#It gives me the impression that the Internet is experiencing now something similar to what I experienced when Emma (2020) came out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

Emma Swan, Olympian is not a phrase Emma Swan, totally normal person, ever expected to hear.

But she never expected one night at a party hosted by her college's baseball team to change her entire life, either. So, it should really come as no surprise that Emma Swan, Olympian, is now something of international sensation. Or that her husband has become a bit of a social media star.

——— Rating: Teen with sports feelings Word Count: 7.5K AN: As promised and because of who I am as a person, I wrote Olympic fic. I can neither confirm nor deny that there is an actual plot here, but there is a surplus of fluff and sports-based feelings. So, that’s something. Thanks to the Detroit Lions, specifically, for posting this Tweet and to my husband who is very much aware of what content I want the internet to provide me. Operation: Make Killian a New York Yankee as often as possible continues.

|| Read on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

———

No one told her the questions would start to blur together.

That would require media training, Emma imagines. And no one is giving a first-time Olympian in a sport that only a handful of people marginally believe warrants notice from the IOC any sort of media training. She got, like, an orientation packet. With a lopsided staple in the top left corner. On her commercial flight. That she booked herself.

Twenty-plus hours crammed into a seat that she’s only a little concerned did permanent damage to her right knee, with a meal that was so chewy Emma was about four seconds and one exasperated, entirely exhausted exhale from asking if it was, in fact, made of plastic.

Mostly, the staple is what’s still managing to frustrate her. As frustrated as she can be at the Olympics. No one is supposed to be frustrated at the Olympics. Not really. Not while experiencing the pinnacle of athletic achievement, the calluses on Emma’s fingertips some sort of badge of honor that she’s wearing with at least a modicum of national pride, and everything is fine.

Her qualifying time was absurd. Where absurd is a compliment and very close to a record she’s suddenly determined to shatter.

So, she’s alone.

Big deal. So is everyone else. This Olympics, at least. Plus, Killian wouldn’t have been able to come no matter what the state of the world was. Even so, the quiet stands are admittedly weird. All these empty arenas with empty seats, the distinct lack of a roaring crowd no more obvious than when the world’s best athletes step to the line. Staring at the climbing wall in front of her four hours earlier, Emma swore she could hear every single beat of her heart echo between her ears.

And that’s—well, solitude is par for the course with an adolescence like hers, half-filled suitcases and brand-new faces in brand-new towns, but she’d gotten used to one town, and the town is actually a city, and the city has long since felt like home, and her fingers reach for the rings dangling above her Team USA t-shirt. They did give her an absolute shit ton of t-shirts, so that was nice.

Except—

Something keeps tugging. Nagging at the back of Emma’s consciousness, almost like she’s forgotten her keys on that flea market table they found in Park Slope two weeks after they moved into the apartment. Because for as well-versed Emma may be in that singular sort of existence, she’s also well-removed from wanting it, and at least three of her knuckles crack. Curling around her rings.

Muscles in her cheeks stretch, another nod and quick blink to avoid the threat of blinding via camera flashes. Someone really should have told her about this. She probably should have assumed. Human interest is the driving force of at least three-quarters of the stories in sports, and Emma’s not used to being the story, per se, but even she has to admit most of hers makes for a good one and they are still asking her questions.

Emma blinks again. Hopes she doesn’t look like a serial killer or the weird blonde, slightly sweaty cousin of the Joker, her smile starting to feel as if it’s painted on her face. She nods. Hums. Listens to questions that are startling in their tonal similarity to Charlie Brown’s teacher, and Emma wonders if Charlie Brown ever got a different teacher or what the school structure of the Peanuts’ universe is and, God, how old was Charlie Brown, even? To withstand that sort of consistent bullying. Was Linus the same age as him? No, right? How long did he carry the blanket around? Was Linus the same age as Sally? Why didn’t the red-headed girl with curly hair get a name?

She nearly falls out of her chair.

That might make the front page of several blogs. Possibly even the back page of a New York tab.

Careful to keep her feet on the ground, Emma lifts her head, directing her eyes toward the source of a question that must have been asked several times if the note of amusement mixing with deadline-based exasperation is anything to go by. Her smile definitely makes her look like a serial killer.

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma mumbles, and none of the oxygen she does her best to inhales makes it even close to her lungs. “I, uh—what was the question?”

The reporter grimaces.

“I wanted to know if you’d seen the video of your husband yet.”

Ice runs down her spine. Every single drop of wholly disgusting sweat falling in rivulets down either one of her cheeks freezes. Oxygen disappears from the room. Or so Emma assumes, what with the crushing feeling pushing down on her lungs and whatnot.

Her mind whirs. Races through possibilities and pitfalls with a speed that would be impressive if Emma weren’t already so close to that record, and she is going to break that record. Somehow she manages not to fall, though. From her chair or the metaphorical climbing wall in her brain, ignoring the sudden dryness of her mouth and the increasing size of her tongue.

Her nails are going to leave little half-moon creases in her palm.

“I don’t—” she starts, and eventually she will wish she was more articulate. For what turns out to be a very nice story.

Standing up, the reporter’s seat creaks as she moves toward the desk they deposited Emma behind after even. Several Olympic officials move to block her, but Emma shakes her head again, and she’s not exactly high-priority on the list of defensible athletes, anyway. So, none of them flinch when the reporter slides a phone closer to Emma, her crazed thoughts briefly lingering on how many phones a reporter could possibly need, but then her eyes drop, and she’s not sure if her ears can actually perk, but Emma certainly tries because she hears him yelling before she sees him.

Her smile shifts.

And the cameras flash again.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s collegiate life, because Anna demands it.

She’s only half-listening, so Emma can never be entirely sure what it was, exactly, she was agreeing to, but in her experience, the agreement doesn’t matter so much as the action, and her roommate’s younger sister is unstoppable when it comes to action. So, Emma is dimly aware of a plan. Something about the baseball house and that one left fielder is in a handful of her classes.

David—something.

He’s got a girlfriend, too. A nice one. Who always smells like sugar when she slides into the seat next to David whatever his last name is, sitting in the row in front of Emma during their Tuesday-Thursday statistics class.

Emma hates statistics.

She doesn’t hate Anna, though. Or her roommate, one of the better college-based surprises, and either Anna has magic or Elsa is an enormous pushover because somehow all three of them are ready at the same time, and the walk to the baseball house isn’t far.

First-year players guard the door — passing out color-coded wristbands that absolutely do not do their job because it takes about six seconds of well-meaning flirting and batted eyelashes between Anna and a mountain of muscle masquerading as the team’s starting catcher to get them inside. With purple wristbands and two tickets for jungle juice instead of the keg.

“Victory,” Anna cries, twisting through the crowd. Half of it is already teetering on the edge of drunk, the rest free-falling into the pit of imminent hangovers, and Emma isn’t sure she’d classify their drinks as a victory, but it’s definitely better than watered-down beer.

And it doesn’t take long, really. By Emma’s shaky count, it’s not even a half-hour before the muscle — who introduces himself as Kristoff, and really is pretty cute, actually — returns, standing unnaturally close to Anna’s left shoulder, furtive glances shared out of the corners of their eyes. Emma rolls hers. Elsa’s appear perpetually stuck to the ceiling. It looks oddly sticky up there.

“Go,” Elsa says, and it’s not an instruction. Barely counts as more than a whisper, really. Anna lights up all the same. Like an alcohol-fueled Christmas tree.

Who does not need telling more than once.

Hands reach and smiles widen, Kristoff mumbling something that sounds like it was nice to meet you before he’s following Anna back to the beer pong table, leaving Elsa and Emma standing in the middle of a sea of raging hormones. All of which want to be there way more than either one of them does.

“Well,” Elsa mutters, “that was polite.”

Emma snickers into her glass. A mostly empty glass. That’s surprising. “Got that going for him.” “Plus, his on-base is nuts this year.”

“Say that again.” “On-base percentage,” Elsa repeats, making sure to do it slowly for maximum sarcastic emphasis. Emma’s eyes are going to fall out. That won’t end well. There are too many shuffling feet in this room.

“What does that mean?” “How often he gets on base.” Opening her mouth does nothing. Closing it does even less. Elsa looks overjoyed. “I know things,” she shrugs, “and I’m pretty positive Anna and Kristoff have been not-so-secretly dating since the start of the semester, so—” “You stalked your sister’s secret boyfriend?” “Stalk’s a very dirty word, don’t you think? No, no, there was no stalking. There was light research. One Google search and a single click to the team’s roster, and now I know he’s from Minnesota, too.” “Awfully convenient for the romance of the century.” Humming, Elsa takes a larger-than-usual sip before scrunching her nose in displeasure. At her empty cup. Emma has no idea how they ended up with empty cups so quickly. Suddenly the baseball house feels a bit like a time warp. Enter and drink and find the love of your life. Or something like that.

“I got next,” Emma says, ignoring Elsa’s laugh because she is not the sort of person who says things like that. It’s this house. This place. With its music and its happiness, and she’s not really a sports person. Can only marginally understand the joy of watching other people accomplish something. She has no idea what on-base percentage is.

Still.

Her feet move. Fingers curl over the rim of red solo cups, like the most cliché version of her college self. Her drinks get refilled. And it’s just as Emma’s about to let herself wonder if, maybe, sports aren’t all that bad and might even possess a bit of inherent romanticism, she slams into something.

Someone, more like.

Taller than her, he has to peer down his nose to glare at Emma. That’s fair. They’re both far more damp than they were ten seconds before. Some of that moisture ensures that the hem of his shirt sticks to his stomach. A very flat stomach. That draws Emma’s eyes because she’s human and slightly intoxicated, and it takes quite a lot more than she’s willing to admit to lift her chin, but then she’s glad she does. Even with the understandable glare.

“Shit,” she breathes, “your eyes are stupid blue.”

He narrows them. She hates that. Which is about all it takes for her to get royally pissed off, too.

“Can you pay attention to where you’re walking?”

The stupidly blue eyes blink. Darken a shade, like all his frustration is centered directly around his pupils, and the shirt he’s wearing is team-branded. Another baseball player, then.

“You ran into me!” Oh, Oh. Well, that sucks. He’s got a good voice, too. Eyes and voice and the few strands of hair that fall toward those eyes when he continues to glare at Emma likely aren’t supposed to make her stomach flip.

It’s the alcohol’s fault.

Or sports. Like, in general.

“Because you take up so much space,” Emma snarls He leans forward. Looms, really. Over her and around her, smelling like punch and body wash. It’s gross and absolutely wonderful. “Gotta pick a lane, love. Either I ran into you, or I was in the way.”

“It can definitely be both and there is nothing resembling love here.”

“So I can see. You have a name, wrecking ball?” “My shoes are never going to unstick from this floor.” To his credit, he does waver. His lips twist — which makes it all too obvious how much Emma is staring at his lips, but, seriously, the alcohol. Plus, it’s so hot in this house she can barely think straight. She wonders where he buys his body wash. He smells better than he should in this house. So, it's clear he considers. Ponders, even. Until his hands dart out and those hands are somehow warmer than every person in this house combined, heat scorching through Emma’s t-shirt as he lifts her off the ground.

Only to deposit her approximately fourteen inches to her left.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” “Look,” he grins, “you’re unstuck.” “Bastard!” “Eh, not technically.” “What?” “Not technically a bastard. Orphan, I suppose. But that’s kind of a mood ruiner, don’t you think?”

Emma’s fish impression is really going great. The grin becomes a smirk. Her stomach refuses to stay still. “Is there a mood to ruin?” “Might be if you tell me your name.”

Emma wavers, that time. Considers and ponders. Weighs the pros and cons while laughter drifts past her ears, consummate collegiate experiences that she’s only ever let herself be passably jealous of. A dark-haired girl’s talking to Elsa in the opposite corner.

And the hand hanging in front of her wiggles its fingers.

It’s still ridiculously warm when she grabs it. “Emma Swan.” “Killian Jones.”

Anna’s secret relationship becomes a real relationship no less than sixteen hours following what Elsa begins to call the Drink Incident.

And they become—

Baseball people.

Becoming baseball people is not bad. Not really. Emma likes the baseball team. She understands what WHIP is, now. Kristoff adores Anna, so that’s good. David, who does, in fact, have a last name, continues to be as nice as assumed, and his girlfriend sort of quasi adopts Emma. Mary Margaret Blanchard brims with positivity and an innate sort of joy that would usually annoy Emma, but most of that joy also serves as a direct counter to the snark that Killian Jones appears flush with. So, it’s something of a wash, really.

Plus, he’s a very sore Monopoly loser.

And Emma finds it endlessly entertaining.

“Stop that,” he grunts, glaring at the board with the sort of force Emma’s become accustomed to in the last few months, while she taps on the space in front of her, “I know how many spots it is.” Emma smiles. “So move, then.” “I’ll be bankrupt.” “Capitalism does that.” “Tell me more about capitalism, Swan.”

She doesn’t startle, so there’s that. Not much else, though. Not when a noticeable bit of equally familiar heat skitters down her spine. Her head tilts. His head remains frustratingly still, staring at the board like the spaces will change or Mary Margaret will tear down some of her hotels on Marvin Gardens.

Neither thing happens.

The heat pools. At the small of her back, inching dangerously close to that space between her hips, like it’s trying to tether her to this spot and this moment and its people. Baseball people. People who so clearly care about everything so much that even the cynic in Emma can appreciate it. Plus, they’re all ridiculously competitive.

David had to take a walk when Mary Margaret bankrupt him earlier.

“That’s about the extent of my capitalism knowledge,” Emma admits with a shrug, “I sucked at economics.” Pulling his gaze away from the board, Emma’s less prepared for the force behind Killian’s eyes than she was for the appearance of a nickname that might not warrant the title. It’s just her name, after all. But it sounds like more than that. Sinks under her skin with alarming ease, the precise tone of it wrapping its way around a variety of internal organs until they’re all beating at the same tempo and— “Move my piece for me.”

Kristoff groans. Mary Margaret chuckles. Elsa looks far too sure of herself. Knows everything, indeed.

And it’s not really a command, but there’s that same sense of something that found its way into the sound of Emma’s name and Killian’s voice, and he catches her by surprise. On a variety of levels. His fingers jump the moment hers reach out, all heat and an alarming size difference, his brows lifting when she turns her head.

“You’re taking this game way too seriously, you know,” Emma says. What she doesn’t say is more important, though. Because they’re not friends, really. They’re—acquaintances. Some kind of appropriate metaphor regarding a planet’s many moons and the tendency of those moons to orbit something far bigger than them. But they like each other, too. As much as they dance and twist, do their best to avoid getting hit in the batter’s box, Emma’s more comfortable bantering with him than just about anyone she’s ever met, a challenge in every conversation, and she’s rather loath to realize she’s memorized the different ways the blue in his eyes flash.

Now it feels a bit like a spotlight.

“Matter of pride, Swan.” “Is it just?” If there are other people laying on their stomachs in that living room, half-empty glasses by their hands and equipment stacked in various corners, Emma forgets about them. Quickly. Immediately. Killian doesn’t move his fingers.

He nods.

And Mary Marget only kind of gloats when she bankrupts him.

She dances when she wins, though.

It’s embarrassing. It’s absolutely, goddamn wonderful.

Realizing that baseball is a game of statistics ruins kind of Emma’s day. It makes Killian laugh. Her favorite sort of laugh. Where he throws his head back, an arm around his middle, and his shoulders shaking. Those same strands of hair she noticed that first night fall back toward lidded eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in an angle Emma is sure she could determine if she just didn’t hate math so much, and it takes about four seconds, her head tilting back and forth twice and one swipe of her tongue to lean forward on the couch they're sharing, tilt her head up and press her lips to his.

Press is a vast understatement.

Crash, more like.

A bases-clearing double into the left-field gap.

She knows so many baseball terms now, it’s ridiculous.

It’s because she keeps going to games. With Anna. Without Anna. With Elsa. Without Elsa. With Mary Margaret every single time. And it creeps on so slowly, she’s practically a Jane Austen heroine, but then Emma finds she cares as much as everyone else. Screams herself hoarse at every crack of the bat. Jumps and fist bumps with startling regularity. Experiences the flutter of butterflies in her flip-prone stomach before ninth-inning rallies.

She memorizes statistics. Killian’s statistics, especially.

Because the Draft is a week away, and the nerves rolling off him are even more potent than his body wash. Bought in bulk from a locally-owned company, she learns.

Killian hates capitalism, too.

Which is only part of the reason she likes him, but right now all of the reason is centered around how it feels as if the world is shifting on its axis and what, precisely, he is capable of with his tongue. Quite a lot if this first time at bat is anything to believe.

Emma laughs.

Joy bubbles from the very center of her, pushing at the seam of her lips, and it’s not much of a seam when her mouth is open to accommodate tongue, but it’s enough of a sound that Killian pulls back. No glare. Definitely eyebrow movement, though.

“That’s not the best confidence boost, you know.” “I’m straddling you,” Emma counters, nodding toward the knees on either side of his, and she has no idea when her fingers found his hair. It’s very soft.

“How did that happen?” “What was that about confidence?”

Dropping his head, she gets a different sort of laugh, one that’s just as potent in its ability to settle into her bloodstream and the empty spaces around her heart, and sports have turned her into a sap. “I like you a lot,” Killian murmurs. Emma’s heart explodes. Metaphorically speaking.

