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bloodys44 · 4 years ago

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Silence and Cigarette Smoke

Original story and bonus content found here! ↓↓↓↓

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13289933/1/Silence-and-Cigarette-Smoke

Ive almost finished writing chapter 10!! You can read ahead to chapter 9 on FF.net if your interested :)

Chapter 7: The Dragons Return

790

Natsu hated trains. He'd hated them for as long as he could remember and would probably continue his vendetta until he was dead and cold. The particular train he was on counted as no exception. The constant sway and jostle of the cars made a mockery of his intestines and the over-crowded compartments felt smothering, clouding his senses and leaving him feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable. Not to mention the absolute fiasco he'd gone through to board the damn thing in the first place. Royal security had practically quadrupled over the past year, leaving public vicinities like train stations (Or even the streets for that matter.) ground zero for mage hunting. As of late, there had been a generally adopted travelling protocol for the enchanted, one that Erza had not to kindly drilled into his head. Usually, it involved studying shift changes and positioning of officers, and most almost always included a heavily inflated bill for "proper identification" that his extremely shallow pockets couldn't even fathom. The current time allowance for this trip was nerve-wrackingly unclear, but he knew for certain he didn't have time to waste tracking foot paces of soldier dogs. He also knew he didn't have time for the slight delay the train was currently experiencing, and if that wasn't enough to irritate his already foul mood, the announcement of a passenger registration check certainly was. Of course, the one time he went against the spit-fire warrior's regulations it would come back to bit him in the ass. Typical.

The man seated across the compartment from him was clearly under the same stressors, as he'd transformed from a rather shady looking character to an absolute manic fiend at the simple announcement chime. Stark grey irises darting around in a desperate search for escape. There wasn't any, that, Natsu had already assessed. Unless you wanted to fling yourself off a moving train, your options were to wait until the train staff asked for your non-existent identification or pray to all things holy that today was your luckiest day on earth. Neither of which Natsu was keen on, but he was banking on the latter. The man (Who Natsu assumed went by Dan Straight, as identified by the printed tag hanging from his luggage handle. A complete rookie mistake for an un-registered that he probably would have judged if not for being trapped in the same situation.) began to shake violently as the initial shock dulled, raising his twitching fingers to kneed at his face in a disturbing manner. When he noticed the fire mage staring the whites of his eyes stretched to his brows and Natsu could practically see the connection through Dan's gaze as he realized they were one and the same.

"You have to help me." He whispered pleadingly from across the aisle, leaning to wrap his bruised fingers around the upholstered armrest. His hood had fallen back slightly to reveal matted brown locks and a forehead creased with worry. Black lines were smeared down the outer corner of his eyes as if he had attempted to expand the shape or had previously spent multiple hours crying while wearing black liner. Dan seemed strange enough for both.

Natsu shook his head slowly and gestured for the man to shut the fuck up. The last thing he needed was for a scene to be caused before meeting the seemingly inevitable guillotine. "Please," Dan tried again, ignoring the warning and raising his volume steadily. "They'll really kill me this time!" He lunged forward, grasping onto the dragon slayer's arm and flailed dramatically. "You can't just leave me to die!" People were starting to look now, passengers straining their necks for a view of the wild man spouting a tale of murder.

"Get off of me." Natsu hissed, ripping his forearm away. Dan's nails were unkept and jagged, leaving clear stripes of red across his tan skin. This, he considered to be very minuscule when compared to the train staff whose outlines were becoming visible through the small compartment-door window. "You're going to get us both killed." He sprang forward again, folding himself around Natsu's leg like a toddler in full tantrum. A mantra spilling from his chapped lips that he had money to pay and valuable rewards to gift if his life was saved. Though, based strictly on his appearance, he didn't look to have a penny to his name. Not that it mattered anyway. The compartment door rattled unmistakably as it slid open, revealing two tired-looking service staff followed by the fantastic addition of not one, but four armed (Not that he'd ever seen one without.) royal guards. They were quick to notice the commotion, hightailing it to the back of the cabin, which Natsu could only assess as not great.

Dan screeched like a frightened cat, flinging himself backwards until he was pressed against the wall, hands spread and knees shaking. "This crazy mage attacked me!" He stammered through his chattering teeth, his words fuelling the blind panic Natsu was currently running on. Honestly, this couldn't be a worse morning, and it wasn't even dawn yet. His excuses continued pooling around his feet, his voice cracking with pressure and flipping tones. The expression cemented on the officer's faces only confirming they were less than impressed.

A proper-looking woman with hair that reminded him of tangerines stood wearily from a few seats away, her eye's delicate as she scanned the dragon-slayer fondly before teetering over to one of the steel-plated officers. With a swift finger, she tapped his silver breastplate and confessed what she had really seen happen in a brief manner. The officer, a stout-looking man that seemed like he'd rather be anywhere else, thanked the woman curtly before moving forward to front Natsu. The royal dog's beady eyes tore over him, pausing momentarily on his bloody arm that was beginning to stain his overcoat and Natsu prayed to everything he didn't believe in that his body wouldn't flinch under the scrutiny. He prepared for the worst, attempting to clear his mind in case he had to fly into action with a second's notice. Instead, he was awarded a subtle nod in which he could barely return as he stood there in utter confusion. The guard completely disregarded him, turning in favour of a squirming Dan who whined on def ears about his innocence. The enforcement swarmed him, blocking him into a corner and demanding proof of ticket and identification. The wild mage spurred in fear, his body taking on a morbid glow as he lurched for the underside of his seat where a dented shield had been notably stored away. However, uncharacteristically the stout man moved faster, drawing his blade at the first sign of Dan's unnatural glow and thrust it forward in a well-timed step, completely shredding the terrified man's throat and leaving him to drop lifelessly to the panelled floor with nothing but a suffocated whimper. The guards seemed unfazed, moving without hesitation to clear the body, and the unnaturally calm statement the stout officer provided the rest of the passengers did little if anything to soothe their alarmed demeanour. Though, one after the other, they regained their composure, seating themselves to whisper of bravery and justice. Words that turned Natsu's stomach worse than any train had ever achieved, hoping to never understand how people could so easily overlook needless death.

"You alright son?" The same officer questioned, refocusing his attention back on the fire mage. "You got a little roughed up there."

"S'fine." Natsu forced out, disregarding that he most certainly did not feel fine. He was presented with a pitied look and clearly rehearsed monologue about protecting the people of Fiore, explaining further that a medic office would be just to the left of the terminal once they reached the station, and that he'd be happy to accompany if need be. Attempting to come across thankful, Natsu declined, throwing in a strong smirk to sweeten the deal. With a polite smile, the man left him be, exiting the front of the cabin in which he'd arrived. It took a fair moment for the dragon-slayer to re-compose himself enough to reclaim his seat, and another before he realized they hadn't even asked him for identification. He wanted to feel relieved, but the atmosphere in the compartment felt far too "normal" as if everyone was ignorant of the body being flung from the back of the train in complete disregard. Blind to the blood splattered across the floorboards, the walls, luggage... everything. Including Natsu's face, as he finally came to notice while streaking a hand across it, smearing it. For the remainder of the trip, he sat silently, swaying with slight nausea, drenched in the sent of Dan's blood. A slightly mocking tone repeating "Welcome home." against his skull.

Obviously, Natsu decided against his suggested medical advice, his movements swift and ignored as he swept through the exiting crowd with intentions on the station's exit. Magnolia was just as he'd left it, the air thick with morning baking, encased in a freshness only the area could provide. Cobblestone streets laid as they were in his mind, every corner memorized, every structure noted. And Nostalgia? She was a bitch, to say the very least; Slamming into his chest with no regard for his current mental state. To say he missed this place would be a rather gross understatement, the pull to return stiched to his every skin fibre. He shouldn't have left, but he'd known that from the start. Although, back then, he hadn't known how to stay. He'd forgotten how to look people in the eye. He'd forgotten how to look at her... And only the stars knew how franticly he was trying to remember. He wasn't ready to go back, and as he approached the most familiar clearing in his life, he wished profusely that he had more time.

Apparently, he'd also forgot about the cat hidden away in his bag, which was rather startling in itself considering he was bright blue and talked. Happy's questioning mew of his name propelling him a good foot into the air with freight. He was again thankful that he hadn't been forced to fight for his life back on the train, as he seemed well out of it today.

"Is it safe for me?" His animal friend tested, poking his ears from under the leather bag flap. "It sounded scary earlier."

"Ya, it was," Natsu mumbled, exhaling a heavy breath and removing his pack to unhinge the cover. "But it's okay now, you can come out. Nobody will see you here." Happy practically pounced on him, scurrying up his arm to perch on his shoulder. His little cat eyes growing twice their usual size as he took in the environment.

"This place still smells like Lucy." Happy announced giddily, taking a prolonged sniff of the air. "Do you think she still reads out here?"

The dragon slayer grunted, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him at the sound of her name. "I dunno, maybe." Her scent was old, stale by a few days at least, but still prominent enough to notice. A gentle musk sweeter than honey embedded into tree bark and dusted over every rocky surface. He'd done his best to avoid thinking about her during his journey home, but now, surrounded by her hazed scent he stood no chance. She was plastered to the forefront of his mind like gel adhesive, mutilating his already dishevelled brain. She alone wasn't his only anxiety regarding coming home, but yes, she was undoubtedly most of it. The night he'd left had been awful. He'd fucked up, after a series of fuck ups, and she let him know just that. She screamed at him like she'd never done, cheeks flushed and every hurtful thought she'd ever had spilling from her quaking lip. He hadn't gone to her room with the intention of kissing her and had honestly been just as surprised as her. God, she'd just looked so... Etherial? Golden hair tossed with sleep, but her lux eyes wired. Her exterior, porcelain skin draped casually in one of his old button-downs, moonlight banking off the plane of her exposed chest betrayed her grit and leaving her appearance vulnerable, fragile. Natsu wasn't dumb, he knew she was beautiful. Lucy was always beautiful, even a blind man could see that. But to describe what he witnessed then, with beautiful? It would be an insult. At that moment, even after months of ungracefully avoiding her, he'd never felt closer to her. Of course, she'd reacted negatively, because what sane person wouldn't after the way he'd been treating her. He saw how much it bothered her when he disappeared for hours or left on missions without her. And then, he'd gone and left her for a little over a year. To be fair, he had meant to tell her about this absence, but clearly, he'd gotten distracted. Not that he'd ever known himself to think clearly about anything regarding the blonde. She was his only thought pre-departure, which troubled him greatly for his childhood best friend had just passed and his sole focus had shifted from grief to a crush he didn't know how to approach.

"Natsu? I think this is for you..." Happy whispered from the edge of the clearing, completely jolting his thought process. He hadn't noticed the cat surrender his shoulder in favour of exploring and began to get rather irritated over how spaced out he was acting. Happy sat curled in on himself, eye's wired to a newly placed stone. Edges sanded by hand and base painted with intricate flames. Red melting with gold in thick layers over the smoothed surface.

I miss you.

And god, if he thought he'd been experiencing guilt before, it couldn't compare to the emptiness that was devouring him. The ground had been turned more recently in front of the headstone, showing she'd actually dug a metaphorical resting place for him just as he'd done for Lissana. "I thought you told her we were leaving for a bit, Natsu?"

"I meant too..." He mumbled sheepishly. "I kinda mixed thing's up the night we left."

His blue friend turned, ears drawn forward in sorrow, "Did we make her sad?"

Natsu stepped back slightly, eyeing the gravestone for everything it was worth before scooping his cat to nestle in his arms. "I hope not." He offered, knowing his words held no power. Did she really think he was dead? It was true he hadn't made any effort to contact her, or anyone from the guild for that matter, but to label him deceased felt so final. Had everyone collectively agreed he wasn't worth waiting around for? His hands shook and he cursed himself for how anxious he'd become over a situation he alone had created. Would she be relieved he was alive? Shaking his head and stepping forward with a heavy exhale, he continued towards the castle base. Attempting to put Makarov at the forefront of his priority list.

The hour was still young, the morning rays scarcely coasting over the hilled landscape as he entered FairyTail's grand hall, and almost immediately regretted his choice in entrance. He'd become accustomed to Sabertooth's relaxed mornings over the year, a certain fair-haired woman that liked an early start on breakfast slipping his mind. But the morning hues leaking from the stained glass illuminated her too brightly to ignore. Mira stood just past the swaying kitchen doors, a crate of fruit wedged between her delicate arms and an expression of pure disbelief painted over her rosy face. Breath caught in her throat like she'd just been thrown to the ground and fingers twitching under the weight of her supplies. Though a year had barely passed, she looked older, eye's more slated and dull than when he had last seen her. Natsu tried to summon up a greeting but his voice cracked with anxious pressure, startling Mira and causing her to drop the wooden box in favour of rubbing her rapidly blinking eyes.

"You alright Mira?" Laxus's strong tone carried from the kitchen, voice thick with concern over the box clattering against the stone floor. The fire-mage begrudgingly tore his eyes away from the woman at his front to focus on the doors behind her, which opened right on cue. The burly lightning manipulator barreling through to assess the situation before coming to a halt beside his wife. "Oh shit," Was all he offered but it seemed to be enough confirmation for Mira to realize that she wasn't hallucinating. Tears began streaming over her flushed cheeks, lip caught between her teeth, shivering under the ferocity of her sob. A whole new level of panic overtook Natsu, as he'd never been directly exposed to her crying, and when she sprang towards him he couldn't help but take a step back. He expected a smothering hug of one form or another but instead was greeted by the shocking sting of her palm connecting with his jaw. The slap echoing off the aged walls like a church sonnet to mock him further. She'd never been violent towards him, and it took him completely off guard. When she began to wind up for another swing he did nothing, merely closing his eyes to wait out her justified anger. The hit never came, her soft fingers only tracing over the smear of Dan's blood across his cheek.

"It's not mine." He attempted to justify, brushing her hand away. But the pain dancing with her irises darkened, another sob controlling her frame until she curled in on herself. Slender fingers toying with the hem of her burgundy gown.

"Where have you been... Natsu?" Her soft voice wavered. "No reports, no lacrima calls, not even a letter. Where did you go?"

He ran a hand through his roused hair, guilt overtaking his movements. "I was with Sabertooth," He started, choosing his words carefully. "Spying on the Royal court with Erza." He felt it important not to give too much away, not to spook her more than needed.

"Are you back to stay?" She pressed rather coldly, taking a step back. Her eyes, soppy and blurred remained trained on him, scouting his movements like she was unsure of his intentions. Her pale hand was begging to redden, bruising after such a long hiatus from fieldwork. She placed it delicately over the swell of her stomach. The gesture baffled him further as he'd yet to notice the very obvious child growing within her. His composure relaxed noticeably, Mira's stern gaze growing softer.

"Ya, I think so Mira." He huffed through rushed breaths. Attention focused closely on the woman's stomach. He gave her a moment to smile before asking how far along she was, shuddering at Laxus's proud reply of 6 months. Natsu tried not to dwell over the moments he'd missed, instead, congratulating the couple on their new addition. He attempted to keep his face as plain as he could while explaining he needed to find the Master quickly. Mira looked rather disappointed but with the promise he would return to 'catch up', she directed him towards Mocorav's tower.

Natsu needed a cigarette; This he decided while trying to steady his trembling fingers, pressing them into the hem of his black cargo pants. The guild, still quiet with sleep swallowing his confidence with every step. Happy had disappeared some time ago in favour of finding Wendy and Carla, preferring his other feline friend overpacking. His mind was still reeling, all new information for the day seemed accompanied with a grain of salt. Mira would make a good mother, that he knew for sure, but it made him feel all the more uneasy with the news he had come to deliver. The Royal Calvary was coming, marching as he did now. They knew Fairy Tails location, or so one of Jellal's many informants had claimed. The rumour could be false, but the chance was far too great with so many lives on the line. He had no idea how far along the military group had travelled, Jellal estimating they had a few days at most.

Master Makarov was awake, much to Natsu's surprise; The man tending to sleep longer as he aged. His disciplined face never faulting as he listened to the dragon slayers grim tones.

"Who all knows about this?" He replied simply.

