#and this conversation was right after the texts from my therapist

[gxlden-angels]

Sometimes working through religious trauma is a heartfelt hour talking about reclaiming your bodily autonomy after being sexualized and shamed from a young age with your religious trauma coach and other times it's this text message from your therapist then a caption suggestion to "show my tumblr friends":

[delphi-shield]

instant connection .ᐟ.ᐟ

di!leon x reader - long-distance relationship - part 1

next part

leon's a liar.

he doesn't mean to be. he tells you he works in security because it's easier than explaining the shitshow that is the DSO. you'll ghost him in a few messages anyway - and if you don't, he'll do the honors.

leon. 6'0''. works in security at no. undecided on kids. doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, long-term relationship, open to short. his first picture is of him throwing a peace sign to the camera, hair immaculate. (he'd had to crop out the hideous monster, a writhing mass of flesh and teeth, and now bullets. leon had realized very quickly that most of his selfies were ones he sent to hunnigan and ranged from drowned cat couture, 'forgot my umbrella today' to 'i'll help you train if you want to be a field agent, you're missing out', encouragement in the same frame as his latest monstrosity.)

the only thing completely true on his profile is his name and his status as a non-smoker and newly minted teetotaler. (according to his sobriety chip, he hasn't touched a drink in eight months. he keeps it in the same pocket he used to stash his flask in.) he's probably six foot in his shoes, he figures. that's only a half lie. 'undecided' should be 'unlikely', but that hadn't been an option in the drop down menu. his therapist says he needs to keep himself open to happiness, not to hold his dreams under water and drown them the moment he dares to have hope. it sounds kind of like bullshit, but undecided is the closest he's letting himself get to optimism for the time being. it's the same deal with long-term, open to short - blind optimism undercut by what he knows life has in store for him.

companionship isn't in the cards for him, not in any meaningful way, and that's fine. you get used to it after a while. it dulls out, gets hazy, only really creeps in on lazy weekends when he leaves the window cracked, swept in on sweet-smelling spring breezes.

it's one of those days when he opens his dating app to review his scant few likes. he clears the cobwebs from his profile only often enough to keep it active (there's that hope again). activity was few and far between, usually saved up to have claire or hunnigan go through his options and point out red flags that he would gladly sail right past - but that day, a cavern had opened in his chest. he only knew how to fill it with validation.

you were half-way across the goddamn country. you'd probably liked him weeks ago when you were passing through. seemed like a safe enough bet. more than likely, you'd never respond. even if you did, this would never work out. the distance was crazy.

so of course he messages you.

all right, what's wrong with you?

kind of a weird thing to say to a stranger, but you take it in stride and turn the question back on him when you respond an hour and a half later, the notification so surprising to him that he has to reel back through your profile to see what he's actually dealing with.

the distance makes it safe. there's a buffer between you. unspoken, mutual understanding that this is impractical and a waste of time.

the messages get more frequent. the stilted conversation melted to daily updates, and he'd exchanged phone numbers with you out of convenience. the app was a pain in the ass. he didn't want to get guff for being on a dating app during work hours, but texts were easily hand-waved. daily pictures escalated to weekly calls, which mutated into scheduled movie nights. there were a host of classics he needed to show you. his contribution to society was making one more person culturally conscious of leon s. kennedy's greatest hits.

leon remembers exactly where he was when you'd sleepily confessed that you weren't talking to anyone else. posted up in a hotel in belgium, getting ready for his operation. it was the middle of the night for you. the day loomed ahead of him, loaded with hostility and viscera. you were half asleep. he could have told you anything and you would have hummed and forgot it, nestled into your pillow. he tells you the truth instead, that he'd deleted the app you'd met on, that you're the only one he's talking to as well. it's the closest to commitment he can do and you take that promise to your dreams.

since then, he warns you when he'll be away for a 'business conference', unlikely to respond.

(conference sucked, he messages you from his hospital bed. he's fresh off assignment chest wrapped tight in bandages. he'll be out in a few hours. nothing serious. part of him aches to reassure you about something you didn't even know you had to worry about. execs tried to eat me alive out there.)

leon realizes he's fucked when he pays more attention to you, pinned to the top right corner of his laptop, than the cheesy horror-comedy you'd picked out for movie night. one hand itches for the bottle and the other itches for you, imagining what it would feel like with your weight dipping the mattress next to him, how his hand might fit against the arc of your hip - the movie on the big screen, not his laptop, still ignored in favor of watching you.

"are you even paying attention?" your voice crackles over the speaker, competing with the honking of a clown nose. he's lost the plot of the movie, doesn't quite understand where all the clowns came from (outer space, he thinks, but that would be ridiculous). he's too busy replaying your voice in his head, imagining it slower, sleepier, pressed into his shoulder.

"yeah, of course."

"uh-huh," you hum doubtfully.

you encourage him to pay attention to the next scene, pointing as if that will do anything when there's so many miles between you. something about the practical effects. he tries, honest to god, but his eyes keep drifting up to you.

he's not a monster. he waits til the movie is over to spring his stupid idea on you. leon respects the sanctity of film, the intimacy of showing your favorites with another person and the anxious hope that they'll understand the piece of you you're trying to share with them.

but he can't get the idea out of his head, and he'll make it up to you with a thorough analysis of the movie next time you have a movie date because if he doesn't say this now he's going to pussy out.

"listen, i was thinking," he ruminates, taking his time to chew his words. plenty of time to back out. leon's grown good at identifying what sort of anxiety is brewing in his gut - perks of the job - and he knows he'll kick himself if he back out now.

"that's rare."

"hilarious. i'm serious, i've been thinking. i've got some time off built up. if i don't use it by the end of the year, they don't pay it out. company's a bunch of cheap asses."

he's talking in circles and you've already reached the ending. he leans a little closer to the screen, hopes the look in your eye is glee and not fear.

"so..." leon trails off. plenty of room to back out. if you don't grasp this he'll just ask for travel tips and lick his wounds somewhere warm and tropical.

but you don't offer that. you sit up a little straighter. he swears that's a smile that you're fighting to keep down. "so...how soon are you thinking?"

casual. nice.

"as soon as possible." less casual. shit. "i was thinking a week. is that--?"

"that's great. can you let me know the dates?"

"yeah. yeah, of course."

this is going too well. too smoothly.

leon takes a breath, combs his fingers through his hair.

"we are talking about me coming to visit, right?"

you laugh at him. he's never been so happy to be laughed at.

"yeah, leon. you're coming to visit."

