#yo I don't even remember how I was working the perspectives fuck

[sergeantnarwhalwrites]

Robots & Gardens Part 3

Everything is a draft and will be subject to change later and there will be grammar mistakes. My usual spiel XD It's been a while huh. The document was giving me hell when I finished typing this up. Finishing up this chapter as most of you voted for in the make me write tag game/poll. You can find the previous parts here -> 1/2/

The screen mounted on the wall had quickly came to life beginning to play the hyper cinematic news. Broadcasting it through the old scratchy speakers within the room. 

“Tonight we show live coverage from the newest competitor from among the largest manufacturers. A multi-millionaire approaching even higher realms of wealth and possibilities. Tonight this man of many accolades speaks for all of us.” 

He didn’t look like what Green would imagine a multi-millionaire to look like. It was just some pasty white dude with the sleeker pair of teched glasses and neon nail polish, oh, and a sad mustache. The older pairs felt like a couple of cell phones taped to your head. She knew because she’d stolen a few pairs easy. You could always tell the newer ones cause the color didn’t flake off the frames.  His bright nail polish glittered as he covered his grinning mouth with his hand.  

“Thanks for having me and for the lovely introduction. We are in the process of merging with the very notable manufacturer of Justice Robotics.” 

Green felt the forehead wrinkles forming briefly pausing in her idle roaming. Maybe she shouldn’t have grabbed Peace from the protests today but the money was too good to turn down. The threat this client offered against all Peace’s protestors was worse. She knew Peace could handle herself but she didn’t have the skills to console Peace if her protestors got ran through. That newbie richie’s words sounded like an absolute disaster in the making.

A long running manufacturer that makes a majority of the bullshit and a new company known for elaborate coding and mimicked products. She lifted her knife from the holster and acknowledged the weight in her hand. Twirling her knife in her hand as she returned to her idling. Ignoring the lingering odor double fisting her nostrils with her best efforts. Frustrated that the smell didn’t seem to care about the woman’s position. This crew was soon to be hers. She was tough. She provided for those that she could. It didn’t matter that it involved breaking a multitude of laws.

“In this move, we will be consolidating our products and efforts. We will even destroy two of our old headquarters in this locale to replace it with sustainable land.” 

Green rolled her eyes. Sounded like a lie. Though if there even was a follow through, they’d still have to throw tons of money at those damn filters. The same stupid filters that newbie’s company made. She mumbled aloud to herself about Peace’s future rants about how funding for this destruction would come right out of the actually important parts of the education efforts. Green wasn’t sure if she’d just be an open ear or mention that the education efforts didn’t do much for the both of them anyway. 

She grunted to herself ignoring the shuffling feet of crew members shoving old shirts into the drafty windows. The smog lately had been atrocious. Green had forced her crew and Peace to use masks. Her thoughts refocused to the wealthy man babbling; maybe centering the rich idiots will make less interference and more business. 

“Is this a countermeasure to the smog covering oldtown locale? How have your backers felt about these decisions?” The reporter asked. 

He laughed, and it made the speakers rattle, “One can consider it that. My backers are enthused by the new move! They encourage actions like these.” 

“We’ve heard a lot of mixed reviews on this. From workers, citizens, and fellow manufacturer owners. Is there anything you would like to say to sway them?” 

“Don’t fear change! We guarantee this move will improve air quality and all products leaving our facilities! Our companies’ profits will merge but outstanding payments will be handled from separate funds. Allowing for wages to remain as they were.” 

Green continued to twirl her knife catching a new glint on the screen. The overbearing lights of their news set brought attention to a wedding band on the rich man’s slender fingers. Blinking as the screen flickered off. 

“Be prepared. We might have to house the protestors after this news.” She stated, slipping her knife back into the holster. 

A muffled laugh slipped past a crew member. Older. Their gray hairs sprinkled throughout their exposed chest hair. They tossed the remote aside and nudged Green. A damp shirt tossed over their shoulder, ready to fill in any gaps in their crumbling safehouse. 

“After this stunt. We’ll probably be getting all kinds of wild calls.” 

Green grunted in affirmation. “Yeah, and I’m sure a shit ton will ask us to murder innocent protestors.” 

“They hate people that oppose their goals.” They put a hand up to hush Green and hurled the shirt at the head of a fellow member. 

The shirt landed with a wet slop. Proceeding to hang off of the victim's head. 

Green snickered, “Good aim. Don’t think we should cause any damage before we have to run around like wild men. Jus’ like you said. We’ll have work coming for us.” 

The wet shirt returned, hitting their shoulder. They clambered to grab it before it hit the floor. Holding it against their thigh before tossing it back up into their hand. 

“Tough guys gotta goof off before the serious jobs hit.” 

“This is a serious job. We can’t let the smog fuck up everyone inside too. We got kids in the building.” She unbuttoned her sleeves, carefully rolling them up, “I’m gonna see if I can shake out the filters or something.” 

---

The engineer sat on the floor, squinting at the laptop that sat on her knee. One hand keeping it balanced there. She viewed the video data that Donnie had left for her about their tagging incident. Well attempted. The video was fucking butchered. It was grainy, one, but then it would crash after a few minutes. She’d blame it on the tag itself if the video hadn’t been distorted from the start. Hollis was doubtful she could restore something like this. Or if it was even worth it to do so. She tried not to let it frustrate her. But who was ever chill about the tech they made not working with them? 

Donnie was obviously an important person, she could tell that easily. The cyborg’s shirt was smooth– silky, and it was patterned. A dress shirt that she knew cost more than her weekly snack runs. Even if she had a tendency to apply the shove it in her pockets discount. Though she wondered how an important person could have such high-end tech go so long without upgrades. Without checkups. The man was a cyborg. Basic maintenance could be life or death. So could the tagging incident. She stared blankly at the corrupted video data. 

Digits kicked the door, arms still out of commission. She had enticed her helpful roommate to stay back with the exaggerated imagery of what might happen to her arms as they got worked on. Brian had looked queasy by the time she mentioned the pain has made her vomit and then crumple into a pile on top of it. She had gone in to bash the door with another swift kick, jumping when Hollis swung the door open. 

Hollis leaned against the door frame, carefully eyeing the woman. She caught sight of bronzing knuckles beneath artificial skin and grimaced. Not noticing the confusion on the woman’s face. 

“Can I come in?”

Hollis nodded and chewed on her cheek. She moved aside to let the woman in. 

“How long have you had those prosthetics?” 

Digits’s face scrunched in distaste. The engineer didn’t know if it was from the question or the answer. 

“Maybe six years. Something like that.”

Hollis nodded silently and lifted one of Digit’s arms. Concern filled her eyes as she glanced up at the woman. Careful to not let her gaze linger longer than necessary. Though she had failed at that one. 

“I realize my prosthetics are an older beta model. Can you fix this or not?” Digits snapped, wanting nothing more than to snatch her hand back from the engineer. 