Natsu eyed the man slowly, leaning against the stone-framed fireplace with crossed arms. "Erza," he stated, "Sting and Rouge too, maybe a few trusted others from Sabertooth. They've gone to set up a camp near their hall. Erza said you would know the spot." Just as he'd done with Mira, he chose his words carefully. Jellal's name purposely dropped from the tale as affiliation with him typically was for the worse. Natsu wouldn't go as far as saying he trusted the guy, but Erza did, and that was enough for him.

"Alright, I want to do this quickly and quietly, the less panic that occurs the better," Makarov grumbled, lifting himself from his desk chair. "I'll speak with Laxus, we'll spread the word that we're changing locations over breakfast. We can depart tomorrow's sunrise."

Natsu nodded, rolling out his shoulders and releasing a shaky breath. "Do you know where Lucy is?" He mumbled, "I can't smell her, I want to let her know what's going on."

Makarov looked towards him with a face of discomfort, before turning to favour his hanging overcoat. "She's away with work, due back two days ago I believe."

Natsu shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to calm the shake he had just accomplished in steadying a few minutes prior. Eyes involuntarily darting in search of exit points as his anxiety grew. The stress level for today had been climbing steadily since he'd first opened his eyes, and stressing about Lucy, in particular, had always done awful things to him. "Maybe you could go pack her things for her since you used to be so close and all." The older man finished, placing his coat over himself. Natsu nodded again, spinning on his heel abruptly in the direction of the dorms.

At least five minutes passed while Natsu stood outside her door. The golden door plate embedded with scrolled characters stopping him in his tracks. Lucy. He hadn't seen her in so long yet he could worry about her like it was yesterday. Was she hurt? Had she run into the royal guard while travelling home? Maybe a similar train situation had occurred like this morning. He knew he had no place to worry about her, not after leaving her for so long. But he couldn't help himself, her scent wafting through the oak door propelling images of her in his mind. Lucy was a strong woman, she could typically handle herself, but the thought of the last time he'd seen her in action left a bad taste in his mouth.

He tried to distract himself, fumbling around to light a cigarette in the dim hue of the hall. The exhale felt exquisite, the craving burns finally satisfied. Nicotine supplementing enough confidence for him to open her door. Though he immediately regretted entering, nostalgia once again stealing his breath. Her room was kept tidy, windows sealed and curtains drawn. All her books and personal items stashed away from eyesight. No pictures or tapestry's hung from her wall as they did in Mira's room, and her bed wasn't over-occupied with plush toys as Lissanas had once been. Lucy claimed she didn't like clutter, that it made her feel disorganized. Natsu however, suspected the blonde had trouble claiming a space for her own after so many years on the run. This had never bothered him as he always assumed she would out-grow the habit the more comfortable with the guild she became. But looking upon her empty walls he felt just as such. It turned out, her fear of never settling was still very real. All Natsu had ever given her was another home to run from.

With a deep exhale, Natsu tried to focus on his task, least he continue staring at the bed Lucy very obviously hadn't been sleeping in pre-departure. Her sheets folded neatly at the head of her exposed mattress, pillow's lacking their cases, tucked just off to the side. Her scent on the fabric nearly faded compared to some of her more recently worn clothing. He didn't want to think about who's bed she'd been spending her nights in, nor who she deemed worthy of her days. With a hearty grown he faced the closet, grabbing what he figured to be essential attire. Skipping over some of her more scandalous sets in the hope she wouldn't be too sour considering the circumstances. Except for the little red skirt he used to love, for no reason in particular, of course. He tried his best to pack her leather-bound trunk the way she would, mimicking her structure for their many travels. With her room and ensuite cleared, Natsu departed in favour of his own dwelling. The thought of Lucy's old feather-downs tracing his mind. She used to store them at the back of his closet, at least, before he left. And with the lurking uncertainty of when their guild would find a new base, he didn't want her to freeze through the colder months.

Spinning the metal nob of his door, Natsu wasn't sure what he'd been expecting come his return home, but the state of his room took him completely aback. Drawers he'd left in ruin sat repositioned on their sliders, abandoned clothes hung clean and pressed in his wardrobe and his forgotten cigarettes lay positioned neatly on his desk. But what shook him the most, was the smell. Lucy's scent, stronger than her own room; Cascading over his walls to lather his belongings, invading his every pore. His old sheets recently washed, made up his bed. The bed that too clearly showed where his missing blonde had been sleeping. Curled up in his blankets, wearing his button-downs below the covers. He could do nothing but collapse atop the same frame, chest heavy and heaving. Eye's casting to the back of his wardrobe where Lucy's garments no longer hung. He really had been gone too long.

Natsu remained motionless until Mira knocked on his door to announce breakfast with the expectation of a yes and a prompt follow. She requested he help serve the food, noting that everyone would be excited to see his face. Begrudgingly he agreed, stopping only to let Mira scrub the remnants of Dan from his cheek. He hadn't known the man, but watching his porcelain basin cast crimson as she rang her cloth turned his insides in a way they hadn't spun since leaving.

He tried his best to sport a cheerful grin towards his guildmate's calls of greeting and question, faltering only twice while serving everyone. The first had been on account of Levy's expression, a mix of sadness and relief painted over her features. The only words from her lips questioning if Lucy had heard from him yet. She didn't hide her disappointment when he shook his head, but chose not to question him further which he was grateful for. The second was when Juvia entered the hall looking nothing of herself. Sunken cheeks and bruised eyelids, a mangled frame stepping where her body used to reside. He tried to collect himself before she noticed his quizzical stare but stood blank when she threw him a week smile. She sauntered towards him, wooden cane pressed tightly in her grip. She asked him about his trip, stumbling over her words like her mind couldn't focus on a single sentence. He answered the best her could without giving too much away, knowing everyone would be updated shortly.

The morning wasted away rapidly, Natsu finding himself absorbed in the rain woman's story's of times he had missed. Apparently, she had been poisoned while out working with Gray, a virus that riddled away at her body and mind for months. He knew the situation didn't involve him, but he couldn't help the guilt soak through his pores, a feeling he was gathering was here to linger for a while to come. He should have been there for his friends, especially Gray who he'd known long enough to guess he was coping poorly. He tried to express his sympathy but Juvia practically snorted, claiming she didn't need his pity and that she was recovering fine. She didn't recoil tho, jumping straight into another story about helping Mira plan her nursery.

It was calming to hear her speak, a conversation that didn't revolve around planning for survival. It felt normal, to sit in the dining hall talking of paint colours and stuffed animals. Watching Juvia smile with ignorance of how her skin stretched over her sunken features. Listening to the dull clatter of dishware mixing with hearty laughter; his guildmates enjoying their morning coffee and bread. He longed to fall into the warmth of familiar scenery, curl up atop a wooden table with the voices of his friends streaming through his ears. Life, however, was unfair as he'd grown to learn. A lesson that had prepared him not to panic when these moments slipped away quickly. Thus, he tried to remain stoic when the hall's grand doors were thrown open, startling gasps replacing the casual chimes of the interior.

There Gray stood, alive and breathing; face awash with pure anxiety and pain. He looked rugged, blood matted through his hair like he'd been crawling through trenches. Shirt tossed aside leaving his chest exposed, a clean blade stripe painted over his torso. "We've been found!" He screeched, waving his bruised arms above his head. "Everybody, please! We need to leave!" Nobody moved, for a moment, the tone of begging so foreign on the Ice mage's tongue stunning the crowd.

Natsu's brain fell into full flight mode, straightening his spine and propelling him forward. He was about to call out, urging everyone to head Grays words and fucking move, but he too remained frozen; a woman peering over his dear friend's shoulder catching his full attention.

She looked worried, a wrinkle creasing her smooth forehead as she scrunched her brows. Her hair was longer, golden tresses framing her waist with soft curls. Brown eyes glazed with honey soaking up her surroundings before stopping over him, drinking him in for all he was worth. Her expression dissolved, masking her delicate features with a look of horror. Plump lips coiling to pronounce his name. Her voice was all he could make out over the commotion. Lucy was back, commanding his full attention like the world wasn't about to crumble around them.

Original story and bonus content found here! ↓↓↓↓

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13289933/1/Silence-and-Cigarette-Smoke

#Nalu #nalu fanfic #nalu fanfiction #natsu #natsu dragneel #lucy #lucy heartfilia #fan fiction #fanfic #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #fairytail #erza #happy #sting eucliffe #dan

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curiouserandthatmuchcuriouser · 4 years ago

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I don't talk a lot about this on social media, but two years ago I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Next month is Bipolar Awareness Month, and even though it's not here quite yet, I'd like to share my story. We all fight secret battles, and the first step to breaking the stigma of mental illness is starting a dialogue and finding compassion for others as well as ourselves.

Around December 2018, I started feeling... different than I normally do. I didn't understand what was happening at the time: I'd never had so much energy before, and at first it was exhilarating. I was running around, talking a mile a minute, suddenly completely free of the social anxiety that's plagued me my entire life, completing chores & errands in record time, and feeling on top of the world. My mind was overflowing with creativity, ideas for poems and essays and songs and even a full musical of my own design (in hindsight, it's all nonsense of course). My appetite slipped away and I suddenly felt free from the constraints of sleep, even though I'd never been more productive. I barely ate or slept, but I wasn't hungry or tired. I lost so much weight and I barely noticed.

At the same time, my moods were swinging all over the place -- I was irritable, I was ecstatic, I was angry, I was morose, I was playful, I was paranoid. I was charismatic, I was churlish, I was ambitious, I was friendly, I was sullen. I was crazy. Naturally I was too busy with my newfound productivity and "creative genius" (lol) to even notice the mood swings. I was an artist! With an artist's temperament! And there was so much to write! I started carrying around yellow sticky notepads in my pockets so I could write down my "brilliant" epiphanies (hint: it was more nonsense) wherever I went. I filled them up within days. My handwriting changed, became sloppier, messier. So many thoughts, I couldn't get them down fast enough.

My thought process, my inner monologue, became fast, then rapid, then downright muddled. It was like a movie playing at warp speed in my head, all day, every day, and most of the night too because who needed sleep when there was so much to think about? I developed a horrible sense of grandiosity. It was my newfound purpose in life to help people, personal cost be damned. I gave the coat off my back to a homeless man begging for change at the dollar store. I impulsively blew through what little savings I had on… I don't even know what. On useless crap that I didn't need.

Paranoia overtook my psyche. I was certain that some of my friends were conspiring against me in various ways, and I wouldn't (couldn't) shut up about it to anyone who would listen. I was suspicious of the world at large. I started walking around with a knife tucked into my boot (thankfully I never used it). I drove too fast, recklessly, getting lost on familiar streets (that's not poetic license, I actually found myself getting disoriented in familiar neighborhoods and needing the GPS to find my way home). I was crying while driving, sobbing and squinting at the cars ahead of me. Everything I experienced was fast and bright and sharp in the most confusing ways.

I still thought I was invincible. I was not invincible. In fact, I was 24 years old and I was experiencing my first manic episode, and it ended up being the scariest period of my life thus far.

I couldn't focus on my job anymore, a job that I loved, a job that I had worked hard to get. I would sit down to read an email and the words would swim before my eyes like a school of fish. If I tried typing anything, at least half the words would be misspelled and I'd have to start over. I wasn't getting any work done, not really. I couldn't sit still. I started pacing around the office every chance I could get and taking long walks at night in the winter chill (which I barely felt). I was feverish with mania. I was aggravated by random things and I would lash out at random people, even family and friends (perhaps especially family and friends). No one understood what I was going through, least of all myself.

Finally -- I don't even remember how I realized something was off since I was so far gone at that point -- a lightbulb went on in my head amidst the chaotic movie screen of jumbled thoughts and I realized: I'm not usually like this. I feel... sick. And when a quick Google search of my symptoms suggested "bipolar disorder," I knew I had to get help. One thing led to another, and in January 2019, I ended up moving back into my mom's house and taking medical leave from my job, the job that I loved, to do outpatient group therapy five times a week for several weeks at a nearby hospital… only to quit that job, the job that I loved, almost immediately upon returning to it because I didn't realize beforehand just how long it would take for me to recover.

I was so ashamed about quitting that job, and I still carry some of that shame around to this day, but the circumstances were completely untenable. I was on three different kinds of antipsychotics, which were expensive and caused me to gain close to 100 lbs during the time I was on them. The other side effects of those meds, like the drowsiness and the brain fog, were awful. After five-times-a-week group therapy, I graduated to once-a-week individual therapy (so proud, I know). It took me weeks to regain the ability to read more than a paragraph at a time, which was torture for me, an English major and avid reader. Television became a crutch, an easy way to pass the restless hours. I slept as much as possible during the day because I was so deeply ashamed of how far I'd fallen.

Eventually, I did recover. Considering the state I was in, I am *exceptionally lucky* and I think about that everyday. The meds, the therapy, and time did their job and helped me get back to myself. I still occasionally struggle with symptoms of depression and mania, and I always will. I'll never be the person I was before my diagnosis, but that's okay. I know who I am now, even the dark parts, and I know how to take care of all of me. That's the most important piece of the puzzle: self-awareness and self-care in equal measure.

Looking back, it truly feels like a different person inhabited my body during those awful months. An insane person, one I'd be embarrassed to know, let alone be. My brain became a snapping turtle, and no one was safe. I lost friends, people I trusted who just couldn't see past the actions and harsh words that my illness caused, even after I sought treatment and tried to make amends via heartfelt apology letters and frantic explanations. There is a fine line between accountability for past mistakes and reckoning with mental illness, and in some ways I still feel like I'm walking that line. But at least now I know I can let go some of that shame.

I am forever grateful to my wonderful network of family, friends, and mental health professionals who supported me every step of the way and saw me through to the other side. I love you. I wouldn't be myself without you. Thank you.

If you or someone you love struggle with mental illness, don't try to sweep it under the rug. Know the signs, and seek treatment. Help is available. Getting better is possible.

We all fight secret battles. Let's lead with compassion.

#bipolar disorder #bipolar #bipolar awareness #bipolar awareness month #bipolar girl #mental illness #mental health #it gets better

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years ago

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Humans are Space Orcs “A Beautiful Mind.”

Ok guys. I am back at school and so will have more time to write, I hope. I will be looking for your suggestions and prompts to make sure I can still put out content.

Also in this story, I understand that some of you may have experience with places like this, but I did volunteer at a similar place and tried to describe it as accurately as I could. Most of what I depict here are taken from things I actually saw, so hopefully it seems accurate.

Krill walked at the heals of his human captain holo-board tucked under one of his extra arms mimicking the behavior he had seen from other humans aboard the ship. Commander Vir walked in front of him with his uniform hat tucked under one arm. The long white hallway was full of orderlies scurrying about in all directions like ants through a destroyed anthill.

“What are we doing here commander.”

The human turned his single green eye upon the Vrul doctor. His usual cheery smile had been almost completely replaced by a more serious expression. It was strange how the human face could do that, seemingly restructure itself to appear ten years older. When he smiled he looked his age, late twenties, when he put on his serious face, he aged almost a decade and a half. It was a useful tool as commander of the first intergalactic fleet of spaceships, but it was unnerving as hell.

“I have decided that it’s time you see something, something very important if you want to understand humans.” Krill had to hurry to keep up with the human as he sped up aimed for a large reception desk at the end of the hall.

“What do you mean.”

“You’ll see.”

They stopped before the desk, and a smiling orderly looked up from behind her computer, large framed glasses making her eyes look bigger than they should have been. She glanced down over the desk at Krill who stood very business like in his tiny white lab coat. He didn’t usually wear one, but the humans had insisted it made him look more professional.

“Commander Adam Vir. I am here to see Corporal Davis.”

The orderly glanced down at her computer, gave a smile, “Oh I see, right here.” She stood from her desk handing them two visitors badges, “Put these on, and then follow me.” Krill pinned the little badge to the front of his lab coat as he scurried down the hall after the two humans. The woman swiped a card, admitting them through a set of doors and into the interior of the building. There was one long grey carpeted hallway and many doors on either side. There were a lot of large white windows that looked out onto the surface of the martian planet, and its hazy grey sky and red soil.

Passing down the corridor, Krill saw many groups of humans milling about near couches and chairs, always overseen by one of those white-coated orderlies. The humans themselves seemed pretty normal, through a disproportionate amount of them had not changed out of their night clothes, and wore large oversized sweatshirts.

The woman they were following took them through another set of doors, and then ran her key-card, “We call this the Venus Ward.” The three of them stepped through the door and into a large open room. Another three or four orderlies stood about the room staring in towards the center where sat a large set of couches and comfortable beanbags.