"just making sure."

it's impractical. it's unlikely. his therapist is going to have a field day next session. he still hasn't figured out what to do when you find out that 'security' had been a very misleading description of his work, or when you figure out that he's only 5'10'' on a good day. none of it is fair to you, he realizes, but booking his flight is his first step in trying to do right by you.

"i'll pick you up from the airport," you insist.

"i want a sign with my name on it."

"i'll put 'kennedy' on it and wear a suit and sunglasses so people think you're a big deal."

"i kind of am a big deal."

you roll your eyes. "oh, my mistake."

if only you knew that was the truth.

dividers from @/adornedwithlight

[zoropookie]

SWEET MELODY

☆ chapter fifteen — you need help (🎂)

Even if you felt an eery aura linger in the air, you counted on the warmer part of who you know to dispel it. Beidou was always that answer to you.

It’s been a while since you and her had some time to reflect on the weight of their shared past. The bakery was too busy nowadays to fathom the concept of meeting each other’s time together, any real conversation or emotions that wasn’t over text. Finding time was a simple rarity you didn’t even know you had, even lost in your own thoughts.

“You’ve got guts, kid,” Beidou paused, her eyes stared directly at the road, unmoving even once. She leaned back, the soft shuffle of her seat and clothes breaking the silence. Expression hardly there but a small smile, you turned towards her. “Not everyone is lucky to get this far.”

You looked back to the dashboard of the car, “I don’t think I’m following, I’m sorry.”

“When was the last time you got the chance to revisit your past…say, in a more effective way?” Beidou’s smile faded, more thoughtful and pondering. “Is that letter even helping you?”

You swallowed as the lump built in your throat. “Kazuha’s voice isn’t there anymore when I read it, but it’s still his handwriting.” You tried to rationalize, even though you knew Beidou was right. This letter was the only thing you could even date back to or his voice without revisiting baby photos and videos.

“I don’t know your situation,” Beidou said, still in mere wonder. “I don’t even know if this will help you in your hunt, but there’s a reason why you won’t go through your mom’s room. Don’t want to question it. I took the job of helping you out.”

“It’s okay, you were here when I needed it the most, I at least owe you an explanation.”

“Stop doing that, you owe yourself something none of us need, at the end of the day. When was the last time someone’s ever heard you out on how you feel other than your therapist?” Beidou’s tone was rough, but with little malcontent.

“I feel like that’s where I should put it anyway, all the meaty things,” You lowered your head. “It doesn’t take anything except my thoughts away, which was the point, I think? I don’t know…I think it’s better than letting someone else handle that baggage.”

Beidou didn’t answer you right away, allowing the silence settle between the both of you. A low hum of the car’s engine filling what was left of their thoughts. When she finally made out her words, she spoke quietly, almost contemplative. “You’re a very kind person to me. The least I can do for you is listen to what you have to say. It’s not like anyone else has the thought to.”

You didn’t know much about what people around you thought, having been so nestled in your own head that everything else you had going on seemed too much to ask from people. So as you began to hard focus on your thoughts, you began feeling the weight of grief settle over you. A heavy fog of regret, what’s been lost along with the heart you had, sharp and twisting in your wake, sensations that made it harder to forget now that it was back to the surface.

Your eyes welled, brain sending sharp signals to your fingertips, wet tear ducts, heart clutching in ruin. “Kazuha asked me…once she died if I wanted to leave her room alone or look through it so we could keep things in it. Looking at her room was really painful, but it was the way she left it and I didn’t want to change it. My mom really liked painting and would always paint every photo she took of us, even when the both of us wouldn’t pay attention to the photo. In those moments, mom would find strength to raise us again, even when she was still dying.”

Beidou reached over, hand finding yours on the console and giving it a squeeze of support. “We left it the way it was. I can’t go in that room ever again, not while she’s not there.” Your words poured out in liquid babble, unable to control your running lips. “I lost most of my forevers.”

Beidou squeezed at your hand ever so slightly after pulling up to her home, anchoring the weight of the situation with just a sympathetic sigh. “You’re too hard on yourself, kid. It’s disappointing,” She steadily said, “I just hope this tape makes you feel better.”

“Tape?” You blinked your wet lashes, looking up. You had to admit, your heart started sinking.

“Come inside.” Beidou could only answer with, opening the car door and locking it once you exited.

You weren’t a frequent guest of Beidou’s house, mainly because Kazuha was the sole one to come over here, but when you did have the access you venerated at the work. The home stood at a more narrow street and it was painted with a navy blue, almost black, the coating of the home standing proud and alive with the weathered fading giving it a story to tell. She walked you through the uneven path of cobblestone, moss lurking and steadily growing in the crevices.

Leading to the porch, a broad and sturdy platform that could have easily been the bow of an ancient ship dated back from centuries creaked under your feet. You entered the room to Beidou’s home, looking in amazement at tacked up world maps that were aging gradually in the living room. “Wow…” You couldn’t help but drawl.

“Like it? Things didn’t really change in the past few years, just got older.” She met in front of the shelves after setting her things down on the couch. Shelves crammed with books extending floor to ceiling, spines of the tomes cracked, faded. She took out a box, labeled with big red letters something you couldn’t exactly make out, but became ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ once she got closer.

“No, yeah! It looks amazing! Now I know why Kazuha always used to come here.” You chirped, admiring the work that was done compared to when you were last here. You sat down on the soft couch, your heart full in your body, but you didn’t know if it was from anxiousness or general expectancy.

“Here,” Beidou said, her eyes meeting yours with a more serious outlook. “Me, Kazuha, and a few other friends made this time capsule in high school. It was time to open it up, and…none of us wanted to touch his stuff, so we wanted to give his tape to you. He recorded it a long time ago, just thought maybe they’d help you remember some things.”

Your breath caught in your throat, fingers trembling while you reached your hand out to open the now cleaner box that was probably buried. You looked in, there were multiple tapes that he put in this box, some looking more wear and tear than others.

Fingers grazed against the plastic of the tape, with the words in your brother’s handwriting of his name. Beidou moved the old cassette player sitting in the corner for you to put it in. With a heavy heart, you picked up one of the tapes and entered it, deftly sliding it into the player and pressing play.

The TV lit up automatically, a moment of static in your veins, as your eyes glued to the screen. Your shoulders dropped at the familiar sight of your and Kazuha’s old school.

The camera in the moment was moving aggressively around until an unidentified voice started calling. “Kazuha, this is your tape! Say something funny!” The voice caught his attention on the screen.

