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rumblelibrary · 4 years ago

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The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and sex. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: The story is placed between season 1 and season 2. Thank you for everyone that encouraged me to keep going. I have to wait for my local drop of serotonin to get fully Laszloed to go through this.

Lyra’s Contellation, Illustration taken from Uranographia by Johann Bode

Routine. Routine is comfort. Habit stabilises the character.

If you follow a routine, you won’t ever be victim of imprudence, of evil jokes of fate. The stability earned through calculated and repeated actions brings a sense of fulfilment that forbids other thoughts to come bashing in, breaking rules, breaking hopes that a solid scheduled routine forbids to have. I take my time to begin this week, I planned the things to do, the next steps for the case, the people to meet, the resources I am allowed to contemplate. I feel good, I feel back to myself and the events of the weekend seem far from me and my own perception. I probably got ahead of myself, carried by some instinctual though and random rush of emotion, to be always in contact with the same people and mostly kids probably doesn’t help my stance in the presence of other adults. I feel silly now reading back the last page, I felt tempted to tear it off, but to keep it there should be a small memento of not losing my temper so easily. I read it over and over and I know I am not as charmed as I thought I was. I am just lonely. I have always been and it is normal to face ups and downs even for a man of my age who is more accustomed to it. To desire a partner is a natural instinct, to find somebody attractive is meant by nature, it is the body calling for the natural fulfilment of the reason we are put on this very Earth. But even in a state of nature my own condition would be forbidding me to be part of the natural process of growing my own kind. I am the type of male that would be excluded because of his impossibility to give the protection to the pack, therefore it is just more reasonable to me to adapt to my condition. No matter what my Potentia generandi might be (the ability to procreate).

With all the smugness that characterises him, Niki showed off that he passed my challenge. But to be really of an help to his antics I didn’t show any kind of surprise. I treated him like he did the bare minimum, like he didn’t prove me any kind of superiority. He has a natural attitude toward challenging the figure of power, he is trying to overpower me, but I won’t satisfy his need. I have noticed he has a very technical brain, he finds ways to solve problems in ingenious way and not by throwing himself into the task. I proceeded giving him to work on a clock, an old broken one we had in the institute, one of the kids hit it with a ball years ago and nobody ever worked on repairing it. I gave him the clock, a couple of screwdrivers and a book. He called me a number of German names I won’t transcribe, but it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. If my intuitions are right, I am sure the clock will be repaired by next week.

Analysis of the victim’s body through John’s eyes. The drawings and sketches are as detailed as I requested, all of this thanks to you joining him. I deal with art critic section, I am used to notice these things. You assure me, you play yourself low and I wonder why, nevertheless you did notice things neither John or I did, which pleased me. It fooled me, distracted me from my purpose to not give in to your witchery, as I leaned closer watching your pale hand move across the pages tracing this or that line, showing how this must be done with the killer on this side and not that side, with words so deliciously elaborate, your way of composing your speech is compelling, you could sell the drawing of a kid like it was a Botticelli. I noticed the shape of your hands, the way you move them, I wonder if you play an instrument, or played, some habits just stick with you through life. I focused on taking notes, your ideas and instructions giving me a new point of view, a new stimulus. What if that is the only way the killer can communicate? Or what if this is the communication that works for him? Could our killer be mute or deaf? Or that’s how society made him feel? This man, or woman, needs a listener and I am afraid that now, since he got our attention and the public’s, he won’t stop. Another killing could be just as close.

Scheduled: meeting with the parents of Alex Garel for new admission, Monday next week at 11 am. Love at first is a fetish and like all fetishes it is based onto an object that hides a deeper meaning, like gloves mean hands, to love at first sight means to see somebody that you think, and think only, to have the chance to share not only a sensual kind of bond, but an intellectual. Love at first sight is based onto not knowing someone well enough, but having the time to idealise most of that someone. I can see why I feel this attraction, using a particular phrase that Sara often mutters when investigating: you tick all the boxes. I know you do, your beauty is everything but conventional, you’re the kind of face that painters would paint and musicians would write hymns about, but any animal on the street would never be allowed to see. You have the grace of the body and the fire in the eyes, and then you speak. When you speak, I realise, you could bring the world to its knees. Also, you never speak out of context, and if you do it is to ease somebody’s position. You do it often with John or with Stevie, you say something really silly in order to put them back to a place of comfort. Some women would call it self deprecating, but I see that you only pick wisely your fights and your wins. You don’t need to earn your peace and quiet by neglecting, but by lifting up the others. I wonder if you do it with me too, if your silences are just you allowing me to be in a better place while instead your judgment is tearing me apart. I shouldn’t care, but I keep wondering, sometimes I take my time to answer you, I analyse every shade, every peculiarity of your question, I am looking for sarcasm, for a condescending voice, for something to hang on and bare you open. To prove myself you’re not perfect. But deep down I know that you do, you judge me and you do well.

Mother never said so. That’s what one of the girls in my care said today. Ursula. She is tough. Skin as thick as an alligator and the tendency to pull her own hair at night or when under a massive amount of stress, enuresis alongside erratic episodes of mutism. I tried the soft approach, it didn’t work. She is too accustomed to be indulged. Therefore today I pushed her a bit overboard, I teased her over opinions on the female body, the female role, she is only 12, but she is soon to bleed, she knows, I can tell from the way she clenches to her skirts, from the way she looks at me as a threatening figure. I am the incarnation of danger to her. Under her steady silence, I pushed a bit more, asking how her mother taught her to be nice and submissive. Does her mother tells her she is going to be a good wife? The phrase, which I reported at the top of the page, surprised me. What is her mother teaching to her then? What closed her so much, locked her soul away, making a small bird like this choose the silence and the retirement of self inflicted pain over, what? Mankind? Or just Men? Is that even a curse? Should I cure her from a truth that her own mother whispered to her ear one night before bed and made a child decide that the world wasn’t a place to share her time with? Am I the man supposed to teach her that men are worth of trust? In the eyes of modern society, who measures its own value over the modesty of the women, she would be a champion, but at what price? I can’t in any way let her parents bring her back home after our recent meetings. Nevertheless, I have to make up my own mind on how to give her troubled soul ease without making her believe in fables. I, as a man, regard myself not worth of any of the trust they expect me to teach her.

In all of my years practicing with people’s feelings and traumas, I challenged myself to find those same traumas within my own mind. It is a tricky game, terrible, anguishing at times. But it straightens me, the pain of others, the pain of kids mostly, so unadulterated and pure, breaks the curtain between me and the lies that I often surround myself with. Pain is made of method, you can open it up, you can scrutinise it, part it piece by piece dividing it in sectors and, partitions, centre part, side part, heart of the problem. Pain is reliable. Happiness is not. It is random, cruelly sudden, unexpected, it washes over you in such deflecting way only to leave you alone a moment after ashamed and alone. I saw you again today. You were in a table full of what I could only guess as your former university colleagues, I saw pain in you, not heavy but constant. Annoyance, a bit of sadness. Your head titling on side and your eyes drifting on the left, you’re imagining something away from them. A place? An object? Or maybe someone? Your hands play circles at the bottom of the flute of your drink like kids do, your smile only one sided. I don’t see you speak at all, only listen. What could keep your voice down? I almost gulped down my own breath as you looked up and I realised how I must have looked. I was having lunch on my own, in a very private table and even entertaining myself with a newspaper on the side. I wish you didn’t, but you came over, your eyes shining. Did I save you? Or maybe I was just a good excuse to leave that painful meeting behind. Don’t be so nice to me, it is not healthy. Don’t look at me like you expect anything more from me than me listening. I won’t smile back at you, I won’t give you care, attentions or thought. I won’t lean for your perfume, I won’t obsess over that dress you wore, that pin that adorned your neckline keeping your undershirt in place, a silver robin, I remember. I won’t remember the number of the buttons on the side of your glove, three. I won’t observe the little moles just under your ear. A small constellation, I later realised, hidden between your ear and the beginning of your neck. I don’t need to check in my books. It is a constellation. It is Lyra. Why? Why you must be like this? Are you the Lyra? Are you the instrument of Orpheus come to me to drag me out of Hell? The Tartarus holds my soul and you should know already, I am not worth the quarter part of Eurydice to be saved and she never came back anyway. I won’t be now recollecting the way your teeth sunk in the inner side of your cheek when you apologised for the annoyance. You apologised twice, I ignored you both times with a raised hand to request peace and silence. I am not letting you in.

Reserved: Tickets for Wednesday’s evening Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. The guest female lead promises a beautiful show.

Leonardo, as I am learning through Paul Valery essay, is who I would define as a figure of projective identification of the Subject or, to better explain it, of the knowledge of the Subject that formed and grew through the use of sketches in the experience of the Artist. I have always thought that the finest form of art was the representation of knowledge duly undressed by any personal identification. Leonardo, instead, proceeded to represent the figure through the essence of the artist, a representation technically unlimited on objects and symbols and that keep expressing the transformation and development of Leonardo’s own being.Some artists are testimony of the destruction of the world, of the loss of eternal beauty over decadence. And then you have Leonardo, who creates an art that is the gravity of the world’s system, of the nature, of thoughts and abstractions. I wonder if our killer does the same, if the way they presents the victim through their own personal view, if what we can read there it is their stories, their pains, their needs. Their happiness and troubles. What are they trying to tell me? I need to know, I need to know to save a life, of course, but I also need to know to be able to sleep at night. Hair, hair are the epitome of femininity in any era. I keep studying Ursula and her habit to pull the. I took notes on it: she picks them by the bottom, slowly separates them until she gains an amount her mind defines satisfactory and then she rolls her finger and pulls, she does it until her finger is empty and there are no hair left. I find her process incredibly interesting. In men’s case the display of physical attributes is not as vital, a beard can be appreciated but does not modify the power of seduction of a grown man. On the contrary, for women hair are a vital part of their attractiveness toward the opposite sex, society sees the hair of a woman as part of their vital characteristics, also in ancient times for a woman to cut her hair or have her hair cut was a sign of deep separation from the society. Only heroines or whores wore that mark and the association of the two is so rooted into the way society always parted the role of a woman in two that it is nauseating to think of. I am still fearing to let Ursula go away, the repulsion that she is showing toward her own body makes it difficult even for me to crack her shell open as a man, but my deepest worry is when that hate will take a scarier and deeper tool on her. How a girl with such a fear of what her body can do, like sex or pregnancy, can endure in the future to have an husband? Or even to be courted by anyone?

John is helpless and I admire him for that. He doesn’t hide it, he just is. He is vulnerable and exposed, he is an open well bursting with doubts and feelings and troubled waters. He is genuine in a way I could never be. Maybe that’s why I despise even more him talking about you, how he sees you every morning, how you greet everybody, how you behave even with interns, how you like your coffee. Your talents, your wits, how you said this and acted like that and reasoned through him. How you forbid him to drink even when he felt tempted. How you stayed late over to help him collect all the informations I requested him to get. To him. Not to you. The evil demon of envy scratching in the back of my head screaming like a siren out in the sea, he demands to be heard, he demands to be allowed a part in this game. I won’t allow him that. I won’t allow myself any of that. This is a pure game of chess, if I give in a pawn now, I will lose my knight, and I know it. I advice him to not be so closed minded when he praises you, only to get surprised by the charms of a natural logical mind. I find a way to hurt him, he is an easy target, I look at him as his eyebrows twitch and he summons his patience on me. He lost the plot about you already, his bruised pride taking over. You won’t come into my life.

“Un dì, felice, eterea, mi balenaste innante, e da quel dì tremante vissi d'ignoto amor.” (“On a day, happy and ethereal, you appeared in front of me and from that day, trembling, I lived on an unknown love”)

The words of Alfredo in the first act of the Traviata keep running through me, a chant that won’t let me go, almost painful. The Opera House, that was my hiding place, a place where in plain sight I could let out myself, unleash. The catharsis of the characters involved running through me, I didn’t need anything but their voices and those musical instruments to let out my fears, doubts and anger. When Alfredo came to the scene tonight, the lights were strong and slightly pinkish, the performer bursting out of the seams with passion. My eyes diverted only to see you there. Alone. Those blinding lights gave you the the radiance of a vision singing the notes of greek myths and heroes, that dark blue evening clothing rang through my eyes like it was a bright yellow, the little shiny details that adorned you so clear against the heavy lighting to look like transparent pieces of water collected to adorn your beauty. I wasn’t me, but Alfredo, and I was helpless against you sitting so far and yet too close from me. I was naked in front of thousands. I am aware of the effect you have on me and our last conversation was barely regarded as one. This is infatuation, this is the pure work of a lonely mind and not something worth of any of all the words that I am dissipating here. Yet. I saw you cry at the climax of the opera, Violetta, the protagonist, heartbroken falling on stage consumed by pain and regret for her lost love and ultimate sacrifice. Your eyes shone as you tried to hide the tears and collect yourself. Through my binoculars, I saw your throat tremble and gulp down something more than just a sigh of pain. Your jaw clenched, your gloved hand moves to hide your shaking lips. I reckon, I have never seen such sad lips look more inviting. You look at the wall on your side breathing through your nose and not even that can save you by the strength of the voice of the soprano. You’re defeated and so you brought a fine silk handkerchief to your eyes, your shoulders bent inward in self defence. The Opera won. It won you like it always wins me. I wonder if you felt like this because of a past lover, somebody that broke your heart and made you feel wrong in any way. And because of that little wonder it is even more clear to me why I am a man worth of no trust. Because for a moment, I know, I wished to be the one that broke your heart. That gave you just the pain you’re inflicting on me so mercilessly by offering intoxicating kindness and beauty. To own your thoughts, tears and shame. To be the one man you have to look away from. I want to own all of that and, maybe, I will be freed of you the day you’ll be just another human being that hates Dr Laszlo Kreizler.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone

Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

#the diary of doctor laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler headcanons #thealienist #the alienist fanfic #the alienist fanfiction

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lutrain2020 · 5 years ago

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Meet the Creator!

Introducing: Squido!

Commission: I haven't and don't really intend to. I don't want to take anyone's hard-earned money. Just ask me to draw things and there's a good chance I will.

Social Media: Tumblr: @sky-squido AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_squido/pseuds/sky_squido

Tell us a little bit about yourself!

Call me Squido! I love to draw and write but I'm also super extraverted and I love interacting with humans so always feel free to chat with me! Aside from drawing and writing, I just love being outside and have a tumblr sideblog dedicated exclusively to nature photos I take. I love mountains, the ocean, the sky, and just about everything else in this beautiful world of ours! If you ever feel like having an internet stranger give you a thousand word rant, ask me why my favorite color is blue and you will not be disappointed!

What got you into creating? what inspires you to keep creating?

I've been drawing for as long as I can remember and can't seem to stop, though I take long breaks sometimes I always seem to come back to it again. I try not to have anything in mind when I draw, but to start sketching and let the drawing happen. Sometimes I find that what I'm trying to draw is not what my drawing wants to be (if that makes any sense) and change what I'm making halfway through. It makes drawing a really relaxing and carefree therapeutic experience! Writing is different. I've always enjoyed writing, but I didn't write much and never shared my writing with anyone because I thought it was super pretentious. It wasn't until entering High School and joining the literature club and making a deal with a friend that we'd share our writing with each other that I actually gained any sort of confidence in my ability and sought to improve it. Being in that club and sharing my pieces at the open mics was a really encouraging experience! I invite everyone to share their writing, even if it's with some random internet stranger (I'm open anytime!) if they're unsure of their abilities. A little encouragement goes a long way! Now that I'm on Discord, ao3, and tumblr, I receive so much more feedback than I ever have before! It's been super encouraging! What inspires me most is definitely nature. Even if my ideas aren't directly related to the outdoors, I get my best ideas there. Fandoms are also a great idea generator. The sheer volume of headcanons and prompts is enough to make me dizzy with ideas!

What's your creative process like?

I love sketching. My favorite thing about drawing digitally is that I can sketch as much as I like and never worry about wasting materials! Often times my sketches turn themselves into drawings without permission and other times they stubbornly remain sketches for all eternity. I always dive right in because I have no patience and the idea I started out with generally isn't that great but in the process of pursuing it, it spirals out of control and sometimes the idea gets better and sometimes it gets worse but I just kinda roll with it. Creating is a really chill process for me and while I regularly scream stuff like "I'M DRAWING ON THE WRONG LAYER NONONONONONO" or "NO HECK FRICK SHOOT IT SMUDGED HECK HECK GET THE ERASER QUICK," the creative process is a great way for me to unwind. I'm the same way about writing. I never plan or outline and just kind of roll with things. I mean I generally have the basic jist in mind, but I try to not have a plan so I can keep the story driven by the characters and not force them into acting the way I wanted them to in the outline I made hours or even days ago. Creating is my opportunity to break free so I don't really see what good a plan or outline does me. I'm a pretty spontaneous person!

What kind of mediums do you like to use?

I like to take pictures, but it's not really my main focus. I've been mostly digitally drawing—I use my iPad Pro and Procreate—but lately I've been pencil sketching with just your average everyday mechanical pencil (I'd forgotten how nice the texture of paper was! Clearly I spent too much time drawing on my iPad!). I have these Stabilio chalk pastels I love to pieces, but have also spent a great deal of time with watercolors. Digital is my primary medium currently, though.

Is there a specific scene wrote that you are particularly proud of?

"Sky’s golden scales are glowing with reflected light from the sun while beneath them, the same pulsing blue in her mane runs like a river as her very skin is alive with electricity. The sun’s beginning to dip, fading through the color wheel from yellow to deep orange to scarlet and the world is bathed in watercolor and hue shifted through the rainbow until all that was blue becomes red. This new alien world begins to darken as red fades to deep purple-pink, the clouds catching last vestiges of gold in their pillowy folds, yet Sky continues rippling with lighting, the bright blue flowing like blood through her veins and the gold shimmering in the eerie azure glow. We weave through the winds and zephyrs and I close my eyes and let the breeze caress my hair and when I reopen them, I’m standing back on the ground again in a world long since darkened by night. I place my hand over my beating heart where Sky is still laughing with joy and smile because once you’ve awakened your dragon, you don’t need wings to fly anymore."

