#the amount of times i fought my perfectionism

[barghuest-draws]

Just a couple a guys bein' dudes~

[salix-babi]

Still Yours

[ Dan Heng x Reader | SFW | Masterlist | AO3 ]

Synopsis: Dan Heng reunites with the group at Scalegorge and seeks to sooth a tension that's developed between the two of you.

Notes: Had another version of this I wrote to completion then completely scrapped it because I was dissatisfied with the ending. Perfectionism is a burden I must overcome. Writing this just happens to coincide with the return of IL's banner but I'm lowkey hoping it blesses my pulls. I need him. If he comes home, I'll work on a nsfw part 2 so PLEASE. GIVE ME YOUR BLESSINGS.

cw: SFW, some suggestive themes in the latter half, gn!reader, lil angst, yearning, reader is a tease, established relationship, reader can be perceived as TB, spoilers for Topclouded Towerthrust Trailblaze Mission.

Word Count: ~3.6k

The two of you hadn’t exchanged a word since Dan Heng managed to reconnect with the departed expedition team on the Luofu. Looking far different from how you last remembered him.

Not as he parted the oceans.

Not as you traversed the ruins of Scalegorge.

Not as you fought Phantylia.

Every time his gaze found on you, you were looking elsewhere. Occupied with murals or enemies that stood in your path. In all fairness, there wasn’t much breathing room with the destruction of the Luofu so close at hand, but the absence of your gaze felt… empty. Cavernous in his chest and tight all at once. Like he was still apart from you despite only standing a few feet away at any given time. He didn’t like it.

Dan Heng could count on one hand (one finger, even) the amount of times as you traveled through Scalegorge that the two of you were alone. An opportunity squandered by a hesitance he couldn’t quite place. A spike of anxiety as he caught you idle by a Vidyadhara egg. Your eyes (never once on him) focused beyond its iridescent sheen to the individual cradled within. He should speak. He knows he should. The back part of his brain screams to utter your name, no matter how weak it may sound in absence of your attention. Your care. …But instead, Dan Heng finds his words caught in his throat. His chest still, his limbs frozen, and his eyes transfixed. He watches with bated breath as you press a gentle palm against the egg’s cold outer shell, seeking the Vidyadhara within. You close your eyes, and listen to the echoes of a past life as it slowly sloughs away with the coming and going of the tide. A medley of fortune and tragedy washing over you in waves.

In your focus, your expression remains unreadable to Dan Heng. A detriment made worse from the distance currently held between you, yet he doesn’t dare step closer. A thousand questions run behind closed lips, forced into a neutral line despite the anxiety writhing beneath his skin. Were you sad? Were you melancholic? Do you grieve a life’s end or celebrate its rebirth? Or did you see one’s past and future united in a single entity. Do you see him?

Dan Heng wanted to speak up then. To acknowledge the silent questions that lingered between you two. To quell his own growing anxieties. However, it’s not until you’re pulling away that he seems to find his limbs. Your attention bestowed not upon him, but March calling your name in the distance. You had lingered too long and Mr. Yang was advising against getting separated. It made sense. Dan Heng watches (only watches) as your connection to the egg severs, the flow of memories fading from your mind as you reconvene with the group and once again wander out of his reach. He can only follow silently, his eyes lingering on the egg for a fraction of a moment as he passes.

There was a tension between the two of you, of that he was certain the both of you felt. A chasm that was growing wider the longer you avoided him, and he kept his distance from you. Even March was beginning to look a little antsy. But with so much to do and so little time, a lover’s quarrel was hardly their biggest concern.

His next opportunity arises as the group is rushing out of Scalegorge, Phantylia gone and an unconscious Arbiter General in arm. As others tended to Jing Yuan (greeted in a frenzy by cloud knights and a furious Master Diviner in tow), there you stood at the base of the high elder’s statue, scrutinizing its stone features. There were parts of it that were similar, features passed down through generations upon generations of high elders. The horns of The Permanence themselves. The weapon and the water known to be wielded by Imbibitor Lunae. Even the silken hair that stretches down their back. Traditional.

Dan Heng, in truth, struggled to see the differences himself sometimes. Denied his right in molting rebirth, he remains a carbon copy of the man who incited sedition within the Luofu, traitorous and guilty of unpardonable sin. Many would like to think he is the same man. Capable of the same crimes. Perhaps he would be, if it were you. Though he can’t afford to think that. Many assume regardless. But you…

So caught up in trying to decipher your expression, Dan Heng nearly jumps out of his skin when your gaze turns to him for the first time since you left him on the Express days ago. A small part of him soothes to bask in your attention once more, but the larger part of him claws with anxiety, a turning unease in his stomach. The vidyadhara stiffens, heart spiking to his throat so hard he nearly chokes. You seem equally shocked, but the sudden nervousness darts his eyes away before he could read anything beyond that.

Somewhere in the commotion Mr. Yang suggests they return to the mainland to get the general proper care and the group moves obligingly, sweeping the two of you back into the residual excitement following Phantylia’s defeat and once again snuffing out any opportunities to talk.

One chaotic trip later and you’re finally saying your goodbyes to the Luofu officials for the night. Jing Yuan was in the hands of trusted individuals in the Alchemy Commission and Fu Xuan gives you the barest skeleton of a debrief, the remaining group agreeing a more in-depth discussion can be reserved for the morning once all had at least had a chance to rest properly and the general’s condition has stabilized. Even so, Mr. Yang opts to remain a moment longer with the intention of discussing the nuances of their plan to handle the stellaron, and March had long ago left for her hotel room the moment everyone stepped back on the mainland, exhausted beyond compare. You had no doubt she’d be out like a light well into the following morning. However that, in turn, left you and Dan Heng alone to traverse the path back to your hotel. The starskiff ride was quiet. The walk from the docks to the hotel, soundless. If you had something to say you weren’t saying it yet, and Dan Heng had no idea where to even begin.

It isn’t until you’re reaching for the handle of your own room, ready to squeak out an awkward goodbye, that your hand is snatched in the grip of another. The motion was so sudden, his grip so desperate in those small seconds where he squeezed your fingers, that it nearly draws a startled sound out of you. Your fingers hover over the notch in the door, hesitating for only a fraction of a moment before turning to meet Dan Heng’s gaze for the first time since Scalegorge. You expect coldness and ferocity within the jade orbs that have been boring into you all day, aspects you’ve seen reflected throughout your battles. You braced for harsh words, some declaration that your Dan Heng (yours) was…

Well, whatever you were expecting was not what you received. Your breath hitches when instead he seems to plead, and for a moment you see your own uncertainties reflected in him. It’s the first time you felt anywhere close to being on the same page, the air swirling with questions and uncertainties barely held behind stoic lips. The hand enveloping yours refuses to let go, Dan Heng’s fingers twitching with the habitual urge thread your fingers together and feel whole again. To hold and kiss you until there wasn’t a doubt in your mind about who he was. Who he wants to be for you. But these things take time. He can see it in the way you chew at your lower lip, eyes darting to the side as you consider your options. He prays you’ll indulge him.

The few seconds of silence are grueling, the near-stranger in front of you daunting in appearance yet so gentle in how he holds on. But the squeeze of the hand around yours is so reminiscent of the Dan Heng who would comfort you during your worst bouts of anxiety — would hold you close beneath warm covers and scold you while dressing your wounds with the care of a lover — that you acquiesce, fingers retreating from your door and nodding slightly. Dan Heng nearly sighs the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Instead, you feel his grip loosen a fraction around your hand. His shoulders lose a bit of their stiffness, but he doesn’t let you go, and you allow him to lead you further down the hallway to his assigned room.

The silence between you persists.

Your eyes are trained on the back of his head, on the flow of dark hair down his back, and the teal tips of a set of semi-translucent horns. The offset of anxiety gives way for curiosity and idly, you wondered if you could touch them. Would he feel it if you did? Or would their translucent appearance allow your fingers to pass through as if they were nothing at all. Even as the battle had ended, Dan Heng remained in this form for reasons yet known to you. You had assumed (wrongly) that perhaps he was just… this now. But clearly something deeper was going on. Different from the worst of your spiraling predictions, and that gave you hope.

You’re brought back from your thoughts to the telltale click of an unlocked door and with a gentle tug of your hand in his, he leads you inside, only letting go once you’ve stepped in to close the door behind you. Your eyes scan the room in the meantime. A standard unit no different from your own on the first night here, though considerably untouched. You wonder if Dan Heng had slept at all since arriving on the Luofu. You knew he would sometimes meditate to stave off sleep, pulling countless nights working on the archives and only displaying symptoms of sleep deprivation if he got too deep into his work over the weeks. (Now that you think about it, a lot of his habits seemed a little inhuman…) No doubt he couldn’t walk the busier streets of the Luofu without drawing unwanted attention, cutting off more direct paths to more important locations. The thought has a slight frown tugging at the corners of your lips.

There’s a bit of an awkward moment as Dan Heng tries to figure out how to broach the subject, one you realize you’re all too familiar with. It’s when Dan Heng stands still, remaining dead silent when he’s expected to speak. He’ll stay there, fidgeting in his own way despite the discipline he so prides himself in. Crossing his arms, closing his eyes, concentrating as if the words would come to him easier. As eloquent with his speech as Dan Heng can be, he often struggled with connecting it to his feelings. It’s significantly easier when you’re there to help him through it. The familiarity is endearing, comforting in a way. Unintentional as it was on Dan Heng’s part. It spurs you to make the first move.

You settle on the side of the bed, marring the soft, pristine sheets. Teal eyes follow your every move, darting for any sign of familiarity from you while still being too afraid to approach. He’s uncertain of where the border lies, if it differs from what it was before, and ever the cautious man, Dan Heng doesn’t know where to push. You give your best attempt at a reassuring smile, smoothing out the worried tick in your brows and holding out a hand. An invite. One that Dan Heng accepts. You’re grateful when he takes it, movements ever so stilted as he shuffles to sit beside you. (You decide against drawing attention to how he keeps holding your hand afterwards.)