Hollis released Digit’s hand hastily. She only asked the questions out of necessity but she understood how this situation was not the best for easing the mood. Though she knew this Hollis still grimaced. She placed her hand on Digits’s shoulder and pushed her down into a chair. 

“Let me put my contacts in and get my tools,” Hollis shot a smile with too many teeth irritated, “Unable to move both arms? Any feeling in them at all?” 

Digits grunted when her ass hit the chair. Arms hanging limp at her sides. Hollis felt Digits’ eyes on her back. Unbothered by the feeling. More on edge that she’d actually have to have as good vision as possible to not fuck Digits up more. This wasn’t a squint and hope for the best kind of job. So Hollis sucked in a breath and held her eye open with one hand before dropping a couple eyedrops in. Repeating this in her other eye. She popped open the case to her contacts slipping them in with ease. She blinked aggressively towards the wall until the contacts tinged her brown eyes blue. Waiting for Digits to answer. 

Digits pressed herself against the back of the chair. Ignoring the quiet creak of protest that sounded at the movement. 

“Nope, I can’t move them at all. Sort of, it’s just nulled a ton.” 

Hollis tossed her tools onto the table and approached Digits. She lifted both of the woman’s hands picking at the artificial skin with her thumbnails. 

“Well, you won’t feel what I’m gonna do to you then. I’m guessing your arms giving out wasn’t sudden. You have a tell.” Hollis’s eyes scanned over the prosthetic unamused, popping a marker from her overalls breast pocket. 

“Usually a tingle in the back of my neck. Like anxiety shakes.” 

Hollis trialed the marker down her three prosthetic fingers on both hands. Pressing hard on the back of her hand to try to find where the rest of the machinery was located. Mumbling to herself as she circled the woman’s wrists. She felt more artificial skin as she traveled up the woman’s forearms, following it with the marker. 

“Whoever installed your prosthetics were idiots,” Hollis stated matter of fact, not marking again until she reached the back of the woman’s neck. 

“And that means it’ll make your job harder won’t it?”

“Correct.” 

Digits sighed loudly, feet tapping impatiently on the floor. Watching one of Hollis’s smaller bots zoom past their feet. 

“I can do a temporary fix that should keep you in better shape than now. But it won’t stop the lockups. I’ll have to install a new cable in an attempt to reduce some of the stray charges. If they implanted a supplemental chip to assist with faster readings there’s a chance it’s just being overloaded.” 

“Shit. That sounds expensive.”

“You’ve got me working on an old beta that didn’t survive a year past the testing stages. The fix up is gonna be expensive. I’ll just take whatever you have on you. Any more and I’d be robbing you.”

“Sounds like bullshit.”

“More shit than your prosthetics,” Hollis quipped back, “Don’t talk down on my kindness if you want somewhat functioning arms for your day job.” 

Digits shot the engineer a thin lipped smile. Looking away from the engineer as she did her job. She probably deserved that. Hollis nodded accepting that silence as an answer. She scrapped off all of the woman’s artificial skin. Sighing at the mess that rested in front of her. She placed both of Digits’ arms on the table and got to work. 

[layce2015]

Sneak Peek #2 for The Boys Fic (Soldier Boy x Female!Supe!Reader)

(A/n: Soooo…hey everybody! I know it has been awhile since my last post, which announced that I was gonna do a The Boys fic, and I am sorry for the wait. For anyone wondering, yes I am still doing it I’ve just been dealing with every writer’s worst nightmare….Wirter’s Block!

Mainly it’s cause the show doesn’t give a whole lot of Soldier Boy’s backstory and I’ve been adding some flashbacks into my fic that shows how Soldier Boy and (y/n) interacted. But all we got of Soldier Boy’s past is from other people’s perspective and maybe some mentions from the man himself. So it has been a rough to come up with scenarios from little information we got. So I stepped back from it for a bit. But now I’m back on working on it and I have at least two and a half chapters written out and it’s supposed to have at least 8 chapters. But it could be more if Soldier Boy ends up appearing in season 4.

Anyway, to prove that I am working on this fic, here is another sneak peek for the fic.)

"Well, we got to talk. I think I have something, thanks to my informant." Maeve said and she hands him a folder. "Informant?" Butcher asked as he takes the file and opens it to see some pages of information and pictures of Soldier Boy. "Soldier Boy. So what?" Butcher said as he looks up at her.

"Remember how he died?" Maeve asked him. "Stopping a nuclear meltdown in Ohio. '83, '84, I think, got buried beneath a reactor. Always thought it was bollocks." Butcher said. "Yeah, you thought right. Read." She tells him and he reads the file.

"What's B.C.L. RED?" He asked. "If you believe the rumors, it's the thing that killed Soldier Boy. My informant said it's some kind of gun or weapon or something. Had to have been a fսcking H-bomb. He was nearly as strong as..." Maeve said as Butcher looks through the file and looks at some pictures.

"If we can find this...weapon or whatever it is, maybe we can use it to blow Homelander's fսcking brains out." Maeve said. "If it is real, not some fսcking fable." Butcher said then he picks up the team-up picture of Payback. "Payback." Butcher mutters before he scoffs. "What a bunch of fսcking wankеrs." He said as he stares at photo. "When The Seven passed them as the number one super team, Crimson Countess sent me a box of cat shit. But not all of them were bad. She was a close friend of Soldier Boy and his ex-girlfriend." Maeve said as she gestures to the photo and points at the red-haired woman in the red outfit who was standing on the right of Soldier Boy.

"And, uh, Gunpowder was his sidekick." She said as she points at the young teen who was standing at Soldier Boy's left. "If anyone knows what happened to him, they do." Maeve said while Butcher noticed Noir in the photo. "Your mate Noir was in Payback. Why don't you ask him?" He asked her and Maeve scoffs. "Even if that walking tumor could talk, it wouldn't be to me." She said and Butcher looks at the photo again and noticed a woman standing on the other side of Gunpowder.

She looked about in her late twenties, her long (h/c) hair was braided and she was wearing a dark blue body-suit and a gold belt and knee high boots, a matching cape on her shoulders.

"Is that...?" Butcher started to ask and Mavee nodded. "Mystic Shade, yeah." She said. "Haven't heard that name in years." Butcher said and Maeve shrugs. "She retired sometime after Soldier Boy's death. She was fucking Soldier Boy." Maeve said as Butcher flips to another photo and this one was of Soldier Boy and Mystic Shade together. They were both smiling and Mystic Shade was hugging Soldier Boy as he had an arm around her waist.

Butcher then looks at Maeve. "Well then, I should be visiting her, not these two knobs." Butcher said but Maeve shakes her head. "No, Mystic Shade is off limits." She said, firmly, and Butcher gives her a curious look. "And why is that, princess?" Butcher asked and Maeve just glares at him.

Suddenly, it clicks with him. "Mystic Shade is your informant, isn't she?" He asked and Maeve averts his gaze and he smiles, knowing he was right. "Fine! Yes, she was the one that gave me this information. But she told me, specifically, that she didn't want to be questioned because this is all she wanted to give." Maeve said and Butcher watches her. "So, please, don't go bothering her." Maeve demanded.