Is there someone who inspires you and your writing or art?

Every fanartist and fanfic writer that posts their stuff online is an inspiration to me. Even if their stuff isn't very good—especially if it isn't very good—it's a huge testament to the courage of the creator and their bravery in expressing themself! I sat on fanfic and fanart for years and never shared it and here were kids half my age putting out art that was their first experiment in a new medium and a little shaky but it was still out there and they were still being supported by the community and that really inspired me to reach out and stop lurking in fandom and actually get involved!

is there something that you struggled with that made you grow as a creator?

I feel like everyone has these periods where they were just gaining confidence in their artistic ability but suddenly everything they make is trash and they're not happy with any of it and they feel so down and worthless and "where did all of my hard-earned ability go? Will I ever get it back?" I think this is a pretty common experience and when I find myself there, I find it most helpful to share what I make anyway, even if I hate it, with someone who I know will give it to me straight because they'll point out the deeper problems—the root of the issue—that I hadn't even noticed and I can use that information to grow as an artist. Bad pieces are just as valuable as good ones. There was also a time where I had a lot of trouble developing a style. I did a lot of experimenting and never found anything I liked. What happened is I just kept drawing and whatever popped out eventually evolved into my style. I used to get frustrated that I couldn't draw anything without a reference, but after years and years of using references and drawing some of the same things over and over again, you won't need the references anymore. I mean, they're great and you should always feel free to use them, but over time, you won't need to look up a picture of every little thing you try to doodle.

What got you into writing or art?

My silly twitchy fingers can't ever seem to stop drawing! Same with writing. Words and ideas follow me around, little plot bunnies pestering me until they get written down somewhere. I was greatly inspired by the works of C.S. Lewis in my writing, especially his Cosmic Trilogy. My art style was aided by Hiromu Arakawa's Fullmetal Alchemist, which was a valuable stepping stone in developing my own style. Other than that, it was my own insatiable desire to MAKE THINGS that spurred me onwards. I don't think I could stop if I tried!

What's your favorite part of the creative process?

After you've got that first paragraph and you've found a flow and you've got a topic and you just GO. I get into the zone and the story starts happening on its own and I'm not an author anymore, I'm just a channel between the world of the piece and the page. That's my favorite. I love watching things take shape. I love shading a sketch for these same reasons. The whole drawing comes together and becomes A Thing and it's the most exciting time to be a creator. Something else inside you has taken over and you're just along for the ride. I have no idea if my experiences are common at all but this is what it's like for me!

What's your least favorite part of the creative process?

EDITING. I HAVE ZERO PATIENCE. THE THING IS DONE. WHY DO I HAVE TO KEEP LOOKING AT IT. CAN I POST IT YET. This leaves me with a lot of holes in what I make and I can't do a very clean, super detailed drawing unless it's for an art class and I'm forced to keep working on it. I have a terrible habit of never proofreading my things!

What's your favorite type of scene to write?

AAH hard question! I love writing description and places where I can really let my inner 19th century romantic be unleashed but I also love a good emotional moment between two characters. Something tense. I like fight scenes, but I try to keep them brief and interesting. Sometimes I find scenes where I have no idea what's going on and I try to avoid that, but it's really hard sometimes.

What's the hardest for you to create?

I have so much trouble with endings. I can generally figure something out, but there's always a moment of panic before the end like "heck I wrote everything I wanted how do I wrap this up????" That's probably a byproduct of me planning nothing XD I sometimes have trouble with characterization and making sure everyone acts the way they actually would. The hardest part is continuing after you have an "oh heck what do I do now" moment that breaks you out of your zone and all of your ideas and plot threads turn invisible or evaporate or go wherever it is they go when you're looking for them.

What's your favorite genre to write?

ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST. Wellll... scratch that. I love something adventure-y and plot driven with a lot of really meaningful character interactions. I've always had trouble putting my writing into genres, but I guess that kind of speaks for itself in a way.

What fandoms do you enjoy creating for?

Linked Universe is the fandom I have created and posted the most for by a LONG SHOT. I found LU shortly after making my tumblr and I joined the Discord shortly thereafter. Since then, it has been nonstop inspiration and creativity for me! I tend to get sucked into one fandom and it consumes me for a few months before I silently drift out of it and never think about it again. LU is the fandom I've been the most active in EVER though—and it's still going—so there's a good chance I'm never getting off this ride.

What's the work you are most proud of?

AAAAAAAAAAH MY BABIES. okay um here's the first and only fanfic I've ever posted anywhere but I'm really happy with: https://sky-squido.tumblr.com/post/618964544219463680/turn-back-time-a-linked-universe-fanfic I have a lot of other pieces kicking about, but they're not fandom so I haven't shared them yet. I probably will after I touch them up a bit.

Do you have any fics inspired by real life stories?

Not really? I don't really know where my ideas come from to be honest!

Where do you post your finished works?

my tumblr. I tag stuff #squido writes and #squido draws so you can find them easily. I also put them on the discord but they get lost in the stream of other works pretty quickly so stick to my tumblr. I also have an ao3 now! https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_squido

If you have any fun stories about the pieces you made, please do share!

Turn Back Time was actually live written in the Discord, but entirely unplanned and in the #angst channel! It was just a headcanon but then I started describing it and like 2 hours and 5k words later I'm sitting in the Discord like "what just happened??"

#Meet The Creator #lutrain2020 #linkeduniverse #lu

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petri808 · 4 years ago

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A Special Mommy

SFW Todomomo. A!Todoroki, O!Yaororozu. written for a twitter event, parent prompt.

It was tough when Alpha Shouto Todoroki was left a single parent raising two young children after his Omega wife lost her battle to cancer the previous year. The woman had been the love of his life, his mate, and it took a heavy emotional toll just to keep it together for the children’s sakes. So, for six months after the funeral, his sister Fuyumi would watch the children while he worked, providing them some stability.

The twins were only 3 years old and understood enough to know their mother was now an angel watching over them. Perhaps it was the innocence of childhood, to be comforted with mystical beliefs. But it was a relief nonetheless how well they were handling the loss. His family had been a lot of help, but he didn’t want to keep relying on them. So, one day his sister suggested he look into hiring a live-in nanny.

“You make enough to afford it Shouto. Someone who’ll come in, do some cooking, cleaning, and be with the children. We’ll still lend a hand, but Ryouta and Shiori could use a constant presence in their life, a surrogate mother in a way.”

Todoroki sighs and hangs his head. “You’re right. Though I don’t even know where to begin looking.”

“Hmm, place a job ad and I’ll help you screen applicants.”

“Thanks Fuyumi.”

Two weeks and several interviews later, Shouto was ready to give up. Each applicant they’d gone though just didn’t fit right to him. In fact, many of them seemed more eager to get close to a single Alpha then be a serious nanny. Until one day at work, he received a call from his sister telling him to drop by her home after work. ‘Ugh…’ not another one, he groans. He just wasn’t in the mood today.

As he walks up to the front door, Shouto immediately hears female laughter coming from inside. He lets himself into the home and goes into the living room where he finds Fuyumi and a pretty young woman sitting at the kotetsu.

“Shouto, come, come,” his sister waves him over. “I’d like you to meet Ms. Momo Yaoyorozu. She’s here for the nanny position.”

The woman stands up and bows to him. “Pleased to meet you Mr. Todoroki.”

“Like wise Ms. Yaoyorozu. Please, he gestures back to her seat. Formalities are not necessary.” He takes a position opposite of the woman. “It appears you two are getting along well.”

“I like this one,” Fuyumi beams, throwing in a small wink at her brother. “Ms. Yaoyorozu has all the right qualifications, first aid training, the works.”

He tips his head to the side, “Tell me, is your father an importer, because your family name is familiar to me.”

“Yes! He deals in beverages, mostly coffee and tea import and export from around the world.”

“Then why would a woman of such family standing and means want to be a nanny?”

She looks down with a slight frown, “well, you see I cannot have a family of my own. I’m infertile so no Alpha would want me.” Momo looks up again with a deep exhale, “but I love children,” she beams, her scent switching to elation. “It was a friend of mine that showed me the ad and suggested I try it out.”

His heart seized up from her words, and the light hint of sadness in the Omegas scent. To live your life thinking no one would want you just because you couldn’t bear a child had to be painful, and yet here this woman was smiling. When he’d arrived, her scent held no sadness which told him she didn’t let this get her down. That took strength.

“You’re hired.”

“Wait, really?” Momo holds up her resume to him, “don’t you want to review my resume first?”

He gently pushes them back to the table. “I don’t need to. My sister approved of it or she wouldn’t have called me, and I believe what you just told me now.” Shouto turns to Fuyumi, “did you tell her what happened to my wife?”

Fuyumi shakes her head. “I thought it best to let you explain why you need a nanny.”

By the time Shouto finishes the story, he could see the woman was holding back tears, because the moisture was evident in her eyes. It only reinforced his decision to hire her. “I am looking for a live-in, you understand? Because my job is a very busy one and the hours vary widely.”

“I’m truly am sorry for your loss Mr. Torodoki. But I know who you are,” Momo blushes. “You’re one of the top heroes of our country so I understand why it would be best this way.”

“Shall I bring the kids in,” Fuyumi questions her brother. He nods and she leaves the room, returning with the two flanking her sides. “This is Ryouta,” ruffling the boy’s hair. “And this is Shiori,” squeezing the girls hand. “They’re three-year-old fraternal twins. Can you say hi to miss Yaoyorozu?” She prompts the children.

“Hi,” they both respond still shying, hiding around their aunts legs.

Momo giggles with a smile, “it’s nice to meet you Ryouta and Shiori.”

“Miss Yaoyorozu will be coming to live with us,” Todoroki tells the children. “She’s helping daddy take care of the house and you while daddy’s at work. Is that okay?”

Both children side-eye each other for a moment as if communicating without words. Then turn back and nod, “otay.”

“I look forward to taking care of you two,” Momo addresses the children. “You can call me Momo.”

“Aunty…”

“Momo.”

“Aunty Momo is perfectly fine,” she beams back. “How adorable!” She looks to the adults. “Do they often finish each other’s sentences?”

“Sometimes,” Shouto answers.

“I think they’re adorable.”

After Fuyumi sends the kids off to play, and leaves to work on dinner, the two adults finish their conversation. Between Shouto and Momo, they figure out when she’ll move in, the room she’ll have, salary, and any other pertinent information. Since this is the first time he’s ever worked with a nanny, they were bound to figure out other details along the way.

“I just want to thank you for this opportunity Mr. Todoroki.”

“Call me Shouto, please let us dispense with the formalities from now on. I’d prefer to feel like you’re a part of the family rather than an employee.”

The woman blushes. “O-Okay, Shouto. It really means a lot to me to do this.”

“No, thank you Momo. Your help is greatly appreciated.”

When he returned home that evening, Shouto felt like a small weight being lifted off his shoulders. The senses he got off the woman put him at ease, or was it her scent? It was calm and very relaxed, a person who is comfortable within themselves. Even though she knew who he was, it was obvious her intentions were focused on the children and that’s exactly what he was looking for.

Ryouta and Shiori meant everything to him. It was a chance to be the kind of father he never had. Them losing their mother so young also brought back emotions from his childhood, because his mother was not in his life for many years. Having Momo around will fill the kind of void that he never had filled, and perhaps will bring the woman her own peace and fulfillment.

After putting the kids to bed for the night, he looked at Momo’s resume. She was educated at a private school, well read and articulate based on the resumes verbiage, and her hobbies were simple enough. Shouto chuckled when he read that part. A tea connoisseur. She also had a very interesting quirk. ‘I wonder why she didn’t go into hero work?’ He dismisses the question for a later time and continues reading its description of a creation classification. The irony of having the ability to create anything, but the bearer is left without the ability to procreate. His brows furrow. Sometimes he questioned why life worked in these ways.

The following week, Momo moves into the Todoroki residence. Having come from money, the size of the home wasn’t a surprise, but the Japanese aesthetics were different than the Western style her father preferred. As she walked the halls and explored her new surroundings, she could still smell traces of the previous Omega, Shouto’s wife, lingering. It didn’t bother her one bit. Life was such a cruel thing to take a young mother away from her children or leave her mate all alone. Momo couldn’t fathom such a loss but knew the feeling of emptiness all too well. It made her all the more determined to make sure the twins had as normal seeming a life as possible.

“Yosh!” She rolls up her sleeves and gets to work setting up her room. It was a guest room, but she swore it was just as large as a master, complete with its own bathroom. There was three hours left before the kids finish preschool and she’d pick them up, so she wanted to get as much as she could done by then.

Time passes by like a babbling brook all smooth and gentle. The Todoroki family truly made her feel welcome and before long, her place in the home was a comfortable one. Momo felt less like a hired nanny and more like a member of the family.

With dinner’s completed, she works with the twins on their homework. At a preschool age it was quite minimal work but important for the foundation of their language skills. She set them up at a low table, the three of them huddled around it with the workbooks next to each other. The lesson today was matching words to pictures.

“Tori,” Momo repeats. “Which picture do you think that is?” At first the kids just stare, their brows furrowed unsure. “A tori is an animal with wings,” she flaps her arms in a flying motion. “So which picture has wings?”

The children point to a bird.

“Correct, Tori is bird!” She claps excitedly. “One more time. Point at the picture and sound out the word.”

“To-ri.”

“Very good! You guys only have one more to go! Okay, uma. Which one is an uma?”

One child points correctly, the other points to a cow.

“Shiori is correct. So uma is horse. One more time, point to the picture and sound out the word.”

This time both children point to the horse, “U-ma.”

“Very, very good!”

Ryouta and Shiori bounce excitedly in the spots, “yay!”

At that moment Momo sees them look up, past her. She turns and follows their eyes, seeing their father standing there with the biggest smile on his face. “Oh! Shouto welcome home! Are you hungry, I can make you a plate.”

He shakes his head. “Are things going well?”

“Oh yes, they pick up very quickly.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” he smiles again. “And don’t worry I’ll make my own plate for dinner, thank you Momo.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiles then goes back to the homework.

Shouto walks away towards his bedroom to change out of his costume and shower. But as soon as he was in the safety of the room, he braced himself against the door. ‘I hope she didn’t notice…’ seeing Momo with the kids, it was so… perfect. The juxtaposed emotions of sadness and joy had rushed over him at the sight, making his heart race and his inner Alpha squirm. He just hoped the woman didn’t pick up on the scent change.

That should have been his wife, sitting there with their children as they learned new things. It was unfair she didn’t live to see these moments. But at the same time, to see them so happy and relaxed with Momo warmed his heart too. Even though their biological mother couldn’t be here for them, she was becoming an amazing replacement.

It’s been almost a year since Momo had entered their lives and the vision of normalcy was simply beyond any expectations he could have had by taking on the nanny. Ryouta and Shiori were thriving, the house was tidy, and the Omega was a wonderful cook as well. It felt like a real home. Shouto sighs, ‘and her scent is just pulling to me.’

The woman has never done anything to cross that boundary. Momo was professional through and through. He too was torn no matter how lonely he was, because he wanted to be loyal to his dead wife. But the fact her base scent is setting off his inner Alpha spoke volumes. Friends, counselors have told him it’s okay to move on. But was he actually ready to?

That question was getting harder and harder to ignore, the longer Momo was in his life. He’ll always love his wife she was his first love. But… maybe it was time to move on. His children deserved a mother figure and who better than the woman they’d already developed an attachment too?

But he couldn’t make that decision on his own. Even the idea of courting Momo, Shouto wanted to make sure his children would be okay with it first. If they said no, he would understand. Maybe it was too soon for them to replace their mother and he had to respect it.

So, a few days later when his schedule clears, Shouto gives Momo the day off and takes the kids out for some ice cream. As they sit in the café eating, he decides to pop the question.

“Momo’s been with us for a year already. Do you two think she’s a good fit with us?”

“Uh-huh,” they mumble between the licks. “She nice.”

“I like Aunty Momo,” Ryouta adds.

“Me too,” Shiori confers.

“I’m glad you guys like her, because daddy’s thinking about courting her.”

“What dat?”

“Making her my mate and your new mommy.”

“But we have mommy awedy in heven?”

“Yes, and you always will. She would be another mommy.”

Ryouta sits up and his eyes brighten. “Wow, we gets more mommy’s?!”

“Daddy we spwecial?!” Shiori asks too.

Shouto chuckles and ruffles their hair, “very, very special.”

“Cool!” The kids high five and go back to eating their ice cream.

The Alpha sits back with a smile, well he got his answer. It was a bit of a surprise how quickly they warmed to the idea, but the answer was clear. “Before we go home, let’s get Momo some pretty flowers.”

“Otay!”

“But remember kids, don’t tell Momo about daddy’s plan, he wants to surprise her.”

“Otay daddy!”

With a bouquet of flowers picked out by the twins and a take-out dinner, the trio head back home where they find Momo lounging on the couch with a book and a cup of tea.

“Aunty Momo!”

“Hi, did you have fun today?” She hugs the twins as they rush up and jump on her.

“Dis fo you,” Ryouta thrusts the bouquet at her. “Daddy said he wanna cut you so dis a gwift.”

“Ryo!” His sister whacks him. “Das a secwet!”

“Oops!”

Momo’s eyes widen. “Huh?!” She looks at Shouto, “w-what are they talking about?”

Oh shit! He quickly prompts the kids off her. “Go play in your room till I call you for dinner.”

“Sorry daddy!”

“It’s fine, you’re not in trouble, just please go play so Momo and I can talk.”

