#so tired of feeling like I might be building something and then like a failure because it doesn’t last

[queerbrujas]

.

[peachesofteal]

Light On - single mom/neighbors fic Simon Riley/female reader

Amends, Simon learns, are harder to make than he thought. 

At first, he tries to catch you in the hallway, or in the lobby of the building. It’s started to get cold, and you’re not out on your balcony much, so he resorts to sulking around like building like a ghost, miserable and downright creepy, waiting. Watching. 

He begins to memorize your routine. It's not intentional, just a hazard of his profession, but he can't help but work everything you do into a schedule that looms at the back of his mind. What time Emma wakes up, what time you usually take her somewhere with you on your lunch, what time the sound of your dryer buzzes to signal it's cycle complete, what time you turn the TV off and the lights go out for bed. Knowing your schedule so well relaxes him, makes him feel reassured, and he waits for every part of it with bated breath, ensuring you're home and safe with each mental check in.

He tries to sync with you, run into you in the hall or outside the building somewhere, but you're elusive, and at night, before he falls asleep, he resorts to daydreaming about a future where he didn't screw everything up, and you already lived with him. Where you shared a bed with him, where Emmaline slept in her room down the hall. Where he has his girls under one roof with him, his roof, safe and tucked away from the rest of world. He can't fall asleep without it now, this daydream, and sometimes, if he's lucky, it stays, gracing his subconscious with beautiful false memories, the kind that linger a little, in the morning when he opens his eyes.

Still, he can't have any of it, dreams or reality, without making amends.

His first real try, after the initial failure, is when he manages to catch you in the lobby. It's right before your lunch is usually over, and he strategically positions himself to enter the building around the same time as you would. Emmaline is in your arms, and when she catches sight of him, she squeaks, swinging a chubby little fist in his direction. You look over your shoulder at whatever has caught her eye, and when you see him, your face twists, smile shifting into something full of apprehension and worry.

“Hi.” You say, when he gets close, inching towards you like you might run off. Emmaline coos, arms stretched out towards his body, and he lets his hand drift, pointer finger finding the grasp of all five hers, wrapped around him.

“Hey.” I miss you, he’s desperate to say, I’m so sorry. But nothing comes out, and something sad stretches across your face when Emma smiles so big at him.

His phone rings, loudly. Johnny. When he looks back up from the screen, you’re gone.

The next time he tries, is in the supermarket.

You’re pushing Emmaline in the buggy, leaning forward to talk to her in the soft little baby voice that you make, and he stops himself at the end of the aisle, just out of sight. You look exhausted, eyes tired, moving slowly, and his heart aches.

“What about some yogurt?” She bobs in the stroller, and you smile. “Yeah! Yogurt! It’s good huh?” You're not paying attention at all, not cognizant of your surroundings, or his proximity to you. If he was someone else, someone who wanted to hurt you, take you... it'd be a non issue. The back door less than ten meters from where your back is turned, someone could have you incapacitated and vanished before you even knew what was happening. His stomach flips uncomfortably just imagining it, anxiety tossing his breakfast around, everything in him screaming at him to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go again.

You turn the corner to his position, still focused on the baby, half paying attention to where you're walking. You manage to glance up once, right before you nearly run into him, and you jerk backwards in confusion, surprise. "Hey."

"Hey, sorry. I uh... wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

"That's alright." He scrounges around in his empty fucking head for something else to say, before landing on: "How are you?"

"Oh, good. Alright, yeah. We're... we're alright."

"That's good." There's a beat of awkward silence, and you chew on your bottom lip for a second.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine." Just do it, he screams at himself. Just say it. "I've been thinkin' about you." Your eyebrows raise.

"You have?" What? Of course I have, sweetheart. You're all I ever think about now.

"Yeah. A lot, actually." He says softly, like you're not standing in the middle of a grocery store, in between the hustle and bustle of everyone else. "I ah... I know this really isn't the place but I wanted to talk to you. It's... I have something I need to tell you. Are you... free tonight? Can I make you dinner?" He practically rushes it out, like water from a spigot, flooding free, too fast and without aim. It's a cautious request, more of a hopeful thing than anything else, and when you take so, so long to respond, he prepares himself for the disappointment.

"Okay." You whisper, with a nod. "Yes. We... we're around tonight."

[spookie-bitch]

Perfect To Me

Pairings: Lady Lesso x Fem!Reader Contains: Comfort, fluff TW: Age gap (legal ofc), perfectionism AN: Requests are open <3

You would've never considered yourself a perfectionist, or even an overachiever. You knew that nothing was perfect and that people made mistakes. Despite this, your subconscious seems to exclude you from said people, and your school work from said nothing.

Staring at the bird pecking in rankings, you’d usually be surprised that you went down a rank. However, today was different. You absolutely flunked the challenge in Professor Castor's class. You were so tired you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but stare in despair.

Your name next to the 2 felt like a punch to the gut. The first to lose. The longer you stared at the rank, the more it sunk in, and the worse you started to feel. Anxiety started to wrack its way through your mind.

“Did everyone know?” “They probably thought I was pathetic.”

You ran your fingers through your messy hair, your hands shaking. The sleepless nights spent studying are shown in your disheveled appearance. You might have normally cared, but right now, you had bigger problems.

As you walk to your dorm room, every hushed voice and whisper felt personal. They were talking about you. They thought you were a failure. You felt like a failure.

Closing the wooden door behind yourself, you feel tears of shame and irritation build in your eyes. You refused to let them fall—crying wouldn't fix it.You leaned your back against the door, sliding down until you were sitting on the cold floor. The room was silent, but your mind was anything but. A million thoughts raced through your head, each one louder than the last.

You buried your face in your hands, trying to steady your breathing. You couldn’t let this break you. You had to get up, keep going, prove that you weren’t a failure.

Pushing yourself up and off the floor, you grab one of the textbooks on your bedside dresser. As you plop down on the bed, you open the textbook to the page marked by your notes. You spend the whole night going over them. Hours tick by and the pages start to blur together into a heap of meaningless words. Despite your best efforts, you can't seem to retain a single thing you've read.

Your eyes grow heavy and begin to burn as the first rays of morning light shine through the window. You hear the soft hum of activity outside your dorm room as the campus starts to wake up. You shut your eyes tightly, rubbing your forehead in a worthless attempt to soothe your oncoming headache.

You get up with a groan, putting your books back into your bag. You change into a fresh pair of clothes, not bothering to brush your hair or really do anything else. You were so drained that you didn't care how disheveled you looked.

“At least now I look how I feel,” you thought to yourself, glancing into the mirror.

A few minutes later, you make your way to your first class of the day, your mood only worsening by the looks cast in your direction. The day only got worse from there, if that was even possible at this point. By your fourth class, you were ready to quit.

“Let them turn me into a tea kettle,” you thought, “at least nobody would expect anything of me.”

You found the corner of the dimly lit hallway, your shoes clicking on the stone of the floor. You did not want to deal with Lesso today. You always felt weird around her and you didn't like it.

Sitting in your seat near the front of the class, you were almost sure she would comment on your appearance. She was blunt, and spoke her mind, but to your surprise, she said nothing. She merely glanced at you, something you couldn't recognize flickering behind her emotionless eyes.

“Probably disgust,” you thought to yourself, your eyes lingering on her for a moment longer.

Five minutes into the lesson you zoned out so hard you could no longer hear the clicking of Lesso’s cane as she paced around the front of the room. What you did hear, was the loud thwack of the cane hitting your desk, pulling you out of your daze.

“Pay attention, Miss y/n,” scolded Lesso, the only noticeable emotion detectable in her voice being mild annoyance. And then she went on with the lesson. You’d expected her to send you to the doom room or something, but you were let off with a gentle scolding.

You zoned out again, wondering why you hadn't gotten in more trouble. Lesso wasn't exactly known to be nice, or even lenient. You were more than sure she saw that you still weren't paying any attention, but she didn't acknowledge it.

You didn't hear when the wolves howled, signaling the start of your trek to your next class, too busy in your own head.

A quiet voice broke through the fog. “Shouldn’t you be heading to your next class?” You looked up, blinking as Professor Lesso stood before you, her gaze sharp yet strangely soft.

“Oh, I’m- I'm sorry professor, I-”

“Are you okay?” She cut your stuttered out sentence off with three words you never thought you'd hear from her lips. You could hear something alien in her voice—concern. It was faint, but it was there. You started to feel weird, her presence starting to fully register.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of the question press down on you. Your chest tightened.

“I'm- I'm fine,” You finally said, your voice barely a whisper. It didn't sound believable, not even to your own ears.

“You don’t look fine.” Her tone wasn't harsh, but it was firm. You could tell by the way she said it that she wasn't looking at you, but rather in you. It made your face flush, suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable.

“I just…” you started, your voice wavering as you tried to find the right words. “I’m tired. I messed up. She knelt slightly, bringing herself closer to your level, her posture uncharacteristically open.

“You push yourself so hard, y/n. Too hard,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. The way she spoke your name made your breath hitch. There was an unexpected protective edge in her tone that made your heart skip a beat.

She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. You found yourself wanting to lean into the touch, but you resisted the urge. Lesso’s thumb grazed your skin, and you could feel your pulse quicken. She was so close, closer than she’d ever been, and you could feel the tension between you, thick and electric.

Her touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as though she was unsure if you’d let her in. The contact was soft, but charged with something unspoken.

“You don't have to be perfect,” she murmured, her thumb tracing gentle patterns along your cheek. You found yourself learning closer, pulled in by the intoxicating blend of strength and gentleness that made you feel both safe and unsteady all at once.

Her breath fanned softly against your skin, your heart pounding.

“Lesso…” you whispered. You weren't exactly sure what you were asking for, but the way she looked at you—like you were something precious and fragile—made you want it more. She didn't respond with words. Instead, she closed the distance between you, her lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss.

You melted into her, your hands finding their way to her collar, pulling her closer. With her hand still on your cheek, she cups your jaw and tilts your head back ever so slightly, deepening the kiss. Her touch was gentle and soothing, so much so it brought tears to your eyes.

As Lesso's lips left yours, the warmth of the kiss still lingering on your lips, you felt a tear trickle down your face. Then another, and another. Lesso gently wiped the tears with her thumb, her face softening. With her other hand, she gently grabs your wrist and tenderly tugs you out of your seat, standing up straight.

She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into her chest.

“It’s okay,” she whispered into your hair, her voice gentle and reassuring. You let your tears fall, silently sobbing into her chest. After what felt like forever, but you were sure it was no longer than five minutes You sniffled, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“You’re perfect to me,” Lesso whispered, her thumb grazing your cheek again. Her arms tightened around you, as if trying to shield you from everything. “You're enough, sweet girl.”

