#also my roommate is right here watching me cry without context

[operationslipperypuppet]

Jawbone giving Adaine all the gifts, dismissing the timing of it, then asking if she’d like to be adopted will never not make me cry

I mean “you’re easy to love, and anyone who couldn’t figure that out was a bozo”??????

[minimanic]

Thought I'd throw my hat in the ring for a best films watched in 2023 list. I feel like this is the first year in a while where I've actually watched enough movies to warrant making one of these and it was honestly really rewarding! Full write up on my thoughts after the cut. Plus links for the ones that are free and legal to watch online c:

Bunny Lake Is Missing (1965) Absolutely Superb psychological thriller about a missing child. Infused with equal parts slow creeping dread and unhinged mania.

Watch

Godzilla Minus One (2023) No you're crying at the giant monster movie

Dreams that Money Can Buy (1947) A truly Delightful experimental film about a man who can see into people's dreams. The ensuing dream sequences are a tour de force of avant-garde and surrealist artists of the era including Max Ernst, Man Ray, Alexander Calder and more.

Watch

The World Is Full of Secrets (2018) So. Bit of a weird one here. This is a movie about girlhood and trauma that spends most of its runtime in close up on the faces of its main characters as they tell each other the sort of over the top scary stories you would expect from a group of 14-16 year olds. It drags in places, but it's also a pitch perfect dreamscape of every sleepover you were never invited to in high school and that's without getting into the framing device. Would love to talk about this one more because the context of how I even heard about it is a conversation in and of itself. But that's a story for a different post.

Midnight Cowboy (1969) Listen. Much has already been written about what the hell is going on with Rizzo's sexuality in this movie. I'm saying that's a gay man who correctly clocked that his painfully straight, visibly traumatized, roommate, whom he is in love with, is not ready to have That conversation. Anyway this was WAY weirder both visually and tonally than I was expecting. A pleasant surprise all around. Was also delighted to see that New York film majors haven't changed in 55 years

Watch

They Shoot Horses, Don't They? (1969) The myriad letterboxd reviews comparing this film to The Hunger Games do not lie. Which, combined with the inherent realism of this type of endurance dance competition being a thing people Actually Competed In at one point in history truly makes this a bleakly compelling watch.

Watch

The Living End (1992) Gregg Araki I am in your walls. Road movie of all time. Love to see a director that spends the last 10-15 minutes of every movie he makes like 'I am going to hurt you, so. So. much right now.'

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish (2022) Welcome back Mx. DreamWorks. You have been missed.

Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992) Another entry in the 'local man's taste in media is oops all red flags' category from me. Listen. Everybody knows this movie. Everybody has an Opinion about this movie. My opinion is that it fucking rips. Sorry it got so deeply embedded in The Culture that its a perpetual nuisance to the people who are not vibing but those people ain't me.

[mayans-sauce]

Interstellar: Chapter 1

Pairing: younger! EZ Reyes x Astra Beckett

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: cursing but other than that none.

Summary: Ezekiel and Astra get accepted into the space program. For context: both of them are 27 in this and EZ is more on the skinnier side to begin with.

Let me know if you want to be tagged/removed for this story!

GROUP CHAT for updates!

Introduction

Chapter 2

⭐️Interstellar Masterlist⭐️

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Year 2052

Astra burst through the front door of the house, almost screaming at the top of her lungs, “IT CAME! IT CAME! Dad, it finally came.” Her dad got up from where he was working on the kitchen table. “From the academy?” “YES! We need to call EZ.”

Astra pulled out her laptop, calling EZ on a video call. He answered within a second. “I was just about to call. Did you get yours?” She held the big envelope in view. Felipe and Marisol were standing right beside their son, waiting for him to open up the envelope. “Let’s open them up and then read it at the same time,” EZ said. She could see the terrified look on his face; hers must look the same as well. This was the moment of truth, what both had been working towards for years. Tearing it open and pulling the letter out. “Alright, EZ, on three, and then we read it. Ready?” “1, 2, 3.”

Dear Astra Beckett,

The Celestial Academy would like to congratulate you on your place in our space program.

“WE GOT IN!” EZ and Astra exclaimed at the same time. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.” Her dad embraced her hard and tight. A single tear was falling off his face. In the background, it could be heard EZ’s parents congratulating and hugging him as well. “What more does it say?” Felipe asked his son. EZ read the rest of the letter.

We would like to welcome you and your family for a tour of our top-class institution, where you will be getting an introduction to our one of a kind program, our teachers and teaching, our revolutionary technology, the dormitories, and so much more.

We can’t wait to make you a part of our family and spend the next five years with you, making you a one-of-a-kind astronaut.

“We did it, Astra.”

“We did it, Ezekiel.”

Packing a few clothes, some books, space-themed posters and decorations, her telescope her dad got her when she was ten years old and a few other things. She didn’t need a lot with her since this was a new chapter of her life, and she was sure she would buy a lot more stuff in the five years they would be there.

The next day

The next day they were early on their way. The drive to the academy wasn’t a long one. It was just 4 hours from Santo Padre. It was a nice little road trip for all. EZ’s brother Angel tagged along as well, who was also a good friend of Astra, so it was good that Felipe had space for all in his seven-seater car.

The Celestial Academy was like a little city, a city full of nerds and the newest technology in the world. Just getting into the area required special permission, and guards were standing at every campus entrance.

“Holy shit,” Astra and EZ said at the same time as they entered the gates with the car. The buildings stood tall and proud, different holograms showcasing the academy’s various aspects, hovering supply trucks moving from building to building with supplies, and so much more. It was so much to take in, and it would take a long time for them to get used to it all. Felipe parked the car at the visitor’s parking garage.

The walk up to the academy’s main building was short but long at the same time, with the nerves running through both of them. Astra could feel her heart almost jumping out of her chest with how fast it was beating. She grabbed EZ’s hand for comfort. “It’s gonna be fine. We can do this,” he comforted her. She knew she would be able to do this with her best friend by her side. “I know. I’m glad I have you by my side EZ.” He smiled at her, showing that he was grateful that she was here with him as well.

When they entered the building, they were welcomed with a big sign that said “Welcome New Recruits” written on it. They followed the rest of the people into the big speaking room where all the other recruits and their families were seated. The lights dimmed down, and the one and only founder of the academy walked out on stage and started speaking but not before getting a big welcome from everyone.

“Welcome recruits. My name is Damien, founder of this institution, and it is my pleasure to welcome you all here. When I started this program some 30 years ago, I didn’t think that it would turn out to be the best and most desirable space program in the entire world. But in the 30 years we have operated, around 200 individuals have become world-class astronauts with various specialties.” The room burst out in applause. “For the 30 of you that have made it into the program, I congratulate you for the hard work and sacrifice that has made it possible for you to have been accepted. But there is no time for celebrations yet. Not all of you will make it.” The room was dead silent now. “Almost 50% of you will buckle under the immense pressure of the program and leave within the first year. That’s when the real competition begins. Just 6 of you will be picked out for space travel after three years here and start the real training while the rest of you will be guaranteed education and a job at this institution. It’s going to be a hard five years, folks. The rest of the people on this campus, and I wish you good luck.” Damien got sent off with applause and hollering from everyone in the room. “Fuck, that was scary,” EZ whispered to Astra. “We can do this, Ezekiel. I know we can.” Now it was her turn to encourage and comfort him.

There was given some information about what was going to happen throughout the day. Free food, games, and a tour of the facilities was on the plan before eventually, all friends and family needed to leave.

Later in the day

After a fun last day with the family, it was time to say goodbye. Astras' dad tried his best not to cry, but he couldn’t help himself. His little girl was all grown up, and now her real journey would begin. “Dad… don’t cry… it's gonna be fine,” Astra hugged her old man as hard as she could. “I’m just so proud of you, my little star. Your mom would be so proud,” he said as he kissed her forehead. “Stop it, now I’m the one that’s crying.” “Just promise me you'll visit… I’ll be all sad and alone in the big house without you.” She nodded her head at him, “I promise I'll visit as much as I can… I promise, dad.” “Pinky promise?” Holding his pinky out for her to interlock with hers, she gladly did so, “I promise.”

“Come here, Ezekiel. My little astronaut,” Marisol hugged and kissed his cheek repeatedly. EZ loved his mom and the affection she would give him, but now it was kind of embarrassing since there were so many people. “Mom… mom.” “I’m sorry, baby. I’m just so proud of you, and I love you so much.” “I love you too, mom.” He gave her a final hug before he moved on to his dad. “Proud of you, son.” “Thanks, pop.” They gave each other a quick hug.

Last but not least, it was Angel’s turn to say his goodbyes. “Proud of you lil bro, you fucking space nerd.” “Shut up, Angel,” EZ said playfully before giving his big brother a big hug. “Don’t cause any trouble now that I’m not there.” Angel held his hands up in defence, “Hey, can’t promise anything.” EZ just shook his head at him.

Saying the last goodbyes to each other, and then they left, leaving Astra and EZ to watch them walk away. When they were out of sight, he turned towards her and grabbed her hand, “come on, let’s get settled into the dormitory.”

Astra walked into her assigned room and was greeted by the girl she was going to live with. She had already set up most of the stuff on her side of the room. The room was huge and spacious, and it even had a private bathroom. “Hi, I’m Mia, nice to meet you,” she reached out her hand, which Astra gladly accepted, “I’m Astra, it’s nice to meet you, Mia.” “I hope you don’t mind that I took the left side of the room.” “Go ahead, no problem.” They talked and got to know each other as they packed out their things and put them in place. Astra liked Mia a lot, they had a lot in common, and she knew that they would be great friends. “I can’t believe we are here; it’s so surreal,” Mia said as they got done packing out and sat on their beds. “I know, right! I’m afraid that I’ll wake up tomorrow, and it was all a dream,” Astra answered.

Before bed, all the recruits meet up with the teachers to get their plan for the next few upcoming weeks and the whole five-year plan as a whole. EZ was already buddies with his roommate, Mateo, and all 4 of them clicked immediately, already forming a good group and friendship of their own.

Later in the evening

Astra was trying her hardest to fall asleep; it was a big day tomorrow, the first official day ever, but her mind was racing like crazy, and she couldn’t get it to quiet down. She decided to get up and go out to the common room to take her mind off it for a while, sitting down by the window that overlooked the futuristic town. After a few minutes, footsteps could be heard, and she turned around to see who it was. Her frown turned into a smile when she saw him coming towards her.

“Couldn’t sleep?” EZ asked as he sat down beside her. She shook her head no, “my mind won’t shut up.” “Yeah, me neither.” They sat in silence for a few moments before EZ spoke up. “In 5 years, we will be up there,” he pointed towards the sky. “You don’t know that Ezekiel… there are 30 of us, and only 6 make it.” “I know we'll make it. We have each other, Astra, and you are the smartest girl I know. Even if I don’t make it, you will.” “You know I will never go if you aren’t going either.” “I know… but I will force you to go. Even if I have to push you in the spaceship myself.” Astra looked down on the floor, getting shy for a moment, “I know you will, Zeke.”

She started biting her nails, a habit she did when she felt nervous, and EZ knew that, he knew everything about her. “Hey, stop that,” EZ took her hand in his, “it's gonna be fine.” “It’s gonna be fine,” she repeated in a whisper.

They sat like that for a little while longer. Just holding each other’s hand and looking up towards the sky, getting prepared for the next five years of their life.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Let me know what you think❤️

Interstellar Taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @yourwonkywriter @spnaquakindgdom @fuchszie @noz4a2

[hopetofantasy]

Culture, parallels & meta - S3 E2

Zaterdag 10:21

That’s character: In this scene, they’re again establishing some of Robbe’s insecurities. We already know from previous seasons that he often feels like the third wheel, keeps to himself, lets people walk all over him or apologizes a lot, so that they don’t hate him or abandon him (like his dad did). But this scene takes it even further: he doesn’t want to be a burden. Not with stuff like his friend’s party mess, so he cleans up as early and fast as he can. Not with taking food that doesn’t belong to him, so he chooses to not eat anything instead. 

Perfect parallel: Zoë mentioning “Especially the pasta” in this season, because Milan stole her pasta at the beginning of hers.

Surprise bitch, guess who? Milan’s one-nightstand appears to be ‘Georgy Chtchevaev’, a close friend of Jonathan Michiels (Viktor) and other cast members. Small, small world.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe’s expression at the end reveals how he longs for something like Milan has, but then realizes he might never have/want that. (Internalized homophobia is a bitch, y’all!)

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The guy pulls out strawberry yoghurt from ‘Colruyt’ out of an almost empty fridge along with a spoon, from the cutlery drawer. Robbe’s gaze keeps lingering a tad too long on the half naked boy in their kitchen.

°

Zaterdag 14:43

C is for culture: 

“Hey, I’m working here” - Teens are allowed to get a student job, as long as they’re at least 15 years old and completed the first two years of high school. The rules around how often they may work, has changed a lot during the last decade. However, nowadays, they’re allowed to work at a lower social security tariff as long as they don’t go over 475 working hours per year. Otherwise, they’ll have to pay the normal amount or even taxes if they surpass a certain income limit.

“No, I was just shopping” - C&A (Clemens & August Brenninkmeijer) is a Dutch chain store of origin with approx. 1,500 stores in Europe. They mostly attract older generations, as their style is seen as a bit old-fashioned and classic. That’s why their popularity significantly dropped in recent years, causing closures in some cities. - A smart move of putting product placement in a youth tv series.

Perfect parallel: 

Robbe pulling a t-shirt off the rack to get Noor’s attention in this episode, him using the same tactic with a sweater in the last episode.

Noor sitting on a reluctant Robbe’s lap to kiss him here, Robbe happily straddling Sander to kiss and talk later on.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe again faking that he likes Noor’s sexual advances.