“Good.” “Expand on that, for me.” She pinches his side, almost prepared for the way it leaves him bucking beneath her. Less prepared for the mutual groan it causes. Killian’s eyes widen. “I like you a lot,” Emma repeats, and his arms tighten, and her heart knits itself back together, and the second time through the kissing order is even better.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s nearly-adult life, because Anna demands it.

“I just think it’ll be fun,” Anna says, not for the first time. And, not for the first time, she ignores the pointed look Emma and Elsa exchange. Elsa’s lips have all but disappeared behind her teeth “Think about it,” Anna continues, “we need something to do before the game, anyway. This way we’re—you know, staying active.” Emma’s eyebrows jump. Fly. Soar into her hairline where the level of her disbelief sits, all too aware of the ring hanging around her neck.

A Draft Day gift. As much as a family heirloom can be a gift. But Killian claimed it was good luck, his brother’s ring, because turns out that snark is at least a partial product of a wholly depressing childhood, and Emma supposes there’s something to be said for common ground. Understanding, too. Stories shared over weeks that turned to months that turned to years and seasons in the minors, and it absolutely figures Killian’s Major League debut is happening in Cincinnati. Where Kristoff plays.

It’s ridiculous how in love with him she is.

Killian. Not Kristoff.

Anna is still talking. “There’s nothing else to do in Cincinnati,” she reasons, which seems unfair to the city itself but not entirely untrue, and even the concept of chili on spaghetti grosses Emma out. “Also,” Anna adds, sounding as if she’s reached the final bullet point on her list of possible arguments, “I’ve got a Groupon deal for this place.”

Elsa blinks. “I didn’t realize Groupon was even still a thing.” “Surprise!”

Emma’s laugh isn’t entirely honest, but her sigh of acceptance is and—

Turns out she’s pretty good at it.

Goddamn fantastic, actually.

At rock climbing. Indoor rock climbing. Her feet push her up the wall with ease, the steady ache in her arms welcome and wonderful and a slew of other alliterative adjectives. That leave Killian grinning like a maniac, but it’s been a weird and equally wonderful day, without a hit, but two walks, so that ups the on-base, and Emma’s really, seriously in love with him.

“I don’t know what it was,” she says, preening just a bit under Killian’s stare. Hotel lighting casts shadows on his cheeks, slumped as he is against every pillow they could find. Even the ones in the closet. He’s not supposed to be in here for much longer, both of them aware of the team-ordained curfew hanging over them, but the pre-game nerves are long gone. Replaced instead with exhilaration and endorphins, the kind that could win Elle Woods a headline-making case. “But,” Emma continues, “I just kept moving, and the guy said it was, like, a course record. Is course the right word, you think?” Killian lifts a shoulder. Even as it’s covered in ice and tape. The play he made at third is going to show on loop. On TV. In Emma’s memory. She’s never yelled that loud before.

People took pictures.

And then she cried. Like a giant sap.

“This is your show, Swan,” Killian chuckles, pride infusing the words. As if she’s the one who deserves the pride today. It’s entirely possible she cried for multiple minutes after that play. They definitely showed that on the YES Network. Mary Margaret texted her no less than forty-seven times.

“I was really fast.” Killian hums, fingers fluttering enough to make it clear he wants her closer. Emma doesn’t argue. They’re a mess of limbs and mouths and that tongue thing they’ve collectively gotten better at giving and receiving over the years, hands that warm with the sort of confidence borne of repetition. Some joke about BP and finding your swing.

“Plus,” he says, a soft laugh at Emma’s noise of displeasure when talking means far less kissing, “becoming a rock climbing savant means more upper-body work, and you know how I love your arms.” Guffawing the way Emma does is not particularly romantic. Doesn’t matter. The sound comes, and the joy remains, a steady stream pumping through all her extremities and clouding her thoughts. In the best way possible. Before Killian, Emma didn’t know this could be that. Fun and easy, not quite simple, but something she’s willing to work for. Athletes are notoriously determined, after all.

Part of her wonders if a proclivity to rock climbing makes her an athlete, too.

“Please,” she says, laughter clinging to the letters even as she finds herself moved directly over Killian’s outstretched legs, “provide, in detail, everything you enjoy about my arms.” “I didn’t say enjoy.” “Were you misquoted, Jones?” His eyes flash. Glow, honestly. At her and because of her and athletes also know how to work their opponents. Goad them into making mistakes. Something about a pitcher’s duel and a battle in the box. Where the box is this bed. And Emma’s winning.

“I love your arms,” Killian says. Dragging his mouth against the column of her throat leaves goosebumps on Emma’s skin. Her back arches. His hand flattens. The compliments continue. Turn into promises. Guarantees. Of a future that’s spread out at their feet now, if only they reach for it.

Turns out Emma’s pretty good at reaching for things. When she wants them.

“This isn’t, like, free-scale, though, is it?”

Her heart cannot be expected to handle much more of this.

“Don’t worry,” Emma says, “all proper safety precautions were taken. Plus, I wouldn’t fall off the wall.”

Killian’s expression shutters. Not in any of that frustration Emma so clearly understood when his shirt was damp, and her shoes were unsalvagable despite his best efforts to get the school’s equipment manager to dry-clean them. No, it’s—it’s something big and important and unspoken, and Emma pulls his hand up. To rest directly over the rink that’s still tucked beneath her t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

It’s got his last number on it, at least.

“Would you catch me if I fell off the wall?” He doesn’t answer at first. Doesn’t mention the absurdity of a question that does not make sense, but those literal and metaphorical clock hands are ticking, and if they don’t replace his ice soon, they’re going to destroy these sheets. “Every single time, Swan.” “Right back at you.”

Killian doesn’t miss curfew, but it’s pretty close.

And Emma wakes up to twelve texts with links for indoor rock climbing gyms in the greater New York City area.

“Holy shit, this is hard.”

Grunting more than laughing, Emma’s fingers curl around the rock in front of her. Chalk cakes itself on the pads of those fingers, stuck beneath her nails and, somehow, the bend of her elbow. “Are you not an All-Star?” she asks, glancing at Killian.

“I do not see how that factors into this at all.”

“Huh, weird.” “Suspiciously sounds like an accusation.” “Weird,” Emma repeats. They’re halfway up a wall only one of them is really supposed to be on, but the other person several feet below them is faring far worse than the pair of them combined, so, that takes precedence in her mind. “He knows a lot more curse words than I realized.” “He’s showing off,” Killian grumbles, forehead resting against the wall.

Will Scarlet hasn’t moved in five minutes. Possibly six. Maybe a round ten. He's much better at second base.

“I cannot feel my arms,” he calls, and Emma’s laugh is better that time. Purer, somehow. As if happiness can actually have a sound. Even happiness that comes with sweat on her temple and a noticeable ache in her triceps and she sort of loves this.

Sort of is a vast understatement.

“Showing off, huh?” Emma asks. She finds her next footfall with ease, happiness blooming into confidence that’s become nearly consistent these days and weeks and years. It does not take her long to feel the stare that’s lingering on her. On her ass, specifically.

She glances over her shoulder. To find her fiancé smiling at her. And staring at her ass.

“Can I help you, love?” “Whatcha doing?” “Ogling you, obviously.” “Forearms feeling good?” He nods. Sort of. There’s a distinct slope to the back of his neck and more sweat on his brown than Emma’s. Not as much as Scarlet’s, probably. “Fantastic,” Killian drawls, “keep going, Swan, someone’s got to show us how to do it.” “Try not to fall off the wall, huh? Last thing we need is the might of the Yankees front office coming after us.” “I don’t think I can move my hands,” Will shouts. Killian doesn’t move. It’s impressive forearm strength. Blushing on the wall is not usually how Emma’s days go.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises, and Emma moves. He follows her. Up the wall and to the top, a quick brush of his lips against her shoulder that leaves Scarlet cursing even more, despite his presence on the floor, but then there’s lemon-flavored water and exceptionally soft towels and Emma’s caught a bit off guard by the question.

“Are there leagues for this?” Will asks. “Because you should probably be winning things for this.” Emma blinks. Considers. Wonders. Turns to Killian.

He’s still smiling. Broadly, in fact.

“We could look.” They do. They fill out paperwork. Buy fancy climbing shoes that Emma claims cost too much, but Killian’s a pushover and even more stubborn and she wins the first race she signs up for.

Plus, ten more after that.

Emma climbs indoor rock walls. Killian hits home runs. Occasionally they do these things simultaneously, and it usually leads to her nearly falling off the wall because everyone in her Tribeca gym knows what it means when WFAN is playing on the speakers.

Sometimes they shout out John Sterling’s home run call with him.

She gets better. He gets better.

They do end up destroying sheets in various hotels across the country. For various reasons. Not all of them post-game or ice related. There are games and events. Wins and losses. Back page spreads that Emma frames and hangs on their apartment walls, right next to other, smaller frames, with the same smiling faces who, once upon a time, called a sticky-floored baseball house home, and Killian’s fingers are warm in hers when the tears prick her eyes at Anna and Kristoff’s wedding.

There are stories. Think pieces and hot takes on a variety of drive-time radio shows. Those are all about Killian, though. He’s the athlete. The true one, some stories say. It’s impressive what Emma does, they admit, but it’s a hobby, and she’s got a grown-up career, anyway. So, she’s got more climbing records than she knew ever existed, but she’s not doing it for press, and both Mary Margaret and Anna weep at her and Killian’s wedding.

She wears her ring on a chain next to her other one when she climbs.

Every time Killian notices them hanging there, Emma swears, his eyes brighten. It’s her favorite thing in the whole, goddamn world.

“What is this?” He doesn’t answer. Just holds the sheet of paper he must have printed out in the clubhouse because they certainly don’t have a printer at home, and one of the edges is bent. Like he had to fit it in his back pocket.

“Going the stoic route, huh?” Emma quips, but there’s a noticeable hitch in her pulse. One that’s been there for weeks. Since the rumblings started, and the rumors began, whispers of possibility, and first-ever has a very nice ring to it. One side of Killian’s mouth tugs up. “Oh, that’s not fair.” “I’d like the record to show, that the only reason I didn’t know immediately was because I was in the trainer’s room, so—” “What were you in the trainer’s room for?” Killian ignores her. Well, sort of. His eyes shift, and his gaze holds, and Emma knows. Right down in the marrow of her. What the paper is and how Scarlet is the one who printed it out, but she’s even more confident Killian carried it home, and that does something funny to her entire worldview. Widens it and minimizes it at the same time, focusing on this and them and the possibility that creates.

In an athletic sort of way.

“My shoulder’s kind of sore.” Emma scoffs. “Oh, that’s pointed.” “I’m sure your shoulders are fine. Golden, even.’ “This is not your best work, you know that?” “Look at the paper.” “Did you fold it yourself?” “And then took a car back home. You really didn’t see yet?” Emma shakes her head. He knows the answer, too. He’s the one with the Google alert, after all. Because she’s still a bit of a pessimist at heart and an adult with a real job, and this is too much and abjectly terrifying, and the last thing she expects is for Killian to crouch in front of her.

One of his knees cracks.

“Don’t,” he warns, even as Emma does her best to swallow her laugh. Warm hands land on her thighs, a quiet steadiness that helps the state of her pulse and makes the possibility of the unknown a little less overwhelming. The lines crossing the center of the paper are absurdly straight. “You’re going to go.” “Oh, that sounded like a decree.” “A suggestion.” “A strong one.” “Mmhm, with the utmost confidence.” Emma makes an impressive sound. “Who’s doing your media training? What an impressive vocabulary you’ve got on you.” “Ready and willing to use it in a persuasive manner.” “Keep talking like that, and you won’t have to.” The smirk disappears. Evolves into a grin that is only Emma’s and only appears in moments like this, support clinging to air molecules and the ends of hair that constantly seems determined to fall into Killian’s eyes. “Passed, huh? All cool with the IOC.” “Decidedly cool. Officially an Olympic sport, now. Although the name could use some work. Sport climbing lacks a little oomph, don’t you think?”

“What would you call it?” “Emma Swan wins Olympic gold.” “Kinda wordy.” “Prophetic,” Killian corrects, hands shifting and pulling, and Emma has to widen her legs. His head’s at a very good kissing angle. “You’ve already got the qualifying numbers.” “You looked at the qualifying numbers?” “Don’t insult me like that. What do you think I did in the backseat?” “Planned the entire 2020 Olympics, apparently.” “Not the entire Olympics,” Killian counters, "just the part involving you. And maybe my individual expectations regarding the United States baseball team, but that’s another conversation altogether.”

“Naturally.”

“You’re using that voice.”

Widening her eyes does nothing. Emma didn’t expect it to. Not after years and games and events because rock climbing has events, and one time Mary Margaret made her a sign. Killian held it. He’s taller, that’s why.

“Don’t,” Killian repeats, “this is happening.” “Yuh-huh?” “You heard me. It’s your turn, now.” Melting is an impossibility. Like, for a human. Even so. Emma feels like she’s melting. Some of that pessimism evaporating under the warmth of Killian’s gaze and his hands and the determination in the precise angle of his chin. Same one he uses when he steps into the box with runners in scoring position.

Lumping herself into that group isn’t as insulting as Emma once believed it would be.

“God,” Emma groans, “that’s romantic.” “You’re really selling it, love.”

“This is supposed to be a hobby.” “One you’re exceedingly good it. World record good at it.” “I like you.” “That’s my end game, yeah.” She laughs. Smiles. Continues melting. Which is easier once they get rid of their clothing, and their bed is way more comfortable than any hotel they’ve encountered. And she falls asleep with Killian’s lips against her ear, Emma Swan, Olympic gold medalist whispered on loop like it’s a mantra he’s been practicing.

They postpone the Olympics.

It sucks. Everything sucks. Baseball sucks. Gyms are closed. Emma gets creative, and Killian gets research-prone. They build a makeshift wall. She tosses him BP.

People write stories about it.

It doesn’t help.

Until—

Time passes. Some things change. Others don’t. Their wall stands up to the elements of their building’s courtyard, and Killian’s hitting better than ever this season, a victory Emma’s going to claim as at least partially hers. And then the Olympics are back, and it’s qualifying and racing and a record that’s just out of reach, but she’s good enough even without it, and, this time, she’s the one packing a suitcase.

He kisses her.

Does the tongue thing.

Holds onto her like he’s only a little afraid she’s going to fall off the wall, but now the wall is international competition, and Emma’s freaking out a little.

“I love you,” she says into the crook of his neck.

His arms tighten. “I love you too.” “Gold medal?” “Gold medal.” “Hit some home runs while I’m gone, huh?” Lips graze her temple. Her forehead. The bridge of her nose. Emma might be crying, and Mary Margaret’s definitely recording, a small mob of red white, and blue surrounding them. “I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises.

“Good.”

He hits three before her first qualifying round. So, Emma takes that as a challenge. She’s an athlete now.

It’s why, she figures, her fingers don’t slip on her first run.

Her feet are sure. Her breathing is steady. There’s no one cheering her name, but she’s long since memorized the exact way Killian’s voice lifts above a crowd. How he pushes up on his toes to watch, as if standing up taller makes sure he’s closer to her. Should she need him when she falls off the wall. Only, Emma doesn’t fall, and she’s got no intention of ever falling and—

Her laugh shudders out of her in a watery sort of way that makes the journalist still standing in front of her flinch ever so slightly. Twitter makes sure the video starts playing again as soon as it finishes, which is somehow the best and worst thing that has ever happened to her. Best because, well, Emma’s honestly not sure she’s ever seen her husband like this.

Worst because she’s very nearly goddamn crying. Again.

Bobbing on the balls of his feet in front of his locker, whoever’s recording the video — it’s Scarlet, obviously — is practically frenzied behind the camera, barely able to contain their laughter. Killian doesn’t notice. He’s holding his own phone, all five of his free fingers firmly entrenched in the back of his hair. It’s gotten softer with age, Emma thinks.

She can’t stop watching him.

Every inhale is a clear struggle, the bobbing turning into pacing and quiet mumbling she can hear perfectly. As if she’s standing right in front of him.

Or at least slightly to the side. So as not to stand on the logo in the middle of the clubhouse.

Athletes are notoriously superstitious, too.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Killian chants, another noticeable snicker from Scarlet, “right there, right there, and pull, pull—Swan, pull up!”

“I did pull up there,” Emma mumbles. To the reporter, maybe. Or the world. Possibly her husband. Who was definitely more nervous about the first run than her.

God, that’s romantic.

Killian’s still talking. Shouting, more like. It’s a miracle Scarlet hasn’t fallen over yet.

“Faster, faster, you can go faster than that, Swan—” Emma clicks her tongue. “That’s kind of insulting.”

There’s an appropriate titter of laughter from the peanut gallery, which is a joke she was not trying to make, but she’s also dangerously close to swooning in the middle of press and she should have asked the Yankees for media training. Someone would have made sure she didn’t make a total ass of herself.

“Show me the time,” Killian yells, another demand that isn’t that. It’s too wobbly a string of words to hold any real power, just the supportive sort of desperation Emma’s felt in a variety of ninth innings and series-clinching moments. “Faster! Faster!” “Talking to the time or the judges or your wife?” Scarlet asks.

Killian nearly snarls.

Emma blinks. Hyperactively. Crying is not usually her shtick. More camera flashes...flash, Emma barely noticing them with her eyes glued to a phone screen that isn’t hers because she at least knows not to bring her phone to a press conference, and she can only imagine how many text messages she’s gotten.

Even on the other side of the world.

They post the times.