"Well, well, well, didn't know you had such a soft spot for Mystic Shade." Butcher said and Maeve sighs. "We've been in communication for almost a year. Then when she heard about Homelander and all the fucked up things he's done and how I want him gone, she provided this." Maeve said and Butcher gives her a look that basically said he knew there was more to it.

"Fine, she was one of the heroes I looked up to when I was a kid, okay! Unlike most of these assholes, she actually cares about people." Maeve said. "Oh, I doubt that." Butcher said. "Doubt it all you want but it's the truth." Maeve said as she digs into her purse and pulls out a little bag. "Here." She said and Butcher takes the bag, unzips it and sees small vials of green liquid.

"What's this?" He asked her. "It's Temp V. One shot makes you a Supe for 24 hours. I mean, they think. It's still in R&D." Maeve said and Butcher gives her a look. "Oh, great, so powers, maybe. Maybe my bollocks swell up like footballs. Yeah?" Butcher said, sarcastically. "Payback may be a bunch of fսck holes, but they're strong. And they're dangerous. If you're going against them, you're gonna need it." Maeve warns.

"And what makes you think that me, of all people, would want to turn into one of you?" Butcher asked her as he takes a step closer to her. "This is our best chance to kill Homelander. Don't fսck it up." She said.

(A/n: And here is another peek, this is one of the flashbacks.)

I walk up to the stage as Doctor Vought was at the microphone, talking. Then he turns to me and holds his arm out to me. “Now please welcome the new hero, Mystic Shade!” He said and I push back all of my negative emotions and smile and wave as I walk up to him while the crowd applauded.

I go to Dr. Vought and he shakes my hand then kisses both of my cheeks then leads me to the microphone. Once I get to the microphone, Dr Vought said. “Now, Mystic Shade, will be taking questions.”

And a flood of voices saying over here, over here chanted out and Vought points to a random person. “Yes, you there!” He calls out. “How does it feel to be selected to join by Dr. Vought?” A male voice called out. “Um, it is an incredible opportunity here. And I’m very excited to join.” I replied then more raised hands and voices. Dr Vought pointed out to a different man. 

“When did you first discover your powers?” The second man asked me. “I was about fifteen or sixteen years old when I found out. I guess I was alway born with them it just didn’t develop until I became a teenager.” I replied. “And what are they? I mean, what can you do?” The man asked. “Well, I’m strong, I can move objects without touching them and I can make shields to protect myself and people around me.” I replied and there was a series of ooh’s and aah’s across the crowd. 

Then another round of hands shooting up in the air and Dr Vought points at another hand. "So, are you gonna help out with the war? If so, how does it feel to be the first woman to be out in the field?" The third man asked. "It is something I never would've imagined but I want to help out not just the country but the people who are involved." I said then another man calls out.

​​​​​​"So what's it feel like to achieve everything you hoped for?" He asked and I paused at this. Truth is I didn't achieve anything, this is all a lie. I wanted to scream that out so badly but I couldn't as I stood there frozen. "I-I, uh..." I stammered then Vought comes up to me and places his hands on my shoulders. "I'm sure she feels fantastic. She's being very modest right now. Not being used to this kind of attention can make anyone freeze. So let's give a hand for our new hero!" Vought said and there was applause and I give a small, weak smile.

Minutes later, I walk out on the balcony and took in a deep breath then let it out. Being in that ballroom suffocated me. I lean against the stone railings of the balcony and took in some quick breathes until anger rose in my chest and I slam my fists down on it, making the stone crack. "Whoa-ho, remind me not to make you angry." A male voice said, a bit of a laugh in his tone. 

I jumped at this, not expecting anyone out here, and look to my left to see a man, in a army uniform with a long coat, standing some feet away from me. "I'm not in the mood to talk." I grumbled and I look out on the balcony. "I figured. Saw you up on that stage....and well, here..." he said and I look over at him and see him holding a bottle out to me.​​​​​ "You need this more than me."

"Did you steal that from party?" I asked him. "More like borrowing." He said, shrugging, and I chuckled a bit then take the bottle from him. "Thank you." I said and I begin to drink from it. "I'm guessing rough day?" He asked me. “You could say that.” I muttered and I take another drink from the bottle. 

“These Vought parties are never what the public thinks they are. The only good things here are the food, the booze…and the pretty women.” He said and he gives me a flirtatious smile. I giggled a little and smile, which I just realized is my first genuine smile I’ve made in months. “I’m flattered but…I’m married.” I tell him and he has a surprised look on his face.

”I don’t believe that.” He said and I raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh? And why is that?” I asked him. “No sane man, especially a husband, would leave you out here on your own.”  He said and I laugh a little again. “Maybe, I wanted to be alone.” I said and he shrugs a little. “You may have a point. But, even so, shouldn’t be out here alone. Some stranger could try to chat you up.” He said. “Like you?” I asked him, smiling, and he chuckles.

”Yeah…” he mutters and we share a small laugh then he holds his hand out to me. “I’m Ben.” He introduces and I take his hand. “(Y/n).” I said as we shake hands. “(Y/n), beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He said and I give a bashful smile to him. “Thank you.” I said then he kisses the back of my hand and I felt my heart leap in my chest.

I haven’t felt this way in a long time, not since I married my husband. 

“So, you happily married?” He asked me and my smile falters. “Judging by that frown, I’m guessing not.” Ben said and I sighed. “Just…going through a tough time right now.” I said. “That’s why I never married, when the tough times come in, there’s nothing to tie you down.” Ben said and I nod at this. “I’m starting to think that’s a good idea.” I said before I drink from the bottle again.

At that moment, we hear the door open behind us and I look over my shoulder to see it was Adam. “There you are.” Adam said as he comes up to me. Then he looks over at Ben and seems surprised. “Oh, I see you’re talking to your teammate.” He said and I furrow my brow. “Huh?” I said and Adam places an arm around my shoulder. “This is Soldier Boy. Your partner in the war.” Adam tells me and I was surprised by this.

I have heard the name Soldier Boy but I didn’t know what he looked like since I was trapped in that lab for the last few months.

I look over at Ben and he gives me a smile. “Surprise?” He asked me. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me for not recognizing you, sir.” I said to him. “It’s fine, just don’t go forgetting my face now.” He said, smiling, and I chuckled. “I most certainly will not.” I said and he nods.

”Well, I’ll leave you two alone. I’m sure I’m needed in there.” Ben said as he gestures to the door. And I felt a little sad about him leaving, I was kinda enjoying his company. “You two have a good evening.” Ben said as he walks over to the door. “And you as well.” Adam said then Adam turns to me as I look out on the balcony.

”I see you already starting the night off.” Adam said, gesturing to the bottle of champagne in my hands, but I don’t respond as I look over my shoulder in time to see Ben go to the door. It seemed he sensed me and he looks over his shoulder at me then smiles and gives me a wink before he walks in.