Lost in translation: Robbe’s mom texting him “Ziet ge mij niet graag?”, which could literally be interpreted as “Don’t you want to see me?”, but in this context it actually means “Don’t you love me anymore?”.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: In case you didn’t catch it, Robbe is making a double joke with the t-shirt - saying that Noor is sexy as well as repeating the song on the store radio. Jana’s look at a disheveled Noor reveals that she knew Robbe wasn’t just ‘trying something on’.

Bonus: This season uses a lot of mirrors to reflect Robbe’s emotions and inner turmoil. Even his relationships with Noor and Sander are mirrored within the season itself: he never liked what Noor did for him (waiting outside the school, making out in public, going next level) and he was amazed at Sander doing the same. Mirrors are the perfect way of showing how Robbe has two faces: his ‘straight’ public persona and his struggling inner ‘gay’ self.

°

Zondag 19:59

That’s character: Zoë’s mom behavior is at full force here. When she spots her friends, roommates or boyfriend in difficult situations, she jumps to the opportunity to make them feel better. She instantly defends them, provides a shoulder to cry on, gives advice, feeds them when needed, tries to figure out what they’re feeling, ... Sometimes giving some tough loving too. Zoë just has that caring nature of her own. This probably stems from the fact that she missed out on parental figures and wants to feel needed as a compensation.

Perfect parallel:

Symbolism! Robbe walking away from his mom’s room in a cold-looking hallway, because he’s not comfortable (yet) with the situation. And him walking towards Sander’s room in a warmly lit hallway, since he’s at peace with what’s happening with his love.

Zoë asking Milan if he’s “Playing hard to get?” in this situation, Milan asking Robbe if his clothes say “Hard to get or playing hard to get?” later.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe analyses what Milan is doing with his partner, not really sure how to feel about it.

Nod to the OG: Zoë stating “The only thing you can do now is just be there for her and yes, that you have to wait”, sounds oddly familiar to the minute-for-minute speech by Sonja.

Funny coincidence: Milan making out heavily with his boy in front of Robbe and his salad, might look like a nod to the ‘Right in front of my salad’ meme.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Robbe’s other (thicker) coat is hanging on a hook in the hallway. Senne’s “If I had have known that, I would have tried harder” indicates that he probably had to retake a year in high school, because otherwise he’d been a student in uni earlier on. 

°

Maandag 16:27

C is for culture: “Kwak en Boemel kwamen binnen” (= “Kwak and Boemel entered”) - Robbe is referring to two side characters in the Belgian comic books ‘Jommeke’, who are homeless, lowlife criminals. The main protagonist in the series is the 11-year-old boy ‘Jommeke’. He is clever, honest, brave, loves adventure and is recognizable by his distinct blonde bowl cut. It’s one of the best-selling strips in Flanders, besides ‘Suske and Wiske’. 

Perfect parallel: Jens’ first time suggesting toothpaste to jerk off happens here in S3, but he repeats it again during wtFOCKDOWN. 

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: The boys questioning why Robbe didn’t go all-the-way with Noor yet.

Lost in translation: Noor saying “Is dat een eik? Want ik zie veel eikels hier!” has completely lost its meaning when translated. ‘Eikels’ means ‘acorns’, which come from the ‘eik’ (= ‘oak tree’). But ‘eikels’ also means ‘assholes’. That’s why she’s pointing out the oak tree, to diss the boys that they’re actually ‘eikels’. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Again, the very subtle hint at the beginning that Sander was at the skatepark - checking Robbe out. Robbe pulls the middle finger at the boys hollering. His skateboard has a ‘World Industries’ sticker on it. 

°

Dinsdag 14:56

Perfect parallel: 

Robbe arguing “A whole weekend on a trip with people you don’t know?” against Noor coming along in this episode, his flirty affirmative answer to Sander’s “Like a weekend trip with strangers, right?” in the next.

Amber and her match making skills again! First, she tried to set herself up with Senne in S1, then Jana and Zoë with Max in S2, now Luca with Aaron in S3. 

Lost in translation: “Ik denk niet dat ze daar goesting voor heeft” - ‘Goesting’ is a typical Flemish word for anything that has to do with desire, preference or willingness to do something in any context (work, food, activities, sex, ...). That’s why Aaron answers him with “I had a different impression on Friday”, taking the “I don’t think she has ‘goesting’” in a very sexual way.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: The real reason why he doesn’t want Noor to join the trip, is him not wanting to fake his attraction to her. Except Robbe isn’t willing to admit that to himself yet.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Luca has braces!

°

Woensdag 12:21

Perfect parallel: Noor’s “And then you haven’t even seen the men yet” as a rebuttal to Moyo’s comments about art school girls in this episode, Robbe meeting the beautiful art boy Sander in the next. 

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe just doesn’t see the appeal in watching women dance, since he’s not attracted to them. But the guys don’t get why he says ‘no’ to the recital.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Noor is greeting Britt with a hug in the background. Moyo kisses the dance recital flyer right before going outside. 

°

Donderdag 07:21

C is for culture: Robbe is making a sandwich with choco spread and speculaas cookies. ‘Speculaas’ (’Biscoff' in English) is a spiced shortcrust biscuit with origins in the Netherlands and Belgium. It’s typically baked for the ‘Sinterklaas’ and Christmas celebrations. Though, it can be eaten as a treat to accompany coffee, thee or ice-cream as well. 

Perfect parallel: 

Zoë saying “I think you’re not used to eating healthy” earlier this episode and Robbe making sweet sandwich at the breakfast table, confirming her statement here.

Milan taking revenge for Zoë on a sleeping Senne in this episode, him helping Robbe prank Moyo for being homophobic in a later one. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Milan’s breakfast is a banana. Senne pulling Zoë into their bed, without her spilling the coffee in her hand.

°

Vrijdag 18:02

Perfect parallel: Luca dissing Moyo’s sexist statements with “Do you actually have a girlfriend? ... I understand why” earlier, her saying “Moyo, then you better take a good look at it, because it will be the last time you’ll see that room” here.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Zoë and Jana hugging each other outside. Luca giving Moyo a clear wink after dissing him. Robbe didn’t expect Noor to sleep with him in the bunkbed, as his face falls when she says she will.

°

Vrijdag 22:04

C is for culture: "It isn’t because he isn’t here...” - The reason that Senne couldn’t join their trip to the seaside, is that he doesn’t have a fall break. Universities usually start their school year a week later than university colleges, so they’re the only ones who don’t have a vacation at the end of October.

Perfect parallel: Robbe looking at drunk Noor with a sad expression of “Why can’t I just love this girl?” in this episode, him looking at a sleepy Sander with a face filled with love in the last episode.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe trying to pry Noor’s hands away from his body.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Senne responds with “#metoo” as a joke, referencing the movement and him missing Zoë. Her face freezes for a few seconds to indicate that she is indeed jealous. Robbe’s little wink at Luca. 

[justalittlebluetiefling]

Listen, I’m not going to tag this in the fandom, because I don’t want to be involved with fandom drama, but I’ve had a couple people ask me things,so I’ll make a blanket post and hope you see it.

I don’t want to talk about what’s going on. I will still be watching The 100 for the rest of the season. Yes, I still ship Bellarke. No, I’m not sure if I’m still going to create content for them. It’s going to depend.

Personal context below the cut. I don’t mind talking openly about this now, but I was scared of it for a long time. 

Strangely enough, I was also in a verbally and emotionally abusive relationship for three and a half years. I got out of it... six years ago? And I’m still affected by it to this day. 

I’m 5′7″ and when I moved in with my ex, I was 130 pounds. He told me, as a joke, that I had to pay an additional 5 dollars in rent for every pound I gained, but I could pay 5 dollars less in rent if I lost weight. He “affectionately” called me thunder thighs. My emotional reactions to things tend to be tempered. That’s how I’ve always been. I know I scream my excitement on the internet a lot, but that’s not how I am in real life. So, my ex used to get upset about that. One time, he cleaned the entire house and I thanked him. He wanted a ‘jumping up and down’ reaction and my thanks wasn’t good enough. When we would get into arguments, he would call me an emotional robot and tell me that it sucked that I couldn’t even emote for him. He would berate me and yell at me until I cried and then tell me that I was being manipulative for crying. He used to call my father and brother trash and my mother fat and my extended family ‘white trash’ and say that he was glad that I could have a normal example of what family was like. He let his rugby coach grab my ass and said “that’s just how he is” and told me to “hang out against the wall with the other girlfriends”. He quit his job without talking to me about it, leaving me to support both of us on $18/hour, which is not feasible in Seattle. He would get upset at me when we had to accept groceries from his parents. The only reason we were able to stay in the house we were in was because our roommate was giving me a break on the rent and his mom was paying part of the rent. I couldn’t have male friends. I couldn’t even have my female best friend. Every time I would spend time with her, he would get angry. He constantly trashed my hometown, calling everyone there hicks and mocking the annual festival and parade that I’m still very much involved in. He mocked my gay friends behind their backs. He used racial and homophobic slurs to refer to his friends ‘fondly’. It is fucking hard to get out of a situation like this, even when you realize that it’s one you should be getting out of. It took me two and a half years to break things off for good. I felt worthless. I felt like nothing. When we broke up, he told me to die alone. I was terrified of him finding out where I had moved. He never hit me, but when we would fight, he would do things like headbutt the wall or break doors. I was fucking scared. After we broke up, his friends called me various things from bitch to whore. One of them called me and begged me to take my ex back, because he thought we were so in love. I didn’t tell them any of this, so it was his word against none of mine.

These are just a few examples. They’re the things I can think of off the top of my head. I’m sure I’ll think of more later.

Here’s the deal. I’m not going to defend anyone. I’m sure as shit not going to defend my ex. You what was super fucking weird? When one of my best friends and her husband started going to the same gym as my ex. Her opinion of him was already ruined, prior to meeting him, because she was the first person I really opened up to about all of this. I would occasionally ask about him out of curiosity. He got a new girlfriend and eventually married her. My friend says it sounds like his behavior hasn’t changed as much, but that his new wife doesn’t take it seriously and just hand waves it. I’m not sure how I feel about it, honestly. It’s possible that he’s emotionally matured since our relationship and doesn’t do the things he used to. I don’t know and I don’t care to find out. They moved to Hawaii last year and it’s honestly the safest I’ve felt since the breakup. I do hope he’s changed. I really do. Below all of the shitty personality aspects, he had his moments. He’s a talented artist and believes in equal rights. He’s incredibly intelligent. He also had a problem with alcohol and it’s possible that exacerbated some of his behavior. Again, I don’t know and I don’t care to find out.

But yeah. The character and the actor are different people. I can separate these things pretty well, so it isn’t going to bother me to continue watching the show. There’s literally half a season left. I may even still decide to finish the bellarke essays and write fanfiction for Bellarke. Again. These are two separate things to me. Bellamy is very different from the actor. I honestly don’t know right now.

If you have any questions about my personal experience, I am okay with talking about that. I don’t feel comfortable talking about someone else’s experience, but I do stand with victims. That is a very personal thing for me. If you have to unfollow me for it, I understand. 

Also, if you’re in a situation that you think is abusive and you’re scared, you can get out. Your life can get better. There is life after abuse. I know how scary it is and honestly, I’m still scared. The best thing about quarantine for me? I don’t go to the same pet store that my ex’s parents go to anymore, because we started ordering everything online. 

[estelofimladris]

The Healer: Critical Role

[ warning: here follows a long rambling story of feelings about losing a fandom and finding new love and happiness in an unexpected way ]

Here’s a little personal story about how some fandoms hurt and some heal. It goes from Fillory to Exandria. (It feels really right when I say it that way.)

I wasn’t ready for the healing that I got, but it’s here now. Thank Sarenrae.

Everyone loves that thunderstruck feeling when you fall in love with a fandom. It’s literally like all the tropes about falling in love. You meet and sometimes there’s just a spark.

That was me with The Magicians. I spent a year immersed in a welcoming fandom in a show that made me feel seen and whole. I had friends in the fandom as well as the friends irl who were into the show. I got to dive into it when I really needed a fandom to help carry me a little through a hard time.

It was heaven. Until it wasn’t.

In April of 2019, The Magicians broke my heart. Again, just like all the tropes about love. Just like a bad breakup, there’s things about it that I really enjoyed, but at the end of the day, I can’t go back to the way things were with that fandom. No matter how welcoming the fandom remained, I couldn’t go back because the show had cut me so deeply.

Then through 2019 and into 2020, I drifted through some new loves and lived in my love of some of my oldest fandoms. Lots of Star Wars. New excitement from Good Omens, The Dragon Prince, and The Old Guard. It’s not to say that I don’t love these things, but at least two of my new favs are, for the time being anyway, done. And, though Star Wars (and in the same breath my other love Marvel) are never really done, I like loving them in a bubble because as anyone in those fandoms knows it can be a complicated relationship.

Also in late 2019, my buddy @wittynamehere1443 decided she wanted to try and run a D&D campaign for our family of misfits. I hadn’t played since high school (D&D 3.5) and was super excited to get back into it. I picked up quite a bit while prepping to play from a mix of reading, remembering old things, and watching some tutorials and stuff on ye ol’ YouTube. I had dabbled in tabletop, but never thought I’d go charging back in, but once I started I couldn’t stop.

I immersed myself in as much as I could, but I’m really a visual & kinesthetic learner, so eventually I was going to have to supplement my book-learning with some real-play to really understand. I played as much as I could as I delved deeper, but even as I dove, I realized I wanted to do more. I started to write my own campaign setting and adventures. I suddenly found myself needing to just know how D&D worked without having to always have the books open.

Now, I had been lightly introduced to some real-play before I really understood what it was. A buddy of mine had shown me a clip of Critical Role out of context quite some time ago and I really didn’t understand how so many people I knew and shared a lot of crossover interests with could be so obsessed with watching 8 people play D&D.

My buddy who was now my DM had consumed all of The Adventure Zone and had very lovely things to say about it and I had the lingering curiosity about Critical Role form the many people who had recommended it to me as well as the complete mystery attached to why people loved it so. And me, being a big lover of visuals and being at home because of COVID, dipped my toe into real-play with the first episode of Critical Role back in late June.