“O-tay,” their shoulders slump a little, but they do as their told.

“Shouto, what— did I hear them right?” She felt so blindsided. “You want to court me?!”

He sits down next to her and lets out an exhale. There’s no lying his way out of this without getting into more trouble. “Yes. Today I asked them if it would be okay and they gave me permission. I’d planned on talking to you about it, but I guess Ryouta was just too excited.”

When all Momo could respond with was a deer in headlights stare, Shouto began to doubt himself. “I’m sorry, maybe it was too soon or too forward of me,” he makes a move to get up. “I bought dinner already so there no need to…”

She grabs his arm. “N-No, I’m sorry, it’s okay. I was just surprised. Please don’t rush away.”

“Momo, it’s fine, really. I don’t want to do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. You’ve been such a wonderful addition here that we feel like a real family and I—I don’t want that to stop.”

Her eyes soften along with tone, but hesitation still poured from the woman, “are the kids really that excited about me?”

“They are,” he chuckles and takes her hand, sweeping his thumb over the webbing. “At first, they didn’t understand but when I explained you’d be a second mom, they thought it made them special and they liked that idea. They like you a lot Momo. You’ve given them and me stability after losing my wife.”

“But, what about you?” Again, the fear Shouto smelled coming from the woman was palpable, driving his primal side crazy. “Are you asking me just because they need a mom for…”

This time he switches, cradling her chin and pulling her gaze back to him. “Stop.” His inner Alpha needed to allay her concerns. “I want you Momo.” He ghosts his thumb and forefinger over her skin. “I never thought I’d ever fall for another, but you’ve brought me back to life. My inner Alpha craves more from you and I agree. You’re smart, beautiful, my kids love you, you’re the best person to share our lives with.”

“But you know I could never have anymore children.”

“I don’t care about that. We already have two.”

The moisture built up finally breaks free and the tears trickle through. “Shouto you know I never meant this happen.”

“Neither did I, but here we are.” He smiles. “Say yes, Momo, please be my mate and the mother to Ryouta and Shiori.”

She leans into the hand cupping her cheek, placing her own hand over it. “Yes,” she chokes out in a soft sob and crinkling smile. “I’d be honored to be your mate Shouto.”

He leans in placing a soft kiss on her lips. The flush of heat and burst of scent brought forth from the woman drives him to press deeper into the kiss. “The honor is mine, Momo Yaoyorozu.”

#todomomo #todomomo fan fiction #todomomo fan fics #Todoroki shouto #momo yaoyorozu #yaoyorozu momo #shouto todoroki #shouto x momo #parents #sfw #alpha omega #a!todoroki #o!yaoyorozu #family fic

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pythosart · 5 years ago

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A big ol 2019 end of the year update

I felt somewhat compelled to write my end of the year/decade thoughts, but a warning before you read: This one’s going to be heavy, intensely personal, and long. If you don’t feel up to reading that, it may be best to skip it. I promise I’ll go back to shutting up and posting art afterwards. I’m profoundly incapable of being concise, ever, so apologies for the length of this.

2019 was a nightmare.

Some background: In mid 2016, my mother was diagnosed with a rare form of liver cancer. She was given a few months to live. She was given weeks or months to live multiple times, for almost three years. In that time my mom was in and out of the hospital, but spent all her good days living life to the fullest, starting and finishing dream projects, and keeping all of us going despite her own situation. Even when she was bedridden, hooked up to tubes and bags and god knows what, she found time to prop up her loved ones and pursue her hobbies. She even managed to develop new hobbies and interests while otherwise imprisoned by her physical state, something I struggle to do at the best of times even in my young and relatively healthy form. If there’s anything I can make of this experience, it’s that I hope to grow into even half the woman my mother was.

I ended 2018 with my final quarter at SCAD. I spent the entire quarter terrified my mom was going to die while I was away from home. It was horrific, I barely scraped by my last few classes (bless my professors’ endless patience), and immediately left Savannah for home as soon as the quarter was up. I never had room to celebrate finishing college. Any other year it would be a huge milestone, but I barely even care.

This past May, my mother passed away, after three years of petrifying suspense. It happened in the dead middle of the night, while my best friend was visiting for a con, and it still feels like a bad dream. It’s also one of the only vivid memories I even have of this year.

I wish I had more to say on that, but I genuinely think the drawn out suffering and fracturing of my whole world left me unable to fully unpack everything that’s happened. It’s hard to even think about for long, and at times I even half-forget she’s gone. I think of things I want to show her, or tell her, or cook with her. Just the other day I kept thinking I’d tell her how much I liked endive after she showed me how to make it. I found a historical Italian cooking channel that, every time I see it, I just think of how much she’d love it. I knew she’d love Hot Fuzz but never got to show her. Little, stupid things that shouldn’t matter, but they do. They just do.

My mother and I were close, much closer than I am with my dad. Especially towards the end of her life, we had gotten closer, and I felt like I was only just really getting to know her as an equal. I still want to share my life with her, but that chance is gone.

This holiday season has been especially rough in her absence, because not only was my mom the motivational and creative force behind a lot of holiday activities here, it’s the first everything without her. We had Thanksgiving with friends and a catered dinner, instead of spending several days cooking and polishing family silver and setting the table. I won’t be making handmade tortellini with her for Christmas like we did every year. It’s the little things like that.

We’re a tiny family, with over half of us in Italy and lacking much communication due to the language barrier. Family holidays were always small, but there’s just a huge hole how, much greater than the cold numeric value of “one fewer participant.” My mom was always a driving force and a keystone in our support networks, not to mention the main line of contact with the Italian-speaking side of the family, so now the family feels so much more scattered and isolated than ever.

My girlfriend was close to my mother too, and as she’s been living with me for years now and is practically part of the family, I think she took it just as hard as anyone. Cel saw everything I did, and dealt with many of the same uncertainties and traumatic experiences I did.

A month after I lost my mother, I lost my cat too. Galileo was twelve years old, a spry old man who yelled instead of meowed, and just a wonderful cat. I got him when I was in 7th grade, after begging my parents for years to get me a cat. It was my mom who eventually overrode my dad’s hesitations, and from then on Leo was part of the family. He went through a very sudden decline over the course of a week or two, and we learned it was cancer. Feline lymphoma, I think. I had to make the call to put him to sleep, and it ripped what was left of my heart out.

Not that it needs stating, but fuck cancer.

A few too-short months later, I cut ties with a “friend,” which despite how fucking much it hurt, was really for the best. At a certain point one simply can no longer afford to waste energy on a certain kind of person. Unfortunately I’m a persistently optimistic idiot, and it took me too long to cut my losses before deep damage was done. Done to me, my close friends, and even barely involved acquaintances this “friend” dumped on relentlessly and tried to harass into spying on me. Really, if any part of this is unforgivable, it’s that.

All this was, however, a valuable reminder that it’s no good to have any tolerance for habitually dishonest people, even if they think they’re doing it to look “nice.” Chronic liars will gaslight you whether they know it or not, and trying to navigate that in an already damaged mental state is inadvisable. It was an important lesson in picking one’s battles, albeit one learned too late. I’m still holding out hope I can find it in my heart to forgive this person, if only for my own selfish sake so I can move on. I have a lot of experience living on spite, and I don’t want to make a further habit of it.

Naturally all of the above did little to curb my already inflamed pessimism about the state of my country and the world at large, but I need not expand on that, I imagine.

I suppose it would be unfair of me to leave it all at that and only mention the negative, though admittedly positivity is hard to muster these days. A few bright spots of note:

Graduated from SCAD with my BFA in Sequential Art (technically last year, but I did the ceremonial bit this year)

Tabled at Animazement with Woods. We barely broke even, but it was a great time and I plan on doing it again in the new year.

Spent literally an entire month hanging out with my two best friends, which was amazing and exactly the kind of healing experience I needed around that time of year.

Properly did Halloween for the first time in years. I made a costume I’m proud of and we went out on the town… for like an hour, because it promptly started pouring. But fun nevertheless

Started therapy. As of writing this, I’ve only had an introductory session, but it’s a start. Should have started six months ago, but didn’t for reasons to be addressed...in therapy

Started volunteering at the local natural history museum, where I spent like half my childhood. I’ll be doing data entry in collections, but that’s still cool as hell

Got a start on figuring out what I want to do with my life. It’ll involve going back to school for science within the next five-ish years, but it’s nice to have a goal. More of a goal than I’ve ever had, in fact.

Played some extremely good video games (shout out to The Blackout Club and Control)

Made a shitload of unnecessary yet endlessly fun and good AUs with my friends and my one (1) OC

Got an iPad Pro and started learning Procreate, which has gotten me drawing more

Learned a bit of needle felting

2019 was a year of getting much closer to my two best friends, and I genuinely owe them my life at this point. I don’t know where I’d be without them. Nowhere good, certainly.

Woods and Dross kept me talking to people, kept me creating, told me when I was being unreasonable or needed to cool it, heard me out when I needed it but always kept me honest. They helped me keep some creative juices flowing when otherwise I’d have been at a frustrated loss and might have given up for good. If it seems like I’ve kept up my usual art output at all, and if you’ve enjoyed the Lou content (or not, whoops... apologies to everyone who followed me for monster content) you have both of them to thank.

Even moreso, I owe my girlfriend a great deal for being there for me through all of this while she herself was suffering similarly. She and I have had our ups and downs, and been through a lot in the five-ish years we’ve been together. We aren’t the most outspoken couple, but I think our mutual understanding and pain mitigated a lot of the damage this year has done. I don’t think I could have handled it alone.

Furthermore, I really need to thank a lot of other friends and acquaintances I’m not quite as close with, but still talk to. These people especially were willing to call me on my bullshit when necessary, or just talk to me at all, about anything. Even if these acquaintances didn’t know it at the time, there’s a good chance they were dragging me out of one of my frequent existential despair spirals.

I also, weirdly, owe a lot to helping my hen Julia recover from her dog attack. That was around the time that my mom’s health was in its final decline, when I felt the most helpless and despairing. I think having even some tiny something I could do to help was like, the only feeling of control I had in life for a bit there. Julia’s fine, by the way. Still queen of the yard, top chicken boss bitch, etc. Julia was always a kind of kindred spirit with my mom, in a way. Little but not to be underestimated, gray, big personality and commanding presence… Not to mention, she was one of the first in our flock and was always my mom’s favorite.

It would be too much to say I have high hopes or plans of any kind for the upcoming year, but I do have a list of things I want to try and do. Some of which will involve art, and the posting thereof.

Big if on this one, but I’ve also recently started therapy (only took me half a year to work up to making a phone call after the first failed attempt took all the wind out of my sails) and I have…maybe not high hopes, but hopes, for that doing something to help. I should have started therapy two years ago, but the second best time is now, etc etc.

I have a lot of New Year’s resolutions, beyond the usual “get in shape, drink less coffee, blah blah” that I’ll try and write up a little list of separately. Most of them are art-related, so you all will be there to watch me swing and miss I PROMISED I’D TRY TO BE LESS NEGATIVE. New Year’s resolution #1: Maybe don’t make so many self-deprecating jokes.

Anyway, I don’t know how to end any wall of text, be it an OC worldbuilding screed or something serious like this, so... I guess, love yourself, cherish your friends, know when to put your own needs first and when to put your friends’ needs firster. One of the things my mom taught me in this past year or so is that relationships are what you make of them, and that it’s okay to be selfish sometimes. Be generous, be genuine, don’t be a doormat and don’t lie to people you care about, even if it seems kinder in the moment. Savor the time you have with those close to you, and spend time doing things you love. Cliché, maybe, but cliché can still be true. Happy new year, everyone. I sincerely hope it will treat us all better. 2020 may just be an imaginary change of numbers, but I like to think it really does wipe the slate in a way, and make room for all of us to do what we can to be better. Speaking of which, vote. For the love of all that is good, vote.

A little bullet list of New Year’s resolutions, because it’s nicer to look at

Try to get back in shape (of course) - That 30 days of strength thing was good while it lasted, despite my joints hating me

Learn some new recipes, preferably with fewer carbs, you Italian ass

Keep a physical calendar and stick with it for at least a few months

Learn at least one new skill by the middle of the year, whether it’s art-related or something else

Start writing more. Don’t have to share it, but try. Write down ideas somewhere other than Discord where they’re easy to lose

Either reopen Patreon or figure out how ko-fi works. Even if it’s for no money, just to have structure and goals.

Do Animazement again and try out some new product types

Go to SCAD career fair with a decent portfolio

Get better about spending, by whatever method works

Attend some art classes at the local collectives, doesn’t matter what

Play more video games. I swear I only played like three new things this year

Read more classic literature and nonfiction, at least one book per month. I’ve been really enjoying Agatha Christie’s works and am about to start Guns, Germs, and Steel

Read more comics. Basically just consume more media

Do Halloween again, better this time

See friends in person more

Practice accepting whatever shitty thoughts show up and then letting them go, rather than dwelling on them

#not art #text post #death cw

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comicteaparty · 5 years ago

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June 13th-June 19th, 2020 Creator Babble Archive

The archive for the Creator Babble chat that occurred from June 13th, 2020 to June 19th, 2020. The chat focused on the following question:

What is your physical and digital workspace like when you’re working on your story?

🌈ERROR404 🌈

LOL it really depends on what stage I'm in of the process - My storyboarding space is at home, as comfortable as I can be, a beer and some food at the ready and pure silence. The cats have to be freshly fed, otherwise I'll be harassed and lose my headspace entirely LOL. I usually work on my story boards digitally, just at a very small scale, with my script/outline on my computer and working on my ipad! The double screen helps a LOT, although i would just print out the script if I had access to a printer, haha. When I'm working on the actual page itself, it's a very different story. I usually just try and work on it in tiny little batches during the day when I'm stuck at home, and usually work around the animals as best i can, lmao. Truthfully, I really prefer to be in a coffee shop when I'm working on finishing pages, it makes me so much more productive than i am in this house with so many things to take care of right in front of me, but, obviously, that's a bit difficult to do these days. ;; I usually reserve food and drink until after I pass a milestone in inking/sketching to help motivate me to keep going for as much as I can before taking a break, and I need some kind of music or video playing in the background to keep myself from being absolutely bored out of my mind. My shading process, since it's in black and white, is very easy and i can finish it in one setting, easy, no matter what I'm working with. I also work digitally for my pages, of course, although I don't need more than my ipad and clip studio for it!

DaeofthePast

freshly fed cats

🌈ERROR404 🌈

They are BEASTS when hungry, the little bastards (love them)

I may only work in peace when they're post-food napping lmao

DaeofthePast

we only have one, but same

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I work almost entirely in the corner of my IKEA couch at home I used to work at a proper desk with a Cintiq, but when I switched to Procreate on an iPad, I migrated to the couch and surrounded myself with a nest of clothes and blankets and books and... here I am, bein' cozy. With terrible posture But when I was between jobs last year, I did rent a little coworking space down the street so I could get out of my pajamas and go get comic stuff done there. It was a godsend. I like drawing at my favorite coffee shop every so often too, but I tend to hide my work while I draw, and there, everyone can look over my shoulder The coworking space had a tall artist desk that was rarely used, so I often grabbed that one. Not cheap, but to stave off cabin fever, heck yes, worth it.

🌈ERROR404 🌈

Ahhh I've been really thinking about getting a studio space one of these days I really shouldn't rn, with my finances as they are, but I could REALLY make use of one recently

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I loved the space I used last year. They recently had to close for... current-event reasons... and are going to reopen with all sorts of plexiglass barriers between the desks I feel so bad for them. Good studio spaces are wonderful, I would support them again if I ever was out of a job!

🌈ERROR404 🌈

it's good they've found ways to make it safer, though!

carcarchu

My old workspace was in the basement of my home in canada and it was always perpetually freezing even in the summer and i was frequently visited by spiders so my current workspace is a huge improvement in that regard. I do miss my old ergonomic desk chair though. I'm definitely not the kind of person who can draw in bed or on the couch. I need to be in workmode and having a designated space just for that is necessary for me to get in the right headspace for that.

DaeofthePast

my workspace rn is just my desk with my laptop and my drawing tablet. my laptop is stacked on top of a pile of books so i can see the screen (otherwise my tablet blocks my line of sight). it's kinda simple

chalcara [Nyx+Nyssa]

Depends. I have a Cintiq Mobile Studio, so I can draw pretty much every where and sometimes in the oddest position, but most of the time I am on my desk with the cintiq hooked up to a second monitor so I don't have to look down so much.(edited)

Holmeaa - working on WAYFINDERS

For Wayfinders: Thumbnails are somewhere cozy and the only physical work. Me and Q sit and plan them out together. The rest of wayfinders are made on Photoshop, and flat colors in clip paint studio. In the world I would love a nice studio place in an office with others. During corentine I have been working from home, and I am not that good at it, being quite the extrovert. Before corentine I was in a artist residency where I worked on Wayfinders which had a workstation and all the programs we could need. It is so nice and me and Q are going to return there when it opens up again!

Miranda

I have an iPad so usually on the couch, cozied up with coffee and pillows and blankets. But sometimes at the table. But usually on the couch like the gremlin I am

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

I have a large drafting table, a mini drafting table, and a lapdesk in my papasan when we ink/draw! Toning and letters are all done on the desktop in its own space

Miranda

I need to get a good lap desk. But that sounds like a grand setup!

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

My first time hearing about a lapdesk

Omg I need one

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

They are the best things ever Mine has just the pencil holder !(some come with cup holders and its a waste of space imo)

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

Wow I like your setup of the drafting tables

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

I wanna show pics of them....if im allowed in this chat?

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I hope so, I'm not sure which channel we can post studio photos at? I did see some did before?

