk and chit chat about life (as he continues to not look at me). He asks me about my job situation, I explain that I was just offered a position at Fordham University, that I plan to get my masters degree while I’m there and hopefully at some point in the future, my Ph.D. because I would love to end up teaching in higher ed.

He then responds by saying “I just don’t like the extreme leftist agenda of higher education.”

…………….ummmmmmm excuse me? if you know me, I don’t think there’s much I need to say about this. But even that aside, what a way to respond to someone’s life trajectory..

Our conversation continues (I preface by saying I kept my tone very calm and cordial to keep that chill first date environment):

Me: Tell me more of what you mean by that Him: I just think our society is trying to engrain natural male behaviors out of us

.....?!?!?!

Me: Like what kind of behaviors? Him: I think men are more naturally aggressive, and we’re told not to be. Like young boys at school on the playground want to rough and tumble and the teachers tell them to stop. I think it just ends up getting pent up and then men do stupid things when they’re older. Me: I understand what you’re saying, but I think it’s more so about time and place. First of all there is a liability when it comes to children being injured at school. Second it’s about teaching kids when and what is appropriate. For example, the little boy I used to nanny, we could tell he wanted a physical outlet so now he is in martial arts where he has that outlet with boundaries, and they teach them things like “we use common sense before self-defense, we never use martial arts to be abusive or aggressive, etc.” I also know quite a few men in my life who have actually said they feel as though masculine expectations have been harmful because it never allowed them to fully express their emotions or feel vulnerability and weakness in a healthy way. Him: Yeah but I mean there also comes a point when you have to toughen up and know you’ll be ok and move on. Me: I think it requires a balance.

At this point I KNOW this isn’t going to work but he seems comfortable with the conclusion we’ve reached. He’s talking to me about how he wants to be a life coach to young guys …….. (still not looking at me)

So in this moment, and even now far removed, my thought is that because Mr. Mindful is a kind of petite, small framed, socially awkward guy, he blames what he perceives to be his “non-hyper-masculine” persona to be the cause of his social unease. Whereas I think he just has some social unease regardless and were he to just own his own self as he is, he would have greater ease no matter the “level” of masculinity. Just my thoughts.

It comes time to pay our bill and he says he’ll get it. I ask if he wants to split and he says “you can get dessert.”

…. oh so we’re not done here.

Not knowing how to back out of this one I say I know a place across town, it’s near the train I know we both have to take to get back home so I figure it’s at least in the right direction. To which he responds - “Do you like to dance?”

I obviously like to dance, but Idk what I’m walking into here so I say - “it depends.”

He says there is a swing dancing place in midtown that he wanted to take me to and he could teach me how to dance.

Ok it’s a Thursday night, it’s already 8, he wants to get dessert AND swing dance downtown, I have work in the morning, and I honestly want this date to be over 5 minutes ago. I tell him I’m having breakfast with some friends in the morning before work (I had a show with them the following night.. close enough) but that we can do dessert and maybe swing dancing can be for another time. He unhappily agrees.

We wait for the cross town bus and he keeps inching closer to me as I inch further away. By the time the bus arrives we’ve moved at least 5 feet from where we started. All the while he guesses my Myers-Briggs on the first shot (ok that was kind of impressive) and I find out that he’s a scorpio (should’ve known.. ;]).

We have our dessert, hop on the train, and as I go to get off at my stop he gets up to get off with me. He lives a good 3+ stops north of me so I’m confused, I also would prefer a guy not know where I live when I hardly know him. He walks me part way home and says - “I don’t like saying goodbye on subways. I had a great time, lets do this again some time”

In order to avoid the potential first kiss I say yeah, hug him, and get the hell out of there.

He texts me the next day. At this point, I think the messages will speak for themselves.

Prepare yourself.

Needless to say, after this exchange I blocked his number.

I was a bit concerned that he may still have access to me via the app, the only hiccup was, in order to block him on the app I had to go to his profile, and this app also tells you when people go to your profile..... a bit of a glitch in the system.

So of course, contact me on the app is exactly what he did.

His apology follows...

I reiterate.. prepare yourself

Him:

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me:

I think I can officially say that my first experience back after a year and a half was definitely.... more entertaining to read than to experience first hand!

Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone! 