I did it completely on my own at first, which is rare given that most things I watch, I watch them with my best friend and roommate, @hawkeyekate.

( Also, as a weird note, I’ve managed to deftly avoid most spoilers about Critical Role up to this point and I’m not completely sure how. I know one big one in Campaign 2, but until yesterday (when I watched the first episode of Campaign 2) I didn’t even know the classes of 1/2 of the Mighty Nein. I didn’t even know Sam played Nott until about three weeks ago. That bubble has come in very handy. )

I immediately began to get out of it what I was originally there for: great real-play with explanations of rules (especially vs. house rules and the whys of everything). Watching the cast fumble through transitioning from Pathfinder to D&D 5e was very helpful to me because I had some similar questions from the figments of memory I had from 3.5 as well as my other random tabletop experience. I was completely inspired and found myself cranking through pages upon pages of my own world and campaigns as well as delving deeper into my characters that I’d been honing already.

I quickly noticed that I was worrying less about the rules when I played and was getting to enjoy my character for who he is. I was starting to craft interesting mechanics and not just story in my adventures I was writing.

Lightning had struck and suddenly I was in love in a way I hadn’t been in a long time.

As I was watching Critical Role, I definitely wasn’t just learning to be a stronger DM and a better player. I found myself able to tell the twins apart. I was invested in the mysteries as they unraveled in Exandria. I hung on Mercer’s every word.

Then without warning, when the party said goodbye to Pike in Vasselheim, I found myself in tears. I don’t know why but I remember being so struck by that moment. I knew it was partly because Ashley was leaving for New York, but the story for Vox Machina hit a soft spot for me. I was no longer just watching 9 people play D&D. I was invested in the story, the characters, and the world.

I was suddenly a Critter.

I think notoriously at this point, when I fall for a fandom, its often connected to a character. I saw in Vax’ildan a lot of things that really sucked me in from the beginning. He is at the same time like many of my favorite characters of my youth and like many of my favorite characters as an adult. I feel like he’s my heartstrings manifest in a lot of ways, complete with many of the flaws in that.

Then what was a slow crawl accelerated. I would occasionally ramble to @hawkeyekate about the adventures of Vox Machina and it would be on when she was around, but she wasn’t exactly watching it with me. Then at some point during “The Trial of the Take”, she was suddenly sitting with me to watch. She was asking me to pause when she had to go do something - and wait for her.

We were watching together.

We were acutely aware of how the twins echoed things in us and that often we are referred to in the same sentence in the same way. I had my Vex’ahlia.

Only a little over a month later, we’ve battled Briarwoods and now we’re hunting Vestiges and gathering allies. It is a rare day that we don’t watch a little Critical Role. I sport my “Gilmore’s Glorious Goods” shirt. I’ve read Vox Machina: Origins and am making plans for two cosplays already.

I’ve also DM’d six sessions of my first adventure-turned-campaign in my own world I’ve built, Perlen. I play tabletop two-to-three days a week with my friends via the internet. I hoard dice.

I’ve fallen in love again and this time it feels safe.

I know good and bad things will come for Vox Machina ahead. I know the same can be said for The Mighty Nein in my future as well, but the Critters in my life have been so welcoming and it’s been so nice to have something new to talk to my friends about. And I trust the cast of Critical Role not to destroy things just because they made them like The Magicians creators did, a trust I didn’t think I would grow back any time soon. I know that some of the pains in Critical Role aren’t just scripted but are actually to chance, which gives me comfort, too. People live and die by the dice in tabletop and I can abide that. It doesn’t mean I won’t cry and ache every time something bad happens to them because I love them all.

So I will go running through Tal’dorei and look forward to Wildemount while I carve out the mountains and seas of my world of Perlen. I’ll cry when they hurt and smile every time Pike and Grog talk. I’ll be healed the way that stories can in ways I didn’t expect, which has now happened much more than once.

I’m here now and I love it.

[ special shout-out to the Critters in my life that have been so welcoming. Especially my super-enabler, @oniumbra. ]

[clumsydarknut]

The Brothel Fic - Part 3: Dream

Please read parts 1 and 2 first - the context is important for this series.

Beginning | Previous | Next | Most Recent

---

“This is your territory, isn’t it? Go on, Captain.”

Legend winked as he leaned back in his chair, watching the strikingly blonde Hero of Souls flush as the girl on his arm pulled him closer. Warriors was always bragging about his exploits – well, maybe not necessarily bragging. The captain mentioned them offhand nearly constantly, though, saying how such and such girl told him about some particular herb or whichever who’s-her-face had a great stew recipe. So probably not bragging, but it was equally annoying.

Satisfied with how much trouble he’d set up for Warriors, he settled back into his own seat, taking a quick swig from his glass of wine. It wasn’t great – fairly new and lacking a depth of flavor – but it would do.

“So,” Legend began, “what do you ladies do for fun?”

The girls around him giggled profusely, hiding smiles behind dainty hands and dancing about under his gaze. The closest – a slender brunette in a scarlet dress, the same girl who had given him his drink – leaned over his shoulder, propping herself up on the back of his chair, and gave his cheek a gentle stroke.

“I think you already know what I like to do, honey,” she cooed.

“Is that so?” Legend replied slyly. He leaned his head into her hand and twirled a strand of her long hair around his finger. “So if I said you were a dancing kind of gal, would I be right?””

Some of the other girls let out squeals as the woman’s mouth popped open in surprise, though it quickly turned into a smirk. Legend met her gaze with a grin and a raised eyebrow.

“You would be,” she purred. “I very much like to dance. How did you know?”

“Oh, you know…” he chuckled. He brought his glass to his lips with a smirk. “Just have a sense for these things.”

“Ooh what about me?” Another girl appeared, wrapping her soft hands around his forearm. “Can you tell what I like?”

Legend gulped. He’d gotten lucky with the brunette – everyone liked dancing. He glanced up and down the new muse. Her hair was almost silver in color, half of which was pulled up into an intricate braid and half of which fell loosely around her long, pointed ears. That gave him exactly nothing to work with. Luckily, her dress was heavily patterned with many intricate layers, so he took another guess.

“Needlework, obviously.” The girl squealed and hugged his arm excitedly. Legend glanced at Warriors just in time to hear a horrible voice crack. He could practically read the man’s prayer to the goddesses written on his face. Oh yes, I heard that, Captain Assflame.

“Do me next!” another girl gushed. This one, a voluptuous woman with blue-tinted curls, practically leapt onto his lap. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Time raise an eyebrow.

“Hmm, that’s tricky…” Legend put on his best thinking face while he stalled for time, searching for any clue as to what the girl might do outside of her job. “Do you like to garden?”

“I do!” she beamed. “You’re really quite good at this.” She bit her lip, and her eyes took on a steamy glaze. “I bet you’re good at other things too.”

Legend laughed and gave her a wink, along with a flirtatious “perhaps”. He now had five or six girls crowded around him, including the one who had been bothering Sky. The Chosen Hero gave him a grateful look, and Legend replied with a slight nod and a helpful grin.

“So…” he continued, turning his attention back to the women, “what other kinds of things do you do in this town? I’ve never been here before, after all.”

“Oh really?” Another woman, this one blonde, popped into his field of view. “I was pretty sure I’d seen you around the village… are you sure we haven’t met?”

These girls make this way too easy, he chuckled inwardly. “Oh, I’m certain. I would remember a face as pretty as yours.”

The girl simpered in delight, a devious smile playing at her lips. “Perhaps, then, we’ve only met in dreams?”

Legend suddenly felt very cold.

“M-maybe,” he replied. Holding the grin didn’t feel as natural anymore. He took another swig of his wine. “But you know, I’m pretty tired. I’ve been on the road a lot, and I’m really looking forward to a nice feather bed. I think I’m going to turn in for the night.”

Disappointed whines hummed around him, but he pushed himself to his feet. He saw Twilight tilt his head questioningly but opted to ignore it. “Could one of you lovely ladies show me to my room?”

“Me, me!” The first woman, who had handed him his drink, tugged at his arm adoringly. “I’ll show you! This way!”

The remaining girls gave crestfallen whimpers as he gave a short goodbye and followed the scarlet-clad beauty down the hall. He didn’t bother to take note of how tightly the woman gripped his wrist.

“Here we are!” she bubbled. She pushed open the door. Inside, a fire already crackled.

“Thank you,” Legend replied. He gave her his signature smirk. “I hope the night finds you well, milady.”

He stepped into the room and moved to close the door, but found her fingers still wrapped around his wrist. He looked up from her grip to her eyes. Brown eyes.

“Do you… need something?” he asked. Her gaze didn’t break.

“I think the question is,” she breathed, “do you need something?”

Legend sighed. “Yes.”

Surprise flickered in her pupils.

“I need sleep.”

Her mouth, again, popped open in surprise, before turning into a sweet giggle. She let go of his wrist. Legend didn’t notice.

“Well then, sweet dreams.”

And with that, she was gone.

Legend let out a long exhale, then stepped fully into the room and closed the door. There was only one bed, as expected, but that would be fine. He and Twi had found they were pretty good roommates, and neither moved much in their sleep. There wouldn’t be any problems.

Not any real problems, anyway.

He shuffled to the bedframe, making his way to the side further from the fireplace. A lantern sat on a bedside table. He didn’t light it. He dropped onto the edge of the mattress. It didn’t feel right. He slid off onto the floor. That didn’t feel right either. But he was down here now. Getting back up seemed too difficult a task for such a small reward.

His head felt like lead. And yet, it felt like a thunderstorm. Every sound echoing from the dining hall seemed like a cacophony, but also… muted. It was too much, but also not enough. He leaned his head back against the down comforter. He could fall asleep right there. Every muscle in his body said that he was comfortable enough. His mind was empty enough. But. It didn’t come. His eyes didn’t even droop. Instead, they stared blankly at a small crack in the wall.

He wanted to sleep. But he also didn’t.

He wanted to want. But he also didn’t.

I should get up, he thought. The concept floated through his mind as an echo on the wind – clearly his own voice, but coming from far, far away. Get off the floor. Get into bed. Get some sleep.

But he didn’t.

His eyes dropped from the crack in the wall to his fingers, limp as his arms draped over his bent knees. He moved them a tad. Just a wiggle. A twitch. It felt wrong. Empty. He felt empty. It scared him, the emptiness. Except that he didn’t do a thing about it. Didn’t want to. Couldn’t. His limbs felt numb, yet he could feel every groove in the floor beneath him. His chest ached. Burned. Like it was collapsing in on itself. A lump held in his throat. He tried to swallow. His mouth was dry.

Dammit, get a grip! He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. Get off the floor! Sitting here won’t make it any better!

He gritted his teeth.

It won’t bring her back.

He inhaled sharply. Good. There’s a start. He turned that effort into a movement and pushed himself off the bedframe. But he didn’t make it to standing.

Instead, he curled forward and pulled his knees to his chest.

Stupid, he thought. Idiot. Get off the floor.

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond.

He heard a few footsteps pass outside. Probably Time dragging Wind to bed. Or maybe Four escaping the fawning of the Gerudo women. Likely all leaving to sleep.

I should sleep too.

He pulled his chin down, resting his forehead on his knees, and bit his lip.

I should sleep.

Instead, he found himself dreaming.

The wind was crisp and carried the scent of the ocean, despite the altitude. Rope bridges crawled from ledge to ledge in a complicated and yet beautiful maze, stirring up his excitement. The mountaintop gave an exquisite view of the entire island, covered in lush greenery and splashes of tropical color. It wasn’t so green up here, but the steady stone beneath his feet and the rushing updrafts caused by crashing waves below made up for the lack of foliage. Part of him would be sad to leave this place.

“Link!”

The cry was frantic. It called him into action and he drew his sword, searching for the source.

“Link! Up here! I’m stuck!”

The sweet, bell-like tone carried down from a broken bridge overhead. Looking up, he saw a splash of persimmon-colored hair peeking over the edge.

“Marin?”

The girl peeked further off the rickety bridge, her face relieved that he’d found her. She pulled her windswept hair over her shoulder to keep it from flying about.

“Link! Oh I’m so glad you’re here,” she sighed. “A group of monsters broke the planks as I was going across, and now I can’t get down.”

Without another word, he scrambled up to the ledge where the bridge was attached. He wasn’t sure how to do this, but he had to get her down somehow. He flicked through his bag of gear, observing the environment as he went, until he found his trusty hookshot and a sturdy-looking tree stump hanging off a cliff maybe twenty feet above. That’ll work.

“Hang on, I’ll get you.” He took a step back and aimed the speared chain, letting it fly with a metallic clatter. The point sunk deep into the stump, and he tugged on it to make sure it was secure. Using it this way wasn’t his preferred method, but he feared the jerk of the powerful spring might only make things worse.

“Wait, Link, what are you-“

He didn’t wait to hear her finish. With a run and a jump he shoved off the ledge, swinging across toward her. She gave a surprised yelp as he swept her up in his free arm and she threw her own around his neck. A moment later, their feet hit ground.

Link stumbled for a moment as he triggered the hookshot to release, trying to catch Marin as she tripped on her dress. The adrenaline of the jump had him panting. Good thing that worked.

Marin looked up at him, breathing just as hard and face as pale as porcelain. For a moment. Until a slight tinge of pink touched her cheeks. Her beautiful brown eyes peered up at his own through delicate eyelashes. He felt a different kind of pounding start in his heart. A warm kind. A good kind.

It felt so right. Her in his arms. Her delicate frame, soft and stunning. Her shimmering red hair. Her sweet smile. Her adorable laugh. Her gorgeous, melodious voice. He wanted to hold her, protect her. He wanted to take her on the adventures she so desperately craved. To show her the world. To be her everything, and to treasure her as his own. He could be her hero, and she his princess. Forever.