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

Ill post in shop talk since creator babble gets archived

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

my current space is uh.... a bit better than my last one. I used to work on an old writers desk for a decade and I did most of my comic work sitting there cramped up with my desktop taking most of the space. Now I have an L shaped desk where I have my desktop on the shorter end. The longer end it's my pen, pencils, and watercolor stuff. my display tablet occupy the space at times so switching from digital and traditional without worrying about setup hassle is a lot better than what I dealt with before lol.

I'm glad the days I had to curl up and draw with no privacy are long gone now

kayotics

I’ve got a little drafting table where I draw all my comic pages. I’m messy with my pens so they’re kind of strewn about until I start to lose them. Then I put them back. I’m not particularly neat. I spend most of the comic process off the computer, so most of my digital work is just on an iPad where I can sit anywhere. I try to keep good lighting around my drafting table and there’s always loose eraser shavings all over.

Natasha Berlin (Pot of Gold)

I got myself a lil corner desk by the dining table. Not as well-lit as I'd like, but it's decently ergonomic and I started putting posters on my wall Plus I can leave work mindset easily by turning off my computer and forgetting about the dark corner in the dining room XD(edited)

sssfrs (JOE IS DEAD)

My desk is really sloppy and covered in all kinds of junk. I have a harmonica, a ball of yarn, a bunch of ink bottles, etc on my desk. I have my sketchbook under my tablet and usually a notebook somewhere for writing. My tablet sits to the right of my laptop (on top of sketchbook) while I'm not using it and when I'm using it it goes over my computer keyboard. I sometimes have a glass of water or some food sitting to the lefthand side

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

The only thing I wanna share about my workspace is this

once i spent over three hours looking for that damned pen

never again

🌈ERROR404 🌈

Ajkdhfkjs the models for hte magazine im crying

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Oh my God

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

mad giggling

Deo101 [Millennium]

youre gonna manage to lose the string

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

omg

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

i know in my heart deo is right but still i hope

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

You should weld a metal chain to it

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Watch me lose the whole tablet

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Oh nooo

I believe in you!

TaliePlume

My workspace is a black table with a white, yellow, blue and green tablecloth with 3 black chairs. It's next to the kitchen. On it, is my laptop and the left side is my clipboard, 3 blue folders full of writing. Then above it, is 3 sketchbooks and another blue folder from a class that I took in community college.

June 16, 2020

sagaholmgaard

I have one long desk at almost three meters. On the left side is all my coffee and tea supplies, in the middle is my work space and on the right is my dining table xD I get everything done from there, despite having a mobilestudio so I COULD sit anywhere and work, lol. It's a blessing during holiday seasons to be able to bring it everywhere, but at some I like my designated working space. Although I am moving in a few weeks, so who knows what my new workspace will be

Moral_Gutpunch

My workspace is anywhere I can draw or write. It's more of a "Will I be interrupted over something petty or stupid" issue than space. Not that I don't want more space.

Mitzi (Trophallaxis)

My workspace is a big, broken corner desk I managed to lug out of an old apartment when it was gonna be trashed. Before then, I'd just draw in bed. I don't remember, but I'm pretty sure the folding chair I sit at is a similar affair. It's got a Dollar General throw pillow on it so I can at least say I'm trying to save my back. The top of the desk is a mess of mostly old bottles and cans, pencils, incense ash, and my old tarot deck. I love this setup dearly. This is the first time I've ever had my own desk space, much less a space I can decorate or leave as messy as I want. Got my own art up on the walls with sticky tack and all! Also the cat's scratching post is directly behind me, because we've learned the cat won't use it unless it's as in the way as possible. What can ya do, lol.

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Oh cats...

Desnik

I got spoiled with an adjustable desk. It is six feet long, and has a whiteboard top for noodling with dry erase markers

my main computer is set up on an adjustable stand so it floats over the desk, and then I have my cintiq, which we tried to mount on a similar stand but then it was just too heavy

I keep my dice collection nearby because fidgeting helps think things through sometimes

and rolling to make odd decisions never hurts

lately during the quarantine I've been sharing the office with my spouse so we've had to establish rules over when it's okay to bug each other(edited)

oh yeah and we also have a whiteboard installed in the office, and it rules!(edited)

Shizamura 🌟 O Sarilho

Mine is pretty simple: I have a laptop that's long stopped being portable and is now mostly just sitting at my desk at all times and a 19 inch Ugee as my display. I usually keep a lot of stuff on top of my desk, but it's mostly just a mess because I have been using it for work too for a while now

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

I suppose I'll talk about my setup too :) My main setup is where I do digital art. I share an office with my SO, so we both have workspaces on opposite walls from each other. I work on a corner desk that holds my beefy computer, two monitors, and a Huion Kamvas GT-191. That's where I draw my comic and pretty much everything else done digitally. Ngl, it's a mess right now. I have comic notes and location floor plans in sketchbooks and DnD character sheets spread out all over the surface, and random pens and sticky notes. In the corner of the room, we have a nice large-format printer where I produce prints for conventions. I actually sketch my pages on an iPad pro in Procreate, so during the sketch phase, sometimes I'll just bundle up on my couch and do it, or before quarantine, sometimes I'd sketch on the go. My other workspace (which hasn't gotten much love as of late tbh) is a drafting table in the corner of our living room. I keep a tabletop easel on it and my Copic markers, as well as whatever I'm working on at the moment. (RN it's some ink washes.) The drawers hold all my ink, pencils, erasers, etc. Next to the drafting table is where I keep all my large charcoal, graphite, and oil pastel drawings (mostly school projects), and my large paintings. Other than that, I have a nifty little cart where I keep painting supplies :) I will say, this setup is by far an enormous improvement from my previous setups.

#ctparchive #comics #webcomics #indie comics #comic chat #comic discussion #comic tea party #ctp #creator interview #comic creator interview #creator babble

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mrslittletall · 6 years ago

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Title: Keeping it together (Chapter 12) Fandom: Dark Souls Characters: Dragon Slayer Ornstein, Dusk of Oolacile, Elizabeth Word Count: 2.245 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16328084/chapters/40622222 Previous chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/181462833169/title-keeping-it-together-chapter-11 Summary: Ornstein has a talk with Dusk.

While Ornstein just used a wet cloth to clean his armour from any blood or goop, Sif had been bathing completely in the water. Orstein still saw that she needed some help and helped her wash her fur out. He watched as the blood got carried away by the splashing of the waterfall.

It was far too late now for Ornstein to be continuing being out. He had to go back to the mansion and work on the speech now. Enough distraction. He escorted Sif back to the arena or it felt more like Sif escorted him back to the arena, said his good nights to Ciaran and Gough and made his way back.

Back at his room, he saw that everything was still like he left. Even the breakfast was still there. He picked it up, took a bite, but promptly put it down again, after having left out in the open for the whole day, the taste had drastically decreased. He sat down on the table and stared at the words he had already written.

“What would Artorias do?”, Ornstein murmured to himself. The words on the paper felt wrong and foreign to him. As if he hadn't even been himself when he wrote it. How should he be able to get into Artorias mind when he couldn't even understand his own? Ornstein picked the quill up and tapped with it on the table, still not knowing where to go with this.

Also, Ornstein realized that he needed to go and that he was hungry. Oh well, he could take care of the first quickly and then get some food. He couldn't concentrate like this anyway. Ornstein made a quick trip to the outhouse and then got some food that he ate at his room. After he was done and laid down his silverware, there wasn't any reason for him anymore to not write that speech. He picked up the quill again, determined to finally do this, but...

Ten minutes passed where he just sat there deadpan. A deep sigh escaped his lips. He just needed to write a speech to honour Artorias. Why was this so difficult for him? He would put this quill on the parchment right now and just write it!

Moments later Ornstein was walking back and forth through the garden in full armour, repeating “Keeping it together” to himself again and again. His stomach felt upset, he was shivering, he felt close to puking and he didn't want to, not again, not after he barely had kept any food in himself... That was when he heard the sniffling of someone. He turned his head and approached the sound to see Princess Dusk sitting there, the same spot as the last time, tears freely flowing down her face, her long hair unbraided and falling over her back, glittering in the moonshine. When she heard Ornstein's footsteps approaching, she shot around, quickly dried her tears and put on that forced smile.

“...Oh, Sir Ornstein, my apologies, I haven't noticed you...”, she said.

Ornstein just stared at her. “Please don't.”, he said.

Dusk stared at him with eyes wide from confusion. “What do you mean?”, she asked.

“That smile. It's fake. It...”, he stopped for a brief moment, taking some deep breathes, this conversation wasn't the best for his already upset stomach. “It reminds me to much of... someone.”

“I am...sorry.”, Dusk said. The tears started to well up in her eyes again. “My kingdom is in shambles. My people are dead or transformed into hideous creatures. The knight who saved me paid with his very own life.” She put her face in her hands, sobbing. “And nobody can see me cry, cause I am their princess and someone has to stay strong. For them!” She took some deep breathes, sniffling: “And there is no one who can understand how this feels.”

Ornstein sat down next to her: “Princess, let me tell you a story.”, he said. “Once there had been a boy who wanted to become a knight. And he did it, he was known as one of the strongest, brave knights and got handed a specialized armour. Whenever he wore that armour, he was the symbol of the people. They knew they could rely on him, they knew he would be there for them, they knew he would shine for them if hope was low. But they didn't knew, that below this armour, the boy just wanted to cry, to break down, to seek comfort at someone for all the terrible things that happened to him, but he wasn't allowed to. The symbol couldn't falter. He just had to... keep it together...”

Ornstein fell silent, feeling the gaze of Princess Dusk at him. At least she seemed to have stopped crying, he couldn't hear her sobs anymore. She gasped in realization: “The boy in the story...it is you.”

“Yes...”, Ornstein said. “So, um, you are not alone with this feeling, Princess.”

“Thank you... this actually makes me feel a little bit better.”, Dusk said. There wasn't a smile on her face anymore. “It makes me feel... less alone.” They both set next to each other in silence when Princess Dusk suddenly asked: “Can I tell you something?”

“I will listen to you.”, Ornstein simply answered.

“When I was in the abyss, snatched by that best... my faculties were far from lucid but I quite clearly sensed certain emotions.”, the princess started. “A wrenching nostalgia, a lost joy, an object of obsession and a sincere hope to reclaim it... Could these thoughts belong to the beast from the abyss, I wonder?”

“Are you trying to tell me that the beast that killed my friend has just been some misunderstood being?”, Ornstein said. “It shows your empathy, princess, for being able to try to see beyond this but for me, that thing killed my friend and almost wiped a whole city off the ground. I don't need anymore reason to be glad over its death.”

“Of course. I am sorry to having bothered you with this.”, Dusk said. “The blame is to put on Oolacile, if we had never awakened it, none of this would have been happened. I know it isn't enough, but I only can owe my sincerest apologies to you.” The tears started to well up in Dusk's eyes again.

Ornstein waited a few more minutes, but the princess had felt silent and eventually he got up and returned to his room, staring at the parchment which still had no useable speech on it. It was already so late and Ornstein had to groan only thinking about sitting down at this table another time. He decided to get more comfortable, stripped out of his armour, put some more comfortable clothes on and went into his bed, using a book to support the parchment, writing utensils moved to his night stand. Now he just needed to write that thing.

When Ornstein awoke his face had crumpled the parchment and bright line was shining into the room through the windows. He blinked, one time, two times, then jerked up. It was morning already! Oh no, that was bad, really bad. He uncrumpled the parchment to see how far he had come with the speech before he had fallen asleep to see that he didn't add a single word. He got up and sat down on the desk. He needed to write this speech now!

Moments later the dragon slayer was in the outhouse puking out all what was leftover from his dinner. It was no use. How should he finish to write this speech or attend the burial in that state? He needed to take some medicine now.

After asking around a bit Ornstein found Princess Dusk deeper in the forest, where she was overseeing the work on the grave. They were already pretty far, what was to be expected, the ceremony was set for this afternoon after all. The gravestone had already been finished constructed and was in the process of being erected and Ornstein could see some golems with shovels which probably were there to dig out the actual grave. He approched Dusk carefully and cleared his throat to get her attention.

“Oh, Sir Ornstein.”, she said after noticing him. “Have you come to get an overview over the grave for Sir Artorias?”

He shook his head. “No, that isn't it... it is lovely though, I am sure Artorias will like it.”, he said. “Actually, I have come here to ask you for that medicine you have offered me.”

“Of course.”, Dusk said. “I am glad you are finally asking for it. It must be awfully difficult to be sick on top of all of this. Would you please follow me?”

While following Dusk, Ornstein noticed, that Dusk, while keeping a friendly and polite tone, hadn't smiled once to him. It made him smile under his helmet unconsciously. She remembered that it had made him feel uncomfortable. Dusk led him to the area he remembered from a few days ago, near the sanctuary guardian. They stopped in front of a wall where some giant mushroom grew and Dusk said: “May I introduce you to my godmother? This is Elizabeth.”

That was when Ornstein realized that his mushroom actually had eyes. Elizabeth must have been the weirdest being Ornstein had ever seen. She was literally a giant, talking mushroom growing out of the wall. “How...nice to meet you.”, Ornstein said.

“My, my, Dusk, you have brought some famous company with you.”, Elizabeth said.

“Actually, Elizabeth, I am here to ask for your help.”, Dusk said, smiling, and this time it was a genuine smile. She must have felt mostly secure around Elizabeth.

While Dusk talked to her, Ornstein's thoughts wandered to how she procreated, how her offspring would look like and how much Artorias would have loved to see little mushroom kids running around, so he didn't notice when the conversation was directed at him and he had to apologize: "I am so sorry, I didn't listen. Could you repeat that?"

"I was asking which are your afflictions.", Elizabeth said in her calm voice.

"Since a few days I am having nauseating stomach aches.", Ornstein answered.

"Nauseating. Did you need to vomit?", the mushroom lady inquired.

Ornstein first looked down on the ground, pawing it with his foot a bit before raising his head again and answering: "Yes. Quite a few times..."

"I see. Please wait a moment." A short while later Elizabeth handed him an item with a squishy texture that looked like it came straight out of her body.

He stared at it for a while: "I don't know how to feel about this..." Eating something that could very well be a part of Elizabeth's body felt so weird.

"Don't worry, it is absolute safe to eat. And it doesn't affect me badly at all. And you don't need to feel bad about your reaction, I am a mushroom after all.", Elizabeth ended the sentence with a chuckle.

"I am really sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. It's just...", the absurdity of this situation. Ornstein didn't finish the sentence. He heard Dusk chuckle beside him.

“Oh, I know, it can be really off putting the first time, but believe me, Elizabeth's mushrooms are working every time. I assure you. I have taken them myself quite a few times already.”, she reassured him.

After hearing this words, Ornstein did open the visor part of his helmet to eat the mushroom he had been handed. It didn't even taste bad or weird, it actually was quite tasty. And soon after eating the medicine the pain started to dissolve and the nausea instantly got better. "That is amazing.", Ornstein exclaimed. He had never had seen a medicine that worked so quickly. Even Gwyndolin's medicine would take a while to take effect and they often would have some heavy side effects.

"I am quite a good healer.", Elizabeth said. "You can always come back should you need some more. Although they are very much part of my body. I can't make them infinitely without needing to rest."

"I owe you my thanks. This should suffice.", Ornstein bowed before the mushroom. "I can now continue with my work." He and Princess Dusk bid their goodbyes to her and walked back to the mansion together.

“I am sorry that I have interrupted your work, Princess.”, Ornstein said.

“Don't worry about it, Sir Ornstein.”, Dusk said. “I am just glad that you finally came and asked for help. You don't have to endure it alone when you are feeling sick... I am looking forward to hear your speech at the burial later.”

“The speech, yes..”, Ornstein said. They had arrived at the mansion and Ornstein bid his goodbye to Dusk who returned to oversee the ceremonial preparations.

Ornstein sat down at the desk again and stared at the parchment and the words he had scribbled on it already. The speech he was so unsatisfied with. He was letting Gough's and Ciaran's word wandering through his mind. “What would Artorias do?” and “I thought you knew Artorias better than that.” So.. what would have Artorias done? If he would have been still around? Probably having hold Ornstein's hair when he puked... Oh... Oooh, that is what they meant. He took up the quill and started to write. (Author's note: I used some of Dusk's canon dialogue in this chapter.) Next chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/182168559039/title-keeping-it-together-chapter-13

#dark souls #fanfiction #dragon slayer ornstein #dusk of oolacile #elizabeth #littlewritesstuff #I like this chapter #it took me awfully long to write though #it literally only finished yesterday

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archieviscom · 4 years ago

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PROJECT EVALUATION

WHY - With this brief, my original question for was ‘Why are we scared of blood’. Once I started looking into it, I wasn’t sure on where to take it but one thing that kept showing up was the colour red and the reasons behind that being perceived as the colour of danger. I had more initial ideas for this then I did my original thought idea. I changed the question and was able to put something together. I wanted to focus to colour perception more than anything else and how this effects people. I had a few ideas that involved a more illustrative approach, something I am not the best at so when I had the idea of a short animation, I thought this would be more interesting for me and doable.

From the start of the year, I wanted to develop my animation skills. It’s something we did in 1st year and as much as I enjoyed it, the frustration for me was my lack of knowledge on how to use After Effects. With this project however, I did not use After Effects for the main animation, it still helped progress my knowledge. I used ProCreate for the danger signs part as I had a technique being used in the past that I thought would help with the perception side of things. I used the Glitch effect to symbolise the message of the signs breaking down and ‘glitching out’ once the colour had changed. This is something I wouldn’t know how to do using After Effects.

This was a short brief so managing my time well was essential, it took a little while to get back into the grove as it was our first project of the term but once I found that grove, I think I managed my time well, by the time I had changed my question and had a plan of action, I only had two days to execute it. The pressure of this wasn’t necessary a bad thing as it did make focus and carry out my plan.