She knows because Killian gets some rather impressive height on his celebratory vertical. Fingers abandoning his hair, his fist pumps the air, and Scarlet’s not laughing so much as he’s whooping, a steady stream of yeah, yeah, yeah in the background. And for about half a breath, Emma’s worried Killian may turn one of his ankles on his landing, but he’d think that was insulting, and she’s really just full-on swooning now.

“How many people have seen this?’ she asks the reporter, already knowing the answer.

The reporter smiles anyway. Emma should learn her name.

“Pretty much the whole world.” When Emma was a kid — the sort of kid who believed alone was better, and there was strength in singularity, that would have terrified her. Bowled her over, really. Left her running without looking back, desperate to shed any sort of notoriety because notoriety meant attention, and attention meant inevitable disappointment.

Maybe that’s why she was never much of a sports person.

Sports disappoint you. They build you up and let you down, a sharp and sudden fall without a safety net. But sometimes. Sometimes, every so often, something wonderful happens. Sports lift you. Right up an indoor wall. Because, she knows, sports’ power comes from belief, from surrendering yourself to something bigger and better, and she’s back on that alliterative kick, but the tears are barely clinging to her eyelashes now and Emma herself is bigger and better, now.

In an international, decidedly romantic sort of way.

The video’s playing away.

“Let’s go,” Killian cries, and there it is. Her sound and their sound, cheering across an ocean and time zones that are still kind of messing with her sleep schedule.

Emma’s smile stretches.

“Let’s go,” she repeats.

It ends, as with most things in Emma’s gold-medal-winning life, because Anna plans it.

Stepping out of the terminal, it takes less than a full breath for the cheers to start. For the banners to lift and the tears to flow, a small platoon of support covered in the sort of patriotic gear they definitely got from the Old Navy in Herald Square.

Flashes burst behind Emma’s eyelids because she’s got to blink or she’ll definitely fall over. Her legs wobble beneath her, contending against a wave of triumph and jubilation, which is sort of the same word, but they’ve got a game at the Stadium tonight, so she doesn’t expect, she just hopes and reaches, and he has to twist around both Anna and Mary Margaret.

It’s wonderfully cyclical.

As is the way Emma slams herself against him. On purpose, this time. Killian’s arms tighten, more cheers and shouts, and people a few feet away start chanting USA over and over. Emma barely hears them. Her feet aren’t touching the ground, so she’s kind of preoccupied.

They’re all arms and mouths, and her legs wrapped securely around a body that probably shouldn’t be supporting hers when she knows he slid into second two nights ago, but Killian clearly has no intention of letting her down, and the medal around her neck bumps against her rings.

“You’re a very good cheerleader; you know that?” He hisses. In what, Emma can’t imagine. Embarrassment, if the red tips of his ears are anything to go by, and she’s got ideas as to why that is and how long the conversation about social media with Scarlet went, so Emma does the only reasonable thing.

She slams her lips against her home-run hitting husband’s, doing her best to make sure the gold medal doesn’t mistakenly impale either one of them, and the world tilts again. With victory and sports-based support and the sort of love that comes from believing in something bigger.

And better than Emma could have ever imagined.

“I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

“Please,” Emma scoffs, “don’t insult me like that. Plus, I’m claiming every one of those home runs as my own, so comparatively—” He kisses her before she can say anything else.

That’s for the best, probably.

“Your arms looked ridiculously good the whole time.”

Her laugh doesn’t even sound like her when Emma hears it played back — another video that someone tells her goes viral, only she doesn’t care about hits or site traffic, just about the particular shade of blue in Killian’s eyes, and she wears her medal to the game that night.

Because they’re a sports power couple, now.

Or so the New York Post back page claims the next day.

Emma frames it.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #hook heel #this is also apparently my 50th work on ao3 #which is just patently nuts #so if you guys have been clicking and reading all these words know that i am a little in love with you

57 notes · View notes

gaymershigh · 4 years

Note

Hi, can u write headcanons of Jamil, Azul, Cater, Rook and Idia discovering that their S/O (male) is their favorite singer/idol in a disguise? Sorry if it sounds too boring

Thanks and I love your blog <3333

It's not boring at all! I love this request so much 💗 the reader has to not be a different world like Yuu so it makes sense in context as to why they're popular in twisted wonderland, just to clear things up!

Also yes, I'm doing other requests before redoing that damned unfinished draft-

Jamil, Azul, Cater, Rook and Idia discovering their boyfriend is a popular idol

You want to tell him so bad but you just don't the guts to.

It's not like you don't trust Jamil or anything. It's just that Kalim's 99% always nearby him and try don't him to overhear your confession and cause a huge hassle.

But sometimes secrets are broken by itself. You can be your own secret breaker.

While you were listening to songs from the Land of Hot Sands that was recommended by Jamil, he was picking random songs from your country.

His eyes slightly widen when one of the songs he picked's singer sounds just like you but with a different name.

“He sounds just like you.” he stated and that made you panicked. That is one of your newer songs from a few weeks ago.

He got curious when your words started getting shaky and your face getting sweaty. This led him to researching your stage name, making you even more scared.

“He even looks like you too, could it be?.. ” if you kept lying, it will go into a dead end. The only thing to do it to spill the beans even if you don't want to.

Your hesitant nod was followed by silence and then a normal 'ok' from your lover like nothing was out of the ordinary. You were shocked.

In the inside however, he was different. He was baffled, these things only happen in fairytails!

He's not complaining though, he loves the feeling of being special.

Even if don't mind, he wouldn't be the type to be brag about your relationship together. Maybe with Kalim but other than that, nah.

“I see. Don't worry, ya amar, I'll keep this a secret. just the two of us only.”

How can you keep this secret away from him for that long? Colour me and him impressed.

Jamil is reasonable as to why he doesn't know about your secret identity because he doesn't keep up with the trends but Azul? He definitely spends more time on the internet than Jamil would ever.

But of course he would find out eventually. Of course, it's Azul.

You were giving him some song recommendations and avoiding your own so it wouldn't raise suspicion.

Unfortunately, you weren't fast enough as he realized you kept skipping a few songs right before the song hits the 3 second mark.

When he asked you why you kept skipping a few songs. You sweated and lied about the singer is not so good. You basically degraded yourself.

If course, it's not easy to fool your boyfriend. He snatched your phone away and looked at the current song you're about to skip.

He covered his mouth in shock. There was no doubt about it, that really is you. The voice, the looks, the stage name sounds like something you would name yourself, everything!

“Darling, why didn't you tell me? Do you not trust me?” You had to reassure him that was not the case and you just prefer not to get the attention and not make anyone annoy him about asking him questions about you.

You're just so special, aren't you? You're an idol beloved by everyone but you don't want the publicity and cause any problems, you're so sweet and precious.

He'll only brag occasionally. It's unprofessional for him to be cocky every single time of the day and he'll probably show off only to intentionally piss off someone.

“Darling, you shouldn't insult yourself! You're very good in singing and you amazingly breathtaking! So handsome.”

Seriously, how did you get away from him, Cater Diamond himself??

He's a social media God and even if he does suspects you several times, he's supposed to catch on sooner.

You have to admit, it was harder to hide away from him since he follows your account. Everytime he takes a selfie with the both of you, a lot of people comment asking him is that (stage name).

He would usually reply 'I wish lol but imagine if that happens 😳'. This makes you nervously laugh.

He always comments about how you always look like (S/N) all the time and you always nervously scratched your neck, feeling guilty.

He also joked about your voice being incredibly similar and how you could be the idol in disguise. My god you couldn't describe how much you want to run out of there as soon and possible.

You thought everything is going smoothly until the most dreadful statement came out of your boyfriend.

“(Y/N), do you want to go to (S/N)'S concert on Friday this week?” You had enough. You can't handle the torturous moments and can't keep up with the lies anymore. You have to tell him with a little twist to it. You said you were busy which means you have to keep denying your cute pouty sweetheart.

When you finally finished your concert, you called your boyfriend from the stage to go to the backstage. You can see the excitement in his eyes.

When you confessed that his statements about his number 1 favorite idol is also his boyfriend he's been dating for months, he went form speechless to hugging you tightly while screaming.

“Holy shit, I can't believe it, (Y/N)! I'm gonna tell everyone!” You sighed in relief as he reached out for his phone.

He's definitely gonna brag no matter what universe he's in. The publicity and increase amount of his followers in magicam is gonna be unbelievable. Just like Azul, he's gonna shove your relationship to everyone's face just to annoy them.

“(Y/N)-chan is so mean hiding such amazing secrets away from me, you're gonna pay the price~”

He's gonna be so surprised as to how you hide from him for more than 3 days. He's got good eyesight and very good at reading your heart.

You're sometimes we're scared that he caught on as he kept praising you like your fanbase would usually do. You never felt so relieved when you found out he's just like that.

He sometimes does comments how you look like your other side and how your voice sounds uncomfortably similar but that's just it.

It's a little bit easier to get away from him when it's about social media since he's not really the type to look to check social media daily.

He kept persistently asking you if that singer he adores so much was you, which you kept replying with of course, no.

But every single time you answered the same reply, your tone and confidence seems to be different, lowering down specifically. He probably already knew you are (S/N) now but he really wants you just give him a 'yes' instead of just believing in his own word.

While you were cuddling with him on his bed and about to fall asleep, you were playing a few songs as white noise to make you go to dreamland faster.

You didn't even realise your song was playing, your eyes were bleary and you could black out any moment.

Rook took the opportunity to asked you again if you were (S/N), he was both surprised and please when he finally got the answer he waited for.

With no hesitance, you said yes before drifting to sleep. He won this time, checkmate.

When you woke up, he told you about what happened last night with the usual smile while you're mouth was agape.

He might unintentionally brag by telling the whole campus how handsome you are, your angelic voice, how lovable and huggable your figure is, Vil is jealous.

“Mon trésor, there is no need to repent about your beauty, you are lovely in any shape of form, my sweet delicate dove~”

He adores your idol version of yourself and is probably the only real idol that he admires, the rest is probably his anime waifus or whatever.

Doesn't mean he doesn't love your backstage form too, he loves you too very much and thinks you're very handsome :)

It's just that your face reminds him of his favorite singer of all time. He's always making conspiracy theories about how you're (S/N)'s clone and you'll just laugh, knowing everything.

He once said that maybe you're an idol in secret, this made you sweat nervously as you shook it off.

Everytime he talks about your idol self to you, Ortho always asks if you're ok or not because you always felt a bit anxious and shaky as if you were about to get killed.

This made Idia raise suspicion. He wanted an answer as to why so he made up a plan.

He makes Ortho note your condition everytime he talks about (S/N).

His suspicions were right, you're always uncomfortable everytime he asks you if you're the idol version of yourself.

If he thinks he has enough tapes and audios of you literally shaking, he started negotiate you.

You had no escape as Ortho has trapped you in his room alone with your boyfriend. He kept taunting you with the same question 'are you (S/N)?' until you finally give in and told the truth.

Even though he got his victory, he still felt bad since you don't wanna talk to him for 3 days, causing him to cry like a baby.

He seriously can't believe it though, he just experienced something out of his mangas! He's beaming with joy.

He's only bragging on the internet only, there is no way he's gonna say anything in real life as you're wayyyy out of his league.

“You could have just told me, you know! I won't tell anyone if you're uncomfortable, I promise!”

You have no idea how much I loved writing this one but I got a creativity burnout when writing Idia lol~

-𝕸𝖎𝖗𝖎

159 notes · View notes

lamortexiii · 3 years

Photo

Cryptic Mystic: We Are the Mask

The things you like, how you socialize, your reactions - all make up parts of your personality. Deciphering the truth from the lies; we possess the ability to morph who we are. How much/what do we mask, and what purpose does “masking” serve? This month’s blog dives deep into a few topics that all tie together to create one collective theme. As most things in life, these topics are intertwined. You’ll likely take something different from this blog than the next person, but that’s how my blogs are, as you probably well know… Now, without further adieu, let’s jump into this one.

To start, I’d like to take a moment to ask that you visit the website 16personalities.com and take their personality test. I guarantee you’ll gain valuable insight into your personality, and how you compare with others. It may even help you to better understand yourself or others. I always get the result of “Protagonist: ENFJ-A”. This result hasn’t changed in the last 5 years, however, psychologists and layperson test-takers alike will let you know that throughout life the results can change. So, on a scale of 1-100, here are my detailed results:

MIND (Introversion VS extroversion): 89% extroverted

ENERGY (intuitive VS observant): 79% intuitive

NATURE (thinking VS feeling): 53% feeling

TACTICS (judging VS prospecting): 94% judging

IDENTITY (assertive VS turbulent): 56% assertive

Personality is a somewhat stable thing but has the potential to change over time in certain ways. There are some parts of us that I fully believe will never change. I term those the “concrete personality factors.” However, there are plenty of things about our personality that we can change if we try. Strong willpower and mind can aid in changing one's personality traits that are malleable. The not-so-malleable personality traits are much harder to change (if changing them is even possible) and would take a great amount of self-discipline and maybe even some serious professional therapy. My perspective: embrace who you are! If there is something about yourself that you would like to change because it is harmful to yourself or others, then work towards that change. At the end of the day, you are the only person who holds the key to changing who YOU are. The choice is ultimately yours. I tell people, no amount of therapy can change a person unless they truly want to change in the first place. Just like no one else can force you to change. Changing requires work and effort on YOUR part.

So how do masks tie into all of this? People hide who they are behind metaphorical masks all of the time. We see this in several realms, however not all always apply in this context to everyone. We see examples of people “masking” who they really are through makeup, clothing, behaviors, and actions on a daily basis. Some are better at hiding who they are than others, and some of these folks you likely believe that you know who they are, but in reality, you have no idea. That’s one of the interesting things about the internet - you can be whoever you want to be. Whether that is your true self or a figment of who you are, the internet is a place where we see the most “masking.” Deciphering the truth from the lies in this digital world can be challenging.

I’ll tell you a story about an encounter I had early on in the age of technology and computers. Back in the olden days of dial-up internet, we had these things called chat rooms. Haha. Okay, I’ll stop acting like most of you don’t know what the hell dial-up and that whole era of technology looked like because I’m sure that a majority of you experienced it firsthand like me. Anyway, so I was in a chat room talking with random strangers. I really hit it off with this one guy. We liked a lot of the same music and had a similar style. He sent me some pictures and I thought he was attractive. We had good conversations. It was a good friendship so far, so after talking with him for a few months I decided to set up a meeting. I decided to be on the safe side just in case and take a friend with me to meet him for the first time. A friend of mine needed to go visit her boyfriend so she agreed to give me a ride to the location and agreed to leave me there while she ran to her boyfriend’s house only if I was comfortable. If I wanted her to stay she agreed that she would stay with me. We drove the 30 minutes into town and approached the location in her pickup truck. As we came closer to the building I could see a guy standing outside of the building (it was a bar) and he was smoking a cigarette. He was wearing all black, chains hanging off of his pants, and a front-facing black baseball-style cap. I knew that had to be him. We stopped in front of the building and he walked towards the truck on the driver's side where my friend was sitting. Upon reaching the window, he looked absolutely nothing like the picture he had sent me. In fact, he was much older than the picture he had sent me. Yes, you can laugh, your friendly neighborhood witch Kavita was officially catfished before catfishing was a thing. *cue laughter* He had an extremely creepy energy coming off of him (and not the good kind). He asked what we were up to, and I told him we had some errands to run, but that I just wanted to stop by and say hi. He was eyeballing me like a piece of meat. I grew intensely uncomfortable. The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. My friend sensed that this was not the meeting I had intended and explained to him that we had to go, but that it was good meeting him and quickly drove away. She began laughing, looked over at me with a sheepish smile, and said, “what in the fuck was that?!”

Oh, the early days of the internet. It was the wild west. It still is to a certain extent, but back then it was a much different time. My story paints an important picture about how people can easily put on a mask to impress others or to lure in their prey. I’ll never be certain of that man’s intention, but he lied about many things for one reason or another and that’s not cool.

Looking at masks from a literal perspective and their origin, the first masks are from at least 9000 years ago. They were thought to have been used for occult rituals in countries like China and Africa. Some masks were to ward off evil spirits, while others were used for disguise, entertainment, or even for religious worship. The earliest masks were made from tree bark and leather. Some of these masks were in the shape of a human face, however, some were shaped like animal faces. Animal face masks often symbolized the connection between native people and nature. Many tribes and ancient cultures (some of which still exist today) gave utmost importance to nature, animals, and the world around them. As time went on, sometimes animal masks were used in sync with someone’s zodiac as a form of personal representation.

Masks have come a long way since their invention. Today masks can be used for protection (as we know all too well in this day and age), as well as to supply oxygen and other drugs during procedures or in life-threatening situations. We see people wear masks on Halloween (counting the days over here!) as well as for social gatherings, such as a masquerade-themed party or on New Year’s Eve.

So, we’ve talked about metaphorical masks as well as masks in the literal sense. I hope that you were able to take something from this blog. Whether you learned something new that you found interesting or maybe you even learned something about yourself through that personality quiz. Until next month, be easy and stay safe out there my fellow earth wanderers.