My heart absolutely fluttered at this and I felt my face go red before I look back out on the balcony.

[decks-writing-blog]

Whatever the Fuck Benrey is: Chapter Eleven: Don't be Weird

Chapter One

Previous Chapter

[A/N] I've finished writing this fic, yay! It's 23 chapters and an epilogue. I have no idea how it ended up being that long but I had fun with it. Also, heads up, I got even more lost in the angst sauce towards the end. How bad it gets, I'm not a great person to ask because my perspective on such things is skewed (I read and write super heavy stuff fairly often and it's pretty light compared to some of that but certainly heavier than where this fic is now). If I remember, I'll put a proper content warning at the top of chapter that has the worst of it. Despite that, this fic remains, technically the funniest fic I've ever written solely because it contains the most funny moments (the rest of my funny stuff is short drabbles and one shots) so that's cool.

~

Behind every door was a dead end. Sometimes just cold concrete, other times the walls were made of rotting flesh. It twitched and burbled as something started to rise out of it. Gordon slammed the door and continued on. Overhead the light before him flickered on while the light behind went out with a small pop as the bulb shattered.

Gordon’s friends… traveling companions had gone on ahead while he’d slept. He was weak like that so they’d left him. Surely he would catch up soon. They’d be behind one of the doors or further down the hall. Keep going and he’d find them.

The next door hid behind it a blank room with a health station at the far end. A flickering light shined down on it from an unseen ceiling. He walked towards it, the door closing behind him with a bang. It was locked, leaving him no choice but to continue forward.

A few steps away from the health station, the unseen light bulb burst with a flash and a loud pop, sending shards of glass raining down around him. Darkness rushed in, engulfing him in its thick oily presence. Hands came with it, grasping him, beating him, pulling him down to floor. Whatever they belonged to was dead and rotting; the stench of it filled his nose and mouth, choking him, suffocating him.

Struggle was futile. He tried anyway as he was pulled down and down until until he was partially submerged into the cold concrete floor itself. A hand, its flesh partially sloughing off its bones, grabbed his wrist, yanking it out. He screamed and struggled harder. No one cared. Why would they? He didn’t even have the HEV suit this time, making it all the easier for the saw to…

“Wakey-wakey.” One of the hands was on his shoulder, slightly shaking him. “Time to rise and shine.”

Gordon jerked away, snapping his gun hand up. The instant before he squeezed his ‘hand’ to fire though he stopped. Even in the darkness without his glasses, the sharp yellow of Benrey’s new eyes marked the figure looking down at Gordon as him.

“Yo, you said to wake you if you looked like you was having a bad dream so… I did.”

Gordon’s heart hammered in his chest as he panted for breath. His arm was still tense, moments away from firing the gun. He needed to calm down and relax. Gunshots in the middle of the night would call attention they really didn’t need on them right now. Trying to take a deep breath didn’t work though. The air was still thick and heavy and oh gosh, he was gonna…

Benrey sang a familiar pretty tone, snapping Gordon’s eyes back onto him. Soft blue light rode the sound. Aimed directly at Gordon’s face, he breathed it in, flooding his mouth with the sweet taste of blue raspberry, erasing any lingering trace of rot from his dream. His whole body shuddered a little as the tension was forced out of it, leaving him able to catch his breath finally.

“Thanks,” he said, rolling more onto his back as the sound ended. “How does uh… how does your sweet voice work exactly? If that’s okay to ask.”

“I don’t know. They gave it to me as an experiment, never really bothered to explain anything ‘bout it and I don’t really care.”

Gordon could ask for more information, wanted to but… he didn’t want to bring up a potentially painful subject. Instead he sat up and looked towards the clock. … It was too blurry for him to read. “What time is it?”

Benrey turned his head to look too. “Uh… 3:36am.”

Damn, way too early. He’d barely slept at all. Maybe he’d have more luck if he waited until sunrise to try for another nap. In the meantime… “Well, I tried sleeping so uh… wanna play something?”

“Nah, bro, you need sleep. Coomer says you’re supposed to sleep uh…” Benrey paused as he pulled out his phone, presumably to check his texts, “seven to eight hours and it’s not even been half that so… not enough.”

“So you went to Dr. Coomer for info, huh?” Since when had Benrey cared enough to even think about such things, let alone go to the trouble of learning more?

“Yeah. Apparently you can die if you don’t sleep enough. And uh… for you, you said that’d be permanent which would be a bummer.”

“Ah, okay, I get it. You can’t have me die until after I buy you that Play Station 3 I promised, right?” And he seemed to largely be a social gamer so he liked having Gordon around to play with since they seemed to be into a lot of the same types of games. So it was most likely more a matter of Benrey being concerned about possibly losing entertainment opportunities than actually caring much about Gordon’s health or well-being.

The look Benrey gave him was utterly unreadable without his glasses and the only light in the room coming through the crack leading to the hall, but it was certainly some kind of look. “Just uh… go back to sleep, bro.”

Gordon scoffed as he slid over to grab his glasses and put them on before standing. “Nah, can’t after that. I’m too uh… wound up. But don’t worry ‘bout me dying of sleep deprivation, ‘kay? That takes a lot of not sleeping… though I guess accidents related to sleep deprivation are fairly common. I’ll be careful and won’t drive or whatever tomorrow until I’ve had another nap or something.”

Benrey was silent, his gaze heavy on Gordon as he stretched and paced a little, trying to work out the last of the post nightmare jitters. The blue sweet voice had helped a lot, it was amazing. It didn’t erase the memory of the dream though and did nothing to ease the bone-deep exhaustion that seemed more and more like it might become just a normal part of Gordon’s life now.

He wasn’t alone though. Benrey wasn’t just a voice on the phone this time but physically here with him, making his presence all the better. Their friendship could work like this. Gordon used him to calm down after nightmares and for company and Benrey used him for entertainment and video games. Maybe not the fairest exchange in the world but when one didn’t have many friends, one should take what they could get. Bubby had betrayed him, Dr. Coomer had tried to kill him once too, and heck, even Tommy hadn’t exactly tried to help him after he’d been jumped. So Gordon was no stranger to being desperate for companionship to the point of being willing to overlook things others would likely end friendships over.

The darkness, not being conducive to one contemplating staying up the rest of the night until sunrise, Gordon made his way over to the light switch. Before he hit it though…

“What if… what if I help you fall back asleep?”

Gordon turned to face Benrey, still standing next to the bed. With his glasses on now it was obvious that his eyes were glowing ever so slightly. Some kind of night vision thing or something he was doing because he thought it cool or whatever? But more curious than that was his offer. “What do you mean?”

Benrey didn’t reply, just kept looking at him.

“You got a sweet voice that can put people sleep? Or maybe just more of the blue might help but…” Even if being too keyed up to relax was the main thing making sleep feel far away despite his exhaustion, the fear of descending right back into that dream made him reluctant to try.