His confused eyes looked around, almost expecting more of an answer. “Well, I need more than that. Give me something to make a joke about.”

“That’s the thing, it’s supposed to be on the spot!”

“I know nobody who’s able to make a joke on the spot without getting made fun of.” Kazuha replied, his soft voice ringing in your ears.

“You know damn well Kazuha has no capability of writing anything on the spot other than HAIKUS ABOUT LEAVES.” Beidou’s younger voice rang in the footage, “Leave him alone! Go find someone else to torment!” She said, her hand covering the screen.

“I DIDN’T EVEN SAY ANYTHING—”

The tape ended, your eyes were slowly filling with tears as you scrambled to take the tape out and put another one in. Each tape you watched, Beidou would make certain comments or give a laugh, letting you know of the good times they had, but all you could think about was how fortunate you were to be listening to these right now. Revelry of your brother’s successions, watching him to find a way to cope while he’s gone.

“(Y/N)! Li— listen to me,” Kazuha said in the tape, him looking at the screen while in the background there’s chaos of a New Year’s Eve party. It caused you to widen your eyes, distraught. He looked a little tipsy, his cheeks reddened in the video, but his look still remained soft. “You had a hard time tonight without your ex. You’ll be older one day. And when you do get there…realize that happiness is the most fundamental element of finding who you are. You are anything but a facade of the people who came before and after you, but an amalgamation of why you’re respected among many. Keep your dreams, keep your mind. You’re the strongest person I know…! I love you. Be that person through all tribulations.”

After that, Kazuha stared at the screen, spaced out from how much he drank at that party. But eventually someone called him over and he shut off the tape. Your body wracked into shambles, crying out after the tears built up so much in your eyes that you spilled oceans.

Everything, and you mean everything came back to you. You remembered the Sunday mornings that you two would take care of the old oak tree, you remember when your mother would join you two to bake tiny treats together, there was a rule in the home where if you wanted to have sweets you must make them yourself. You remember the laughs, the smiles, Kazuha’s joy seeing you, your mother’s joy knowing you were happy.

You remembered how soft Kunikuzushi used to be, even if it was a now fleeting memory in your heart. You had to move on.

You wailed once the tape cut off. “Beidou,” Your voice trembled helplessly, moving your body over to claw at her shirt, feeling yourself get lightheaded. “Beidou, we have to find him! We have to!” You panicked, shoulders shaking from how hard you cried. “He’s out there somewhere…he wants me to find him!”

Beidou sat there stunned as she wrapped her arms around you, who was clawing at her shirt valiantly. Steadying your shaking frame, she rested her chin gently atop your head. “Yeah,” She said, knowing the floodgates were opened at last. “We’ll find him.”

previous ☆ masterlist ☆ next

THERE ARE not many things that can sway your interest ever since the "incident", but in spite of that, you pushed forward. you are now the owner of the biggest bakery chain in your city, consistently seeing couples and catering to them as such. you've been a big host at weddings, events for celebrities, and even a big support for your friends and family. you've even earned yourself a niche following as well by how sweet you are to everybody around you. but, even with your kindness, you don't have a particular spark that keeps you going anymore these days. that is until one of your employees starts suggesting you write love letters to customers who request your services. at first you thought it was a horrible idea that could easily turn into trouble, but that was until you were tasked with writing one to your own (very very famous) ex-boyfriend.

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[not-too-many-eyes]

A Study on Mesmer Jr.

(Also Known As: Nott is obsessed with the bigot autistic girl from the time travel gacha game and its her birthday tommorow so lets talk about her.)

(CWs: Ableism, racism, child abuse) I Love Mesmer Jr. Which isn't a secret to any of my friends who have had to listen to me talk about her at length. I cannot get her out of my head. I think she's fantastically written, fun to read about, and just an all around interesting character.

As such, I want to take a moment to pull apart Mesmer Jr, and consider her place in this story. To contemplate why she acts the way she does, and to connect to the themes relating to her character. I hope you enjoy reading this.

A Curious Impression

Mesmer Jr makes an interesting impression when you first meet her. For one, she immediately causes alarm bells to rings when she talks to Sonneto, one of her earliest conversations, who she says she enjoys talking to because of their "shared values" she feels the need to say that she would have liked talking to her more if she were a "full-blooded human."

Which is something that you see a lot whenever she's complimenting an arcanist, or considering arcanists in any positive light. Even if it's inappropriate in the context, she feels the need to assert her beliefs, to say that:

Mesmer Jr, Praise: As an arcanist, your performance really amazes me. Wish you were a pure-blood human.

Of course, as we know, Mesmer Jr is an arcanist. She's a full-blooded arcanist. Being noted to be from a very Important family, and even being implied to be more talented than most of her family in their line of work: (The Fallacy of Idealism)

Nobody is more talented in this than Mesmer Jr. Her bloodline gives her outstanding ability and keen senses, which makes everything clear and intelligible to her.

She's also startlingly obedient. She has no noticeable outward negativity towards what Constantine has ordered her to do to Vertin, despite it seeming to cause pain or stress. Insisting that this is the normal treatment given to patients despite Madam Z's opinion, and we learn Much Later that her boss had an ulterior motive to all this.

She's even noted before we meet her to seem like a:

(Open Sandwich)

???: It is the other one- the one with indifferent outlines that makes her look like a refined machine.

Evoking images of perfectly programmed robots and droids that do what they are ordered to perfectly without question.

Of course, in the same part this line is from, the game is already nudging us to be open-minded when it comes to interacting with her. As the first thing we learn about her isn't her personality, isn't her appearance, isn't even her Voice.

It's her abuse.

Dirtied Hands

Open Sandwich is one of my favorite bits of writing in this game. It creates this incredible tension where you just waiting for the bad thing to happen, the line about how the child labor laws were turned into paper to wrap the sandwich is wonderful, and I love it.

But it's also the first time we ever actually hear about her. It depicts her having a Sensory Meltdown. Caused by her family's uh- blatant disregard for children's rights, and exposing her to a patient at age 12 because her skill was useful for the treatment. The trauma of the event marking the start of her "nightmare."

Of course this isn't the Only Thing she has gone through at the age of 12. The entire events of Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien happened during when she was 12. She might of had even more traumatic experience before that, considering she went to SPDM, a school that we know Very Well for their child abuse, and she Certainly had traumatic experiences afterwards.