[i-write-boop-spoops]

Professor Sycamore Proposal and Wedding Headcanons

so.... instead of festive headcanons, yall get this!! frick, when did it become february?

features: gn! reader, fluff, mentions of alcohol and cigarettes and very minor reference to sex

not proofread lol

owo what’s this? a classic boopy headcanon??

Sycamore is DIVORCED

So he has a lot of anxiety about marriage

When his last one crumbled, he felt like a failure, even though it was a mutual decision

After that, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to get marrid again

Like, could he really find someone to spend his life with? Was that even possible?

But then he met you

And suddenly, he liked the sound of wedding bells again

You’re together for about two or three years when he feels his ring finger starting to itch

Needing the cool metal of a wedding band to soothe it

Being with you, living with you… it was like the puzzle piece his life was missing

He wants to see that smile of yours for the rest of his life

The proposal HAS to be special

Because you’re special

And you make him feel special

You two have so many special memories together

Luckily, he’s a romantic, so he has an incredible idea

He’s going to take you on a walk down memory lane

Literally

To places that mean the world to the both of you

It starts at your shared apartment of course

You come home from work, to find your beloved wearing a chic suit (the top shirt buttons undone, of course)

He tells you he has a surprise, and that you should put on a nice (but easy to wander in) outfit

It’s not the first time he’s done something like this, so you’re not suspicious of anything just yet

And off you go on your grand adventure!

Having dinner at the restaurant you spent your first anniversary at

Getting dessert at your favourite little café

Laughing about the time you both dropped your ice cream while you stroll through the park

And all sorts of other memories

He’s nervous the whole time, but the excitement wins out

You just look so beautiful, his heart skips a beat every time he glances over at you

He wants to marry you SO BAD!

The walk culminates at the bridge you shared your first kiss at

At this point, you’ve kinda sussed out what his plan is

And boy!

You’ve never been more giddy with excitement

Honestly, if you found out he wasn’t proposing, you’d be disappointed

He takes your hand as you look across the river, the city lights dancing in the water

The speech he gives you is equal parts romantic and heartfelt

Just poetry

You’re trembling the entire time

He gets on one knee

His bones click but ignore that

And presents you with a velvet box

A gorgeous, classic ring inside

He doesn’t even have a chance to finish asking the big question before your arms are around him and you’re shouting “Yes! Yes!”

He’s in disbelief by your reaction

I mean, he knew you’d say yes… but he didn’t expect you to be this enthusiastic

You really do love him, and that makes him feel so happy and blessed

Wedding planning is a bit hectic, since Augustine is very involved BUT also very busy and tired with work

Do you get into silly fights over dumb things like what canapes to serve? Probably

But do you make up like two seconds after? Yes

Your invites are so elegant (art deco perhaps?), and they are rose scented!

In terms of the wedding, it’s gonna be a small but classy affair

Not super traditional, but definitely romantic and stylish

Depending on what point of the timeline it is, he might not even have a best man

Because he’d want it to be Lysandre eek

The ceremony itself would be held in one of the many beautiful, historic buildings in Lumiose

Somewhere full of art and culture and beauty and life

Maybe somewhere like the art gallery? The theatre? The botanical gardens?

Wherever it is, you KNOW Sycamore’s vows will be the most romantic prose

The heartfelt, genuine words that fall from his lips are the stuff of fairytales

It would make the most jilted, stone-hearted person  believe in love again

The whole time, he’s trembling with emotion

His hands are holding yours, his eyes gazing at you with such fondness and admiration

There will be tears

From you, from him, from everyone

Speaking of…

The guest list is STACKED

Despite it only being a few dozen people

It’s like a Pokémon conference crashed into your nupitals

Diantha, Steven Stone, Wallace, Cynthia… a whole host of professors

Your now-husband is well-connected that’s for sure

Expect AMAZING wedding presents

The dress-code is cocktail

Perfect for the cocktail hour

I wouldn’t be surprised if the two of you chose to wear cocktail attire for your ceremony as well as the reception

But you could also stick to more formal/traditional options for the whole event, or switch to your more casual looks after pictures

no matter what option, he WILL find a way to show off a little chest

The reception could be held in a myriad of places

A rooftop in the city, a grand manor in Laverre City, a ballroom in Hotel Richissime

Wherever it’s held, there will be a very Kalosian sounding band playing the whole time

The Champagne will be flowing and plentiful

And there will be SO many flowers

You get those really aesthetic black and white photos taken ah! i love those!

Just saying… your first dance will be so beautiful

Graceful and romantic, you two gliding together as one

It’s Kalos, so you KNOW the meal will be delicious and rich and indulgent

I can totally see the two of you ditching the cake for a round of delicious pastries for everyone

Ones filled with berry curd or cream or chocolate ganache or frangipane

Just exquisite little pockets of joy

At some point, yourself and Augustine slip away to somewhere quiet

A balcony perhaps?

So you two can share a moment together, just the two of you, as pouses

Officially!

And so he can have a quick ciggy

As the evening goes on (and your hubby gets tipsier)

You’re on the dance floor again, but much less gracefully this time

It really devolves from a classy affair to a bunch of drunk friends having a good time

Which honestly? Was exactly how it should end

Well that, and your magical first night together as newlyweds ;)

[brooke121000]

.• the tortured poets department •.

Spencer Reid x bau!user

part 2 - part 1

fluff, idiots in love, early seasons Spence, awkward romance, eventual smut double

posted on Wattpad and ao3!! Highly recommend checking it out on Wattpad as updates might come faster.

The first case was.. okay. I mean, it went alright. I suppose I was expecting more. Some extreme. A big failure, or a huge win. It just.. went okay. We solved the case alright. It was a simple serial killer case, all female victims. It ended up being the phone guy. 

The next two days of work were.. a learning curve. Hotch gave me insight on how to read a suspects cues in an interrogation, and me and Spencer had several conversations about old film, Greek philosophers, and food, of all things. I wasn't about to say that there was a spark between us, but there was something.

A kinship. An understanding.

When we arrived back at the office late at night, we were all mildly tired. The lights were all off, except for a few desk lamps illuminating the wooden surfaces. Several sighs and groans of relief came from the team as we pooled through the doors. My eyes flickered to the clock, which, to my surprise, still read, in bold red letters- 

6:54

I furrowed my brows, turning back to the team. "Geez, it's so early. Feels like midnight already."

We all migrated to the desk area, sitting in our respective chairs, and I let a little giggle slip when Morgan spun in his at a speed I frankly- did not think was possible. I ran my hands over my face as Elle and Morgan discussed what to do with the hours remaining in the day. "We could go out.." he smirked. 

We all contemplated it, and I plopped down on a chair, tucking my knees close to me. I could feel my heartbeat in my knees. I brushed my hair back, and then wiped under my eyes just in case my mascara was running.

Suddenly, my brain pinged. Shoot. I can't. The essay. I sighed. 

"I wish I could.. I have an essay to write, apparently."

"Hm? I thought you weren't in college?" Elle said, her brows raised with a little smile. The question felt vaguely malicious, but I answered anyway. "I'm not. I have a friend- who's still in college though. She needs an essay on the psychology of armed robberies. Some project, I dunno."

Spencer's brows knitted together. "She wants an.. essay? That's not a casual request.. at all, actually."

I shrugged, acknowledging the glaringly obvious, very true statement. "Well, she's a really good friend of mine.

Morgan's lips parted in surprise. "Wow. Well, go write your essay then, I guess. Nice of you."

I groaned, then threw my head back in frustration. "This.. sucks."

"I could help you."

I turned in confusion, meeting Spencer's voice. "Really? It's.. you don't have to." He shook his head, grabbing his bag close to him as he sat back on the desk. 

"No, it's.. it's no problem. I know a lot on the topic."

I nodded.

"..hey, have you ever used a typewriter?" 

Spencer said with a small smile. 

"I.. haven't. Are you plotting something?"

He let out a small chuckle. "No, no I'm not plotting anything. It's just, if you're going to write an essay, I have a beautiful antique typewriter you'd.. probably enjoy."

I grinned. I wasn't expecting the offer, but gladly accepted it. I tried to ignore how I felt my heart beating faster at the idea of being alone with him. Something told me Spencer wasn't the kind of guy to offer to hang out and write together on a moments notice, but I agreed well enough. 

Me and Spencer awkwardly exchanged numbers, and then turned back to the teams conversation. in the night, our small conversations died down, and my eyelids felt heavier. Spencer had already gone home, and I figured I should probably go home if I wanted to clean my apartment in time. so I said my goodbyes.

As I left the building, my heels clicking on the sidewalk while I looked for my car through the pitch black street, I contemplated why Spencer had made his suggestion. Maybe it was because we had formed some sort of kinship on the case. Maybe he's simply offering to help out a coworker, and I'm totally crazy. I'm not really sure these days.

Later, I figured I should probably call Spencer and make sure he was still coming over. I eyed the phone on my nightstand before I eventually found the courage in myself to pick it up and punch in his number.

I held the phone up to my ear, and waited as the shrill ringing echoed. For a second, I found myself hoping he wouldn't answer.

And then he did.

"Hello.. (y/n)?"

His voice was soft and smooth, like honey pouring straight through my phone speaker. I straightened my posture and cleared my throat. 

"Um, yeah- hi, Spencer. I'm just checking up, are we still on for tonight?"

There was a second of silence, and then some shuffling. "Oh- yeah, yeah. We are. I'll be there in.. thirty minutes? If that's alright?"

Thirty minutes? 

Fuck, that's soon. 

"Yeah, sure. Thanks. See you then." I smiled a little, before hanging up.

I'm only slightly ashamed to admit that I spent the next thirty minutes doing my makeup and changing into something cuter. I couldn't help that I wanted to impress him. 

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Trudging up the beaten down steps of the moon-lit apartment complex, heavy cardboard box balanced awkwardly in my arms, the reason why I had offered to even do this was still not apparent to me. I didn't do things like this.

I could be in my apartment right now, safe and sound, making dinner. But I wasn't. Perhaps it was something about the way (y/n)'s eyes had saddened when she realized she would have to miss out, or maybe it was that she was a beautiful woman and I was an idiot. She was- strikingly beautiful, after all. Maybe I am, really, a simple person.

I had no intention of overwhelming her, and I didn't see this as a date. I hoped she didn't. Maybe this was going to be a one time thing. Hopefully this was going to be a one time thing. I don't think I could handle all the childlike, immature teasing me and (y/n) would have to endure if we were to actually see each other outside of work regularly. God, I have to stop assuming things of this. I'm helping her write an essay, that's all.

That's all. 

My hands were almost shakey when I knocked, and the door opened promptly, my face hit with her perfume.

(y/n) smiled, a real, warm smile. She brushed a strand behind her ear, shuffling to the side to allow me in. "Hi, Spencer! I'm glad you could make it. I could.. really use the help."

I nodded, striding into the apartment as I looked around "oh, don't worry, it's.. really no problem." I smiled softly.