“You know, Link, I…” She broke their gaze, eyes fluttering in an embarrassed smile. “I, um, I’ve been meaning to say for a while… Well I mean, I’ve meant to tell you… I… Um…”

He didn’t need to hear any more. He dropped his hookshot and slid his hand up to cup her jaw. She gasped almost imperceptibly, but her eyelids slid shut. He leaned close. Her soft breath warmed his face. He closed his eyes. Their lips brushed.

“MAAAAAARRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIINNNNNN!!!!!!”

They pushed apart with a start. Tarin, her father, came running up over the ledge, completely out of breath. Link felt his heart sink. So close.

“Marin!” Tarin called, coming to a stop and panting with his hands on his knees. “Oh I’m so glad you’re okay! You really shouldn’t be all the way up here on your own!”

Marin looked away, embarrassed and fidgeting with her fingers. “Sorry, papa. I just wanted to sing to the Wind Fish.”

“Ah, no matter,” he sighed. “I see Link has taken care of you again. I honestly shouldn’t be surprised anymore.” He chuckled. “Come on home, sweetpea.”

“Alright, papa.” The man set off back down the slope without another word. Marin looked after him with a sad glimmer in her eyes. Her cheeks were still flushed red. They were silent a moment more before she cleared her throat.

“I, um…” she stammered, “I’ll… I’ll tell you another time.” She moved to head back, but peeked over her shoulder one more time, her eyes sparkling in the sun. The ocean breeze caught her vibrant hair. “Come home soon, okay?”

At the time, he had nodded with a sigh. I’ll see her after. I’ll wake the Wind Fish and we’ll go on a real adventure.

But that was the last time he ever saw her.

Legend felt himself climbing the rest of the mountain. Playing the song in front of the Great Egg. Stepping into the dream realm. Finally ridding the island of the nightmares.

And then, waking the Wind Fish.

He crashed back into the present. No! No! Don’t! His arms shook violently, and he gripped his knees tighter to his chest.

Stupid, he seethed. Don’t wake that stupid-ass fish. Don’t save the fish. Don’t save the damned fish. What did the fish ever do for you?

He shuddered, throat seeming to close up as he buried his face into his center. I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have chosen the Wind Fish. I should have left it, trapped and asleep. I shouldn’t have saved it. I should have saved her. I chose the Wind Fish over her. It’s all my fault.

Tears plipped against his trousers. The sound made him angry. He clenched his fists.

Idiot! he screamed, though he felt a sob welling up in his chest. Stop being a pansy! What would Warriors say if he saw you like this?! Heroes aren’t supposed to cry!

The sob escaped anyway.

Heroes aren’t supposed to kill their friends, either.

[lefaystrent]

Welcome to the Neighborhood part 3

Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides

Pairings: Prinxiety

Summary:  Virgil’s really bad at peopling, or so his new neighbors find out.

Chapter Navigation: part one, part two part four

AO3 Link

Virgil had just slurped a big bite of food into his mouth when a voice startled him from behind.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks! It is the east and Juliet is the—OW THAT WAS MY FACE YOU HEATHEN!!!”

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO SNEAK UP ON ME YOU FUCKER!” Virgil seethed with rage born purely from fright.

Here he had been minding his own business on his own front porch, standing there with his back leaned against the railing. And Roman— the most illegally gorgeous dumbass to ever walk the face of the planet—had done the one thing that Virgil had warned him not to do.

So it wasn’t Virgil’s fault he had decked him in the face. Not when the spilled remains of his beloved food splattered the wood of the porch at his feet. And he could deny all responsibility for the way Roman covered his nose, eyes squinted and tearing from pain.

Wait—oh shit, was that blood?

At first Roman seemed more preoccupied about whether or not his nose had broken. He stopped to stare down at Virgil’s feet, big brown eyes batting in a way that reminded Virgil of Bambi.

What kind of person punches Bambi?

“Is that . . . a can of green beans?” Roman asked in disbelief.

“Remy banned me from the chips,” Virgil replied weakly. He felt untethered from where his feet met the porch, like a wayward breeze could lift him up and drift him away. He knew he shouldn’t have eaten green beans on a Wednesday afternoon. It was more of a Saturday midnight snack thing. And here he was, still holding the fork in the shaking fist that had decked Bambi in the face.

Oh god, ohgodohgodohgod, he could have stabbed the idiot in the face. He could have killed Bambi!

Instantly the silverware fell from his limp fingers. Roman watched dumbly as it clattered to the floor, but Virgil didn’t care about any of that. He lurched around the railing at sonic speed and his hands were fluttering uselessly in the air with all the worried agitation of a humming bird mixed with a mother bear (no Virgil’s mind was not processing things properly at the moment).

“Are you sorry?!” Virgil almost screamed at him. Oh wait, he actually did scream at him.

Roman reeled back—oh no no no, did he think Virgil was going to assault him again? Did he hate him now? Was he going to call the police and Virgil would have to spend the rest of his existence in a prison cell where he would never eat another green bean or Dorito ever again in his miserable cursed life???

This is why you don’t sneak up on people!

“What? Sorry? Yes?” Roman stammered out as fast as he could, looking for a moment to be just as overwhelmed as Virgil.

“Shit, wait, no. I didn’t mean that,” Virgil rushed to say desperately, urged on by the inner mantra in his head: please don’t hate me, please don’t hate me, please don’t hate me. “I was trying to ask if you’re okay but say sorry at the same time, but it all came out at once, and I’m so fucking sorry dude. I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

“Virgil, slow down,” Roman said, as if Virgil really had any power over the frantic tribal beat of his heart. “It’s uh—it’s not that bad.”

Roman was bleeding in Virgil’s front yard. What part of this constituted as not that bad?

Spurred by the inexplicable need to fix this, Virgil’s hands finally made contact with the sleeves of Roman’s leather jacket. He tugged him up the porch, forgetting he should really probably ask for permission for such a thing but the FIX THIS in his mind was really having a swell ole time jackhammering away in his head.

Roman protested but not in a way that said he had a problem being dragged into Virgil’s house (and if Virgil was thinking rationally at the moment, he’d probably freak out over his handsome neighbor seeing the inside of his house for the first time, but again, FIX THIS). He seemed more concerned with convincing Virgil that this wasn’t a big deal.

“I was more shocked than hurt, really. Believe me, I’ve been in far worse brawls than this.”

“You’re bleeding,” Virgil hissed.

“Oh that? My nose is just crying red tears because of how amazing I am!”

Virgil laughed but he also kind of wanted to cry too so he didn’t know how to emotion right now. He let Roman go by the kitchen sink and snatched a clean dishcloth from the adjacent cabinet and placed it under Roman’s nose. Roman took over to staunch the bleeding while Virgil left him there to rummage in the freezer. He pulled out two bags.

“Fries or mixed vegetables?” Virgil asked, because on some level of his consciousness the answer really seemed important in that instance. He held them up on display for Roman to decide.

The bleeding man stood there bewildered (Why was he looking at Virgil like that? Did he still think he was going to get hit again?). He glanced between the two frozen foods for a moment before pointing at the vegetables.

“Let’s go with that one,” he said. “It’s smaller.”

“Y-yeah,” Virgil agreed. He tossed the fries onto the counter carelessly and offered the vegetables at a healthy arms-length away. The embarrassment of man-handling Roman into his home had caught up to him.

Roman plucked the bag from his hand. With nothing left to hold, Virgil fiddled with the zipper on the arm of his hoodie. He wondered if Roman regretted moving in next door. God, he couldn’t even look up from the floor at this point. How pathetic was he?

“Thank you, Virgil,” Roman said quietly.

“For punching you in the face?” Virgil said with a snort. He slapped a hand over his mouth. The fiddling on his zipper increased.

“No, my little storm cloud.” Virgil nearly choked upon hearing the nickname. He stared wide-eyed at Roman. “You did warn me to announce my presence better. But when I saw you standing there . . .” Roman lowered the reddened cloth, and sure there was a little more red smudged on his face but the smile he wore was sincere. The playfulness in his eyes a little too much for Virgil to handle right now. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Well then.” Virgil scratched at his neck and crossed his arms, shoulders hitched up. “I’m still sorry,” was what he meant to say. “Serves you right then,” is what he actually said.

Mouth . . . could you just cooperate for once in my life? Sincerely, Virgil.

Roman chuckled and placed the frozen bag gently against the bridge of his nose. “I suppose that’s fair. Would you give me the chance to make it up to you?”

Virgil’s already distressed brain short circuited because what the absolute flying fuck did that mean???

Roman stood there, tending to his face, body language and any discernable facial features unreadable. Something lodged in Virgil’s throat and he couldn’t quite swallow right. His overanalytical thoughts bounced around at the speed of AHHHH as he considered what ‘make it up to you’ meant in this context.

If Virgil’s life were a porno���no, do not go past Go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Do not finish that thought because honestly? This was real life, and knowing Virgil’s luck Roman was far more likely to beat him up. A nose for a nose, as it were.

“Virgil?” Roman called his attention, which only made Virgil lose more of his focus. Roman was waiting for a response to some offer that Virgil didn’t know what he would be agreeing or denying, so how was he supposed to answer? And whoa, were the walls closing in or what?

The door to Remy’s bedroom opened. He slunk out with all the grace of a foraging raccoon, wearing a black silk robe and hair curlers, obviously having just woken up. He took a moment too long to spot their neighbor standing in the kitchen.

Roman smiled pleasantly. “Hello—”

Remy screeched and dove back into his room, door slamming shut.

“. . . is he okay?” Roman asked Virgil.

“GURL!” Remy shouted from behind the door, and Virgil knew without a doubt that the accusing tone was addressed towards him. “I don’t even have my face on! Like give a warning!”

“Spoiler alert, Remy. We have company.”

“BITCH I KNOW!”

“Don’t worry about him,” Virgil told his neighbor. “He just came with the house.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, this is my house,” Remy said, popping his head back out for a moment, shades in place this time. “You’re the one who showed up sniffing around one day and I made the mistake of feeding.”

He slammed the door again.

“He’s not wrong.” Virgil shrugged.

“I see.” Roman nodded. He didn’t seem freaked out by the exchange, curious and amused if anything.

Truthfully, Virgil was still internally pulling his hair out in mortification over the last five minutes, but Remy’s interruption had offered a nice reprieve, enough for Virgil to take a breath and steel his nerves.

“What did you mean?” Virgil blurted before he could stop himself. Roman just looked at him, so he rambled on. “Earlier, before Remy—you were saying something?”

Roman brightened. He lowered the bag from his face to give Virgil an unobscured view of his hopeful expression. “Even when I caused you distress, you patched my wounds, and for that I am grateful. I’d like to make it up to you, if you’d allow me the honor?”

Why did he have to talk so weird? Why did he feel like he had to make up for anything in the first place? Why couldn’t Virgil stop fidgeting with his jacket sleeve again?

“Make it up how?” he asked.

“Dinner?” Roman asked, and the emo’s dead heart sputtered and said help me. “I’ve been told I’m an excellent cook. You could come over tomorrow night and we could get to know each other better. You could bring Remy along if you’d like.”

Would it be too dramatic to faint right now? Probably. If he had any cool points after today, he needed to stubbornly hold on to his consciousness. Throwing in the inclusion of his roommate aside, a devastatingly handsome man (who he had just punched) had asked him over for dinner. A dinner that he would cook. Of course he also knew how to cook on top of all his other attractive qualities.

…ya know on one hand, if what he got out of it was having a cute guy ask him over, maybe Virgil should punch people more often?

On the other hand, a cute guy was asking him over for dinner what was he supposed to say???

“Sure,” Virgil answered automatically.

WHY DID HE JUST SAY THAT?

“Wonderful!” Roman beamed at him. “I’m certain Logan and I will make it the best dinner you’ve ever had.”

Virgil was suddenly hit with the full force of remembering that Roman did not live alone.

He lived with Logan.

Logan, the evil vampiric elementary school teacher.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t—

FIX THIS!

“Sounds great,” Virgil said, grimacing while he imagined astral projecting outside of his body just so he could hit himself with a baseball bat. “What time am I going to die—I mean, what time should I come by?”

If Roman noticed the slip up, he didn’t comment. Just grinned all the wider. “Let’s say around six?”

“Cool.”

He had less than twenty-four hours to live.

But hey, at least he could have Remy die with him.

General Tag List: @spectralheartt @a-pastel-pan @notalwaysthevillian @rose-gold-roman @ijustrealizedhowdumbmynamewas @katie-the-noble-fangirl @yourroyalydramaticanxiousness @aroundofapplesauce @merlybird500 @beach-fan @jemthebookworm @whats-going-on-kiddos @randomsandersides @gamerfreddie @unring-this-bell @that-royal-ravenclaw @analogicallythinking @lilygold23 @punsterterry @naw2702 @levy-the-b00kw0rm @iolanomsgranola @tacohippy56900 @accio-hufflepuff-power1 @just-another-rainbowblog @georganabanana @grey-says-heck @randompicts-blog

Welcome to the Neighborhood list: @roman-red-aesthetic @joyful-milkshake-observation @lizziepopanime @ab-artist @cricks-loves-you @ghoulingwheeze

[bibliosexxual]

A thing you probably don't know about me is that sometimes I get in this mood where I don't want to do anything but spend every spare moment binge-watching House, M.D. for several days at a time. I was on ep 2.15, "Clueless," AKA that one where Wilson crashes at House's place for a while, when inspiration struck and this Sterek drabble happened. Or… It’s almost 2k words, so maybe it’s a bit more than a drabble, BUT it’s still a drabble in spirit. (Rated T.)

It's almost midnight when Derek finally shoulders on his coat, locks his office door, and steps out, only to spot Stiles crouched in front of the vending machine at the end of the hall, whacking the glass with the heel of his palm and muttering darkly.

Derek can't just ignore him; he never can. (It's a bit of a problem, and everyone in the hospital seems to know it, except for Stiles.) Before he knows it, he's changed tracks and walked right over. "What are you still doing here?"