Upon reflection, I would have liked to have upped the frame rate on procreate as it’s a little jumpy, for some reason decided 4 fps would be fine. It would have taken longer to do if the frame rate was higher but it would have been much smoother and cleaner.

COLLECTION AND INTERPRETATION - With this project, similar to the first one, I made a bit of a U-turn halfway through. This time however, it was my fault for not fully reading the brief.

Once I had figured out a new plan with a new idea, I was able to carry on. The one thing that motivated me for this time was keeping things authentic. From my research of Album Receipts and Receiptify I found that making the final result have the right feel and look was essential to making it work. Finding the right typeface, the dimensions, the texture were all key elements to the design. It worked out quite well as I was able to constantly refer back to the receipts I had collected to check that they had a similar feel.

Once I had collected my data over my three shifts, I was able to work effectively. There wasn’t much I could do until the all the data was collected other get the general layout sorted. Once I had everything, I could input the data and iron out any issues.

I would have liked to have improved on the texture for my final outcomes. Although I added a paper-like grain to it, it would have aided the authenticity of the outcome if it had more. I wasn’t quite sure how I would have achieved this so that’s something I need to work on should I do a similar project in the future. Also, as much I had do like the spider diagram-style maps, I’m not sure they fit with the rest of the look. Maybe instead of having the maps I could gone with with a more text-based approach. I could have used the coordinates instead, I think this would have looked better and tied in nicely with the rest of it.

INTERVENTION INTERPRETATION - This was by far my favourite project this term. I didn’t think it would be but once I got into it, it was extremely enjoyable. There was a bit of software learning curve as I decided to use Glyphs which made it a bit more time consuming but I am very glad I went down this route regardless. I still have a lot to learn in this department, with software and general knowledge on type design but it’s something I definitely want to pursue. Once I had the idea of using my Morris Minor, I thought the best place to start for this would be to look more at the history of car design and more specifically Sir Alec Issigonis, the designer behind many classic British cars including the Morris Minor. This helped inform and motivate my design decisions throughout my process. Something that also motivated my design decisions was the idea of making the typeface a classic and vintage feel to it. I think if the typeface had a sleek, modern design, it wouldn’t have been true to its inspiration. I was influenced by art deco-style design for this. I know that the eras don’t quite match up but the decorative design elements from this period guided me though some decisions.

This along with the other two projects had a much shorter time line to anything I was used to. As stressful as this can be at points, I much prefer doing it this way as the pressure really helped me knuckle down, it helped me make quick decisions instead of procrastinating and putting tasks off.

I did struggle greatly with the posters, I am still not 100% on how any of them turned out but I just couldn’t get anymore out of them. I did plan on using the week or so period at the end of the projects to focus on them but I had other tasks to complete that were necessary for hand-in. I also needed to focus a bit more time on the numbers on my font, they are functional but they could most definitely do with some adjustments. Again, if I hadn’t left other parts to the last minute, this would have been achievable.

15 MINUTE CITY - This project was a weird one for me. The project itself is great but I just couldn’t connect with it and I’m not sure why. But regardless, it needed to be done and it’s good practice for industry.

I was able to come to a decision on what I wanted to create for this project fairly quickly, I think working as a team at the start was extremely beneficial, I don’t think I would have arrived at my idea if I were doing it alone. Once I had decided on creating the parks, I just had to focus on the visual system. My main inspiration for this project was Porto. From the presentation, it really stuck with me and it guided me through my design process.

This project, as well as all the others however, could have benefited from more research. I had a similar problem in 1st year. I do jump the gun almost and start on the practical side of things too soon. I think more research for all projects would have helped make more informed design decisions and would have given me greater knowledge to work with. Moving forward I need put a bigger focus on the this, I think the results of doing this would be almost priceless and would be reflected in my final outcomes.

With this project, I was able to develop my skills within animation, something I really wanted to do at the start of the year. I am still a long way off from where I want to be in regards to my skill set but this was extremely beneficial.

I was very grateful that even during all this Covid drama, we could still go on to campus and Ben was on hand to assist us with any questions and problems. This, along with YouTube tutorials on After Effects greatly helped me to achieve my goals.

We had much longer to complete this project then the previous ones. This was beneficial and allowed me to take my foot off the gas ever so slightly. This is was good but also bad in ways. Pressure makes most people perform better and I felt that with the previous projects, as mentioned previously, it stopped me from procrastinating and urged me to make quicker decisions. This was lost on this project, I later paid the price for this as everything came down to the last minute,something that I feel is reflected in my work.

Overall, I am happy with what I was able to create for this project but I wouldn’t consider it my best work to date. I would have liked to have created a larger body of work and have it to a higher standard.

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snickerl · 8 years ago

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Mom’s The Best

A collection of XF ficlets

I started this collection of stand-alone ficlets featuring Margaret Scully because she’s always been one of my favorite characters and a season 11 without her seems too much to take.

This installment is the answer to the prompt of a friend who’s not even on Tumblr. My thanks also go out to @how-i-met-your-mulder and @cinderella819 for helping me out with some narrative details.

This is the first time ever I took a prompt and I enjoyed the challenge, so feel free to send me story ideas.

So far, the collection contains the following ficlets:

PEPPERMINT TEA APPLE PIE

ROOT BEER

"You can't be serious, mom. You're taking me shopping for baby clothes?" Scully asked from her place in the passenger seat of her mother's old, beat-up Nissan. "You said you would take me on a fun trip."

"This will be fun! You and me and all these cute little baby things. Besides, you're more than eight months along, Dana. What did you plan to dress my grandchild in after he or she was born? A receiving blanket? The nursery is still an empty room. I told Fox to drive to my house while we are away and get the Scully family crib, so the kid has something to sleep in at least. But you also need clothes, a baby tub, diapers, formula and-"

"I'm going to nurse him, mom, I won't need formula, at least not for the first weeks," Scully said before she realized that she disclosed information with it she would have rather kept a secret until the baby was born.

"Him?"

Scully sighed. "Yes, mom, I'm having a boy, but don't tell anyone, especially not Mulder. He's been trying to pry the gender out of me and thinks he's being very clever in his subtle efforts when a matter-of-fact he isn't."

"Oh, that's wonderful, Dana!" Maggie shrieked joyfully. "I've always pictured you as a boy's mother. You were such a tomboy yourself."

Margaret Scully had picked her daughter up half an hour ago. Her grandchild was due in a little more than three weeks and Dana hadn't even agreed on a baby shower yet. She was on maternity leave, had all time in the world to build a nest for her baby, but all she had done so far was attending two Lamaze classes; one all by herself and one together with Fox. Plus, this whole I'm-not-speaking-about-who-the-father-is thing was very disturbing for Maggie. In a way, she understood Dana's voicelessness. At the beginning of her pregnancy, Fox - He was the father, of that Maggie was sure. Who else? - had been missing and had later been presumed dead. Dana had tried to cope with the sad truth that her child would have to grow up without a father, so she had refused to even talk about him. But now that Fox had returned, the entire circumstances of his miraculous resurrection still incomprehensible to Maggie, why would Dana still not name him as the father? Not to mention the fact that some kind of gray veil seemed to be draped over this last stage of her pregnancy which had made her even neglect shopping for baby clothes. So Maggie had decided to take her out for a fun mother-and-daughter afternoon they would spend in several baby shops. Later on, she'd treat her some ice cream, chocolate cake, hot dog, greasy pizza or whatever food she was currently craving.

"First stop. Dawn's Baby Boutique." Maggie pulled over into a parking lane, unbuckled and got off the car. She walked around it to the passenger side to help Scully who was struggling to heft her massive body out of the vehicle.

"How is it that you know baby boutiques, mom?"

"I asked Grace's daughter, Amber. She had her twins half a year ago and she knows all the good stores."

Maggie grabbed Scully's sleeve and tugged her along into the boutique. They heard a chime when they stepped inside. A very attentive shop assistant instantly showed up at their side.

"Welcome to Dawn's Baby Boutique. Just because you're little, doesn't mean you have to dress out of style. My name is Francine, how can I help you?"

Scully rolled her eyes but Maggie was delighted. "It's our first baby," she told the over-zealous salesperson, "we'd really appreciate your help." Her daughter moaned.

"Are we having a girl or a boy?" Francine cooed.

"I...am having a boy," Scully noted somewhat annoyed. She hated being addressed like a five-year-old at the dentist. "And I think we'll be fine, Francine, just show us the boys section, please."

"What kind of style are you looking for?"

"Uh, I beg your pardon? Onesies, bodysuits, pajamas...something like this?"

"No, I meant which of our current collections are you interested in? The pastel collection? The black-and-white collection? Are you looking for casual outfits or something more prestigious for an official occasion?"

"Official occasion? Look, I just need some newborn essentials, okay? Nothing fancy or stylish."

"I see. Well, then here's our 30% off clearance of last year's collection."

Scully grabbed an item randomly off the table Francine was pointing at with some repulsion in her gesture as if she was leading them to the poison chest and held it in the air. "A simple white bodysuit for 29.95?"

"It's a well known French brand," Francine spoke as if to a complete ignorant. "It's 90% organic cotton and 10% merino wool. You have to wash this by hand."

Scully chuckled. "By hand? A baby bodysuit? Well, my child does not need exclusive, stylish clothes. I want something convenient, comfortable and affordable. No frills."

Francine slammed her eyes shut at the word 'frills' and sighed dramatically. "Well, then I'm afraid our boutique is not the right place for you, Ma'am. Our clientele usually consists of people with a sense for fashion," she said with her nose up in the air.

"You know what, Francine? I have the same feeling. Come on, let's go, mom." Scully grabbed her mother's arm and towed her out of the store.

Maggie hadn't said a single word, she had simply listened to the exchange between her daughter and the shop assistant, her mouth open and her eyes wide. "I didn't know you had to be a graduate in fashion design to be able to buy baby clothes," she said when they were out on the street again.

"You don't, mom. Let's find a department store with a baby section. I'm sure they have all we need there." Scully linked arms with her mother and waddled next to her. "She was funny, though." She tried to imitate Francine's slightly nasal, snobbish tone of voice, "our clientele usually has a sense for fashion, Ma'am." Both women looked at each other and burst out in laughter.

Maggie was very pleased. Despite this first abortive attempt of layette shopping, she had already reached the main goal of the afternoon and that was to make Dana forget her worries for a while and enjoy herself. They had been walking for quite a while through the streets in their search for a department store, mainly because Scully hadn't exactly swift feet these days when she abruptly came to a halt and moaned.

"What's the matter, honey," Maggie asked, worry threaded in her voice, "something wrong?"

"No," Scully answered, rubbing her belly, "the baby...it's practicing gymnastics. Ouff!"

"You mean he."

"Yes, he." A huge ear-to-ear smile developed on Scully's face. "I think I'm too used to keeping the gender neutral. It's nice to call him he. Ouch! One more somersault. Hey, junior," she addressed the person in her belly, stroking her protruding abdomen tenderly, "have mercy on your mother. In a bit of time, you'll have so much room to kick around, but not now, please. Grandma and I are going to buy some stuff for you."

Maggie wasn't ashamed of the tears that were brimming up in her eyes. When her daughter had told her after her cancer treatment that she wouldn't be able to have children, she had been heartbroken. Everyone thought that Dana was a career woman, that fighting her way up the ladder in a male-dominated environment had made her tough, stony, and centered on her professional success, but that had never been true. Maggie knew that she was caring and compassionate and had so much love to give, to a man as well as to a child. Being a mother herself, and having found so much joy in this role, she had been awfully sorry for Dana, especially when she had noticed how much she herself mourned the children she would never have, although she had tried to hide it. Of course, she had, like she always hid her innermost turmoil, even from her mother, but today she was showing how much she enjoyed her pregnancy and how much she anticipated her child being born. It hadn't been like this for most of her pregnancy and it filled Maggie's heart with so much joy and hope that she felt like jumping up and down like a little girl. "May I?" she asked holding her hand in front of Scully's abdomen.

"Sure, mom," Scully said and placed her mother's hand at the spot where her son's feet pushed against her belly from the inside. "Thanks for asking though, you won't believe how many people think they can touch a pregnant woman just because they feel like it."

"Yes, I remember. Grandma Scully used to do that, and Aunt Mary, too. It felt like they were sizing me up every time they saw me. I hated it but didn't dare to say a word."

"Oh, I did, believe me. The people who touched me will never touch a pregnant woman again without asking for permission first!"

Maggie laughed. She believed every word Dana said. Her daughter could be very intimidating despite her frail appearance. She'd always admired her for her ability to compel respect and make herself heard. She felt the baby move under the palms of her hands, him. Even after four children and two grandchildren procreation still was a miracle to Maggie, God's work. She stroked Dana's belly with awe through the fabric of her blouse, which was stretched tightly now that the pregnancy was coming to its end. "Is he always this active?"

"Not so much lately. I guess it gets a little tight in there," Scully said with a wry smile, her hands on her lower back.

Maggie pulled her hands back and searched her daughter's face for signs of exhaustion. "Do you need a rest? Shall we go for a drink somewhere?"

"I'm fine, mom. Let's do the shopping first and grab something to eat and drink afterward. I'm craving some cheesecake and a root beer."

With this, Scully linked arms with her mother again and they resumed walking down the street side by side.

"I more or less lived on root beer when I was pregnant with you, Dana," Maggie reminisced. "I sent your father to a 24/7 gas station at night once because I needed a root beer so badly that I couldn't go back to sleep without having one. He was so annoyed, he said you would be our last one. Well..." She chuckled. Charlie, their youngest child, had been born only two years later, and then it had been herself who had shot the bolt after number four because strictly speaking, she had been raising their kids more or less alone with Ahab being absent most of the time. Being a Navy wife hadn't always been easy. She sincerely hoped for Dana to have the baby's father around more to shoulder some of the burdens.

And here she was again contemplating Fox's role. Why was Dana so reluctant to name him as the father? And why was he so aloof? It could only be him, couldn't it? Maggie hoped to get a chance to talk to Dana about it. Later, when the shopping would be done.

"I wished I could have more than one," Dana pulled her out of her reverie. "I loved growing up with three siblings. I imagine life as an only child can be boring sometimes."

"Who says you won't have another one?"

"This pregnancy is a miracle, mom, and miracles don't happen twice."

"We'll see," Maggie said in a voice heavy with meaning and a warm smile. "Look there's Bloomingdales. Shall we have a look in there?"

Three hours later, mother and daughter were sitting in a café downtown, recovering from their extensive shopping, several huge shopping bags scattered at their feet. They had ordered cheesecake and tea, although Scully craved for a strong espresso the doctor had forbidden. Maggie watched with delight how she savored the cake, moaning slightly and licking her lips every time she put a piece into her mouth.

"Mmmm, this is so good. Would you share another one with me, mom?"

"No, honey, I'm full, but you can have one more." Maggie waved for the waitress.

"I can't possibly eat two pieces of cake, I'm already so fat," Scully whined.

"You're not fat, Dana, you're pregnant, and pregnant women are allowed to let themselves get carried away sometimes. Anyway, you'll lose all the weight you've gained once you start nursing, you'll see. So relax and enjoy." She looked at the waitress who had joined them at the table. "We'll have another piece of cheesecake, please, and two root beer floats." When her daughter looked at her questioningly, her left eyebrow hitting her hairline, she said matter-of-factly, "we deserve a bit of indulgence, don't you think?"

Scully furrowed her brows. "I think I've never seen you drink a root beer, mom."

"I guess I had an overdose during my pregnancy with you, I couldn't stand it anymore once you were born. It made me sick, actually. But today, I feel like having one."

"I'll be in a sugar coma once I get home."

"So what?" Maggie asked her and was rewarded with a beautiful smile. "Yeah, so what," Scully silently agreed.

When the supplementary serving of cheesecake arrived along with two outrageously delicious looking root beer floats, the Scully women resumed their pleasurable chat about everything and anything but after a while, Maggie couldn't keep her curiosity in check any longer.

"Forgive my asking you this, Dana, but it's a question that's been keeping me occupied for quite a while now." Maggie looked at her, hesitated a moment, then got if off her chest. "Fox and you...uhm...will you be getting married? It would make sense now that the baby is coming any time soon, wouldn't it?"

Dana's eyes widened. She swallowed. It was clearly something she wasn't comfortable talking about. "Uhm, that's a rather personal question," she mumbled.

"I know, but I'm your mother, Dana, and I'm worried about you."

"There's no need to worry."

"Really?"

"Really."

Maggie was not convinced. "To be honest, the two of you don't appear like a happy couple waiting impatiently for their baby to be born."

"That's maybe because we aren't," Dana said, her features so frozen it made a shiver travel down Maggie's spine.

"You aren't happy?"

"A couple. Happy...Uh, I don't know, mom, it's complicated."

"But he is the father." Maggie chose to phrase it as a statement, putting it as a question entailed too many complications, and besides, it seemed impossible that Dana had been together with someone else but...the mere thought of it was... Maggie shook her head.

"Yes, he is the father, but he's still struggling with his future role. What was dad like when you were pregnant with Bill?"

Maggie smiled at the reminiscences of her late husband. "He would've never admitted it but he was scared to death. I remember how he secretly read those books about how to care for a newborn, believing I didn't notice. It's not easy for men, Dana. We, as women, can bond with the being growing inside us much easier that men. We carry the child in our bellies for nine months, we feel our bodies change in their natural ability to nurture. For them, the whole thing is so abstract and incomprehensible. All they can do is witness their wives change, secretly fearing what motherhood would do to them, whether they will live on mainly being mothers to their child and not so much their lovers anymore. Men struggle with jealousy just as firstborns who are awaiting the arrival of a sibling. But when the baby has eventually been born, when they are able to hold it, the fears and doubts evaporate into thin air. I remember your father's wrinkled forehead when they wheeled me into the delivery room just as much as his blissful face when he was holding Bill for the first time. It happened to your father, and you'll see, honey, the same will happen to Fox."