The apartment was cozy, and well decorated. Several lamps and candles let off an incandescent auburn light, and the general area smelt of cinnamon and old furniture. It was unusually nice. It matched her.

"I've already started the essay." She said cheerfully. I placed the heavy typewriter box down on the island, and looked over at (y/n), who had already fluttered across the space. She was in the kitchen, flicking on a black kettle with a soft click. 

"Tea?"

I nodded. I still felt awkward in the apartment, like I was looming into her space, casting some sort of uncomfortable shadow. We had only met a few days ago, and here I was in her home. Maybe she's just too nice for her own good, too quick to allow people into her life. I frowned at the thought. 

I had already gotten the black and red typewriter set up, flicking small metal switches and adjusting things. She smiled, her eyes widening. "Ooh, my gosh, that is pretty."

Soon enough, she came around the island with two tea mugs. She held them up. "Mushroom or ghost?" 

I chuckled a little, and happily accepted the cartoony ghost mug. "This'll do."

She immediately walked to the island, balancing the mug as she plopped down in a chair, crossing her legs under her. I noticed her mismatched, colorful socks and cracked a smile before I sat down on the next chair, making sure to keep a healthy distance. She reached across the marble to grab her laptop, and I put a hand under the mug to stabilize it, our knuckles brushing together. I tried to ignore the heat in my cheeks as she finally got a hold on the laptop and pulled it back into my lap, opening it. She flicked through her tabs.

She landed on a series of emails, between what seemed to be her and a close friend, gossiping. It was in moments like these I wished my reading speed wasn't what it was. I quickly absorbed each text.

"Omgg, no!!"

"Bitch, you have to! How tall is he??"

"Tallllll.. capital T 🫣"

"You can totally pull him!! Do it."

"You're crazy."

(y/n) gasped a little. "Oh! Sorry." She giggled. Quickly closing all her tabs and landing on the google docs page. "Alright, so I figure we'll just copy what I've already written onto the typewriter and then start from there."

"That sounds right. I have to warn you though, it is a little bit of a learning curve- using a typewriter I mean."

She raised her brows. "Oh, yeah, I've heard. I've never written one one before."

"I'll teach you." I smiled earnestly.

"Alright, so- first you have to feed the paper in." I said, pulling a stack from the box. She grabbed one, clearly already eager to do it herself. She fed the paper through, brows furrowed in concentration.

"Perfect. Now you just- pull this lever." I said, flicking the small metal switch. "Then I'll set the margins..." I trailed off, setting them and then pulling the bar down.

She nodded, watching me intently. "Now?"

"Now, just turn this knob to roll the paper into place." I said gently, pointing to a small white knob on the side. She reached forward and twisted it, pulling the paper just a little too far down. I laughed a little.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. Here." I put my hand on hers, guiding her to twist it back and put the paper in the right place. 

Then, we just.. wrote. Admittedly, it was very nice to see somebody be equal to me in an academic area such as writing. And she was, incredibly talented. She was very focused, her brows furrowed slightly as she typed with a speed id never seen before, except of course in myself. I admired the creativity in her words, the way she was able to wrap emotions into what she typed. I gave recommendations here and there, but other than that I mostly observed. She looked in her element.

She was so distracted with the writing that her tea sat neglected the whole night, her nails tapping on the keys, the cacophony of soft clicking filling the warm apartment. When she finally finished writing, when the last key was clicked, the last letter typed, she let out a sigh of relief, and I pulled the page out.

"You're a very good writer."

She smiled bashfully. "I'm sure you're better." I frowned a little at her self deprecation.

"I assure you, I'm not. I tend to sound.. clinical in my writing. You don't. Really, it's.. you're very talented."

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The night went.. very well. Spencer is charming. Even when he doesn't want to be. 

When I finished writing, and offered Spencer wine, he gladly accepted. I didn't take him for a drinker, but he has good taste so I figured he could enjoy a nice red. We plopped onto the couch, my legs crossed among the fall colored pillows as I sipped from a delicate glass.

When Spencer finally left, it was nearing 11:00. I immediately collapsed in my bed, pulling the duvet up over my shoulders. 

I had an unfortunate realization when I trudged into the living room the following morning.

He left his typewriter.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[im-a-marion3tt3]

To Much

Phantom needs a break. Tw for unintentionally sh. This is kinda shitty but I needed to write something.

Tour was hard on everyone, all the ghouls and papa eventually only looked forward to going home. This was especially the case for Phantom. The stage lights had stopped being awe-inducing and now only gave him a migraine and stress. His fingers felt far more brittle as he played his guitar; the ache never seemed to leave anymore.

The end of the performance came sooner than he realized, mainly because he had zoned out after the second song, thinking about when he would finally get to go to bed. Even as he bows and heads off stage, his mind isn't fully there, finding it easier to cope with his exhaustion in this state of mind. That is until he gets confronted.

"Phantom, what the hell were you doing tonight?" Dewdrop snapped after they had changed out of their show clothes. He looked tired and pissed off, his hair looking much more messy than normal. They all were too tired at this point, a long nap and going home were over due.

"I played, what the fuck are you talking about?" Phantom muttered back, rolling his eyes as he ran a hand through his hair. He did have the energy for a fight right now but if that's what Dew wanted, he give him one.

"Yeah, you played but you sure as hell didn't perform! You're not some baby and more, you have to fucking pull your weight now. Jesus, why did Aether have to fucking leave, this is ridiculous!"

"Then get him back and I'll fucking leave! So sorry your Highness that my best isn't good enough anymore!" Phantom spat out before storming out of the venue before anyone could even try and stop him. He blended in with the shadows as soon as he hit the streets, making sure his demon form was concealed.

And just like that, he was gone. Having followed the sidewalk to a brightly lit up building. It smelled bad in his head but it would do for now. Here, he could nap unbothered. Phantom curled up behind a dumpster and quickly fell asleep, cold and uncomfortable but happy to finally get the sleep he so desperately craved. Dew's words rang in his ears, maybe it would be better if he was gone, then they could get Aether back.

Copia took longer getting ready to leave, having more to do and had to make sure the clergy knew of what went wrong during the performance. By the time he finally was ready to leave and met up with his ghouls, he noticed there was a stiff and uncomfortable whispering. Copia didn't know what happened but didn't really care, they were always up to something. Except, he started to get a little more nervous when he took a head count and found them to be one short. Phantom.

Shortly after, a screaming match started, fingers being pointed all while Copia looked on, a heart broken look on his face. He loved all of his ghouls and to hear the one away made him feel like a failure and question why he had ever been put in charge.

It was Mountain who realized Copia's facial expression. He hadn't joined in the fight either, being far to concerned that there was a little ghoul wandering the cold city streets alone. Carefully, he pulled Copia into a hug, holding him close to his chest.

"Just shut up!" Mountain eventually barked, a glare resting on his face as at the other ghouls with a frustrated expression, his horns sticking through his glamour as thorns started to grow off of them. He proceeded to yell at the group at how it was everyone's fault for letting him leave, for making him feel unwanted and for hurting papa in such a way. He had trusted them and they broke that trust. Thinking on his feet, he quickly paired them up and sent them out, figuring such a younger ghoul couldn't have gotten far. Mountain left Dew behind with Copia though, feeling as though Phantom might not want to see him.

It was Aurora who found him, curled up and still crying softly, a piece of glass in his hand and a small puddle of blood on the pavement. She noted that the blood came from his palm, he had most likely crushed something made of glass.

"Phantom! Oh for Hell's sake we've been worried sick," she muttered kneel down next to him and carefully grabbing his wrist to look at this hand. Phantom was not having it though, he snapped his hand out of hers.

"Jus g-go away," he stuttered out, something he only did when feeling big emotions. It made Aurora frown though, unsure of how to actually help him. So, she simply picked him up and tossed his over her shoulder, uncaring of his fighting. She was stronger than him by far and she was scared for it.

Phantom fought the entire way back to the building, noticing that their bus had already pulled up. Great, now everyone would be mad at him, he thought, a fresh wave of tears coming. It was a great surprise to him that instead of getting yelled at he felt arms yank him from Aurora and hug him tightly. It was papa.

"You simply cannot run off like that. You are but a kit still and had us all worried sick," Copia said in his thickly accidented voice as he held Phantom close. Phantom just held him back, crying softly into his shoulder, uncaring of the blood that got onto Copia. He just wanted to feel loved and needed right now.

"I know sometimes we say too much and feel too much but we all love you," Mountain said softly, having come in recently though stayed silent. He knew the other ghoul needed to feel loved and no one but Copia could heal the wounds from Dewdrops words.

[serenefig]

So you know that prompt from @dire-kumori (https://www.tumblr.com/dire-kumori/716392823136616448/time-travel-au-where-michael-goes-back-in-time) i shared a wip Wednesday of a while back? Unfortunately I'm not certain I'll ever finish it due to interests changing (curse you ADHD hyperfixations). So! Instead I'll post what I have for the writing as well as my plot notes in a reblog.

Fair warning this was not going to have a happy ending for anyone. I planned to have this set up as a stable time loop.

Content Warnings for: child death, child murder, body horror

If I'm missing some warnings let me know and I'll add them here and the tags.

~*~

Michael was so very very tired. It was nearing the end of his shift and he could not wait for this nightmare to end. Here he was stuck doing actual work for a pretend Fazbear Pizzeria that wouldn’t even last the day. It was Saturday; almost time for the “Big Party”. He knew Henry had some form of plan to end it all, but what it was he didn’t know. And if he were honest with himself, Michael didn’t care to know. It was easier that way. And it wasn’t like he didn’t have contingency plans.

He wasn’t certain if Henry knew who he was. The “interview” was a farce at best, and clearly negligent. If it weren’t for the murderous animatronics, Michael might have even let himself enjoy being a manager. There was something freeing in running a half-decent Freddy’s. But no, he was here for more reason 

His alarm went off, signaling the end of the day. The tension drained from his body, barely listening to Elizabeth. Soon, he thought. He was ready for this “big party”.

[LINE BREAK]

Was this heaven? A dream? Another step in his long line of failures? Michael expected to be fully dead. He expected to be rotting in whatever hell his father ended in, suffering side-by-side for all eternity. And yet, here he was. Here Michael lay, in a wooded area devoid of buildings, and a familiarity in his soul.

He wondered how he ended up here. Where his skin once melted onto burning metal, now soft grass tickled what little sensation he had left. It was a habit now, taking stock of his body and decay. How much of him was still left, and how much he would need to replace.

Wriggle the toes and the fingers, twist the joints, flex the small amount of muscle left, feeling the scrapped together endoskeleton push and pull against his body.

Some of the tension left Michael. It seemed there was no loss of movement. He slowly sat up, wincing at the crackling of his burnt and rotten skin. There would be little he could do to patch his skin now, he had to be careful. He had to stay human enough.

He wandered, albeit slowly, out of the wooded area. It was difficult, remembering how to walk. 