Dan Heng aches to be close, unable to help the way your thighs touch as he sits next to you. You radiate warmth even through his thick robes, gentle and familiar. He wanted nothing more than to sink into that warmth. “I…” He swallows dumbly, thumb rubbing circles into the back of your hand. Your more welcoming demeanor allows him room to think. “How… much,” he starts tentatively, keeping his eyes on your connected hands rather than you, “…have you learned of the previous High Elder?”

A quiet breath leaves you, one Dan Heng knows you’re trying to measure for his sake, but his worries spike anyways. “It…” The hand around yours squeezes tighter, and in the moments where you try to formulate your thoughts, his mind spirals through all your potential answers. The reason you were here must mean that some part of you, however small, still believes the Dan Heng you know still remains. He does. He knows he does. He’s all that left. Dan Heng sits before you, no different from the man you loved so warmly before all this began. Not Dan Feng. He just… needs to show you somehow. Quell your doubts just as he quells his own. “…” He braces to hear the sins of a past that is no longer his. The Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae, the unpardonable sin, and the sealed fate of all Vidyadhara.

“Does it… matter?” Your voice is tentative, quieter than he remembers. Dan Heng’s eyes widen unexpectedly. “When we first saw you today,” you continue, “you looked so different I... almost didn’t recognize you.” Now it’s your turn to look away, a reflection of your uncertainty in that moment burning into the floor. “For a moment I thought—” It's an awful feeling, one you can't bear for much longer. Your throat tightening, heart dropping to your stomach, dread settling like lead within you. Just the memory has you shuddering, blinking back tears meant for far worse scenarios. You lean against Dan Heng's side, craving normalcy just as much as him, and slip an arm around to hug his close, “I thought maybe you weren’t there anymore.” It's hard to say and even harder to hear. Dan Heng aches with the trepidation in your tone, squeezing your hand tightly. Like he could lose you in that moment.

“…I know.” It's all he can say.

“But... you’re still Dan Heng, right?”

He swallows the building pressure in his own throat, basking in the comfort of your pressure at his side while fighting back the urge to pull you closer still. To glut himself on you until the void of your absence sates. Dan Heng knows his answer. “Yes.” It's the most sure he's sounded, courage guiding his hand as it lifts your chin to face him. Draconic eyes bore into yours, sharp with determination despite the soft edges of unfettered yearning. "So long as you’ll have me, I want to be— I am Dan Heng.” He feels you shift beside him, jaw setting beneath his palm and this time, you look back at him with a scrutinizing stare. Eerily reminiscent of the way you had regarded the statue earlier. Nose scrunched and eyes slightly narrow. He’d find it cute under any other circumstance. Dan Heng stiffens. “Hmm…” Your spine straightens for a better vantage point, slipping your hand from his to poke at his cheek and tug gently at the sleeves of his clothing. “May I?” you ask, perhaps too politely to the vidyadhara’s anxious mind, but he nods all the same and you take his permission to raise yourself higher on the bed and gently settle yourself in his lap. Your legs straddle his on either side like you would any day before this one, and you let yourself look at him – really look at him – for the first time in this new form. Your familiar weight on his thighs is already doing wonders in quelling his nerves a bit. He’s thankful for the firm pressure there to ground him, and without thinking, he’s moved to rest his hands on your waist as he usually would. Always more than strong enough to keep you secure.

Dan Heng holds his breath under your scrutiny. He allows you to explore his more draconic form as you wish, using all his self-restraint to remain still as delicate fingers glide across his features. There’s a visible bob of his throat as digits rise from his neck and follow the curve of his jaw, brushing faintly across his lower lip before moving to press warm palms against his cheek. He wants more than anything to lean into your touch right now, nerves begging to feel more than just the trace of your touch against his lips after being apart for so long. But he’s frozen in place, more fearful that any sudden movements would scare you away. You’ve already been distant from him for far too long both physically and emotionally, and he doesn’t think he can stand you being so far for much longer.

You trace along the red marks lining his eyes, two now instead of the one mark you were used to. Your eyes catch his for a moment, finding piercing teal orbs staring back at you with an inherent intensity. Even unintentionally, his gaze demands your attention, longing and uncertainty swirling behind widened pupils. He was taking you in just as much as you were him, it would seem. So, your fingers continue their journey. Across his features, his nose and his cheek until ghost-like fingertips reach the auricle of his ear. The quiet breath he sucks in is… adorable, even more so the brief flash of teal in your peripheral signifying the movement of a tail. Soft fingers curl around the pointed tip of his ear to massage the cartilage gently between a thumb and forefinger, taking note of how his body stiffens a fraction. A different form yet his sensitive points have remained the same, it would seem. However, it’s only when he feels your touch travel upward along his hairline to trail soft pads along the curve of his horns that he fails to hold back a small, shuddering gasp.

“Sensitive…?” you ask as if it were nothing at all and there’s a slight hesitance in the shake of Dan Heng’s head, red beginning to visibly dust his cheeks. “Just… unexpected,” he settles on. The last thing he wanted was for you to stop. Not when you were finally so so close to him. He just couldn’t figure out what you were thinking. Were you aware of what your touch was doing to him? What it always does to him? Did you approve of all these differences in his appearance you were exploring so diligently? Or did you find it strange? Distasteful? Briefly, he finds himself regretting not reverting back to his more familiar form the moment they had left Scalegorge. He hadn’t needed to call upon the powers of the Imbibitor Lunae once Phantylia was dealt with, but every time he had glanced your way in this form, you had been looking elsewhere. He just couldn't move forward with you so uncertain about who he was. Who he wanted to be.

“Still mad at me for leaving without a goodbye kiss?” Your voice pulls him back to the present, wondering when he had closed his eyes in the first place with the way you were caressing his horns. It takes Dan Heng a moment to register your words, so distracted by the pass of your thumbs along its ridges. “W-what?” He blinks owlishly at you, pushing your hands away when he looks up half confused and half dumbfounded by the question. You smile impishly, arms coming to rest around his shoulders. “You always get grumpy when I leave without a kiss. So… are you?” The man frowns. You were teasing him. Dan Heng wants to get in your good graces. But… he couldn’t lie to you. On top of worrying about your wellbeing in the entirety of the week you’ve been apart, he’s also grown accustomed to spending his nights with you. Warm in the archives or out on a mission. He can understand a few days away, but to be without you for a week and without a goodbye kiss was… “I’m not mad, I just-…” His eyes flicker off to the ground beside you, hesitating as he finds his footing in his words. “I missed you.” Had he inherited the floppy ears of the Permanence along with those horns, you imagine they’d be sunken flat against the sides of his head with how saddened he looked in this moment. (Though you swear, swear you see those pointed ears tilt downward!!) But then you giggle, and he suddenly perks right up in surprise.

“Then you’re still my Dan Heng,” you hum softly and the relief that immediately floods the vidyadhara has him melting into your arms, canting his head forward to bump foreheads. The chime of another laugh makes him question if you had done all of this simply to tease him, wound up as he was. He’d think it cruel but, in the moment, he’s wanted nothing more than to hear those words. “Yes,” he breathes, unthinkingly. Arms wrap tighter around your waist, heeding wants to have you closer, and Dan Heng finally gives in to his desires. He closes what little distance was left to capture you in a kiss long overdue. Your lips were so soft, so perfect against his. Warm and gentle, the sensation all the sweeter having been without you for so long. Too long. You reciprocate with ease, a thumb stroking his cheek soothingly while your other hand slides down to rest at the side of his neck and he’s on cloud nine, sacrificing a hand of his own from your waist to reach for the back of your head and pull you closer, deeper, never wanting to let go.

“Yours.”

[weepingdalliance]

Give yourself a fighting chance!

for so long I have fought myself, being an all or nothing girlie. I am a perfectionist and if I couldn't do it perfectly then guess what? it wasn't getting done and that was that.

fast-forward to now and I don't swing from one extreme to another. I have found things that help me. find ways to make whatever is holding you back work for you!

I don't let my perfectionism hold me back. if I see that I want to quit something because it's not going the way I want it to or it's not turning out exactly as I want it to- I have stopgaps in place instead of giving in to my tendencies.

if I have a goal, I will research and break it down to the nitty gritty. I will do all the due diligence. I will take it step by step. I would rather "waste my time" researching and planning, I would it takes me longer to achieve a goal thar could be achieved Ina lesser amount of time, I would rather feel like it's tedious at the beginning. but this is much better at ensuring I follow through. and taking a year to achieve a goal I could've achieved in 3 months is way better than quitting cold turkey and never finding out.

embracing my quirks gives me a fighting chance. embracing ≠ giving in to them

so instead of quitting or procrastinating because I want whatever to turn out perfect I 'perfect away'. I give myself a fighting chance.

I'm also trying to unlearn the conditioning and trying to change my beliefs around it. in the meantime I do the best I can.