[shawnjacksonsbs]

Everything that's left happens between now, and ever after.   1-19-20

"With the weight of the world (We lose control) Swing me back and forth again Like a pendulum I forgot where I came from Darkness, I gave in Now I'm picking up the pieces from my broken heart" - We lose control by the Relentless

And that's it really, ain't it? Trying not to forget who we were and where we came from as we journey towards our own better futures. As long as we're not living detrimentally in today with a bunch of regret baggage, then isn't the past also an essential part? It is important to who it is we are trying to become, the whole "who we were and why." I believe it to be necessity to the journey that it takes for us to get there. Not repeating mistakes, and always remembering why we chose the positive changes that we did, are . . . the whole thing right?? So, I dealt with some mild frustrations this week. Most of this entry is broad categorically but mostly stemmed from one morning this past week.   With my oldest son starting a job, I'm completely on board with helping him get started and all that that entails (kinda). lol The day he was to start he forgot, in transit, two different times, things he needed for work, which meant turning around and going back both times before finally getting him there, which was pushing me very close to being late for work myself. On the same morning, as I drove my other son and me to work, I had, what felt at first like seemingly mild frustration but then ended up being road rage fully flowing through my veins when I got cut off. Not once but three separate times, all in the 40 minutes it takes for me to drive to my workplace, and each time I had to ask myself, "why am I letting this bother me this bad?", and "why am I not just letting these things go?". I needed to find my center and reclaim my calm, sooner rather than later. In my mind's eye, at first glance I think my frustration is because of them, meaning my son and the other drivers. So easy to place blame outside of myself. In reality, it is/was my inability to cope with my anger and stress at those "in the moment" times better . . . healthier. When trying to find that center, and the patience needed, I remind(ed) myself of some serious truths and some "could be"s (these are my go-to tools, some of them anyway). Like, I tell myself that I have some semi-broken adult children because of the damage caused by me to them when they were younger. Some of them just slightly, and some, the older ones really, well, they are more so, and for obvious reasons. This tends to help me be more patient with them. It's just as much for me as it ever will be for them, that I remember, constantly, that they didn't have this new version of me back when they probably needed it most. And as far as the other drivers, well, I have absolutely no idea what they're going through. They could have been running behind, going to be late for a job that doesn't care about them, that they still need to keep and are worried about being fired from, even though they have a sick baby or little one at home, which is why they are late, and that should be good enough grounds for being late in the first place, but isn't. Fairly specific I know, and may or may not be the reason they are speeding and cutting people off, but I imagine most of the drivers that do this aren't just bad at time management, as much as its reasons like this, and personal to them. Therefore since I truly don't know, then this is how I'll choose to try and conduct myself, my thinking to the best of my abilty, as I am still a work in progress myself. You don't have to agree or disagree, with either or any of the hows and whys necessarily, but they seem to work for me, most of the time, even if slowly at first. The good thing is these things do tend to work for me, and for others as well, so that's the focus. Learned behaviors can take time, especially for someone like me. My "in the moment"s, are probably one of my biggest obstacles in life, as far as my behavioral life lessons/learnings. But I am still learning, and I am getting a little better every day. And all the time I notice my own growth(s), even if not everyone else can see them too. I'm more than the opinion of other people, although wanting others to have a positive opinion of me helps motive me to be the best version of me that I can be. So long as it's not unhealthy for me, or for those around me. My imperfections and flaws just have me trying harder each and every day to be the kind of person I really want to be. The same one that is always kind (or at least civil), with a big heart pure with intent. The one who realizes that, even though I come up short from time to time, I am eternally grateful for just how god damn far I have truly come, and for everyone, and everything in my life. I have to remember who I was, and where I came from, but only because it helps me steer away from that crap and into a better direction for my life. Remember to continue sharing the love and the laughter with the world around you every single day that you are lucky enough to feel gratitude yourself. Please, please try to always be kind to others and take a few minutes each day to be openly thankful for something, and/or someone. Until next week; "Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant." - Robert Louis Stevenson

[leadlovelearn]

Brain Basics

I went to college for Child Development, so my formal background is in kids under 5. When I was going back and forth about whether or not I would pursue elementary ed or dig deeper into child development, something I noticed — and even reflected on here — was that everything changes between preschool and kindergarten. In preschool, play is important, developmental domains are thoughtfully considered, and social-emotional learning is the key ingredient for success. I challenge anyone to go into a preschool classroom for an hour and not have a single conversation or teachable moment that points back to social-emotional learning (SEL). In preschool, SEL is embedded and creatively intertwined into activities, learning experiences, and lessons. It’s the cornerstone. Suddenly, in kindergarten and beyond, SEL stops being a thoughtfully targeted goal and starts being a series of blown off, punishable expectations. But why? Are we focusing too much on academics in K-12? Are we assuming that early ed covered it all and it would be obsolete in our K-12 settings? Where in the world did we come up with the idea that we must focus exclusively on academics at the expense of social, emotional, and problem-solving abilities of our future? That’s right: our future. Every kid is the future teacher, police officer, lawyer, doctor, president, mail deliverer, coach, businessperson, banker, and so on! OUR future is in THEIR hands, hearts, and minds. So why don’t we act like it? Why aren’t we investing in them as people instead of test scores or numbers or data?