Stiles sits back on his heels to look up at him. "Bob ate my dollar and I'm feeling petty so I'm trying to get it back."

"Bob?" Derek asks, a split second before he remembers that Stiles named the vending machine. It's just this kind of thing that makes Derek feel guilty for sometimes looking at Stiles' mouth a little too long, or pausing to let his eyes follow Stiles' progress down the hall. Stiles isn't a kid or anything, but he's still only 26 to Derek's 32, and he's still got a year of residency to go. A lot of times, like when he’s jamming out to his iPod while he looks over lab work or doing stupid stuff like naming the vending machines, he seems to Derek more like a college kid than a grown man with a medical license and a house and a girlfriend.

Stiles goes back to hitting the vending machine, and Derek remembers why he originally came over here. "Didn't your shift end at 7?"

Stiles smirks up at him, and Derek tries very, very hard not to imagine him making that same face in certain... other contexts. "What, you got my schedule memorized now, Dr. Hale? I'm flattered."

It would make Derek's life a lot easier if so much of what Stiles said didn't come out sounding so flirtatious. Derek crosses his arms over his chest. "You're deflecting."

Stiles holds the smirk a few seconds longer and then, under Derek's glare, lets it drop. "Okay, fine," he sighs, and leans forward to rest his forehead against the glass front of the vending machine. "Dani broke up with me, okay?"

"What? When?"

"This morning, over text. She said I wasn't into her enough, and then I stupidly went for the obvious innuendo and she said I was fatally incapable of being serious about our relationship and... Yeah." He winces and closes his eyes. "She kicked me out. I knew it was too soon to move in with her. Lydia told me, and I didn't listen. Why do I always do this to myself?"

"Er... Sorry?" Derek tries. If Stiles starts crying, he's not sure what he'll do. He's never had to witness Stiles break up with anyone before, or be broken up with. Until Dani six months ago, Stiles had been hung up on Lydia—Dr. Martin, one of the hospital's neurosurgeons—pretty faithfully for the entirety of his residency. Faithfully, and hopelessly.

Stiles shakes his head, getting to his feet. He shoots Derek a rueful little smile. "I'm not too broken up about it. Dani was right. I wasn't into her enough."

"Oh," Derek says. A small, possessive part of him grins contentedly at that, but he does his best to ignore it. He and Stiles are friends, and that's that. It shouldn't matter to him if Stiles is single now. It shouldn't.

"The only bad thing about it," Stiles goes on, "is that I am now temporarily homeless, which is why I'm still here, fighting with Bob."

Derek heaves a mental sigh, mostly at himself. He should know by now not to invite Stiles over, because it never ends well. Last time, Stiles set off the fire alarm making toast at 3 a.m., and the time before that, he managed to break the one expensive vase in Derek's entire apartment.  But who is he kidding. All Stiles has to do is look at him, big brown Bambi eyes blinking hopefully, and Derek is saying, "You can sleep on my couch."

"Aw, you do care," Stiles grins. He throws an arm over Derek's shoulders and then laughingly snatches it back when Derek glares. "Okay, no touching. You've got to maintain your cool guy rep. I get it."

"Don't make me regret this," Derek says, pulling out the stern look he always saves for new interns. Stiles just looks fond, and not at all scared. Derek should probably be more worried about that.

*

Derek has played host to Stiles a number of times, usually when Stiles has had too many beers after poker night, but he's never let Stiles stay over for more than one night. Not that Stiles has ever asked.

This ends up being a lot more than one night.

Stiles is indeed house-hunting, or rather, apartment-hunting. Derek knows this because people keep leaving messages for Stiles on Derek's answering machine about it. But it takes time to find the right place, and Stiles is picky. Plus, Stiles is putting in long hours at the hospital, and sometimes he doesn't want to spend his miniscule amount of free time on adult stuff like browsing real estate ads on Craigslist; he just wants to sleep or eat or zone out playing video games on the TV he bought for Derek's living room. (Derek, prior to Stiles, never saw the point of owning a TV. Stiles says he can't live in a house without one.)

A month passes, and then two.

Derek gets used to the fold-out sofa bed taking up most of the living room floor. He gets used to Stiles' toothbrush and Adderall on his bathroom counter and Stiles' faded red hoodie over the back of the kitchen chair. He gets used to his homemade sandwiches and casseroles and soups disappearing from the fridge in the middle of the night, never to be seen again, just so long as Stiles is the one to buy the groceries every once in a while to make up for it.

Stiles' nerd magazines start cluttering up Derek's coffee table. His brand of coffee creamer gets its own regular spot in Derek's fridge. On nights when they leave at different times, Derek gets used to stepping gingerly into the foyer in the dark when he gets home so he doesn't trip over Stiles' sneakers. Other nights, they leave together, and Stiles messes with Derek's radio and puts his feet up on the dash and tries to sneak contraband curly fries into Derek's car's pristine interior.

"Living with Stilinski, that must suck," Greenberg from Radiology says, all buddy-buddy, in the staff lounge one day.

Derek stops pouring his tea. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, the guy is kinda weird, don't you think? So it must be a pain, having him as a roommate."

"No," Derek says coldly.

Greenberg shrugs, apparently unfazed. "Okay, well, I just thought I would let you know my cousin has a place he's renting out, if that's of any interest. Here's his card."

Derek might not like Greenberg, but maybe his cousin is nicer. Wouldn't hurt to check it out, anyway. Stiles doesn't really talk about it, but he must be getting pretty desperate, after two months and still no suitable apartment located.

So Derek gives the cousin a quick call and passes the business card along to Stiles. That's the last he hears about it for about a week, until he walks by the staff lounge one evening and stops dead in the hall, hearing Stiles talking to someone.

"No, Dr. Hale must've told you wrong." A pause. "Right. I'm not in the market to rent a place right now. Okay. Thanks, bye."

Derek clears his throat pointedly from the doorway and Stiles spins around, clutching the phone to his chest. "Derek! Um. Hi?"

"To answer your unspoken question," Derek says, "yes, I did hear that."

"Shit."

"You're supposed to be finding an apartment, Stiles!"

"Yes, okay, but..."

"You can't just move into my apartment and hope I don't notice!"

Stiles winces. "Yeah, when you put it like that, it might not've been my greatest plan."

Derek can't right now. He just can't. "I'm going to my office."

*

Of course, because this is Stiles, he comes bursting in almost as soon as Derek's sat down behind his desk. "Ugh, just... Let me explain? Please?"

"Fine," Derek sighs.

Stiles runs his hands through his hair, fiddles with the framed photo of Derek's sisters on the desk until Derek clears his throat pointedly. "I just did it because... Because I wanted to stay."

Derek raises his eyebrows. "Yeah, I got that part, thanks."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You are so frustrating. No, wait. That's not what I meant to say. I like you. I like you and I wanted..."

He trails off, looking at Derek helplessly.

Derek licks his lips, throat suddenly dry. "You wanted?"

Stiles tackles him in the chair and kisses him full on the mouth. Derek has just a second to get over the surprise, and then a glorious two seconds to kiss back, before his chair tips backward under Stiles' momentum and the world tilts wildly as they go crashing to the floor. Stiles yelps and nearly head butts him. It's basically the worst and most dangerous first kiss of Derek's life, and somehow he's not even surprised. It's just how things always seem to go around Stiles.

Derek groans. He's pretty sure Stiles managed to knee him in the gut on the way down. "Why do I have so many near-death experiences around you?"

"I'm just special, I guess. Also, you should probably start buying sturdier chairs."

"This chair was plenty sturdy enough until you tackled me like a fucking child with no impulse control—"

"Fuck you, it was romantic," Stiles huffs. Then he grins, just a little, raising himself up on his elbows to look down at Derek. "You liked it, though."

"Shut up," Derek says, bright red.

Stiles leans in, gets a hand on Derek's tie. "You liked it. You like me. And you don't want me to move out."

Derek's eyes drift down to Stiles' mouth. "Maybe... Maybe we could postpone the house-hunting. Just for a little while. See how things go."

Stiles nods sagely. "I guess we could do that. Just for a little while."

(end)

[ce-silly-a]

i woke up today to a twitter mutual posting “i was 8.” it left an awful feeling in my gut. i realized what it meant.

i couldn’t do it on twitter. but here it is. this is for me.

i was 20. december of 2017. my last year at ucla; i was home for winter break and messaged a friend i called one of my best friends from Key Club back in high school. we had drifted apart because of college and distance but i decided to try to catch up with him.

he just got a new apartment this year, and i thought it would be fun to celebrate! we chatted a bit casually over break before we met up; we talked about his recent break-up and how my relationship with my then-boyfriend was going well. i even mentioned that i’d be spending new year’s with him. we made plans to watch an anime movie (your name) and play doki doki literature club (visual novel video game).

i brought a bottle of wine and was excited to catch up. we got poke take out and started drinking and things started to get silly (i laugh a lot when i’m drunk). we started singing karaoke disney songs on youtube. then he crawled into his bed. i sat on his roommates’ bed. he lifted the covers and patted his bed. i sat down next to him. he pulled me down and pulled the covers over us. i made an effort to sit up but it took too much effort. he kissed me and i freaked out and he asked if he should stop. i said no what are you doing, and, well. the night ended with all my clothes off and all of his clothes on. he touched me a lot. i didn’t make the move to touch him or remove his clothes.

the question of whether or not this was assault or consensual never crossed my mind. i just assumed this was normal and i even accepted the fact that i had cheated on my boyfriend. i thought it felt nice to be touched by someone who wanted me after months of neglect by my boyfriend. we even chatted in the days afterwards when i felt super guilty about how it was a thrill but a bad thing to do and i felt bad about it. did i go in to this wanting that?? no. did i allow it to happen?? yes. if i were sober would this have occurred?? no. did i feel like it was okay in the moment?? yes. did i feel absolutely disgusted by the time i was sober?? also yes. did i blame him?? no. did i blame myself?? yes.

when he asked if he should stop, i shouldn’t have said no what are you doing i should’ve said yes what are you doing. I don’t know why i said that. to this day it haunts me. perhaps i was just too drunk. but it’s burned into my memory. i carry this guilt. the aftermath of it all was worse than the event itself. he told his ex and his ex found my boyfriend on facebook and told him. i won’t lie; i freaked out and denied it for a bit until i couldn’t. i told him what happened. i was accused of cheating, which was... true. what could i have said?? back then, i really did feel like i did that. and honestly... i still do. it was especially hard because i didn’t intentionally do it, and i didn’t have malicious intent, but people definitely assumed that i did. i really didn’t want to. but you know what they say: a cheater is a cheater. and cheaters don’t deserve to live. and i felt that.

i carry it with me. i haven’t forgiven myself. i kept in contact with him on friendly terms and even felt good about it. in a chat a few days after, he even told me that he had planned to hook up with me when i suggested we catch up, which caught me off guard, but like, whatever, right?? that’s normal. whatever. i was the one in the wrong. he was single he could do whatever he wants. i was the one who cheated. i can’t believe i did that. i still can’t.

it wasn’t until i told a close friend of mine what happened and why i hate myself that the friend mentioned it didn’t sound too consensual. “but i feel like maybe i was down for it in the moment.” “but you weren’t sober.” and i wouldn’t have allowed any of that if i were sober.

i stopped replying to his messages, which at that point came every three months or so and were about food recommendations. he later texted me a few times. once in august to hang out, and then again in december asking if i hated him and if i didn’t, that he’d like to talk. i ignored these. i didn’t feel able to talk to him anymore. i desperately didn’t want to view him in a bad light. no way was one of my closest friends from high school a bad guy. there is just no way. so i avoided confronting how i felt about it. i reconnected with some other mutual friends of ours from back in high school and to my surprise, they all knew what happened already. in eight months i was able to tell two people and he told what seemed like everybody almost immediately after i stopped replying to his texts.

i had ghosted him essentially. but in november of 2019, after months of thinking and suppressing and thinking and suppressing, i sent him one long message for closure. i apologized for not responding and mentioned how i felt weird about the situation after talking to my friend about it. i explained how i didn’t feel good about how he mentioned he had planned to do that before i even showed up. i didn’t tell him how i felt a little panicked and anxious any time someone brought up the movie your name or anytime i drove by that apartment complex. it had been years. i didn’t want him to feel bad about anything. i desperately wanted him to not hate me for saying what i was saying.

i ended it by apologizing for ghosting him and not reaching out sooner, mentioning how it felt uncomfortable to me since he had already told all our mutual friends a different narrative. i apologized and asked to put this behind the both of us, so i could move forward with my life. he hasn’t replied.

and i still haven’t let it go. i still blame myself. i still feel like less than human for doing it. i still feel like i don’t deserve to be happy. it has affected my future relationships, friendships, and what my idea of blame and responsibility looks like.

but... slowly... i’m trying to come to terms with the fact that i’m allowed to feel like i was taken advantage of, but still feel responsible and guilty. it is okay. it can be both.

some of the friends i’ve mentioned this to since have blamed me for bringing alcohol, saying that that’s suggestive. i had never drank outside of a social context and never done it in a romantic/sexual context before. after the event, i stopped drinking for six months until i graduated from ucla. i didn’t know it was suggestive. and honestly?? i don’t think it is. you can’t say a girl is asking for it by what she’s wearing and i think it follows that a girl isn’t asking for it if she wants to drink. so to those who said that... fuck you. i’m still hurt by that.

some other friends were very strongly for the side that i was taken advantage of, and i won’t lie; i felt relief. and i cried a lot. more than when the others told me it was my fault. and i still cry about it. i cried last month about it and it’s been over three years. i have even talked to my ex about it extensively and we have been on great terms for years now. he reassures me that he understands everything i went through. but for some reason??? it still haunts me.

i know this isn’t one of those stories where the girl is drunk and the guy has sex without her consent. its not one where a guy is cornered and raped in an alleyway. it’s not one where the victim is a child. it’s not as black and white as those.