[pulledpurplecurtains]

2021 fic round-up

tagged by @chloebeale @snowonebutyou and @pinkpastels113 ty lovelies <3

this year was a blesssing, especially in the context of this fandom. i had lost my inspiration and motivation to write for months, and then around february i found it again; something that meant the world to me. i delved into the world of one-shots, which may sound silly but when i'd started writing i couldn't see myself writing those. and yet i found so much joy in them; and through them i explored ratings and themes i'd never thought i'd do before, i delved into deeper and more vast characterisation, i challenged myself... and now, looking back at all of my 2021 word babies, i'm so happy i fought through my ever present perfectionism and fluctuations in motivation and wrote them. i also wrote a fic for the first time in non chronological order, which was so fun, i actually managed to write two short one shots, which i'm very proud of bc it is known that i can't write short things, i participated in pitchmas which i've wanted to do for over a year, i started a fic collection which is very fancy and i worte a goddamn original song for a fic which i'm just so proud abt.

it was a good year; and it wouldn't be without all the people who read and like and reblog and comment on my fics. whether you did one or two or all of those things thank you all, in equal amounts. and ofc, what made this year the sweetest were the people i call friends in this fandom; the ones that stuck with me since 2020 and the ones i met in 2021. y'all have enriched my life in many ways, and you are maybe the biggest reason i keep writing. i appreciate and love you all <3

but enough with the ramblings, let's get to them numbers:

Statistics

User Subscriptions: 22

Kudos: 463

Comment Threads: 60

Bookmarks: 72

Subscriptions: 12

Word Count: 57587

Hits: 5193

Fics

wondering if you knew (i was enchanted to meet you) - 11,6k words, T, cacon compliant Softness, beca and chloe through the years

(i'll let you in) and baby, that's when - 8,2k words, T, cacon compliant fluff with much pining (bc beca is an adorable idiot), beca and chloe in NY on New Year's Eve

and right there where we stood, was holy ground - 14k words, M, canon compliant decades down the line, explores beca's journey through the five stages of grief

perched in the dark (you're all i wanted) - 12,8k words, E, cacon divergent angst and my darkest fic to date, explores some very heavy themes and their emotional and mental repercussions

the one with the texts - 1,3k words, G, canon compliant lil fluffy piece taking place in 4th year, inspired by a tumblr post and wenz's insistence for me to write fluff

the one with the pool - 1,8k words, G, canon compliant lil soft and vulnerable piece taking place in 4th year, inspired by my fascination and love for heated pools

i recall holdin' my breath (in front of the Christmas tree) - 7,5k words, G, my canon compliant post pp3 fluffy and soft pitchmas fic with splashes of pining, beca mitchell is still an adorable idiot, original song by me

honorable mention to miss taylor for always inspiring my stories and for providing 70% of my fic titles skdhfksj

i'm pretty sure almost everyone has done this by now, so i'm tagging anyone who hasn't and wants to do this!

[yellow-r-o-s-e]

it's all unscripted

Word Count: about 2000

Pairing: romantic Lumity, platonic Blight siblings

Characters: Amity Blight, Edric Blight, Emira Blight, also brief Luz Noceda, Eda Clawthorne, and Owlbert

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Post Episode, Takes Place Immediately After S02E08 “Knock Knock Knocking On Hooty’s Door”

Warnings: Crying, Anxiety, Bits of Implied Perfectionism, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

Author’s Note: I literally cannot stop thinking about Amity in this episode. She went through such an emotional rollercoaster, poor girl.

Summary:

Luz was in love with her.

The revelations still sent fireworks through Amity’s heart.

They were even dating now, which was unimaginably cool.

She tried desperately to hold that warmth close to her, fearing it would slip away as she got further from the Owl House.

This—sneaking back home and pretending nothing had happened—was the easy part. It should be, at least.

Read it on ao3 at the link below, or click the Read More button to read on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33079672

Amity still felt dazed and jittery when she arrived in front of Blight Manor. Her feet hit the ground with a soft thud, crunching against pink and red pine needles. The concrete steps in front of her house loomed, looking colder and more threatening than she remembered. As she pulled her hood lower over her eyes, her fingers trembled.

It was fine. She could do this.

A headache had snuck up on her. Her forehead and eyes felt like they were burning, and she had a lump in her throat.

Still, she’d had a fantastic night. Nothing could take that away. Luz was in love with her, and they were dating. The memories still sent fireworks through Amity’s heart. She tried desperately to hold that warmth close to her, fearing it would slip away.

This—sneaking back in and pretending nothing had happened—was the easy part.

She turned to the palisman beside her.

“Thank you....” What was his name again? Edalyn had mentioned it, as she was insisting that he should fly Amity home to make sure she was safe, but then Luz’s hand had lightly brushed against Amity’s shoulder, and Luz’s gorgeous face had been right there, so close, and all of Amity’s thoughts had fizzled out to make room for sparkly giddiness.

“Thanks, little friend,” Amity whispered. The wooden owl seemed satisfied and flapped his wings. Then he took off, headed back to the Owl House, where his family was waiting for him. Luz was probably, hopefully, still thinking about her, and she’d be happy to see her little owl friend return safe, and...

A few pangs of inexplicable jealousy surged through her before she wrestled them away. She grit her teeth. This wasn’t how she was supposed to feel. She had been so happy a few minutes ago, it shouldn’t have evaporated this fast.

She closed her eyes and counted down from ten, bracing herself to move forward through the clearing. When she reached ‘one,’ she held her breath and sprinted until she made it inside. She shut the front door as quietly as possible and leaned against the wall.

Then, with no warning or reason, the electric glee came back full force, making her feel unsteady on her feet. She blushed, biting her cheeks to stop herself from smiling, or worse, squealing with joy. That wouldn’t end well for her. Luz’s words echoed in her mind. As much as her instincts tried to dissect the events of the night, as hard as she searched for any downsides or sources of negativity, she still felt like she was floating.

The good feeling lasted a few seconds before it was replaced by guilt, which didn’t even make sense.

“I need to get back home. My mom is going to kill me,” she had said, out loud, like a complete idiot. She had meant to say it to herself, but then Luz was alert and looking at her seriously and oh… oh no. She’d ruined the moment.

“Not…” Amity swallowed. “Not literally. I’ll be fine.” Needing to do something with her hands, she gave Luz a thumbs up.

“Are you going to be…” Luz’s voice was so soft, Amity felt like her heart was cracking.

“It’s totally fine…” Amity laughed, but it sounded hollow, even to her own ears.

“Because, earlier, she did try to kill me, literally, and I don’t want you to be in danger because of me, and-”

Amity groaned, trying to shift her focus to current issues, like getting up the stairs without being caught.

It would be so much easier if she could just feel all of her emotions at once, Amity thought, making her way down the empty hallway. If it was all at once, she knew she’d be feeling overwhelming happiness twinged with only tiny amounts of negativity. Unfortunately, the sheer amount of emotions were too much for her to handle, so they took turns crashing over her in waves.

She managed to slip upstairs unnoticed, and her hands were shaking when she silently opened her bedroom door, but she was pretty sure it was more from the leftover thrill of the night than fear of being caught by her parents.

She closed the door behind her and saw herself sitting at her desk, scribbling at a homework problem.

“What?” She blinked, confused.

The illusion of her dissolved into mist, and she suddenly realized that her brother was sitting next to her desk, looking directly at her. She froze, unable to speak.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

“We didn’t know where you went, but mom came to check on you, and I figured you didn’t want to be caught,” he said in explanation. “You’re welcome.” He smiled.

That made sense. Amity was pretty sure she should feel grateful for the save. Unfortunately, any gratitude she felt was more than cancelled out by the fury that he was in her room, perceiving her, drawing out the already too long night. Ideally the night should have ended twenty minutes ago, when she had still been with Luz.

“Hey, Em, she’s not dead,” Edric spoke into a shimmering circle, no doubt sending some sort of illusion to carry the message to their sister.

In a matter of seconds, Emira burst through the door, out of breath.

No no no no no, she hadn’t planned for this. She didn’t know what to say to them, hadn’t even figured out how she was feeling. She just wanted it to be tomorrow already, so she could be standing next to Luz at school, and everything could be bright and shiny and wonderful again.

“Oh, hey there Mittens,” Emira said, making finger guns. “Glad to see you here. Not that we were worried or anything-“

“Where were you?” Edric interrupted. “You freaked us out. Em was on the verge of telling mom-“

“No, I wasn’t.” Emira leaned against the wall, faking nonchalance. “I’m not a snitch. It was all under control, and I trust you.”

Edric stuck his tongue out at her.

“I’m sorry,” Emira said, “which of us said they thought they saw her get eaten by a worm demon?”

“Oh.” Amity finally found her voice, and their gazes snapped toward her. She slid down to the floor, trying to escape their gazes. “No, he’s right, that did happen.”

“What?!”

“Are you okay?”

And then the twins were talking over each other, pressing for more details, and Amity couldn’t quite breathe, and-

“You’re overwhelming her!” Emira chided. “Look at her face.”

“Like you weren’t also-“

“Shush.” Emira gently nudged her brother aside, sitting down in front of Amity. “Mittens, baby, can you tell us what happened?”

“I’m not a baby,” Amity grumbled. Why wouldn’t they leave? She just wanted to be alone, for Titan’s sake.

Emira rolled her eyes, and Edric shoved her gently.

“Mittens, teenager who is very wise,” Edric said. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“Yeah, um…” Amity tried to think back through the night, searching for an understandable place to start. “Well… you see…” she swallowed. “I…”

And then, she broke down sobbing.

Edric reached out a hand toward her, waiting until she nodded to pull her into a tight hug. She buried her face in his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he said.

“I know! That’s the problem! It’s not…” Amity hiccoughed, frantically rubbing at her face. “It was good. I’m just stupid. I don’t know why-“

She let out another sob. She was pretty sure she was getting snot all over Edric’s shirt. Good. That’s what he got for annoying her when she wanted to be left alone.

She made several attempts at speech that all came out garbled.

“Take your time,” Emira said.

“Luz-” Amity sniffled again. “Luz thinks I’m cool.”

Edric laughed at that. Amity tried to glare at him but still couldn’t stop crying.

“She’s so cute.” Amity sniffled, out of breath. “I’m gonna throw up.”

“That,” Edric cleared his throat, trying not to laugh again. “That sounds very difficult. How will you ever survive?”

“Shut up,” Amity grumbled, pushing him away from her. She stood up and flopped face-first onto her bed.

“We’re…” she had meant to get it over with, to say “we’re dating” and let the twins react over enthusiastically, but anxiety overtook her and her throat dried up.