[LINE BREAK]

It shocked him to see a younger version of himself, even more so see him laughing and genuinely at that! He watched his  (ex-)friends wave goodbye, leaving the younger Michael by himself. He remembered this day. It was one of the last times his friends were actual friends. Back before his friends used him for Fredbear Diner freebies, before his siblings’ deaths. Back when his life was simple and the worst thing he knew was the occasional swat on the back.

The elder Michael felt fury in his bones, and the urge to rip it all away. This must certainly be hell, as his 13-year-old self had no right to laugh, to not know fear, to genuinely enjoy his time outside of the house instead of using it for an escape.

There stood the boy who let so-called friends dictate his newly teenaged life.

Step

There stood the boy who took his anger and fear out on his kid brother.

Step

There stood the boy who, instead of protecting his family, let his sister die and directly caused his brother’s death.

Step

Soon he was behind his younger self. How the young Michael didn’t hear his older self shamble behind him, the elder didn’t know, but clearly his stench was enough to draw attention as his younger self turned around.

All the self-loathing and disgust that he felt every time he looked into a mirror surged to the surface. How dare he be unblemished. How dare this child live for all the horror that he would come to cause. If it were not for Michael, Elizabeth would not have been snapped up by Circus Baby. If not for Michael, Evan’s head would have never been crushed between Fredbear's jaws. If not for Michael, perhaps his father would never have found Remnant. (But that was a lie, and he knew it. William had created the Funtimes to kill long before Elizabeth stepped in front of Baby).

Michael shoved his younger self to the ground and straddled him. He watched his own hands wrap around this young Michael's throat, feeling as if they had moved of their own accord (how long has it been since Ennard piloted his body, since they left bits and pieces of endoskeleton inside him), and squeezed. Time stood still.

He felt disconnected from the scene before him, and yet he reveled in the sounds his younger self made. In the feel of his remaining skin being torn as the younger Michael clawed at them in an attempt to gain air. God, he really was his father’s son, wasn’t he?

It disgusted Michael how, in this exact moment, it was the most alive he had felt since his brother’s death all those years ago. The haze of his depression had turned sharp, and for the first time in a very long time, he was acutely aware of his actions. Michael found it difficult to let go. To let this young child go where he would be a catalyst for all that went wrong in the family. There was no blood staining the boy's hands yet, but there would be. So he kept squeezing, putting all his weight both rotted and left behind animatronic into killing. And for the first time Michael was glad that his tear ducts had rotted away. 

Soon, too soon, the younger Michael’s struggling got less and less, until eventually he stopped moving altogether. It wasn’t enough for the elder. He was still so angry at himself, and at the world. Michael kept squeezing and squeezing until—

CRACK

It all went dark.

[LINE BREAK]

Bad End (true): There comes a time when a person must admit defeat. Michael had been in this loop for what felt like eternity. He had no idea how long it had been since the fire. And if he were honest with himself, time itself held no meaning to him anymore. He had tried so very hard to change his history— their future. Yet it seemed it was all for naught. Elizabeth was still taken by Circus Baby. Evan was still bitten by Fredbear. Mike was still scooped.

There was a brief period of time where he had set fire to each establishment as they popped up, but each resulted in another loop. Always starting in that clearing, always watching his younger self. And Michael, well, he never knew when to give up as a child. That had not changed. So he watched, and he waited.

Finally, after a long and isolating 100-some odd years, Michael watched as the labyrinthian location went up in flames. He slowly joined the others in the inferno, hoping, praying that he could finally rest. Knowing that the other Michael would likely start his own time journey soon. Perhaps he would break the vicious cycle of death and misery that followed the Aftons.

It was not for him to know, and he was okay with that.

And at long last, Michael Afton was finally reduced to ashes.

[LINE BREAK]

Alt End (good end???): Killing William actually work and the family is safe and no else dies the end

[twobigears]

@wyrddogs​ well it’s gonna be a Process integrating it into our agility routine, but the main thing is I try really hard to stick to the criteria of “do not move your paws”. Which is already hard enough for Chandra in the sit-stay in agility. 😅 We did some practice with the stand-stay and a jump on Friday with the vet, and a little more yesterday and both sessions went really well because her stand-stay is pretty solid right now from all our obedience work, but I expect it might start slipping as Chandra brings Agility Feelings into it.

The key things for teaching and progressing a solid stand-stay, at least from what I know now, are:

a well-understood duration marker that means “wait in place for reward”. I use “good” for treats and “nice” for toys. “Good” is said with a specific, low and drawn-out intonation that separates it from using “good” in other contexts, like “good girl” and general praise. My dogs know that when I say “good” like that, it mains wait still and don’t move while I bring the treat to you.

“Nice” for toys is slightly different and tbh I am not as nerdy about dog training science as I used to be so I don’t really care but I use it as kind of an intermediate marker which means that the /next/ word will be a verbal marker indicating where to get their toy. For example, “nice, look-back” will tell my dog to get the toy on the ground behind her. Is the nice marker necessary or super-clean training? I don’t know but I feel like it helps my dogs pause and think a little more when toys are involved. I primarily use it for stationary positions like the startline stay or 2on2on contacts, but I actually started using it for moving heeling and wanted to reward Chandra with a toy in my left hand. She really struggles with targeting the toy in this situation and I was tired of getting my hand bit. So adding “nice” gave me a way to mark her heeling and then add an extra second for her to pause and actually target the toy before cued “bite”.

Separating these out because they are extra important:

Being as picky as possible about not allowing/rewarding foot movement!! Super important!! If I reach in to deliver a treat and my dog moves a paw, oops, that gets a no-reward marker and the treat hand either pauses or moves away.

Working through the same Duration, Distance, Distraction principles as sit and down-stays. And trying to do that gradually enough that I avoid failures (i.e. paw movement or self-releasing) as much as possible. This is a big mistake that many people make with any sort of stay or stationary position. They (either accidentally or intentionally) try to teach more through failure and correcting when the dog moves, rather than rewarding more for the dog successfully staying still. Yes failure will happen, and like I said that’s when I use a NRM but my goal is to minimize the use of NRMs as much as possible and do a lot more rewarding for staying still.

And the same release principles as other stationary positions. Having a clear verbal release cue, whether that is a general release cue, releasing with a marker cue, or cue to do another behavior. And just like above, I want to build a history of my dog successfully staying until released far more often than pushing them to fail and self-release early.

As far as integrating it into agility specifically, some additional things I’ll be particularly focusing on are:

watching out for paw movement (again!!)

gradually increasing my lead-out distance and not pushing for more distance on the lead-out than she can successfully maintain. I won’t expect to right away be able to lead out as far with a stand-stay as I can get with a sit-stay.

using toy reinforcers. Up to this point I have primarily used food for Chandra’s stand-stay. But toys increase her arousal and excitement, and that is something she’ll have to work through since agility also = a lot of arousal and excitement. She already has a hard time sometimes even responding to the initial stand cue when a toy is in the picture! We can also do some two-toy work where I have a toy in my hand as well as a toy on the ground behind her, and she has to listen and respond to the appropriate verbal marker for which toy to get. Having a toy behind her is especially helpful for reducing the temptation to creep forward if she is thinking she might have to go backwards for reinforcement.

I might also add a “wait” cue. I don’t typically teach a separate stay/wait cue, I teach sit/down/stand such that the stay is implied. Like when I cue her to sit on the startline I only give the sit cue, and then she stays until release. But I have taught a “wait” cue in other agility contexts, such as waiting on the down ramp of the dogwalk when backchaining her 2on2off. So she understands “wait” in agility already and it might be a helpful boost for a stand-stay on the startline.

and of course continuing to work and reinforce the stand-stay separately from agility and in our obedience contexts so it remains strong there

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: I need help getting out of what I think might be Ni-Ti loop.

[Background: I have a rather atypical life. It could partially be because of where I am and partially for my loop. I started really well, was a good student and my teachers thought I was going to have a bright future.

During late teen years I found out the name of what I was dealing with, which had to do with being LGBT. I became depressed and reserved, but couldn't tell anyone about it, not even my family. So I kept it to myself and planned to immigrate one day.

I kind of ended up studying the 2nd thing my family wanted for me, but I resented it. My family told me to graduate and then do what I want. I was in my mid-20s when I graduated, and I was unemployed and lost. I studied hard and got accepted to a reputable grad school. I wanted to use that opportunity to build my CV.

A family member had promised (several times) to pay for my housing in case I got accepted to a good uni, but right when I told them about my acceptance, they pulled the rug under me and got what they had said back without any reason. So I ended up not going due to money issues.]

The main part : I'm now in my late 20s, and I feel even more lost. I compare myself with people my age from around the world and even my own past, and I feel behind in life.

I'm stuck in this Ni-Ti (or Ti-Si?) loop. I still haven't "moved out" to a more liberal part of the world, haven't begun my "process", and the depression caused by it, the pressure to keep all of it inside, and my inability to find my way out are killing me. It's like everytime I try to fix my situation, I fail and get back to stage one

I guess the logical thing is to have a fresh start, study something reasonable in my own town, get a BSc degree in it and try for an internship position while studying, in order to gain work experience, build my CV and then leave.

But I just don't have the energy to do it. I'm already stuck in my Ni-Ti loop. It's paradoxical, like a negative cycle or a dead-end. I know I have to let go of my internal state and work hard, in order to reach my goal, but I lack the energy, hope and internal strength to do it. And besides, what if I fail?

Everyday, I mourn for my lost youth, and I think it's already too late for me now, let alone after 4-5 years or more. I would be in my early to mid 30s by then, and even thinking about it makes me hopeless, anxious and suicidal. If the things in my past hadn't happened, I would be where I wanted to be right now, and I keep thinking about that (Ni loop of tunnel vision?).

I'm really tired of being repressed and closeted, not being able to explain my pain, appear like myself, choose my outfit, etc. And my future is ambiguous, which makes things even harder for me to deal with. I can't really talk about my "condition" with anyone in my life, and I feel too shy to trust and confess that to a therapist or ask for help in real life.

My question: How can I get out of this Ni-Ti loop/cycle and have a healthy life? I read a lot of self help books, but they don't seem to work. How can I stop feeling behind in life compared to people my age or even younger?

------------------------

As explained in the study guides, getting out of Ni-Ti loop requires healthy dominant Ni functioning and developing healthy auxiliary Fe functioning.

Your Ni difficulties involve not having a good direction. This began with you not making the best decision with regard to your schooling and career; this likely continues because your idea of what your career should look like is too rigid or naive. Job and career aren't the same thing. It is possible to be happy without a career and career is only as important as you make it to be. Nowadays, it is quite common for people to explore many different career paths throughout life. Yet, you beat yourself up for it and, gradually, fear of failure infects your entire mindset, which is counterproductive and a waste of energy. As long as you devote energy to the negativity of guilt or regret, that energy isn't going to be available for positive efforts. Life isn't and shouldn't be a straight line and the sooner you understand and accept this reality, the more energy you will free up for positive growth.