She Is a 16 year old therapist taking care of The Foundation's most "unstable" patients, after all:

Mesmer Jr, Suitcase Climate: Those insane people screamed and rushed out of the guardroom. They kept meaninglessly and repeatedly roaring. Then, their blood shed on the snowy ground. I've seen that a lot.

The Rights of Children Don't Matter when there is Scarcity. Her needs are secondary to The Company's. Her welfare simply isn't important for the Foundation's Beautiful Future. Only the skills and infromation she can provide.

Constantine even manipulated Mesmer Jr into telling her the plan. Purposefully traumatizing her so that she would become scared and anxious. She Asked her to help them, trusting that Constantine, an adult she trusted, would be able to help. Constantine just lied, and made her continue to treat these people even when the experience mind numbingly traumatic for even fully-grown adults.

As a result, Mesmer Jr has developed multiple mental illnesses. Most notable OCD, but she seems to hallucinate in her Monologue.

She's not exactly a healthy person, which really compounds how much you Don't want her to be a therapist.

Of course, it's not like she would ever seek actual proper treatment for it.

For many reasons.

For one, Reverse 1999 is not exactly a kind world to the mentally ill, and she herself is a good example as to why.

Proper Treatment

Let's go back to the first thing I mentioned about Mesmer Jr. She's a bigot, she's a certified racist to every arcanist she ever talks to. She thinks humans are the superior race that will overtake arcanists.

She's also ableist. Just horrible ableist. These two bigotries are intertwined in Very important ways. Her hatred of arcanists is informed by her hatred of the mentally ill, and is further informed by what she has been taught about arcanists.

Reverse has established that the way arcanists and humans are generally viewed is that arcanists are the more emotional, unstable, immature ones and humans are the more logical, stable, and mature ones.

Now, this is a stereotype, one that has been proven wrong time and time again. There is nothing logical, stable, or mature about being so upset at a 12 year old you think killing her friends is a good idea.

And similarly, there is nothing actually inherently wrong about being a weirdo, or mentally ill. For one, uh, everyone is a bit of a freak sometimes, and two, Mesmer Jr treats it as if for the world to get better arcanists need to fully disappear and be replaced with human rationality, but Madam Hoffman says it best:

(Chapter 6 Part 15: With Hope Rekindled)

Hofmann: We have all heard it, humans are more rational and arcanists are more emotional. Hofmann: Their sensitive to the darkness of the world, so they can easily become absorbed in their own emotions and ignore reality Hofmann: But, if we put a human child in the position of an arcanist, who always takes on the world because of his uniqueness, who is never understood for his talents... Hoffmann: Maybe he too will become impulsive, sensitive immature and unstable Hoffmann: And that's why it sometimes dawns on me that if we put an arcanist child in the position of a human being who receives enough love, education, and positive feedback... Hoffmann: These 'instabilities' might be controllable. At least enough to keep them from hurting themselves or others.

But Mesmer Jr really does believe wholeheartedly that being a "freak" is bad, and that being an arcanist is to blame for why she is one.

Mesmer Jr, Hat and Hair: Thanks to it, we are all freaks now. Haven't you ever blamed your brain? Haven't you for once vomited due to the sound or whisper in your brain? How naive and ignorant.

That being an arcanist is something inherently wrong, and as a result of that inherent wrongness, that inherent "insanity," they need to be controlled by humanity.

Mesmer Jr, Chitchat II: I can only stand those arcanists from the Foundation and the Laplace. After all, their insanity is contained by humans.

She believes that humans are destined to overtake arcanists like it's natural selection. That it's only inevitable that arcanists will be overtaken by a species that in her eyes, is logical and understandable.

Mesmer Jr, To the Future: Just like Homo sapiens wiped out Neanderthals, arcanists will be eliminated as well. This is not a prediction, but a predestined fate.

This is, of course, due to the systemic part of Reverse's world constantly pushing this idea that arcanists are Inherently more immature and chaotic.

Constantine and her family deeply traumatized Mesmer Jr and then told her it wasn't actually their fault but this Other Group that She is also apart of but Don't Worry it can Be Controlled.

Mesmer Jr: It's not just about age. It was never going to be suitable for me. Mesmer Jr: Unless one day all the arcanists are gone. Pandora Wilson: Then you and I will be gone, too. Mesmer Jr: Exactly, along with the source of my pain

However, Mesmer Jr's own mental illnesses and susceptibility towards being overwhelmed by others emotions does really mean that she finds being around highly emotional people Taxing. She also finds that the unpredictable of life and other people Tiresome.

She was friends with Vertin in the rest when she was younger sure, but even then she did find arcanists overwhelming and "scary," even when she wasn't in the full thick of it, she saw them being treated and found it unpleasant and painful.

(Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien)

Mesmer Jr: But I'm not interested in arcanists. They are all mad people, and we had to treat them after all...They looked scary.

Now, usually, you grow out of this. She's not Born To Be Racist Forever.

In a better world she very much could have, I dunno-

Be able to actually internalize that arcanists aren't actually inherently a harmful thing, but that her needs sometimes conflict with the needs of others and grew up with the tools necessary to understand that this is a fixable problem that doesn't actually need a whole group of people including herself to die to be solved.

Or, something like that.

However, this isn't that world, this world thinks Mesmer Jr is a good therapist, and that her treatment is humane.

So she's seeks to create stability in the world as a result of that lack of support.

Mesmer Jr, Hobby: What you see is the alignment and tidiness. What I adore is this orderly state.

As much as she understands that it's a sign of her own "franticness" that she does this, it gives her comfort knowing that she has things that she Can Control. That her life isn't actually dictated fully by things out of her understanding. That she has the ability to direct her life in a small, maybe even insignificant way.

Cause, she really just doesn't have much control over her life.

Press the Button

Mesmer Jr, Clothing and Torso: ...Achieve the function.

A lot of Mesmer Jr's idolization of humanity comes from this idea of efficiency and simplicity. She talks so much about rationality and "tidiness," but as I've already established Reverse is full of so many instances of "human insanity" so it's plain ignorant to ascribe this trait to humans.

Which, well one she is ignorant, and also racism isn't rational and Mesmer Jr was taught human supremacy of course it's not going to be aligned with actual reality.

Which is true.

However, I do think it's interesting these traits that she idolizes are not from humans but from:

Mesmer Jr, Clothing and Torso: Humans are like machinery, simple and efficient. Arcanists are quite the opposite.

That's who she's actually idolizing here, isn't it? She's not really idolizing humans, that's just the framework she was given. She's idolizing machines and going "Wow humans are so cool."