"I'm sorry," Emira said, not sounding sorry, "but what does that have to do with being eaten by a worm demon?"

"Luz's dumb bird-worm thing kidnapped me," Amity said with a small laugh, grateful for the subject change. Then, she felt her face go bright red. She couldn't very well tell her siblings about the Tunnel of Love, or she'd be teased for the rest of her life.

"Okay..." Emira sat down next to her, and she fought not to hiss at the intrusion of her personal space. Emira must have sensed her discomfort, though, because she stood back up immediately. "And then?"

"Things... happened. And then Luz asked me hnnmnnmnm," she buried her face in her pillow.

"I didn’t quite get that." Emira said. Even without looking up, Amity could hear the smirk in her voice.

"Luz..." Amity took a deep breath. It was fine. She was okay. It wasn't going to become any less special if she said it out loud.

"Luz asked me to go out with her." It was silent for a second, and she savored the words.

"Woo!" Edric held out a hand to high-five her, and she tapped it lightly.

"Congrats!" Emira said. “No wonder you’re such a mess.”

“You did say yes, right?” Edric asked.

“I’m not stupid,” she said, throwing a pillow at him.

“Someone’s avoiding the question…”

“Yes!” she said. “I said yes, okay. Can I go to sleep now?”

“Hmmm,” Emira tapped her finger against her chin, and Amity groaned.

“Fine,” Emira said, “because we love you so much, and we’re so proud of you, we’ll let you sleep. Just this once.”

Emira grabbed her brother by the elbow and dragged him out of the room, shooting Amity one last smile before closing the door. Finally, she was blissfully alone.

Memories swirled through her brain again. Luz’s hand squeezing hers. Luz’s horrified expression when Amity had tried to fake a smile but couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down her face. Luz’s nervous laughter as she told Amity how much she liked her. Luz’s knee bumping against hers as they sat face to face, theoretically trying to decide what being girlfriends meant, but getting too distracted staring at each other to finish the conversation. Luz kissing her cheek and looking at her so sincerely as she told her “fly home safe.”

Amity’s heart thudded in her ribcage. She might combust if her siblings found out about how stupid in love she’d acted tonight, but she was going to explode anyway if she didn’t tell all the details to someone immediately.

Resigned, she sat up, and crept out of her room. Her siblings were still standing in the hallway, whispering excitedly. Edric noticed her first, tapping Emira’s hand to get her to look.

“Mittens?” she asked.

“I’m feeling every emotion,” she admitted, “and I can’t sleep, and I need you to come back actually,” she mumbled, not meeting their eyes.

“Sweet,” Edric said.

It wasn’t even a teasing remark, but Amity still blushed. She was screwed, she knew. Still, with their eyes on her, the hurricane of emotions that was tugging at her felt a little less heavy and a little more manageable. She was lucky to have them as her siblings, not that she’d ever tell them that.

“Aww, is she too in love to sleep?” Emira asked.

“Shut up,” Amity said, blushing even harder.

“Okay, okay, I’m shutting up. It’s your turn to talk,” Emira said. “Tell us everything.”

[lovehoperomance]

A quote from one of my fave shows (well...Kinda. Can you call it a favourite if you quit twelve seasons in?) popped into my head the other day that was particularly pertinent to how I was feeling. I didn’t think much of it at the time but later I realised it had been many, many episodes since I heard the quote and my memory’s not good at the best of times. I realised I had remembered it for a reason, even if I didn’t consciously know why. The quote was this:

You do what you can, when you can, while you can. If you can’t, you can’t - Miranda Bailey (Chandra Wilson), Grey’s Anatomy.

It sounds simple enough but it’s something I and a lot of people struggle with when perfectionism and a lack of self belief takes over. When you feel like you are a bad person or are bad at things in general, any time you feel overwhelmed or under the weather can be proof of that. Feeling like you need a break or to slow down stops being a warning system and starts to become a trigger for negative thoughts.

We live in a society of “push through” and “get on with it” and “don’t complain because someone always has it worse than you.” And there’s a time for that. There’s a time to challenge yourself and test your limits and achieve things purely because you held on the longest through the most amount of pain. But there’s also a time to step back, to say no, to forgive yourself for being human.

You do what you can, when you can, while you can. And if you can’t, you can’t.

She was talking about someone who didn’t want to have a baby and the guilt she felt about aborting it. But to me, it applies to any situation in which you feel guilt or shame or self loathing because you didn’t meet some impossible standard you set for yourself.

Here’s some things that have happened to me lately that I know were signs I wasn’t coping, and needed a minute to recuperate, but that I took as signs of weakness:

I had dreams that the world was ending every night for a week.

I let my blood sugar drop so low at work, I could barely walk up the stairs to get a hypo treatment.

I spent an hour of my shift feeling like I might burst into tears at any moment.

When someone told me I was being difficult and paid more attention to my mistakes than how hard I had tried, I not only believed them, I did the same.

I slept for hours and hours and still felt like I was carrying the whole world on my shoulders as I got out of bed.

I thought that it mattered whether my problems were objectively bad, whether someone else might handle them better, whether I “should” be strong enough to deal with them. But by telling myself that, I was pummelling myself so hard into the ground, I’d never get up if I didn’t stop. I needed to take a moment. I needed to forgive myself for not being perfect in order to let the things go that I couldn’t change and try again with the ones I could. Because you can’t make changes when you’re holding a gun to your own head. And you can’t take a breather when you’re convinced all the strongest people are holding their breath too.

You do what you can, when you can, while you can. And if you can’t, you can’t.

People will push you. They will let you be a perfectionist because it benefits them or because they can’t tell the difference between a high achiever and a broken one. And when they point out things you did wrong, or make a big deal of them, you won’t be able to cope because you’ve already been pummelled by your own brain. You’ve fought the wars of 10,000 men in your own head and they don’t see it. They can’t.

So stand up for yourself. Be your own navigator, your own spokesperson. Trust your inner voice when it tells you something is too much because the more you stop and and recharge, the better you’ll feel when it’s time to try again. Don’t be perfect. Be a phoenix, rising from the ashes. But only when you’re god damn ready.

[hitsuhinalover]

Hitsuhina day 2020

A/N: A word ‘challenge’ was mentioned so I had to write a fic where I used all of the prompts ‘:D Actually it wasn’t using all of the prompts that was difficult (just my perfectionism) but I don’t know how it seems to a reader. I especially want to note that I didn’t write both angels and shrines in the same story out of disrespect to any existing religion. Also, the ending was supposed to be happier (I got bad news and then didn’t feel like writing something very happy), sorry about it. I hope you’re all well and able to be where you want to be.

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

“Matsumoto will be up and about in no time and then you’ll be transferred back to the healing wards,” Hitsugaya announced, marching along empty streets without even looking if his partner was following him or not – which, judging by the echo of rapid steps and slightly labored breathing behind him, she was doing. Streets lights were far and few between, coloring his hair and wings with warm yellow hue only for moments before he dived back into darkness, yet she knew where he was going. Whether he wanted or not, they had a bond – a bond that made them too good a battle pair for higher-ups to pass the opportunity to put them on patrol together. And maybe there was also a fact that he wouldn’t leave her alone, not in proximity of a possible enemy, no matter how pissed off he was.

“Hey, don’t make it sound like I should be on a hospital bed right now,” Hinamori huffed. “First of all, I didn’t get so hurt as badly as you two because I arrived later. Second, I’m a field healer, which means I work more outside of the healing wards than there, as you already know.”

As Hinamori said that, she had almost reached him, for which she had to stumble a step backward when he suddenly twirled around, a frown furrowing his eyebrows. Automatically, Hinamori’s wings fluttered to balance her, the fact that certainly didn’t pass by Hitsugaya’s sharp gaze, like neither did a deep blush that her cheeks acquired.

Why was it nowadays so difficult to be around him? It wasn’t his fault, she knew it, for he continued being the same person as always, worried about her well-being. If there was someone at fault, it was her. His proximity had begun to produce physical reactions in her she didn’t know how to interpret, how to deal with. Was it fine her cheeks flushed red when he looked at her, or was there a medical condition involved that had nothing do with him? Why would she stumble when he walked too close if there was nothing else than plain ground? Deep down, she feared she knew why. But if a realization were a person, she was continuously turning around when they came from the opposite direction, taking stairs instead of lift, blocking their number.

Because their bond was worth fostering, and not only because they fought well together. Despite difficult moments, for most of time their friendship was so easy. A wave of warmth washed over her when her mind transported her back to a moment a week ago, to the night neither of them had had to patrol, their laugh still ringing in her ears. In her company his usual frown disappeared (or at least very often), substituted by a slight smile, a teasing smirk or a small chuckle.

They had walked through the part of the town that was almost void of demonic and thus angelic activity too, hardly passing by any patrols, talking or just enjoying a silence they wasn’t used to associating with nights, stars usually witnessing a clash of blades instead of their casual hanging out. In outskirts of the town, moments before they had been about to turn and return, they had stumbled upon a shrine. In contrast to other shrines that worked as outposts to angels and helped to keep demons at bay, the shrine’s once bright colors had been dimmed, the same way its magical protection. When demonic activity had reduced in that part of the town and soared in others, there hadn’t been time or resources to take care of that particular shrine. Once it had served well, then discharged and forgotten.

Up until the moment Hinamori and Hitsugaya had found it.

Since it was a beginning of the spring, they hadn’t had fresh lavender, the flower that worked against devil, to recreate the protection the shrine had had, but they had planted seeds in the soil around the shrine and decorated it with dry lavender as a temporary protection until the plants would have grown. If Matsumoto had been there, she would have scolded them for using their night off for doing something that they could do in working hours without no one being able to say anything, instead of – well, it was better ignore Matsumoto’s suggestions what to do in their free time, she sometimes had funny ideas about Hitsugaya and Hinamori’s friendship.