“Nah, in the Black Mesa facility, the uh… the first night you spent back there when I was there too, when I went to your room I was just gonna lie next to you for a bit. But you were all tense and mumbling and stuff, having a nightmare. I was gonna wake you but then you just kinda… grabbed me and hugged me. You’re warm, it was nice and you relaxed so… I stayed. Didn’t seem to have a bad dream after that so maybe uh… we could try that.”

Oh. Gordon vaguely remembered having woken with the vague sense of having had a nightmare but it was so gone form his mind by now that’s all he recalled. Not at all like the vivid dreams he’d been having. Perhaps nightmares that centered or at least heavily featured being alone were a bit harder to have when holding someone and being held. “You’re offering to cuddle me back to sleep?”

“Mm-hmm. It was nice and it’s kinda cold. Just don’t be weird about it.”

Gordon almost laughed. Normally it was Benrey making things weird. But well, he was tired and he’d had the thought of cuddling before going to bed before dismissing it as stupid. It was kind of cold in here though so if Benrey wanted to do it to warm up in addition to helping make sure his ticket to getting a PS3 didn’t die of a sleep deprivation related accident before fulfilling that promise, who was he to say ‘no’? So… “Uh… I guess it’s maybe worth a try. Just… don’t make it weird or tell anyone. Tommy probably wouldn’t care but we’d never hear the end of it from Bubby and Dr. Coomer would probably have a thing or two to say about it too.”

“Got it. It’ll be our little secret.”

“Yeah, our little secret. Go uh… get ready for bed, I guess, like put on pajamas and… whatever else it is you need to do.”

Benrey turned and headed for the closet to pull out the sleep wear Gordon had bought him under the assumption he slept like a normal person. He didn’t take it to the bathroom but started undressing right there. Gordon turned away; Benrey might not care about privacy but he did. He returned to the bed and took off his glasses again, placing them back on the nightstand. Getting himself to settle down and lie on the bed again took a bit of hyping himself up but he got there eventually.

By the time he did, Benrey was ready to join him. This already being awkward enough, he did so without either of them saying anything. Unsure how to proceed, Gordon let Benrey initiate the cuddling. Which he did hesitantly at first before pressing into Gordon’s chest, seemingly losing all his shyness over it the moment they made made physical contact.

He wasn’t just not warm but actually a little cold. It was slightly unpleasant but as they settled into each other, he was also soft. Both of them wearing thinner, looser clothing meant a bit more skin contact too. He seemed to have that ‘surface of slime’ feel to all of him, perhaps attributable to his shape shifting. Maybe his true form was a slime monster? Would that be cool or gross? … A little of both. Mostly the former though because slime monsters could be pretty neat sometimes and if that’s what Benrey was, he certainly counted as pretty neat. That being said though…

“This is kinda awkward.” Gordon didn’t entirely hate it though. If nothing else, it was a very good distraction from bad dreams and bad thoughts.

“Yeah, kinda.”

Silence resumed after that as they shifted and got more comfortable. Much like a pillow, Benrey lost his coldness over time, making him just soft in Gordon’s arms again. And then, not long after noticing that, Benrey started purring. Rather weakly but it was still unmistakable in the silence and with how close they were.

“Oh, okay.” After how he’d reacted to Gordon bringing it up, he hadn’t expected Benrey would let him hear him purr ever again. “You’re asleep or…” was he actually choosing to do it this time?

“I told you not to make it weird.” His purring stuttered a little but he kept doing it, his voice rumbling with it. “You said it was soothing… helped you fall back asleep or whatever.”

“Sorry. It… it’s nice, lovely even.” Comforting especially as it strengthened, becoming a deep pleasant rumble that Gordon could feel in Benrey’s chest. “Thanks.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

Gordon’s choice on that matter was rather quickly dwindling. Being a bit awkward didn’t make it not also nice. He was comfortable and comforted. How could he possibly have a bad dream, let alone a full blown nightmare, with Benrey soft in his arms and purring so wonderfully?

~

Next Chapter

[theliterarywolf]

1|2 So Idk how prevalent this actually is in the US, but I've several times read articles about schools asking for more funds from the state, because they only have old and broken down equipment, and teachers who can't even afford basic teaching-resources. Reading the article in several cases, makes mentions of the school having actually gotten extra funds, but the funds were used for sports/PE related things, instead where they were needed. One example was a whole new court, despite the old one

2|2 being completely fine. Those are some really weird dystopian reads, because it's like "oh our school doesn't have heating, and all our tables are rotting, there's black mould on every surface and our teachers are starving... BUT LOOK AT THESE NEW SPORTS UNIFORMS, and our BRAND NEW BASKETBASEFOOTBALL COURT! The last one was perfectly fine, but we wanted to modernise it a bit, since we just can't let our sports students run around on a more than 4yo court, or in 2+ yo uniforms. : )"

So, I'm actually going to make a big video/audio going over everything that I experienced in my first year of solo-teaching once the school year ends.

However, for the sake of this ask, I want to put a few things in perspective.

So some people may remember those really cold rainstorms that California had late last year/early this year. ...Yeah, up to today the heating in my classroom doesn't work. And while I can circumvent it by bundling up or with all the moving around a classroom that I do, my students weren't so lucky and it would be a constant back and forth of 'Ms. Lit, can you turn on the heater?'/'Unfortunately, the heater doesn't work, folks.'

During one of the RARE cases of the principal 'checking in' (interestingly enough, I was the only new teacher that she didn't consistently supervise; she pushed me off onto her pretentious vice principal), I mentioned that some of my 10th graders don't respond well to me/or the material and it's probably because of the language barrier (they decided to dump a bunch of lower-level EL students into the class of someone who doesn't speak Spanish) so perhaps I need a language-support aide in those periods. Her response was basically 'Mm... yeah, unless the students question have literally just come over the border, the District isn't going to provide that'

The school I work at boasts being 'one-to-one'. This means that at the beginning of the school year, they gave each student a Chromebook and enforced that teachers primarily teach from digital sources (Google Classroom, slideshows, various educational websites, etc.). Particularly for assessments and data-collecting. *deep, steadying breath*

THE FUCKING WI-FI WENT OUT DURING FINALS WEEK BECAUSE NO ONE WANTED TO SPEND THE MONEY TO CALL SPECTRUM TO COME OUT TO CHECK IT THE WEEK BEFORE!!!

Meanwhile, the school administration happily spent money on:

A new office building

A new parking lot

Renovating classrooms, not for heat or anything important, but to give them shiny new windows and dry-erase walls~

A new 'school of transportation' building

And CAPS! Which the district boasts as an 'all-inclusive afterschool program' but, in reality, is just babysitting. Especially since most afterschool programs end around 4 but one evening I had to stay until 7 to help with a basketball game and I saw two of my students still at school and, upon asking what was up, they responded 'Oh, we're in CAPS. We're just heading over to the library for some more books'.

[sayakxmi]

[Magi reread] Night 14: Lord of the Dungeon

Still sick, and now my muscles hurt from all that coughing for the last MONTH. But anyway.