<3 - K

Cryptic Mystic Blog by PsychVVitch @psychvvitch

www.LaMorteXiii.com

10 notes · View notes

galwithalibrarycard · 3 years

Note

Heyo! It’s 2021 and I’m rewatching nmtd and lolilo and I’ve gotta ask… is there anything else out there that you’ve enjoyed in a similar way? I just find them very genuine and comforting and I’m wondering what other stuff is out there for me that might give me a similar feeling

Hi! Firstly, I definitely recommend you try other literary-inspired webseries, especially if you stopped looking out for new ones after lolilo finished its run. There’s something so cozy and comforting about characters who feel like real people, living out modernized classic lit plots on the internet. There’s nothing else quite like it. You can search ‘asks’ on this blog to find a recent ask I answered listing some of my other favorite LIWs, or you can check out my sideblog @violivs which has a Webseries Watchlist page of all the shows I’ve seen. I think watching other LIWs is your best bet for experiencing more stories in a similar feel and format as NMTD/lolilo.

Apart from that, I might need you to be more specific on what about NMTD and Lolilo comforts you. If it’s a heartwarming and funny yet sometimes serious plot with an ensemble of complicated and lovable characters? Well, right now my current comfort show is Ted Lasso, which fits that bill perfectly. It’s mainstream tv, which is a wildly different feel from small budget webseries content, of course. But still, I highly recommend Ted Lasso (as of mid-season 2 currently).

My other comfort media is the Drawfee Show, a YouTube channel where a group of real artists who are friends and business partners draw all kinds of fun and silly art prompts while talking and joking around and being generally delightful. The big difference here is that the Drawfee crew are real people and should not be treated like fictional characters. But they’re definitely a comfort show for me, and also use the YouTube platform, giving you that excitement of weekly new episodes in your subs feed in sort of the same way webseries do when you catch them as they’re first releasing, so I thought I’d mention Drawfee here anyway. They also have a great and wholesome audience and impressively positive comment sections, it’s a nice little corner of the internet.

I hope that helps! I definitely don’t think my experience watching these other shows is exactly like my experience with NMTD, but there are similarities for sure. If you want something even more specific, I’m happy to try again. Just let me know. Enjoy your rewatch! :)

#asks #recommendations

2 notes · View notes

douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN UNDERGRADUATES

One of the cases he decided was brought by the owner of a food shop. Don't be discouraged if what you produce initially is something other people dismiss as a toy, it makes us especially likely to invest. Seeing a painting they recognize from reproductions is so overwhelming that their response to it as a tautology. There's nothing more valuable than an unmet need that is just becoming fixable. You have to show you're impressed with what you've made. Google, companies in Silicon Valley already knew it was important to have the right kind of people to have ideas with: the other students, who will be not only smart but elastic-minded to a fault. Being good art is that it will make the people who say that the theory is probably true, but rather depressing: it's not so bad as it sounds.

The founders were experienced guys who'd done startups before and who'd just succeeded in getting millions from one of the reasons artists in fifteenth century Florence to explain in person to Leonardo & Co.1 If Microsoft was the Empire, they were the Rebel Alliance. In every case, the creation of wealth seems to appear and disappear like the noise of a fan as you switch on and off. One often hears a policy criticized on the grounds that it would increase the income gap between rich and poor? Perhaps this tends to attract people who are bad at understanding. It would work on a moon base where we had to buy air by the liter. It seemed obvious that beauty, for example, as property in the way we do. It could be the reason they don't have to wait to be an adult.

The answer, I realized, is that my m. And passion is a bad way to put it, because it's so hard for rigid-minded people to follow. That's to be expected. An eloquent speaker or writer can give the impression of vanquishing an opponent merely by using forceful words. But valuable ideas are not quite the same thing; the difference is individual tastes.2 Don't talk about secondary matters at length. When we launched Viaweb, it seemed to be nothing more than a tenth of your time working on new stuff. Now a lot of people in the Valley is watching them. In either case you let yourself be defined by what they tell you to do.3

Of course, space aliens probably wouldn't find human faces engaging. Rebellion is almost as stupid as obedience. The next level up we start to see responses to the writing, rather than something that has to be the most common complaint you heard about Apple was that their fans admired them too uncritically. Does anyone believe they would notice the anomaly, and not simply write that stocks were up or down, reporter looks for good or bad?4 Inc recently asked me who I thought were the 5 most interesting startup founders of the last 30 years.5 Simplicity takes effort—genius, even. But unlike serfs they had an incentive to create a giant, public company, and assume you could build something way easier to use.

Putting undergraduates' profiles online wouldn't have seemed like much of a startup called Friendfeed. That would definitely happen if programmers started to use handhelds as development machines—if handhelds displaced laptops the way laptops displaced desktops. Taking a shower is like a form of exemplary punishment, or lobbying for laws that would break the Internet if they passed, that's ipso facto evidence you're using a definition of property be whatever they wanted. Back in the 90s. Franz Beckenbauer's was, in effect, that if you tried this you'd be able to say about such and such market share. The average person looks at it and thinks: how amazingly skillful.6 It's still a very weak form of disagreement, we give critical readers a pin for popping such balloons. If one blows up in your face, start another. Ten weeks is not much time. Everyone at Rehearsal Day. Merely being aware of them usually prevents them from working. If I could tell startups only ten sentences, this would be one of them.

What counts as property depends on what you mean by worth. It would have been. I don't think people consciously realize this, but one person, but secrecy also has its advantages. Honestly, Sam is, along with Steve Jobs, the founder I refer to most when I'm advising startups. It's also true that there are quite a few marketplaces out there that serve this same market. Obviously the world sucked, so why wouldn't they? There was not much point. There are always great ideas sitting right under our noses. England in the 1060s, when William the Conqueror distributed the estates of the defeated Anglo-Saxon nobles to his followers, the conflict was military. When I ask people what they regret most about high school, I now realize, is that I was ready for something else. The old answer was no: you were supposed to pretend that you wanted to make pages that looked good, you also have to discard the idea of good art, there's also such a thing as good art, and if one group is a minority in some population, pairs of them will be a minority squared. You have to show you're impressed with what you've made.

For describing pages, we had a template language called RTML, which supposedly stood for something, but which in fact I found my doodles changed after I started studying painting.7 We are having a bit of a debate inside our partnership about the airbed concept. It was thus subjective rather than objective. Don't fix Windows, because the school authorities vetoed the plan to invite me. You can see wealth—in buildings and streets, in the sense that hackers and painters are both makers, and this question is just to do what they did.8 It's dangerous to design your life around getting into college, because the only potential acquirer is Microsoft, and when you're not paying attention, you keep making these same gestures, but somewhat randomly. No matter how much to how many voters, and adjust their message so precisely in response, that they tend to split the difference on the issues have lined up with charisma for 11 elections in a row?

So is it meaningless to talk about it publicly till long afterward.9 The way Apple runs the App Store is full of half-baked applications. If I were talking to a roomful of people than you would in conversation.10 The problem is, it's hard to get the gold out of it. Where does wealth come from?11 You can demonstrate your respect for one another in more subtle ways.12 So for example a group that has built an easy to use web-based spreadsheet and see how far we get.13 If success probably means getting bought, should you make that a conscious goal? While young founders are at a disadvantage when coming up with a million dollar idea. I'd like to reply with another question: why do people think it's hard?

Notes

But it is generally the common stock holders who take the term whitelist instead of themselves. There's comparatively little from it. I couldn't convince Fred Wilson to fund them. I've come to you about it.

Peter Norvig found that three quarters of them could as accurately be called unfair. We don't call it procrastination when someone works hard and doesn't get paid to work on what you learn via users anyway.

They're often different in kind, because some schools work hard to say that the investments that generate the highest price paid for a startup in a more general rule: focus on building the company down. Enterprise software sold through traditional channels is very visible in Silicon Valley.

In many ways the New Deal was a kid that you'd want to get jobs. Philosophy is like starting out in the US, it might seem, because they have zero ability to change. If the rich paid high taxes? The two guys were Dan Bricklin and Bob Frankston.

Don't be evil. And especially about what other people in return for something that flows from some central tap. I'm convinced there were, we found Dave Shen there, only for startups to have suffered from having been corporate software for so long. I think investors currently err too far on the dollar.

The fancy version of everything was called the option pool as well use the local stuff. Philosophy is like starting out in the postwar period also helped preserve the wartime compression of wages—specifically by sharding it.

This is everyday life in general. So, can I make it easy. Believe it or not, under current US law, writing and visual design.

But which of them agreed with everything in exactly the opposite: when we say it's ipso facto right to buy your kids' way into top colleges by sending them to justify choices inaction in particular.

An influx of inexpensive but mediocre investors. Comments at the start of the things I find myself asking founders Would you use in representing physical things. These points don't apply to the ideal of a rolling close usually prevents this.

If you're sufficiently good bet, why are you even working on what people will give you fifty times as much income. When a lot of money around is never something people treat casually. No one writing a dictionary from scratch, rather than giving grants.

For similar reasons, avoid the topic. It's not only the leaves who suffer. They act as if you'd invested at a 5 million cap, but that we know exactly how a lot of reasons American car companies, like the bizarre stuff.

Foster, Richard and David Whitehouse, Mohammed, Charlemagne and the exercise of stock the VCs should be designed to live in a request.

Odds are people who are good presenters, but to do certain kinds of work the upper middle class first appeared in northern Italy and the first version was mostly Lisp, Wiley, 1985, p. So during the 2002-03 season was 2. Possible doesn't mean the hypothetical people who need the money so burdensome, that must mean you should seek outside advice, before realizing that that's what you're doing.

Thanks to Robert Morris, Sam Altman, Chris Dixon, Jessica Livingston, Paul Watson, Geoff Ralston, Sarah Harlin, Dan Giffin, and Alexia Tsotsis for smelling so good.

2 notes · View notes

mzenvs3000 · 4 years

Text

So does this make me an interpreter now?

If I am honest, I feel I have had a love hate relationship with this course over this semester. Coming from a more scientific background, I have found it slightly difficult to find the motivation to write and put together “my thoughts” on the topics we discuss in class. I am so used to having explicit facts and having to write about those from a scientific approach, so trying to put together a post about my thoughts with such freedom has been a challenge. I have appreciated though throughout the semester how writing got a bit easier, and that we were able to talk on subjects that were interesting to us. I will definitely be taking some skills away from my time in this course.

One of many photos taken of water and rocks (Lake Ontario) as it is another huge love of mine. Photo taken by myself.

Like many who are taking part in this class have a love for nature, and are probably coming from a major with some type of nature encompassed in it. This is true in my case, as I am a wildlife biology and conservation student. Wildlife biology and conservation is just one side of my love for nature. Others include marine studies, geology, and geography/landforms. This would open up so many doors in the nature interpretation field for me. I also have passion for the care and protection of animals, species at risk, climate change, plastic pollution, and how humans interact with nature in their everyday lives, similar to Jacob Rodenburg who wrote the article, “Why Environmental Educators Shouldn’t Give up Hope.”

A shell fossil found in a rock at the Elora Gorge while on a field trip with my geography class in third year. We were trying to interpret the history of the area, guessing it was a marine environment from all of the marine fossils found in the rocks. Photo taken by myself.

As an interpreter, I feel there is a certain responsibility I have when working with an audience. The first responsibility being the need to deliver creditable information that your audience can trust. This struck me as important when we were learning about nature interpretation in history. This is something I always seek out when learning about different things because I want to make sure what I’m learning is true and has some merit behind it.

I took my Alberta friend on a Hamilton waterfall tour as she did not believe me when I told her Hamilton was the waterfall capital of the world. An example of one of my first “interpretation tours.” (She was impressed). Photo taken by Jenna Stetz.

Another important responsibility is for the interpreter to put their own spin on their presentation and make it personal. I have lost count of the number of presentations I’ve had to listen to when someone is just reading off of a slide or a card. I don’t know about you, but I feel like when I hear these kinds of presentations, the presenter doesn’t really care too much and doesn’t seem to care if their audience gets a good experience or not. I always learn better and pay attention the most if someone shares a personal story that relates to the content. An example of this was recently I was in a course that was preparing me to apply to be a fire ranger this summer. I could instantly tell that my instructor was passionate about his job as a fire ranger with the number of stories he would tell. One story was to emphasize the importance of safety. He told the story about him and two other crew members messing around while chopping down some small trees to kill time, and they made a competition around it. His crew leader decided to take part and wasn’t paying attention and ended up getting an axe in his shin. He made this boring 2 hour long safety module more interesting and engaging by telling this story. When putting your own spin on it, it allows the audience to engage much more, as well as being relatable.

One last responsibility I feel is of importance is that as interpreters we have almost like a duty to pass on knowledge of certain things, not allowing them to be forgotten about. I take great pride in this, knowing that I might have an influence on the future “me’s” one day to share this information with others. We have to remember we are not just passing on knowledge of the environment and nature, but also cultural beliefs and practices too. I mentioned in a previous post about how it is important to learn from the past, and we cannot do this unless we actually know what happened in the past. I personally love just even sharing my scientific and nature knowledge with my friends and family who do not have this as a background, and take pride in the fact that I am able to help educate them on this subject.

Photo of my mom and I at the cottage, as she is making sure I was exposed to the outdoors as early as possible. Photo taken by my dad, Dave Zarnke.

An approach that I would make sure to include in my interpretation is to be able to share with a diverse audience. This would include different age categories, different cultural backgrounds, different knowledge backgrounds and understanding on the subject, as well as learning styles that people possess. This is important to consider because knowing these different factors would affect how you would conduct the presentation to make it the most effective. With different ages there is a different level of understanding so when I would present something to a younger audience, I would make sure to use lots of examples and simple terms they could easily understand, compared to an older audience where I could potentially use more complex terms and concepts. Knowing the cultural and knowledge backgrounds may also determine the content you wish to speak on and the approach you take.

Personally I am a visual and tactile learner, and find it easiest to teach and interpret in this way. During an interpretation I would probably include many visual aids such as photos, videos, and live models to share with the audience. I would encourage the audience to take part in demonstrations and actively participate throughout the presentation. I have also found that through my school life I learn best when examples are given, or thought provoking questions are asked. When information is presented in this way it helps me to compare an example to real life and make those connections, and the thought provoking questions challenge me to take time to digest and organize all that I have learned to put it all together.

Something I think that may set me a part from many interpreters is what I believe and my faith. I am a christian (and like to think of myself as a christian scientist) which can be quite difficult at some times trying to study my major in a secular setting due to different beliefs. The main one would be how the world was created. I believe that there is one true God who created this world, everything in it, and the species we see today are the same and looked the same when the world was created 6000 years ago. This belief and faith of mine plays a huge role in my life, influencing most and if not all of my decisions, so it would be important to me to include this in my interpretations. I would not share or teach others something that I don’t believe in. This would probably lead to me interpreting to a different audience or have a different approach in my interpretations as these beliefs are not the same as what secular science believes and teaches, as well as most organizations. If this were to be a career of mine I would have to work for an organization whose beliefs are the same.

Photo of the Oakville waterfront taken from a walk with friends one afternoon after church. Photo taken by myself.

I believe that as an interpreter, I would ensure to create programs specifically directed towards kids because I have experienced the benefits of taking part in these programs personally. We have learned a bit about how technology is a double edged sword. On one hand, it can be a great tool for nature interpretation, playing sounds, videos, or even in our case currently creating podcasts we can share over the internet. The downfall is that they are also causing people and especially kids to be very disconnected these days. I have lost count the number of times I will see kids with their parents just out and about, completely ignoring their parents just fully consumed in what is on their screen, and these kids are as young as even four years old. I didn’t know what a computer was til I was way older than that, and never received one myself until even later. I think it is so important to raise awareness of these environmental issues to kids and get them involved so they gain interest early in life and can be a part of the solution for their generation.

Before this course I really never pictured myself ever leading an interpretation or even writing about nature as I am more of a research oriented person and not so much as a writer. Taking the time I have to write this post and reflect on what this could look like for me really opened my eyes and allowed me to picture myself actually do this. I reflected back to many memories when I was growing up and took part in nature interpretations as a kid (and honestly never made the connection that I was taking part in an interpretation), just emphasizing one of my points about the importance of getting kids involved. I think nature interpretation can be for anyone to take part in, either leading or listening as we all see things differently with a different lens. This has been a great opportunity and I will definitely be taking these skills I’ve learned with me as I continue in my own nature interpretation.

4 notes · View notes

natsunoomoi · 4 years

Text

Mental Health Post: I have a lot of thoughts

To start off, again, I’m back from a mental health break just for the election because the whole circus just shot my anxiety through the roof and became a lot more than I could handle. It was worse during the election 4 years ago when I was still in the US because the 24 hour news cycle just would not give me a break about it. Now in Japan at least, I more or less can thoughtfully manage my anxiety better by choosing when to go on Facebook or use things on the internet that will cause me to panic or worry. Like the actual ocean’s worth of distance and being surrounded by different media outlets mean that I can schedule time for myself on when to engage with worrying about doom. So there’s that and that’s a good thing, but I still spent some extra hours doom scrolling while waiting for results. Not as bad as it would have been if I were Stateside, but not great.

I’m definitely a lot more relaxed about the general political state of the country though. The shitshow isn’t over I know and more could come up between now and January 20th, but legally it’s mostly over because it looks like most judges and states aren’t willing to put up with stupid shenanigans.

More personal thoughts under the cut.