Her Udimo is a machine.

Not just any machine, but a machine invented in part By Her Workplace, and even when she was 12 the narrator describes her as a "refined machine." Indifferent and rigid.

This is the beautiful controlled being that she is seeking! The beautiful tidy, orderly, calm being that just proceeds with whatever order is given to it. One that has...completely no control over it's life, and what to do with it.

Because, traditionally speaking, Machines do not have the ability to self-determine. They don't exist as people with conscious thought and emotion, but as Things and Tools that can Achieve Functions.

I noted way back in the start that Mesmer Jr is startlingly obedient. She does what she is told, and encourages others to do the same.

She's glad that Vertin:

Mesmer Jr, 100% Bond Conversation: ...Anyway, I'm glad you gave up on those insane plans.

Before saying that she doesn't want to be forced to Lobotomize Her, and that she doesn't actually want anyone to end up in Artificial Somnambulism.

But she doesn't say she won't do it. Just that she's happy Vertin did "give up" because it means that she probably won't have to. This seems to be her general approach. Even if she's not happy, she'll do it, her wants don't matter.

She assumes that she has no other option and that her only path forward is following orders from her boss. That the only path forward is the one set for her. There's no point in fighting it so she's just gonna continue on that path, and others should do the same or else they'll get Hurt. Learned Helplessness.

Sonetto is similar to her in this sense (Mesmer Jr says so herself,) and Sonetto is shown to hold quite a lot of repressed emotions, and to deviate from the rules or what is logical when she feels something is at stake.

After all: (Is ABA Really “Dog Training for Children”? A Professional Dog Trainer Weighs In.)

We all know that we can feel angry without expressing anger. That we can smile when inside we are crying. You can stop someone from expressing an emotion, but that doesn’t make the emotion go away. A dog who has been trained not to growl is considered by trainers to be a “time bomb dog.” When you read about a dog attack that came “out of nowhere” and “without warning,” it is because this sort of method was used to handle “problem behaviours.” Studies show that dogs trained with these sorts of methods actually have an increased rate of aggression, because punishing aggressive behaviour doesn’t deal with the underlying fear and anxiety that caused the aggression in the first place.

But Mesmer Jr, in contrast to Sonetto, who has an interest in poetry and curiosity in the outside world and has the aforementioned repressed emotions. Has no real distinct personal identity. She does not own anything that shows her interests, unlike her other coworkers who usually have at least Something on them. All of her items are stuff made by Laplace and exist unaltered. Even her cute little headband is a EM amplifier is part of the uniform.

She holds no control, no identity, no agency. She exists as a machine that someone can press the buttons of and achieve whatever function she needs to achieve at the given moment.

This is her current state of existence, and it's not something that's exactly sustainable. The cracks in this machine-living have been showing since she was 12. How many more do you think have been created now that she's 16?

The Foundation

Now, this is really depressing, but that's because Mesmer Jr is just a bit of a depressing character. She can't really get away from her job. For one, her parents are horrible, two The Storm means that the world is always on the verge of ending. Where else will she go?

But, as said previously:

A dog who has been trained not to growl is considered by trainers to be a “time bomb dog.”

Similarly, a girl trained to not develop any sort of identity will crack Someday.

I have no knowledge of what could happen next in her story, nor am I interested in theorizing about it. But I do find it interesting to think about.

[nuttytani]

Reacting to you playing otome games

characters: dan heng and jing yuan

tw: none except- maybe not proof read?

a/n: i guess we can officially say i'm obsessed with hsr now. my brain has been annoying me to write something for these two boys, and... i guess here we are.

Dan Heng

From all the world-saving and stellaron crisis, Dan Heng wasn’t able to spend much time with you, much to his dismay. Yes, he’d share a few text messages once in a while or even call each other, but those days were getting rarer as his work became even more serious.

On one of those rare calls, he found out that you took on a new interest. “Otome games”, or so they were called. He had little knowledge about it other than knowing that it was a type of dating simulation.

He had no issues with you and your new obsession after all, it’s just a game, and you were having fun!

Or so he thought until your love with these otome games became a little too much to the point of interfering with HIS love life. Why is his cuddle time with you being taken away by some- chunk of hot pixels? Instead of your hands wrapping around his waist, they now held your phone as you giggled at that….undeniable hot chunk of pixels. (According to you, it looked a lot like him and had a similar vibe)

You even had alarms set for your daily activities for these games, which had you scrambling for your phone; all the time. Your eyes would light up at whatever dialogues your "husbando" would say. 

Internally he would be screaming; "WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT ME THE WAY YOU LOOK AT THOSE DARN 2D MEN"

Enough was enough! Dan Heng realised that at this rate, he would be ousted from being your boyfriend by a fictional character!

 Soon enough, that's how you found yourself on the floor, with Dan Heng behind you, caging you between his arms. 

Dan Heng grumbled, "It's my turn now. Pay attention to me," while avoiding direct eye contact with you.

"Oh no, have I made my boyfriend feel neglected? I'm sorry babe!" You turned to give a reassuring pat on his head, then jokingly added, "Though I suppose... You will need to learn how to share me from now on."

You receive a smack on the head at that

Jing Yuan 

Lately, he had noticed a hype around Luofu, which he soon found out, thanks to Yanqing. According to the young boy, certain “otome games” were becoming quite popular amongst the newer generation. Something about conversing with “hot 2D men with crazy backstories” made them feel “ooh la la”. Or something along those lines, Yanqing’s exact words, not his. 

“It’s actually super fun! Would you like to play as well? You get daily 5 tickets in a day, so it keeps you on your toes. And if I'm not wrong, there's even a character who resembles you, general!”

Jing Yuan declined and suggested the young lad seek someone else for his otome games, as he deemed himself too old and out of touch for such interests. He glanced up from his paperwork to find the boy giving him a disappointed look before quickly running off.

A few days after that incident, you had also fallen prey to these games, he figured as Jing Yuan listened to you talk excitedly about a "mysterious therapist with silver hair" from a newly released game, and how the character was both sweet and suspicious.

He was glad that you were enjoying yourself. Sometimes, it can be challenging to discover new interests as we grow older. At least, that was how Jing Yuan personally felt. 

As long as no harm was done, all is good!

Harm was indeed done. A lot in fact

He eventually discovered that these "ikemen" characters on your phone were taking his rightful place as your boyfriend. 

You no longer played with his hair or let him sleep on your lap… All these activities were taken away from him as if snatching candy from a baby.