I don’t know why i’m doing this. i guess.... i’m trying to own up to what i did and also raise awareness about the ambiguity of many of these situations and how complicated and convoluted the emotions can be surrounding them.

if you have a story, i hear you. if it’s not perfect, i support you. you are valid, and it’s okay. you are so, so okay.

wow. i do not want to post this now that i’ve reached the end... maybe i made it so long to put off posting it??? well if it’s going anywhere, tumblr is the place. here goes.

[ramonaglen]

Word vomit about what's happening in my brain right now.

To be honest, this has probably been one of the most emotionally taxing years of my life. Despite my tendency towards the dramatic, I don't mean that as hyperbole. The majority of it surrounds one specific thing and I've oscillated through so many feelings about it that I've never had a chance to really conclusively interpret and define how I feel about it. So, as any good millennial, how better to definitively understand my inner thoughts than to write about it publicly where strangers can read and follow along with me. All two that may actually stumble across this.

I lost my best friend of, 20ish years. Granted, I made the decision to let go of the last few strings holding us together, but it had been fading for almost a year and a half, and it feels like a full loss. I just finally decided to stop trying to force something that probably shouldn't be forced. I let go and stopped reaching out, knowing that if I didn't, they weren't going to and that would be the end of things. I knew that was how it was going to play out. It still hurt like a bitch.

I'm not going to lie, afterwards I had to parse through a lot of negativity about it. I was hurt that things were going to play out the way I knew there were. I was angry because I felt like after so many years of history, I deserved better. I was heartbroken that something and someone that had meant so much to me for so much of my life wasn't going to be there anymore. I legit cried myself to sleep about it for three nights in a row. But it had to happen.

I'm still not 100% sure what went wrong. I'm probably never going to, which drives my need for closure in all things crazy. I don't know if after years of putting up with my "extra," it was finally too much. I don't know if the differences in what we want in life caused too much of a rift. I don't know if it was that they found new and more exciting friends. The petty part of me blames it on that. The part that is hurt and wants vindication, whether or not it's justified. The new friends.

The new friends that I thought were mutual friends until I realized that I was never invited to join them when they'd spend time together, and all of a sudden there were dozens of inside jokes thrown around that left me confused as hell, and stories being reminisced about that I had no context for. And I felt like a stranger in the life of someone I'd known since we were children. It hurt. I know no one would believe me if I said that I wasn't jealous, but I really never have been. I'm genuinely happy they have people that seem to really care about them and that they enjoy spending time with. But I was/am devastated that I wasn't one of those people anymore.

Unfortunately, conflict resolution was never a strong point in our friendship. I like getting things out, grievances aired, and closure one way or another. They have never been able to handle conflict of any kind and usually just ignored something was wrong until it went away. For 20ish years it worked for us. Things pent up, we'd get frustrated, we'd spend some time apart, we'd forget or forgive and then everything would be good again. It worked, but it wasn't healthy.

Some history.

Two years ago, we had a different group of mutual friends. And, just as with the eventual second group, I began to feel cut out. At the time, we literally lived together and they would come home after being out with the group and when I'd mention that I was bummed I didn't get to join them, they'd say things like, "oh, I thought I mentioned it to you" or "oh, I didn't think you'd be interested/free." Eventually it happened so often and it had been so long since I'd seen the rest of the group that I genuinely believed it was because the others didn't like me or didn't want me around. I brought it up to my friend and they assured me that wasn't the case, but they didn't have time to talk about it with me, and assured me that they'd make an effort to include me more. But they didn't and it still happened. Quite a few more times. And I took it as confirmation that *I* was, in fact, the the problem and my friend was trying to spare my feelings.

So I dropped it.

Until it started happening again with a new group of friends.

At first I tried to justify it to myself that, because this was a group of friends who met through work, and because I had recently transferred out of the department where we all met, that it was just because I wasn't around as much. My new position kept me way busier than before and I wasn't around when plans were being made. But I did come around. At least twice a week after my shift ended I would head over to their area to chat and spend time with them. I frequently tried to set up plans, but there was always something already happening that I wouldn't be interested in (watching scary movies, going out to a bar, etc. Things that were very well known to be outside of my comfort zone) or they didn't feel up to being social when I was free.

In the seven months since we had stopped living together (they'd moved out to a place of their own because they really wanted a place where they could be a hermit and live in total quiet without other humans and, though they loved me, my sister - our other roommate - and I couldn't exist silently,) we had only found time to spend together twice. Once, when I had to practically beg them to come see our new place, and the other when I was invited as a last minute thought to a going away party for a departing coworker because I happened to be present when they were talking about it and it would have been even more awkward to not extend an invitation.

Finally, after literal weeks of trying to find time to try a restaurant I knew we'd both like, we made plans for a few of us to go to dinner before they continued on to another set of plans to go see a horror film. I was so excited about it the entire week.

The specifics of how the plans ended up falling through aren't particularly relevant beyond the fact that they fell through due to a lack of communication with me, and when I expressed how hurt I was by it, it was thrown back at me as if I was the one who had caused the lack of communication. Lack of communication is never my problem, too much communication frequently is, but never a lack of it.

It was something so small and in the grand scheme of our decades long friendship, so insignificant, but it was like being hit with a cold bucket of water. After crying for an good half hour out of frustration, I finally had to come to an understanding of the situation. Because this wasn't just one incident of missed plans and a tiny spat. It was a slow, two year decline, where, when looking at every interaction (of which there were very few) my best friend had been withdrawing from my life, seemingly intentionally. And I realized I had been trying so hard to hold on to a relationship with a person that didn't really seem concerned with holding on on their end.

It sounds so dramatic, and I know from things that have been said to me by other coworkers that they think I stopped talking to them because I was upset about dinner, but it really had so very little to do with stupid dinner plans. It was about looking at the last two years and seeing how much I'd been removed from their life. It was soul crushing.

So we come full circle to the decision I made then. I decided to stop trying to force something that shouldn't have to be forced. I didn't burn the bridge, but I wasn't going to cross it alone anymore, I needed to be met halfway. And I knew once I made that decision that it was the end, because even with the two years of slow separation, I knew them well enough to know that they were not going to be willing to put in that effort. I wasn't wrong. They didnt. (Except for one *kind of* attempt where they sent a captionless link to a group chat we were both in of something I was peripherally interested in, instead of simply sending something like "Hi" directly to me, as if that would start a conversation. And when it didn't, they never tried again. To be honest, I felt and still feel like I deserved the effort of an actual word, even just a two letter one. I would have replied back and given room for further conversation.)

I also made the decision to reach out to the first group of friends that I had thought didn't like me on the off chance I had been wrong. I had been. It turns out that they had all been under the impression that I had been too busy and then had simply disappeared into the hustle of my own life. A big part of that is on me - because I had met them through my friend, I had always let my friend dictate when we spent time together. And when I began to feel unwanted, I never challenged those feelings by asking the others directly. I'll own all of that.

So here we are. Another seven months later and I'm finally trying to sort out and settle exactly how I feel. I still go through little rounds with myself. Sometimes I feel bitter because I feel like I deserved better than being forgotten. Sometimes I feel sad because I miss my best friend and the friendship we had before all this started. Sometimes I just feel and acceptance because I know we are two completely different people than we were two years ago and things change. Sometimes I feel content because, regardless of how it happened, I think it may have ultimately been better for each of us in the long run; fading out and letting go instead of stubbornly holding on until it became something so toxic we would have destroyed even the good memories of the past. Sometimes I feel happy because, now that I have let go, I'm not buried under a huge ball of stress and depression that I never realized had been there during that last two years and I can focus on building and strengthening the other relationships in my life that I neglected during that time. Sometimes is just one, sometimes it's all of them at the same time.

I'm sure there will be times I'm reminded of something shitty that happened and have moments of less than positive feelings, but I know there will also be times when I can look back fondly on the many things that were wonderful throughout the many years of our friendship. I will never stop loving them. I'm really, genuinely, happy that they seem to be doing well and have other people who can and will be there for them like I got to be for a while. Despite how it hurt while it was happening, I've never thought what they did was done maliciously. Carelessly maybe, but I don't think they ever intended to cause me pain. So, even though we'll never be friends like we once were, I'm never planning to cut them out if they ever want to be there. I'm never planning to burn that bridge if they ever do decide to cross it. Maybe someday, when we've grown up into even bigger adults, we'll find ourselves in a place where we can talk about it. Maybe not. To be honest, that's probably just my lust for closure getting ahead of itself.

So, after all that obnoxious pontificating, here's where I am: I'm going to have little bursts of mixed up feelings every once in a while, and I think that's okay. I'm going to focus on cherishing the relationships I have now and learn from the mistakes that I know I made on my side of the situation and hopefully I won't repeat them. And I'm going to work my damndest to be as good a person and friend as I can be to those in my life now going forward.

And yeah, I realize I may have probably painted myself a little bit too altruistic to what transpired here, but you know what? These are my internal reflections about what's been floating around in my brain...that I'm posting publicly...>_> and I'm gonna let myself have this one.

*finally ends 500 years later*

[dreamkilledreality-blog]

Letter From A Surrealist To A Dreamer.  (Lo que aprendí de Bolaño)

           Morpheus’ servant whom I ask to never stop supplying the God of Dreams with the labor of expanding His kingdom. Dear friend of this ever-elusive soul that seems to always drift away from the company of good, old friends, and land with new, rare acquaintances that it casually meets on the way. In the act of writing this letter the chaotic rivers flowing through my mind ooze happiness for I am finally reaching out to you after many years. I am well-aware of your situation. In the worst-case scenario, I’d be honored to receive such an artist in this humble, but never artless nor heartless, place that I share with two other fellow artists. The place is small, however, in combination with the dwellers who live on the same floor, we host the best parties that Mexico City puts on.

Important to mention, our guests are carefully selected. Even though some so called intellectuals have had the pleasure to join us, you’ll never hear about us in the high spheres of Mexican society. We have kept the movement as a clandestine experiment, something of which Breton would be proud. The parties are burning poetry. We have empty frames we found in dumpsters (and never used because the paint is too expensive) hanging from the ceiling and distributed throughout the living room. The guests wear ornaments and amulets of all sorts and walk or dance behind the frames while my roommates observe and instill in their heads more eternities than Christ. Or ephemeralities; sorry, I get these two confused. They are selfish painters. Their work is so ephemerous one can never obtain a snapshot of it to reveal a technique employed or how the catharsis was evoked. It’s like dark science. It resembles a chemical reaction in which the reagents and the products are the same thing. However, there is a transition state on the mechanism that shines and burns. A flickering dynamic flame that will keep on thriving and flickering as long as there is something that needs to flourish. If this state was to last longer or shorter, not only its mysticism would be lost, but we’d all be lost. Catharsis theory is a joke though.

           Even if my reception arranged for you in this hypothetical scenario was a success, I’d still be worried about the necessity for you to adapt in this contaminated lake full of stacked, overwhelmed fishes trapped in six-pack rings that is Mexico City. You would’ve had been sent to this semi-sterile land from which your roots sucked in its first nutrients. You’d be back now after they mutilated the dream, the petals, and left only a few discolored, dried, and thirsty roots. You are a tragic end that justified the tragic means during the struggles of the 20th century. Let me change that. Not a tragic end, a tragic return, a tragic reconciliation, and a tragic reconstruction of the infinite evil. Or maybe it’s not evil, but I’m damn sure it is a tragedy disguised as a comedy for the conscious mind. “Let us go back to the Greeks!”. “Pick up the classics once again for God’s sake!”. Crying out loud with open lungs they demand more than the dream after it spread in a smooth, scattered way just like the struggles did in 1989. And in 1973. And in 1968. Return. Reconciliation. Reconstruction. Return, return, and return. Yet, you still dream given the probabilities for this hypothesis to occur. And while you dream, I live. I too, at nights, think about Ulysses’ journey though.  

A logician and a mathematician are also among the guests to our parties. Although, they gave up their respective careers a long time ago. As I was walking by the gardens of Chapultepec’s forest I found them playing a match of chess. They play chess as a pure mechanism to keep their minds lucid and active. It is worth noting that they don’t care about the king’s fate anymore. They have a problem with sovereignty. As I was passing by, I absentmindedly looked at their cemetery of pieces to find by surprise two kings resting on the corpse of a horse. I thought of this as a very poetic stance, and I decided to approach them without disturbing the notoriously bizarre match. The match had the purpose of saving the queen. The logician told me that the queen didn’t resist abrupt changes as aggressively as the kings do. The flow of the game encourages the queen’s movements and transformations, while the king causes sacrifices for the sake of stagnation. The mathematician told me that given enough freedom, a queen can encompass the whole board. We don’t need to get rid of all the pieces (except the kings), he explained. They only have to open the way and allow the queen’s free movement. This was not some misogynistic crap; they tried to explain why the queen is the only piece worth keeping on the board. One of them is a fan of Aristotle, while the other is a fan of Kant. They both hate Plato, but I’ll let you choose who is who. Keep the queen in your chessboard though.

I’m glad, if everything goes well, that you are to become an engineer. Good name to disguise your art. Mexican artists, especially writers like me, have to yell across the Atlantic to receive their so wanted status and recognition. All of this humiliation is in vain. You are right above us, on the other side of the border, and I bet you don’t even know crap about this beautiful nook full of empty promises. Do you know who governs here? The right? The left? What does that even mean here? Have you ever read Carlos Monsiváis? Have you ever watched Luis Buñuel’s movies? Did you know the Aztecs invented pozole and the original recipe contained human flesh? I don’t mean any disrespect. I’m not saying this because you are supposed to know your culture. I’m trying to make a point about the idiosyncrasy of Mexican writers. You are supposed to know you culture though.