Krill noticed right away that something was off. The humans that sat in the middle…. well , they weren’t….. He couldn’t put a finger on it. They LOOKED perfectly human, but as if there was something….. lacking . A few of the humans sat huddled on the couches arms around themselves rocking sharply back and forth. They stared forward with unseeing eyes mouthing words to themselves that no one else would understand. A few of the humans had curled themselves into balls and subsequently fallen asleep curled in heaps of clothing that only appeared human on close inspection.

Occasionally a human would turn to look at them, and the way they looked suggested that the human was completely cognitively there. He could see it in their eyes, the curious nature with which they followed the movements of the alien and the Commander. One of them stood and approached. By all rights the human seemed completely normal, but the eyes were heavily sunken, the skin seemed to hang about it’s skull, its hair was stringy and limp. The body below the clothing was rail thin.

“Good morning Jessie.” The orderly said cheerfully, “Have you eaten this morning?”

The human tilted their head with an almost annoyed or inconvenienced expression, “I had a pudding cup for breakfast.” they turned their head towards the Commander, “You’re that guy from TV. The one who flies that space ship.”

The Commander broke into an easy, calming smile, “That I am. And you are.”

The human smirked, “Well that’s hardly important.”

Commander Vir tilted his head “Well I disagree very much. Your name is just as important as mine.” He held out a hand, “Let's try again. I am Commander Vir, and you are…”

Eventually the human relented and raised a hand to take the Commander’s, “Jessie Dean.” Their once annoyed expression couldn’t help but break into a smile in response to the Commander. He was just like that: hard to resist, as personable as he was.

“A pleasure to meet you than.”

By this time, their introduction had drawn the eyes of a crowd. Many of the humans looked up from their rocking or even sleeping to look over. One man, very tall and with long dark hair wandered over. He had a large smile on his face and introduced himself as Samuel. He excitedly started up a conversation about space ships only relenting when one of the orderlies walked over to fetch him. He walked away waving, and the commander waved back. He could have been normal….. Almost… accept for. It was almost as if the man had been too nice too innocent like a child talking with the knowledge of an adult.

Across the room one of the humans began to laugh. Krill looked up unnerved at the human who paced about the other side of the room with disjointed bodily movements head shaking from side to side hands reaching up to cover his face every so often in quick repetitive bursts. The laughter died away to muttering though the pacing continued.

As they walked down the hall Krill noticed a few more things. A human sat curled in the corner. At first Krill thought that he was wearing a pair of gloves, but on closer inspection, he found a thin blue energy field around the man’s hands. He reached up trying to gnaw on them, but his teeth simply slid off the energy barrier. A few of the other humans wore similar contraptions. Some that immobilized the entire upper body while others held tight around the waist. As he watched, one of the humans lost his balance and tipped over saved from hitting the ground as a gravity field about the belt engaged lowering him softly to the ground.

Another human walked past them down the hall followed by a floating silver ball. Looking into her eyes, Krill found another human that appeared to be all there, but with a sudden burst of anger she swiped backwards at the ball. It dodged easily out of her way and kept coming.

Towards the end of the hallway, they stopped at a door, which the orderly opened, “Conner… Mr. Davis, you have a visitor. “

She looked back at the commander and then motioned him inwards. The two of them stepped inside the tiny room, barely big enough to fit the two of them, and the third person, who sat huddled on the floor head in his arms rocking slowly back and forth whispering.

Commander vir slowly lowered himself to one knee, “Hey corporal, it’s me Adam Vir…. do you remember?”

The human stopped rocking at the sound of his voice slowly lifting his head. He had wide manic eyes, but as he saw the commander, a fragile smile broke out across his face. It looked as if he was about to shatter in half like a porcelain doll dropped to the floor, “Captain?” He smiled, “Long time since I saw you…. Long;. Long time….. Long like space…. Space… space, space, space.”

Commander vir placed a hand on the man;s shoulder, “Shhh its ok, you’re safe. There is no space here.” He patted the walls as if to give the man proof, “See, no space.”

Conner nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced, “How are you?”

The man looked at him with haunted eyes, and krill recoiled at the voidless vastness that reflected back at him, “There’s so much….” The man whispered, “When will it end.”

They weren’t able to get much more out of him other than that first recognition. The poor man was completely lost. Eventually Commander Vir and Krill stepped out of the room and into the hallway. Commander Vir’s face was crossed with pain, “He isn’t getting much better, is he.”

The orderly shook her head, “Afraid not.”

Krill looked between them in confusion, “Commander, what is this all about”

The man sighed, and leaned against the wall, “I…. made a mistake, Krill. A long time ago. I was young and I….. well….. You remember Omnidocing don’t you?”

Of course Krill remembered. It was that crazy exercise where humans left the ship in a space suit on a tether, and then allowed the ship to cloak behind them giving the image that they were in space alone. The effects for humans could be anywhere from euphoria to spiritual to maddening, “Yes.”

He sighed, “Well, I used to do it…. A lot. The only way to legally get high without mind altering substances. Didn’t mean it was any good. I suggested others do it too. IN my idiocy, I assumed that everyone was like me, and that they would get the high that I suggested they might. Turns out, and I should have known this, That that is now always the case….. They called it Cosmic Hysteria back in the day, but I think they renamed it recently Cosmic….. Cosmic Exposure Dissociation Disorder. Some people when confronted with something so mind numbingly large ad empty just… can’t take it. He snapped. They say it's similar to Agoraphobia, but like a hundred times worse. Plus with Agoraphobia people aren't really scared of open spaces themselves but what might end up happening in those open spaces. With CEDD they are afraid of the space, but they also experience horrifying dissociation symptoms like they are going to float out of their body and expand to fill the universe…. To become part of the void. They feel like they need to desperately hold their soul inside their bodies or else it will escape.”

Krill shivered at the thought. He was incapable of imagining what that might feel like, “So… this place. It’s a hospital for the mind/”

Commander Vir nodded, “Yes. A lot of these people you see suffer from a disorder that doesn’t allow them to function properly on their own. Many of them might recover and leave…. Some of them may not. Many of them experience horrific auditory and visual hallucinations, some are just delusional, and others…. Well they are people who were just fine, and then experienced a traumatic event that they just couldn’t recover from on their own. A few of them have to be watched to make sure they don’t hurt themsleves…… it is honestly a shame.”

Krill glanced around the room again surprised at the sheer amount of things that could go wrong. “It’s better than it used to be, of course. Three thousand years ago, the treatment for mental illness was different types of torture, and even after that things werent great. Women especially got the short end of the stick, they could be called hysterical for simply being a woman, and be locked away for no other reason than being sad on occasion. Even two thousand years ago things were still questionable. They didn’t understand how important activity is for these people, they'd just sit them in a room all day with nothing to do and put them on medication with horrible side effects that most weren’t able to stay on, on their own.”

He shook his head, “IT takes a special kind of person to work here. Heroic really, because for me it’s just sad to watch. I can’t imagine being trapped by my own mind ...”

“Don’t you have PTSD….” Krill nudged

“Not so much anymore, but I suppose your right. But there are plenty of people who operate with PTSD, sometimes not in a healthy way, but comparatively to some of these people, I can hardly compare what I went through.”

***

Walking out of the building, Krill couldn’t help but contemplate what he saw and what he heard. A woman hunched over at a table arms wrapped around a notebook with incomprehensible squiggles on the inside claiming that the bible told her when the end of the world was, that she was thousands of years old, and that she had millions of children.

He saw another person, with no more but the burden of immense sadness in her eyes, so sad that Krill had to turn his head or the pain that radiated from her was too much to bare.

The dark haired man waved happily at them as they left his wide innocent eyes devoid of guile, devoid of hate.

It was a sad truth about humans, their complexly beautiful brain structure lorded over by so many chemicals and structures that, even the smallest issue had a similar chance, of being bypassed, or causing a butterfly effect that left the human bent under the burden of a crippled mind. The simple fact that an event, which caused no trauma to the body, could send the mind weeping to its knees was almost too much to bare.

Humans are physically indestructible on many levels, a powerful being with a powerful will, but even as powerful as their bodies are, their minds can be as delicate as glass. So please, I admonish you, take care of your humans, lest they suffer on the inside.

Your mental health is just as important as your physical health, guys. Just like you shouldn’t ignore strep throat, you shouldn’t ignore your mental health. Please stop putting off your trip to the doctor, take your meds, try to get out of bed, and make sure to do something you love even if you don’t fee like it :)

Orders from your friendly neighborhood psych student

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are weird #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia

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geminiloopholedaa · 5 years ago

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𝐁𝐈𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 Lizzie battles with type two (Just because I am familiar with type two). It is rapid cycling and the way I will portray it is that she gets maybe a week or two between episodes at the least. Regarding the whole “seeing things” and how MG + SEBASTIAN let Lizzie believe she was having an episode, I think it is a tad bit of shitty writing but what else is new. As far as my version of Lizzie goes, seeing / hearing things is not apart of her manic episodes. Now, my mother has seen things and she has type two but not into trying that out in writing. 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐁𝐈𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑 that comment hurt Lizzie to the core, she HATED Hope Mikaelson for this comment without ever confronting her about it (UNLESS PLOTTED OTHERWISE). Those two words crushed a siphoner and she became colder, meaner, no longer as nice to people around her because it changes who she was to feel like everyone knows her secret, which isn’t a bad thing to keep to herself. NO ONE ACTUALLY KNEW that Lizzie had bipolar disorder unless they had seen a family member with the symptoms so don’t ASSUME that your character knows UNLESS your character has a family with the disorder or they are close friends with her.

𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐒 with Lizzie is often: No sleeping, eating less then normal, fast-paced talking that others notice, her head feels as if it won’t slow down which can be seen in her jumping from one idea to the next and will be seen in her speech, suddenly take on new plans even if she has plenty on her plate to do already.

It feels like a good idea, like a good thing at first and she will even feel like she has a superpower. ( LISTEN TO THIS SONG BY KAYNE WEST CALLED “YIKES” )

She knows when she is not manic that the mania will always end and she will feel like shit after it is gone but that doesn’t stop her wanting it more

I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THE ONLY REASON LIZZIE WON’T TAKE MEDS OR GOES OFF IS BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T LIKE THE FEELING OF THE MEDICATION. Will she lie and say that is the reason and the only reason? FUCKING YES! But give her past (Remember, she believed Hope spread the truth that she had bipolar depression and mocked her by calling her witch bipolar” she is unlikely to tell anyone she wants the high, she wants to be able to do everything she needs to get done and do more. She wants the “Good” start of a manic episode where she is “happy” and feels “alive” but each time she chases that high, she ends up falling and it is fast and hard. She most likely has not told her mother or father this.

There is no magic fix for a manic episode and it is either getting help / starting her pills again or letting her hit a depressive episode which will come.

Lizzie lost her virginity in a manic episode (NO IT WASN’T RAFAEL). She was in the tail end where all she wanted was her mind to just shut up and she threw herself into doing something to calm her, which it didn’t calm her and in fact, after she was done it made her feel empty and alone. She was fifteen years old and unable to go to her mother, (canon Caroline wasn’t there at that time???) and telling her father what she had done was not happening. She told Josie but it wasn’t like how when she slept with Rafael, she told that right away, no Lizzie waited two weeks and had already crashed by then.

𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐒 are not cute or edgy. No, Lizzie wants to actually end her life. Has tried during these episodes, for her, this is normally when most of her cutting happens. It isn’t on her wrists, no she cuts her thighs to try and feel something and unlike when she is manic and she cuts this is different, she is wanting a different emotion to come out. Slow speech, unable to move around and about without feeling exhausted, the lack of interest in life or things that she loves to do.

This is where she really does want that high back or to feel “normal” again.

Has tried to end her life and no it was not just because some boy breaks her heart or anything that some might think or assume if they hear about it.

𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 has happened with Lizzie, twice before she is eighteen years old. Once at fifteen and, the second was when she is seventeen. One of the times it wasn’t her choice and she hadn’t been begging to go but the second time, she was begging for someone to help her. It isn’t a scary place and there is nothing wrong with getting help. ( I WILL NOT RP HOSPITAL SCENES WITH PEOPLE THAT HAVE NOT BEEN THERE AS THAT IS JUST WRONG TO ME. NOT COMFORTABLE WITH IT. I HAVE BEEN THERE SO I HAVE ACTUAL KNOWLEDGE ON IT AND WILL NOT SUGAR COAT NOR MAKE IT FUCKING SCARY AS HELL JUST FOR NO REASON. THESE PLACES ARE FOR HELPING PEOPLE !!! )

𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐑𝐒 aren’t something that Lizzie just forgives or forgets. When Josie admits to Lizzie that she is the one that blurted out, made up witch bipolar that ruined Lizzie’s life and want to be friends with Hope, Lizzie isn’t just going to be all “come here, let me hug you. It is alright.” What Josie did to Lizzie was wrong on so many levels, she may or may not have told people about Lizzie’s mental health but the just thought that someone knew that Lizzie was bipolar break her. Josie deserves to be hurt over Lizzie teasing her about a crush on Hope but Josie had no right to hurt Lizzie with that one. She could have told Lizzie to stop, could have said that she liked Hope or something aside from saying, “Why would I like someone that said such horrible things about my own twin?” Also, Josie let this go on for YEARS before Lizzie comforted Hope when the twins were sixteen, meaning Josie had plenty of time to tell Lizzie that she lied but she never did. Not to go boo-hoo Lizzie but you bet your ass, those words that Josie said at thirteen/fourteen years old sent Lizzie into a manic episode, which doesn’t excuse Lizzie teasing Josie or anything but still.

𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐒𝐄𝐗 & 𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 Hope in the season five of the Originals took Freya to the old Mill and made it clear in that scene that Josie and Lizzie both had already started drinking at like thirteen years old, I will still be keeping that headcanon, snippet even though some might have forgotten about it. Given the fact that Alaric drowns his sorrows in a bottle, it is likely the twins do the same thing. Now, do I think the twins have an addiction? No, I think it could turn into one if they aren’t careful. Lizzie HAS popped pills, has had reckless unprotected sex and it is apart of having bipolar and doing reckless things that are likely to hurt you. Her father has never really paid attention to her? I mean, she wasn’t Hope Mikaelson so she does whatever she can to get her dad to notice and when he notices, well it doesn’t matter because any attention is good attention. Alaric is neglectful and the girls have learned to find love somewhere else and their coping skills are crappy.

𝐒𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐑𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍. We can do that but I need you to realize that if you have a reply (without messaging and asking if you can as I find it offensive and can make me upset) that Lizzie is crazy or going insane, I am going to drop that thread so fast, sorry not about that life and we get enough of that on the show. I am also going to need to understand that this can get touchy when it comes to myself given I suffer from this so sometimes replies might not come at lightning speed. Please note that some of this is triggering and if you have a trigger and want me to stay away from it message me and I will gladly do so. ASK ME IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN THIngS IN THIS HEADCANON OR ThIS PART OF HER LIFE.

𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁��𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒. Lizzie doesn’t just suddenly not become someone suffering from bipolar depression when she isn’t depressive or manic, she suffers feelings and worries about it all year long. Lizzie has background that will go into her threads but once again, I will steer clear of triggers when I rp with you if you tell me.

I AM TIRED OF THE SHOW TREATING THIS LIKE IT IS SOME KIND OF JOKE OR SOMETHING THAT MAKES LIZZIE LESS OF A PERSON SO TAKING MATTERS INTO MY HANDS.