Fuck shit up, little magic boy.

Pretty.

Yo, I'm still kinda processing how badly beaten Alibaba's got, like, this is the next chapter and he still hasn't picked himself up. God damn.

First of all, "the slave of the rukh" is such a fucked up wording. Like, you could've said literally anything else. And then the whole "using slaves is my power", yeah, no shit, you have no actual skill other than being a sadistic piece of shit.

Yes, I'm going to overfocus on Alibaba still not standing up, like, bro. Actually, how big part of Magi is Alibaba just getting his shit wrecked.

No one wants you to accept anybody. It'd be an actual insult to be accepted by you.

Damn, what an expression. Shoutout to my boy Aladdin for not giving a shit.

Lmao.

He just wants the flute.

Will Alibaba pick himself up in this chapter? Stay tuned to find out!

Ok, but jokes aside, I 100% don't blame him. Like, dude got thrown into the wall by a Fanalis, and then kicked down by Jamil, that's a totally understandable reaction. It must've hurt like hell, and probably still does. Like, I'm making fun of it, but I legit feel bad for Alibaba.

Oh, shut up.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHAHA TELL HIM, ALADDIN

You think he went to some doctor after this?

Your speak-cloud is wobbly, you're not good!

HE'S ALIBABA'S FRIEND ;______;

And he STOOD UP! With help, but still!

Saya, stop putting in all the Alibaba panels, just because you think he looks pretty there.

*touches*

They look a bit silly.

Lmao, get wrecked.

Oh, hi, Amon!

My son, obviously.

GET WRECKED, lmao. And F for Morgiana. Tho also this is why any "King Vessel Morgiana" AUs just don't work for me - she's literally stated to not have enough magoi to handle having a djinn. MUU barely has enough magoi, and he still can use the full-body djinn equip for several minutes max, and he's not a full-blood Fanalis. So, basically, unless the topic of her not having much magoi is addressed somehow, I'm like

with these AUs, even though they do sound cool. Though, to be fair, I also think her personality doesn't really fit a King Vessel. Ngl, tho, I wonder if that would've been the case if she hasn't spent most her life up until this point as a slave. How much of her personality is nature, and how much of it is her nurture? Tbh, I can kind of imagine her been a bit more like Myron, I guess. Who is, like, one of the two known Fanalis who DON'T have a history of being slaves. Shame the topic of Fanalis is so ignored later on.

On a different note, when it comes to Fanalis, I'm still kinda meh about them in the Final Arc. Like, they're kind of boring, ngl. I've always liked to headcanon them to be pretty conservative (like, give them SOMETHING), and maaaybe slighly look down on humans (they've certainly said something about Morgiana choosing to maintain her human form, instead of returning to her original one, tho I don't remember the specifics). And we know Fanalis are proud as fuck. I've always thought it'd be an interesting contrast with how the world before the Rift looks down on the Fanalis, while the Fanalis past the Great Rift look down on humans. It could've been an interesting topic to explore. Eh, guess I'm adding it to the "three four year timeskip" rewrite-esque fic outline that I have yet to start. Tbh, most of them already have titles, and quite a lot outlined, but this one still doesn't. Not gonna lie, tho, I might divide it a bit into several parts, cuz there'd be so much to cover.

OK, BUT AMON AND ALIBABA ARE LIKE "GRANDPA, AND THE KING VESSEL HE SAID HE DIDN'T WANT". Man, I could really use some Amon's perspective in Magi, as in, how exactly he went from "sigh, since there's nobody better" to "this is my grandson Alibaba, he's very cute, and a little bit pathetic at times, but he's very precious to me, he'd look so good in pigtails :)"

That he did.

You go, big magic boy.

I know as much as you do.

[homosociallyyours]

Hi!!

I'd love to know more about:

Filth (Canadian Cabin rare 3some)

And any other wip you really want to talk about.

THANK YOU MY FRIEND!!!

That's the one I was shocked nobody asked for, and one that I really love and very much plan on finishing. It's a special favorite of @jlf23tumble but I think you'll like it too! For a while I thought I might publish it on anon unicorns, but the problem is that there's nothing about it I wouldn't wanna claim? ANYWAYYYY

It's. Rande Gerber/Harry Hamlin/Harry Styles having a threesome that Louis actually took part in planning (which Harry finds extra hot) in Rande's remote Canadian cabin. It's the middle of the night and a little dark and fumbly, but it's got a flow. Enjoy:

The sounds were quiet, but distinct; familiar, certainly. There was the swallowed hum that Harry associated with taking a cock in his mouth, aroused beyond belief and yet somehow soothed by the rightness of how it filled him. It was followed by a choked sound, and he found himself pressing down on his own hardening cock, thinking about gagging on Louis’ only a few nights ago, tears in his eyes as he forced himself to open his throat up and take it. 

He didn’t think he was dreaming until he heard the rough whisper of his name. “Harry-- fuck, yeah. Missed this.” 

It was Rande’s voice, and Harry bit back a gasp as he slid one hand into his pants, fingers trailing over the hairs that led down to his cock. They’d never done anything together, but of course Harry had thought about it. It was a fantasy that he indulged in with Louis regularly, playing the innocent younger man being taught how to be used by a rough, rich daddy who took exactly what he wanted and left Harry wanting more. 

The cabin was fully dark, the moon not even a sliver in the sky, the Canadian woods swallowing up any light that might try to sneak in with thick branches and clouds that had threatened rain for at least a day of the camping trip. Still, Harry lifted up on his elbow, turning toward where he knew Rande’s bed was on the opposite side of the cabin. He slid his thumb across his slit, spreading the bit of precome over his cock as he gave it the slightest tug, trying to hold back from jerking himself off fully in case this really was just a dream.

BRIEF, UNDETAILED SEXUAL ASSAULT MENTION BELOW

THIS IS A CONTENT WARNING

I'll also talk about the BDSM fic I had a nice little start on, because I fully DID NOT remember actually getting anything down for it (I signed up for the fest but also had my first BB fic to work on, so I had to drop). The plot is that Harry and Louis are roommates. They're both queer and kinky but not sure they'd be compatible and not willing to test it when they like the relationship they already have with each other.

Then Louis comes home and finds Harry after a date that went really badly (boundary pushing and no aftercare) and is immediately worried/jumps into caretaking mode. The experience shifts Harry's perspective and eventually HL's relationship into something different. Here's a little bit

CONTENT WARNING OVER YOU ARE SAFE TO READ

DON'T WORRY IT IS 100% FLUFFY:

“I have a date Friday,” Harry says casually on Wednesday morning as he and Louis navigate their shared kitchen. Harry has already been up for a bit doing his usual morning routines and Louis is trying desperately to leave for work. It barely registers for him, but he nods anyway and asks who it’s with. 

“Matt from that party last week, Boy Pile.” 

Louis has a vague memory of someone tall and chiseled, built a bit like Chris Evans. “The Dorito?” he asks, filling his travel mug with coffee. “Thought you weren’t that into him.” 