As for me, I have a resilient spirit which has grown fond of anonymity. Now I’m focused on this weightless movement, but when I was younger other songs I’d sing. Have you ever wondered how many legal moves are possible on a chess match? There are more possible moves than atoms in the universe I know that. You can do the math. But how many possible arrangements of the pieces are lost after every move? What if after a certain move the queen loses the chance to gain the freedom that the mathematician was referring to? The sort of freedom given up by my generation. Political leaders armed themselves with young lads that were looking for the first cause worth wasting their energy, both physically and mentally. They took their youth away with the lie that the queen needed them to open the way. Millions of juvenile fighters led into the abyss by leaders who were as repressive and stagnant as the kings holding power on the opposite end. The sad part is that their queen had already lost the chance of encompassing the board many moves ago. Don’t fall for these false prophets. Don’t sacrifice your principles to defend them as I defended those who took away my ability to dream. This is why I depend on you now to create my surreality. Your fight has a different context though.        

I tell you to keep on dreaming, so I can keep on living. Morpheus needs of people like you because the disillusionment in this universal surreality is producing more and more nightmares by the minute. Keep on dreaming given any outcome because if you stop dreaming one day the monsters in my nightmares will catch up to me and destroy me. Always remember how everything is so ephemerous because now I seem to forget it as soon as I write it. Remember how the queen is the only one worth keeping on the board, and if you do it the king will just be one flexible pawn. However, if I die and my body surprisingly rises from the death, something similar to me will keep on writing something similar to fundamentally sterile prose. If I die, something similar might happen to you eventually so pay attention. Perhaps even in hell I will be more comfortable advising infinite Dantes wandering in their little dark comedies. Yes! Even in hell emotions can’t cease. I will not have God, whose existence would be confirmed only by this damn lounge I’d find myself in, but I will have a river. I will not have paper, but I will have eternity. I will not have memory, but I will have delirium. A queen might wink from divine eternity, I will wake up once again, and another Dreamer will receive this letter.

[joannawillshrink]

shower thoughts

only this is a thought coming up while watching a Dr Who special called the end of the world part two. 

Which I think is a humorous title. End of the world, PART TWO. anyway

The Master character is the baddie and he has a drumming in his head, constantly, driving him crazy. The Doctor says he could help. And the Master replies in a misty voice, “I dont know what I’d be, without that noise.”

Made me immediately think about myself and current life, without my Mom. Like when people lose someone close to them, common advice or like, motivational talk is “go make them proud” and whatnot. And I’m thinking, I wonder if she can see me and see what I’ve become. So bored and depressed and stagnant, different. Because I really do feel very very different. I’m changed. And I dont like it. 

But I then went on to think about myself in a break up. How I want the other person to miss me. How I, in a twisted way, think its kindof flattering when someone is fucked up after losing me. Which is partially why I’m having a hard time knowing Jesse is fine and has moved on. Because I want to be mourned more. I want to have more visibly affected him. 

And I wonder if, and I’m not saying that my Mom is in any way twisted, or thinking maliciously... this is just my weird thought trail, 

But like, if I died and my family were really “fine” quite quickly afterwards, I feel like I’d be a bit bothered! Is that so immature of me? Like of course I’d want them to be functioning and get out there and do their thing, but not like... too soon! I guess everybody copes differently... I feel very out of touch with what other peoples’ lives are actually like. But just, I feel like my world is much more shattered than I was ready for. But is that my fault? For not “getting over it” faster? But Mom was everything, beyond words of worth or value, her love was like gravity. And it was August 9th, 2015 when it happened. Wow, I just had to look up the year. I guess its been longer than I thought? I dont know. I just feel like my processors are broken. 

Anyways. I feel like I have so much to unpack about this. “I dont know who I’d be without that noise.” Like, I am now a girl without her Mom. I am Joanna without my Mom. And I dont know who I am. I held on to what I thought was normal, with my relationship with Jesse. But now that ending obliterated the false bonds I had convinced myself were working. The phantom ties. 

Theyre gone, and I feel untethered. More purposeless than ever. 

When I didnt know who I was before, I leaned against trying to be a good daughter. That was a wall of my definition of self. But now that wall is gone, with her. I still want to be a good daughter, but showing up for her and having her love and friendship is gone. I know the tra-la-la “she’s always with you” but I mean, in real-time, its gone. 

And its like, a break up. If you get over it too easily, it kindof seems like it wasnt that big of a deal to you. 

But unconditional love is different, right?

I dont even think I know what unconditional love means. I dont think humans are that perfect. I dont think its genuinely possible to unconditionally love someone. 

I find it hard to believe that Jesse cared for me that way. I dont think he thinks of me, I think he nothings me. You know? When its like, I dont like you, but I dont dislike you. I nothing you. 

I wish I nothing’ed him. I dislike him right now. I dont want bad luck to befall him, but I wish I didnt have to witness his happiness. Because I’m jealous. I want to be happy. When I’m upset and other people are happy I feel like theyre bragging about it, rubbing it in my face. Especially when its a partner or friend, and especially especially when its an Ex. 

I used to fear talking to my mom on the phone because if I was sad and needed help or support, she was always more sad. Sadder. And needed MY help. Or if I was happy, and wanted to share it, I was afraid it would sound braggy or she’d feel lesser-than compared to what I had going on. Like, at the beginnings of things with Jesse, I’d mention a detail about kissing or holding hands or something, and she’d get weird about it and throw in some comment about “I wish your father still kissed me” or “goodness, I miss that”  or something. 

I worry thats rubbed off onto me. If I’m upset, like, deeply bothered, I dont want other people around me to be good at walking away. I want to be seen, and to effect others. If I’m crying I want someone else’s mood to change if they see me or hear my story. I want to be respected for enduring the things that are happening. I feel like when people hear a sad personal tale or listen to what youre feeling at the moment, and get up at the end and are fine and just walk away, its incredibly rude and unfeeling and gross. Offensive, even. Maybe thats playing too much of the victim. 

The lawyer in me immediately says “stop wasting your energy trying to get other people to be sad like you, to see you for how sad you are, and use that energy to do something about your own sadness” 

but if youre sad, and just put in the energy to make it go away, is that fixing it? or just ignoring it? 

is ignoring pain the secret to success? just, get on with it? never let it catch up to you?

I wonder if thats everyones suppressed secret. That they ARE in pain, but just running from it. 

I want to be heard and to share my story before I can move on from it. Its like airing out a ghost. Giving it its proper attention and respect so its existence is justified, giving it love, really. I want even the sad parts to be loved. 

So when someone just gets up and walks away unphased from a story I’m explaining, I dont feel love or connection or anything at all. It almost adds to the pain itself. Setting it further back down the hill with even more to climb to escape. 

I stay in bed a lot. I’m not sure how to air out being upset about my ex Jesse. I want to run my mouth about the shit he was in our relationship. I was lousy too, but different. Definitely no saint, but I understand the quiet spectrum in the motivation of cheaters. Not all cheaters. But I get why some do what they do. Because I seeked out attention from other men, men from my past, because I needed more, but didnt want to give up what could maybe be built with Jesse. I was scared to lose the potential of him. But he behaved so coldly, often cruelly emotionally to me, both in obvious but also very quiet subtle ways, that I needed to be around the energy of men who knew me before all that. Old friends who knew my sparkle. Because I needed to remember it, myself. I wished and wished and wished Jesse saw my sparkle, at the beginning of our relationship I thought he did. Which is why I decided to move to his city from my own, and really give it a try. 

But I felt like just another hobby in his life, another thing that needed his precious time. I felt juggled between work, his band, and his motorcycle. Literally, if I saw his eyes light up because he ordered another guitar pedal or motorcycle part, I knew it meant less time/money/enthusiasm for me or our time together. This literally happened, time and time again. 

And after losing the one person in my life who I knew I was their everything, 

I needed to be loved more. I needed to be loved more than a new amplifier. I needed to have someone look at me and get excited like they would when something new would arrive from Amazon. 

I needed to be appreciated for more than just when I was game to have sex. 

I needed to have my sparkle be seen and fanned. 

So I diminished, and I felt, after a while, that he didnt deserve me. That he didnt deserve my best. So when I traveled or was around old flames or friends who I knew understood me and made me feel great just being me, I gave THEM my best. Which, in black and white on paper, is cheating, and isnt cool. 

But my heart needed it. I shouldve broken up with Jesse so much sooner than I did. 

But now, we ARE broken up, and I’m super fucked up about it still. I’m glad we’re not together, but in a way like...  he treated me this way when we WERE together. Indifferent, not seeing how special I am. How great we could be. 

So its like... I guess he’s acting exactly the same. It hurt this much within the relationship, too... but when we were together at least I could yell at him about it. It felt good to yell at somebody for what hurts. His lack of attention still hurts, but now I have no right to get into a fight with him about it. 

Its all to be expected. His behavior. He left his wife to be with me. Someone of 8 fucking years. And he never talked about her really. So why should I be surprised that he doesnt talk about me, or miss me, or seem forlorn. He didnt seem forlorn for her. He was barely single. He wasnt single. He jumped right from her to me. And now he’s very shortly on to the next. I really shouldnt be surprised. 

It would be easier if he wasnt so entrenched in all the people I know. 

Theres always a risk of seeing him out. I wish I was more mature about this. But honestly I’d feel the same even if we were just friends from the start. Its like seeing someone you just simply dont like, regardless of context. If someones a jerk, you dont want them to be where you are. 

I may leave Austin. Its weird, being trapped by comfort. My house is pretty good. Like, the shape of the house itself is cute. Theres a porch. Theres a patio, and a coffee shop across the street. 

But I dont feel happy here. I have no idea where I’d go. But I’m sick of living in a pot house. EEEVery day its bowl bong weed pot cough cough sneeze laugh lame joke bong bong lame joke bad pun leaving dishes fucking everywhere hoarding objects and never using them leaving dirt and coats and shoes and opened mail and bullshit all over the place. 

I feel like I cant bitch because I dont have a job. I’m lazing around sleeping 80% of the day because... of what? Because of sadness, because I dont really want to go out there. I dont want to interact with my roommates who I find annoying. I dont want to take a walk around the neighborhood that I think its pretty boring. I dont want to go to bars and feel less than my past self. Fatter. Older. Uglier. I dont want to go feel my inadequacy proven right. Jesse treated me that way. I moved here five months after my Mom died. Brand new city. 

And I didnt get a job. I didnt do a whole lot of anything. And he hated me for it. He didnt understand and it leaked in. It absolutely showed. 

So now its February 2018. So many months have passed. And I’m still not doing anything. I just dont want to. I dont know where to get a job here, I dont want to commit my time to something that doesnt feel like anything. I want to exercise but it requires a 15 minute drive to get there. I want to cook but our kitchen is so fucking cluttered it drives me nuts. 

Am I too uptight? Like, is this coming off like I cant function unless somethings perfect? 

Im sure it sounds that way... I just... feel no spark. When my new roommate cleaned the bathroom and had music going and was doing the shit I normally do, I felt so pleased and relatable, it was marvelous. But then other two roommates come home and toss their coats all over and smoke weed and plop down watching stupid shows, and it just.. 

Should I try to be more of a leader? Force my way through it and burn my own trail? If theyre watching dumb shit, suggest something better? Take an active interest in life?

I definitely have been passive. I want other people to be interesting. I want to be intrigued by someone’s starting something. Somebody to already have the breadcrumbs laid down and I get to follow them and add to the adventure. I dont know if I have the energy to take the risk of being bold and leading the way, not knowing the caliber of people I’m talking to or bringing with me. Like, I want to spend energy being great around someone I already think is great. I miss having crushes. If I think someone is awesome, I feel like I then get to be super awesome too, in hopes that showing my favorite self, enjoying my own shine... that they’ll notice and enjoy it too. 

But like, why shine for boring people? I dont have any interest in that. I dont want to impress people that dont impress me. 

That sounds super bitchy but whatever. 

Anyways. I’m way off track. 

I just remembered that I need to call my Aunt Carol, who I think is mad at me, because she retired today and I’m overdue to call her. I really dont want to but it needs to be done. Calling a family member that you know is disappointed in you is NEVER fun. I feel the weight on my chest already. Okay, gonna call her. I’ll write again soon. 

[sightful-tangents]

december 28, 2017

I turned 24 this year. I think this blog is now 5 years old, because I still remember writing a bio along the lines of "the girl who writes this blog is 19 years old". When I was 19, I couldn't picture myself at 21. I couldn't picture myself at 22 or 23 and now I'm 24. I never saw a future for myself back then, and it excites me that this year, I had mapped out a 5 year plan. Albeit, this plan is literally just "get a cat."

24 isn't a big or important number for me. If anything, I'm looking forward to 30. But it just feels like a nice, round number. I want to feel as if I'm stepping into myself more and more as I go through my twenties.

A lot has happened this year. When December first rolled around, I was worried that my year wasn't good enough. I'll circle back to personal growth, but in terms of 'events', I think a lot of things happened.

Places traveled: Boston, Barcelona, Bogota, Amsterdam, Brussels, Geneva, Vancouver Island, Tobermory.

I met two book blogger friends who were absolutely delightful and I loved chatting with them. I think it's because they have access to my Twitter and in a weird way, Twitter is where I can be more... authentic. Facebook really is for just keeping in touch with friends, Instagram is a curated photo album, this Tumblr is usually more private and personal thoughts, but Twitter is where I write things that I find funny (I get it, I'm self-absorbed) and generally scream about media, books, feminism, current events, and complain about IRL people who don't know about my feed. And my book blogger friends have full access to this extra-authentic self, which is why I think I felt immediately comfortable when I met them. And they're just funny and so great to talk to.

I watched good movies and read good books and listened to many good podcasts. I read a lot of news, and I felt a lot of feelings. This is the year that I felt more. The year that I got choked up more times than I can count while scrolling my way through the internet. More often than not, something Hillary-related can quickly conjure up something in the back of my throat. I still can't watch the Kate McKinnon SNL post-election piano performance without almost tearing up. I cried from happiness for my friends when I heard they were engaged. I cried from relief when (and this feels like ages ago) the muslim travel ban was overturned. I cried when I read books and articles. I cried to movies. I cried to videos.