#・ ˖ ✦ ⋄ . She never wants to hurt anyone so she hurts herself instead ❝Writing: Headcanon❞#suicide tw #cutting tw #self harm tw #overdose tw #manic episode tw #depressive episode tw #bipolar disorder tw #long post for the ts #long post #long post tw #long post for the t

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prinzessmetal · 5 years ago

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Welcome to my blog. I want to write about some things that I don’t feel comfortable getting into on other platforms as often as they are happening. I want a place to talk about my health struggles in hopes that it will help people choose themselves and their bodies. If I had known 10 years ago the medications and episodes that are part of my life now it might have helped. If someone hurts you and tells you that you can handle something you don’t feel like you can please seek help even if you just tell a friend rather than internalize that. Trigger warning ahead: abuse and health problems. When I was in elementary school I asked my parents to homeschool me. I wanted to do acting full time and I wanted to do music when I was old enough. This is what Judy Garland did according to a bio pic so it was probably a good plan. I had a lot of crazy almost moments. I auditioned for Hannah Montana and Hermione and got pretty far in call backs. I got called in by the guy who signed Britney. My old manager dated Lana Del Rey before she released anything and told me my music was too depressing like his girlfriend’s and I would need to be more uplifting or I would end up like her. I worked from when I was a kid until now. I enjoy telling stories and making art so that some insignificant feeling of mine can blossom into something beyond me. I think a lot of entertainers have a similar set of needs. There’s people who happen upon it and there’s people who live and breathe and die for it. Maybe there’s a hole to fill or they feel things so deeply they want to get it out and set it free. This was the complete focus of my life. Except for love. I wouldn’t trade my work for anything except for a man threatening to leave. I have always been scared of that feeling and I have done some pretty predictable things to avoid it. Dyed my hair, paid for parts for a moped, moved across the country, and allowed another human with a lower iq and no job to break my heart over and over again. I did that several times, I mean, what are your 20’s for? I think a lot of women spent their 20’s feeling like they were raising their boyfriends. But, I stayed when men crossed lines that aren’t just normal and routine and those things ended up hurting me. When I was 19 I moved to Nashville to record an album. My music manager and my boyfriend were both control freaks with a lot of rage. I was “not like the other girls.” At 19 I was a manic pixie repressed dream. I was terrified to be too much or not enough and I was raised to be sweet and soft. I couldn’t imagine yelling back or ruining someone’s wants with my needs. My inner child actor didn’t know how much adult was too much adult. I looked about 13 and I felt about 60. One day my boyfriend was screaming at the top of his lungs and I was concerned about the neighbors hearing it. I had recorded with session players that day in the studio and I didn’t explain to him (as he found from my posts online) that some of them were more attractive than I had let on. I am not sure what level of graphic I will get into on this blog but I will say for now it “got worse.” My mom happened to be calling when this was going on and my pocket answered and she overheard. She flew out a few days later and wanted to know if I was okay. I lied and I told her that he was never like that and he had been under a lot of pressure trying to find a new job. I didn’t want to lose him for whatever reason at the time felt like the end of the world. Some nights I would go for drives to get away and cry to “Razzle Dazzle Rose” by Camera Obscura (great song to drive and cry to) until I had a headache and I would head back home when he had fallen asleep. In the mornings he was always extremely sorry and a completely different person who “would change.” At the end of this relationship I started getting chest pains. I think I went to an ER and was sent home with anxiety. I thought it was weird how badly anxiety hurt my physical heart and odd that it was deemed okay. But it seemed likely true as I was 19. Over the next few years I dated different people some like the first guy and some gentler. I was raised around anger and big highs and lows and angry people thought me to be comforting. I tried my best to avoid mistakes and things that caused problems because I didn’t feel I had the stamina i just wasn’t sure why. It often caused that chest pain I didn’t understand. At 24 my body started not feeling like itself more consistently. I often had chest pain and missed heart beats (pvcs and pacs) and my body hurt a lot for no reason. I felt rushes and I would feel dizzy and faint and out of breath. I was given a variety of names for all this. I had dysautonomia, POTS, autonomic dysfunction, “a weird nervous system” or just anxiety. I read all about different conditions but I didn’t know what I had but I knew my body wasn’t well anymore. I spent the next couple years being known as a hypochondriac. “Nothing is wrong with your heart Molly.” I still associate the hospital’s hold music with the mantra “it’s not your heart” that was routinely on the other end of it. I eventually gave up. I must have had some psychosomatic issue and I was probably crazy and I wanted to start living again. I was tired of chest pain with no cause and angry boyfriends ruling my life. I wanted my music to have a chance and I worked harder than ever. I also experimented with night life and smoked a cigarette or 2 or 3 and I got a few hangovers. I was a normal 20-something. Finally the homeschooled neurotic girl was kind of fun or I became some version of myself I was meant to be had I not taken some wrong turns or slept with the wrong people. I remember people would say to me “I can’t keep up with her she’s wild” and I was thrilled I had never been particularly fun I had always just been working or isolating myself with some guy. Neither cause helped the other and I had nothing to show for the last few years but I felt alive for the first time since maybe grade school. I let myself be free. One day I ate a friend’s edible and I had what I thought was a traditional panic attack. My heart was racing and I wanted to run away from it. A normal bad reaction to edibles. But my heart hurt for days. I couldn’t keep up with my (tall) boyfriend at the pace we normally walked and it was hard wearing the shoes that I did and I started avoiding the stairs. I was out of breath and in a lot of pain and it kept shooting down my left arm. I went back to my (famous and respected) cardiologist and she said not to come back to the clinic anymore as it was causing her team and myself to falsely believe that my problems were cardiac in nature. Except it turns out that I have heart disease. It took 6 cardiologists and a lot of ER visits to get any answers. I’m a young woman trying to get her life set up and I have heart disease. I hear over and over “it’s not your heart” and the hold muzak playing louder and louder and my boyfriends telling me to stop making up chest pain to get away from their rage and my music manager telling me it was stage fright and my old therapist telling me it would go away if I did the work inside my mind. I have Prinzmetal Angina. It got out of control after a bad car accident and a traumatic and stressful month last December. My coronary arteries were spasming shut and I spent January-June getting a lot of stern looks and speeches about anxiety from doctors and nurses all while I really just needed Calcium Channel Blockers and various forms of Nitroglycerin. I intend to pursue my music and art. I’m in a band and I am not going to change and become the normal picture of chronic illness which generally neuters people. I’m still young and intend to stay in touch with that the best I can. Some days I can take over the world and some days I have to stay in bed and some days I need to go to hospital for extra nitro and morphine. A lot happens behind the scenes I don’t always know how to share on instagram and twitter so I made this blog. I like to share my art in those places which I consider to define me more than how my body is not working. But, it’s a huge part of my experience and I would like somewhere to share it. I don’t normally feel comfortable talking about my bad dating choices and abuse but I think it’s important for people to know that the damage from it can be very real. Prinzmetal Angina was just studied with relationship abuse as being traumatic enough to cause it. I think we downplay how bad abuse hurts us and tell people to just get a grip. Maybe if I had read this when I was younger I would have treated myself differently and chose more carefully who I let near me. I hope you enjoy this blog and take care of your body and appreciate the days you feel free. Xo Joon

#prinzmetal #heart disease #dysautonomia #lupus #joon glume

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hugotontheonbiquiffinarians · 5 years ago

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hi omg i just read the clown protestors arthurxyou and i’m mind blown by your writing. i’ve never read anything with such detail. it didn’t even have smut but i enjoyed it so much- please, write more!!!!

Tonight...

Tonight was the night you had decided to venture beyond the confines of your comfort zone. To be sure, it was an average Saturday night, rife with studious affinity and booked arrangements with your vivid inner workings.

Tonight, however, was a night of errant impulse. One that enticed you to attend the Murray Franklin show, unescorted. Completely, utterly alone. Normally, the contrived atmosphere of televised events would make you recoil violently. But, tonight compelled differently. Your repulsion to the nature of insincere smiles and orchestrated laughs was retired instead to an unusual appetite for reality.

Tonight’s fabricated reality was especially seasoned. Mortality was indiscriminate to tonight’s audience. The puppeteer’s strings were fraying. The time, sedated. The cue cards, delayed in presentation. The audience’s response to riveting, murderous climax, expected, but no less unnerving to the imperious conductor. No less improvised and deserving of penance.

Then, there was him...

The celestial body of comedy cosmos. Orbiting aimless through an unforgiving galaxy, if only for a number of tense, uninviting minutes. The clown of the evening. Dressed to the cat o’ nines. At least, to you, he appeared as one to « live on the edge ». Front row, his visage was an unseasonably vibrant palette. Yet, you couldn’t be fooled. Beneath the suit and makeup, he was nothing short of Death’s Head Upon a Mop-Stick. An emaciated, miserable fellow seeking to exact a rather noble agenda. Albeit poorly executed.

In spite of his near skeletal composition, it was precisely this that attracted you to him. Ineffable, poetic beauty making a xylophone of his rib cage. Skeletal beyond physicality. An imaginative X-ray scan of eyes, hollow and sunken, yet defiantly verdant with a preserved seed of life.

Sparse about the chest and famished for attention, the compulsion to make daring strides to the soles of his sensitive feet was close to irresistible. Yet, you concede to refrain. At the moment, the man was reading from a notebook. A joke, it seemed. A classic knock-knock variation. While you, alone, were listening intently, quite eager to indulge the dulcet lull of his voice, to endure, in unwanted company, the audience’s dissent, was vexing and oppositional.

Yes, his delivery was morbid and untimely, but did it truly warrant such a wounding brand of ignominy ? Did the fair jester deserve to be pilloried by insolent townsfolk, demanding of entertainment, yet nevertheless poised at the pinch with peanuts of discontent ? His harmless touch of humour, reversed to inflict irreparable damage ?

Ah, but this wreaking of havoc would appear to double The Fool, himself, as A Hanged Man. In spite of this, the cards are yet shuffled in his favour. Tonight, The Hanged Man was dealt to another. The man positioned to the left of celestial coordinates, insouciant to the adjacent star’s warning pulse of blinding luminosity. One which would ultimately unleash the fatal gasp of supernova…

Only to be reborn to a less conspicuous state of matter. Bright enough to be observed from a distance measured by all planets, yet no less forbidding in its modest size. Commanding appreciation and respect, thereby.

Before the cycle of this reformation could reach completion, a hist had to be ushered. A solemn yet forceful call for silence, attracting attention. With such gale of conviction, the man was, at present, asserting statements of truth to the unofficial court.

”I killed those guys because they were awful.”

The audience is uncomfortable with this incisive appeal.

“Everybody is awful, these days.”

All, except you. Threatening to clamor in resistance. Still staring intensely at the man, more engrossed than repelled by his refreshing presence.

“It’s enough to make anyone crazy.”

A small, insignificant nerve of morality twinged at your conscience. Deliberating… at all odds, misconstruing, his claim. Wondering if you, alone, were ‘crazy’ for the polarity of your thoughts in the midst of this confused course of judgment.

Above all, you craved the impending strike of chaos. Beyond the deafening brevity of silence, the intrusive, whispering assent of disorder was quickly approaching. And you hadn’t a mite of disagreement to contribute to those misleading murmurs of the jury. In fact, their repugnance was instead vocalised by the arbiter and defendant, currently at wit’s end in contentious argument.

Helplessly, your fight or flight response was evident by an increased rate of breathing. Rising blood pressure, spectral ringing in the ears, concentrated pulsations of your heart throbbing against scattered areas of flesh.

When the trumpet sounds, your ears fall deaf. Glazed vision registers the stark splatter of crimson staining a distinct name with the permanent mark of quietus.

It’s all just a dream, you think weakly. The noisome screams to which you wish all tongues were made dumb. Silence is what you hunger for. The mouldy TV dinner awaiting at your squalid dorm was forgotten. Silence was vital. If only for reasons of rejecting all activity that didn’t declare the (now criminal) clown as sole focus.

And, it seemed, you had captured his attention as well. Still in a daze of adrenaline, he does his little dance, effectively ignoring the damsel in distress embraced by her saviour in sooted armour. The quacksalver named Sally. The sleazy husband of another, portraying the begrimed white knight. Both petrified in their respective roles, yet nothing more than minor characters in this bizarre lover’s tale.

He makes muted steps in your direction. A trajectory that is strangely fearsome in its perplexing gait. He walks as if he balances between the border of reality and fevered paracosm.

To think, it is not the camera he aims towards…

The pleats of his slacks point keenly to you with each gradual erase of distance. In contrast, his unfocused gaze is at once conflicted yet resolute. Still, the distant cries of terror bleed profusely into the juvenile squall of night. Still, your form, secured to the seat, adhered by delayed presence of emotion. Stoic as the stone cushion.

Just as well, tonight’s moon is noticeably full. Its lunar radiance captivates the expanding vacancy of studio. Amid the disruption of regularly scheduled programming, the light fixtures had begun to flicker. Sparks projecting in variegated asterisms. The tapestried windows began to transpose themselves to hyperrealism, admitting the grace of its silver radiance in full force. The intensity of its glow outlines his wingless form as a fledgling seraph. When his lips part, the voice bespeaks with the striking cords of angels.

“You’re not like the rest of them, are you?”

The question was a paralysing tickle of rhetoric. Inexplicit in answer. His tone was doused by curiosity. Incurably childlike. Sickly saccharine words dispensed from sugared teeth as a soothing balm.

Despite these futile attempts to remedy, you were still unsure if any of tonight’s events were not fabricated illusions of a sleep deprived student. Yet, you examine this clown with careful consideration, eyes wide shut, scrutinising his alluring visage, a painted mess of hidden message. The goofy curl of his lip, crooked and exposing of snaggletooth. The crinkle of his emerald eyes, dancing with the moon, illuminating the dim expanse. Glimmering with a dangerous combination of mischief, hope and promise. That, as well, of the silly hand gesture lacing each slender finger through yours, surprisingly chilled to the bone with sudden contact.

Failure to restrain his impending laughter is stimulated by your undue flinching, accompanied by the provocation of a slight gasp as visceral reaction. Failure to respond in time, to oblige his gentle clutch and flee the scene, was magnified by the abrupt entry of two hefty figures looming in the twirling shadows. Failure to react when these figures move swiftly to apprehend and wrest the hand from yours rather viciously.

In that moment, it was serpents against swine. A blur of stiffened and flailing limbs alike in mismatched choreography. Unlike the clown, you don’t resist when the medics wrench you away, divorcing you further from your self-prescribed medicine. And, still..., your attempt to inject a potent dose of belief was persistent.

It couldn’t be real... None of it was real.

But, his smile...

His laugh...

If nothing else was certain, the lingering stretch of that wounded, boyish smile, replete with delusions of dreams and splendor... was terrifying evidence of this obvious truth.

In pristine, white corners, two orderlies stand idly, mildly perturbed by your manic echoes of laughter. Heedless and indifferent to quell the chorus of its reverb as the trembling intensity of its sound gives a semblance of struggle against the straitjacket’s harness.

You think them fools for misjudging your benign mirth as an attempt to escape. Why would you wish to escape that which would finally aim to spread joy to needless misery?

Three consecutive seconds from the clock remind you of your place. When the click of the door’s handle reaches your ears, pure laughter subsides to shaky relief.

When your eyes open again, the vision is a clear frame of vivid spectacle. Two men in the throes of primitive aggression were dragging a half-starved man, limp and comatose, to a destination unknown.

The rhythm of your lungs return to a steady pace. The blood beneath lukewarm skin streams a settled flow through calm rivers.

The studio is emptied. Effectively purged of its pathogens. Still and all, the reality of the ordeal has yet to process its candid rendering. Fatigued and disenchanted, your steps to departure are light and heady.

——————————————————————

As a matter of blinded course, Arthur reveled in his sprinkled delirium. Quite literally basking in its fiery glow as the street lights and infernos merged to one. Perhaps the first in three decades of listless existence, Arthur could finally say, with sincerity, that he was truly, undoubtedly, happy.

Yet, he couldn’t help the risible itch of something missing. A shard of mosaic to complete the tessellating puzzle of this midsummer night’s dream.

Mere moments before the kaleidoscope of crash fractures his drunken taste of giddy liberty, he thinks that no such freedom can exist without the force of another to share the view.

———————————————————————

Then again...

——————-—————————————————

Was there not you ?

#arthur fleck #arthur x reader #arthur x you #arthur fleck x you #joker #joker 2019

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theoddcatlady · 6 years ago

Text

My Friends Went On A Roadtrip Through Europe

The only reason I didn’t go on the ‘greatest trip of our lives’ was because I was in a car accident that nearly killed me.

It was bad. I wasn’t able to get out of bed without assistance for that first month. Broken leg, busted up ribs, I looked more like a boxer that just got out of a match gone bad than a recent highschool graduate who was planning on going to college as a psychology major.

My friends and I had been planning this trip since our freshman year in highschool. I know. It was fucking stupid. But we promised if we all graduated with a grade average of 3.5 or better and if we all scraped together the cash from after school/summer jobs, we’d take a road trip through Europe. Somehow we actually managed to do it, our parents were so impressed that they even kicked in some cash. The silly dreams of fourteen year olds were coming to life.