Harry laughs and slides Louis’ phone toward him, making sure he won’t forget it. “He found me on Grindr a few days later and we started texting. Turns out we have some common interests.” He’s got a sly smile on his face and Louis just shakes his head, laughing it off. 

“You’re such a slut for mean daddies. I’ll never understand.”  “Because you’re a nice daddy, Lou.” It’s the kind of gentle teasing that they’ve engaged in since they first met, and Louis can’t help but enjoy it. He pinches Harry’s side, making him giggle, and grabs a piece of toast off Harry’s plate before heading toward the door.

(isn't that a nice little start?? I literally got to the end and was like damn why didn't the bitch who wrote this FINISH IT???)

[straighttohellbuddy]

🌈💞💝

YO GENUINELY THANK YOU THIS WAS SO SO GOOD TO ANSWER!! seriously felt v cathartic. I love this ask game a lot, it's got a lot of really great questions !!

🌈is there a fic that you worked *really fucking hard on* that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with?

I tend to think I talk too much about my fics as it is, and I've talked about my struggles with my fics as I've been struggling through them, or in hindsight, you know?

So this may be a bit of an unconventional answer, but I'm gonna talk about a fic I haven't spoken about in probably over a year, and still haven't properly published; my Vilbur/Villain!Reader fic, what you love you devour. I'm struggling to write it because I'm overwhelmed with the timeline and how much I want to include, not because of the themes I want to tackle and that I'll tell you about in just a second, I'd just like to make that clear.

But yeah, a few months into writing the fic, I don't remember exactly when, but my understanding of the reader's narrative just kind of... Clicked. I don't know how else to describe it; I'd been writing the fic well enough until that time, but there was a moment where I finally understood it, light the clouds had shifted and I could see the light.

Because it's a story of addiction. Not in the traditional sense, there's no kinds of substance abuse in the fic, but I myself am a recovering addict, and viewing the reader as being in recovery when the story begins, with the things she used to rely on as a kind of coping mechanism (lying and pointless cruelty, among other things) being in her past, but her still being judged for the way she used to be despite making it clear that she was putting in the effort to change, it turns the entire story into a tragedy as it develops further.

To be fair, it's probably mostly just for me at this point, like if you're not familiar with the kind of rhetoric and stuff you hear while in recovery, the reader's feelings and instincts and the like probably won't even clock as an addiction storyline, but it is. Albeit in amongst this incredibly dark, sensationalized, tragic love affair I'm brewing. Or it will be if I could ever publish it.

💞what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

I know it's such a cop out answer, but it really varies from fic to fic, and even then it depends on where I am at in writing the fic. I think, and I know its a bit vague, the most important part for me at any given moment is the sensation. Whether that be trying to perfectly capture a moment from a characters perspective, so you know exactly what they're seeing and hearing and thinking and feeling. Or maybe I'm trying to impart a kind of blurry, almost whirlwind as time rushes past and things change all around you as you're caught in this happy rush.

Like I reread too much time together (Corpse) some time ago and I thought for a moment, 'this kind of takes its time' but I wasnt mad about it, and it occured to me that for that fic, it's meant to feel like that, to linger on the little details, the tiny moments, the intricacies of daily life and domesticity; this fic is meant to be as relaxed and as comfortable as home, it's 21k, it's like a warm bath, take your time experiencing this life I've written for you. ❤️

An excerpt to kind of demonstrate what I mean by that

--

--

yeah, so I guess the most important thing to me is the sensation of a fic. I have a very specific vision in my head for each fic usually, and I want to try and impart that sensation/experience onto my audience. Sometimes that prioritises world building, sometimes it's the character and their relationships, sometimes it's the prose itself, it depends on whatever I think is the best way to impart the sensation/experience Ive envisioned.

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

I sometimes tend to judge a fics popularity based on, for lack of a better phrase, the quality of audience response, which is to say that pretty best friends (Dream) which I posted on the same day as his face reveal, did better numbers just because of the timing, and I do think it goes pretty alright, but it doesn't get a lot of comments. That wasn't the unexpected one. I posted to show you the stars (and win your heart) (Wilbur) a day before, and while it didn't do as well numerically, I was surprised by the incredibly loving comments the fic recieved?? Like reading it back I'm very pleased with it, but I've been kind of inconsistent with posting, so to have people apparently love it so much?? I was and still am so touched and pleased. I love that fic. And it means so much to me that people still love my work xx

[daemonrot]

Animal Communication while Neurodivergent

byr: this is from the perspective of someone with ADHD. I could have gone into the intersection of this and blackness and class (ex. growing up in the rural south) but that could be a whole mf book so I zeroed in on just the mental illness part. And I have very limited experience with hallucinations (my brain does the delusion thing more, similar but different), so do what is best for you.

tldr/ymmv: Instead of forcing your mind to be quiet, visualize your normal thought processes as part of the experience by redirecting them and basically unmasking. It takes some practice, but try and reject the societal pressures to communicate a certain way. Let your racing thoughts be the white noise. Penelope Smith says herself that animal communication may not look the same as a human conversation. Allow this to be fun! You're not incapable because of your neurodivergency, just gotta do things a little different.

So, I've been reading Animal Talk by Penelope Smith which has been an absolute game changer in regards to how I interact with and view the animals around me. Beyond just the spiritual aspect of this, I am perusing a career in pet rescue and animal welfare, so aligning it with my religion is pretty awesome. There's some truly groundbreaking information in this book, even if you're a spiritual skeptic, if you love animals you can get so much from this book.

My issue with it, however, is Smith falls into a very common harmful mindset in spiritual practice, specifically meditation or mental work. She emphasizes the need to "quiet" the mind before attempting to communicate with animals and that you can't achieve it unless you do. I don't believe that. I never have. It's in the same vein as the anti science freaks who think that you can never do witchcraft if you're on antidepressants. It's just not true. And I know the book was written in the 80's, so there's obviously going to be some generational disconnects, but I really don't want the subject of this to be lost to time.

(she also has a section on sugar causing spiritual blockage which is,,,, a whole different thing that i'll just say is bullshit and can get real racist real fast.)

This post inspired me to dive into this properly. I want to sort of revitalize her first step in practicing animal communication, "Observing quietly." She really pushes for your mind to be silent while listening. If you have ADHD or really any ounce of anxiety you know how hard that is, even when talking to people normally. When people talk, instead of listening like neurotypical people do, our minds are taking in and actively forcing our heads to process the information, and also thinking about the fact that we're processing it. We're making sure our faces are correct, we're expressing that we're listening and then thinking about how we did that. Then before you know it you realize that you need to be formulating a response so you begin to do that.

It's a lot. And it's never going to be "quiet."