Your Fe difficulties involve not having enough social support. You cannot avoid suffering in life, but good social support can help ease it. There is reason for you to keep this secret of yours, but remember that secrets eat you up inside. It is a self-destructive choice. Staying in the closet is harmful to mental health for a variety of reasons.

It isn't either/or; there is a healthy middle ground between complete silence and loudly proclaiming your identity in the streets. Of course, depending on where one lives, one has to exercise enough care and caution in exposing oneself. Remember that it doesn't matter where you live, every place has its fair share of good and bad people, and sexual minorities exist and have always existed among the majority population. There are always kindred spirits and sympathetic allies around, even if they can only be found online at first. Communicating with people online is sometimes the safer way and better than having no social support at all. An important part of being a healthy N is opening the mind to possibility.

If you care about your mental health and well-being, you should put out the effort to find some kind of social support. Bearing such suffering alone isn't a sustainable strategy, and it's especially unhealthy when it interferes with type development and keeps you trapped in harmful tertiary loop patterns.

Your Fe development issues are very understandable because of lack of social support, but they go far deeper than that in the way you rely on social comparison to measure yourself. This is an immature and maladaptive thought pattern that needs to be changed. Do you understand that every person is an individual and has their own path in life? Do you understand that your social comparisons are wrongheaded because you're comparing yourself against what you merely superficially see of others? Are you a mindreader? You don't know what other people are really thinking, feeling, or going through behind closed doors. And how they live is irrelevant to you and how you should live your life, that is, if you ever hope to become a truly independent adult.

You want social validation/acceptance, which is legitimate, but contorting yourself into a false image isn't the healthy way to achieve it. In fact, the start of the career problem came when you didn't decide according to your own needs but to meet the expectations of your family. Until you learn to put your own needs in perspective and prioritize them properly, you won't find your direction, and this will make it difficult to have healthy Ni.

[jadethest0ne]

In need of Refueling, Chapter 29 - Braiding Hair

Summary:  “You?! Why would I trust you? You have brought me nothing but failure. Time and time again; nothing but disappointment!”

His father’s words might have been a result of his possession by the  White Bone Spirit, but whether or not they were his true thoughts, Red  Son vows to prove them wrong. To do so he seeks to attain a power strong enough to destroy his father’s immortal enemy. After all, he’d much rather throw fire at his problems.

Word Count: 2505

Ratings/Warnings:  Teen and up; injury, burns, angst and hurt/comfort, toxic thoughts caused by toxic parents, panic attacks, abuse.

Notes: Mei braids Red Son’s hair and they talk about dreams.

Credits: Big thanks to @painted-arachnid and @simplyfornardo  for helping me bounce ideas off of them. And also thanks to @lemonsqueazie for providing me with “Journey to the West” lore. I don’t know much about the original novel or other iterations, but I still tried to keep  some things compliant with the lore. You should check all of them out, since they’re really great content creators with neat ideas!  

Read on AO3

———-

 It is hot. Uncomfortably so. Even for a fire demon.

 There are flames everywhere. Buildings are burning. People are screaming. The smoke is overwhelming. He coughs harshly and sinks to his knees. The fires swirl around him, coming close. He tries to push the flames away, but they don't listen to him.

 He calls out to the fire and pleads for it to obey his command, holding out his arm as if to physically keep it at bay.

 Beyond his outstretched hand there is a large bull-like figure and a flash of blue.

He wakes up with a startled yelp.

His hand is still stretched out, and a small red fireball had unconsciously formed there which falls clumsily to his covers. Red Son quickly pats out the flames, and luckily the blankets appear undamaged except for a small charcoal smudge. He rubs at the spot in tired frustration. He wipes at his eyes tiredly and looks at the clock. It’s much earlier than he meant to wake up, but despite this he gets up and gets ready for the day anyway. If he gets moving maybe he can take his mind off of what woke him up. But his dreams and the weight of little sleep cling to him throughout the day.

He was getting rather sick of these dreams and his flames not entirely responding well to his emotional state.

Despite having practiced meditation and self-control with Sandy for several weeks, suddenly reintroducing emotion-laden fire powers to the mix and suddenly having a lack of sleep didn’t help Red Son’s control of his usual temper. Many times when Red Son forgot himself, his fire would activate or his hair would flare up. It wasn’t too often, but it was often enough that Red Son started to feel embarrassed at how many times he just let his fire flow freely without regard to those around him.

Sometimes it was helpful. Like today as he worked at the shop, when MK was being harassed by an entitled customer. Red Son was there to put the "Karen" back in their place and scare them off. Pigsy chewed him out a bit for doing that in front of other customers, but Red Son felt justified for it.

Unfortunately, more often than not, his lack of control of his temper did more harm than good. For instance, when he accidentally activated the stove without warning, which could have burned the soup Pigsy was working on; or worse, burned Pigsy. Luckily, neither happened, but it was too close for Red Son’s liking. Another time he got upset at losing a card game against Tang, and simply burned up the deck of cards. And worst of all, after stubbing a toe at Sandy’s, his angry shout, which was accompanied by a burst of flames from his fiery hair, scared Orange Claw. She was unharmed, but the wary look on her face and the fact that she ignored him for the entire afternoon hurt him more than expected. He didn’t want something like that to happen again.

He had a few meditation sessions with Sandy after that, some involving bringing forth his flames and dissipating them as they went. It was an interesting mix of both emotional and power control training. Red Son appreciates this, but it’s the “mindfulness” part of Sandy’s lessons that gives him trouble. Red Son finds it difficult to be aware of his emotions and his powers in a, quite literally, heated moment. Sandy mentioned using visual or tactile reminders, but he’s not really sure what he could utilize for that…

“Your hair always bursts into flames, when you get angry - what if we tied up your hair in a way to remind you not to do that?” the Dragon Girl says, after listening to Red Son lamenting on the subject.

Red Son perks up, not really realizing how much his brooding mutterings had been out loud. They were in the shop after closing. Red Son had just finished cleaning up and was leaning on a broom he was meant to put away before he started his not-so-internal monologue. Mei is sitting at a table, scrolling through her phone while waiting for MK to get back from his last deliveries for the evening. So it’s just them.

Red Son blinks at Mei’s comment, and his first inclination is to object to any suggestion by her, but he stops and thinks. Red Son did always put his hair up in a ponytail because it kept his hair, and any errant flames that sprung from it, away from his face. So the suggestion wasn’t too far out of left field, to work. But if a ponytail was something that he was used to, perhaps it wouldn’t have been enough of a “reminder”.

So instead of a rebuttal to the Dragon Girl’s suggestion, he says, “What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking like some sort of braid. It’d, like, tie it up, and you could feel it on your back, or look at it over your shoulder. Especially if maybe you added a heavy or fluffy hair tie to fidget with or something.”

“Uh… I don’t know…” Red Son didn’t have any experience with fancy hair styles. He usually was very practical with his hair care, but didn’t do anything special. He wasn’t even sure if he could do a proper braid.

“I have some nice hair ties and accessories you could try out if you want,” Dragon Girl says.

Red Son twists a handful of the hair in question through his fingers, and says, “It’s not that, it's just… Not something I usually do.”

Sensing the reasons for his trepidation, Mei offers, “I could braid your hair for you, if you’d like.”

Red Son blinks at her. It makes sense, but the idea of having someone else mess with his hair causes him to unexpectedly tense up.

Dragon Girl waves her hands, “Only if you’re comfortable, though. I get it if you don’t want to, or if you can do it yourself.”

Red Son scoffs and says, “I know how to do it! I.. just… want to make sure you wash your grubby peasant hands before you touch my hair! It’s only logical that someone else does it to make sure it’s even, after all!” He folds his arms over his chest, while puffing it out, making sure he injected the right amount of flaunting into his statement so she knew her place, while also inherently accepting the offer.

Dragon Girl raises her eyebrows and smirks, obviously not biting at the opportunity to snap back, “So, that’s a yes then?”

“Of course!” Red Son quickly stashes away his broom, and stomps hautilly over to the table she is sitting at and sits down in an adjacent seat.

Red Son can practically feel the eye-roll as she walks past him and goes to wash her hands. She comes back with a box of hair accessories and slides back into the chair behind him, ready to start braiding.

Mei runs her fingers through Red Son’s hair, and a nervous tingle runs up and down the fire demon’s spine. He thinks the only other person who’s ever done anything with his hair was his mother, and it felt oddly intimate to allow someone else to touch it. An unbidden flicker of flame twitches through his hair and Mei flinches back, dropping the lock of hair she was holding.

“Yipe! You know if you’re going to let me do this, you can’t be lighting up your hair to begin with!” Mei scolds.

“M-maybe be more careful with my hair!” Red Son bites back with little heat. “This is just… strange is all…” He peters off.

Mei immediately stops and slowly pulls her hands away. “We don’t have to do this, you know?” she says softly. “If you’re uncomfortable with it, I can stop.”

“No, it’s fine. I can sit still long enough. I’m not a child.” Red Son huffs out. But he makes sure to take a calming breath and center himself. “You may continue,” he says with a wave.

“Okay,” Mei responds and picks up a brush.

She carefully brushes through the tangles of his hair. Red Son usually keeps his hair clean and neat, but working at the noodle shop, and with his fire occasionally causing it to flare, it can often get a little bit messy. Still, Mei makes sure to be gentle in her brush strokes. After his hair is tangle free, Mei combs through it with her fingers, carefully separating the locks into three sections, and proceeds to start braiding. The feeling is tingly, but very relaxing, and Red Son’s eyes start to flicker shut as he melts into the touch with pure content.

After a few moments of peaceful bliss the Dragon Girl speaks up. “So why are you so cranky lately, anyway?”

Red Son sighs, some peace lost, but reminding himself to remain calm, and still feeling pleased at the pampering, he answers with a small one-shoulder shrug, “I have been having dreams lately, and I suppose it has affected my sleep.”

“Oh? What sort of dreams?”

Red Son hesitates, shoulders tensing up slightly in a way that he knows Mei catches notice of.

“Red Son…? What.. what dreams?” Mei asks again cautiously.

“They’re… I think they’re about the Samadhi Fire and my father. But it’s mostly nonsensical noises and imagery. Hardly worth mentioning.” He tries to brush it off despite stuttering a bit at first.

“And yet you mention it, heh heh,” Mei teases gently.

“Oh thanks for the concern,” Red Son grumbles sarcastically.

There’s a bit of silence, and Red Son resists the urge to turn around while Mei works on his hair. She makes an annoyed harrumph, apparently dissatisfied with the braid, and works it out, attempting again. Red Son doesn’t mind the extra strokes through his hair, and remains quiet.

“It’s funny you should mention it, actually,” Mei says with a laugh that sounds too trembly and tight to be sincere. “I’ve had some weird dreams, too.”