Whitney wanted to go to Paris and see the Eiffel Tower. Jade was all about Austria, she wanted to see where the Sound of Music was filmed. Jonah planned to eat all the chocolate he could stomach in Switzerland. Me? I wanted to see the countryside of every country- mountains, rivers, the ocean… But one week before the plane was supposed to take off, well, the accident happened.

I told my friends to go without me, but I made them promise to constantly send me updates and tell me how much fun they were having. So they left- Whitney, Jade, Jonah, Holden, and Tori. I even gave them a portion of the money I saved up so they could go crazy.

At first, everything was normal. I got pictures, they even sent me a package from England full of lil knick knacks and snacks. I hated the Irn Bru but the Cadbury chocolates were to DIE for. But everything went wrong shortly after Austria.

Below are the emails and messages my friends sent me when they had the time. These all take place over about three weeks. After that, everything goes silent. Their parents have yet to hear from them. They’ve filed missing person’s reports, but I think if any of them are still alive… they won’t want to be found.

From: Jade

Jesus CHRIST, you will not believe what happened last night, Lilah.

First off, let me make abundantly clear that no one is dead, and no the trip is not over yet. We got really lucky. Second off, Jonah is a fucking moron and I swear to god once his stitches are out I’m ripping him a new one.

Okay so last night we were out a bit late, we all got a little tipsy and we were heading back to the hotel. Legal drinking age is eighteen, it’s not like that time we tried to sneak into Beverly’s with those fake ID’s. On the way back, we stumbled across another drunk who made a pass at Jonah. And you know Jonah, his drunk ass reacted loudly and violently. I swear he was about to make a swing at the guy… but the other guy swung first.

I swear, the drunk guy fought like an animal, Jonah didn’t stand a chance. We barely managed to rip Jonah away from him before he ripped his throat out. It was bloody and MESSY.

We got Jonah to the nearest emergency room, got him patched up, headed back home to sleep it off. How much do you wanna bet that he won’t remember it in the morning?

I’m gonna hit the sack. Jonah is a moron.

From: Jonah

Jade told me she sent you an email about the fight. She really needs to chill, I’m really not that bad off. Besides, the guy was a creep.

I do remember what happened, despite what she thinks, we were heading back when, get this, strange guy complimented my SKIN. Said it looked smooth and rosy. That’s not even flirting anymore, that’s just creepy! I mean, he was totally your type, tall, dark, handsome, blue eyes and a bit of scruff on his face, but noooot mine.

I’m fine though, you can barely tell where the guy got me. I think he had a knife because I got ripped. Up. Can barely tell now, he must’ve just grazed me.

We’ll be looping back up and heading for Poland next. Gonna cross through Germany to do that, but I don’t mind the drive. Besides, Germany = MORE BEER.

Miss you, next time you will totally have to come along.

From: Tori

I really wish you were here. I miss you so, so much. How is your therapy going? I hope it’s going well, you really missed out on some beautiful views today. The camera doesn’t quite capture it, but I hope to paint it once I’m home with my supplies. Maybe I can bring a little of this place back to you.

I think I’m just homesick. I might cut my trip short and head back, I’m really worried about you.

From: Whitney

Did you talk Tori out of going home yet? I don’t think she’s willing to admit how spooked she got when that bum attacked Jonah. She started crying when she saw how bloodied he was. I was pretty freaked too, but it was way worse than it looked. He’s actually completely fine now. Stitches came out, there’s not even a scar. I’m pretty sure Jonah’s actually bummed there’s nothing to show off for when he gets home LOL. But yeah, nothing to worry about, he’s still the same energetic Jonah we all know and love.

Holden’s horrible at remembering to email you, I’ve told him like, six times. Did he do anything other than the one time he sent a what’s up? He totally only did that because I nagged him.

I wish we spent more time in Italy, but we’re making great time through Germany. I’m gonna go now, kick ass and take names at Overwatch for us when you can sit up, all right?

From: Tori

Jonah’s almost too over the top since the attack. I think he’s trying to make up for something, I don’t know what. It’s like… remember that time he pounded Mountain Dews all night while we were gaming? This was during our League of Legends phase (glad that ended) but Jonah was incredibly manic and he was constantly getting up to pace.

He’s like that but 24/7. I don’t think he’s slept a full night, and it’s almost impossible to make him stop for the night. We want to relax, there’s no rush to get to Poland. I’ll talk to him when I can get him to settle, see what’s wrong. Love you.

From: Jade

Welp, Tori went home last night.

Her clothes and passport are gone, she left a note saying she really missed you and her parents, she’ll make it up to us when we’re home. I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed she didn’t talk to us beforehand.

She was right though, Jonah needs a chill pill. Is this how some people deal with trauma? Because I mean, you weren’t there, but that was… pretty bad. I can’t even imagine how Jonah feels, but he’s Jonah. He never lets anyone in. It’s why you two broke up sophomore year, kid has issues. I hoped this trip through Europe might help him learn about himself but I think it’s making it worse.

From: Whitney

WE’RE IN DENMARK BECAUSE APPARENTLY JONAH DECIDED POLAND WAS A STUPID IDEA.

Ugh, sorry. So Jonah offered to drive us through the night. I said no, but Holden and Jade were all for it. So I sucked it up, took something to make me drowsy, and konked out in the back seat. When I woke up, Jonah and Jade were having a shouting match and turns out, we’re in DENMARK. That wasn’t the plan. He didn’t clear this with us.

Holden’s on his side, saying that Denmark is a cool country too but Jade’s royally pissed. I can’t blame her. We promised at the beginning of the trip that we were to clear any travel plans with each other. We’d talk about it.

That’s another reason to miss you- you are SO good at talking. <3

From: Jonah

Everyone but Holden’s pissed at me.

Listen, I’m fine, I promise. I’ve just had to deal with some insomnia lately, is that really that bad? It’s not like I’m as bad off as you were. There was a brief moment that morning of the accident we all thought we’d lose you.

The insomnia goes away in the day. I can sleep then. Everyone can go and have fun during the day, I get to sleep, and at night I go do my shit. There’s. Nothing. Wrong with that.

I mean, another reason I wish you were here was that I’ve been having some… preeettyyy interesting dreams involving you, when I can sleep anyway. TMI. But maybe I should’ve been less of a puss with you back in the day. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.

When I’m back, can we go on a date? I’ll buy. Anywhere you want to go.

From: Jade

Jonah made a pass at me. And he’s not drunk.

I’m confused. And worried. Not gonna lie, he was pretty smooth about it, but I’ve never thought of him that way. He’s like that obnoxious little brother you love anyway. I told him no and he accepted gracefully.

Talking with Whitney and he also made a move at him… and at Holden? Jesus Christ, it’s about time that dumbass fell out of the closet. Holden’s pretty into it though. I’m wondering if this trip was actually a success in that matter.

We’re going up through Scandinavia now. Sweden, here we come!

At least we’re in some of the most gay friendly countries in the world right now… although I swear to god I think someone’s been following us. I’ve spotted this small white car twice now and I think it’s the same driver. But I’m probably just paranoid.

From: Holden

i know i dont email you often. i hate writing.

but something’s really wrong with jonah. i think he hurt someone.

last night we went out for drinks. ive always thought jonah was cute but never thought hed give me the time of day. we shared a hotel room, nothing happened but it was nice.

but I woke up this morning and I was trying to find something to wear and I accidentally went through one of jonah’s bags because our bags look the same and

i found one of his shirts. it’s covered in blood. And I found tori’s passport. it’s also bloody.

i’ve been reading and there’s been two bodies on the same route we’ve been going. i also called tori’s mom and she hasn’t heard anything from her daughter. she hasnt gone home. what should I do lilah? you were always the smart one.

From: Jade

Jonah’s lost his goddamn mind.

I’m surprised I get signal out in the middle of nowhere but Holden asked him about Tori and Jonah got really defensive. Then he brought up clothes covered in blood and that Tori never made it home and… Jonah snapped.

He pulled over to the side of the road and lunged for Holden. Whitney tried to break it up and got pretty fucked up for it. They’ll be okay as soon as we get to a hospital or something.

He’s gone now. He took the keys with him. I’m gonna try and call for help but jesus christ how have things gone so wrong?

From: Jonah

(This email was sent to all of us, along with the next one.)

I’m with Master now. He never meant for this to happen. He never meant for me to get turned. He tried to find me but my own stupidity kept us going… I’m so mad at myself. I should’ve told you guys what’s been going on. I’ve been barely sleeping, any sort of bright light fucking hurts, and Tori…

I never meant to hurt Tori. I swear to god. She was one of my best friends. But she’s dead. And I killed her. I couldn’t stop myself. By the time I came to my senses, I’d shredded her to pieces. If they ever find where I dumped her, she’ll probably be a Jane Doe for the rest of time.

Master found me running around around and stopped me. We’re someplace safe now. He’ll help me.

But I need to know one thing-

Did I bite you guys?

From: Whitney

You bit me. And you bit Holden.

Jade’s fine. For now. I don’t know how long though. I feel strange. Like there’s something burning in my head and down my spine. Please find us. Holden’s starting to feel strange too.

Lilah, we love you so much.

Please, don’t try to come find us. Go to college. Have fun. Make new friends. Study hard. Forget about us.

We’re dead anyway.

#horror stories #scary stories #creepypasta #writers on tumblr #creative writing #my stories

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irksomeirene · 7 years ago

Text

Days Untold

Chapter 5 is published!

AO3

Should I have at least glanced at this before publishing? Absolutely. Will I make any actual attempts to edit it? lol fuck no. Will this potentially write me into a corner in the future; track record says yes.

Enjoy this first draft bullshit.

While Sebastian Moran was probably Molly’s first adulthood friend, Caroline had by far been Molly’s longest friendship. Caroline and Molly had met at uni and were friends for a little over twelve years before Caroline just sort of up and left. Caroline was… an odd sort. She could play well at being all sorts of normal but when it was just the two of them, the weird came out in full force. It was probably what made them such good friends for so long. Instead of an odd look or an awkward silence when Molly made her rather infamous morbid jokes, Caroline would snicker right along with her. They could talk about death and decomposition and all sorts of interesting things over lunch without either having their apatite spoiled.

Despite all their years together, all the good and bad they’d shared with one another, Molly always felt as if Caroline kept a part of herself out of Molly’s reach; hidden and off limits. Molly thought she might have caught glimpses of it whenever they people watched at the park and Caroline’s made of stories on those they observed had more than a gentle ring of truth to them; or when Caroline would get frustrated, her temper snapping, manic energy filling her friend up to the brim, a certain look in her eye that made Molly think maybe—just maybe—Caroline might be very capable of not letting her leave the room alive.

And then, of course, there were the changes in appearance. For the first two years they knew each other, Caroline always looked like Caroline: Large black rim glasses, auburn hair (in a terribly messy bun or down with a little curl at the ends but always with the perfectly straight edged bangs), red lips, jean jacket (that Molly often found fun little patches for), leggings, and a brightly colored comfy dress underneath. Sometimes, when they had study sleep overs, Caroline would steal one of Molly’s comfy jumpers to wear over her dress in lieu of her jacket to wear to their favorite breakfast place. It was comfortable. It was familiar. Until the day Caroline showed up to their weekend people watching spot twenty minutes late in practical office worked kitten heels, fishnets, a pencil skirt, silk blouse, posh coat, brown eyes, and platinum blonde hair in a stylish bob.

For a long few minutes Molly just stared. There was not one bit of her familiar Caroline in the woman sat next to her—not a single drop. But Molly had known the minute she sat down it was Caroline. She tried to put together a compliment—Caroline really did look amazing—but all that tumbled out of her mouth when she finally maned to open it was a squeaky, “What?”

The woman looked over with a cool and sophisticated air and for one perilous moment, Molly thought she might actually be mistaken. Maybe this wasn’t actually Caroline. All visual evidence said this very much was not Caroline. Oh god, and now she’d made this posh woman think she’d had the misfortune of sharing a park bench with a crazy person. Worse, Caroline, in the year and a half they’d taken to people watching, had never been more than a handful of minutes late. And if this wasn’t Caroline, twenty minutes late but with a fantastic makeover as an excuse, maybe her best friend was in trouble. Maybe she’d been hurt or harassed on her way here. Maybe she was dead. Neither one of them had mobiles—neither one of them really had any people to call besides each other and they were so expensive, it was hardly worth it when they quite comfortably oscillated between practically living with each other and Caroline’s occasional vanishing acts. Did Caroline even have Molly as her emergency contact?

The panic came and went in a flash. Because in the next moment Caroline blinked and Molly was certain again; this was Caroline, blonde hair, brown eyes, and all.

“Job interview?” Molly tried again.

“Why would you think that?” Caroline asked, and Molly was rather relieved to hear Caroline’s voice coming out of this near-stranger’s face.

“Office clothes, new look; posh job interview, yeah?”

Caroline hummed, considering as she took a sip from her coffee (Molly hadn’t even noticed it), “Something like that.”

It was strange and mysterious and met with exactly no further explanation; but it didn’t put a dent in their people watching. The next day Caroline was back to her familiar Caroline self (complete with past the shoulders auburn hair and blue-green eyes). Molly would have been content to forget about the whole thing—simply write it off as a little one off of extra weird on top of Caroline’s every day weird.

But it kept happening.

Not every day. Not even every people watching weekend or even every month. There was no rhyme or reason or schedule to Caroline’s occasional full body transformations. Sometimes it would be months between incidences, other times there were four in a single week.

At first, it was deeply unnerving and made Molly nervous about how little she actually knew about her best friend. But like so much in her life; Molly gradually adapted to it. It slowly became just another odd aspect of Caroline. Molly even gave little compliments here and there when she spotted aspects of one look or another that looked particularly good on Caroline.

I think the longer hair suites you better.

You should keep that dress—we can have a posh girl’s night after finals.

Those shoes are adorable, you should keep them.

That’s a good colour on you.

And so on and so on and so on until Molly hardly even noticed it anymore. It seemed to make their friendship stronger somehow. And for a while, Molly thought she might have found a friend that would stay by her side for the rest of their lives.

But all things must change and the good always comes to an end.

Months before Molly’s slow descent into cigarettes and alcohol and pills, Caroline pulled one of her usual vanishing acts. Only this time, instead of days or weeks or even over a month (though that had only happened once before), Caroline was gone for years. It wasn’t until two weeks into her new post at St. Bart’s (three weeks since she’d taken her very last pill) that Caroline decided to swan back into Molly’s life.

It wasn’t fair that Molly looked worn down and just generally rather terrible while Caroline looked pristine even in her nurse scrubs (though Molly could see the manic edges fizzling about the seams). Their friendship was rekindled—though it was sometimes somewhat strained and there were more sharp edges to Caroline than Molly remembered—and they even added a third to their group; Meena from oncology. Caroline didn’t always seem to exactly enjoy Meena—perhaps “tolerated” was the closest polite term for what existed between Caroline and Meena. It really didn’t help that at some point in their group friendship, Caroline had taken to obsessing over a hedge of all things. And “obsessing” was by no means an understatement. Caroline could hardly go a single interaction with Molly without going into a small murder-rant about this bloody stupid hedge.

Molly tried to listen. Tried to understand—was pretty sure this hedge wasn’t actually a hedge but more likely a bloke or a neighbor or something because Caroline would often slip up and call the thing a “he.” But when Caroline plopped down across from her in the break room—didn’t even seem to notice Molly had been crying her eyes out over Sherlock’s most recent deductions of her apparently gay boyfriend—and launched straight into her stupid bloody hedge; Molly snapped. She would forget the majority of her rant as blind hurt poured out of her but later, when she learned and knew, she would remember all to vividly the final words she said to Caroline:

“You can throw it off the bloody roof for all I care; just stop bitching about your stupid bloody hedge!”

She stormed off to the ladies, shaking with hurt and rage. She paced in the locker room for a few minutes before she’d calmed down enough to cup some cool water to her face—holding it there for a while, wondering briefly if it’d be entirely possible to drown like that—before regret crept into her gut. But by the time she’d dried off and returned to the break room, Caroline was gone.