Her story had touched Dana, Maggie could read it on her face. She had always been daddy's girl and the one who had suffered from Ahab's unexpected passing the most beside herself. Pulling her further down sweet memory lane couldn't harm. "He was thrilled when you were born, Dana. He'd so hoped for another girl."

"Really? I thought men rather hoped for a son and heir."

"He already had his son," Maggie said with a smile. "And he already had a daughter he adored. I don't know what it was between you, but the moment he saw you after you'd been cleaned up by the nurse, he was enchanted. And no matter what you did, the spell had never been broken."

Dana threw her a bittersweet smile, bitter for the hole her father had left behind in her life, and sweet for how close she had been to him. "I wonder how Mulder reacts," she said more to herself than to Maggie.

"Will he be at your side in the delivery room? I wished I had Ahab with me, but men weren't allowed back then."

"I don't know. We haven't talked about it yet. We haven't talked about so many things."

"Why?"

"Because it's so difficult, mom. It's really complicated between us."

"In what sense?"

Dana bit her lower lip, sucked it in and chewed on it. She was fighting with herself whether or not she should tell her. Maggie, on her part, didn't know what to make of her hesitance. All she wanted Dana to do was unburden her heart, so she implored, "Dana?"

"There's something I never told you, mom." She sipped nervously at her root beer float and licked the froth off her lips. "Do you remember when I told you that when Mulder had been searching for a cure for my cancer he also found a vial with ova that had been harvested from me during my abduction?"

"Sure, dear." Maggie remembered every word. What Dana had told her the Christmas she had found out that Emily Sim was her biological daughter had sounded so surreal and had been so incomprehensible that it had taken Maggie several days before she had been able to believe it. Until then, she had always assumed that the chemo and radiation had been the cause for Dana's barrenness.

"What I didn't tell you was that Mulder not only found the ova but had it stored in a reproduction facility. I asked my doctor to check it and he told me the eggs were viable and that he could get me pregnant with them if I had a sperm donor. I...uhm, I asked Mulder. And he agreed."

Maggie nodded. Of course. Fox. Who else?

"It was the most wonderful thing a friend has ever done for me," Dana hiccuped and smiled for a brief moment. "I was so grateful. But it didn't take it, obviously. When I couldn't afford a second attempt, he insisted on paying for it. He so badly wanted this for me because he felt responsible for my being barren. It didn't work out either as we all know. I thought that this was it, that this had been my last chance to have a child and I was devastated. He told me to never give up on a miracle."

"Your FBI partner not only donated his sperm but also paid for the procedure to get you pregnant? I've never heard of anything like it."

"As I said, things are different between us."

"They definitely are. They are wonderful though, Dana. I mean, he must have cared for you a lot to be doing that."

"I know." Dana clenched her jaws and swallowed.

"Is this pregnancy also a result of an in vitro fertilization?" Maggie asked.

"No. Uh, Mulder and I...we, uhm..." her vis-á-vis cleared her throat now. Maggie held her hand up to silence her daughter and help her out of the uncomfortable situation, signaling her she knew what needed to be done to conceive a child the traditional way, and the awkwardness was gone. Dana continued. "Of course, we never expected this to happen. When he went to Oregon, he left a barren women and he can't understand how he returned to a heavily pregnant one. He doesn't feel any connection to this pregnancy. He calls it the baby or your baby, it's never ours or his. He says he's happy for me, and that the child is lucky to have me as their mother. He sees himself as the sperm donor once again, I'm afraid, and not as the father."

A sad sob escaped Dana's chest which tore Maggie's heart apart. She squeezed her hands tenderly to keep them still after they had been fumbling with the napkin the whole time. "Give him time, Dana. He's still here. If he had wanted to escape from fatherhood, he would've left. I'm sure he wants to reach out to you but simply doesn't know how. He's completely and utterly devoted to you, that much is clear."

"Do you really think so?"

"I'm absolutely sure. Ever since you'd been abducted, I knew about his feelings for you. And I want you to stop worrying, sweetheart. You're going to have a baby soon, and you're going to be a wonderful mother. Everything is going be fine, Fox and you are going be fine. Have you decided on a name yet?"

"Yes, I have, but I want Mulder to be the first person to know. No offence, mom."

"None taken." Maggie lifted Dana's chin with her index finger to make her look at her. "Another root beer?"

Dana shook her head. "No, I think I'm going to burst if I swallow down anything else. Plus, my swollen feet are killing me. I need to put them up on the couch. I'd like to go home."

Maggie nodded and beckoned the waitress over. "Alright, sweetheart. Let me get the check, this is on me."

When Scully opened the door to her apartment half an hour later, she dropped her bags right next to the door and rushed to the bathroom without saying a word. Mulder, who was sitting on the couch reading the sports section of the paper, looked up and then shrugged at Maggie who stepped over the threshold behind her daughter carrying some more bags.

"Full bladder?" he asked.

Maggie chuckled. "Probably one too many root beers."

"Oh, that craving again. There's nothing like Scully in a state of hyperglycemia. She'll be active all night."

"I'm sorry, Fox. We just had so much fun eating cheesecake and drinking root beer."

"That's perfectly alright, Maggie. She deserves to have fun. She's too occupied with worrying these days." One of the reasons for her worrying being you, Maggie thought but didn't speak out loud. But at least he noticed her state of mind and was obviously worried about her too. That was a good sign. "Your shopping trip was a success, so it seems." He points to the bags Scully had dropped and the ones Maggie was still holding in her hands.

"Definitely. If your baby was born tomorrow, there would be everything here you need." She'd deliberately chose to say ‘your baby' just to see how he reacted. And he didn't disappoint.

"That's wonderful for Dana. I'd hate to see her lacking something essential once she's home with the baby."

Maggie had just wanted to ask him where he was planning to be once Dana got home but was kept from doing so by Scully crying out in the hallway. Maggie stared briefly at Mulder, then hurried over to her to check for the cause of it. When she reached her at the door to what was to become the nursery, she found her in tears. "What's the matter, Dana? Are you in pain?" Maggie asked in a high-pitched voice, scrutinizing her daughter from head to toe, but nothing seemed wrong with her. She didn't hold her back, she didn't breathe any pain away or grimaced in agony, apparently, the water hadn't been broken either. All she did was lean against the doorframe and stare into the room.

Scully didn't answer her mother. She kept on staring into the room, her eyes watery. "Mulder," she eventually whispered when he had caught up with them, "you painted the wall and assembled the diaper changing unit."

"And you fetched the crib from my house," Maggie added stepping inside the room. She smelt the fresh paint. The wall where Fox had put up the changing unit had been painted in a bright, sunny yellow. Dana had wanted it yellow as it would be okay for both a boy and a girl. Maggie's hand grazed the old crib gently which was standing in the middle of the room. Bill, Melissa, Dana, and Charlie had all slept in this crib. And soon Fox and Dana's baby boy would be sleeping merrily in it, and they would be gazing inside at the miracle they had created just like Ahab and herself had done so many years ago. She forced her emotions down which threatened to overwhelm her.

"Yeah, I got bored." Fox rescued her from the emotional overload. "So, on my way to your house, I went to the hardware store and bought some paint. Yellow, like you said you wanted, Scully. It's suitable for a nursery and safe for a pregnant woman as well, the shop assistant told me. It's latex-based and even saliva-proof, just in case the offspring wanted to lick the wall. The smell will wear off quickly as long as the room is ventilated sufficiently. I also bought some wall stickers for when the paint has dried. They had a set of stars and planets with a UFO," he paused and let the idea dangle in the air for a moment before he continued with a grin, "but I got the zoo set. It has giraffes and elephants and monkeys and all kinds of wild animals. I thought you might like that one better, Scully. Nothing alien-related in your baby's room, right?"

There it was again, he had said your baby. Maggie's chest constricted but Dana didn't seem to bother. She waddled over to him and put a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, that's so thoughtful of you."

"Uh, you're welcome." He raked through his hair shyly as if he was embarrassed by the innocent kiss. Maggie saw in front of her very eyes what her daughter had told her about the lacking connection between them. "No big deal really," he declared with a shrug, "you were away for hours and I didn't know what to do with myself. So, what did you get?"

"Ooooh, so many things. Bodysuits, onesies, tops and bottoms, socks, PJs, hats, a jacket. We got blankets, swaddles, bibs, a towel and washcloth set." She took a deep breath before she continued listing the items they had shopped. "Diapers, wipes, pacifiers, baby nail scissors, a music box and a nightlight. It was so much fun, Mulder."

Fox smiled at her and Maggie saw his love for her flash up in his eyes for a split second. "That's good, Scully," he then said, "now you don't need to worry about any of these things anymore." He used you again as if he had nothing to do with it, while at the same time he had been painting the nursery with non-toxic, saliva-safe paint. Contradiction, thy name is Fox Mulder, Maggie thought and sighed quietly.

"I also bought something for you, Mulder," her daughter gushed, not hiding her excitement. To Maggie's surprise, she pulled a little paper bag with a ribbon out of one of the huge bags on the floor. She had caught Fox off-guard obviously as he asked somewhat flabbergasted, "for me?"

"Well, not exactly for you to use on yourself," she explained.

Maggie was touched by the boyish joy that took possession of him. She hadn't known that Dana had bought a present for him and was as curious as he was. He loosened the ribbon and peeked inside the bag while her daughter couldn't keep an anticipatory smile off her face. He furrowed his brows, reached inside with one hand and pulled a piece of fabric out which turned out to be a onesie printed with...stars, planets and a UFO at the front.

Dana's smile widened, Fox's eyes widened, and Maggie held her breath.

"What happened to 'I don't want anything alien-related in my baby's room'?" he asked, astonishment written all over his face.

"I know I said that, but when I saw this piece at Bloomingdales I thought you might like it."

Maggie's heart almost burst. Those two were simply amazing. Fox complied to Dana's needs as a matter of course, keeping the nursery free from what such a huge part of his life was just because she didn't want it there. And Dana brought exactly this part into her baby's world because she knew how important it was to him. Two people, throwing off their darkest shadows in order to meet the other's deepest needs. It spoke of their utter devotion and infinite love for one another in a way it brought tears to an old woman's eyes.

Maggie found herself proven right, Fox wanted to be the baby's father not only the sperm donor. He had set up the changing unit, had fetched the Scully family crib from her house, was decorating the nursery in a way Dana liked, those were all signs of his desperate efforts to be there for her and the baby. Why he couldn't speak of the baby being his, she didn't know. It had to be some kind of PTSD he was struggling with after having come back from the dead. Well, who wouldn't be traumatized by an experience like that? She understood, and she knew Dana understood, and that was why she wasn't worried at all that these two wouldn't make it. They would sail this storm, Maggie was convinced. Their love was strong enough.

"This is from Bloomingdales? Haven't you checked out any of the fancy baby boutiques?" Mulder interrupted Maggie's contemplations, who chuckled. Scully put her hands up as if someone told her to freeze and implored, "don't ask!"

Fox looked at the garment in his hands. It was blue, had long sleeves and was printed all over with little phantasy planets and space crafts. There were solar systems and an accumulation of stars apparently representing the milky way. He smiled at the UFO on the front. For someone as accurate as Dana, who always insisted that science left no room for interpretation, it was remarkable that she had gotten such a variation of the scientific truth. Not to mention the fact that she had made more than clear she didn't want to have anything in the nursery that reminded her even remotely of their work: no drapes, no plush toys, no rugs, no bed sheets or blankets, and definitely no clothes that had anything to do with outer space or dark figures or even law enforcement. The Lone Gunmen had brought her a T-shirt with 'Baby Agent' on the front once when Maggie had been at Dana's apartment. They had seen it in a tourist gift shop next to the Hoover Building and had wrongly believed Dana would find it funny. She had thrown it wordlessly into the paper bag and had handed it back to them. 'I appreciate the idea, Frohike,' she had said, 'but I want the FBI out of my baby's life.'

The label at the onesie's neckline caught Fox's attention. Without looking up, he asked, "8 to 10 months? Isn't that a bit large for a newborn?"

"It definitely is, but that's the only size they had and the baby will grow into it," Dana explained, adapting the detached way he spoke of their unborn child.

"Does that mean you still want me to be around when the baby is eight months old?"

Maggie shivered because the question was by no means meant as a tease. She decided to leave them alone, to give them the privacy to talk about the obvious cracks in their relationship. But she stayed close, right there in the hallway. Not because her nosiness told her so but because she was worried what a passionate dispute might do to her heavily pregnant daughter.

"Yes, Mulder, I want you to be around eight months from now, and beyond that," Scully said in a voice full of warmth but also determination. Not visible from where Maggie was standing, she walked over to where Mulder had positioned himself next to the diaper changing unit he had assembled and took one of his hands in hers. "I want you to put this onesie on your child when he...or she...is old enough."

Mulder stroked his hair roughly with his free hand. "Scully..." he only said, probably at a loss for words.

"It's okay, Mulder. You don't have to say anything. I just want you to know that there isn't a 'me and you' but an 'us'. This is your child, Mulder, ours. We created this miracle you once told me to hope for, so whenever you're ready to be a part of this 'us', our baby and I will welcome you with open arms."

Maggie had to steady herself against the wall because her knees threatened to buckle hearing her daughter's emotional words. She peeked around the corner. She hoped to see them kiss or at least in an embrace but nothing of that sort was happening. They were gazing at each other, Dana held Fox's hand firmly in her grip not allowing him to withdraw from her. After a moment of inertia and wordlessness, he sighed and leaned his forehead against hers. "Scully, I-" he started but was sushed. Dana had her eyes closed, and Maggie saw how much she enjoyed the most intimate physical contact they had had for a long time. When they broke apart, Fox lifted her hand which still held on to his fiercely to his mouth and kissed it, holding her gaze.

Maggie was touched by the power of the moment. In her heart, an unshakable faith manifested itself that in eight months from now, when their son would be old enough to fit in the onesie Dana had bought for Fox today, they would look back on these difficult months as one more obstacle they had overcome together. Fox would throw his son up in the air, almost forgetting that he had ever doubted being able to be a father to this child. And when he would eventually put him to sleep in his crib, he and Dana would smile happily at a content baby boy smiling at his parents, dressed in an outer-space-themed onesie.

And all would be good.

#Maggie Scully #xf fanfiction #pregnant scully #as much fluff as possible #there seems to be no such thing as an entirely fluffy xf piece

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enemymine2000 · 8 years ago

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Fandom rambles: Destiel

Random disclaimer: I am late to the party, but I'm only just now trying to catch up on Supernatural. I have binge-watched as much as I could the last couple of months and right now I'm at 11.17, so roughly only a season left to finally catch up with y'all. Therefore I don't actually know what's going on in canon right now, apart from the random gif-set or meta. I don't tend to spoil myself willingly (too much). Random dislcaimer to the disclaimer: I tweaked the programmed fall of Castiel a little bit after I finally caught up with the show. (YEAH!) Meaning I added “a bit” to the text, but my argument still holds despite Chuck being kind of a douchenoodle. I also clarified some of my ramblings, while I added to others. Wild ETAs appear, but since I couldn’t catch them all, I haven’t identified them all. So basically I re-wrote some of it without actually changing my hypothesis.

That being said…

In my mind Destiel low-key exists in canon. It's not only the fact that it is always especially acknowledged in the more meta episodes – as much as I love Sam's fascination with the subject. But simply the way the show is actually written.

There was the line spoken by Sam, while Dean had his focus completely on bringing down the Leviathans, that went something like: “Are you looking at porn or are you exclusively into dicks now.” The casual viewer laughs it off as a nice pun on the name of main villain Dick Roman, but underlying is Sam's acknowledgment of the fact that his brother very well might not be totally straight either.

Random discourse on sexuality: I'm totally straight, so all I know is second-hand knowledge and stuff you read and hear over the years of existence. But what I know is that bisexuality does not mean that you can't have a predominately type or gender for that matter.

So us only seeing Dean's female conquests doesn't automatically negate any chance of him being bi. As well as him obviously favoring female Asian porn.

I mean, come on. I'm a straight woman, but I prefer to watch male gay porn. Doesn't make me a gender-bent homosexual. (Please, no wank on the nonchalance I display. Everyone does themselves, I do me.)

Sam practically always takes the chance to tease Dean about possible male/male relations when it arises. Mostly in connection to the Winchester Gospels/Supernatural fan fiction they come across and practically always in regards to Cas.

Little brothers always know best, I'd say.

So I take that as as much verbal confirmation we'll ever get, unless the show mans up and gets The CW to back down on their “please, no homo for main characters”-policy. Which, come on, Supernatural got an early renewal for season 13, they could really start to give us a treat.

Anyway… It was established very early on in the Cas' storyline, that the angel Castiel and the Righteous Man, Dean, share a most profound bond. Something beyond everything Castiel feels for anyone else, except maybe Chuck himself – but that is practically his operating system and doesn't really count as changeable feeling. I heard even Lucifer still loved Daddy dearest deep down in his blackest of hearts and by Chuck he really tried not to. So operating system it is.

Castiel having that deep of a bond with Dean is not part of that. In fact it even interferes with all orders he gets from Heaven in his first two seasons.

He is not meant to get attached, but he is and it slowly but surely changes his basic programming. He comes to love humankind in a way that practically no angel since allegedly Lucifer has done. He starts to understand them on a basic level even while still being a celestial being roughly the size of the Chrysler building.

Castiel falls without actually falling from Heaven. And even when he later gets caught and reprogrammed by Naomi, his attachment to Dean wins over his new orders. This bond runs deeper than his connection to Heaven and even his faith in his father, the two fundamental pillars of his very existence. Nothing should be able to beat that, but his connection and feelings for Dean do. Again and again.