When I was younger, I tried so hard never to cry, to not react, to not feel. And I think one of the biggest changes these past few years has been giving myself permission to feel. To dig deeper into my emotions rather than trying to stamp them down and move past them. I love feeling. I love it when something makes me want to cry. It reminds me that I'm alive.

The biggest change, of course, was that I left a job and started a new one and moved across the country. I negotiated my salary. I still sometimes can't believe everything unfolded the way it did.

I am NOT equating my experience AT ALL to any of the absolutely horrific harassment allegations that unfolded in recent months, but in a way, I felt like I could have a deeper understanding of how women's careers can be affected by powerful figures. When shit was going with my boss, when he was pissed off and saying things like "I can sue you but I won't", it made me want to get away from him just so this becomes a bridge that I won't even be near. I had two job offers, one in BC, one in Toronto, and I won't lie when I say that the fact that BC would be far away from my boss wasn't a factor in my decision making. I wanted to get out of the entire industry, and I understand that what transpired WAS NOT EVEN THAT BAD. I'm very conflict-adverse, but when an even that is kind of minor (I can't even tell if I'm gaslighting myself these days) makes me want to leave the industry I've worked in for 2 years, I can't even imagine how a more serious transgression can affect a young person just starting out in her career. It makes me angry and sad. Boy, does that sum up 2017.

Anyways, so I'm back in BC. And I'm getting more and more settled in and making friends (bless my amazing roommates, I am so grateful they are awesome) and as I become more comfortable, I'm also a bit nervous because I do want to eventually return to Toronto. In my head, the timeline is sometime in late 2018 or 2019. But I know as I start to build my life here, it'll only make it harder to leave.

Oh, and I had such a lovely Christmas. I got really nice gifts from my mum, and she was telling me about how happy she is, and my heart just swelled. I'm not a great daughter. I know I can be better, and I know how I can be better, but I don't do it. But, it still makes me happy that my mum feels so happy this holiday season.

And now, back to personal growth. I kind of wish I experienced more personal growth this year. Or maybe, it was just that last year was so drastic in terms of what was changing that this year has mellowed out. I mean, things like dating felt too easy and familiar and not risky. I didn’t take on any drastic 30 day challenges, nor did I unearth particularly prickly revelations about myself. I didn’t really strive toward self improvement in a conscious way that I feel like I had in 2016, and especially for the last few months (after moving), I allowed myself to be much more of a passive consumer. Under the guise of “getting settled into a new job”, I wasn’t really chasing knowledge. I was watching pointless hours of Youtube when I got off work (at a stunning 4pm, like omg), which is legitimately a waste of time and I really don’t like that about myself. It just feels like I’ve given myself a pass to be lazy with this job change, when I wish I could be more invigorated and actually do more things with all my free time. Anyways, being more productive will definitely be a goal next year.

I know this is like an extensive preamble, but anyways, I did want to write a bit about my 2017 New Year's Resolutions. I don't stress myself out about meeting all of them, but if I can hit around 50% I'm happy. Let’s go:

FINANCIAL:

1. Hit a savings goal for money.

2. 4 times a month, don’t spend money.

I would say I only missed 2 or 3 months for this goal.  

3. Organize my receipts system.

Solution: take a picture of all my receipts and email them to a dedicated email account.

4. Get rid of ‘invoice guilt’. 

It helps if I’m annoyed so I can channel a “give me my money” feeling…

5. Budget at the beginning of the month.

I didn’t really budget my next month, but I paid all my bills… does that count?  

6. Make 5K from side hustles.

Yay, did this.. mix of extra work and gifts. Yes, I count gifts as a side hustle. Hush.

 RELATIONSHIPS 

7. Continue to call/talk to my mum at least once a week.

I can now see my mum once a week (if I wanted to… I think she secretly hopes I don’t make any friends so I can continue visiting her on my weekends…) 

8. Continue dating people and figuring out what I want/need within a relationship context. 

Kind of, I think. I have an idea. But I dunno…

9. Don’t be so wary of commitment. 

Hmmm. This is weird. In a way, I feel like I’m more ready to commit, but none of the people I dated this year were people I wanted to commit to. I’m gonna cross this off anyways though, since it’s a mindset, right?!

10. Make 3 new friends. 

I did this! I have 3 new roommates! They are all my friends! Plus I made even more friends than that. Big smiles, all around.

11. Be more open with current close friends. 

I think I’ve done this. In any sense, I’m much more honest and happy to talk about anything and everything.

12. Look people in the eye during conversations.

I made a conscious effort to do this. I should carry over this goal to next year too.

13. Become a better storyteller in conversations.

There is still so much room for improvement, but I think this is something that I’ve gotten better at. And I know this sounds so so lame, but I’ll sometimes think ahead of time of how to structure something I want to share, so it makes more sense to the listener and is more entertaining to listen to.

14. Compliment people more.

I kind of want to cross this off, but I don’t think I *seriously* achieved this.

 PERSONAL (TANGIBLE)

15. Read 35 books (of which 30% will be non-fiction, 1 will be a finance book, and over 50% should be adult). 

I think I only read 20. Sigh. Same goal next year.

16. “Fucking Exercise”

Oh…lol… next year.

17. Find something to work toward, whether this is a hobby or a new job or something else. Try and be motivated.

I have a new job? Does that count? I don’t know if I’m more motivated though. Hmm.

18. Buy a plant. Keep it alive.

I did! I bought 3 succulents. I threw them away when I moved because I realized that I am Bad. At. Plants. In all honestly, it just freaks me out that they grow so quickly.

19. Publish or write 3 freelance articles. 

20. Read the news (NYT, Atlantic, WaPo). Read widely, critically, and thoroughly. Stay informed and engaged in what’s going on in the world (which includes Canada!).

Yes. Kind of. This last month was tough though, as the GOP Tax Scam was going through, it just became so hard to not completely disengage. Hell, I’m not even American. I really considered (still consider?) just stop caring. I know I shouldn’t though. (Oh, and I still don’t know what’s going on in Canada.)

21. Take more photos (even phone photos count. Also, get a new phone).

Same goal next year.

22. Watch all the Oscar Best Picture nominees.

Unfortunately not.

23. Go to the doctor!!

I got a Pap test and it was fine. Ladies, go do this.

24. Travel goals for 2017: San Francisco, Eastern Canada, and the far-fetched one: South America. I’d like to take at least 2 weeks off (straight) to travel. 

I went to Europe and South America for work!! And Boston! I have 20 vacation days next year and I plan to make them count.

 PERSONAL (INTANGIBLE)

25. Don’t compare yourself to others.

Yes. I’m glad.

26. Strive to be better, not better than others.

I think so. As said in my preamble, I don’t think I reached this to the degree that I wanted in terms of self-improvement, but I do think I tried to be better.

27. Try harder to be Warm.

I think so. Again, not as much as I wanted to, but I am deliberately and intentionally more generous and loving with my friends.

28. Be more assertive.

I negotiated my salary. I ran business meetings, managed coworkers, and asked for things.

29. Not have the same problems as you had in 2016

I’m gonna say yes. I had VERY DIFFERENT PROBLEMS LOL.

30. Know price, value, and the difference between them. 

I took a lower paying job because I wanted the work life balance. Just saying.

31. And a repeat from the previous years: Be better than I currently am. 

I think so. Always room for improvement.

 32. And because it worked out well last year: Take risks. Of all sorts. Because, why not.

Hello from my desk in Vancouver. Because, why not.

Final Tally: 24 for 32 HELL YEAH (half point for #2 and #24)

[astralmorganite]

2.14.17 - Valentine

I remember the day we met face to face. You had a sullen expression, one you would wear less as time went on, but on that day I saw the darkness you placed in front of yourself. I witnessed as the facade you wore took me to coffee, listening to me ramble about whatever was going on in my life at that time. I don’t even remember what I talked about now, but I do remember you listened. You cared. That was the first crack in the facade. It was the first crack that would eventually shatter the whole cage around you.

I remember when you first kissed me. I had been laying in your arms, comfortably watching your static expression instead of the movie playing on the projector. You looked down at me and I sensed your fear. I had no context for this kind of reaction from you, but you began stroking my arms, slowly pushing me to you. I let my lips align with yours before you leaned in and kissed. The gentle sensation of your soft lips imprinted upon me a memory; you were so sweet and delicate, as if I were a porcelain treasure for whom you took care.

I remember when I started to understand what happened to you. The fear behind your eyes started to make sense. The darkness that you hid behind took on a reality that I could understand. You invited me into your world, into your personal hell that had caked itself around your heart and soul for nearly a decade. Dragging through the sludge, together we began to understand this darkness, and through understanding, we slowly began to conquer it. The fear in your eyes was replaced with hope, though the depression still reigned. The second crack in the darkness branched out from the first. The extension of your trust to me over time chiseled out of the initial breaking point. The darkness was starting to disappear.

I remember when my friends opposed you. I knew your heart had been buried under darkness for so long, but I also knew that below the weight of it all, it still kept beating. They couldn’t see that. They couldn’t see you. They could not peer into your being so deep down that they could hear the heartbeats; not like I could. And I did. Every day I would come to you, and every day I would try to help you chip away at the petrified darkness. It felt as though every day I was working to save your life, but the world around me felt you should be left to die. I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I couldn’t let it happen. Every broken piece of darkness meant the heartbeats would grow louder, and I wanted to see the soul underneath. I knew there had to be something underneath.

I remember when your vulnerability began to show. It had been a year to the day that we began this adventure together, and the next step in our goals needed to be realized. You began what you expected to be a hardship, but found yourself slowly appreciating the time. No longer did your depression have a source for constant mourning; your mind became occupied with responsibility. It felt so quick, the way you began to take on a new form. It felt like all at once, our work finally started to pay off. Your soul, your golden heart I knew was underneath the crust, started shining through the darkness. The flecks of warm light coming from within you grew stronger, until they were no longer flecks, but pure beams of light. It was beautiful, because you have always been beautiful, but to see that beauty in its rawest form brought me to tears. It still does, because that light has always shone through you since that day I first suspected its existence.

I remember when we outgrew our childhood homes. We had become different people than who we were when we first met. But the changes we made over time bonded us. We went to events, we revived an old social circle, we supported and uplifted each other. And when these changes culminated in a life that we couldn’t live from our homes, we found a place of our own. More than the physical location of our apartment, the feeling of home, of safety and security, began to grow between us. No longer was our relationship dependent upon the throes of initial attraction and the daily maintenance of a blossoming relationship, for we had bloomed. It was then I knew that I could love you for my whole life. It was only when we had found home in each other’s hearts that our love could be solidified. It was only when I had accepted you fully into my world, that I knew I could make our love last.

But then I remember the hardship. Breaking down your darkness helped us understand how to break down mine as well. With you I felt safe, with you I felt like I could always have a home and a family. But one day, that safety shattered into a million pieces. We survived, but the armed home invasion on June 23rd, 2016 nearly destroyed every piece of security within me. I remember having flashbacks for days, envisioning the face of our bloodied roommate after the assailants took off. I remember counting my breaths to combat the shock and the rapid pulse of my adrenaline-fueled heart. But most importantly, I remember the words you quietly signed to me, “It will be ok.” I remember thanking the heavens that we could communicate without sound, that our hands could speak just as much as our lips. I remember being afraid of the sounds of violence coming from outside our bedroom, but the sight of your hands carefully spelling out silent comforts kept me safe. I remember staying with your parents for the next week after, crying and wondering if this would ever happen again, all while holding your hands tightly in mine.

I remember when we decided to go ring shopping. The feeling of safety had returned to us in slow waves, and the offering of an heirloom diamond from my mother prompted us to maneuver our way closer to our goal. You were hesitant, where I felt confident in our journey. But you’ve always been a little hesitant towards big things. Needless to say, this was a big step. And fully realizing it in the form of making such a large purchase certainly would have made any sensible person tremble at least a bit. But I have not always been sensible, have I?

I remember when the ring was finished being sized. I remember going with you to bring it home, and then subsequently spending the next few days secretly pulling it out of the box to stare at it. I don’t know if you knew that I was doing that, but I’m fairly certain you probably expected it from me. If you didn’t notice, then it is more than likely not a surprise to hear me say this now.

I remember when your surprise proposal fell through, how disappointed you were to not have the chance to give me the proposal we thought we wanted. I felt so excited at the idea we would be getting engaged that day, then instantly conflicted that it wouldn’t be happening anymore. I remember telling myself that it would be ok, that the surprise wasn’t necessary. In the end, I was right; the surprise wasn’t needed. After that long day of being out of the house, we went home. The next day I had planned on going to a dress shop, and you wanted me to have my ring with me. Without a word, you gently slid the ring onto my finger, tears welling up in your eyes. I was silent too, my heartbeat became the loudest rhythm in the room. There was a pause as the weight of the ring registered in my brain, and the full scope of what was happening registered in my brain. Regardless of whether or not I took off the ring from this point forward, we were engaged. We only needed to prove it to the world. And about a week later, we did. We took pictures, we showed off. But nothing could compare to that rhythmic thumping of my heart as you held my hand and declared me to be yours.

And now we’re here, having spent the last five months working, planning, discovering. I feel like in this time since we’ve been engaged, I’ve discovered more happiness within us than I ever had before meeting you. The amount of growth we’ve been through for the last two-and-three-quarter years is so much more gargantuan than the seedlings from which we came. It’s incredible to see you so confident, to see the golden soul I saw underneath your depression years ago. I sacrificed a world I knew to travel into the unknown, and it has paid off infinite times over. You are my hero, my life, my soul. You have given me more than I could ever have asked for in life, and because of this, I will pay you back infinitely in love and support. For as long as the universe allows, I will devote myself to you.

A marriage licence may inform the government that I am yours, but every day I sign my name in blood and sweat and tears, written over the same contract we’ve had since April 27th, 2014.

seven.twenty-seven.seventeen

three years and three months to the day.