Maybe it’s because we move from abstract, authentic learning goals to concrete, government mandated learning standards. Maybe it’s because we aren’t training our K-12 educators well to deeply consider the whole child the way that we do in early ed. To be honest, I’m not totally sure.  I could go on and on about this, but I digress…

Let’s look at this from another perspective.

Instead of thinking about your kid’s feelings or their ability to share, think about their brain. That’s not so abstract, right? It’s a living, growing organ in your kid’s head! In the first few years of life, children with supportive, nurturing relationships and environments are making 1 million neural connections per second. That’s a lot! A LOT! While the rate of neural connections tapers off as they grow and get older, connections are still forming — even for you and me! Your brain is constantly wiring and rewiring, making connections and literally growing. This is called neuroplasticity. The more you exercise your brain throughout your life, the stronger it gets! How cool, right?!

Brain Basics

Cerebrum — The biggest part of your brain. It’s in charge of thinking, muscle control, and memory.

Cerebellum — The back of your brain. It’s in charge of movement and coordination.

Brainstem — The connector between your brain and your spinal cord. It’s in charge of the functions you can’t control, like breathing, heartbeat, and digestion.

Neurons — Tiny cells that communicate and create pathways in your brain as you learn. The first few times you do something, the cells are still communicating. If you complete the task enough times, your neurons create a pathway because they’ve figured it out what’s coming and how to get the job done without all the chit-chat.

Because of neuroplasticity, we are able to learn throughout our life. Mistakes and repetition help us to learn, and help our brain to grow. If something doesn’t go the way you planned the first few times you explore or learn something new, your brain remembers the challenges and helps you to problem-solve for future attempts. This is the same for all ages, but will vary based on age and ability. For example, as an adult, I know that if I put my car in reverse and slam on the gas pedal without looking or turning the wheel, I’ll probably hit something. But, if I’ve made that mistake, my brain will remember that I need to look, check for cars and people, ease onto the gas, and turn the wheel. For a child, if they’re up to bat and they swing too high, their brain will remember — but may need explicit feedback from a grown-up — and they may swing lower on the next pitch. Sometimes this can take many attempts and extra support, but with persistence and an understanding that mistakes are the groundwork of accomplishment, the brain will learn and the child will too.

But what about teens?

Ah, teens. They’re not quite kids but definitely not adults. How does this impact their brains?

Well, during the teen years, the brain gets a makeover.  Hormones are raging, emotions are high, impulses are out of control, and lines are crossed. Boundaries pushed. For tweens and teens, there’s a shift between concrete thinking and abstract thinking. Before, their brains focused on facts. Now, their brains can entertain the “what if’s” and creative problem-solving in new ways. As we know, teens are experiencing all kind of changes: body changes, social changes, changes as they begin to differentiate themselves from their parents. Differentiating just means that your tween/teen is creating an identity and pushing for opportunities to demonstrate their autonomy, or independence. Because of the flood of changes and emotions that are running through them like wildfire, their brain can be sort of “out of wack.” As teens begin to discover their identity, they start subconsciously prioritizing their feelings over their biology. I’ve never met a teen who said, “I have a hard time learning math, but I know I’ll get it because my brain is still establishing neural connections and I’m capable of lifelong learning.” However, I’ve heard plenty of teens say, “I can’t do this, I suck at math.” First of all, that simply is not true. And secondly, those statements are dangerous during this time because, as you now know, tweens/teens are developing their identities at this time. If a teen says “I can’t do this, I suck at math” enough times, not only will they completely give up and believe it, but now it’s part of their identity. “Hi, I’m Suzie, and I suck at a math.” Um, not exactly the kind of happy and healthy kid we’re trying to teach or raise, right?!

What I’m finding is that…

if you can educate yourself about brain development and how it relates to your child’s development — regardless of context, of age, of academic subject, of developmental domain — and thoughtfully embed your understanding into conversations, experiences, activities, and so on, brain development and social-emotional learning sort of become one and the same.