I am, however, absolutely still very concerned about the ongoing pandemic. Japan is handling it definitely much better than the US, but that’s a low comparison bar though. There’s still much to be improved and priorities that I think need to be rechecked. Not my country though so there isn’t anything I can really do about that. It’s just really irritating that my Mom is messaging me from the US about my finances though and acting like I have other choices which leads me to constantly remind her we’re in a fucking pandemic and there’s things I can’t do. Relatively I feel safer in my current job and prefecture that is handling it decently although some pockets of dumb people leave the prefecture and then bring corona back with them. Most of the people are smart though and don’t go anywhere so I feel relatively safe. If I were to look for another job, I would be looking at moving to the dangerous spreading zones and needing to interface with a butt ton of people that could cause me to catch the virus potentially. It’s frustrating. I don’t actually want to be rude to my Mom too when I talk to her, but considering it’s a literal life and death choice, I’ve found myself screaming at her or asking her how she can ask something so stupid. I just can’t with this. I’m tired of it, but I’m going to be responsible about it and keep myself and others around me safe.

Then also on my blog I’d recently been talking about this Chinese web novel I read. The more recent posts I’d been talking with someone about one particular character that did some very bad things according to the in-universe author and just the book in general, but like the person I was talking to seemed to maybe forget some of the details or was like trying to like whitewash the character’s actions. I think it’s been mostly resolved, but through the discussion an idea popped in my head that maybe they also don’t know what it’s like to have mental health problems either from personal experience or having a friend or loved one that has a really serious case. I’m making an assumption here of course, but that’s just the impression I got as someone who has a mental illness.

I am actually diagnosed with general anxiety disorder and I know that’s what I have right now and is the thing I deal with that isn’t going away. When I was younger though, I had symptoms and behavior that seemed similar to bipolar disorder, but I was never diagnosed and for the most part those symptoms were no longer present when I was finally able to talk to a professional when I sought help. I sought help because I had PTSD after being sexually harassed by a supervisor. The actual harassment though wasn’t really what caused the PTSD because I just thought he was an idiot. What made me mentally fall apart was the retaliation and the realization that oh this shit is really happening. All of my calm and coping symptoms went out the window and I slowly started having a breakdown.

The above book discussion I was having reminded me of this time in my life though because the discussion was about whether or not the character would cross a line and do something that seemed like maybe they probably wouldn’t do normally because of whatever standards they have. If this was me before I had my mental breakdown, I would agree with the other user more. But because I went through my own time of the lowest low and feeling of absolute desperation and grasping at straws for help, I know that things are not that easy. The character in question is a survivor of severe abuse and trauma and has no substantial support system or anyone they can talk to. In comparison, I have been lucky to have friends that did stick by me to give me support, but there were some I still had to give up and cut out of my life and that hurt me greatly and helped contribute to my darkest moments. Some of it for me was absolute frustration with the fact that they wouldn’t pick a side even though my harasser very clearly did something wrong that was not in any way excusable. The other thing was the PTSD was making me super paranoid also and I was wondering if he was manipulating my friends to try to get close to me to hurt me more or something. I had always tried to be a good friend, but because I was going through this ordeal I felt like I was absolutely going crazy and some of the things I thought and felt I know was pushing people I cared about out of my life. It is very, very hard to have a relationship of any kind with someone with a mental illness when they are at their lowest. When they have dark moments, the self-destructive behavior kicks in. That’s why those are symptoms. I found myself at times so miserable that I would cross lines that I never thought before I would cross, and it was because for a short while the suffering was so great that I was literally just like, “Fuck it.” I was very fortunate that the things I attempted would have taken a great deal more set up in order to do any actual damage to my life, so once I cooled down I was okay and no actual harm was done, and I got help and changed my environment completely and met more healthy people. But when I read and thought about that character, knowing what that impulse felt like, I knew that if I was in their shoes and a “fuck it all” moment like that hit me, there’s a good chance that like that character allegedly did, I would cross a line and potentially betray one of my own values. I’m not that character and I can’t know exactly what that character feels, but having experienced what I have, I do think and feel like it is entirely possible that they are guilty of doing some horrible things. That’s what self-destructive behavior is and that’s why it’s a symptom of someone who needs help. In-canon with the story as well, the in-world author notes that they wanted to write a complex background and story for that character with reasons for why they ended up making horrible choices, but couldn’t for various reasons so all that was really seen was actions without context. To me, a more complex story that it sounds like that author wanted to write would be a deep exploration of that character struggling with their self-destructive behavior, self-loathing, and feelings of inadequacies. It would even be expressive or cathartic to readers who are struggling as well. The character not actually doing something and was “framed” or misunderstood by a jealous other character doesn’t sound like the complex backstory that the author said that they wanted to write. I’m not really sure what it is, but this exchange with this other user because they couldn’t see or understand self-destructive behavior really made me think that they’ve been lucky enough to never actually have to deal with it before. I can’t be sure, but it’s like, people who struggle speak the same language in some way.

So yeah, there’s all that too. It brought back some dark memories I needed to put some distance from too. I love the character a lot, but those were some painful memories I didn’t want to revisit or talk about. That way of thinking is so real to me though and I remember back to when I was capable of it. It scares me and I’m glad I got help and was able to get out of it and overcome to have a more peaceful life now, but I remember seeing that darkness in me. I’m very lucky mine I managed to only manifest in the most minimal of ways, but untreated it could have been worse. I suspect that in that character’s case, they experience the worst.

#postitforward #remembering my own mental health story

2 notes · View notes

generation1point5 · 4 years

Text

Late-Stage Capitalism in America

Every day I power up my workstation, my internet browser shows me company news talking about its profits and growth. I find little pride in it. Gratefulness, sure, but not pride. The alienation of labor and the material value of money minimizes any impact.

For a few months now I’ve been experiencing the effects of the gig economy first-hand, and it’s little more than a step up from what I imagine many in retail and other necessary jobs that keep society functioning have to deal with on a much worse scale and on a similar basis. I’m lucky to be working at a company that offers, for its demands, a decent benefits package that has sufficient medical insurance coverage. It has not cut any of these things in the face of the pandemic, and has continued to hire and grow. It’s probably because they are still a cheaper alternative for tech giants to outsource it’s more menial labor to without having to pay benefits for their own fleet of employees. That thought alone is a dark one.

In just a few years of my adulthood, I have come to recognize the inherent instability of the capital economy as it has evolved. There is no such thing as job security, even if that job is our social security; only by working are we given a chance to be covered by modern medicine, or the hope of retiring someday instead of laboring until our dying breath. In working to live, we are living to work. In capitalism, you are a human doing, not a human being.

There’s something to be said about the ideals we were raised with also. I imagine part of it was likely a response to the developments of capitalism in the past century. Even back then, it’s not difficult for me to imagine that those who succeeded and gathered a comfortable means of life during that era realized that they had spent much of their life away, and that what remained was too-little for them to really make the most out of what they truly wanted in the world. Money is a fickle thing; it offers stability and security, up to a certain point, but it will never bring about fulfillment. At least, that was the impression of the teachings I had received. To have a stable financial base is essential, but it isn’t sufficient.

The most damning thing to the current model is that at the top of the pyramid you have people with wealth and the means to explore nonmaterial pursuits freely, usually at the cost of many below who have neither the time nor the money to enjoy either of these things. The classic capitalist mantra is that of a meritocracy; you work harder and smarter, and you receive your due worth. This is a lie. I’ve seen co-workers and friends work shit hours and give the best of themselves to managers who get paid more and have neither the time nor the emotional capacity to be truly receptive to the needs and well-being of their employees. Even the best-intentioned businesses have an obligation to turn a profit, and this will always come first when push comes to shove. In cases like a global pandemic and massive social and economic unrest, this is usually the case.

It is becoming increasingly difficult for me to reconcile the human experience as I have come to value it and the necessities of living life as the global economic model has made it out to be. Of course, any conservative would tell you that this has always been the case, and argue that it either will or even should be the case. There is an often subtle and pervasive notion that capital economic principles are equivalent to scientific laws of nature, rooted in immutable patterns of behavior inherent in the human species. There is a truth in that; if there weren’t exploitable patterns, then we would never have a use for marketing research and other business arms that focus on psychology. But like anything in the human sciences, these rules are soft; there are exceptions, and nothing is certain. Behaviors can be changed, through conscious effort and collective individual action. This very fact is the basis for progress, and progressivism in general.

There is a moral component to all this that I think millennials have a strong affinity towards. More than any other generation, I think millennials have, for all their (and my own) pessimism have refused to embrace cynicism as a guiding principle in societal interaction; we recognize the need for organization and unity as a necessity, even as we recognize and call for the need for principled action without compromise that leaves another group out. We want to expand the good and minimize the evil. Most cynics would follow-up this notion by arguing that there is not a strong consensus of what is good and what is evil; for me, the intention alone is enough.

I used to be a political cynic until the past four years. That changed not because of bettering circumstances, in fact quite the opposite. I recognize now the necessity for hope and a striving towards an ideal, even if it is never fully grasped, much less realized. The cynicism and the modern politick that has emerged from the principles of restricting vice has been insufficient to deter the concentration and continuity of economic and political power among the richest and most out-of-touch people in the country, whose decisions often shape the fates of many not only in the US, but around the world as well. There needs to be an overhaul; there needs to be a return to altruism and virtue in governance, and a return to the cultivation for goodwill to all in broader society. Individualism will never achieve that. Neither will capitalism.

I do what I must to survive, but I will always set my sights on working towards a point where I feel like I’m living.

#personal #blogging

1 note · View note

gra-sonas · 5 years

Photo

A Kiss a Decade in the Making

Pairing: Malex, Alex Manes/Michael Guerin

Words: 4.8K | Rating: T | On AO3

"Is Jenna going to schedule snogging rehearsals for us?”

Alex smiles at him.

“It’s a fair question to ask. How do we, two people who’ve only just met, play two men who’ve been in love for a decade?"

Initially, the story stems from the question how the actors - who hadn't met before filming the pilot - may have worked out the 'logistics' of the Malex kiss in 1x01, and whether there was something like a snogging rehearsal. Any similarities between the characters and the actual actors are - of course - purely coincidental. ;)

A couple of dialogue snippets from the original Roswell New Mexico 1x01 script have made their way into the fic, they are displayed in a 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚗𝚝.

This fic has been sitting in my WIP folder for months and initially I had no plans to ever post it, but thanks to the wonderful encouragement and helpful beta works of @i-never-look-away & @cosmiceverafter, here it is. Love you, guys! ♥

~*~

When they get up to leave showrunner Jenna Cameron’s office, there’s a moment of hesitation as they arrive at the door at the same time. Michael takes the initiative and opens the door. He can’t help himself and bends his knee in a ridiculous half curtsy while he gestures at Alex to walk out first. Alex looks slightly bewildered for a moment but then he smiles.

“Thank you, Michael.”

Michael perks up. Not many people call him Michael, there are way too many Michaels in the world, that’s why he goes by Guerin everywhere.

“You can call me Guerin, it’s what everyone does.”

Alex nods.

“I’ll think about it. I like it though. Michael. It’s a good name. Suits you.”

He walks off and leaves a stunned Michael behind. What does that even mean, he’ll think about it? Michael’s just a name. Not a bad name, he also considers it a lucky name, after all it has landed him a role that could very well be his first leading role in a major network TV show. At least that’s what he likes to think.

For that to happen, the show just needs to get picked up to series. After reading the script and hearing Jenna talk about what she envisions, he’s even more confident that the show has great potential. If they are going to do this right, they will be picked up.

Doing it right is the thing though. He already loves Mikel Rath, sees a lot of himself in him, and a lot of things he can at least relate to. The quick wit, the anger issues, the sarcastic and funny side of him.

There’s just one thing he’s unsure about. The thing with Alistair. The Alistair & Mikel thing. He wonders what their moniker would be? Milistair? Or Alikel? Do they have to come up with one themselves, or will they leave that to the fans? He makes a mental note to ask Jenna about it.

Michael has a bunch of LGBTQ friends, he’s even part of the community himself (although he’s never acted on it, which sometimes makes him feel like he’s not allowed to claim membership), and he’s lived in LA long enough to be aware of the significance of LGBTQ representation on screen. He knows how important this relationship is going to be to many people. How important it is to get it right. From what Jenna’s just told them, she has a lot in mind for these two characters, but only if there’s going to be a show Aliens of New Mexico .

The pilot only gives them one shot at selling it. It won’t just be on their shoulders alone, of course, Liz and Max will have to do most of the heavy lifting with their characters, but he has a feeling that this Alistair and Mikel thing will still play a vital role in TV executives making a decision that could change his life forever.

Michael takes a deep breath and slowly walks back to his trailer. On the way he recalls the meeting he had with Jenna and Alex. Jenna’s awesome, he’s met her before back in LA, and she’s also responsible for hiring him. He met Alex for the first time in Jenna’s office just now, though. He hasn’t had much time to get to know the man yet.

Alex had been earnest during their meeting, notes written in the margins of his script and post-its marking some pages. He’d asked Jenna a lot of questions during their read through of the Alistair & Mikel scenes.

It had been interesting to listen to an experienced TV actor asking all these questions. Michael had never been an avid watcher of Charming Young Deceivers, but even he had heard about Gemma & Mic’s popularity. Referred to as Gemic by fans, they’d been crowned Best TV Couple in almost every online poll for several years, and Alex Manes had won three Teen Choice Awards for his portrayal of Mic, plus two others with his co-star for Best Couple. They’d also won three awards for Best Kiss. So, no pressure.

When Michael had found out that Alex Manes would play Alistair, he’d almost felt a bit giddy because he instantly knew what face went with the name.

He’d then done what he imagined most people would've done in his position: he’d gone and looked up Alex Manes in news and on social media. Since Instagram seemed to be his personal favorite, he went there first. Impressive follower count, very curated content (gorgeous photos though), cute dog (a beagle called Buffy, Alex had tagged her ‘Love of my Life’ in several photos). Alex seemed like an interesting guy who was not only very photogenic, but also had great taste in interior design, music, and he loved to travel. Michael had been looking forward to meeting him.

Then he’d read Alex’s Wikipedia entry. Like the character he was about to play, he came from a military family, his parents got divorced when Alex was in middle school and he’d grown up with his mom, while his three older brothers had stayed with their dad. He’d filmed a couple of indie movies and to Michael’s surprise, had released a number of singles. Michael’d listened to all of them and really liked them. One song had stood out to him in particular, a duet with Rosa Ortecho, a household name in the LA indie music scene. Michael was impressed.

Reading about the incident in Afghanistan, where Alex had been visiting US troops and lost part of his leg when their convoy had been attacked, had made Michael swallow hard. He’d then gone back to Alex’s Instagram account and looked through some of his more recent pictures. Now that Michael was aware of what had happened, he’d noticed a crutch in the background of some of the pictures. And there was a photo of Alex in a German military hospital, a beautiful dark-haired woman (probably his mom) by his side.

Now that they’ve met, Michael is not sure what to think of Alex, who seems to be so much more than the handful of “facts” Michael had gathered from the internet. Alex had been nothing but friendly during their meeting with Jenna, he’d often looked at Michael, had tried to include him in the conversation (it had seemed like he’d been aware that Michael didn’t come with the same kind of TV experience under his belt as he did), had asked him questions, had listened with great attention when Michael spoke.

All things considered it had been a great meeting. It had given Michael much needed input to get a better idea of the Alistair & Mikel dynamic. And yet her he is, still feeling somewhat insecure about it.

There’s one line in the pilot script that stood out to him in particular when he read the script for the first time, and it’s been nagging him ever since.

𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚌𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 -- 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚛𝚎 𝙺𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶

Muscle memory springing to life? How are they going to pull that off when they barely know each other?

When Michael reaches his trailer, he looks around. Max’s trailer is to his left, Isobel’s trailer is to his right, Liz is right across from him. Valenti’s trailer’s right to Liz’s, and if memory serves him right, Alex’s trailer is to Liz’s left.

With just an idea in his mind, Michael crosses the short distance and knocks on the door of Alex’s trailer.

“Come in.”

Michael opens the door and is hit by a waft of warm air that smells rather nice. He quickly enters the trailer and closes the door behind him. He looks around and although they’ve all arrived in Albuquerque just 48 hours ago, Alex’s trailer already looks very cozy and lived in.

A set of what must be scented candles is burning, set on a wooden plate on the sideboard in front of the big mirror. Something slow and jazz-y is playing over two small speakers, and Alex, clad in gray sweat pants and a soft looking baby blue hoodie, lounges on the recliner, a beautifully patterned quilt in earthy colors draped over his lower legs.

He’s looking up at Michael, carefully placing a bookmark in the pilot episode script he'd been reading when Michael entered the trailer, before he places it on the table in front of him.

“Michael, good to see you. Can I offer you some tea?”

Michael is not much of a tea drinker, but it’s cold in Albuquerque this time of the year, and if Alex’s already offering to make tea, this could be a much-needed bonding experience. He smiles.

“That would be great, thanks. Can I help?”

His mom Mara has raised him right, he never expects people to just serve him, but Alex is already up and heads over to the small kitchen area. He busies himself with boiling water and placing cookies in a ceramic bowl. He looks over at Michael.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Are you warm enough? I can turn up the heating some more if you’re cold?”

Michael plops down on the comfy chair offered to him and shakes his head.

“Thanks, I’m naturally running hot, I’m good.”

That remark earns him a raised brow from Alex. No kidding, Alex Manes is capable of raising just one brow. It gives his face something almost diabolic for a second, until one corner of his mouth twitches and he smirks.

“You’re running hot, huh? Good to know.”

Michael blushes. He honest to god blushes. Holy shit. Is Alex Manes flirting with him? He’s not sure. Alex is so different from his group of friends and the people he’s worked with in the past. They are usually just taking the shit out of him (and vice versa). With Alex it's all new and unknown terrain.