Yet in their opinion – Hinamori voicing her thought aloud and a corner of Hitsugaya’s lip rising in agreement –, it had been the best use of their time because the company had changed everything. Though Hinamori had somehow managed to bang her head, scratching the same area on her forehead that a demon would injury the following day, they had had fun.

His fingers brushing the injury, almost faded into a sole memory, brought her out of her thoughts, sadness in his gaze trapping her and crushing her heart. Then he dropped his hand and turned to look at the same shrine they had visited a week ago, when it still had been in an area ignored both by angels and demons, before they had noticed a great amount of demonic activity there and sent Hitsuagya’s patrol into trap. Some parts of the shrine were burnt, tips of lavenders black, still reflecting the aftermath of the battle.

It could have been worse. Still, Hinamori didn’t like the tightness in Hitsugaya’s shoulders, the way he suddenly seemed to dodge her gaze.

When Hitsugaya finally talked, she almost felt a need to pinch herself to make sure she was dreaming – or having a nightmare, to be precise. “Do you ever feel that everything you do is in vain?”

No, Hinamori wouldn’t have given Hitsugaya the prize of the most optimist person, but asking questions like that, sounding like he was giving up, it wasn’t something he used to do. No matter how many times he fell, the Hitsugaya she knew stood up time after time. But everyone had moments of weakness sometimes, like when Hinamori had run to help wounded Hitsugaya ignoring a high presence of demonic activity near, in contrast to all the training she had had.

“Hitsugaya,” Hinamori said carefully, her eyes fixed on him to observe the tiniest change in his posture, “it wasn’t your fault.”

If possible, his posture tightened even more. “No? I couldn’t protect you.” His voice was composed by shards that tore Hinamori’s heart, shards of self-loathing, anger, sadness. She took a step forward, reaching out with her hand, almost dropping it but finally taking hold of his sleeve and leaning her head against his shoulder, feelings his tense muscles. “You’ve protected me many times in past,” she comforted him, “and I can protect myself, too. But sometimes we commit errors and luck isn’t on our side,” her lips tried to form a smile even though his desperate gaze were still on the half-destroyed shrine.

“I know,” Hitsugaya whispered. “Matsumoto and I would have died if you hadn’t come, but...I just...when I saw you...”

“I know,” said Hinamori this time, a tremble cursing through her body as an imagine of Hitsugaya on the ground flashed in her mind, his blood bright red on his wings and hair, his grip of his sword’s halt loosened. The anger and fear – love – that moved her before her mind had time to evaluate the situation. The understanding of their feelings for each other as she listened to his words and wrapped her arms around his waist, supporting him the way he always supported her. “I know.”

[pleasantly-weird-devil]

OKAY SO you know that line that Horde Prime has where he looks at Mara and goes something like: "I must have fought her. But I don't remember her. All their faces always disappear"

Or something like that, I don't remember exactly.

AND THEN he goes "goodbye, my oldest enemy."

And that line is SO POWERFUL and yet it falls kind of flat with me.

And I just figured it out.

They don't really flesh out that history. They don't show us anything from Prime and Mara fighting, or even meeting.

They could have shown us some memories from that former body he went to, so we KNEW what history him and She-ra have.

If they did that, we could've seen him take notes of possible weaknesses and his old hatred of her. But even better:

Imagine we saw a memory where Mara as She-ra fights Prime and manages to get the planet to disappear into Despandos before Prime could get to Etheria. Imagine we saw his anger, his frustration. And then imagine him deleting the memory.

We KNOW he remembered her, but actively chose to forget, so she couldn't be a threat anymore.

We see his perfectionism and need for control. Him confronting Adora in her vision, him telling her she won't matter, it would all be a last attempt to convince himself he's still in control.

I don't know, I just think his and Adora's/She-ra's relationship could've been fleshed out a little more. I understand they had a limited amount of time and I still LOVE the fifth season. But I just thought of this and had to share. It got a lot longer than it was supposed to, oops

[artificialqueens]

star. (Branjie) -- meggie

A/N: Thank you @formercongressman and @theartificialdane for reminding me of FACTS. Thank you to @katiehoughton and multifandomgeek for betaing. Fic takes a village, and it do be a fact that I have the greatest one. Please let me know your thoughts here or over on my blog @artificialmeggie.

TWs for tattoos, perfectionism, and discussion of Brooke’s disgusting feet.

Summary: Vanjie’s always been better at words than Brooke. It’s natural, a part of him just as much as his brown eyes or tan skin. Take the way he throws shade and rattles off quips and nicknames. Brooke’s already lost count of how many have been bestowed upon him. “Twinkletoes” is the latest. OR how Brooke got that blue star tattoo

Word Count: 1,471

They meet in Chicago at the beginning of August, two weeks after Drag Race is over and a week after they saw each other last.

They spent the entire first week after filming wrapped in an L.A. hotel room, finally finally together the way they’d been denied during filming—kissing and fucking and talking and ordering up room service and even, every night, going on actual real-life dates to restaurants and ice cream parlors and cupcake shops. 

Vanessa says it first on the first night they’re in Chicago, and that’s where it all starts. Brooke’s just fucked him into the mattress after they meet at the airport and spend their Uber ride groping each other (they left their driver five stars and a sizeable tip, so it’s fine; they don’t feel too bad about it). Vanessa’s skin is slick with perspiration, and they’re both still panting as they lie next to each other, wry smiles playing on their lips as they stare into each other’s eyes. Brooke doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this, doesn’t know how he could ever get tired of someone looking at him the way Vanessa does. 

Then Vanjie’s grin bursts into a full-blown smile and color blooms pink on his cheeks and he looks at Brooke like he has a secret. 

“What?” Brooke says.

But Vanjie ducks his head, still grinning. “Nothin’. It’s nothin’. Just kiss me, Twinkletoes.”

He does, but he isn’t dropping it. “I don’t believe that for a second. What is it?” Brooke’s smiling now too because Vanessa’s joy is contagious; his light spreads into Brooke’s very core, warms him up from the inside out. 

“I just…” He rubs his face, leaves a speck of gold glitter by his eye. Brooke finds glitter everywhere now—in his suitcase, in his shoes, pressed into the lines of his palm—he thinks it must come from Vanessa’s fingertips. He loves it. “This sounds fucking crazy, okay, I fully get that, but…”

A sigh.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Brooke huffs out a breath. His feelings for Vanjie are real, he knows that. And he’s read enough to know that science says you’ll know whether or not it’s love by the time you’ve been with someone for six weeks. They passed that mark during filming. So he has a decision to make… and, honestly, Brooke’s never been great at making decisions. He’s an over-thinker, an over-planner. It’s a… whole thing. 

“See‍?” Vanessa laughs a little, but it’s humorless. It falls flat in the muted browns and oranges of the hotel room walls as he shifts his weight in bed, rolls away from Brooke to get up. “Told you it was crazy.”

  “No,” Brooke says suddenly, reaching out for Vanjie’s hand, wrist, neck… anything he can anchor to, hold tight to in an effort to keep him at his side. “It’s not crazy. I… just…”

Vanessa shakes his head. “You don’t have to say it.”

Brooke shrugs. “You know how I feel, though, baby‍. Don’t you?”

Vanjie’s always been better at words than Brooke. It’s natural, a part of him just as much as his brown eyes or tan skin. Take the way he throws shade and rattles off quips and nicknames. Brooke’s already lost count of how many have been bestowed upon him. “Twinkletoes” is the latest (and probably Brooke’s favorite, if he’s being honest). It’s half-joke, half-read. 

Brooke has awful feet—it’s a dance thing. He’s lost his big toenails more times than he can count. He’s broken toes. He’s fought blisters and calluses and tried every tape and padding in the book, and they help, but nothing totally alleviates the pain, the stress. His toes are ugly, the bones warped and twisted from years of supporting his weight. He’ll never be a foot model (he’s made his peace with it), but he is a successful professional drag queen who still gets to dance for a living at 32. It’s a fair trade.

So maybe he has disgusting feet, and maybe Vanjie likes to tease him about it, but he knows it’s light-hearted. His nickname makes him blush a little. Makes him feel like this thing of which he’s always been so ashamed (because no matter how hard he tries he’ll never be perfect) doesn’t bother Vanessa so much that he can’t still love him.

Vanessa loves him.

Brooke becomes fully aware he’s been silent for far too long to maintain their delicate comfort with those three words suspended in the air. He clears his throat. 

“You know? Right?”

Vanjie nods and smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sure thing.” 

So Brooke kisses him deep, winds his hand between his legs, strokes him until he’s hard. Then presses wet kisses down his torso, flicks each nipple and circles his navel with his tongue before sucking him fully into his mouth.

So what if Brooke can’t say it? With Vanessa’s fingers twisting in his hair and his breath whistling through his teeth as he gasps, Brooke can feel it. That’s all that matters. Right? It’s about actions. It’s about intent. 

Vanessa doesn’t need to hear it. Brooke goes out of his way to show his love every day. 

That’s gotta be enough.

* * *

The next day feels… Weird. Vanjie is subdued, quiet, even, despite Brooke’s efforts to turn them back into what they’ve been. 

They hang out with Steve. They shop. They visit the Bean and Lake Michigan, take cheesy tourist photos, introduce Vanjie to deep-dish pizza; but in the back of Brooke’s mind, he can’t shake the feeling that something shifted between them last night in a way for which he’s solely responsible.

So they bid Steve farewell after dinner and walk back to the hotel hand-in-hand down the street lamp lined sidewalk in the humid night air. 

Brooke clears his throat. “So about last night…”

“Yeah…” Vanessa barks out a laugh, waves it off. “You know, don’t worry ‘bout it, baby. I shouldn’t’ve said nothing.”

They take a few steps in silence, then Brooke draws in a deep breath. “It’s not that. You know I can’t do words like you.”