It had only been a week into your... newfound obsession. You even bought a bunch of “Visual Novels” and spent many hours holed up in your room, and staying awake late into the night.

When he got concerened as asked for you to come to bed, all he'd get was: "Just five more minutes Jun-Jun! I need to complete this chapter, I swear I'll be there in five minutes, trust me."

Hmmm, nope, trust shattered and heart also shattered. Poor Jun-Jun.

It really made him feel sad, Jing Yuan’s signature :3 face soon turned :( which everyone noticed, it was hard not to. Even you thought his new behaviour to be strange and confronted him.

“My dear, I don’t mind you having hobbies, but please, give equal love and attention to your partner and not just those fictional “silver haired therapist” of yours.” Jing Yuan pleaded you with those puppy dog eyes.

“You should have said so from the beginning! I’ll tone my playing down a little. I didn’t mean to make you feel lonely…” You felt guilty and gave him a big warm hug, much to Jing Yuan’s pleasure.

“....How about a compromise?Let's both play these games together. Pretty please? At least once? You won't regret it! We can add each other as friends.”

He gave in. 

And now he’s obsessed with it.

Much more than you. 

honkai star rail taglist: none at the moment, but if you're interested, I can make one!

[creptolli]

Train Ride - Gaz x GN!Reader

Word Count: 986

CW: None, it’s pretty chill. Some strangers to friends to eventual lovers because there isn’t enough of that casual stuff :3

A/N: I wrote this on my phone so I apologise for any silly spelling errors! This is actually the story for my OC that I have been putting off writing for - so I wrote it as an x reader sorta thing.

Also I was listening to Laufey half the time of writing this, it’s very much those vibes.

“Shit, shit, shit…” you rambled as you rushed onto the train, yells directed at you as the doors quickly closed behind you. The laptop open in your hands practically screaming at you to charge it, but you ignore it. It’s got a good… 5, 10 minutes left? It’ll be fine.

Finally peering away from the screen to observe the area around you, you spot an open seat. The train wasn’t incredibly busy considering it was past rush hour, but it was busy enough that there were no completely available seats. Which just made you realise how late you really are.

You sit down opposite from a pretty big dude, dark skin, short hair and beautiful brown eyes. He was staring straight down at his phone, headphones sitting in his ears which lead you to look away, not wanting to stare. You sat off half the seat, not trying to seem invasive of the guys space, not that it looked like he even acknowledged your presence.

After a heavy sigh, you look back at your half empty document.

‘METAPHYSICS - What is reality?’ Labelled at the top of your page, daunting over the smaller text plowed across the bright white background. Your Philosophy assessment was due, today. Well, technically it was due... “23 minutes ago… shit.” You mumbled, a little louder than intended.

The sudden speech seemed to have caught the man parallel to you’s attention. He shifted, looking up from his screen to you, scanning from the panic in your eyes to the small bag laying at your feet.

Taking out one of his earphones, he called out to you.

“Hey, you alright?” He partially whispered to you, his English accent flowing with his voice.

“Hm? Oh- sorry, did I bother you?” You stumble out after realising he was addressing you. You couldn’t help but analyse the man’s face, it looked like it was sculpted by the Greek gods. As if Hephaestus himself carved it out.

He let out a small chuckle, “no, no.” He assured.

“You just look a little..” he searched for the right phrasing, not wanting to offend you.

“..All over the place.” He finished, a warm smile taking pity on you.

You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, if it was obvious enough for a complete stranger to see it, it was probably true.

Burying your head on the keyboard sitting in your lap, you frantically apologised in a hushed tone.

“I.. I have a late assignment and my professor’s gonna kill me.” You said in a strained, slightly overdramatic voice. You didn’t know why you were rambling about this to a complete stranger, but it was a lot more relieving than embarrassing, like you thought it would be.

Maybe this is a sign that a therapist is a good option… no, too expensive.

“Uni?” The man questioned, putting his phone in his pocket as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his arms dangling forward. He seemed pretty invested in where your day was heading so far.

“Yeah, 4th year. I took a gap year though, thank goodness.” You clarified, already calming down from talking to him. You felt comfortable, which even you could tell was odd.

He let out a small chuckle, enjoying the conversation. He seemed entertained by your stress now that he could tell it wasn’t anything genuinely concerning.

The two of you kept talking, but your attention was partially stuck on thinking about what to write, what to tell your professor, and when the fuck this train would get to your station.

“..you enjoy university?” He asked, snapping you back to the present.

“Yeah, I mean it’s alright. Not that bad, just a little.. stressful at times.” You couldn’t help but stare at him a few seconds, a small confused expression plastered on your face.

“Are you not at uni too? I mean, you can’t be older than me.” You said with a confused chuckle, surely by the looks of him you were right.

He quickly let out a short, somewhat hearty laugh, his neck going limp as it fell downwards.

“Ahh.. no, I’m in the military instead. Sometimes I do wish I went though, could’ve been fun.” He said as he began to lean back, a soft smile and warm eyes staring straight into you. It was somehow both comforting and haunting, as if he’s perfected the act.

The silence that followed was far from a void, as if the stare you two held was enough to keep the warm atmosphere.

“ARRIVING AT BERKLY STATION”

You were so focused on the dude in front of you, you barely heard the train automated message over the speaker. Alarming you that you have finally arrived at your stop, ‘oh no.. oh shitt..’ your heart dropped.

Instantly recognising the familiar panic in your eyes, the man took a sigh.

You grabbed your little bag and looked to your laptop-

Dead.

“Oh shittt…” you audibly trailed, taking a deep breath, you put it back in the bag and threw it over your shoulder, a swarm of stress piling up.

Distracted, you were about to get off the train and prepare for your professor, when you pause.

“Oh! Right… what’s your name? Sorry, I need to go but it was lovely meeting you.” You said to him in one breath, your voice shaky from the nerves of facing your professor.

“Kyle.” He said, looking as if he was contemplating something. You were familiar with the look, it was almost as if most of your class constantly presented it.

‘Kyle.’ You made a mental note of that, it was devastatingly unlikely that you would ever see him again, but it was nice to put a name to a face.

"Well, thank you, Kyle." You let out with a small smile. "You made this morning a lot less..." You looked for the fitting word.

"Shit?" He finished your sentence.

"Yeah, shit."