He’s being pulled out of his thoughts when Alex returns to the table and puts a mug of steaming tea in front of him. And of course, he doesn’t just place it on the wooden table, he’s putting a coaster underneath. Because Alex Manes is a cultivated man who brings his own quilt, scented candles and fucking coasters to a 3-week-shoot in the desert.

Michal is impressed, but also intimidated. His usual crowd is loud and rambunctious, and it suits his outgoing personality perfectly. Alex is only three months older than him, but he almost feels like an insecure kid meeting a man of the world. He shakes off that mental image and waits until Alex is snuggled up under his quilt again before he takes a cookie. It’s chocolate chip, and it tastes divine .

“Holy shit, these are amazing. Where did you get them? I have to buy three boxes.”

Alex chuckles.

“I don’t usually do orders, but I can give you the recipe, they’re quite easy to make.”

Michael is in awe. He loves food more than almost anything in the world, and he knows his way around a stove or oven. He’ll figure out a way to make these cookies.

“Didn’t take you for a baker, but you sure know what you did with these. They are incredible. I’d love the recipe. I’ll send it to my mom. She’ll be so excited.”

He must’ve said the right thing, because Alex’s smile turns warm and genuine for the first time since they’ve met.

“Moms, right?”

Michael couldn’t agree more and nods enthusiastically. He picks up his mug.

“To amazing moms.”

Alex picks up his mug and toasts back.

“To amazing moms.”

They both sip some tea and for a moment the music in the background is the only sound in the trailer. Michael is careful to place his mug on its coaster before he picks up the conversation again.

“Okay, now that we’ve established that we’re both momma’s boys, I hope we can take it from there and get to know each other better and maybe build something for our Alistair and Mikel dynamic. What do you think?”

He’s nervous all of a sudden. Alex is an experienced actor, he’s been doing this professionally for more than a decade. When Michael sees Alex’s face soften, he’s feeling better immediately.

“I think that’s a great idea. There’s this one sentence in the script that shows how close they are, or at least how close they must've been at some point, and I think it would be good to find that closeness somehow. And then we’re going to show the execs what a kiss a decade in the making looks like.”

Michael laughs.

“You won’t believe it, but that’s been my thought process on my way from Jenna’s office to your trailer. I mean, Liz and Max still have the biggest responsibility to convince the higher ups, but in my opinion, Alistair and Mikel are just as important and as much of a selling point.”

Encouraged by Alex nodding in agreement, Michael continues.

"The scene you mentioned, is our springboard, that’s the moment where the audience has to realize that this isn’t just a spur of the moment thing. These two men have history. We may not know about that history yet, but it has to be clear that they know each other. It’s really helpful for me that Jenna wrote that bit about muscle memory into the script. The question is, how do we get to a point where we look like we’ve done this before? Is Jenna going to schedule snogging rehearsals for us?”

Alex bursts out laughing. On the one hand Michael’s delighted that he’s managed to make Alex laugh, on the other hand that he’s worried he’s made a stupid suggestion.

“Uhm, sorry if that was dumb. I’m just a very hands-on guy. I often approach my roles from as much of a physical perspective as I do from the emotional perspective of my character.”

Alex smiles at him.

“You didn’t say anything dumb. It’s a fair question to ask. How do we, two people who’ve only just met, play two men who’ve been in love for a decade? I want this to be every bit of convincing and true to these characters as you. In all honesty, I might have an even bigger interest in it, given that I’m part of the community who will watch this part of the show very closely.”

Michael knows that Alex is gay, in his research he’s found articles and an interview that had been released after Charming Young Deceivers ended. Media and fans alike had been in a frenzy over the coming out, especially after Alex had been part of one of the most beloved straight couples in TV history.

Michael looks at Alex as open and honest as he feels.

“I’m bi myself, so this story means a lot to me, too. I want to do it justice, and I want to do right by a community I know is marginalized in many, many ways. They - we - deserve me giving it my all. And that’s what I want to do. That’s what the script demands. And I think Alistair and Mikel have the potential to be as important and relevant as Liz and Max’s characters. Maybe even more so.”

Michael’s run out of breath at this point, something that barely ever happens, but this is important to him, and he hopes Alex understands what he means. Going by the look on Alex’s face, he does. His eyes seem to glisten, but maybe it’s just a trick of light.

Alex clears his throat and takes another sip from his mug.

“You know, I’ve had the hardest time making the decision whether to take on this role. After seven years on my previous show and coming out after we wrapped, I took a year off. I just needed a break from pretending to be someone I’m not for way too long. The media just always assumed I had to be straight because I played a straight guy on TV. I knew it was risky to come out when the show ended, it could’ve ended my career as well, but I couldn’t live the lie by omission my life had become any longer. I did a lot of soul searching and focused on myself. I was at a point where I didn’t know if I should continue to work in this business, when the accident happened. After that, I didn't know if I could continue to work in this business. I’m sure you know enough about the industry to understand how hard it is as an able-bodied, assumed-straight, assumed white male actor.”

Michael nods, he knows all too well how hard it is. He’s been driving Uber and Lyft for more than a year to make ends meet, and as a talented mechanic, he’d also done the odd car repair job for friends or people recommended to him for extra cash, he’d spent on more acting classes.

Alex puts his mug down and rubs at his eyes with the palms of his hands before he looks at Michael again, his gaze intense.

“Well, after playing a straight white guy for years, people now know that Alex Manes is actually a gay man, who’s half Native American, and also disabled. I’ve worked my way up in LA for years, until my name was one casting people and show execs would recognize. Expectations were always high, but the longer Deceivers went on, the pressure to replicate the success got bigger every year, and the media wanted to be fed with the same narrative over and over again. Especially in regards to my personal life.”

Alex shakes his head, probably thinking about gossip magazine headlines questioning whether his female co-star of seven years and him were banging in real life. Michael shudders in sympathy.

“When the show ended, I just couldn’t continue and pretend to be the guy they wanted to write about. If someone had asked me one more time what my dream girl would have to be like, I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t have committed a murder. And now they know that I’m really not that guy."

Alex points at the script on the table.

“When I got this, I’d more or less made my peace with the idea of never being able to act again, while simultaneously worrying about what to do with my life instead. This role, this story, came at the right time. I read the script and I knew immediately that I wanted to play Alistair. That – to a degree – I am Alistair.”

Alex takes a steadying breath.

“I’m not going to make this about me all the time, don’t worry, but I wanted you to know where I’m coming from, and that there’s the potential that some part of my story will bleed into Alistair’s story. Mentally I’m still a bit ‘all over the place’ right now, I’m more emotional than usual, and I still struggle with the decision of having signed up for a project that could turn into yet another commitment of several years. But I think the show has the potential to be really good. For myself, and for many people like me.”

Michael gets up from his chair and walks over to the recliner. He reaches out to Alex with both arms.

“Man, would it be ok if I offer you a hug? I know I could use a hug right now. It’s ok if you don’t want, of course, but I thought I’d ask?”

Alex looks at him with big eyes, but then he untangles himself from the quilt, gets up and steps into Michael’s open arms. Michael wraps his arms around Alex’s upper body, while Alex’s arms slowly wind around Michael’s mid-section. It’s only awkward for a second, then both men give in and melt into a comforting embrace. They just stand there in the middle of Alex’s trailer for a long time, holding each other, breathing in and out in perfect sync.

They lose track of time, but eventually Alex bends back a little to look at Michael’s face from close up.

“Momma’s boys and suckers for hugs, I have a feeling, things between us are going to be just fine.”

Michael snickers.

“I’m warning you, I’m a cuddle slut. I can fall asleep on people’s shoulders, or I will sloth-hug them from behind when I’m tired. Feel free to tell me no at any time though, I know not everybody’s comfortable with that kind of invasion of their personal space.”

Alex smiles.

“Thanks, I’m trying to listen to my needs more closely. In general, I do enjoy a good hug, but sometimes it can be too much. Boundaries are hard.”

Michael nods.

“Don’t I know it. I mean, I’m not having a hard time to accept or notice other people’s boundaries, it’s more like that I often ignore my own boundaries in an effort to please everyone. Leaves me drained and exhausted, but then life demands that I’m being me again, and I never seem to have enough time and space to recharge.”

They end the hug, but when they sit down again, they do so on the recliner side by side, their knees touching. Michael’s right leg bounces.

“So, after we’ve bonded over some emotional stuff, how do we get to the muscle memory part of our characters’ connection? Kissing boot camp? I’ll admit, although I know I’m bi, I’ve never kissed a dude before. I don’t expect it to be that different from kissing a girl, but I can’t be sure. I’ve looked up your filmography and saw that you did this cool musical film where you played a seemingly gay man. How did you and your co-star approach that thing between your characters?”

Alex laughs.

“Did you see the movie?”

Michael shakes his head.

“I didn’t have the time to watch it, but I saw the trailer, and, uhm, there’s a making of clip of one rather steamy scene on YouTube, I watched that.”

Alex smirks at him.

“Did you now? Interesting. Well, in general we talked with the director of course, how they wanted the scene to go, stuff like that. We did a screen test where we kissed before the shoot. Colton’s also gay, so we both had no trouble with the ‘kissing a dude’ part. But as it is with any kiss on screen, kissing a stranger is never easy.”

Michael nods.

“Okay, that makes sense. Maybe they’re going to do a screen test with us, too? To make sure we’re compatible? Jenna didn’t mention anything, right?”

Alex shakes his head.

“No, she didn’t. I don’t think there will be a screen test. This is just a pilot, and they’re on a tight budget. They’ll expect us to knock it out of the park as soon as the cameras roll.”

Michael swallows around a lump in his throat that wasn’t there a minute ago.

“Good, that’s cool. I mean, looking at you, it’s not exactly a hardship to imagine how great it must be to kiss you. I’ll do my best to make it not awkward.”

Alex smiles at him, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. He’s careful with his next words.

“If it makes you feel better, we can do a screen test without cameras? Figure out how to embrace without colliding? I mean, we don’t have to kiss, obviously, if it makes you uncomfortable or you think it’s not necessary. But we could work out some kind of choreography and develop the ‘muscle memory’ for the kissing scene?”

Alex doesn’t look straight at Michael when he makes his proposal, only when he ends, his eyes are back on Michael with full focus. Michael feels like he’s blushing furiously, although he really hopes that isn’t the case.

“Uhm, okay, that’s a great idea actually. A choreography. I like that. I’d rather not knock you unconscious with my thick skull just because we both go for the same side.”

Alex laughs and stands up again. He holds his hand out to Michael.

“Come on then, let’s try.”

Michael takes Alex’s hand and lets himself get pulled up into a standing position. Alex doesn’t release his hand, so Michael follows him to the middle of the trailer where they have enough space to move around without bumping into furniture. Alex takes one more step until they stand opposite from each other.

“Is there anything off limits with what you’re comfortable with? Like, do I have to know about any particularly ticklish spots, is it ok to touch your hair? That kind of stuff.”

Michael thinks about it for a second, then he shakes his head.

“I can’t think of anything. How about you?”

Alex shakes his head.

“I’m pretty ticklish, but I don’t think you’re going to tickle me. Should we just act out the scene like it’s in the script and see how it goes?”

Michael nods. He picks up his script from where he’d placed it on the table earlier and quickly reads through the instructions for the scene’s set-up.

“Okay, why don’t you take the chair from over there, and I enter from the kitchen area?”

Alex nods in agreement. He pulls out the chair from under the desk and props up his right leg on the seat. He pulls up the leg of is sweatpants and pretends to adjust something on his prosthesis.

Michael’s stepped back into the kitchen area and looks at Alex. His hair is tousled and he looks warm and slightly flushed. For a moment, Michael glances at the metal of Alex’s leg reflecting the light, but then he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He’s Mikel Rath now. An alien who’s lived in this town for ten years while the love of his life went to war. They are not on good terms, but there’s still love.

A love that’s been tested over and over again, but never went away. Michael opens his eyes and looks at Alex. Alex, who’s Alistair Jessup now, a decorated war veteran. Not the same person Mikel fell in love with a decade ago. Not a boy anymore. Alistair is a man now. But the love, oh the love, it's burning just as bright as the first day he’d laid eyes on him.

Mikel takes a step forward into the room, as per description “belt buckle first”.

"𝙽𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚐𝚒𝚊’𝚜 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑, 𝚑𝚞𝚑."

Alistair adjusts the leg of his pants and puts his foot back on the ground. He looks at Mikel, his eyes dark and questioning. He sighs.

"𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙸𝚛𝚊𝚚, 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎."

Mikel feels embarrassed all of a sudden. Alistair is right, it’s been ten years and he’s still stuck in the same place, wasting his life, just like Alistair said earlier. But then Alistair doesn’t know why he never left, what kept him in their hometown, or rather who. Mikel is tired, and his shoulders drop. He sounds resigned.

"𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎. 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝? 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚘?"

Alistair shakes his head, he also looks tired, his eyes are hollow.

"𝚆𝚎’𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎. 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛."

The ‘what I want never mattered’ is hanging like an unspoken truth between them. Mikel takes a step forward, his eyes on Alistair. Alistair in return, takes one step in Mikel’s direction. They are close now. Very close. They look at each other, their eyes telling an entire story while they remain quiet.

When they both start moving at the same time, there’s no need to figure out a choreography. Mikel’s arms reach for Alistair’s head, his fingers slotting around his neck just so, while Alistair’s hands go underneath Mikel’s arms and wrap around Mikel’s torso. They both pull the other in until there’s no space left between them. Mikel takes another breath before he closes the last inch of distance between them and their lips meet in a searing kiss.

They are swaying back and forth, their lips pressing firmly against each other. They are Alistair and Mikel for a long moment, until Mikel Rath slowly turns back into Michael Guerin and Alistair fades back into Alex Manes, and now it’s them kissing all of a sudden, and no longer the characters they are supposed to play.

Michael doesn’t know how to stop. He doesn’t want to. He’s holding onto Alex’s face and looks at him like he’s searching for something. When he sees what he’s been hoping to find, he closes his eyes and lets his lips go soft, his mouth turning into a pliant invitation

When he feels Alex’s tongue nudging at his lower lip, he opens his mouth and lets him in.

#malex fic #malex #alex manes #michael guerin #roswell new mexico #my fic #rnm 1x01 #rnm fic

31 notes · View notes

sugar-petals · 5 years

Text

Sub!Namjoon A-Z

note: posts for other members linked in m.list!

⚠️ warnings: dom/sub dynamics, smut, bdsm

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

In the mood to talk a lot. Might appreciate a high five. I’m not even kidding.

b = body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Confident about his legs. Always uses a metric ton of lotion to make them extra soft for you to fondle. Might go through a few bottles a month because wow, his legs have a lot of well um leggy leg to be slathered. For you... similar area, he likes your feet to worship.

c = cum (anything to do with cum basically… i’m a disgusting person)

How much more playful can he get. At your command, he’ll lick it off your butt. Sex with Namjoon is always super creamy-sloppy-sweaty anyways, he has a lot to gobble up.

d = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Most of the other members have as many secrets as they have fingers, Namjoon, however, will exceed that by far. He wants to try shibari, sounding, pet play, flogging, collaring, and basically everything that comes with spreader bars and gimps. Clearly spends too much time on the internet because holy cow, that’s ambitious. But you can take it as a compliment to your skill, or rather, Namjoon’s conviction that you master a lot of kinks.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

In his mind, and in general terms of knowledge, very much so. He’s not just well-versed with humanitarian thought, kink is not safe from his curiosity. Practically, less so, but he learns fast with your lead.

f = favourite position (this goes without saying.)