The next time she met Caroline, it would be Molly Hooper in an unrecognizable new skin and Caroline who bore her true face. Next time she met Caroline, Molly Hooper would not immediately know her friend as she once had; it would take time and still, she would doubt. The next time she met Caroline, her name would not be Caroline, it would be the name of a god.

And it would suite her.

#Molly Hooper #Molly Hooper pre sherlock #Caroline #bffs #weird bffs #gets a bit dark at the end #there will be guilt later #pre-gret

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argenti-spirit-jpg-deactivated · 4 years ago

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Random Compilation of my Writing.

Tugging on the lining of his silver jacket, Shigemitsu let out a sigh. Just Fourteen Hours ago, the boy had been Walking to school, a grim look on his face as usual. Now, Less than a day later, he was trapped in a room with fifteen people, and was about to go crazy with boredom. He was sitting on a green couch, Listening to Kaori Rin and Fuyuko Fukada Talking, the latter mostly about death, which gave the boy surprising comfort. The Former Was Now Ranting about food, scaring the other Thirteen kids that were in the room. “And, if we run out of air-” Kaori was cut off by A Tall, Raven-Haired girl, who had yet to Introduce herself. “There are air vents, Rin. We won’t run out of air.” She put in, her gray eyes giving off a hint of maturity. The Conjoined Twins, Kuro and Kuma Tsuin, were talking quietly to each other, seemingly arguing about something, before Kuma spoke up. “Uh, hey, uhm..” He was cut off by his brother. “Hurry it up!” “S-or-ry! But, ah, Kuro and I came up with an Idea. The, uhm, smallest in the group could, uh, climb through the vent?” Kuma stuttered, His twin hitting him in the back of the head. A small nod was given from most of the kids, and they started checking who was the shortest. Kaori ended up being the shortest, so they decided she would try. “But the Vent’s so small!” The Girl shuddered, And being the oldest and one of the shortest was very awkward for her. Narumi Harumaki Opened the vent, and gave a long sigh. The Girl was the tallest person there, and was clearly uncomfortable at bending over so far to pick up the Vent cap. Silas Silver and Katsuo Shigaraki were standing far away from the group, with Jaylen Taylor and the Unnamed Raven-Haired girl. The four of them looked deep in discussion, And Shigemitsu could tell that Jaylen was getting frustrated. The Lavender-haired boy Paced silently beside the vent, waiting for Kaori to come back. Almost two minutes later, her head popped out of the small vent. “Help me out, Midori!” The Short girl called, reaching her arms out. “Anikaso, go help her.” Silas Called, his hand brushing Katsuos’. Midori Anikaso was pacing near the far wall, and ran over to help the Short Lesbian. Lifting Kaori out (With Help from Harumaki), Midori gave a sigh. “Lemme guess, Nothing you found could be helpful?” Kaori nodded, pulling her tee-shirt down to cover her back. “Nothing. That’s disappointing, huh?” The short girl gave a sigh. “I’m sorry that i’m no help, Kuro, Kuma. I thought I could help.” Silas stepped over, his Light hair falling into his face. “What if we, you know, try the door like a normal person?” The Boy said, narrowing his eyes at the Green-haired girl, and the brown haired girl in front of him. “Or is that too Obvious to try?” The Yellow-eyed boy Asked, Putting his hand on Midori’s shoulder. “Can you go try?” Silas asked, Taking on a honeyed voice. Silas gave the shorter girl a look of desperation, and almost looked innocent as he bit his lower lip/ “Please, Midori?” Shigemitsu Could tell that Silas’s words were definitely Honeyed. The green haired girl blushed, and pulled away from the Boy. “Okay! Just, don’t, please don’t talk to me in that tone, you gay child!” Midori yelled, stepping towards the door. Katsuo moved to stand beside his friend. “That, Was really manipulative. You know that Midori likes you, so you’re using that against her?!” Katsuo whisper-shouted in his friend's ear. “I wanted her to do something.” Silas spat. Shigemitsu turned away from the pair, and went to talk to Fuyuko.

“What. Do. You. Want?!” She snarled, clearly unhappy. She had pulled her brown hair over her eyes and had her glasses resting on her forehead. Her hands had blood on them, despite her not bleeding from anywhere visible. “Fuyuko, why the hell are you bleeding?” The boy asked, Bending down to face the girl. He pushed the hair out of her face, despite her yells. “Fuck off, Takagi.” She hissed. Pushing him away, she stood up. Brushing her skirt down, and Tightening her tie, her expression changed. From one moment being angry at him, now she was looking softly at him. “Takagi-kun, I was bleeding from my nose. I’m sorry if Yuka-shan was bothering you.” She smiled sweetly. Shigemitsu noticed her eye color had changed. From the pale blue it was normally, it had gone to the color of blood. “Ahaha~ Isn’t that sweet~” She laughed almost Manically, And Pulled Shigemitsu into her. She gave a forlorn expression. “It’s a shame that she wants you dead, though.” The Girl laughed again, and Walked away. SHigemitsu stumbled backwards, confused.

- - - - -

The loud humming of sirens burnt themselves into my mind, the harsh sound like a knife through butter. My eyes blurred with tears, and my breathing went shaky. My knees slammed into the ground as the ambulance pulled up beside the house. My Lungs were full of smoke, my body feeling as if it was on fire. I start coughing. My head was pounding. I could hardly see, tears rolling down my face, and mixing with the blood pouring out of my mouth. I feel someone lifting me up, taking me by the arms away from my mother. I can hear My mom wailing as she pushed me into the doctor. My arms Flailing, i try to get the stranger to put me down. I can hear everyone yelling. I can smell burning. I can see red. My eyes droop shut.

The Clicking of an I.V drip in my arm woke me up. I was in a haze of trying to think. I try to move. The room was clearly a hospital. I had an I.V in my arm, alongside needles, and clearly blood. I can hear my mothers hushed voice, can feel the bandages on my wrists. Can feel the chemicals stirring in my stomach. Like they think that putting more chemicals will help me stop. I can still feel my scars on my arm. Still taste the pill. Still feel the cigarette on my tongue. Still feel the steel Knife cutting into my wrists. Still feel The unbearable darkness. I can hear their silent, judgemental talking. A doctor, three nurses. I realise the plasticy-tubes going up my nose. I let a small grunt out, letting these Judgemental Pricks know that I was awake. The Doctor, a Tall male with a disfigured nose, and Hazel eyes that protruded out of his face, and bulged out like a pimple, Leaned towards me.

“Ksenia. Hi, I’m Dr. Cumberdale, But please, call me Huebert.” The man’s voice was rough and crackly, like he needed water. He gave a small smile with his thin lips, and continued talking. “Can you remember how you got here?” I gave a small shake of my head. This guy wanted me to talk, so I wasn’t gonna. “Okay, then. Stay put, we need to talk to your Mommy.” He stood up, addressing me as if I was a child, not a nineteen-year old. I glare, unsure if he could tell my disappointment with how he was talking. He Laughed, and ruffled my hair. I give a deeper glare, and make a gurgling sound in my throat. He steps out of the room. I stare at the ceiling. I shut my eyes, squeezing them tight. I take a breath.

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once-upon-a-spemily · 7 years ago

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Heaven, I Want You

Summary: Spencer and her poor broken heart will never be over Emily. She’ll take her anyway she can get her, even if it’s behind closed towards and flying in the face of all Spencer knows to be right and wrong.

A/N: Lol I accidentally wrote angst. Also, disclaimer, this prominently features an extramarital affair.

There’s a dull ache in Spencer’s chest that she can’t shake. She’s standing by Alison’s side, wearing a dusty rose dress, the same one that Hanna and Aria are also wearing, while Alison and Emily wear white. Emily looks beautiful. Spencer can’t stop looking at her. She can only hope that the fact that she’s supposed to be facing Emily covers for her.

Emily’s so lovely it hurts, but it hurts more because Spencer knows that there are healing scratches on her back, and a hickey on her thigh that are less than a week old. Spencer can still taste Emily’s lips on her tongue.

Spencer feels marks on herself, too. Not her body. Branded in her mind.

Mistake.

That was what Emily had said.

Even now, the word threatened to scald Spencer’s skin and heart. She was a mistake.

She ignores the vows, lest she want to drive herself crazy, instead torturing herself by focusing on the curves of Emily’s mouth, the lines of her neck, the slope of her shoulders, the glint in her eye, the curl in her hair. Her hands clutch her flowers harder, sinking her teeth into her own lip since she can’t sink them into Emily’s.

They trade rings, and trade kisses, and Spencer feels like everything is in slow motion as she claps, smiling her Hastings-Tried-and-True fake smile, letting a few tears slip out, and dying inside as people assume she’s so happy and moved by her best friend’s wedding.

Just once, just as she’s turning away, does Emily look at Spencer. Spencer’s heart nearly catches in her throat. Her heart races, and her smile only grows. She feels manic. Then Emily’s looking elsewhere, hugging her mother, and Spencer comes back to reality.

She helps Alison with her dress, feeling dizzy, and follows them to the reception.

Hanna and Aria are crying, too, but they’re smiling for real. And as they cry, either Ezra or Caleb appears at their side, for them to lean on. Spencer lets out one, secret, sigh. She hoped it would alleviate the weight from her chest, but it doesn’t.

She practically blacks-out during her speech. Hanna tells her it was brilliant, and made her cry, and Emily and Alison blow kisses in her direction, but she honestly has no idea what she said.

“God, I wish I could write like you,” Hanna sighs. “What you said about Emily was beyond sweet, Spence.”

Spencer almost laughs. What does she say to that? Well, I’m in love with her? Probably not.

She has no idea how she makes it through the wedding.

She lives approximately six minutes and thirty two seconds away from Emily and Alison. Without traffic. She can walk there if need be.

It’s dangerous. It’s too much. It’s too close.

The idea of running into them getting groceries, or at the movies, or the bar, it’s stifling.

Spencer feels utterly foolish. She’s a grown woman. She’s got her own law practice. She’s got everything she’s always wanted.

Well, she doesn’t have the girl.

Three months into their marital bliss, Alison and Emily invite Spencer over for dinner.

“Sure! I’d love that,” she hears herself answer.

If she hadn’t learned to function on auto-pilot years ago, she would’ve been screwed.

She still kind of thinks she is. She just enlisted herself to suffer through dinner with Emily and Alison. Alone.

She shows up with two bottles of red wine and every intention to drink them by herself. Then she thinks about the fact that if she drank two bottles of wine, they’d likely make her stay in their guest room overnight. She’ll pace herself.

Spencer spends the first half of the evening stewing in her own misery and trying to hide it that she doesn’t even noticed something…off, until they’ve sat down to eat.

There’s a tension between the two. They seem like they’ve been arguing. They dance around the innocent questions Spencer asks.

Spencer doesn’t mention anything. Not until Emily is walking her to her car while Alison cleans up from dinner.

“Hey, Emily,” she says, and for the first time she feels like she’s speaking with her own voice. “Thanks for inviting me tonight. It meant a lot.”

Emily smiles. “Of course. I want things to be normal between us,” she says, and Spencer almost thinks she’s talking about their night together until Emily continues, “I don’t want any of our friendships to change now that I’m married.”

“Right,” Spencer says. And then, because she has always, always sided with Emily over Alison and always, always will, she adds, “If you ever want to talk, you know I’m good for it. Have a good night, Em.”

Two weeks later, Spencer opens her door to see Emily standing there. She blinks, wondering if it’s a mirage.

“Can I come in?”

Spencer nods, stepping aside and letting Emily in. She pretends her heart isn’t pounding a mile a minute.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Emily admits. “It’s stupid. It’s stupid…because…because…”

“Because we slept together,” Spencer says as bluntly as possible, even though her tongue feels like fire as she says it. Emily winces, and then glares. It’s the dichotomy of Emily all in one fleeting second, and god, Spencer is head over heels for this woman.

“Like you said,” Spencer says hoarsely, “it was a mistake.”

The look on Emily’s face is unreadable at best. “Can we just…not talk about it? Or Alison? Or anything?”

Spencer raises her eyebrows and then nods, folding her arms over her chest. “Yeah, yeah we can do that. Whatever you need, Em.”

Part of Spencer is screaming that she should grow a spine and kick Emily out because it’s not fair that she should drown to keep Emily afloat.

Instead, she sits down on the couch next to Emily and lets her talk about work, and the weather, and Hanna, and anything she needs to talk about as she talks around whatever her problems really are.

Emily comes back the next week. And the week after that.

It’s that third time, long into the night, when the lights are low and Emily’s voice is even lower, where they meet in the middle, exploding softly. Spencer pushes her hands into Emily’s hair and Emily is the one pushing them forward up the stairs towards Spencer’s bed, still connected at the lips, not parting for longer than necessary to remove their clothes.

Spencer hates that she doesn’t feel guilty. She hates the ashamed look in Emily’s eyes the next morning even more.

It becomes a thing. Accidentally. Infrequently. But still very much a thing.

Spencer knows this kind of thing never ends well. Emily has never been one for affairs or cheating. Spencer has cheated on and been cheated on. She knows it only hurts everyone involved. She is a smart, rational, logical human being. But god, she’s a little broken, too. She knows she’d do anything, anything, to be with Emily even for a moment.

She’s weak, and she knows it.

Funny, she’d never thought of herself as weak before.

She’s bathing in self-loathing but, hey, that’s a Hastings Specialty, isn’t it?

Despite the bad feelings that come afterwards, when Spencer is with Emily she feels…god she feels like herself again. Powerful and dynamic and quick-witted. And she feels happy. Genuinely, achingly, happy. A kind of happiness that feels like a stranger, honestly.

She still gets invited to dinner parties at Alison and Emily’s. For every time Spencer and Emily have gotten together, Emily has never opened up about her and Alison’s marital issues, or whatever, more than a passing comment or two. But the more dinner parties Spencer goes to, the more she can see the cracks for herself.

It would be hard not to.

Alison can still cut Emily down with a single word or phrase. Emily has stopped standing up for herself. She bottles it up, and doesn’t say a thing, or becomes passive-aggressive. They’ve been married a year, and already, this is what it looks like.

Spencer feels like it’s only the tip of the iceberg. But Emily doesn’t talk about it.

“Hey, I was just in the neighborhood and thought you might want some lunch,” Emily says, looking too good standing in Spencer’s office door. “I know you usually get too busy to eat.”

She steps further into the room, setting the salad down on Spencer’s desk. Spencer sets down her pen, and looks at Emily. She smiles, standing up.

“Thanks, Em.”

Emily shrugs. “No problem.”

She turns to leave and Spencer gets up from behind her desk, half-jogging to catch Emily before she steps out of the door, settling her hands on Emily’s hips and pulling her close.

“Hey, stay a while,” she says, and god, for a second this feels like another world. Another life. It feels so right, and so near that Spencer’s heart nearly breaks from how deeply she’s feeling.

Emily smiles, “I can’t, Spence, I’ve got places to be.”

“Please? For me?”

With a roll of her eyes, Emily sits down. They share the salad, and talk a little, until work overtakes Spencer. Then Emily just sits there quietly, watching Spencer work. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, or vast, and for a minute Spencer doesn’t remember life being any different than this.

Then Emily’s phone rings, and she says it’s Alison and her wedding band is cold against Spencer’s hand as they say goodbye.

This is not her life. It will never be her life.

“Stay.”

Spencer doesn’t mean to say the word out loud. Emily is starting to untangle their bodies, and Spencer shivers as her body heat leaves. She’s got a thin layer of sweat on her skin, and the cold air hits it as soon as Emily is sitting up.

“Spencer…”

She hesitates, and then leans forward, kissing her. Spencer tugs on Emily’s lip gently with her teeth, and feels a pang when Emily has to pull away.

“Alison won’t notice if you’re late.”

“Yeah, she will.”

Spencer sighs, rolling onto her back. “You’re right. And I don’t want her holding that over her head.”

Emily frowns, buttoning up her shirt. “She doesn’t do that.”

“Yes, she does.”

Emily looks mad. Actually mad. They just got finished screwing each other, Emily came to her pissed off about something Alison did, and now she’s mad and defending her. Spencer feels like she’s fallen into the Upside Down or some shit.

How is it even possible that despite everything, Emily will still choose Alison over her? Every damn time.

Is there something wrong with her?

There’s an arc to this relationship, Spencer realizes, and they’re on the downward turn, now.