Post writing notes: It took about 2 weeks to get this out and I don't know why. Probably the huge lack of inspiration as well as a lot of work outside of writing, but who knows. I was gonna continue this and make it longer BUTTTT I decided to just make this the little leak into the actual story coming out on my Ao3 which is an OC with a name and face (..that I have already drawn). I wanted to cut it off because the way I was going was just so stiff :/ but anywho! ty for reading c:

ALSO! I changed my Ao3 !! (like... I moved. I have a fresh account for reasons that would make sense if I elaborated)

https://archiveofourown.org/users/devolin/profile

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for talking about my fights with my partner with other people?

I (18M) and my partner (17NB) have been together for a couple of years now. Like most couples, we've had our fair share of fights, some of them very serious. I have a problem with paranoia over if I'm doing the right thing or not, because I have trouble understanding right and wrong unless I've been through a situation myself or had the morality of it very heavily explained to me. Because of this, during several of our heavier fights, I would go to people that I trusted and show them the conversation from beginning to end through screenshots (me and my partner are long distance at the moment, so most of our fights have been over text), and ask them if I was alright or I was being a dick.

However, over time, this caused most of the people I was close to to hate my partner. Several of them believed my partner was abusive or at least toxic because of the fights they saw, and at least one was outright violently angry towards them, publicly making a post about wanting to hurt them (I apologized to my partner for this, and asked repeatedly that this person take the post down, made it very clear I wasn't okay with that, but they kept it up anyways.)

I tried to change their opinions by highlighting positive things about them, and repeatedly making clear the things I knew I had done wrong to them so it was clear any toxicity wasn't one-sided (please don't even try to question if I was really bad or anything like that. Had it happen before. Yes what I did was actually wrong. I have apologized and been working on it for a long time now, and debating if it was really wrong will not be helpful or wanted.) But even so, even now, everyone who knew even parts of me and my partners problems still hate them.

My partner has made clear to me that this hurt them. It made them feel isolated, and very alone. Because I had people backing me up and people to talk to, and those people hated them, while they didn't have access to therapy (which I also had at the time, and also do now) or people to talk to about it at the time.

I've apologized for that, and long since stopped telling anyone about our fights or problems. Partially because I found out it was hurting them, and partially because a few months after I had started doing that in the first place, things took a turn for the worse in our relationship and I always either didn't feel comfortable showing people what was happening anymore, or when I did, I ended up being asked to stop by the people I spoke to because what was going on was too heavy and often triggering for them to handle, which I respected. I also didn't have access to therapy for a while because I had just made a major move and my old therapist wasn't licensed to treat people in the area I'd moved to.

However, more recently, I opened up to both my therapist and my mother about everything that happened. Unlike with before, both of them got the full story, from the start of our relationship to now. I made sure to include everything I had done wrong (that I either figured out on my own or my partner told me about, I do worry that there's other things that I don't even know about yet) so that I didn't paint myself in a better light than reality. My therapist cried when I told her. Not full on crying or sobbing, but I could see the tears in her eyes the entire session. My mother was very angry. Both of them think it's for the best we break up. My therapist agreed it's toxic, which I know it still is, although I've been doing my best to make the relationship more healthy over time. She didn't outright say the words, but when I told her what my mother had to say about it, it was clear that she agreed with her that it was abusive. She wasn't angry the way my mother was, or as insistent about me breaking up with them, but she didn't think this relationship or this person in general was healthy towards me.

My mother, however, was almost violently angry. There was several parts of the story where she clenched her fists or had to pause to calm down. On top of that, when I brought up my partners disorder (it was heavily relevant to a large part of the story, as knowing they had it was necessary to really explain what happened for many parts of it), she started repeatedly telling me that she believed they're faking to manipulate me, and that "based on her years of research that wasn't how the disorder worked" (her "years of research" was an introductory college psych class over a decade ago, which barely mentions the disorder in question, so I don't trust that at all). This made me worry even more that I was being an asshole by sharing this, because I know firsthand how much it sucks to have someone not believe you about your own mental health. Not to mention, I have a similar disorder myself, so it felt wrong the way she talked about their disorder (I brought this up but she said it was different and she believes me, just not them. I'm pretty sure that's mostly because I'm diagnosed, and they aren't, due to not being able to get therapy). She also wouldn't believe they didn't have access to therapy because they live in a place with free healthcare, and didn't seem to understand that doesn't always apply to mental healthcare, especially when they're a minor and their parent won't get them therapy even when asked.

However, the reactions from both my mother and my therapist has made me start to question if telling people about our fights was really an asshole move in the first place. On the one hand, I know it hurt them, and that I hurt them in other ways on top of that. But on the other, if even middle aged adults, including one with a psychology degree, think it's so bad on their end, maybe telling them was a good thing. I don't want anyone to hate my partner, especially not when I know I was also toxic towards them and I don't feel like it's fair to treat them like they're so much worse than me, especially when my partner has said to me that I abused them (this was also shared to mother + therapist). But the way these recent events have gone have left me confused, and feeling like a giant asshole towards my partner all over again. So am I one for this?

What are these acronyms?

[voxmilia]

Do you have any HCs with inkblade and Ivy

YOU MEAN OISIN AND HIS TWO FAVORITE GIRLS? THREE OF MY FAVORITE KIDDOS? ONLY ALWAYS

I latched on so hard to "mean girl with the Garthy O'Brien accent" so I've adopted Ivy, she's one of my favorites, I literally write her on my rp blog, I have a character/timeline study for her in the works so I have many headcanons. Some of these are, as usual, created in conjunction with my friend Nick @starlingcity !!

I've had to cut this down like 3 times because I have so many thoughts about all three of them so literally ask me for more anytime!

Ivy was born in Leviathan. She doesn't remember it much; she and her bio mother (her mama, bc Fabian parallel) emigrated to Solace when Ivy was around 2 or 3. Her accent is sort of a mix of Leviathan and Fallinel, as her second mother (her mum) is a high elf.

She meets Oisin at Oakshield Middle School. He's sitting by himself, reading a spellbook and Ivy, who even before the rage never really knew how to express herself right the first time, tells him it's "too sad" to watch him all alone and insists she has to join him from now on. She does. They're inseparable from then on.

They develop minor separation anxiety after their first death in the Mountains of Chaos; it's tenfold by their revivication in junior year. Jawbone helps them both and also helps them find accredited private therapists.

Oisin has a panic attack for the first time ever during his first appointment with Jawbone, because Ivy isn't there and he's terrified she'll be dead when he comes out.