Up against a wall. He is not above begging for you to pin him to one everywhere. Also his favorite mode of making out, by the way.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Oops! By accident. Like when removing pants, trying to at least, because his boner often gets stuck, or stumbling across the room entangled with you, trying to head towards the bed.

h = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Will definitely experiment with razors a lot. Because let’s face it, Namjoon is like straight out of a shaving commercial. Imagine him in those scenarios where the guy is all sensual under the shower with cream dripping everywhere, or leaning against the mirror wall. It’s totally worth filming.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

You probably have to prevent him from getting super cheesy... or allow it because oh my, he becomes even more hopelessly subby from that.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Edging, edging, edging. Him masturbating gets him into all sorts of trouble and everyone in BTS has at least one Kim ‘Fap Monster’ Namjoon story they can drunkenly tell at a party to embarrass him for eternity. He’s most infamous for moaning far too loud during climax and even talking to himself, or accidentally streaming his session into the group chat. The first sex-related thing that you’ll ever do is establish a couple rules for Fap Monster to follow, and generally engage in more guided masturbation than having him do it alone.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

The question remains, what kink doesn’t he have! But I get it, something specific, let’s see. That would be breast sucking. And not just on you, we all know the perks of Namjoon’s chest.

l = location (favourite places to do the do)

Now hear me out. It’s not the library, but something even more... out of the ordinary. Namjoon would totally be ready to have sex in abandoned places of some sort given that there’s not a spider every corner and unsafe debris. Maybe for nostalgic value, or the sheer thrill. You’ll have to talk about it.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Different every week. He will gladly explain that to you in his 2 AM texts that read like a Kant chapter each.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Now we had that, it’s more difficult to pinpoint that one. Nams would probably mention something that doesn’t go in accordance with his moral values and is general common sense either way, like some kind of creepy race/non-con play or certain forms of edge play torture that take hygiene concerns to a new level and would shred anyone without 10 years of experience. Besides exchanging thoughts with you, he’ll get busy in some BDSM forums online and inform himself on how the consensus is. Namjoon is definitely the type to know about what is controversial and being careful with that. He is kinky, but role model kinky.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Oh man. What can’t he do with his tongue. And those lips... fit perfectly on your labia. Surely equal amounts giving and receiving, 69 ahoy.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Sex with Namjoon is so dynamic, speed hardly stays the same over the course of a few minutes. Ever heard his tracks? You can assess how a rapper fucks by his mixtape alone. He switches flow every ten bars. That’s how Namjoon is in bed.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

You can jump on his dick as often as you please, problem is that Namjoon’s masturbation troubles transfer to your quickies as well. I think there’s a reason why abandoned places are perfect because otherwise, the whole world will know.

r = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

90% risk, 10% contemplation. That might seem unusual for him, but in your presence, Namjoon quickly becomes a bit of a carefree guy. Hormones are one hell of a drug. But! It’s good to see him leave his mind palace.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

To be fair: He tries and tries and tries. All that edging does give him a few bonus minutes of endurance, but 15 minutes is the limit. Two rounds max.

t = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

One of the few members who isn’t caught up in the toy mania. Seriously, can you imagine Joon operating something like a Sybian? It’s not him. Instead, he prefers you to bring your own collection along, who said Kim Namjoon doesn’t like some anal beads to stretch him out.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

His teasing is so subtle, it’s a test for your intelligence. If you don’t get it, he can still do one of his infamous simple, but effective winks to get your attention. The guy has several methods up his sleeve and thinks you’re cool anyways. Namjoon is a pretty sophisticated flirt, you’ll love that.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

Boy, what a confusion is that going to be for the neighbors. “Is Y/N watching Jurassic World again?” Nope, it’s your man making some weird inhuman noises and he’s proud of them.

w = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

You can definitely take him hiking and have a lot of fun in the mountains, you know. Again, that saves civilization from Namjoon’s lack of vocal control and you have free reins to really make him choke and moan in the meadows.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Doctors hate him! How did Kim Namjoon grow such an impressive 8th member of BTS reaching from Ilsan to Seoul? Citizens use it as a bridge! Buy his secrets for just 70.99$! Now I’m joking, Namjoon dabbles around upper average independently of his body height, and you can be glad because if that was in true proportion your gynecologist would be the one hating him and that third leg. He’s definitely material for cock and ball torture, lots of areas to work with. Add the ass he’s been growing to spank. I swear the guy’s a sex symbol.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

How to describe it. Namjoon has a lot of pizzazz. It magically goes to sleep in the presence of books though.

z = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Click! Lights off. It happens pretty fast so you have to wrap it up quickly and kiss your koala goodnight.

#namjoon smut #bts smut #sub!namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon scenarios #namjoon a-z #bts a-z #bts a-z analysis #namjoon a-z smut #bts #bangtan #namjoon #namjoon a-z analysis #bts abc smut #namjoon abc #namjoon abc smut

419 notes · View notes

mszegedy · 4 years

Text

30 Days of Autism Acceptance: Days 17-26

This is a list of questions by @autie-jake (full list here), where you’re supposed to answer one per day for every day of April. I keep forgetting to do these daily, so here’s all the days since my last post. My last post is here.

April 17: Have you experienced ableism before? If so, how did it feel and how did you handle it?

Yes! Actually, it made my childhood so bad that my brain decided to forget it. So, clearly nothing to write about here.

April 18: Discuss how you felt when you felt when you first learnt you were autistic vs how you feel now.

I’m not good at the whole “remembering how I feel” thing. My memories of my feelings are all semantic memory. I know as a 6th grader I thought autism was super cool and I read a whole autobiography of an autistic savant because I wanted to find out more about it (Born on a Blue Day by Daniel Tammett). After a lot of intense research, I decided that I couldn’t conclusively self-diagnose, and regretfully slinked away back into not understanding or advocating for my needs. Sometime later, an actually autistic coworker of mine looked at me for like five (5) minutes, and was like, “Hey, have you been diagnosed with autism yet?” I’ve since adopted her as my second mom, for that and other reasons. I’ve had very few moments in my life when I was sad to have an autistic trait, and I got over it fairly quickly.

April 19: Talk about scripting. Is scripting something that you normally do? What kind of situations do you have a script for? Does it help you?

People don’t like my apologies, so I have a couple apology scripts saved. Otherwise I tend to just wing it and fail spectacularly. The apology scripts tend to sound… scripted, but they’re better than just doing it myself, I think.

April 20: Discuss stimming. In what ways do you stim? What does stimming mean to you? What do individual stims that you do mean? Do you have any stim toys? What would you like people to know about stimming?

Pressure stims are the most important stims for me. I’m more likely to be squeezing a part of my body than not. If nothing else, I can cross my legs tight and squeeze them together. This doesn’t have any specific function; it’s just something I do that makes me feel better. When I’m stressed, I do it more.

I also do motion stims. Often my way of locomotion is more like dancing. This is a little strange, because I don’t otherwise dance. I always feel happy, relaxed, and in control when I do that. When I’m sad or tired, my feet are too heavy for it. I am also very animate with my hands when I talk. When I taught English in Hungary for the first time, the first question I was asked whether all Americans talk with their hands as much as I do. (I don’t think they do. I have it on good authority from at least one American I trust utterly that the way I use my hands is rather unique.)

I have two improvised stim toys for pressure stimming (a scarf for wrapping very tight around limbs, and a butterknife for applying waves of uniform pressure). I also recently found one of those head scratchy thingies, and now I use it every five minutes or so. It’s a little inconvenient with headphones on, but I’m rather creative with it, anyway. I don’t actually like light touch or tickles, but generally the head scratchy thingy can be given enough pressure to provide a substantial stimulus.

April 21: Give a shoutout to some of your favorite autism blogs/autistic bloggers

UM. HMM. Like 10-50% of the people I follow are autistic, but hell if I can remember any of their handles.

I reblog from @nonbinary-hawke and their native issues-related sideblog @finding-my-culture like multiple times a day but I’m pretty sure they kinda just tolerate me? I’m mostly cut off from the actual native community I’m supposed to be part of (the Siberian one), so I try to follow American native issues with kind of a “not my lane but I’m still sympathetic” vibe, and their blogs are most of my way of keeping in touch. But we have a lot of other random things in common too; similar age, similar neurotype, similar fandoms, etc. So I’m pretty much always gonna have a platonic tumblr crush on them, given that and how much I respect their principles.

@autisticadvocacy is ASAN’s official blog, I think, and it’s always posting useful and relevant articles.

@autisticjoy and @autismisaokay are two blogs I’ve followed for most of my time on tumblr. I get the majority of my autism-related content from them.

@autistic-noodle is the first autism-related blog I ever followed! I highly recommend her; if I haven’t unfollowed her after all this time, then that means that they’ve never reblogged anything that’s triggered me, which is pretty darn impressive.

@bogleech is my favorite webcomic artist, which is a vaunted honor coming from someone with ¾ of a special interest in webcomics. I’m not actually sure if he’s autistic, but he posts enough autism-related content to justify being on this list one way or another.

I’ve definitely learned at least one useful thing from @autisticlifehack. What was it? Who knows?

@autistic-flirting is very cute, if not very active.

Shout out to @tikibats and @dreamfriend, who I actually know IRL.

April 22: What are some social rules that do not make sense to you/that you don't understand?

I’m, uh. Actually not sure? I can usually explain stuff if I think hard enough. There’s some stuff I’ve never bothered to figure out, but none of it’s so pressing that I can actually remember it.

Oh! Actually! One night during freshman year of college, I went to the computer lab to do my homework in a not-at-all-revealing bathrobe. I’ve received several explanations on why this was wrong, but I don’t remember any of them.

April 23: Do you have any internal rules? What are they?

LOTS, wow. If I didn’t have them, I wouldn’t have any shred of consistency whatsoever. I am nothing but these rules. Some of them feel more like strong opinions that can be taken or left, like the ones pertaining to writing style, but even those I follow 99% of the time. They range from really foundational moral ones like, “Everything with a mind intrinsically deserves your friendship and understanding,” and, “Every neurotype deserves to exist,” to, “Always wrap code to 80 columns (unless it’s highly nested like Lisp, in which case consider 100 columns),” and, “When mixing fruit flavor tea, always pour the syrup before the tea.” It’s quite the hodgepodge.

April 24: Talk about community. What does the autistic community mean to you? Is it important? How does it feel?

I haven’t had much of a chance to actually participate in any autistic community yet. I don’t even really participate in the tumblr autistic community. It’s just sorta me, my second mom, and a couple random people I get to see occasionally. (Also, my dad, but we don’t talk about my dad.) Most of my friends are neurodivergent in some way, though, so I’m happy with the people I have. (Not that I don’t enjoy hanging around neurotypical people, too. But it feels good to not have to work to make yourself be understood.)

April 25: Do you know any other autistic people off the internet? Is anyone else in your family autistic or are you the only one? Do you wish you knew more?

See yesterday’s answer! I wouldn’t do this if I were doing these day by day, but I’m totally justified here, because it’s literally the previous paragraph.

April 26: In what ways can allistic people better accommodate you and other autistic people? What would you consider helpful?

It’s a broad question. My mom has been getting better at not punishing me for my autistic traits, but the other day she still antagonized me for stimming at the dinner table. (I’m 22. Nearly 23.) So it’d be great if she didn’t do things like that. Not even gonna talk about what my dad could do better. (The ways he does accomodate me seem unintentional.)

Outside of that, I appreciate it when people give me very clearly-worded instructions, broken down into small steps, with every possible detail specified. I appreciate it even more when those instructions are in written form, because I can only remember two or three of those when they’re spoken aloud.

I appreciate it when food places with complex menus have the option to just sit down with the menu, without a time limit, and make up your order. Sandwich and wrap places, like Subway, make me very uncomfortable for reason; Subway has an extremely combinatorically complex menu, and you’re expected to make up your order while they’re making the sandwich. I’d like to spend some time staring at a sheet with each sandwich ingredient listed and explained, and the ways they can be combined, first.

The current switch to online classes has been great for my ability to understand lectures, and terrible for my ability to do classwork and homework. Hearing the lecture through headphones circumvents most of my auditory processing issues, and seeing the lecture slides clearly circumvents most of my attention issues. But when it comes to doing classwork and homework, executive dysfunction rules me. I do wish my executive dysfunction were better accomodated for even in the case of normal classes (and probably careers), but it’s hard to guess what form that would take. I’ve run out of brainpower for good ideas.

For the rest of the month I will do these questions daily, one at a time. Hopefully.

#2020 #30daysofautismacceptance

4 notes · View notes

princepestilence · 5 years

Note

Hey Samson, I'm very much a homebody and I wanted to know if you had and tips on where to meet cool queer people?

Hello there! I’m honestly very flattered that you thought to ask me, because that makes me feel like I must look like I’ve got my stuff sorted out and am living that #queer community dream–but that’s not actually entirely true and I sort of want to preface anything else I say with the fact that I am still very much in the process of trying to find more cool people to bring into my life myself, because I’m not where I want to be on that front yet. I’ve been super lucky so far, but I don’t want to give the impression that I’m done meeting cool queer people. There’s a lot of friends I’m still out looking for and a lot of connections I haven’t made yet that I’d really like to, so yeah! Happy to share my thoughts but I am not an expert.

For me, there’s kind of been three major sources of finding My People so far, and those have been: work/university (which count as the same for me, since I was once a student and now I teach students and have cool queer colleagues and they know cool queer people, so it has a run-on effect), the internet, and creative art spaces.

I think being a homebody can be a bit of a disadvantage if you want to meet cool queer people, mostly because I’ve found online queer spaces and offline queer spaces to have… very different vibes and values. Not always! I’ve definitely experienced first-hand some weird vibes that I didn’t want to tangle with in offline queer spaces (thinking specifically of the queer collective at my university). But broadly, I’ve enjoyed offline queer spaces a lot more, and found more connection with other people, and experienced more genuinely restorative and healing and positive vibes in those spaces than here on tumblr or elsewhere online.

So that’s kind of my first piece of advice: see what’s happening in your local area regarding queer and/or artistic events! I don’t use Facebook, but there are a lot of local groups that use Facebook to organise and announce events, so if you have that, that can be a great way to keep in touch with that’s going on and see if anything strikes your fancy. For me, I go to the poetry slam every month I can make it, which is something I adore and always an experience of big queer solidarity, because it’s a bunch of creative (often queer or non-norm) people in a space that has a strongly upheld belief in the respectful spaces policy–i.e., be excellent to each other, no bigotry allowed.

I’ve definitely lucked out with my local slam (maybe I’m biased, but it is the best one around) but a lot of events like that are places where you can walk in, sit down, and not have to really talk to anyone if you don’t want to, and get a sense of the place and the people and I’ve definitely found these spaces to be more welcoming and respectful than more… mainstream (?) events, so that can be a cool place to go. Similar things like pop-up art exhibitions (especially if they have talks or workshops) count, especially if you see anywhere that they’re LGBTQ+ friendly and/or make a clear statement of intent re: supporting grassroots or marginalised creators, etc.

Alternatively, I can recommend queer book clubs! Sometimes these groups are specifically about reading queer lit., and sometimes the reading is just a way of bringing queer people together, and either way, that’s a good place to at least go along and suss out. If there’s none around, a great option is to actually start something like that yourself–as intimidating as that might feel. Submitting a call for interest on a queer Facebook group, for example, can help put you in contact with people who might be in your exact same boat of wanting to build community but not knowing where to start, or not yet finding the right kind of space for them.

I personally feel book clubs (or a similar hobby exercise) are a good way to do this, since it 1. brings everyone together in one place on a regular schedule, which is good for getting to know people, 2. isn’t necessarily a huge time or energy or financial investment, which means it’s more inclusive than many other events (although obviously requires some planning and also consideration re: which books and book costs, travel costs, access to libraries etc.), 3. is overall a relaxed space that can be hosted in the daytime, away from alcohol, in a public venue such as a cafe, which for many people is more approachable, and 4. gives everyone something to talk about when they get there and for the duration, so it’s way less awkward than sitting in a circle being like, “hi, I’m gay, are you my new best friend??” or feeling obliged to generate personal conversation the whole time. If it doesn’t work out or it’s too much effort to continue, you can discontinue it at any time, so it’s a pretty low stakes approach, I feel.

Edit: totally forgot, but sometimes [hobby or passion of yours] + “queer” into search bars can show up good results! For example, sometimes there are particular gatherings or small conventions, regular gaming events, forums or talk-sites, so on. I definitely know of Ace & Aro Teatimes that are held, specifically as a way of catching up, and you might luck out and discover something like that, which is particularly great because it means you will already have an interest or hobby in common with the people you meet there.

Off the top of my head, that’s kind of it for offline spaces. You can probably check out if your local university has a queer collective, because even if you’re not part of the university body, sometimes they will have events open to the general public etc. Like I said before, that’s not my scene, because I’ve personally found the local university queer collective to be… more similar in personality to the online spaces and also just a little more intense than I’m looking for. But! That’s not to say they’re all like that.

As for online spaces, I met a lot of my queer friends by the sheer bizarre wheel of fate that brings people together in the disgusting blue sea of tumblr. I know that’s not helpful at all, but the piece of advice I have to offer there is that I met all these people by doing what I loved, first and foremost. I was doing my own thing, however weird, and they were doing the same, and we saw each other and went “oh cool,” and we were both queer. To a certain extent, I think this is true in all things: have fun, be yourself, and trust in queer pack magic to bring cool queer friends into your life.

I am someone who’s very forward, I guess, and very proactive socially (and in general), so I am usually the first person in a new friendship to walk over and say, “hey! you’re cool, I love your you, tell me about yourself,” [paraphrased] and honestly that’s worked pretty much every single time. I admit my charisma rolls tend to be high (I sacrificed constitution and wisdom for them, so they better be) but I do believe that you miss all the shots you don’t take, so it’s worth reaching out. So if you come across someone that seems cool, remember that you’re also a cool person worth knowing and a good friend and give that person a chance to find that out for themselves by saying hello, because a lot of the time, the other person isn’t going to have that courage and if you wait for them, it might never happen. Easier said than done for many, I know, but it’s that whole thing with lesbian sheep (wool-oo-wools, if you will): you can’t stand there and expect someone else to know that you standing there still is a sign of how much you like them.

I have no idea if any of this is going to be helpful to you, but I wish you so much luck in finding your people! If there’s anything I’ve said that’s not clear or needs more detail or anything, please let me know and I’ll be happy to do what I can to help. I think finding community is one of the most important things in life for queer people to do, in whatever form that takes, so I am absolutely always down to help with that in whatever ways I can.

#not a sonnet #queer up #as far as online resources/forums etc. i really don't have any advice but if anyone else does please add to this post!#if you've got advice i've missed please do say so.

4 notes · View notes

kris10tisme · 4 years

Text

Social Anxiety Origin Story

Social Anxiety is classified as a disorder. Isn’t that crazy!? You can actually read up on it on the MayoClinic or Webmd websites which shows that it really is a legitimate thing; it's not just you being a pussy. Most people who have social anxiety disorder don’t know what it is or why they’re like this. When we first become aware of our incomprehensible phobia we usually feel completely alien. People with this ailment tend to feel like the ultimate freaks, which knocks down their self esteem tenfold. If you have desperately searched online to potentially find answers: I feel you. The first time I felt a sense of belonging in this world was browsing through internet forums, reading about how people had the same irrational fears I did. You can find comfort in it sure, but it's definitely not the same as finding belonging in person. I didn’t know that I wasn’t completely alone in this struggle until I was maybe fifteen or sixteen years old navigating through my insufferable high school life! During that time google searches quickly became my best friend.