She knows this because even though she’s happy when she’s with Emily, she’s also in pain. See the thing is, even though in so many ways, just being with her at all is enough, there is a growing undercurrent.

A malicious chorus of you’re not enough. You’re second best. You will never be her first choice.

She. Does. Not. Love. You.

And when that chorus first started, Spencer could push it away. Ignore it. But now, each time they’re together, or each time they run into each other, it gets louder. And louder. And it’s eating away at Spencer slowly.

She kind of feels like she’s going insane.

She also knows that she’s not strong enough to stop it. She just has to swallow it down.

Emily takes a call from Alison. While she and Spencer are in the middle of having sex. She pads out of the bedroom, raking her fingers through her sex-hair and Spencer sits up on the bed, pulling her knees against her chest.

She doesn’t know whether she’s angry, or sad.

She feels pathetic.

It jars her enough that when Emily comes back, before she can feel guilty and leave, or forget about it and start back up again, Spencer speaks first, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?”

“I can’t be your secret,” she rasps, voice sore from tears she can’t cry. “It hurts too much. I’m happy when I’m with you, Emily, but it’s like opening a wound every time I do. I-I need to learn to move on. I can’t be in love with you anymore.”

Emily doesn’t say anything for a moment.

Then, silently, she puts on her clothes and leaves.

Spencer expects the closing door to shatter her already tattered heart, but all she feels is relief. She sprawls on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and feels the weight lifted off of her chest for the first time in months.

She can breathe.

She travels. She works. She doesn’t see Emily or Alison for four months, miraculously. She spends a lot of those four months trying to piece her heart back together. It’s hard, because the wounds are years old, but she can try. Really, it’s the only option she has.

Spencer makes good progress. She feels almost like herself again. This strong, ballsy Hastings woman who can conquer the world.

And then…and then she runs into them at a grocery store of all places.

Maybe it’s the unexpected nature of the run-in, or the mundaneness of it all, that knocks Spencer off of her feet.

“Spencer! It’s been so long,” Alison smiles. “You tired of dinner with us?”

Spencer forces a laugh, and it seems to reverberate throughout her, and her fragile heart can’t stand up to the soundwaves. Those little pieces, haphazardly and tenderly taped together fall right back apart.

“Just busy. Being the boss takes a lot of work,” Spencer says, and she kinds of hates herself for it.

“We miss you around the house,” Emily adds and what the fuck does that mean? Is she just being friendly? Putting on a show? Is there a subliminal message in there?

“What, is it too quiet without me?”

They make small talk for a few minutes more, and then they say goodbye, walking away with their arms linked and Spencer makes a beeline to the coffee ice cream.

See the thing is, it all goes back to that wedding.

Well, it goes back farther than that. To the days where Spencer was falling in love, and the night they slept together and the night Emily branded their tryst a mistake and decided to marry Alison anyway but, to Spencer, it all goes back to the wedding.

Because all of the hurt and pain before that seem like nothing compared to the heartbreak of seeing the person she loves marry someone else. To Alison, no less.

Emily shows up crying at her door one night and Spencer doesn’t have the strength to turn her away. They sit on the couch, Emily curled up in Spencer’s arms, leaning against her like Spencer is the one solid thing.

Spencer doesn’t know what Alison did but she hates her for it.

They don’t have sex. They don’t even try. Spencer kisses the crown of Emily’s head, gently wipes away her tears and offers her the guest bed.

“Thank you, Spencer.”

Spencer nods. She feels wrung dry. She has no more words to give.

“I’m sorry,” Emily says, and Spencer is, well, dumbfounded. “I haven’t been fair to you.”

It is a realization come months too late, and at a terrible time, and it really means nothing so long as there is a ring on her finger, but to Spencer, it does mean something. She feels vindicated. She feels…better.

She really doesn’t know what to say now. So she simply says, “I love you. Always will.”

Emily blinks, and Spencer turns around, going to bed.

There is another life where Spencer and Emily got together. For real. Where they were the ones who exchanged vows. Where they went grocery shopping, and Emily brought Spencer lunch, and their kisses weren’t behind closed doors. Where Spencer didn’t feel pathetic, or used, or broken. Where Emily didn’t feel guilty, or ashamed.

Sometimes, Spencer aches with the knowledge that her life is not that life.

She wonders if she’ll ever not be in love with Emily. If they will ever stop gravitating towards one another, if this life will be kind to them and let them be.

And then, at the end of the day, when she’s in bed, trying to sort through her too-busy mind, she comes to the same conclusion, over and over again.

No. But at least in this life, she gets to have Emily at all.

#spemily #spencer hastings #emily fields #pll #here have some angst and melodrama #seriously how did this happen??#heaven I want you

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sucaritra · 7 years ago

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Bāṛi - Chapter 4

Word Count: 2378

Warnings: language, anxiety, Negan

Summary: the dreaded meeting with Negan is finally here!

A/N: you have no idea how much i struggled with this chapter. writing Negan is so much harder than i originally anticipated

Common sense told you that you just had the pleasure of meeting the fearless leader of the Sanctuary in all his glory, but that didn't stop you from questioning Simon about what you'd just witnessed before he could even take his seat opposite you again.

“Yeah, probably shoulda warned you about that.” You could only stare incredulously as he shrugged and dove right back into his dinner, looking at you as if you were the one that was crazy and not the people prostrating themselves around you for one man. The odd, cult-like behaviour brought goosebumps to your skin, making you wonder what other surprises Simon was hiding from you.

While kneeling for someone wasn't something you were entirely keen on, you knew it wasn't the worst thing you could be doing just to survive. Hell, you wouldn't just be surviving here, you'd be living. As you hadn't been informed of this particular rule, Simon reassured you that you weren't in any trouble, though it was time to finally meet the boss properly. This did nothing to ease your ever-present anxiety.

“You need to relax, it’s honestly not that bad. He’ll just go over the rules again, give you a couple of options and then you're done. Simple.”

“Options?”

“Yeah, like what positions are available for you here.” Simon was careful not to give too much away; he didn't need you freaking out on him anymore than you already were. He didn't know what it was about you, maybe it was your accent or those damn doe eyes, hell, maybe it’s just who you are in general but Simon’s found himself taking a liking to you. Sure, the lack of eye contact was freaking annoying, especially when he was talking to you, but he just put it down to the justified nerves of being in a new place. It was also offbeat for him to spend as much time with a newbie as he was with you; usually he’d just burden you on Dwight or another savior, but he’s found himself wanting to spend as much time with you as possible. You were new and different from the regular survivors that turn up at the Sanctuary, and until the novelty wore off, he was sticking close by.

Soon, Simon led you to the top floor of the building where Negan resides. The dark stairwells and tall, winding staircase made the trip up seem even more foreboding than the imminent meeting had you feeling, causing you to try and regulate your breathing, both from the anxiety creeping up on you and the exhaustion from climbing so many stairs. You figured you were being subtle, but the slight, unattractive wheezes pushing past your lips brought a small smirk to Simon’s face, causing your cheeks to bloom red.

Slowing down his pace once at the top to allow you to catch your breath, Simon led you to a set of dark, mahogany doors. Knocking twice, you held your breath as you strained to hear any sounds of life on the other side, hearing nothing. After what felt like forever - he was definitely letting you stew in your nerves, dick - a booming voice called for you to enter.

The bright light in the room immediately assaulted your eyes, a huge contrast to the gloomy hallways you came in from, and you had to squint slightly to stop the tears stinging at your eyes. The source of the light is the first thing you notice, as straight ahead of you are floor-to-ceiling windows, much cleaner compared to the grimy windows in the rest of the building. In front of the windows sits a large, imposing desk with a black swivel chair behind it, the occupant of which is seated and staring out through the windows at the compound below. You half expect him to be stroking a white cat on his lap when he turns around, and are slightly disappointed when he doesn't.

“You can go now Simon,” his eyes stay locked on yours as he relieves Simon of his duties, a large smile gracing his features. Fuck. Why did he have to be so damn handsome?! As if you weren't nervous enough, you feel a slight crush begin to develop the longer you stare at him, trying not to drool. He's tall and broad, wearing a white t-shirt that stretches over his chest. “Well, you gonna stand there all day or are you gonna take a seat?” The unexpected break in the silence causes you to jump slightly, resulting in him chuckling under his breath as you rush to take a seat on the chair opposite him at the desk.

You're leg bounces and your hands twitch as he pierces you with his umber gaze.

“Do you know who I am, sweetheart?”

“Uh, Negan right?” his pearly whites are on show as his smile broadens.

“That's right, and you are…?”

“Maria”

“Maria, you've gotta see her,” he caught your less than subtle eye roll and the small smile adorning your face as he sang the old Blondie song, causing him to laugh under his breath. “What, you heard that one before?”

“All the time in school, mostly from teachers. That and “how do you solve a problem like Maria?” his eyes widened comically as you sang, making you squirm in your seat slightly.

“Holy shit! You sing?” you gave a noncommittal shrug, “I’ve been waiting for a pretty little songbird since we found that shithole music store. Anyway, we’ll get right the fuck back to that. First, I have a proposition for you. Simon tell you about how we run things here?” at your nod, he continues, “There's a couple of ways to earn your keep here. Now, I know which option I’d like you to choose, but, it’s entirely your decision. Option one: you work for points. I’ll assign you a job here, you work your ass off to earn points which you can then use to buy whatever shit you want.” He pulls a face at that, an obvious attempt at swaying you away from that option.

“Option two: you become a savior. You'll swear your loyalty to me and to protecting and providing for the Sanctuary, through whatever means necessary. You're gonna need some pretty decent sized balls for that too, I can't have fuckers out there who can't stomach the sight of gore and all that other fun stuff.”

You didn't like the sound of that. While you knew how to survive out there, it didn't mean you enjoyed it and wanted to go back. Whatever means necessary. You'd have to be able to kill whoever Negan asked you to kill, and that was something you were not okay with. Just because the world had gone to shit, it didn't mean your morals had to as well. Of course, if you or others around you were in danger, you'd for sure defend yourself but you were not willing to go out and look for that kind of trouble.

Negan seemed to delight in your concerned expression at option two before moving on.

“And finally option three. This is definitely my favourite.” He grinned that manic grin of his as he rested his forearms on the desk and leaned towards you as you curiously stared back, your interest peaking. “Now, I don't throw this option around lightly so you should be very flattered I’m considering you for this position. Heh.” He licked his lips and your interest suddenly took a nosedive, having a good idea on where this was going. “If you choose option three, then you, my darling, will have the pleasure of becoming my wife. Wife number six to be exact. All your needs will be met; whatever your pretty little heart desires, you shall get. You won't have to work, all you need to do is keep me happy, and in turn, I will make sure you are very satisfied.” He raised his eyebrows and gave you an encouraging look, awaiting your answer.

Now, Negan didn't look like a man who would appreciate being laughed at, so you were doing everything within your power to keep down the giggles threatening to erupt from inside of you. Honestly, what the hell kind of proposition is that?!

It wasn't that you weren't attracted to him, because holy shit, who wouldn't want to get with that Adonis?! No, you had no doubts about him being able to satisfy you, even if he is a cocky arse. It was the simple fact that you were a virgin. It might be silly and too optimistic, especially with the world the way it is, but you wanted your first time to be meaningful and with someone who actually cares about you. Not a presumptuous geezer who's looking to get his dick wet.

Your cheeks are a fierce shade of red as Negan watches you mull over your options with that stupid, self-assured look on his face, winking at you when you make eye contact.

“So, what do ya say, sweetheart? I know I sure as shit want to make you blush for entirely different reasons. I promise, you will not be disappointed. Fuck no.” You could have roasted marshmallows from the heat coming off of your face as he grinned at you, and all you could do is lightly shake your head and huff out a short nervous laugh.

This was not how you expected this meeting to go.

“Um, can I work for points?” cue the dramatic sigh from Negan, “it’s just, I think I’ll be a better fit there.”

“Can't say I’m not disappointed darling, that accent alone is making my dick do somersaults under here, would've loved to discover all the sounds I could get outta you.” He grinned at you as you avoided looking at him, cringing slightly at his vulgar language.

“You should probably get that checked out, I don't think it’s normal for your prick to be practicing gymnastics.”

“Oh ho, my prick can do a lot more than that sweetheart. Would you like a fucking demonstration?”

“What, you gonna do some rhythmic gymnastics for me?”

“I’ll even let you rate me out of ten.”

“You're very confident.”

“I have good reason to be, want me to show you why?”

“Another time maybe.”

“Ah ha! So there's another time?!”

“I think we’re getting a bit off topic. What jobs can I do here?” you both struggle to keep the smiles off of your faces as you look at each other, your face slightly embarrassed and flustered while his is as predatory as ever, with the addition of a light in his eyes you weren't entirely sure was there before.

“Fuck, sweetheart. I can think of a couple of jobs for you to do right here.” You're ashamed to say that you laughed at that, because fucking hell was it corny. “But you're right, getting back on track. What did you do before the dead fucks took over?”

“Nothing helpful really. I just finished college, I think that's high school over here or whatever, and was here for the summer before starting university.”

“Fucking hell you were young. You didn't have any jobs?”

“Not really. I did do some, uh, I guess it’d be assistant work for my dad. He was a self-employed handyman and his English wasn't very good so I did a lot of his paperwork and took his calls for him. That's not really very useful nowadays though.”

“Huh. Secretary. I like the sound of that.” You don't know how to feel when you caught the wicked glint in his eyes as he leaned back in his seat and considered you. He then lifted the walkie sat atop the desk, calling for Simon before standing from his seat and turning his attention back to you. “You're going to report here at eight a.m. sharp, I’ll fill you in on your duties then.”

He’d made his way around his desk by this point and came to stand in front of you, leaning back while simultaneously pushing his hips forwards towards you. You desperately avoided looking at it, not wanting to see if there was any truth to his earlier words. The man apparently has little regard for personal boundaries as he placed his hands on the top of the chair on either side of your head, leaning in close enough to feel his breath ghost over your lips.

“Do not keep me waiting sweetheart. I fucking hate that shit. And I will have no qualms about taking you over my knee if you give me reason.”

The intensity of his tawny eyes drilling into yours were enough to give you chills, and you swallowed visibly, causing his lips to quirk. Negan only broke the eye contact once Simon made his presence known on the other side of the door, and even then he took his time , breathing in deeply before raising from his position as Simon entered.

“I’ll see you tomorrow sweetheart,” he nodded towards Simon, signalling you to leave. He hadn't moved from his place in front of you, meaning you had to squeeze past him in order to get to Simon. You may have avoided seeing the effect you had on him before, but, oh boy, you sure as shit felt it against your hip as you moved past him. Sly fucker. You didn't look at him as you rushed to Simon with wide eyes and exited his office, hearing Negan laugh behind you as he thoroughly enjoyed the sight of you flustered.

“Told you it wouldn't be that bad.” Simon, the knob, grimaced slightly at your entirely unimpressed look and took a leaf out of your book and promptly avoided eye contact with you.

You sighed as you walked beside him to wherever the fuck he was leading you to now. At least the hard part was over. You were now an official resident of the Sanctuary. You were clean, had food in your belly, and would be starting your new job tomorrow. It didn't matter where you'd be sleeping tonight as you knew it would be the most restful sleep you'd have since, quite possibly, this whole apocalypse shit started.

Today turned out not to be so bad after all.

tagging: @neganisking

#negan #negan x reader #negan x you #negan fanfiction #twd fanfiction

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theromanticrationalist · 8 years ago

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MST3K The Return: My Review

Well, I’ve officially finished all the episodes to the new season, and I wanted to share my final thoughts and opinions on the show. I was one of the Kickstarter Backers, and so have been with this show from the very beginning. My thoughts in a nutshell? Money. Well. Spent.

I’ve only recently become a huge fan of MST3K. Most fans have been with the show over the years, but it really hasn’t been the case for me. I was introduced to the show when I was a teenager, and thought it was cool, but just when I wanted to start watching it - it was taken off the air! What?! That was annoying. So, I didn’t really have many opportunities to continue watching it on any regular basis. It was mostly just a few episodes that I rewatched over and over again on VHS (Mitchel, Pod People, Cave Dwellers), so didn’t really get into it too much, although I loved the episodes I had seen.