Hear me out, I promise I’m going to tie this all together!

Consider Conscious Discipline’s Brain State Model. In this model, there are three main areas of the brain:

The Executive State,

The Emotional State, and

The Survival State

Take what we’ve learned about brain basics and neuroplasticity as the toolbox, and the Brain State Model as the compartments inside. In the Executive State, the individual is calm, ready to learn, seeking out opportunities to problem-solve and learn from experiences (yes, even mistakes!). In the Emotional State, the individual is unable to effectively problem-solve or learn because there’s some kind of roadblock. In order to make their way back to the Executive State, they need to know — and believe — that they are loved and supported no matter what. In the Survival State, not only is the individual not able to problem-solve or seek out opportunities to learn, but they’re lacking connection and positive feelings of support and love, and they’ve gone into fight/flight/surrender mode.

If your emotions were through the roof — you were anxious or angry or hurt — and you felt isolated, humiliated, or singled-out, would you be able to learn from mistakes or effectively problem-solve? I don’t think I would. I’d like to say I could, but I know that my emotional state absolutely impacts my ability to get things done. If my emotions skyrocketed to worrying about my physical or emotional safety and someone handed me an important email to read and respond to, I would definitely need time to recuperate and reset before I could do that effectively.

Kids are no different. Actually, kids experience this far more deeply than we do as adults. Thanks to neuroplasticity, we have learned to compartmentalize and cope through challenging emotions and experiences in order to get the job done. But kids? They haven’t learned this yet! How can we possibly expect an immature brain to respond maturely to every challenging task or experience that they face?! It’s bonkers to me! We must educate ourselves and reshape our craft — with a great deal of patience and mindfulness — to recognize that KIDS are not capable of the same things that ADULTS can do. They just can’t. Not yet. Not even on their very best, most “executive state” kind of day with the sun shining. It’s not developmentally or biologically possible.

We cannot teach children who are scared and feel unsafe. We cannot teach children who feel disconnected, unsupported, or unloved. We must tackle these things first. Let them know that they are safe with you and supported by you. Then, we can teach. Then, they can learn. When safety and connection have been established, then we can address and teach our children that they are capable of learning. That change is okay. How to treat themselves and how to treat others. What kinds of boundaries are important. Thoughtfully and explicitly addressing, as much as academics and life skills, their social-emotional learning and development.

But…

What is developmentally and biologically possible — and appropriate — is to acknowledge that it could take one attempt or one hundred attempts to teach a new skill, change a behavior, or complete a task. It could take one moment of support or one hundred moments of hands-on, patient, and thoughtful help to get the child to achieve what they’ve set out to do.

And that’s okay.

What’s the rush?! Learning takes time. It just does. If it didn’t, we wouldn’t be putting our kids in early education, elementary school, middle school, high school, and hoping they go onto college and even grad school if they knew everything. We wouldn’t put them in sports or faith communities or travel or do anything, really. If we could know and do everything absolutely perfect from birth, what would be the point of learning? Not to be totally dramatic or anything, but what would be the purpose of living? We’re here to learn, to share, and to contribute. Contribution is meaningless if we don’t have shared learned experiences that have gotten us there. Neuroplasticity requires learned experiences to keep our brain growing and active.

So where do we go from here?

Educate yourself about brain development, neuroplasticity, and the brain state model

Consider ways to give your teaching or parenting craft a makeover to support your understanding

This can be challenging because many of us default to the way we were taught or raised, or the ways that we’ve taught or parented for years and years. Our brains have established neural connections in favor of these established practices. BUT. With neuroplasticity, we can rewire and rebuild. We are capable of lifelong learning, too.

Lead by example,

Love your tiny humans, and

Learn so that you can foster and facilitate learning.

You’ve got this!

[roguepythia]

Meta: Characterizations to Cling to

rose-for-dead-alice replied to your post “Honestly though, I was a hardcore Spuffy shipper. S6 wrecked our shit...”

                       Honestly yeah as much as I kind of hate the loss of a potential canon gay romance on a hit TV show....At least it isn't like what Buffy did with that attempted rape scene, Buffy got way too sexual and I always felt so violated by that part of the show.                    

So many people felt the same! And “violated” is the perfect word choice too. It’s exactly how the entire fandom felt.

Putting this under a read more as I meta about Spuffy and Nygmobblepot characterizations, world-breaking, and fandom/show relationships. It’s a long one people, grab a snack first. 