“Bitch, I know. I’m the most eloguent bitch around.” Vanessa deflects when he’s uncomfortable or embarrassed. Brooke can relate. But just like so many other things, Vanessa uses words while Brooke relies on other means. Words just don’t come easily for him. 

They stop, and Brooke reaches for Vanjie’s other hand. Takes it tightly in his own, pulls it to his chest. “You do know how I feel about you, right? Even if I can’t say it yet. You know… Right?”

Vanessa smiles at him, brighter than last night, but still sadder than Brooke wants to see, and tiptoes up to kiss him. “Of course, Toes. I know.”

They resume their walk, and a brightly lit neon sign a few doors down catches Brooke’s eye. 

It’s about action. It’s about intent. And maybe he can’t do words, has never been able to do words. But he always finds something else. 

* * *

“Bitch, you are crazy,” Vanjie says later that night when Brooke unwraps the bandage from his foot. “I still can’t believe you did that shit.”

Brooke shrugs, eyeing his newest tattoo—the blue outline of a star on the big toe of his right foot. Twinkle. He’d let Vanessa choose the color; imagine his surprise when it hadn’t come out red or orange. 

“Guess I thought it might make my feet prettier.” 

“Only thing making those feet prettier is amputation,” Vanessa quips effortlessly. Words come so easily to him. Brooke wishes he had an ounce of that. “But I guess it doesn’t hurt.”

“Do you like it?” Brooke asks quietly after a moment, waiting for Vanessa’s answer with bated breath. 

Vanjie scoffs. “You’re the one that has to live with it for the rest of your damn life.”

“It’s for you. It’s… You know.” Brooke sighs. “Just because I can’t say it yet doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Vanjie braces himself against the headboard and leans in, kisses Brooke deeply, moans into his mouth at Brooke’s favorite decibel. When he pulls away (far too soon for Brooke’s taste), he rests their foreheads together.

“You know…” he says quietly. “Words are a lot less permanent.”

Brooke chuckles. “True. But they hurt a lot more.”

Vanjie climbs into Brooke’s lap, drapes his arms around his neck, places careful kisses around his jaw. 

“Maybe you’re right, Toes.”

Brooke thinks a small amount of ink on his foot to remind him of the first man he’s ever really loved is a small price to pay if it makes him remember feeling this way every time he sees it. 

Vanessa etched into his skin.

Vanessa etched into his soul. 

[intruderzim]

Zim Has OCD: The Movie

i’ve wanted to write abt this for the longest time, so here i am Doin It!! (apologies for how messy its written, my thoughts are all over the place & im not the best at articulating them)

one of the reasons zim is such an important character to me is because of the mental illness symptoms he exhibits explicitly in the show. as someone who has fought a long battle with ocd my whole life, i know a lot about how this illness works & see a lot of it in zim. whether or not the crew intentionally created this character with mental illnesses in mind, this is what i see, based on my observances & a lot of speculation.

(buzzfeed unsolved voice) so with that, lets get into the theories

cleaning obsession:

the first piece of evidence as to why i believe zim suffers from ocd is obvious: his cleaning obsession. in canon, he needs everything to be clean ALL THE TIME. if a single thing is out of order, or not perfect & clean, it freaks him out. this is such a central part of his character that there was a whole EPISODE dedicated to it! in addition to this, i also believe he absolutely cannot concentrate if things are dirty in the /slightest/. he probably needs everything to be Clean Always, & when gir comes in covered in dirt & shit its just. devastating. his base is the only safe space where /he/ has control over everything that comes in and out, & a place that he knows for SURE is clean. he can control everything in it, therefore its safe!! which is also why going to school must be so stressful, as its FILTHY & when things are dirty they are Not Right. its hard to explain but when you have ocd, the distress you have over small things is magnified to the EXTREME. & zim definitely has the kind of reaction someone with ocd would have to those triggers. one of zim’s biggest triggers is the need for things to be clean, & its why he spends so much time making sure his one safe haven is free of germs.

zim has a definite phobia of germs as well, which doesn’t necessarily HAVE to go with the cleaning obsession, but the cleaning is a compulsion to cancel it out.

if zim gets preoccupied about something being dirty, he absolutely cannot relax until it is fixed. he couldn’t do anything until the entire base was deep cleaned, destroying every germ & mopping virtually every inch of the place! its very ocd thinking: all or nothing. it can’t be a “little” dirty, its always THIS IS HORRIBLE & TERRIBLE & FILTHY if there’s even a little dust. something i used to struggle with a lot was that i couldn’t use my electronics as i was scared i’d make them too dirty; even if my hands were clean. i couldn’t touch my computer or my phone because the very thought of leaving fingerprints on it or somehow else making it dirty was too terrifying to face. maybe zim would have a similar experience, not wanting to do certain things in his lab in the case he would “ruin” his equipment, if that makes sense?

zim also wouldn’t wanna touch things that are even remotely dirty that another person has used, this is dumb but like using someone elses headphones (which is complicated cuz ANTENNA) or wearing someone elses clothes, its just. Beyond disgusting to him

perfectionism:

zim is the kind of person who needs things to be “perfect” & if they’re not perfect, then it might as well be worthless. im positive zim needs everything in his lab to be absolutely how it “should be” & if there’s one thing out of line, it’ll mess up his whole thought process. & if it does, he’ll spend hours ruminating abt it.

zim obsesses for sure, over dib, & over his mission. he really REALLY wants to do a good job, & the way his mind thinks to accomplish this, in addition to other things is to obsess. zim is a huge perfectionist & he wants to be sure he is doing well, & to be perfect in the eyes of his empire. a lot of this ties in to his self worth issues, but some of it could have ocd to blame. he wants his inventions to be perfect, his projects to be perfect, his plans, etc. there can be no room for error. if something doesn’t go exactly as planned, its automatically the Worst & even if there is a small flaw, something no one else would notice, zim will, & it will bother him immensely. he wants to live up to his full potential & erase any indication of his “defectiveness” so if something is a little wrong, then its a big deal to him.

a lot of this next part is my own speculation but i like to think zim engages in compulsions as well?& it would only make sense to me as someone who’s lived it that zim’s ocd would branch out to other aspects of his life as well,since thats just the nature of the illness. zim could have “safe numbers” & do things a certain amount of times in order to be safe & “right”. having a safe number would also mean having a bad number that he’d avoid at all costs, so just like little things, maybe the amt of times he taps his foot, or blinks, or thinks abt something, itll always have to be the safe number & never the Bad Number.

im sure he’d get ocd intrusive thoughts as well, like hurting the people he cares about, things along those lines. thoughts that are inherently ocd intrusive. except sometimes he actually ACTS on these, he’ll get the thought “hmmm i could literally destroy half my home planet” & then actually GETS INTO A MEGADOOMER & DOES IT???

i definetly don’t think jhonen meant to do it, but he’s written a character who exhibits So many symptoms of ocd, & while zim isn’t rly supposed to be that much of a sympathetic character (ur supposed to look at him & think, oh ur Rly Stupid & u do a lot of dumb things) but what i see is a v severely damaged person who is behaving the only ways they know how. & i wish the show could go into deeper introspection abt it, but i know it wouldn’t because thats not the style of the show.

anyways. thats my two cents, you can take it or leave it. a lot of it, probably most of it is my personal hc but it means a lot to me if you’ve read this far & perhaps see what i see!

[the-nysh]

Hey, since you talked about your feelings on td//dk and kr//bk (which were super interesting to read btw!) do you have anything to say about opinions on k//cchako?

Hey there! :) And thank you! So let’s see…Uraraka andKacchan. I see fan content of them on my dash fromtime to time, but it rarely garners any deeper thought, so I often just scrollpast with little to no reaction. Simply put: I don’t harbor enough investmentor interest in them as a ship. Even so! Yes, I still have opinions about them, so I’ll try to go in depth here. 

From their limited amount of canon interactions together, therewere actually two noteworthy scenes of them that I really liked. 1.) During theirmatch in the Sports Festival, and 2.) the databook omake situated after Deku andKacchan’s fight vs All Might. (However, in both cases, their interactionsrevolved around Deku, so…) 

I liked their match in the Sports Festival because it wasone of the first times we get to see another side of Kacchan – an important one thatreveals some of his honor code. Fighting seriously against a girl, thateveryone else in the audience assumed was ‘weak and frail’ based onappearances, and therefore automatically judged their match barbaric andunfair…well. Aizawa (Dadzawa), and Uraraka herself, proved them wrong. Urarakaproved her grit and Kacchan treated her as a legitimate threat regardless ofgender stereotypes. (Actually, he approached their match seriously and cautiouslybecause he thought she had a planfrom Deku.) Further acknowledging herstrength with the ‘what part of her was frail?’ comment too.

It’s herewhere I thought, ‘nice, this is a guythat can be trusted, because he earnestly puts his all into the things he’sserious about and expects the same -the best-from his opponents in return.’ (If they don’t,he interprets that as them underestimating or looking down on him.) Without anyother ulterior factors swaying him, there’s a steadfast consistency and honorto that kind of focused mindset, both in how he handles himself and impartially approaches thethings that matter to him, which makes him predictably trustworthy in the long run. (Also meaning, if there’s ever anyfault/betrayal in that mindset, it’s a break in character…which ayyy, Deku willtake notice! ;D)

However, I took the Sports battle and these establishing traits(Uraraka’s grit and Kacchan’s honor) as separate strengths respective to each character, rather than anything shippy.Because Uraraka ultimately fought for herself (and her parents) while Kacchanproved he’d take any girl (anyone)seriously if they show proper worth and challenge respect. So it wasn’thim showing special treatment for Uraraka in particular, but an example of hishonest and impartial competitive sportsmanship. 

Now we have Uraraka thankful that Kacchan took herseriously, and therefore she’s unafraid to confront/approach him on her ownterms -as equals- later. Which is good! :D And it’s why I like the omakecontent of them so much, where she questions him about his behavior in the endof term test:

Uraraka: “It’s like you’re intimidating (Deku) because you’re scared and wanthim to go away from you.”