Which is something that in my opinion can't be stated enough. The angel Castiel was a good soldier. The leader of his garrison. He was trusted and in return he had blind faith in the cause of Heaven.

The soldier fell because of one human man.

No matter his role in prophecy, at the end of the day Dean is nothing but a pathetic, weak human man. Functional alcoholic with enough issues to pay the bills for all of New York's psychiatrists. (I've heard there are a lot of them.) A guy, who as much as he loves his brother, he doesn't even fully trust him. Not enough to tell him that he is screwed up after his stint in Hell anyway. And it gets only worse as the seasons progress.

A man who doesn't even believe in God's plan when confronted with the proof of its existence. Ironically by meeting Chuck himself, but hey, a God does what a God has to do, right.

And here it is, something I think is highly overlooked when it comes to the discussion of whether or not Destiel might be real, going canon or what-not. The fact that Chuck not only knew about Castiel falling, but it was part of His very own plan. Castiel needed to fall for the Winchester Gospels, which were practically the Word of God – without anyone knowing at that point, okay, but still – to play out as intended. (ETA: As much as the Apocalypse in Supernatural had been engineered by leader-less, bored angels, its happening has been foretold for close to 2000 years, I guess from the prophecy of John until today, so even without the Winchester Gospels a Righteous Man was foretold to break the first seal, so there always needed to be an angel to raise the Righteous Man out of Hell - innocent soul after all. For the ultimate fight in the Apocalypse the Angel Breeding Program always watched over the bloodlines which would bring forth the perfect vessels for Lucifer and Michael and always needed to make sure to keep the vessels alive as long as there was no replacement/next generation ready. Meaning of course somekind of guardian angel. Lucky Cas, he just was doomed from the start, when the bored upper echelon jump-started the Apocalypse program. Because of course he was chosen (? - programmed?) to raise the Righeous Man, who just happened to be Dean freaking Winchester, Michael’s perfect vessel. The Upper Echelon and The Angel Breeding Program obviously were never good in keeping each other informed. Which is why Chuck hadn’t expected Castiel to be there, despite the Winchester Gospel - the amended version of the original prophecy. When Chuck still was on top of everything Heaven, those mistakes simply didn’t happen and therefore even God himself could not foresee Castiel taking an active part in the Apocalypse - with the rebellion so to speak. But Chuck definitevly foretold, aided and abetted even, the rebellion and hoped to himself to stop his own program, for it was not meant to go off that early. And he really couldn’t have his angels running roughshod over his plans, especially while He still enjoyed his creation. As a nice little compensation for stopping the unstoppable, Chuck rebuild Castiel after Lucifer was back in the cage. But the angel was already infected with the Winchester-virus and still screwed, which at this point Chuck must have known, even when he still didn’t overly care for his “son” and whatever would happen with Heaven going forwards.)

So since Chuck in Supernatural, despite all his flaws, still is an all powerful and omniscient being, it de facto was God's Will for Castiel turning his wings on Heaven for Dean's sake. (ETA: Him knowing and not changing things in this case means “God’s Will”. We can not assume not knowing, since Chuck turned up for “Supernatural - The Musical”. We know he did not care until it was actually kind of too late - if it wasn’t for the Winchesters - and threatened His own being for once. So if He knew and did not change things, it implied His Will, even if only by omission of doing something else.) He might not have known about the clusterfuck Heaven produced due to jump-starting the program, but he did not change the course history would take after by running an anti-virus program against human emotions through Castiel when he rebuild the latest version he had transformed into. The version that going forward had the free will to go against Heaven and therefore laying the groundwork for the literal fall of all angel-kind. (Something that He still, to the best of my knowledge has not fixed. So all angels still depend on the stairway to Heaven, Cas is so far gone down the human route, he practically is human inside. So whatever clusterfuck “of cosmic proportions” happens next, I blame it on Chuck for not taking the time to reorganize Heaven before He made of with Amara to wherever.)

Heavily flawed Dean Winchester - ah well, even Chuck couldn't plan out all details in advance. But the Winchester line was part of the Angel Breeding Program and therefore always meant to produce Michael’s, but with an infusion of demon-blood also Lucifer’s. And there must have been a point in history, where it was obvious to look to Dean when it came to the Righteous Man. I mean, the Upper Echelon were not one day like: “Let’s jump-start Apocalypse, who is the most likely candidate for breaking the first seal in Hell right now.” They must have known to watch for Dean, before he was taken by the hellhounds. To observe, how long he would hold out. They must have planned to have him being the Righteous Man from the moment he made that damn crossroads deal. Them not intervening on his behalf is evidence enough for that. Dean Winchester was Michael’s perfect vessel. The only possible candidate at that point. Adam was not a product of the Angel Breeding Program, therefore not on their radar until the Winchester brothers discovered his existence, which was after the Apocalypse had started and Dean had already declined various attempts to have him become Michael’s meatsuit. The Angel Breeding Program was desperate, for the Apocalypse was to far advanced to delay the ultimate fight much longer and in the Upper Echelon’s need to have something happen, they missed the fact that it’s always good to have a spare. Which normally would have been Sam, but alas, demonblood infusion. A goner for Lucifer as far as they were concerned - and hence probably the only reason they were so desperate in having him stop consuming demonblood. He was too far ahead schedule for Heaven’s liking. So, having Dean be the vessel while also be the Righteous Man was not well thought out, but the Upper Echelon hazarded the consequences. They send Castiel to raise him after the First Seal was broken and kept him on his case, so the vessel would not be gone before it was its time to be used by Michael. Practically a 2-1-deal for Heaven, right? Only Dean’s main flaw is to go against the machine and beat the odds or die trying. Therefore he corrupted Castiel and formed him to be the Cas we all know and love.

All in Chuck's plan, by planing the Apocalypse and not changing the program once it was started by Heaven - although, maybe he did. We call Chuck’s books “The Winchester Gospels”, but are they still gospels, when God himself wrote the script? He sure didn’t care about everything enough anymore, but he still kind of liked just being with his creation and he definitively is a stronger being than all others, except Amara. So he could have simply changed some things to keep his creation going without outright stopping the Apocalypse - which was meant to happen anyway by him, just not that year - but in favor of Team Free Will. Or maybe he really did not care either way and had already his room prepared and was willing to wait there for whatever as long earth itself continued to exist - well, and Amara was not freed, I’m pretty sure that would have been an instant deal-breaker. Either way, Chuck’s plan. Either by action or inaction.

But, you say, what does that all make Dean and Cas necessarily into a gay romance thing. Nothing at first. But then you must also remember that Cas is a celestial being first and foremost. He is only a he, because Jimmy Novak's body turned out to be his perfect vessel. Angels are basically genderless and as Cas himself once said during his first couple of seasons, they don't judge based on gender or sexuality. It simply is what it is.

That also makes the point moot some might offer up, that Cas only ever seemed to be physically attracted to women.

For starters we have way too little data. Cas has had a boner watching hetero porn (in reaction to the babysitter or the pizza-man we don’t know) and in a pinch acted out on what he saw with Meg. That was not attraction, that was simply a life and death - try to distract them - situation. Meg being attracted to Cas is another thing altogether. But to quote Jensen on whether he ever thought about Jared in a sexual way: “Who wouldn't want to tap that!”

So the whole Clarence-schtick starts. Cas not being in his right mind at the time makes everything we might see from him, before he regains his sanity, moot. Consensual issues and all that jazz. Even for celestial beings.

Remains the one line about him having been willing to give it a try before Meg sacrifices herself. Again with the “Who wouldn't want to tap that.”

Cas genuinely came to care for that demon, who had been willing to go against everything demons stand for and help out an angel. Said demon inhabiting a nicely build body and obviously being good at kissing is not a turn-off either.

But most importantly, both knew that it would have taken a miracle for Meg to survive the coming minutes. It was their way of comforting each other and saying goodbye.

The next one we are being shown is April. Cas has now truly fallen in every imaginable way. Heaven's Gates are closed, he is without his grace and thus purely human and on the run from literally every angel there is. And all are on earth, he can't see their true faces anymore and he feels he has to protect the Winchesters by staying away after what has happened with Hael, who pretended to be on his side only to turn around and use him for her own gain.

April appears to be human and nice and one thing leads to another. Not necessarily to be taken romantically. I mean, take a look at the situation and try to imagine living it yourself.

At this point Cas is as human as he can possibly be emotionally. He is on the run, running on empty, injured and doesn't know whether there will ever be a safe place for him anywhere. He doesn't even know, where he belongs to anymore. He will always be angelic at heart – literally an eternity of being one will not be so easily erased – but he is truly human now. The Gates of Heaven are closed, so even if he somehow got his grace back, he would still be trapped on earth. Should the Gates of Heaven open again, he would not be welcomed due to his role in the Fall and his time as Godstiel.

His live is in danger from practically everyone now – humans are so much more fragile and complex as angels – his only allies are the Winchesters who are always in trouble one way or the other and really don't need all angelkind on their case too. He is hurting on all levels and there is just this one little beacon of hope called April. Doesn't hurt that she is attractive and he inhabits a hot-blooded male body, which obeys a simple programming. Eat, sleep, procreate. Repeat.

The only true interest on an emotionally level Cas shows to a woman is during his Steve days. But then again, he is new at this whole being human thing. He desperately tries to blend in and Nora seems to be genuinely kind to him.

He misreads her intentions though, for he simply doesn't know better. Nuances of human interaction are still too much to handle for the former angel. Not too forget, that he is disappointed in Dean for turning him away from the bunker.

What would you do if you literally had no one else and would wanted to fit in? You either despair or you would try to find new friends. In this scenario, you would accept the apparent invitation for a date and go with the motions. (We literally see him imitating others in that very episode, where he to goes with the motions without understanding the subtext of the interactions.)

IDean's appearance in “Steve's” town throws an emotional wedge into Cas' new life. Despite him still going through the motions, his pain is palpable. He misses being Cas, he misses Dean and it hurts him, that Dean seems to be so nonchalant about the prospect of him dating. Enter the Rit Zien, the “mercy-killer-angel” Ephraim, who comes after Cas.

That concludes the data. At least as far as I'm currently aware. Three females (at least in body) and a porn video (maybe).

Again, Cas as an angel simply has no appointed gender. No appointed sexuality. He simply does not care about such concepts. It is what it is at any given moment.

But his heart, well, that is another matter. The strongest emotions he feels when it is Dean. The strongest bond is to Dean. Dean is acknowledged in canon to be his ultimate weakness and also strength in nearly every episode Cas makes an appearance.

So saying that Cas not only loves Dean, like he would love all humankind (Chuck programmed that into his angels too), but is in love with him is not a stretch. It simply is stating a fact.

So back to Dean's point of view. There is way more data to be had canonically. But also a lot to be left to the imagination.

We hear a lot more about Dean's conquests than we do actually see them. Whenever Dean has a night in the town, so to speak, it is more alluded to the fact that he picked up a random woman than actually shown. So it could very well be, that some random men might be among the conquests.

I again might want to remind you, that Sam is completely calm about the prospect of Dean being with men. He never even hints at being uncomfortable with the thought.

I mean, I don't know about your family, but my brother, as cool and modern and open-minded as the little shit is, would still be left speechless for once if he suddenly got confronted with his sister turning to the other side. He would snap out of it very fast, but he still would have his moment of reevaluating me and our relationship, trying to figure out where he might have missed hints and stuff like that. And than the bastard would probably humorously ask if he could leave me and his girlfriend alone in one room. As I said, he can be a little shit. I love him regardless.

We see nothing of that sort from Sam. Meaning he had that moment sometime off screen, probably way back in the brother's past. Knowing John Winchester, probably not when the old man was around, but had left his sons somewhere in a motel by themselves.

Well, I've heard teenaged boys are horny as fuck and no adult supervision and only a little brother to think about… Who knows how many conquests Dean had in those dingy motels while being left behind to look after little Sammy. Who knows, maybe Dean even had to do some stuff of the sexual kind, just to keep questions at bay and Child Protective Service off their backs. (I mean come on, John was sometimes gone for weeks and two underage sons left in dingy motels without parental supervision sure raises questions and causes problems. Keyword being “dingy” here – low-lives are to be expected, societal outcasts and all the crop of the worst. And they were not so far of the grit as to have noone care either. The boys went to school, so had to probably meet the guidance counselors frequently and as much as humans are flawed, at least a couple must have cared that these boys were permanently moved around and left in motels. You get where I'm coming from.)

Dean was drilled from 4 years old to do literally everything he can to keep Sam safe. You know he would go down on his knees to blow someone if that is what it takes.

So, I think Dean thinks sex is sex, no matter the gender. No hindrance on the matter of Cas occupying a male vessel for him.

Emotionally is a different matter altogether, but that’S not because of some big gay revelation but because everything and everybody Dean loves dies. He learned that when he was 4 and his mother burned. He learned that again and again at the knee of his father, while he was taught to be Daddy’s perfect little soldier. Don’t feel for those people, just come in save them or gank them, when they are monsters. It is the family business.

Imaging living that life! Being responsible for your younger brother like a parent, being a soldier instead of a son for your father and just slightly more than a passing glance for those you meet on the road. The only one who cared for Dean’s emotional well-being was Bobby (and later that guy on that farm for wayward boys). That is not enough to learn normal human responses and emotions.

Case in point Dean chosing the family business because he saw Sam in his father’s car, when John came to take him away from that farm, instead of saying “screw you, I’d rather go to prom with my girl”. Because that would have been a normal teenage response to being left behind and then actually liking where you end up. Teenagers are self-centered. Dean is not. He is Sam-centered. All his relationships (romantic and otherwise) show that over the course of the show and it only started ro gradually change once Dean could shift some of his focus away from Sam and onto Cas.

Lisa and that girl on that farm are the only ones, Dean is shown to have allowed in deeper. But still not deep enough. He left the girl basically for Sam. He did the same with Lisa. Oh, with Lisa he says, it’s because bad things tend to follow him home and it will never stop, so he not only leaves her and Ben, but actually has himself erased from their memories. But it’s more that he can’t open himself to them fully. He can’t let them in and just assumes, they wouldn’t want in anyway with all the creepy things that wait there. He never even tells his brother that he loves him, instead having the “bitch, jerk”-ritual. No, Dean tends to keep it casual, because that is what was drilled into him by his father. The very father who lost his wife and couldn’t deal with it other than to seek revenge until the very end. No matter the consequences. Even if those were the lives of his sons. The very father, who had another son, which he also could not let in. Because what you love dies, so better not commit to such an emotion. At the other end of this we have emotionally constipated Dean, who never learned to love anybody except his brother, who lets in Cas. He trusts Cas, when he can’t even trust his own brother. Even when ruled by the Mark of Cain his trust lies with Cas. He asks him to take him down when he loses control. It is Cas he asks to care for Sam, when he can’t anymore, when he gets ready to meet his fate, when he carries the soul-bomb to Amara. The guy who says he does not do chick-flick moments has those with Cas en masse, but with no one else. Even Sam. Case in point, the aforementioned wish for Cas to put him down, when Dean still denies for a couple of more episodes getting worse to Sam. Or when meeting Cas (at that point possessed by Lucifer) in the bunker, telling him about his special connection to Amara, when he didn't tell Sam anything beyond “I met her and we didn't kill each other and that's how I landed a mile away from Baby in a field”. It took again a couple of more episodes for him to admit that to Sam and probably only because he knew he needed to, otherwise he would ruin their chance to banish the Darkness.

Dean showing his emotions for Cas in coming through for him, trusting him with his inner most thoughts and secrets, is practically his way of shouting his feelings for his angel from the rooftops. And the world, demons and angels and everything in-between, takes notice.

In conclusion:

Destiel is already canon. But it is a frustratingly slow burn. Maybe we will never been shown them as a couple for various reason – doesn't fit into the narrative, destroys the flow of the show, or the execs at the network don't want something like that on the screen – but it already is.

And the actors already play towards it.

Misha's blatantly baiting of the bond, heart-eyes and all, shows that as the actor who has to portrait Castiel, he knows and understands the love his angel feels towards that damaged human. And the exasperation that Dean has not yet acknowledged it openly, when the whole universe is already aware, but that is Dean Winchester for you and what is he to do…

Jensen stating that he does not see Destiel shows how Dean can not (yet) acknowledge the emotional bond beyond friendship. As an actor he simply can't allow for fannish what-ifs and headcanons. Dean has to keep a certain amount of distance. He is hurt by all the losses in his life and he will not admit to feelings for Cas, if there is the slightest chance of the angel getting in danger because of him.

That certainly would make sense from a director/writer's point of view. Maybe Misha has been told that Destiel is a already thing, while Jensen has not been told the same, to keep that vibe of uncertainty which gives so much motivation for the characters and so many plots for the show.

Maybe everything I wrote is total beeswax and Destiel is all in my head. But at least you'll get now some of the reasons, why I ship them.

#Supernatural #Destiel #meta #my thoughts on the matter #just rambling #because of the recent fandom wank #late to the party #story of my life

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shirlleycoyle · 5 years ago

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Coronavirus Is a Golden Age for People Sucking Their Own Dicks

Welcome to Rule 34, a series in which Motherboard’s Samantha Cole lovingly explores the highly specific fetishes that can be found on the web. If you’ve thought of it, someone’s jerked off to it.

The links in this article may be considered NSFW.

Reddit user 6monthsuck is determined to put his time in social isolation due to the coronavirus pandemic to good use. Some of us are back into yoga now. Others are coping with homemade bread. A lot of people are suddenly super into regrowing scallions. Some are hard at work making unfulfilled horniness their whole personalities.

6monthsuck is using this time to try to suck his own dick.

"A lot of people in quarantine are two things: bored and horny," he told me in a direct message. "I'm no different. Self sucking seems to exist where those things intersect."