“Oh..?” is all Red Son can think of to respond.

“Yeah, hah, and I think they might be about The Fire, too. Or at least… when DBK had it,” she says the last part quietly.

Red Son kneads the fabric of his pants slightly, but picks up a confused part of her statement. “You ‘think?'” he repeats.

“Yeah, well, it’s weird, I don’t remember anything about them, but when I wake up, there’s this weird weight on my chest that kind of reminds me of when we fought your dad.” Again, Red Son resists the urge to turn around, but the Dragon Girl must sense how his neck stiffens up and quickly corrects. “And I don’t mean like, ‘oh no I’m sad and that was scary’, kind of heavy; I mean more like there’s this weird pain sorta in my chest? Like a jolt, I guess.” She shrugs with Red Son’s hair, and in doing so loses a few strands and she has to start again.

“Huh,” Red Son says and thinks. “Sounds more like you need to see a doctor if your chest hurts,” he says matter of factly.

“Pft, it’s not that bad,” Mei laughs. “But thanks for your concern, Red Boy.”

Red Son rolls his eyes, and this time can’t help but bob his head a little bit. The Dragon Girl manages to keep hold of the current braid, though and there’s a slight tug reminding him to position his head back to neutral.

There’s another slight pause before Red Son speaks up. “Does Noodle Boy have dreams like that…? I– I can imagine that that encounter was not easy on him…” Red Son does his best to keep the shame out of his voice. All was forgiven. It was fine.

“Hmm maybe?” Mei says. “Usually MK sleeps like a rock. If anything, he spends all his time worrying about things while he’s awake. Preeeetttty sure he’s managed to stress-hallucinate a couple times. So if he had any nightmares, they were more like day-mares, I guess. He was especially worried about the Monkey King.” She laughs without much mirth.

Red Son lets out a harrumph, “Stupid Noodle Boy, always worrying about others too much.”

“Yeah, but that’s part of why I love him, ya know?”

Red Son makes a short murmur of understanding.

“Anyway, I think we’re all getting better, right?” she says, easily sliding back to her usual peppy cadence. “And here you go!” The Dragon Girl lays the now complete braid over Red Son’s shoulder, presenting it with flourish. It’s loose, but neatly woven, and tied together with a shimmery golden hair tie complete with a pin in the shape of a yellow-orange flame. “Now you have to be careful about getting angry and lighting up your hair, or else you’ll ruin my beautiful work! What do you think?” She flashes Red Son a bright smile and hands him a mirror.

Red Son looks at it laying at his shoulder, and then in the mirror. He gently fingers the tuft of hair at the end curiously. It looks almost professional, if he were being honest, and the added touch with the flame hair tie was greatly appreciated. After a bit of admiring the braid and himself in the mirror, he nods and says, “It will suffice.” He turns around and faces her, “Thank you, Dragon Girl.”

“No problem, dude!”

At this point the Noodle Boy walks into the shop. "I'm baaaack!" he sing-songs. "Now we can check out that new arcade, Mei!" He pauses and finally notices Red Son. "Oh hey, Red Son!"

"Hello, Noodle Boy," Red Son says with a respectful nod.

MK looks Red Son up and down and gives a soft smile, "Nice hair! Did you braid it yourself?"

"No, it was your companion here who did the honors." Red Son gestures to Mei.

"Oh cool! It looks good on you!" He smiles openly, and the demon can't help fidget with the end of the braid, as he attempts to not blush at the compliment.

"It was a practical decision as well as a fashionable one." He nods curtly and turns to the Dragon Girl. "Either way, I appreciate it."

"Like I said, it was no problem! Happy to help!" She turns to Noodle Boy. "Anyway, you ready, MK?"

"Yeah! I'm all set, let's go!"

Red Son watches them as they run out of the shop together, feeling an odd tug in his chest. He turns to pick up the mirror and looks again at the braid, tracing the edges of the flame pendant on the hair tie. It's smooth and just heavy enough that it certainly does its job of holding the braid together and providing that needed tactile sensation. It would do. And it looked nice. A small smile forms on his face which stays there as he finishes closing up the shop for the evening, and remains as he leaves for the houseboat.

start || <– previous // next –>

[loosesodamarble]

The Gogyō Guardians

Like how Western philosophy has the four classical elements of Fire, Water, Earth, and Air which are considered necessary for life, so too does Eastern philosophy have necessary elements for life. In Chinese wu xing, known as gogyō in Japan, the base elements for life are wood, water, fire, metal, and earth.

I imagine that Hino has elemental spirits much like the spirits found on the Suit continent, based on the Four Symbols in Chinese belief (they're call the Four Symbols but there is a fifth, just go with it). The five spirits are Seiryuu (Azure Dragon), Genbu (Black Tortoise), Suzaku (Vermillion Bird), Byakko (White Tiger), and Ouryuu (Yellow Dragon/Kirin).

And like the spirits of the Suit Continent, the spirits of Hino have human partners. Or they will.

The ocs I'm introducing here are mages of Hino still training to be partners for the five elemental spirits of their land.

..........

Hisui Shirazaki

Hisui's name is written as 翡翠 and means "jade," like the precious stone. Her family name, 白崎, means "white peninsula."

Age: 22

Birthday: October 30

Magic Attribute: Platinum/白金

Appearance: Hisui is a tall woman with fair skin. Her hair is black, reaches her mid-back, and has a rough texture with causes it to tangle easily. Her eyes are a dark grey color.

Personality: Hisui is a woman who loves to tease those close to her. She's proud of her abilities and is eager to act when she can. Enthusiastic and experimental, she's never afraid to try something new even when told of how dangerous it might. Firmly believes that as long as she's got her mind set to something, it'll inevitably work out in her favor. As a result, she also comes off as incredibly stubborn. She won't throw out an idea she's tried every possible way to make it work. Doesn't allow herself to get into a funk or stop working though and instead will find something else to do to distract herself from her failure.

She is the oldest of Kohaku's siblings. She knows that all her siblings admire her and works hard to be a good example. She does have a habit of patronizing them when they try to match her level, reminding them (especially Kohaku) of the gap in their respective experience. Among the Gogyō Guardians, she butts heads with Hibiki a lot since both have don't like to not get their way. She thinks Takuan is a pushover at times but admits that he gives excellent advice. She and Yoshisumi get along as she forges the weapons that he uses and both agree on taking pride in their abilities. Tsurumihime feels like a mystery to her but finds it in herself to trust the other woman's judgements.

Like her parents, Hisui works as a weapon smith and is very skilled at it. Her goal is to someday forge an unbreakable weapon.

Byakko is a relaxed spirit, content to watch others work rather than get involved itself. Given its overwhelming power, it refrains from showing off. It likes Hisui's enthusiasm and would gladly watch her run herself ragged on a project.

Tsurumihime Akayama

Tsurumihime's given name is written as 鶴魅姫. The character's (in order) mean "crane," "charm," and "princess." 朱山 is her family name and means "vermillion mountain."

Age: 21

Birthday: July 26

Magic Attribute: Fire/火

Appearance: Tsurumihime is a young woman with a short stature and slim build. She's often described as being built like a reed. Her hair is ink black and perfectly smooth. She grew it out to reach past her hips though she frequently does it up in complex buns. Her eyes are a silvery grey color.

Personality: Tsurumihime is a sweet and outgoing woman. As a serious extrovert, Tsurumi feels more energized when she's around people. The warmth of others gives her life in a way as whenever she finds herself alone, she's gloomy and tired. She loves being around others and learning about them. She wants to know about others so she can make them happy. While she is generally quite giving, Tsurumi has a bit of an ego as a celebrity and likes being complimented.

Tsurumihime does her best to get along with everyone and believes that she does manage to do so. She likes Hisui and Hibiki's driven personalities and the ladies can agree that the act of creation for their professions makes them happy. Tsurumihime thinks that Yoshisumi is good for taking pride in his skills but also encourages him to actually learn while they're in Clover. She wishes Takuan would speak up for himself more but appreciates how he's able to appreciate so much.

Tsurumihime works as a performer, singing and dancing and playing a variety of instruments. One could easily compare her to an idol in Hino.

Tsurumihime and Suzaku get along very well. Suzaku is highly entertained by Tsurumi's skills and likes to chat with the young woman. They miss each other while Tsurumi is in Clover.

Hibiki Kurobayashi

日々喜 is the writing for Hibiki's name and the kanji mean "sun," a repetition symbol, and "joy." Her family name is written as 黒林 and means "black forest."

Age: 19

Birthday: February 28

Magic Attribute: Water/水

Appearance: Light grey eyes which are noted to be particularly large and sparkly. Her hair is black and is cut short, right before her shoulders.

Personality: At first, Hibiki comes off as an airhead. She's upbeat and cracks a lot of jokes and has a bad track record when it comes to remembering the things that other people tell her. Getting to know her a bit more makes it clear that she's actually passive-aggressive, willingly ignoring things she doesn't like and not taking people seriously when they bother her (except for Hisui, she challenges Hisui very seriously). Hibiki wants to maintain a "friendly" image with people and so has learned to be underhanded when it comes to dealing with her negative feelings. She uses her food as a way to communicate, giving dishes with unusual (read: bad) flavor combinations to people she's having an argument with and giving delicious food as peace offerings later.

Hibiki respects Hisui deeply but also finds her a bother since they get in each other's way often. She like Takuan but mostly because she can easily talking him into going along with her plans. Surprisingly, she's very friendly with Yoshisumi as, even with their strong personalities, they don't disagree on a lot of things the way she and Hisui do. Hibiki likes Tsurumihime well and even goes to her to when she feels stressed.

Hibiki is a professional chef in Hino. She learned from Fumito at a young age but quickly surpassed him in skill. She looks forward to learning about cuisine on the Suit Continent during the exchange program.

Genbu's peaceful, go-with-the-flow personality contrasts with Hibiki's demanding one which often leads to disagreements. Genbu would like for Hibiki to relax more but understands that she's still early in her adulthood.

Yoshisumi Kogane

Yoshisumi's name, written as 義墨, means "justice" and "ink." 黄金, the writing of his family name, means "yellow" and "metal."

Age: 24

Birthday: August 24

Magic Attribute: Earth/土

Appearance: His hair is pitch black which is long enough to reach his shoulder blades. The front of his hair is parted into side bangs that frame his face while the back of his is tied back near the ends. His eyes are a dark grey which sometimes look black.

Personality: Yoshisumi is a proud individual who is very set in his ways. He is a natural talent and fast learner so he hold his abilities in high regard and can, more often than not, back up his claims of strength. He strongly believes in the ways of Hino culture. He doesn't see the point of learning from other cultures since his nation has been able to survive and flourish on its own. He's a believer that everyone should be able to provide for themselves and that the weak are destined to fade away. He eventually learns that there's value in learning from others and helping them.