I can’t even really pinpoint where my SAD began for me. As a child I was pretty shy but I’d eventually open up once I became semi-comfortable. I didn’t ruminate whether or not I made some sort of fool of myself publicly. I was just having a blast man. Childhood is all fun and games but you really do get the carpet ripped out from under you when you enter adolescence.

I grew up a very privileged child financially - my parents both being middle class. My bills were all taken care of, and I didn't have to worry too much about the connections I would make with others in life. I was a kid. When a kid has no friends it's sad, but when an adult has no friends you wonder what they did wrong and you try to steer clear of them. There must be a reason why they are friendless: they must fetishize feet in their spare time! When you’re a child your only occupation is being a student. I’d wake up, go to school, learn stuff, socialize a bit among peers and then go home to watch TV and repeat, not questioning or overthinking the minutiae or idiosyncrasies in my life; just living day by day. Everything was smooth sailing. I figured I would hit my peak as a teenager and do all the cool teenagery things I saw on television like going to parties, making the cheerleading squad (though I’m not athletic at all; it would just happen), and have a tumultuous relationship with several boys. I’d pick the most special one to lose my virginity to on prom night! Then college would come, I’d go there and graduate and get a job. Sounds simple right!?

WRONG!

Hitting puberty was a big eye opener for me. It’s like once I menstruated my self-esteem plummeted. Everything about life just seemed a lot more competitive. There are all these milestones that society expects you to complete by certain ages: your first beer, your first kiss, your first fornication, your first job. All terrible and unfamiliar things! Now that I had bled and grown boobs, I was in the process of becoming a woman. I had to start making preparations to accomplish these milestones.

Seventh grade was the first year of my life I was depressed, and that terrible feeling hasn’t really depleted all that much since. In sixth grade I felt like a rock star… until the end of the year. I was a downright bully, mocking people in my class for the way they looked and acted. Some of my classmates found me funny, and I liked feeling that bold. I liked knowing that people were on the edge of their seats waiting for me to comment on a situation. It wasn’t until the end of the school year when one of the girls I heavily bullied called me out on my malicious means of garnering attention from my peers. She didn’t even insult me, she just spat out the truth. “You’re mean KRISTEN! You’re a BULLY!”

I can’t even explain how thrown off I felt by that mere observation. I never questioned why I did what I did; I liked the attention. I liked being someone people would be eager to hear from to know my latest outrageous comments on what surrounds us. Hearing this girl call me out for being a mean bully was a gut punch like no other. I couldn’t believe my ears. To me this girl wasn’t a person; she was a vessel. Someone to make fun of. Someone who was an easy target because she had a whole line of insults thrown her way since even before I saw her as easy prey.

No one ever downright called me out on my behavior. My dad did tell my mom that I was a horrible daughter, and he even asked who would want to have a daughter like me. But that was mostly because I was disrespectful towards him. Such a justified comment for a parent to make about his adolescent daughter right in front of her :)

That summer break I had tons of time to reflect upon my actions. I recognized how downright awful I had been to a lot of my classmates and vowed to make amends in the coming school year. I want to say, most of the bullying took place before I began menstruating, so you can blame my abhorrent behavior on my lack of emotional resonance and the fact that my womanly empathy and sympathy had not yet kicked in. That’s how I excuse how I acted.

So by seventh grade I was menstruating, and I grew D cup breasts overnight. I became a stand-up person - someone who didn’t throw vulnerable people under the bus for my own benefit. I became what you would call... “compassionate.”

Seventh grade was the year everything went downhill for me. Maybe it was the hormones kicking in and getting the better of me, or maybe it was me becoming more aware of what society deems as acceptable and proper. I felt like I should be cultivating a role in society, and I didn’t know what role to take. I couldn’t be loud and obnoxious anymore because my victims were starting to bite back and I realized the biting back hurt me more than I could handle.

For the rest of Junior High I struggled with my transitioning into a new person. My classmates instantly recognized how much softer and kind-hearted I became. I didn’t throw around as many insults, and if I did it was just playful banter. Me and the girl I had so savagely bullied were on decent terms, though we never really interacted with one another except for when obligatory social protocol called for it. I struggled with finding my niche again within my class. I got along with people just fine, but I suffered through a big identity crisis: I didn’t know what I could contribute without being outwardly obnoxious. I didn’t know what stereotypical personality trait defined me. Things got a bit more fucked at home for me, so that really took a toll on me mentally. I’ll get into how family influences your socialization tendencies in another post.

I’ve never wanted anything more in life other than to be liked. I know they say that not everyone’s gonna like you and that you should accept that, but I can’t! I just can’t accept it! The only way I will accept someone not liking me is if they’re completely indifferent to me, like when I have not done anything to them or in front of them to warrant them having an opinion on my character. So I keep my mouth shut. BUT THEN… I worry about what a weirdo they must think I am. If I’m too quiet then I give people the opportunity to make assumptions about me based on the impressions they have on me. They can be thinking anything, like that I watch tentacle porn, or that I collect toenail clippings or something.

I wonder if keeping my mouth shut all these years has done me more harm than good emotionally. Speaking up opens you up for attack, and I always feel like I have to be on the defensive. But when you say nothing to anyone, are you really living your life to the fullest and taking advantage of opportunities that could benefit you?

Meeting someone and getting to know them feels kind of like a step by step interrogation for me. The worst question I always get is, “What do you do?” Which I assume means “what do you do for a living?” Another one is,“Do you have a boyfriend?” It seems to me that the general public believes having a solid and steady job and being in some sort of romantic relationship completes the prerequisites for having a satisfactory life. Do these people even consider that you may be unemployed AND single? And that they’re unintentionally making you feel shitty about yourself? Just keep the convo focused on the weather for god sake.

I started this blog to vent about my feelings. I have been journaling a lot recently to blow off some steam because it's uncomfortable to complain about this stuff in real life. Only people on the internet can understand certain problems. I don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but I feel like social anxiety is an underrepresented disease in mainstream media. It’s embarrassing to tell people that you are anxious for your next family gathering because you don’t know if you should greet someone with a kiss on their cheek if they’re sitting down. Do I just bend down!? Should they stand up? Am I being too forward, or are they gonna be offended if I don’t make a move to embrace them? That's a whole ordeal for me. It's not what people call a “real problem” but this is the shit I think about while I lie in bed at night. So if shit similar to that wanders through your mind when you contemplate the world, maybe you can find some sort of catharsis through this blog. We may not have a very mainstream disease, but at least we’ve got each other to relate to. We’re people who find solace in reading about similar experiences we’ve experienced online.

Just thinking back on the fact that what jump started my anxiety issue was a small little comment made by someone whose life I made torturous. I don’t place the blame on this girl, as I just enabled her to pull the trigger on some deeper rooted issues I bore. Although it is quite the struggle I am glad that the nastier person I was eventually transformed into a more compassionate one. I never got to formally apologize to that girl. I hope I didn’t leave a big lasting impression on her. I was really shitty to her. I would reach out to her through social media and apologize, but I’ve got way too much social anxiety for that!

Well now that we’ve covered my origin story I would love to hear about all of yours. I will continue to write about various social situations or predicaments that freak me out, as well as stuff I’ve been through at home and in high school and how I’ve evolved and haven’t evolved. I don’t want this blog to be filled with negativity. Hopefully it's self-effacing in a not too depressing way. If it’s too depressing please let me know. I don’t want to spread the feeling of hopelessness with this blog. I want people to find comfort and humor, and maybe we can come up with some potential resolutions for certain scenarios and give each other tips. If there are any readers out there, thanks for reading. I hope this in some way made you smile and feel like less of an outcast. Keep trooping on! You’re not alone :)

#social #anxitey #social anxious #social anxiety #depressed #depression #sad #origin #story #generalized anxiety disorder #help #myparentsdontunderstand #mental heath support #puberty #hormones #peer pressure #mental health #overthinking

1 note · View note

aquarianwisp · 6 years

Text

Everyday things you can do to build your witchy supplies and cheap ways to do it

Burning to get your witchy supplies started but have no idea where to start? My suggestion- start anywhere and with everyday things! Herbs To get a herb collection started, you do not have to have homegrown herbs or herbs from metaphysical stores which can be pricey. You can start a simple herb collection with just herbs available from your grocery store. If you are not a green thumb or you live in an apartment with no space for a garden, this is a really good option for getting a collection started. Just because something came from the grocery store doesn’t make it any less magical, and many people are under the impression that due to the mundane nature of how the herbs were obtained they are therefore less effective. This is not true at all! If you like doing the whole drying process yourself, you can go to the fresh food sections and pick up bunches of basil, parsley, mint, peppermint, rosemary, sage, dill, lemongrass, coriander, tarragon, oregano etc very cheap and usually already in a perfect bundle ready to be dried! You just need to take them home and hang them up somewhere dry for a few days to a week or so before they will be all dried and ready to use. If you are lazy and can’t be bothered or don’t have time to do the drying process, you can go to the spice section and find many of these same herbs already chopped up and dried out. If the packaging on the product makes you feel a bit “meh”, just take them home and place them in a jar or other similar container where they can remain dry, and the look of the container makes you feel inspired.

Gathering herbs and flowers is another really great option. Of course, if you are not experienced in recognizing wild herbs and flowers, I recommend you practice gathering a bit differently. Try gathering with the help of your community. Some of your neighbours might be green thumbs and be willing to share some of their plants with you. I used to live near someone who hedged their garden with basil, and every time their basil hedges grew out of control they would trim them. They were happy to give me the trimmings of their basil plants. They also gave me the rosehips that they had on their rose bushes, and if they had roses or lavender growing I would always ask for some trimmings if they were willing to share. People are actually more generous with their gardens than you think! A lot of avid gardeners are always willing to share cuttings as well, so if you know how to grow from a cutting this is a really good way to also build a herb collection. Any dandelions I see around my home I like to gather for drying, and any other flowers I can easily recognize such as hibiscus, daisies, frangipani, marigolds, chrysanthemum, cherry blossom, magnolia etc I will always try to gather a bit here and there. Another really cool option is to go to community gardens and gather the plants there that you can use, where they are labelled and everyone is free to take what they need! Save your orange or citrus peels for drying as well, as you can use these to emit the smell of their essential oils when placed over a heat source! Herbal teas are another really great option to safely consume herbs. Of course, check with your medical practitioner as some herbs contained in teas may cause issues with medications etc, (You can never be too safe when it comes to things you choose to eat/drink) however, herbal teas are a really great way to enjoy the benefits of the herbs in a safer manner than say, walking onto the street, picking up what you think is a certain type of herb and then making a tea out of it. Jars Jars are simple to obtain, and you do not have to start buying a million jars from your local dollar store just to have that witchy aesthetic that everyone seems to want. Recycle the jars from your food to store herbs or to use in spells. Pasta sauces, mayonnaise, anchovies, preserved foods, peanut butter, etc etc, anything that comes in a jar. Not only is this a great way to reduce waste, but glass is a safer option for storing things as you will not have the nasty toxins from plastic leaching into your herbs, oils, moon water, floral waters etc, and they look so much more attractive than plastic. And having all sorts of types of jars in different sizes and shapes makes for a very rustic witchy aesthetic look anyway. Collect natural objects Homeware stores have started selling bits of driftwood, false flowers, shells, pinecones, pebbles etc for ridiculous prices so that rich people can look fashionable and “rustic”. There is no point in buying these things when you can go to the beach and pick up a piece of driftwood or some shells for free. Objects picked up in their natural environment also seem to retain their energies more so than those objects that have been commercialised. Scour your local nature strips or parks for pretty looking dried leaves, pine cones, nice shaped rocks and anything else that inspires your witchiness. Make sure that you respect the spirits of these areas. Do not take more than what you need, and ensure that you ask permission from the spirits before taking. It is always good to leave an offering in its place- usually something organic such as fruit, seeds or nuts which can feed the local ants or birds.

Collect ribbons and coloured paper Every time it’s Christmas or you are given a gift, save the ribbons or wrapping. String has so many uses in witchcraft, and different colours have different meanings that can be used in all sorts of rituals. You can reuse them as well if you don’t end up burning them. Coloured paper can also take on meanings if you will it so. Tell people you want candles for Christmas Tell everyone who asks what you want for Christmas or your birthday that you really want to decorate your space and you love candles and you are dying to get some. Then watch as all your friends and family give you tons of different types of candles. Trust me, you can never go wrong with this. Candles are often so cheap that people will buy heaps of them for you in different colours and fragrances. The other good thing about this is that if people know you are a witch and they want to buy you a witchy type present they will often have no idea what to get you and will default to a candle. Buy candles from the lighting/electrical/barbeque section of a grocery store. Buying candles from a speciality metaphysical store, a homewares store, or even a dollar store can be expensive. But many grocery stores sell candles to be used in emergency blackouts or power outages, and some have started selling these types of candles in different colours as well. They often come in bulk packs and work just as well for half the price. You can also buy birthday candles and use those for your spells, especially if you need to do a quick spell. If you are after some really beautiful white candles, buy candles listed as “church candles”. These are sold cheaper than other white candles, probably because churches get all sorts of discounts. But they often are moulded in a really classical shape so they can look sometimes more beautiful than just your plain ol’ white candle. You do not have to burn your entire candle down for a spell to be effective. If you don’t write your own spells you will often see spell instructions telling you to allow the candle to completely finish burning. This is a waste of time and a waste of the precious candles that you conned every one of your family members into buying you last Christmas. It is also ridiculous- some candles burn for 18 hours or more, and it is totally unsafe to leave candles unattended. Do you have 18 hours to monitor a candle? Nope. You can cheaply make your own specialised spell candles, you do not have to waste 20 dollars on one from a metaphysical store. Yes, that’s right, with a microwave and a cheap candle you can carefully melt the wax down, add a wick in one of those jars you saved and then add all the herbs and fragrant oils, flowers, or whatever you want to the melted wax before allowing it to dry. There is a lot of tutorials for this on the internet, but please make sure you go for candles that do not have a foil or aluminium wick holder on the bottom as these will catch fire in your microwave. Candlesticks with nothing but wax and a wick at the top are best for this. Please take precautions with hot wax. Otherwise, there is no reason why you need that fancy candle for triple the price. You do not need a fancy obsidian scrying bowl, a kitchen bowl with water works fine! That’s right! Those metaphysical stores who try and make you buy an expensive obsidian plate for scrying seem to have forgotten that water scrying is an art that has existed for centuries! Any reflective surface can be used for scrying, it doesn’t have to be a fancy looking crystal object. Learn to read playing cards for divination You do not need to spend on tarot if you cannot afford it. Pick up some playing cards and use the power of the internet to learn how to read them for divination! If you are a closet witch as well, no one will suspect a deck of playing cards either. Print pictures of deities at a photo store. Never before has it been cheaper to print pictures now that digital has taken over. My local department store has a photo printing station where you can buy photo prints for 5 cents. I take a USB of pictures I like of my deities that I found online and print them off as photos. Then I frame them in dollar store frames. BAM! You have an altar set up for a few dollars.

Buy festive decorations after the season has passed If it’s yule time and you are dying to decorate your house with holly, red and green, pine etc, wait until the next year to decorate (I know, it sucks, but if you’re frugal you can dig this). Go to a dollar store and buy up big after the Christmas period has ended in preparation for the next year. Holidays such as Christmas, Easter and Halloween have become so commercialised that there is a serious overproduction of decorations each year and after the season has passed the stores just want to get rid of stuff as fast as possible. This is when you can jump in and get some witchy looking objects for a really cheap price. What’s great is that a lot of dollar stores sell some very witchy looking decorations during these typically Christian festivals- Bunnies, eggs, chickens, skeletons, pine branches, holly, cauldrons, etc without realising. Splurge on expensive incense when you can. 20 dollar packet on incense? Get it. My advice here is- quality really shows when it comes to incense. I am a massive incense fan, but whenever I can afford it (which is not always, sometimes I too have to go for the two dollar packets) and I find a really nice packet of pricey incense I go for it. Why? The cheaper the incense, the faster the burn time and the less resin it contains. One of the reasons that incense gets that burnt smell is because it contains sawdust to help it burn. Cheaper incenses smell less fragrant and burn faster because most of the resins coating the sticks are substituted with more sawdust. That way, the manufacturer keeps the costs of production down. More expensive incense sticks often have a ton more resin in their coating, smell more potent, and burn slower with a more beautiful smoke colour. They are well worth their price, and when you experience it you will want to always try and get the pricier sticks. The more expensive sticks also tend to have more of the real resins in them. Sandalwood, for example, is actually an endangered species and has become very expensive to buy. So manufacturers who create cheap incenses often substitute with sandalwood smelling substances but never really use the real thing. If you can afford it, go for incense sticks manufactured with real Australian sandalwood. Australian sandalwood smells extremely similar to Indian sandalwood and is specifically farmed for incense production. Thus you are getting the real thing but you are not contributing to the endangerment of Indian sandalwood which is a culturally sacred species that needs to be protected. That being said, my point here is quality and a long lasting product will save money over time when it comes to incense.

Anyway, that’s all for my witchy money saving tips for now! I hope this helped you!

#witchcraft #witch #spells #spellcraft

404 notes · View notes