BtVS S6 just got so dark, dealing with themes like self-hate and using sex as self-punishment. They had spent the entire season completely objectifying Spike and turning him into basically a giant sex toy. And made it seem all “a-okay” to do cause he’d had his own sex toy for awhile in the Buffybot. Plus, Buffy was the “hero” so she “couldn’t” do any wrong. It was all Spike’s fault that he was willing to put up with it. Either because he loved her so much he was willing to take on her pain or he was a monster that couldn’t tell the difference between love and self-hate therefore didn’t think she was doing anything wrong. Considering his keen ability to see through the bullshit my take was the first. He knew she was hurting and wanted to take that pain from her, if he got his leg over in the process so much the better for him.

And then they pulled the rug out from under us when all of sudden he attacks her. They completely ignore all of their world-building to make him out to be the bad guy that can’t see where the line is, when she’s been crossing it all season. Even though at his most evil self he had limits. And then it’s been proven that Buffy is 10x more powerful than Spike but because she got a little banged up earlier that night, all of a sudden he can overpower her? It was also so completely out of character for both of them. Buffy the “hit first, ask questions later” Slayer begging Spike “Love’s Bitch” to stop rather than just kicking him through the wall. Which she can do as she’s a Slayer. Which leads me to my next point.

The audience reaction. They didn’t make this show in a vacuum. There was an audience and a large fanbase. As a college-aged young woman watching this show, I identified with Buffy. She was for my generation what Wonder Woman is now to this one. We looked up to her. She fought the good fight. She stood up to right the wrongs of the “demons” that tried to take her power. She was a metaphor for girls to say to themselves, “I matter. I have power. I have a voice!” So of course when she gets attacked like that, by someone who claims to love her, we all feel attacked as well.

And the Spike fans were doubly betrayed. We identified with Buffy and Spike. The Heroine and the Outsider. They had been such a powerful team and Spike was on his redemption journey already. He spent the entire summer being The Protector to her younger sister and asked for nothing in return except for someone to buy him Wheetabix every once in awhile. Yes, he was still a demon but he was fighting his nature to be something better than himself. Even without a soul he was still trying. That character development was completely destroyed in one scene. The only way to reconcile what happened was to headcanon that even Spike was so appalled by his own behavior that he sought his soul. He basically said, “THIS ISN’T WHO I AM! Screw this, I’m outta here.” Which as noted by the below, might have been their plan.

The following quotes are from the wiki page on this ep and very enlightening as apparently the scene was shot in such a way as to evoke sympathy for Spike....while he was attempting to rape Buffy. Let that sink in.

In the DVD commentary, James Marsters said that filming the scene in which Spike attempts to rape Buffy was one of the hardest he ever had to do. He has since said that he will never do such a scene again. That scene has also generated controversy between fans and the writers,[2] but writer Jane Espenson says that moment was necessary to set up a powerful motivation for Spike's quest to gain a soul.[3] As James Marsters points out, "How do you motivate him [to] make a mistake that’s so heart-rending that he’d be willing to do that?"[4]

Marsters would later say in 2012 that he understood the idea to have come from "a female writer, [who] had a situation in her life where she was and her boyfriend were breaking up and she decided if she just made love to him one more time, that they wouldn't break up. She ended up trying to force herself on him and decided to write about that. The thing is, if you flip it and make it a man forcing himself on a woman, I believe it becomes a whole different thing... I'm not really sure it expressed what the author was intending and on that score it was not successful." [5]

In her essay on sex and violence in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Gwyn Symonds calls the scene itself "technically and emotionally intricate" in that, unlike most depictions of attempted rape, it "encourages a complex audience engagement with both... the perpetrator and the victim."[6] The action was "very carefully choreographed" according to James Marsters,[4] with the camera alternating between close-ups of Buffy and Spike separately to reinforce the audience's shifting empathy with both Buffy and Spike.[6] Writer Rebecca Rand Kirshner agrees that the viewer "could feel how [Spike's] very innards were twisted into this perversion of what he wanted," and she found that experiencing the scene from his perspective was additionally disturbing.[7]

The above makes it clear that the most egregious crime of that scene was against the fans. Not only was it bad decision making on several levels to portray an attacker as a victim but to also believe that you can swap genders in such a scene without a problem. But the most obscene aspect of all, is the world-breaking. In the Buffyverse, Spike is a Demon. Buffy is a Slayer. They are NOT HUMAN. They don’t live by human rules. But the fans are human and we do live in a sometimes ugly, cruel world. By making these supernatural creatures act within human boundaries, the analogies were broken. It was no longer a metaphor. This brought a show that wasn’t just steeped in supernatural elements but solidly based in them, kicking and screaming into the “real world”.