Yoshisumi gets along well with Hisui and Hibiki. While their arguments annoy him, their strong wills are admirable to him. He likes Hisui a little more as she provides him with weapons to use in battle. Takuan's ideology clashes with Yoshisumi's own so they have trouble coming to agreements, but since Takuan doesn't put up much of a fight against Yoshisumi, he tolerates the monk. He has the most trouble getting along with Tsurumihime as her open-heartedness and open-mindedness makes her susceptible to manipulation in his opinion.

Yoshisumi is a samurai. He's not at the level of being a member of the Ryūzen Seven but it's believed that he will achieve that rank once he's officially partnered with Ouryuu.

Ouryuu is a stern individual who values work and merit above all else. It doesn't take kindly to either boasting of one's self or criticism of others until the speaker can prove their worth. As such, Ouryuu's opinion of Yoshimine isn't the best.

Ouryuu means "yellow dragon" but Ouryuu's form is meant to be that of a kirin.

Takuan Seiki

沢庵 is how his given name is written and the kanji mean "marsh" and "hut." It's also the name of a Buddhist priest from the Sengoku period. His family name, 青燬, means "blue/green" and "blaze."

Age: 20

Birthday: May 18

Magic Attribute: Tree/木

Appearance: Black eyes like obsidian and equally black hair which is kept short, only being long enough to cover his nape. He's got a slender figure, often being described as a willow.

Personality: Takuan is a relaxed person. He takes life slowly and wants to appreciate all the little beauties that he sees in the world. To Takuan, there is at least a small amount of good in everything that exists, whether, though in what way is different for each thing. Deeply thoughtful, he treads through interactions carefully to avoid misunderstandings and hurt feelings. Though quiet, he can also be rather direct in his approach. He doesn't like to presume people's feelings and so if he's trying to do right by a person, he asks them what exactly they'd like. He does his best to help others by advising them.

Takuan finds Tsurumihime the most agreeable of his fellow Gogyō Guardians. Hibiki comes next though her tendency to steamroll past others gets on his nerves. Yoshihime's pride and Hisui's stubbornness make them the tied for the position of "most difficult" to handle. Still, he cannot deny that they're all incredible talented people who deserve recognition. Given that their group is full of strong personalities, he's fallen into the role of peacemaker.

Takuan is a monk, spending his time reading religious texts and practicing meditation. He writes also poetry, mostly to bring peace of mind, but is also quite good at it. Though he believes he'll never be as skilled as his teacher.

Seiryuu is ill-tempered and always ready to pick a fight, physical or verbal. He's always criticizing his host and doesn't approve of Takuan being his next partner, but they seem destined to team up.

[dragonbleps]

Okay SO, it's a wall of text, so don't feel obligated to read it :'D

TL;DR-- fixing 2 sprinklers took all day for various reasons due to a couple mistakes/accidents, and we still have 2 more to do. I'm tired. And not exactly sure why I'm supposed to want to own a house when there's all this pain-in-the-ass maintenance.

Dad took today off so we could fix one (1) sprinkler that we knew was broken. I woke up at about 10am and after feeding the dogs we immediately went to work.

First, I cleaned out the "globe", the part that would normally house the filter for the water, except someone stole ours ages ago for some bizarre reason. It was disgusting :) I've never seen so many colors of algae in the same place.

Then dad went to turn the sprinkler sections on one by one to check if there were any other sprinklers that needed fixing. It's a finicky process because apparently some part of the switch already doesn't work and dad has just kind of Dealt With It, and the sprinklers sections can't really be manually turned on one by one. More like, turn one on, turn it off, wait for the water pressure to build back up again, turn it on, and hope you waited long enough for it to activate the next section rather than the one you just got done checking.

There are 5 sections of sprinklers. After going through 4 sections, we found 4 sprinklers that weren't working correctly. 2 were just not spraying water at all, which is less of an issue. 1 was not coming out of the sprinkler head correctly and was just flooding the sidewalk. And the last 1 was just shooting water straight up because the sprinkler head was completely missing. (Sometimes if the lawn guys run it over with their lawnmower, the blades just chew it up and we're not notified either bc they don't want to tell us or they just dont notice.)

Dad went to switch to the 5th sprinkler section, and nothing happened. None of the sprinklers came up at all. He figured it was a failure to switch that was the issue, apparently something that'd gone wrong with it before. It was at this point he called an irrigation professional, planning on having him look at both the switching device (idk wtf it's called) and possibly replace the sprinklers that were broken.

We had to clean up a corner of the garage (which we messily use for storage) to make it easily accessible for the sprinkler guy. He arrived just as we were finishing up sweeping the area. He went to check the pump area and showed us how the globe was cracked. And, in fact, it had only JUST cracked, he said, because the slightest crack will prevent suction and water flow. So, literally as dad was switching from the 4th section to the 5th section, the globe cracked.

He attempted a quick fix of applying glue to the crack, which KIND of worked? But not for very long, and we'd have to prime the pump every time we'd want to use it, to help it along. Dad understandably didn't want that.

Sprinkler Guy doesn't have the right globe for replacement in his truck, but knows where to get one. Dad says okay. Guy says it might take about an hour, and leaves.

He comes back roughly an hour later with the part, installs it, then we check each section of sprinklers again. They work (well, aside from the ones that are broken of course). Mom comes home from work in the meantime and goes inside. Sprinkler guy gets paid for his work, leaves, and we go inside to rest for a moment.

We have to go to Home Depot to look for sprinkler heads to replace the ones that are broken. We decide to also eat dinner while we're out. So we go to Home Depot, go to eat food, then go back home.

Me and dad go outside and start digging up the 2 sprinklers that need the most immediate fix. Dad gets a shovel/spade thing and starts shoveling, while I get my gardening spades to get in closer around the sprinkler. Dad can't bed down, so I'm kneeling or sitting on the pavement doing this. While digging up one sprinkler, we found a separate unattached sprinkler head in the dirt next to it? Like whoever have replaced it previously had just left the old one buried in the dirt rather than throwing it away.

So we get the 2 main sprinklers dug out and removed, and pull out the sprinkler head replacements. And they're the wrong size.

Dad has to go back to Home Depot while I wait and try not to make eye contact to people going on walks who are walking by the two gaping dirt holes in our lawn. It was starting to get dark.

Dad gets back and we finally start replacing the two sprinkler heads. One was rather straightforward, although it was a pain in the ass to get it to screw on straight. Then we have to replace the dirt, and put the concrete donut back in place, continuing to put dirt and sod tucked in close to everything so it doesn't move.

The second one had a part of the previous sprinkler broken off into the pipe. I try for probably 10 minutes to try to get the piece out with what tools I had, but it was stuck tight. Cylinder inside a cylinder, yknow. I go back inside, grab a couple of knives bc idk which is best for cutting the pipe, and ask my mom to come outside and bring a flashlight to hold.

Dad starts cutting the pipe, mom's holding the flashlight, and finally the pipe gets cut and we can start putting the new sprinkler in place. Same as last time, dirt and sod and the concrete donut back in place.

Then we could finally go and check the sprinklers again, switching them on and off and trying to get each section to come on so we could make sure we put the new ones in right. They came on, and the sprinklers were all put in the correct direction. The only thing we'd have to change is the distance which the water from the sprinkler covers. It shoots too far haha

Came inside, dad took his shower, I took my shower, I fed the dogs, and now I'm finally able to chill for the night =u=

He wants to change the sprinkler distance tomorrow, and I think he might want to replace the last two sprinklers tomorrow, too. We'll see.

[anothersadbean]

it’s been 18 days since my last post about you. i’m not even sure what’s kept me from talking about you.

things haven’t exactly been easy, there’s been plenty to talk about. but honestly i’m just so tired. i’m just so fucking tired.

you’ve been moved back to the hospital temporarily, they want to do a procedure on you to help drain some of the excess fluid build up in your body.

see, some of the things i’ve learnt, is that liver failure fucking sucks, so many things are connected to it. and essentially, this procedure they’re doing for you, is just something else they’re doing to prolong your life.

some days i am so thankful for modern medicine and how it has given me this extra time with you, but then i see things like this, and how your body is giving up slowly, and it’s becoming even more of a harsh reality.

i visited you in the hospital, the same hospital where it all began, it’s so surreal. you’ve been in rehab for 8 weeks, so it’s been a while since you’ve actually been at the hospital.

i cried driving home yesterday, it’s the first time i’ve visited you alone in weeks. i cried because like i mentioned above, as much as i’m glad you’re still here, we don’t have valuable time together, it’s confined to a hospital room where i try and do what i can to make it a good visit. i don’t let you know how drained i am, and how i wish this was over to an extent.

i don’t want you life to be over, but just this. the uncertainty, your life constantly hanging in the balance, trying to find a home for you, which we picked out a great one, and now they’re being painful. i just want you settled, you want you settled.

i cried again once i got home, i was talking to a friend and she was complaining about a head cold and how it made her so fatigued, god i wish i had that kind of fatigue. it’s so hard to listen to people and their mundane lives when every day i’m just there for you, supporting you through end of life. no one understands, and i feel like people are getting sick of me talking about it. they’ll ask me how i am, i say i’m fine and then start talking about you, and then they ask me again how i am, and i honestly don’t really know how to answer.

how am i? tired. confused. anxious. on the edge every single fucking day. but i’m still showing up. i’m still here.

even jay is noticing something is up, he asks me what’s up, and i just start crying. like i dunno man, i’m tired. and every single day we have something to do, every single day for the last 4 months has just been crazy.

4 months, i can’t believe we’re approaching 4 months since your admission.

i’m hoping you’ll be settled somewhere for christmas, because fucking hell, this might be our last one together, and i just want you settled.

[alparlaboratories]

To Another Abyss - Chapter 30: Generator

(Chapters -which are usually between 500-1000 words- will be posted daily here first on Tumblr, and will later be posted in 7-8 chapter batches on AO3.)

-

Kanto has changed a lot in the past ten years. The League is no more, and trainers are now only tools for the rich and powerful, either mercenaries or dogs of the government.

Sabrina is the latter. She is to play the role of Gym leader in a sick, twisted mockery of the art she once admired, bearing the name of her childhood idol, a woman who is now wanted across the region. All for the entertainment of Kanto’s shadowy new rulers.

It’s a role she doesn’t mind playing. At least until an unusual challenger comes into her Gym, into the life she’s worked so hard to build, and begins to unravel it all.

-

Chapter 30 - Generator:

“H-hey…?”

Sabrina took a step toward him, doubtful. The man didn’t speak, simply formed a small, tired smile. A smile that knew a lot, that perhaps knew it all.

Suddenly, speaking became horribly difficult for her.

“W-we can’t stop here, they’ll reach us any s-”

All conscious thought left Sabrina as she saw him fall as though in slow motion, one knee giving in first, then another. She jumped to catch him without hesitation. His head was inches from hitting the ground when she slid beneath him, acting as his cushion.