It’s greatbecause her intuition can clearly read through him: Kacchan purposely singles out and keepsDeku at bay because he fears how Deku makes him feel. Like, boom! She totallycalls him out. ;D BUT…I didn’t read this interaction of theirs as shippy either,because it revolved around Deku AND showed how much Uraraka is in support of their reconciled friendship. She WANTSthem to get along! (If anything, it makes hermore like their wingman… So ayy, bothshe and Kiri would be supportive of their repaired relationship!)

So, from these two canon interactions (only one was a significant event in the manga by the way…), I see the potential basis for a refreshing m/f friendship, where shecan mentally joust and bicker with him without any major consequence. However,as a romantic ship, no; it’s not enough to convince me.

Aside from how limited their canon interactions are, and howin both cases they revolvedaround Deku…the two of them have other canon characteristics to consider. Notonce has Kacchan ever shown interestin any girls in ‘that’ way (or really, invested interest in anyone other than Deku)…and Uraraka hasher utterly transparent feelings for Deku to resolve. Already, that starts themin separate, opposed lanes with respect to their connection to Deku. So whenconsidering them as a ship instead, Ihave to repeatedly ask myself howthey’d ever manage to merge onto the same lane, and what that would even entail,narratively.

Because what wouldit mean? Would Uraraka’s feelings for Deku simmer down to sisterly affectionsof support and admiration, leaving her to choose the immediate second option:Deku’s riv–…wait a sec, what aboutKacchan’s feelings for Deku? (This is writing off that same elephant in the room issue I talkedabout in my previous post…) Are theyboth actually rivals for Deku’s affections?! XD Would Uraraka choose to bewith Kacchan, for the sake of helpinghim ‘get over’ his feelings for Deku too?? WAIT hold on. This is the SAME thingI talked about with kr/bk: it is notUraraka (or Kiri’s) business, or even their responsibility, to forcibly butt-in with the hopes of ‘changing’ or ‘fixing’ Kacchan’s problems/bad behavior FOR him.Except in Uraraka’s case, there’s theadded, antiquated gendered trope of the ‘good girl’ saving the ‘bad boy’ at theexpense of her own wellbeing. Sacrificing her own happiness to care for him fulltime. Which…oh no. Urarakadoesn’t deserve such a harsh fate like that. And Kacchan is not there to become a ‘pet project’ to coddle and change at theexpense of his feelings either. Theseare all some of the main arguments against the ship that I’ve seen, and I agreethat I’m definitely not interested in seeing a one-sided/harmful relationshipdynamic perpetuate like that…but I still have one final, personal dealbreaker.

Which is how Kacchan (my fav) ultimately becomescharacterized. And it relates to his ‘honor code’ established IN his fightagainst Uraraka too. Consider how Hori likely designed Deku and Uraraka to bethe ‘obvious’ endgame het pairing…with them having ongoing, mutual crushes oneach other (truthfully, I really only see fledgling, one-sided flustered admiration/envyfrom Uraraka’s side…) Now then, HOW does this make Kacchan look in turn, forhim to step in between them like this? If he knows they’re friends who like each other, would he really purposely step in to sabotageDeku’s chances with the object of his affections (Uraraka)? No way, not even outof potential spite against Deku or something. It would betray the very consistent and steadfast ‘trust’ about hischaracter that I talked about before.

Because Kacchan’s a gruff asshole ingeneral, but THIS (essentially ‘stealing’ Deku’s crush) would be an underhanded dick move of a whole new lowfor him. Completely at odds with his established character development. He outrighttells villains how he despisesunderhanded tactics like cheating and lying! Doing something like this would contradictand destroy his own ideals. Even if he somehow had a crush on Uraraka (which would already be a stretch andsuspension of disbelief, since he’s never shown any interest in girls likethat anyway) he’d do everything in his power to stay in his own lane and continueaiming for his goal as the top hero. Kacchan lives by his own strict standards andperfectionism in his drive to become the best.He’s an asshole, but not that other kindof asshole. Whenever I see shippy fan content of kac/chako being together atthe expense of Deku, this is the kindof asshole it makes Kacchan appear to me, which is a mischaracterization Ican’t tolerate. It’s a reason I haven’t seen other people talk about, but it’s alwaysbeen in the back of my mind, and probably the main reason why the idea of theirship rubs me the wrong way.

Whew, but thankfully, I don’t see any signs from Hori that they’llbecome endgame. (And it’s why most fan content of them slides past like water off a duck for me.) Truthfully and honestly,I really want Hori to step up Uraraka’s game, to make her a fully fleshed out characterand therefore, a viable contender in either of the boys’ hearts. Because atthe rate she’s going…she’s falling behind to the wayside compared to how Hori’sdeveloping Deku and Kacchan’srelationship. And she’ll have a tough time displacing the lifelong feelingsDeku has had for Kacchan, unless she does something drastic. (Ayyyy so where’sthat one traitor theory~)

Honestly, using Uraraka (or any girl actually) as shipfodder for the boys, just because of her gender, is something I’m not a fan of.I would rather be a fan of Uraraka based on the merits of her own character,and not from her designation as a satellite love interest to anyone. But IF Urarakahad to end up with anyone endgame, I would muchprefer her with either Iida or Tsuyu. Both of them are loyal and good friendswho would treat her with respect and provide needs in the way she deserves.

Alright! I think that covers everything. This actually got alot longer than anticipated. XD Thanks for reading!

[enniewritesathing]

Hi, has John ever taken training too far? A bit like Brian has been over doing studying. (If so how did Brian react/reason with him?)

Oh, absolutely.

(under cut bc it’s a pretty long read)

a little context: John’s training has always been intense, but it was the right amount of intense and scaled properly to his skill level. He’s been competing since he was 7, turned serious around 10 years old. And because of this, he’s had this mindset of that if he’s not about to pass out during training or anything like that, he didn’t train hard enough.

John feels like this when he loses a match by TKO or KO, and even have draws. There’s always something that can be improved, that he can do more because if he doesn’t, then his opponent has a chance to win. 

And so, John trains and trains and trains. He has to be perfect. Three rounds, five rounds, doesn’t matter. It brings out the killer instinct in him. Don’t let it be for a tournament or for a World Cup. He pushes himself, and then pushes more. Sometimes to the point of complete failure. This includes training while still recovering from an injury. If it’s something he can tape up, John will wrap/tape it up and keep going, because he may have to fight through pain through a match. 

(There’s an infamous match that John fought and won, but at a cost, but I’ll put it in a seperate post. Let’s just say he had no right in winning it.)

Not to say that there’s mental effects of taking it too far. John has giant mood swings. He gets irritable and very snippy. He’s mean and far more stubborn than he normally is. Anxiety and fear creeps in. He starts to get horrible nightmares about fights, half imagined, half of which he has fought and lost. Sometimes, he even wakes up screaming. A more subtle thing he does is isolate himself.

Brian’s reaction to John’s overtraining, he doesn’t mince his words at all; he’s blunt about what kind of damage John’s doing to himself with no proper rest or resuming training too soon after a fight. In fact, he has made it law for John to rest a minimum of 72 hours – doing absolutely nothing and I mean nothing except bedrest and meditation. It’s enough time for him to get out of fight mode, calm down, and return to ‘normal’.

Brian reasons with John through escalation, meaning that bad shit/consequences will happen to him if he doesn’t stop the path he’s going on. The risk of injury during training too hard with little/no rest and even as far as spraining, breaking, or even dislocating a limb or joint, or pulling a muscle, etc etc. His body will break down much faster to the point of that he won’t ever be 100% and will stand to be at a greater risk for an injury-ending career or something that will take a long time to recover from. 

And because John is stubborn during this phase, his answer is basically “I can handle it. If I can’t, I will make myself handle it.” 

Brian lets John know that his behavior during this time/occurance is unacceptable and upsetting and worst of all, selfish because of how he isolates himself. It’s always been a sort of contention between them, that John has a “I have to” mindset. 

It’s not until an incident that Brian found John unconscious – but not the way you’d expect. John’s at the heavy bag, standing up, but as Brian approaches, there’s something very wrong. His hands are gripping the bag to the point of white knuckles (and John never practices without his handwrap). He’s drenched in sweat, his hair free and sticking to his face. He’s breathing hard – and it’s the type that’s oddly mechanical, like he’s concentrating. His amber eyes wide and blank, staring at nothing. There’s no response as Brian calls out to him, not even as he touches his shoulder.

John turns his head to look at him, slowly. His eyes... he’s not there at all. It’s the same look he has when he sleeps with his eyes open. He’s gone somewhere.

Not a moment after John collapses. 

When he comes to, he’s in the ER. He’s dazed and confused as he looks at his surroundings, mainly wondering why he was hooked up to monitors, numbers he can sort of parce out. When he sees Brian – he’s relieved but he’s also angry at him (and it’s rare that he sees him outright angry so it’s like ‘ah congrats, John you fucked up big time’). 

The doctor tells him that John has basically trained himself into extreme exhaustion and that he almost fried his body doing it, so his brain literally flipped the switch off on him. John only remembers the lead up to it, that he was doing clinches and just stopped.

After John was released, they returned home. Brian didn’t speak to him for a day. When he did, he spoke in a very quiet voice, and it amounted him telling that what happened scared the absolute shit out of him. 

“John, I don’t want you to die over this. Why do you push yourself like this?”

John doesn’t respond, but he does take those words in. There’s plenty reasons why he does: to be the strongest there is, to be the absolute best, to bring glory to him and his family name – as those before him, the promise he made to Jacob before he died – to continue fighting as long as he can… it’s complicated to say the least and very ingrained to him, the “I have to” part. He’s done it since for 15 years (and counting). It’s literally a part of him. It’s a loaded question too. 