He recently came across r/autofellatio, a subreddit dedicated to the art of sucking yourself off, and remembered that he was nearly able to reach his own penis with his mouth when he was a teen. But he didn't keep stretching, and never quite got there.

Now, he's trying—as you might have already guessed based on his username—to suck his own dick within six months.

"Being able to do it requires a lot of stretching and most people aren't able to fit that into their usual routines. Lockdown is a pretty good opportunity to put in the time… I thought, this time, I'd try again," he said.

Once the stuff of urban legends, auto-fellatio—the act of sucking one's own dick—is much more popular than most people realize. If all you knew about it was the mythology of Marilyn Manson's removed ribs, or that Saturday Night Live skit where Will Ferrell discovers his talent in yoga class, you're missing an entire subculture of self-pleasure. It's not only possible for many people to reach their own dick with their face, but also suck, and even deep-throat themselves to completion.

"Through infinity to a new world"

Historically, the practice of auto-fellatio goes back thousands of years. Images of gods sucking their own dicks in plow poses are inscribed in the Book of the Dead of Henuttawy, possibly as symbols of potency and power. In medieval literature, depictions of people self-sucking were placed alongside images of anal sex, bestiality, and masturbation, possibly as reminders from the Christian church that sex without procreation was sinful and shameful.

Auto-fellatio has a long cultural history in modern times, too, mostly as mythos (in Manson's case) or homophobic or shock-value jokes. In the 70s and 80s, we have Ron Jeremy's famous ability to tongue-tickle his own dick. Porn star Vito Aras—known as Dr. Infinity—jumped up on a desk and threw his legs up over his head to suck his own dick in the 1975 film Every Inch a Lady, and went on to profess the wonders of self-sucking to anyone who'd listen, including in an interview in National Screw a year later.

“The release of sperm from yourself into yourself becomes the energy which can lead to infinity,” Aras said. “Self-generating energy will allow you to be anything you want. Through sucking on my own cock, I have created a human condition that is very stimulating… Control of one’s sperm leads to infinity, and through infinity to a new world.”

It's a belief system that's the inverse of what we see from groups like NoFap today: That sperm is an energy to be harnessed and used. But instead of repression, release. Into one's own face.

These larger than life figures paved the way for Al Eingang, one of the most prolific champions of self-suck content online, to help move the practice from mythical ability to something anyone might be able to do—or at least strive toward.

"It is its own, unique and enthralling thing."

Eingang, the creator and administrator of Solosuck.com, a platform for selling his videos as well as a repository of guides, resources, and active forums for students of self-suck since the mid-90s, has been able to suck his own dick since he was "10 or 11 years old," he said. It was as natural to him as using his hand. He said a genetic condition with a side effect of making him extra-flexible has also made it extra-easy to slip his own penis into his mouth since puberty.

Years later, people would write him letters calling him a god.

"Imagine having someone giving you head who can feel every sensation that you're feeling, so they can adjust what they're doing to provide you with perfect stimulation," Eingang told me. "There's a kind of feedback loop in action that can lead to long, deeply satisfying edging sessions. I can bring myself to the edge, and then just use the tip of my tongue on the most sensitive parts of my cock to gently keep me on the crest of the orgasm wave without tipping over into a full, final orgasm, for a really long time."

Eingang shot his first video, "A Young Man From Nantucket" in 1987, on a friend's Hi8 camcorder—the top of the line, at the time—and produced the whole thing himself, from filming the scene to editing in-camera. He mailed the tape to a few gay skin magazines, and the reviews came back breathless. Producers and directors from Christopher Rage to groups like the long-running jackoff club New York Jacks started asking him to collaborate on new content.

"At the time that I started doing it, there basically was no internet, there was no World Wide Web," Eingang said. "So when I started doing the videos, I thought, a small number of people will see it and it's never really going to have that big an effect on my life."

But as soon as the internet arrived in ubiquity, he started finding images of himself from the videos he'd made for those magazine reviewers, posted online.

"I decided, well, I guess this is happening, so I might as well put myself out there on the web." He started solosuck.com in the mid-90s, and has been running it ever since. "A Young Man From Nantucket" is still for sale on his site—and people still buy it.

Since the world went into social isolation, Eingang said he's seen a big uptick in video sales from his site. He hasn't made a new video since the 90s, but people are seeking out his content now—which he attributes to people being alone during lockdown.

"For me, it's not a substitute for sex with other people (which I love)—it is its own, unique and enthralling thing," he said.

On Reddit's r/autofellatio forum, which has more than 38,000 members, the increase in isolation-themed threads and posts by people trying it for the first time paints a picture of bored and horny guys putting their time spent alone to use.

"Aiming to selfsuck during this quarantine. Any pro tips for a beginner?" one user asks. "Just the tip! But plenty of time to practice in isolation," another wrote, with a photo of them reaching toward their erect penis. Others comment encouragement or suggestions: "Nice! You'll get there… practice makes perfect!" "Fuck yeh bro great work! Keep posting that progress :)"

"'Now, I'm seeing that maybe I am a total freak and a weirdo, but so are most other people. So I can feel okay about it.'"

On the forums at Solosuck, which has been running continuously for decades, people similarly trade advice and show off their skills and progress. There's crossover between Reddit and Eingang's solosuck.com community, where guys will refer Redditors to the dedicated self-suck forum for continued mentorship. It's a place where enthusiasts can find community and camaraderie, an escape from a society that otherwise might label them as gross or weird.

"One thing that I've just heard over and over again, and all the decades I've been doing it is, 'This has helped me to calm down… to figure out, well, I thought I was a total freak and a weirdo,'" Eingang said. "'Now, I'm seeing that maybe I am a total freak and a weirdo, but so are most other people. So I can feel okay about it.'"

How to suck your own dick: A brief guide

Reaching your own dick is a practice of patience.

"It's absolutely not going to happen overnight, and I think people often resort to brute force to try and bend their spine the sufficient amount," 6monthsuck said. "A good stretching routine done daily for a few weeks will provide you with noticeable progress, so I'd say give that a go and see how you feel afterwards."

Yoga videos for flexibility and long, warm baths have been 6monthsuck's strategy in the two weeks since his journey began, and he says he's gone from being four inches away from his penis, to about two inches.

Another member of r/autofellatio and a longtime moderator on the Solosuck forums, who goes by blacksunshineaz, said it took him months to get back to being able to just kiss the tip of his penis now, in his late 20's, like he could in his early teens. He recommends yoga and pilates, but also cautions people from rushing into it.

"Making contact for the first time is magical but you still need to get another inch or two deeper to actually be sucking it," he said. "Sadly, after all the years I've been practicing I don't think I'll get there."

"Practice very, very slowly, and explore different positions," Eingang said. "Be very, very careful about injuring yourself and just enjoy the journey as much as possible. It doesn't really matter how you get with it, as long as you're enjoying it."

It should go without saying, but be mentally ready for the finale. As former VICE writer Brian Moylan noted when he wrote on this topic in 2012 (in an article that became one of the most-read VICE has ever published), the sensation of cumming in one's mouth might be new to straight men, especially. One might think that this is the logical ending to what someone reaching their lips toward their own penis would expect, but for some guys, it's sort of like a dog that's finally caught its tail.

The mix of emotion and confusion from men who've never tasted jizz of any kind, let alone their own, is a common concern throughout auto-fellatio forums. For some "straight-ish men," Eingang said, an interesting moment of introspection happens. "They're like, 'I've got this dick in my mouth, it's my dick, but actually really enjoying this and kind of wondering what it'd be like to have somebody else's dick in my mouth.'"

That questioning is a natural part of exploring what turns you on, but for guys who previously thought of themselves as unflinchingly heterosexual, finding yourself enjoying a dick in your mouth is bound to be a little confusing at first.

A misplaced connection to sexual preference is at the root of a lot of the misunderstandings people have about self-suck, blacksunshineaz said. "A lot of guys worry about their sexuality for wanting to do this. 'Am I gay?' they ask. This is simply an advanced form of masturbation so your sexual orientation is irrelevant. A lot of people think the act is impossible, even though it isn't difficult to find proof it actually is." Most of the guys on auto-fellatio forums identify as straight, he said.

"In my view, the biggest thing people get wrong is actually believing that auto-fellatio is a kink at all," 6monthsuck said. "If everybody had really flexible spines, it would probably just be a standard form of masturbation. There's a reason why most men have at some point tried to suck their own dick, because they want to know what it would feel like." For him, it has nothing to do with sexuality, but with pleasuring himself in a novel way.

As more people find themselves alone with their own dicks and all the time in the world, places like Solosuck and r/autofellatio will only become more important for people asking these questions about themselves. And when they find those communities, they'll likely discover a place where others cheers them on.

"I'm always thrilled to know that I'm bringing more orgasms into the world," Eingang said of his decades of work with Solosuck. "In a complicated world, there are very few things that I feel are 100 percent, really wonderful… It really is just humans being the weird animals that we are."

Coronavirus Is a Golden Age for People Sucking Their Own Dicks syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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littlecomma · 7 years ago

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Me Too and my rant following

Fair warning: as usual, I rambled on. You don’t have to agree with my views. You are not obligated to read this. You are not even obligated to acknowledge its existence. But I would like to ask you for one thing: If you’ve noticed a lot of ‘me too’ appearing on your social news feeds, or even just one, take a moment. Think about what you think it means, not just to be sexually harassed or abused, but to be the harasser, the abuser. It isn’t hard to, even unintentionally, cross a line or a boundary, and even with your own gender. All I am asking from you is to become aware. Once you do that, I will leave it up to you to decide what you want to do with that information. It’s up to you to decide if you will talk about boundaries with those around you and actively work against sexual harassment and abuse.

At first, I didn’t know what “me too” meant. I had to scroll through my news feeds until I found some folks who had posted more than just those two words.

“If all the women who have been sexually harassed or assaulted wrote 'Me too.' as a status, we might give people a sense of the magnitude of the problem.”

I had to think about whether or not I could post those two words. But I shouldn’t have to think “does that count.” Truthfully, I know others who have been raped or who have been assaulted violently. We are taught, in a way, that sexual abuse is physical. Only recently have we started to recognize that it is also done verbally.

Abuse is not just what is physically done; it is the repercussions experienced mentally/psychologically. It is the emotions which act as painful reminders of an uncomfortable situation which puts us on guard or, for many, makes us feel weak. When it’s sexual in nature, but without physical action, we tend to call that harassment. When I realize that, I can assuredly say “me, too.”

There was an instance in which I thought I was consenting. I was too young to do so, legally speaking, but I had been convinced by the other person that it was what I wanted. Then, when things went too far for me, I was shamed for not being willing to continue. I was shamed for changing my mind, for setting a boundary and not consenting to the “whole” when I had been so willing to “start something.” Part of me knows that what I experienced falls under the category of sexual harassment, but another part of me still has a hard time claiming that.

“Sexual abuse is unwanted sexual activity, with perpetrators using force, making threats or taking advantage of victims not able to give consent. Most victims and perpetrators know each other. Immediate reactions to sexual abuse include shock, fear or disbelief. Long-term symptoms include anxiety, fear or post-traumatic stress disorder. While efforts to treat sex offenders remain unpromising, psychological interventions for survivors — especially group therapy — appears effective.” – American Phycological Association, definition adapted from the Encyclopedia of Psychology

And there is something even beyond the abuse and the harassment that we face (women and men). It comes in the aftermath of activities, whether consensual or not. Judgement. When I did consent to sex, I was young. But, foolish as it sounds, I thought that I was in love with someone I would one day marry. He told me that he wanted to marry after college and, though we were just graduating high school, I thought that I could believe him. Perhaps he really did believe that the world was as wondrous and magical as that. Of course, once we left our parents’ homes, we learned that the real world is not so fanciful and we parted ways.

My mother, on the other hand, somehow knew, with an absurd level of intuition, that I was no longer a virgin. I still remember sitting on her bed as she busied herself with something – maybe it was laundry, but I don’t recall – and she flat-out asked me if I’d had sex. I was taught not to lie, especially to my parents. So I didn’t. I can’t be a hypocrite, she told me, but I (meaning, my mom) wasn’t a Baha’i at the time (Baha’is believe in waiting until marriage). “I’m not mad, but I am disappointed. I wish you had at least been older.”

Those words “I am disappointed” rang in my ears for years afterward. And the day she told me, through a screen door as I went to get the mail, that she was disappointed that her daughter was a slut, though the terminology was slightly different, haunted me even worse for it.

Because of her disappointment, I never told her about the other times I had been propositioned in school. I never told her about the boys who made me feel shameful that I was willing to kiss above the neck but not below; nor about the one who convinced me I wanted to try that, too, and shamed me more when, part way there, I changed my mind. I didn’t tell her about them when they happened – maybe a part of me knew she would be “disappointed” – but I also never came forward to her, later. I never shared with her my fears when college came and other, similar situations arose. And I never explained to her how shaming of the act of sex (or perhaps it was simply through making the subject taboo) made it so that, even once I was married, I had a difficult time with the idea of it.

I am sure my husband knows simply because he has always been able to read me, but if not, he does now. I often feel shame when we have sex. I feel shame when I think of having sex with my own husband.

I do not blame my mother as much as I once did, but it did not help that we never talked about sex. We talked about intercourse; about how a baby is made and born. But we never discussed the emotional connections with sex or the psychology of it. I was taught that you waited until marriage for it (as I said, I thought he and I would end up married, so I justified that), but beyond that, I only ever learned that it was a means for procreation. So when high school came around and the idea of it being “fun” was introduced, of course I was curious! Of course I wanted to understand how this activity which had sounded so clinical yet had methods for avoiding the typical outcome could be so…. Fun?

For the younger folk, let me ruin it for you: the first time isn’t. But sex with my husband, my partner, could be. And there are times that it is. Yet, I still feel twinges of shame, and often.

I guess the point of my ramblings is this: we don’t just need to speak out about how many of us have been abused, assaulted, or harassed. What we also need to do is change the dialogue about sex. We need to teach children, and I know many folks nowadays are trying to, AND adults about what consent means and that it is OKAY to change your mind! We need to stop demonizing sex and start explaining why it is wrong to pressure others into it; to stop calling each other sluts and whores and start having dialogues about the fact that everyone’s lives may lead different courses. And also start explaining how uncomfortable the catcalls and the propositions make us feel and what it means to feel victimized and scared because of your gender. Because, believe it or not, some people still think that we should feel appreciated and/or sexy when they catcall or proposition us. (Hint: most of us don’t and some of us who are walking behind that person you just called out feel oddly less attractive for it, but that could be a whole other rant about society and the way it views beauty.)

It would have been helpful, looking back (hindsight being what it is), to understand why sex was appealing to my peers and why it was okay for me to decline or set boundaries (boundaries are very important, but that could be yet another rant). It would have been nice to have the support of my mother in deciding my [sexual] future, but also to have a better understanding of why I was taught to wait. It would have been nice to understand why everyone viewed sex (and don’t forget, there is more than just intercourse) differently and what that means.

It's a hard conversation to have, whether with your peers, parents, or children. But we need to have open and honest conversations if we are going to change anything. Yes, posting “me too” may be the first step to that. It is important to understand just how widespread sexual harassment and abuse is. But please don’t forget, when you are discussing this, not to shame those who have experienced consensual sexual activities on their own terms. And don’t ever shame those who have been the victims of abuse, whether physical or mental. It can be hard to refuse oppression the first time, but once you’ve given in, it is even harder the second time. That incident I mentioned? That wasn’t my first time alone with the boy. It took him several tries to get me to go as far as I did. He wore me down, bit by bit; convinced me that I wanted something just because he did. And that first time going all the way? I cannot say that we were not influenced by our friends and peers as well as a lack of information.

So that’s my rambling. Thanks, I guess, for sticking with it. I didn’t realize how much I had to get off my chest. I don’t really blame anyone in these stories. And I don’t blame my mother for not being comfortable enough to go into the emotional details about sex or to even talk about it without being asked. And after so many years, I think I’m finally ready to stop blaming myself. No, not blaming; shaming.

I think it’s time I stand up and say “me too,” because it’s not about the severity of the event, but the prevalence of it. After all, how can we improve a situation if we do not talk about it and how do we talk about it if we never acknowledge it? That is the true meaning, in my opinion, of this movement. It’s not about saying “I am or was a victim,” but “look at how many have been victims. We NEED to TALK about this. We need to do what we can to stop the behavior that leads to us needing to post the words ‘me too’ as our status.”

And for those who have posted it already, or who have started dialogues with others, thank you. Thank you for being willing to have a hard conversation. And thank you for standing up for those who have been unable or unwilling (often out of fear or shame) to start that conversation themselves.

#MeToo

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shirlleycoyle · 5 years ago

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Coronavirus Is a Golden Age for People Sucking Their Own Dicks

The links in this article may be considered NSFW.

6monthsuck is using this time to try to suck his own dick.

"A lot of people in quarantine are two things: bored and horny," he told me in a direct message. "I'm no different. Self sucking seems to exist where those things intersect."

Now, he's trying—as you might have already guessed based on his username—to suck his own dick within six months.

"Through infinity to a new world"

It's a belief system that's the inverse of what we see from groups like NoFap today: That sperm is an energy to be harnessed and used. But instead of repression, release. Into one's own face.

"It is its own, unique and enthralling thing."

Years later, people would write him letters calling him a god.

But as soon as the internet arrived in ubiquity, he started finding images of himself from the videos he'd made for those magazine reviewers, posted online.

"For me, it's not a substitute for sex with other people (which I love)—it is its own, unique and enthralling thing," he said.

"'Now, I'm seeing that maybe I am a total freak and a weirdo, but so are most other people. So I can feel okay about it.'"

How to suck your own dick: A brief guide

Reaching your own dick is a practice of patience.

Coronavirus Is a Golden Age for People Sucking Their Own Dicks syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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