So, instead of trying to force our minds into submission and feeling that good old woe is me wave that hits when we remember we're mentally ill, allow your mind to do what it needs to be able to engage in active listening. That's what it really boils down to. Keeping in mind the other points of animal communication such as seeing the animal as an intelligent being and being engaged and open, what I've been doing is opening up my mind to listen and when one of those thoughts come up, I question them. This is common in shadow work as well. I take a few minutes, not expecting the animal to respond then, and when I get the thought "how am I doing, is this right? no this is fake, this is weird, do I look okay? am I remembering everything?" I reply to myself as a child would.

"Why the fuck does it matter? You're here to speak to your dog. Not give a speech."

And then just let it flow.

Think of it like your thoughts are a river flowing by. Meditation is sitting on the bank and enjoying the feeling of the sun on your skin. Yes, the river is making noise, but it's not the forefront. In animal communication, maybe the animal you're talking to is sitting beside you. And try to remember that there isn't going to be the judgment or expectations when talking to animals. Take the mask off! Be excited about what they're sharing with you. Ask questions. Be you. I've personally been using these moments with my pets to let myself communicate how I wish I could and it feels amazing.

And yeah, this isn't a quick fix. This is work too, but the point of this post is to know that you are not incapable or less magic or less spiritual because of your mental illness. Maybe you have to do a few more steps, or do things differently, but you're not broken.

[dzpenumbra]

8/25/22

I had a 6 hour fight with my Mom tonight. I wish I could act like that's an abnormal thing, but over the past 3 years, 6 hours is actually pretty average. And this happens pretty much every 1-2 weeks, at least once a week.

It went the same it usually goes. If she even talks about her day, which she did today, and I offer any kind of help or perspective, it is quickly rejected. I try to urge a bit more, because I actually do care and want to offer some of the thought-tricks that I've learned in dealing and coping with similar situations. I want to contribute, be involved in her life. The more I try, the worse it gets. I get treated like I "told her she's doing it wrong", or "told her she reacted wrong" or something. I get yelled at. I clearly show my hand immediately, nothing up my sleeves, just offering my perspective and how I think there's more positivity in her life than she's noticing, and the negative is very overinflated. Cheering her on, urging to come a bit closer to the light, optimistic side for a bit. But I remember how sissy and lame and arrogant the Jedi looked when I thought Sith were cool, too. That's probably how I look. Like some smug Jedi Master on the Council, like... shit, who would I be... Not Yoda, I'm not there yet, though I do have my days when I feel that way. Not Mace Windu, too gung-ho. Well shit, am I Obi Wan now? Standing by the doomed Sith - loyal, faithful, refusing to give up until the last possible moment?

Crap. Well at least he got to live a full life.

Well after getting pummeled for trying to be nice for an actual hour, the 20th time of explaining myself seemed to be the right number and she started to get that maybe she made a mistake there. Then we transitioned into asking how I am. Well... see... years of therapeutic environments have trained me to just get the fuck over it and be honest about how I'm feeling. I think it's a good thing, it's like speaking in AA or group therapy or something, I think it's a good trait overall. But some people just really don't like the truth. Either about themselves, or others, or the world as a whole, I guess. They just really don't want to know my honest thoughts. Yet... they ask how my day was. My response? I'm depressed because my family and friends don't really like any of my art, music, writing, performance, interests, or thoughts really, it seems. I'm not being entirely fair, I do have one friend who does care about these things, though he does have a lot of things demanding his attention so it can be hard for me to hold it for very long sometimes. The rest - don't seem to care less about pretty much anything in my life unless it's something THEY already like. Go figure, right? .... I mean... once you say it out loud it's like... yo, you're just really fuckin selfish, aren't you? Bah, try telling them that.

I said I was glad to finally start connecting dots and find the reason why I don't have a sustainable business right now. I'm glad I found the missing piece. The shame is that the missing piece is how much other people around me value me, both personally and publicly. Which is pretty much the only thing I can't control about it. The only thing that literally anyone BUT me can do something about.

What do I get as a response? "What are you offering them in return?", "can't you just do it yourself?" I get told pretty much the opposite of what I'm saying. That I'm not "creating enough value" for others. If I had a dollar for every time I've heard that, I would have bought my own fucking island by now. Then I start getting told ways that I can find support, the real fun go-to one I've heard like a goddamn thousand times now is this fun idea where the way I get people to share my work (art, music, writing, streaming, youtube) with their friends is for me to go out and get a full-time job, with the intention of meeting coworkers (or even, dare I say, management staff!) and then... well I guess the theory she has is that I'm going to share my art and music and shit all the time with them and for some reason they're going to like me. You know, because I got my job to hang out with people instead of like... working... and my primary motive is to basically advertise my business to them 24/7 in an environment where they literally can't leave without getting fired. Yep. Trapped with the guy who's talking about how he's reeeeal talented at art and shit, of course he is, that's why he's working here, it all makes sense.

I'll tell you what that DOES do. It gets family and friends off the hook. Doesn't it? Find some complete random stranger to take on the super strenuous work of actually being supportive and involved in your family/friend's life. Ugh, don't you just absolutely hate when you have to listen to your friend's shitty music or else they'll just get all sad and shit, then you have to like sit there all emotionless and annoyed while they're crying and shit about "it's like we're not even friends". The worst, so awkward.

After seeing so many people like this, I now have a huge phobia about being like this accidentally. Like, if someone is trying to connect with me and offer me something, or open up to me or something and I completely overlook it. It actually haunts my dreams, honest. Because that has been like... my entire life. Overlooked. Abandoned. Near-feral. Thrown scraps. My interests are "not for them". I'm "acting out". It's "defiance". My whole fucking life. I started with asking for my needs to be met. I learned very quickly that I can't do that, because that equates to questioning whether they had been met in the first place, and questioning that implies that someone failed. Someone screwed up. And she doesn't screw up. Trust me. Then after a very long time embracing that fear and holding my tongue, I relearned how to speak my mind and how to ask for help. And, wouldn't you know, I started seeing some horrible shit come out of people. So if I see someone reaching out to me to connect, or share something of themselves, I try my very best to drop everything and be there. To really engage with the moment. I try to convey as sincerely as I can how big a gesture it is and how much it means to me. Because of that, I'm really paranoid of just overlooking those, or missing them. Not giving those close to me the things that I am steadily deprived of.

So yeah, that was pretty much my entire day. I woke up, chilled with Max, made a new cover setlist for streams/open mic nights, hopped in the shower, went to the river and looked for jewelry stones, just being one with nature a bit, then the second I got home it was fighting until 2 AM. Now it's 7 AM and I'm just finally now feeling... I guess safe and relaxed enough to try to sleep. I want to capture and savor this window while I can so I'm gonna go smoke a bit more and try to pass out.

I was gonna say I feel bad cutting this short but for fuck's sake, everything I write is like 5+ pages... so big round of applause for all you bookworms out there, getting through X pages of listening to some chronically abused person in their mid 30's bitch about how they put up with this regularly so that they don't have to accept that they don't have a family anymore and... never really did. Womp womp.

Thanks for taking this moment out of your day and sharing it with me, I've never written about this publicly before.