He answers, in earnest, “Because I imagine my opponent trying to take everything I love away from me. I promised myself… I have to be stronger and faster than them. Or else, I lose everything. I lose you.” And he says this every time he’s asked. Brian knows that John’s lost a lot growing up, and protects things and ideas near and dear to him. He understands the perfectionism, the anxieties, the fears. Do what it takes to be the best.

Brian nods in affirmation. “Okay,” he says. To tell him to be careful seems empty at this point because John is stubborn. He’ll back off but it’s the matter of when that he’ll return to back where he was before like it didn’t happen. 

John knows that he’s hurt Brian with this incident. And that’s a promise he made to him when they got together. And he never breaks promises, or does so unintentionally (such as this). He realises that Brian keeps him in check so that incidents like these don’t happen, just like he has to pull him away from studying too long. Brian was protecting him; he didn’t trust and listen and there was a serious consequence to that. 

So – John rearranges his training. They’re still intense instead of back-to-back-to-back, they’re every other day, so the next is light/recovery day, and even adds a complete rest day that’s spent meditating. It forces him to slow down and take a look at things and put them into perspective. He doesn’t tell Brian this but instead shows him, and through that, puts Brian at ease that he won’t do something so stupid and dangerous again.

He catches himself going back to old habits from time to time, but he’s changed his training for the better. 

[yarking]

vanusgalerions replied to your post: I just broke 50k words on that writing site. In 24...

what is this writing site? please share your secrets ;0;

omg yes yes I shall! I don’t usually do the whole “ringing endorsment thing” but I was averaging maybe a couple thousands words a month if I was lucky before finding this site.

4thewords is an RPG site where you sign up, make your avatar and go on quests and fight monsters! Only, to fight the monsters, you have to type a certain number of words in a certain amount of time. Sometimes it can be 150 words in 10 minutes or 250 in 30, or if you’re prepared for a longer session you can do 1750 words in 210 minutes, etc! The latest boss I fought was 3k in 24 hours, so the wpm is always pretty doable. There are 72 different monsters in three different zones with different quests. All the monsters can drop items you can use to craft armor and weapons, which increase your attack, defense and luck stat. Attack gives you a small bonus to the number of words you write, defense extends the time aloted and luck increased chances of rare drops.

The art is BEAUTIFUL and the creature designs are unique and super cute. My favorite is the lorsa-

LOOK AT IT. SO CUTE! LOOK AT ITS PAWSIES. Shame I have to kill it to collect its feathers for a quest. At least at 575 words in 50 minutes it’s a pretty easy kill.

The only “downside” I can say is that it IS a subscription site. BUT it’s $4 a month, and the first month is free, and I’ve done 50k in the less-than-a-month I’ve been on the site. I sprung for a subscription the second week I played because I knew by then it was worth it. And if you’re genuinely critically low on money and really can’t afford the $4, the owners had stated they’d be willing to vouch for people who still want to use the site if you contact them and explain your situation.

I cannot recommend it enough for people who have difficulty working on a project for a lot of different reasons. I have had really, genuinely strangling perfectionism that’s kept me from being able to write in the past, and this gets shit OUT there. A+ best writing tool ever eternal thank to @rifa for suggesting it

[theliterateape]

How Americans Learned to Despise Learning

by Don Hall

According to a diversity training program in Seattle this month, “objectivity,” “Individualism,” “perfectionism,” and “intellectualism” are all vestiges of white supremacy. 

Aside from the incredibly patronizing tone this idea embodies — the reverse assumption being simply that black people are not naturally capable of being objective, individualistic, perfectionist or intellectual — this is a direct rebuke to the very idea of the values of education.

In 1993, while I was a seventh and eighth grade music teacher in Chicago’s West Side, I came to a realization that one of the many uphill battles being fought in the public school classroom was that of several generations of families finding little to no value in learning to read or write or understand math and science.

These were families on the ass-end of a school system that rewarded funds to areas with higher property values, robust small business economies, and lots of white children whose parents were financially able to advocate for those funds. While racial lines were drawn, especially in 1990s Chicago, nationwide the system left rural whites behind as well in staggering numbers.

For three generations the benefits of completing a high school education became less obvious. The best and most well-paying jobs required a college diploma and the halcyon days of graduating with solid grades in high school decayed year after year.

My late nephew had very little interest in education. My sister is a high school history teacher (a damn fine one at that) and his older brother and sister were both college kids. Ryan wasn’t. He discovered drug culture and along with it, the ability to make cash in the underground economy. He didn’t need to study or follow rules for an endgame that left him with nothing much more than the sad bragging rights that he had made it through the slog of high school so he dropped out.

The perception is that those who blow off the diploma are slackers in some way but it’s more insidious than that simple reduction. What reward would he get if he fell in line and got those grades up? At the end, he could get a job that paid minimum wage, no worker protection, taxes, and the beginning of the struggle of a wage slave.

Instead, he could sell a few bags of weed, some Xanax, some Percocet, pocket the cash, play video games with his friends. When the reward for learning algebra and reading poetry is so slight, the value of the act is so wholly diminished, a smart man would say to go for the easy money.

Ryan and I mostly communicated through his choice of social media. Generally he would tweet something horribly misogynist in rap-speak and I would challenge his point of view. Then it would grow to asking about his life and what he was up to. He was careful not to divulge his drug life although I always suspected. His views on school were dark and, in some ways, hopeless. “What’s the point?” was the gist of his perspective and, beyond the platitudes of “Reading and math and science are essential for living in the world,” I had little to offer.

It reminds me of the arts funding debates in Chicago in the early 2000s. Every arts group needed money but to get grants and foundation support, organizations needed to demonstrate economic viability. The best argument in favor of art is that its very existence is a societal good. That the arts provide everyone with opportunity to grow in empathy, to see the world through other eyes, to edify our humanity but that argument doesn’t speak in dollars and cents.

The result was a growth of arts education initiatives — sub-par children’s theater, arts and crafts for under-privileged kids, free improv programs — all in order to demonstrate some sort of altruistic angle to get those grants.

Public education relied heavily on the idea that a high school education followed by a college education equaled jobs. But it no longer can make that argument with a straight face when the jobs involve flipping burgers for pennies or a free internship at a corporate office. 

Add to that the back-breaking amount of money required to attend college and the tendency of so many to see college as a social experience more than a vocational experience and education becomes a failed experiment in how to waste money on a theater arts degree that can only be used to proliferate more theater arts degrees because the only job it suits one for is to recycle back into teaching theater arts.

What are we left with some forty years of this trend? Citizens who would rather pretend to be amateur epistemological experts rather than heed actual science, COVID deniers and anti-maskholes, activists so bereft of historical knowledge that tearing down every statue regardless of accomplishment or not is fair game, a reliance upon subjective lived experience as somehow indicative of larger reality, and a nearly permanent underclass of uneducated bozos who get to vote in elections.

The greatest threat to democracy is an uneducated population.

Solutions to this are both short-term and long-range. 

SHORT TERM

Reduce the financial footprint of college.

Don’t make it free for everyone because people treat free as low value and education’s value is already at an all-time low. Reduce tuition in proportion to the kind of degree and vocation a student declares. Is the degree in something considered societally essential? Medicine, education, city planning, engineering, journalism? Low cost. Is the declared degree in a field of study more suited fringe occupations with a high potential of financial payout? Marketing, communications, theater, film making, legal counsel? Higher cost but reasonable. Personal journey sort of field? Philosophy, psychology, sociology, political science? Charge ‘em a solid fee.

Dramatically increase funding to public schools, especially in historically underfunded areas.

Most of this cash should go to teachers who have become defacto parents saddled with responsibilities on top of educating students. A good portion should go to social workers to take some of that burden off of teachers. The rest should go to equipment and the very stuff of hands on education.

Expand the school year to 365 days

Break it up. Intensives of reading, writing, and social studies for three months. Science and math for three months. Music and art for thee months. Vocational training for three months. Fucking four years later you’ll have rolled back the perpetual adolescence and create a class of 20-year olds less stupid, more engaged, and more fully prepared to survive out of their parents’ homes.

LONG RANGE

Create two classes of minimum wage — one for those without a high school diploma and a significantly higher wage for those who graduate. Hell, pitch in bonuses for a higher GPA.

Subsidize vocational training for recent graduates in fields we need like infrastructure, healthcare, and education.

Hire Robin DiAngelo to write a book about the psychic benefits of learning. Christ, she’s sold her bigoted “all whites are racist forever” bullshit, she can certainly take her snake-oil sales pitch and convince Americans that being educated is simply better for you and the country.

[healingpastwhole-blog]

Urgency is useful

Quite overwhelmed with the amount of writing I have left to do in the next two-four weeks. I know every productivity/organizational/goal setting/time management trick in the book, but the actual just process of writing...going piece by piece until you reach a finish line....in advance, it gnaws at me with an anxious avoidance that is so hard to fight and overcome. I feel like I lose hours each day fighting to arrive on the other side of this, in order to get started on that day’s work. It is frustrating. 

I’ve fought through a lot of slogs over the last few years, and came out a new person and then many new versions of that new person one by one. It’s pretty incredible, and a huge fucking relief. I’m so proud of myself. 

This still feels lost though. I have trouble finding that sense of urgency I used to be able to tap into before a deadline. The one that allows you to kinda pump your brain with adrenaline and spit out a document, even a crappy one. So you can be DONE.....indeed, it’s that...

I JUST WANT TO BE DONE.

Even my half-best would deliver more than good enough to pass these credits. People ask me if it’s about perfectionism. Perhaps in the past yes, but now, it’s really not. I’ve dealt with that. Right now, I’m just slow. At some point, my brain stopped reacting to urgency. And learned to soothe myself. But now I don’t need soothing. I need to be seeing the fucking urgency and getting closer to being fucking done.