It wasn’t until the last year or so that I decided I wanted to binge all the seasons of MST3K. (I skipped S1, because reasons). With their availability on the internet, I could pretty watch almost every single episode. I think I have around 10 episodes left to watch from Seasons 2 - 10, but I accomplished my goal. So, I became a die hard fan in a matter of a crazy binge watching marathon over several months, and was super stoked when Joel Hodgson announced his intention to revive the show. I was like, SO MUCH YES.

I have to say that Joel is the sweetest human being alive. Seriously, he is so polite, kind, and incredibly genuine. I think that is why I love the show so much, because it just comes from an honest place of creativity and wanting to make people laugh and happy. I think the line “Repeat to yourself it’s just a show you should really just relax” says everything about Joel and his intentions for MST3K.

However, for me nothing is really just a show, so I’m going to be rebellious and give a more critical review of my thoughts! (Sorry, Joel!)

Cons:

- Tom Servo’s new voice. Okay, so this is my biggest complaint about it. This doesn’t reflect badly on the talent of Baron Vaughn, because he’s a great guy, great voice actor, and really funny. He has some great lines/riffs and I think he does a pretty good job considering the role he is trying to fill, but it just isn’t the same. I think there is a lot more flexibility with Crow’s personality. You can change voice actors, but it is easier to capture him. However, Tom Servo IS Kevin Murphy, and Kevin Murphy IS Tom Servo. Everything that makes up Tom Servo came straight from Kevin Murphy’s personality and talent. He made him very distinct, and it is something you can’t just change the voice of and not have any effect. Tom Servo had such a big personality for a little bot, and now that Vaughn plays him, it feels so off.

- The riffing doesn’t seem *as* natural and organic as it did. The show has gotten a little too self-aware. I don’t mean the meta jokes/riffs. Those are funny, but I’m talking about how Jonah and the Bots riff knowing that they are on an incredibly iconic show about riffing bad movies. It seems a little forced, as if they are trying too hard. This is probably because of how much pressure the show was under to match up to the original run. All us fans trusted Joel with our money, and so I can only imagine how intense the pressure was under that responsibility. (Not to mention how ugly things can get out there with fan criticism...but I digress) So, that was a little off putting.

I will say that it did seem to even out more as the episodes progressed. I think this problem will dissipate and correct itself because it has done really well and people love it, so much easier to be more natural and relaxed from here on out.

Although, I will say that I think Mike Nelson’s writing really had a huge impact on the excellence of MST3K. I believe Nelson is a superior comedic writer and I do miss his voice in the material.

- In relation to the above criticisms, I think this effects a little the relationship between Jonah and the Bots. I didn’t feel the connection as strongly between them as much as I did with Joel or Mike. As I’ll mention later, this too evolved as the episodes progressed, but not too much. See, I started watching MST3K because of the riffs, but I stayed for Joel/Mike and the bots. At the beginning I didn’t really care much for the skits in between the movie, but then over time I LOVED the skits and actually wanted to see them more than movie at times! It was because of all their fun personalities, and how they would interact, being adorable, cute, and funny together! I loved seeing how different Joel was with the bots vs how Mike behaved with them. Joel’s fatherly dynamic, where he would reprimand or comfort them, was so sweet. In contrast, Mike’s more brotherly relationship with them, where he was usually on the receiving end of jokes, pranks, and ridicule, although they had their sweet moments as well! It was distinct, and you grew attached to the characters through these interactions. Each of them also had certain riff types that they would do, like Crow calling everything “A Kitty!” or Tom Servo falling in love with various females/turtles or how he would love to show off his singing. So, while I did praise Mike Nelson’s superior writing, I’m not a RiffTrax fan for this very reason - it isn’t just the riffing, but the characters and their relationships! I missed this in the new season.

- Some of the riffing came really fast and all at once! Overall, I thought the pacing of the show picked up a lot of speed. I was like Ah! Hold on! I can’t keep track of everything happening! However, this also became a little more relaxed over the course of the episodes. (Maybe I just acclimated, who knows). This isn’t a huge problem, but I just wish things weren’t so fast paced now a days. I know attention spans a pretty much nonexistent, but I prefer if we try to slow down and let things breath.

Pros:

Okay, now that the negative part is over with, I shall go in my list of AWESOMENESS! Yay!

- JONAH HESTON. Okay, so despite my above criticisms of the relationship aspects, I think Jonah Ray is so, so perfect!

He really jumped into the role with all the enthusiasm and hilarity that it calls for! He is so sweet and adorable, but also wacky and bizarre. I love the oddball quality of his humor. He makes these off the wall, aside comments about himself, and it’s like what are you even going on about, Jonah? Even the bots, who are crazy themselves, were incredulous at some of things Jonah likes to do in his spare time. His comic delivery is very earnest and smooth, and he says everything as if it is just self-evident and normal, even when what he is saying is totally not. What came to my mind when thinking about Jonah’s style, is Alice in Wonderland. That seems really random, but if any of you have ever read Lewis Carroll’s work, will notice how his characters talk as if they are absolutely sane and logical, but they actually say the most absurd, nonsensical things. Jonah reminds me a Lewis Carroll character in that way.

Another aspect to Jonah, which I believe is intentional, is how self-assured he is and opinionated on many things. Many of his skits seem to be satirical in regards to the “Millennial” generation, how we act and talk, especially on the internet. It’s pretty much genius. Yet I also love how he is “Mr. Perfect”, good at everything! Immediately on Episode 1 he wood carves, invents, raps, and riffs like no one’s business. Then, of course, the reason he got captured in the first place was because he had to go rescue someone all heroically. Aww! He’s just too good and so charming! An absolute weirdo, though, and that’s why he’s my favorite!

Servo: “Sooooooo what did you say in this message?”

Jonah: “Help! I’m trapped with four robot companions being forced to watch bad movies unlike the rest of society who choose to watch bad movies on a weekly basis!”

Jonah: ヽ(^。^)丿

Crow: …

Crow: ”So you’re saying you really don’t care if we get rescued or not.”

- Segueing from this to one aspect I noticed and I hope gets developed, is that I did sense a camaraderie happening between Jonah and Crow. As I said above, I didn’t really feel the relationships with the bots, but I saw the potential for them to build upon it for the next seasons! Crow is my favorite bot (although it is really hard to choose), and I observed that he and Jonah seem to be building a rapport! I think they get along so well because they both are pretty much insane. Jonah seems to have innate understanding of Crow-speak, and I thought it was really cute how Crow ingratiates himself with him at times. Even though the bots do enjoy tormenting him from time to time. (It’s what they do.) Here are some examples of Jonah and Crow:

Jonah: “Most don’t even pack anything, just the “Whoo whoo!” song from Blur.”

Crow: “Awesome! I mean, do you like it?”

Jonah: “Well, again its too on the nose. Every space jockey going up into the sky with the rockets taking off - you involuntarily go “Whoo whoo!” It’s just not me.”

Crow: “Nor me! I just want to do what you want to do!”

Crow: “I knew it! Patopitate Ammonia! Jonah! I told you earlier they were going to use Participate Belonnia!”

Jonah: “I don’t remember that.”

Crow: “No, you remember, I said Potatopaste Pottagonnia!”

Jonah: “Oh, now I remember!”

P.S. I’ve officially warmed up to Hampton Yount’s Crow, and commend him for being able to capture all the caustic, zany goodness of my favorite golden bot!

- Felicia Day! I love Kinga Forrester! She’s so awesome. She and Max are hands down my favorite Mads. I already enjoy Felicia Day as an actress/comedian actress, but she really captured the essence of her character so well. She goes from evil crazy psycho to sweet manic pixie girl flawlessly. She balances just the right mix of goofball and sweetheart in her humor style, and I think it works exceptionally well. I was very happy when Joel announced her as being part of the cast, and my expectations were well met! All hail, Kinga Forrester, the meglomaniacal Iron Lady!

- Patton Oswalt! TV’s Son of TV’s Frank, or Max as Kinga so insensitively reminds him, is hilarious and the sweetest thing! (I use that word a lot, I know). I was also excited when I heard he was cast for the show because I really liked his role in Agents of SHIELD, and I thought he was pretty much tailor made to be the bumbling, but well-meaning evil sidekick. He too didn’t disappoint. I was even surprised by the little unrequited love storyline going on between him and Kinga. MST3K giving me an OTP?! My Tumblr fangirl heart says yes! He and Felicia worked well off each other, having the perfect Mads chemistry that is so reminiscent of Clayton and TV’s Frank, accept Max is pretty much a precious cinnamon roll incarnate!

- My favorite episodes: Cry Wilderness, Avalanche, Wizards of the Lost Kingdom 1 & 2, Yonguary, and The Christmas That Almost Wasn’t. I especially loved the Wizards movies. I was dying, literally laughing out loud at those episodes, they were so funny. The Christmas That Almost Wasn’t was like another Santa Claus Conquers the Martians or Santa Claus, and yet somehow creepier than both, which is saying something. It was just as funny, though. So, overall, I think the riffs were great! Clever, zany, and satirical, very much in the same vein of what we love about this show. I enjoy the more modern references too, especially social media riffs, and I think it is awesome to have MST3K for a new generation!

- All the shiny new designs! Okay, so one of my favorite things about getting Kickstarter updates from Joel was finding all about the new design work that was going into the show. As an aspiring concept artist, I was all over this, and I was really impressed by the end result. The show is undeniably more produced than it was, but it still maintains the campy creativity of its predecessor, just more shiny! I love all the color schemes, the rich purples and blues and how Jonah Heston’s yellow suit pops out really well against it. I love all the little details within the corridor to the theater, stuff that Jonah and the bots would use for every day living on the space station. The attention to the aesthetic details of the sets showed, in my opinion, a great love and passion for the work. I commend their artists for an excellent job!

Honorable Mention:

- Rebecca Hanson as Gypsy. I was never really attached to Gypsy as a character, but I thought she was a pretty funny aspect of the show and made a great foil for Crow and Tom. This revisioning of her was strange at first, just because it was different. Gypsy is now a sassy, sharp-shooting personality, and I can dig it. Rebecca Hanson did a good job, and I like what she brings to the character.

Also, I guess there is like this huge mystery of what Gypsy is exactly carrying in the payload moments of the theater? So, that’s interesting.

Well, those are my thoughts! I hope that was helpful/enjoyable in some way. In either case, I hope Netflix announces a Season 2 soon, because I already need MOAR. Great job to Joel Hodgson and Co!

#Mystery Science Theater 3000 #mst3k the return #MST3K #Jonah Heston #Jonah Ray #Joel Robinson #joel hodgson #felicia day #patton oswalt #Kinga Forrester #Crow T Robot #Tom Servo #my thoughts #review

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awed-frog · 8 years ago

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1-2 SPNs structure is so weird to me, its like watching 2 dif. shows. "motw-verse": two humble hunting brothers, nomads n minimalists who live their car, fighting low-key monsters, everyday heroes set out to save just single person, have a little group of allies like Jody, Donna, Claire, Garth, are shook at the sight of a single demon in a room full of hunters. Myth-Verse: Sam n Dean, the stars of a fast-paced fantasy action epos, legacies of an ancient aristoratic organisation, live in giant

2 bunker filled with valuable item, T-Team for threats of national security, have a group of spn friends like Cas, Crowley, Rowena. Walk into heaven, hell like they own the place. Its nearly 2 parallel verses that share a lot of similarites. That’s why during Motw they act like end of the world threats dont exist, or can go watch sports while Cas is in danger or why Claire (perviously connected to Cas in the Mythverse) now doesnt speak of Cas anymore ever since she moved to the Motwverse. lol

So, first of all I have to say - holy shit, you may be the first person in the history of tumblr to send an ask in two parts in the ‘correct’ order (for anyone out there, anon sent it backwards so they arrived in my inbox as 1&2 and not as it usually happens, 2&1) and that is out of this world and I’m completely speechless.

Also, you make a very good point. I guess this is mostly what some fans are complaining about - because the show they started watching was mostly what you call the ‘motw-verse’, and then it exploded into this weird parallel structure and yes, that was a big change. I only have vague memories of that happening, and it felt organic to me, anyway, because those first seasons actually had a coherent story, so demons and angels - they made sense even if they didn’t show up every week.

As for what’s going down now, it’s hard to disagree with you. It’s annoying when they pretend nothing big is going on, and it’s even more annoying when they justify a random hunt simply with a ‘we’ve got jack on the case and I’ve got cabin fever’, perhaps because we’ve heard it a thousand times before. I remember being particularly annoyed at what was otherwise an excellent episode - The Chitters - because they made such a big deal about giving Cesar and Jesse their happy ending and I kept thinking, You idiots, you morons, Amara will probably deep fry the world next week, do you think she’s gonna make an exception for their cutesy little ranch and their itty bitty horsies? - so, yeah, I know exactly how you’re feeling. On the other hand, I think a common problem for TV shows is what happens when you lose or add a character and how that changes the dynamic of the story, because we’re all creatures of habit and we don’t like anything changing, ever.

[Exhibit A: this horrendous thing was built in the 1840s, and it copies, of course, ancient Greek architecture - a leap of two millennia - but what is even funnier is that those vertical lines three by three above the columns - the triglyphs - were already completely useless in ancient Greece. When temples were made of wood, those were the ends of the beams which jutted out, and when we started making temples out of stone, our manic craziness took over and we decided they had to look exactly the same, or bloody else? And somehow, this is still what we’re doing - all of us, every day. ‘It’s always been done this way’ - that will be on the Earth’s headstone some day soon.]

Introducing the ‘myth-verse’ gave Supernatural some leeway to play both teams (and I’m in a good mood, so I’m not even going to say anything about that - not a single word) by introducing new characters and bigger stories but at the same time reverting back to Sam and Dean and the Impala and chop, smash, salt and burn for a good half of the season. Someone cynical would say it’s probably just a marketing ploy - for my part, I think they honestly want to make the ‘myth-verse’ work, because it’s interesting af, and what they may be suffering from is a lack of communication between their different writers and writing teams.

The problem with keeping those two storylines almost completely separate, though, is that at some point the things that don’t make sense become so many they threaten the whole structure. For instance, something I lowkey resented for years is how selfish the Winchesters are being with their stupid Bunker - what about those poor people out there whose parents and siblings are beheaded by ghouls - people like John Winchester, who think they’re crazy for years and years until they find some hunter bar and still, everybody in that bar has to hunt with homemade bullets and Wikipedia and just hope for the best? Hell - they’ve got friends who hunt - how come they never bothered to tell Jody about all that information and all those spells they apparently spend their off time learning and classifying? What about Garth? It’s nice of them to give him the right to live, and yay, but what if somewhere in that Bunker there’s something that could help him get better? Not to mention they never bothered to tell those people about the world ending, or anything. Also, they know FBI agents could be convinced of the truth, because of what happened with Victor, and yet they never even discussed the possibility to make the government aware of what’s really going on. So, I don’t know - part of it is the American frontier spirit, or whatever, and some if it’s just who they are, and now the BMoL are here, some of these points are moot, anyway, but still - the logical development of a show like this is the logical development of any show - at some point, people either die or make friends. You generally don’t spend your life alone. As entertaining as The Big Bang Theory was when they were all single and half desperate, for instance, it wasn’t believable that they would be single forever - and if the show got worse, it wasn’t because they introduced some female characters (the horror!) but because the writing wasn’t up to the task, because that’s where the problem always is: in the writing. So, yes, the normal evolution for Supernatural would have been the same thing that’s happened to every other show - to add more characters and to have them on the show in a consistent and believable way. For instance, their personal issues aside, it’s sad and weird neither Dean nor Sam found themselves a romantic partner of some significance in twelve years, and we know that’s not likely to change until episode -2 before the series finale - because, again the people behind the curtain are trying to have it both ways.

I don’t know. From what I can see, I have a feeling, as I said, that the problem comes from the writing room. Their choice to have both things - the pilot over and over again and an intricate new show full of new and interesting characters - is a peculiar choice, and perhaps madness, but it could be done? Some of their MoTW episodes have been the best thing ever, even after ten years or so. But I get the sense nobody really understands the epic feel of the story any longer - the grandiosity, the tragedy. I don’t know anything about the showrunners, so I don’t want to accuse anyone, but - yeah. You need to have a certain mindset, and certain vision, to make a story so complicated into something that works both as the daily struggle of two lost orphans who scam credit cards and iron with beer and a timeless tale about Right and Wrong and Destiny and Choice, and if you don’t have it, it just shows.

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