The fandom reacted. All of a sudden fans were labeled “rape apologists” or had to relive the most harrowing moments of their lives to explain how deeply the show had hurt them. Sometimes both. I don’t think the show or the fandom ever recovered. It was a breech of trust that the show writers could never mend.

Even now as writers for the show head other projects, BtVS fans know who they are and what they’ve done. When I found out  Steven S. DeKnight was taking over directing duties for Del Toro on Pacific Rim 2, I wanted to barf. Now the story I love about all of humanity coming together to fight a common foe; full of love and pathos, resolute in its determination to never give up, to go down swinging, to stand up and maybe even pay the ultimate sacrifice to protect those that cannot..... “Today we are cancelling the apocalypse!“ Now it’s in his hands. It’s now going to take a dark and twisted turn full of some type of self loathing and hatred, I’m sure of it. Ug. Fifteen years later and I’m still so appalled at how all this went down.

And if anyone is still reading this long essay at this point, (you get a virtual cookie) but I guess you’re wondering how this all relates to Nygmobblepot. Well, my main point of contention about the above is that they took the characters out of their world. They took supernatural creatures and made them act as if they were human. It wasn’t just that it was OOC for both characters, it wasn’t BtVS either.

The Nygmobblepot and Gotham fandoms are “alive”. Our feelings about the show, the characters, and the fandom itself shift with each new piece of content we receive. And unfortunately, we receive this content in a lot more ways now.  

When BtVS was around, we didn’t have “social media”. Facebook didn’t even exist until one year after BtVS concluded. There wasn’t a twitter page dangling our ship in front of us with colored hearts and cute images or coy phrases. There was an on-line presence, yes, but fans only really interacted with fans and fansites. We didn’t have a direct line to the creators and/or actors on the show on a daily basis like we do now. And maybe we were better off? It is a double edged sword. We can now make our voices heard so much easier but then we are subjected to constant pandering to get “all eyes focused here!!” so advertisers can rake in the money every time we click on a site.

But that isn’t part of the show itself. It’s not. It’s the social media arm run by the PR department, whose job it is to generate buzz and a “click this!!” mentality. And it works! Every time we get sucked in and think something said on those sites will have some correlation to what happens on the show. And that’s not the case. We don’t even know if the PR team knows what will happen in the episodes before they post. For all we know, they have no clue. Somehow we’ve forgotten they are two separate things and the creators need to be reminded of this as well. Because looking back through the social media posts is painful. And it didn’t need to be that way.  

The show itself has actually managed to do the one thing that BtVS could not, and that is to keep their world in tact. After everything that has happened to Oz and Ed, through it all, they have remained in character. The world hasn’t shifted out from under them, nor us. They are still who they’ve always been at their core. Even Ed, who is searching for his identify, has been handled in a way that stays true to his Gotham characterization.

There is a lot that can be said about how the story unfolded and how it didn’t go the way we wanted. Many sectors of the fandom are legitimately angry. Many of us, myself included, were casual viewers until this ship jumped off the screen at us. And it wasn’t social media that sucked us in. It was Robin and Cory’s portrayal of these two broken, damaged villains finding each other that spoke to us. Knowing that even if you are “irredeemable”, there is still someone out there for you. That there truly is a “lid for every pot”. It was that connection we fell in love with, romance or not. And now this beautiful friendship seems to have been ruined for little to no payoff. But at least the story line still all made some kind of sense. I think I’ll be more upset at this point over a lack of explanation for Isabella than anything else.

And the reason why, is that the show hasn’t broken my trust. Their social media PR team can kiss my ass. But the show stayed true to itself and therefore us. It made Oswald canonically gay but never made him into someone he’s not nor made him do things he’d never conceive of. And poor Edward, who falls so easily and simply can’t help himself at times, continued his decent into madness and villainy. Oswald and Edward remained Oswald and Edward, much to Ed’s consternation.

The show makes it clear that this isn’t “the real world” pretty much on an episodic basis. “This is Gotham” isn’t just a catchphrase, it’s a way of life for these characters. It’s how the show is able to make us care about serial killers and psychopaths that we would run from if we met in “the real world”. Their world is filled with color and flair and the characters continue to reflect that. For all of the show’s purported faults in the story line this season, failure to understand their characterizations isn’t one of them. They have not committed the ultimate sin. At least not yet, not in my eyes. I guess we will see what the finale and S4 holds for us.