“He… hehe… I can feel my face going all red. Having a girl stop my fall like that…”

A twisting, gnashing horror tore through Sabrina’s entrails, as though they were being devoured from the inside, leaving her empty, hollow.

She didn’t understand. Her eyes studied him from head to toe; he was a bit bruised and scratched, sure, but none of his wounds were that serious. But his hand… he was pressing it against his side… The Nidoqueen’s slash? It’d been barely a scratch, nothing that could-

Her eyes widened with the cold, cruel realization.

“Do you see now, Sabrina? At the most critical moment, when it truly mattered, you doubted him! You chose to believe me! And now it’s too late, no matter what you do!”

The young man formed that sad, apologetic smile again.

“The… poison…” Sabrina muttered.

Panic flooded her nerves. This-this level of desperation was foreign to her; she wasn’t used to being worried, to fear, not even for her own life. Indifference toward everything had become second nature to her. A shield to keep her safe. Devoid of it…

“It’s alright,” she said, trying to sound and appear calm despite every inch of her body shaking like a leaf. “It’s alright. I know someone who’s good at dealing with poisons. She won’t be happy to have customers at this hour, and it might not be… the safest option, but it’s our best shot right now.”

“Sabrina…”

Not giving him a chance to retort, she grabbed his arm and threw it around her shoulders, forcing him to his feet after a few failures. Her small, weak body shook under the man’s weight. Regardless, she put one foot in front of the other, again and again.

“It’s… Everything will be alright,” she reassured him in between wheezes. The cold was getting sharper, more painful. She didn’t remember any Saffron colder than this one. “It’s not too far-”

The world turned around. She caught a flash of light off the corner of her eye, and then something burning and weightless slammed into her from behind. All the air left her lungs. She was lifted off her feet, vision swimming, her body rolling a few times on the ground before finally crashing in the middle of the street.

Her senses were in disarray. Numb, pained. Through cloudy eyes she noticed a few pairs of boots in front of her, and the familiar sound of derisive laughter and Pokemon barking.

“We kill the pretty boy first, right?” she heard with sudden clarity, and saw a hand close around a familiar, wild mess of black hair, lifting the man with the cross’ head off the pavement.

No…

Even as a brat, Sabrina had known what she was. She’d never known other psychics in real life -it wasn’t a particularly common gift- but she’d read plenty about them; their talents and skills, what they eventually learned to do with that incredible power. And… even as a brat, she’d realized she was quite inferior to them.

By the time most psychics could levitate small furniture, she still struggled to bend a spoon. She’d tried at first. To train hard, to shorten the gap between reality and expectations, what could be considered ‘normal’ for one of her kind, but her lack of progress quickly frustrated her. Soured her toward the whole ordeal. It drove her further and further away from her own nature, and brought her closer toward what she was actually good at: Pokemon battles.

In that moment, as she rose to her feet, Sabrina’s own voice sounded strange in her ears. If she’d seen herself in a mirror, her eyes blank and expressionless, engulfed in psychic blue flames, her hair flowing freely behind her like tendrils of darkness, she probably wouldn’t have recognized herself.

“DON’T TOUCH HIM!”

In an instant, three of the men surrounding them -one of them their soon to have been executioner- were enveloped by a blue-ish light and then thrown against the nearest wall with inhuman force, the sound of shattering bones echoing like gunshots in the night.

Sabrina stumbled forward, head low. Her clothes swayed with the wind, covered in the same blue flames.

A single word, spoken by one of the surviving men, managed to break the silence.

“M… Monster…”

[bookshed-books]

Joe Gould’s Secret

I’m almost half way through Joe Gould’s Secret and am very impressed so far. It is written by journalist, Joseph Mitchell, and it is written extremely well. So much so that even when the content does not interest me, it’s still worth it for the writing. Mitchell has amazing judgment when it comes to detail (what and how much to say). Through his writing, Mitchell is able to build very complex pictures, though the sentences and words that form them do not feel complex when reading - if anything they feel simple. I think this is an incredible ability / my favourite trait in a writer and it reminds me of Richard Yates. The book is about Mitchell’s encounters with Joe Gould, and I say encounters rather than opinions as Mitchell (at least from what I’ve read so far) maintains a strong journalistic style /objectivity in his recollections. Joe Gould was a kooky man who had an unusual and somewhat complex path in life, which led him to poverty, homelessness and a distain for middle class culture.

As I’ve already said, some parts of the story itself are not incredibly interesting to me, but the way Mitchell writes always is. Joe Gould is an easy character to dismiss - a stubborn failure aimlessly trialing along a fruitless path - he could easily be portrayed as a one liner. But I think Mitchell looks for something more in him. For example, Mitchell describes Gould’s appearance at their first meeting in a diner:

‘He [Gould] was wearing a limp, dirty seersucker suit, a dirty Brooks Brothers button-down shirt with a frayed collar, and dirty sneakers. His face was greenish grey, and the right side of his mouth twitched involuntarily. His eyes were bloodshot. He was bald on top, but he had hair sticking out in every possible direction from the back and sides of his head. His beard was unkempt, and around his mouth cigarette smoke had stained it yellow. He had on a pair of glasses that were loose and lopsided, and they had slipped down near the end of his nose. As I came in, he lifted his head a little and looked at me, and his face was alert and on guard yet so tired and so detached and so remotely reflective that it was almost impassive. Looking straight at me, he looked straight through me. I have seen the same deceptively blank expression on the faces of old freaks sitting on platforms in freak shows and on the faces of old apes in zoos on Sunday afternoons.’

This description of Gould’s gaze stuck out to me, that someone so opinionated and with little respect for conventional manors (and with little to lose by rebelling against them) could also be shy and guarded. Although Gould’s life might look different to other writers who graduated from Harvard, it seems like he shares many of the same struggles they would when it comes to writing. I wonder if he chose the life he did - the life of an outcast - to somehow free himself from these struggles, but ultimately fails to do so.

[skullchicken]

Part 2 - Making Connections

Prepare for disappointment

Building connections is hardest in the beginning, when you're the most raw, the most deprived and perhaps the least stable. Sometimes a social interaction will leave you wanting to cry in the shower. Think of ways to soothe yourself when you get hurt, e.g. watching your favorite series wrapped in a blanket, drinking something warm.

Be careful not to secretly pray for failure.

"Protective hopelessness" is when start to think 'why try? It's hopeless anyways' or even seek out bad experiences or memories to prove yourself right. 'If it's hopeless, then I don't have to try, then I don't have to be anxious, then I don't have to risk getting hurt.' It's comforting, in a way - but it's also not the way out of the deep, dark hole you are in.

Think about what it is that you enjoy and try to find places where you might find like-minded people

You could try seeking out fandom spaces, hobby meet-ups, sports clubs. You want to look for places, be they online or offline, where you can potentially regularly run into the same people over and over again and have casual, pleasant conversations to start things off.

Ask people questions

Try to think of a few open-ended questions (questions that can't be answered with yes or no), like "what are you passionate about?" or "what do you like about [thing you both like]?

Make an observation about what the person has said or tell them what this reminds you of or paraphrase and summarize what the other person has said ("so you thought the cinematography was really good")

Ask a question relating to what the person has said

Example:

What kind of anime do you like?

I've been recently watching Dungeon Meshi and I've really enjoyed the world building in that fantasy series! The monsters are super interesting.

You seem to really like fantasy / That reminds me of pokemon go, I've recently picked it back up again / So the world building is really immersive.

Which monster did you like best?

This is a simple conversational script that you can follow for a while or until either you or your conversational partner tire of it.

Pay attention not just who you enjoy spending time with, but also who treats you well and asks you questions back.

Don't forget to pat yourself on the back for being courageous and going into social situations! You're trying your best! You're training your social muscles and that takes time and effort!

Once you have acquaintances you like, try revealing a little bit more about yourself

While there are plenty of people who are surprisingly cool with getting into their dark pasts with people they don't know that well, it is usually a safer bet to start off shallow and slowly go deeper. If you feel you like someone or they click with you, carefully tell them about yourself, a few breadcrumbs at a time. See how they react and if they follow in turn, you can decide to go deeper or stay on the same level.

If you have trouble judging intimacy, you can use a rule of thumb: the more people would generally know about a specific topic that pertains to you, the less intimate it is. Everyone can know about the weather, so it isn't intimate to talk about how you perceive the weather. Talking about the city where you live is a little more intimate, but many people can know about that city. Your family history is fairly intimate, probably only your own family would know about that. Information that only you would know about yourself is very intimate.

If you have the brain space for it, write down who you talked to and what you talked about once the meet-up is over. This will make it easier for you to keep track and follow up on them

Try to delight in each other's existence

We're all little sacks of meat flying on a big piece of rock through space, with limited time. Try to care for the people you spend time with and try to make it delightful for the both of you. If you can manage that, you have already won a lot.

How to crawl out of a deep dark hole of loneliness

In no particular order - and you might have to re-do some steps over and over until they take. This is written in a way I would have put it if I would address my past self. If you take umbrage with the tone, know it's not necessarily you I am talking to.

Take what applies, leave the rest.

Part 1 - Mindset

Understand the difference between being alone and being lonely

Being alone is being by yourself. Loneliness is a feeling of lacking social connections or lacking in social connections. You can be alone and peaceful and content, you can be lonely amongst people.

Grieve the abandonment you have received.

No-one deserves to be lonely. Not you, not anyone. Whatever the reason for your loneliness may be, that remains true. Process your feelings, have compassion with yourself.

Realize that social connection is something that you want from other people.

Realize that other people don't owe you connection.

No-one deserves loneliness, but no-one is owed connection either. It is a harsh truth, but one that must be understood.

Come to terms with the fact that since you want social connection, it will probably be on you to reach out and put yourself out there until relationships have been established (and maybe even then - some people are wonderful, but they aren't good at reaching out and never will be).

Give yourself space to feel afraid. Have compassion with yourself. Reaching out is hard. Putting yourself out there is hard.

Keep in mind that your threat response might be higher than the average person's.

If you have been lonely for a long time, chances are your social skills are dusty and your threat response is high as a result (or maybe due to past trauma or maybe that's just how you're wired).

Chances are good you are perceiving other people's reaction towards you more negatively than they intend it to be. This will slowly, slooowwwwwly vanish with practice. And I'm sorry that this is how it is right now. I recommend looking into getting a CBT app - e.g. MindShift. It's free and it really helped me. (Note: the app is for dealing with anxiety and focuses specifically on helping you to re-evaluate your thinking patterns)

It helps to approach people with curiosity and love in your heart

Misanthropy is understandable. It's also not helpful in the slightest. If all of humanity sucks, what use would it be to try and strike up a conversation with any one person? Why would I try to talk to them if I assume that they have nothing interesting to say?

You have had love in the past, there is no reason why there can't be love again. There is something good out there and it is on you to find it.