He has another one when Lucy's out for a summer trip, reconnecting with her family after a year dead, and he hasn't heard back from her in almost a day. Adaine finds him, knees tucked to his chest, arms and tail wrapped around them, just outside of Jawbone's office. It's their first real conversation beyond his initial apology to her.

He laments that he should be stronger than this, should know better. Adaine still doesn't trust him but she understands so she huffs and assures him that anxiety doesn't mean he isn't strong. She has anxiety and she's been in so many battles., defeated so many foes

"I punched a dragon in the face and I have anxiety!" (It makes him laugh. She hates that she likes the sound of it.)

Ivy, as bad as she is with words, is the first to apologize of all the Rat Grinders. Mazey is kind, too kind. Ivy sort of rambles. She isn't even sure why was she so unkind in the first place; she apologizes, says Mazey deserved better. They're not friends but they've buried the hatchet at least. (Years later, they run into each other at a Fig and the Cig Figs concert and smile at each other but say nothing.)

Oisin and Ivy kissed exactly once, at 14, the summer before their freshman year. They were two confused, curious kids who wondered if the warmth in their chests when they were together was meant to be romance. They hated it immediately and never attempted it again. Ruben is still convinced they're exes, though.

Oisin, Adaine, and Ivy end up in the first Bad Kid/Rat Grinder mixed group chat, beyond their initial mega chat with both parties. Oisin kept sharing memes Ivy sent him to Adaine, who would tell him to send Ivy one from Adaine in turn. He got tired of being the middle man eventually and makes them a group thread.

Ivy texts the chat one night that she feels sorry for Adaine, because Oisin is an awful kisser. Adaine tells Ivy to speak for herself. Oisin is too embarrassed to reply for almost an hour, to Ivy's joy

[upon-a-starry-night]

Number Neighbors Pt.8

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary:  When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

~~~~

After four months of texting, you’d decided Nat was officially your new best friend of all time. You wondered if she’d ever be open to the option of meeting up but considering her initial hesitancy to even text you in the first place you figured that option was faaar off of the table…at least for now anyway.

You’d grown used to texting her at least once a day, and spamming her on days she’d go silent.

 You didn’t know what she did for work but you understood a lot of jobs didn’t allow you to be on your phones, although she sometimes wouldn’t even respond during the night and it made you wonder if she worked some kind of occasional night job. It only helped solidify your theory that Nat was an FBI agent- or maybe a super spy. 

It would give you exponential bragging rights if you got to say your best friend was a super spy- although she’d probably have to assassinate you for spilling her secret and that would not bode well for you considering you had plans to travel the world before you died. 

Still- you had to admit the two of you were getting closer, and your conversations had become a wide range of you spilling your nonsensical thoughts and Nat growing increasingly more concerned for your mental health. 

       Nat🔪:

Y/n🍦:

Do you think because humans are full of water the same as cucumbers that we also have the potential to become pickled?

Nat🔪:

Your brain terrifies me

Y/n🍦:

When I die I don’t want to be cremated

I want to be pickled

Nat🔪:

Wow.

That’s…concerning

How have you survived this long?

You’d screenshotted the conversation and posted it on your story, to which your mother replied with apid curiosity about who you’d been texting. After explaining to your mother about your new budding friendship (leaving out the part where Nat was a complete and total stranger -your mother would freak) she expressed how excited she was for you to finally be reaching out and finding new friends. 

She also expressed her relief that there was someone else in the world willing to put up with your otherworldly intrusive thoughts. So Nat was now mother-approved, you outwardly fist pumped the air in the middle of your kitchen, 'best friend status' has been upgraded

—----

        Nat🔪:

Y/n🍦: 

Natalee

I have a theory

Nat🔪:

If it’s about my name I’m

just going to debunk it right now

Y/n🍦: 

What if the shit-tauri from the

Battle of shitstorm didn’t die

and they actually turned into the freakishly large

rats that live on the NYC subways?

Nat🔪:

Solid theory.

Any proof?

Y/n🍦:

Oh, lots.

But ya gotta earn it

Nat🔪:

…how so?

Y/n🍦: 

Truth or dare…

Nat🔪:

No.

Y/n🍦:

To THE DEATH

Nat🔪:

I’m in.

Y/n🍦:

I’m just joking.

I knew you would enjoy that part

My cynical little raincloud friend

Nat🔪:

Oh I'm yours now am I?

Y/n🍦:

The thing is- I am also almost

Certain you are a result of my delusional &

Lonely mind- thus you are My delusional imaginary friend

Since no one else can experience MY delusions :)

Nat🔪:

I’m very real Y/n.

Y/n🍦:

I believe you delusional Nat

Nat🔪:

That implies you are calling ME delusion.

Y/n🍦: 

maybe you are

Maybe I’M not even real!

Nat🔪:

How much have you had to drink?

Y/n🍦:

Nothing, why?

Nat🔪:

….

Seek professional help

Y/n🍦:

You should meet my therapist I think

you’d share the same sentiments.

Nat🔪:

Your therapist wants you

to seek professional help?

Y/n🍦:

My therapist needs a therapist because of me.

Anyways- do you want to earn the rat 

theory proof or are you too soft for it

Nat🔪:

I don’t think anyone has ever called me

“Soft” before

Y/n🍦:

Pfft

Okay “The Rock”

Truth or dare?

Nat🔪:

…

dare

You took a second to think of a dare, getting up from the couch to make yourself a cup of your favorite tea. As you stirred the honey into the steaming liquid you thought of what you could suggest given you knew nothing about her environment. Finally, an idea came into your head and you snickered as you quickly typed out the message. 

Y/n🍦:

I dare you to wear colors

Her response was immediate, a reaction you’d begun to get used to when texting Nat, it was a far cry from the hesitant hour-apart replies she used to give you. 

Nat🔪:

What is with you and judging my 

Choice of attire?

Y/n🍦:

The human eye can see 10 million colors

And you choose to wear black every day.

It’s absolutely outrageous.

I will not stand for it.

Nat🔪:

Jokes on you.

*image attached*

Much to your surprise the image Nat sent consisted of her viewpoint- the camera angled downwards- to show off the dark red t-shirt that Nat was pulling out to display to you to prove that she was in fact wearing color today.

The rest of the image only consisted of her black jeans, black sneakers, and a very boring glossy black flooring- unfortunately for you, it wasn’t shiny enough to give off any reflection of your online friend's face. 

However, this was the first time Nat had sent you a photo of herself- and you felt honored that she’d grown comfortable enough to show you a glimpse of her skin along with her outfit.

You beamed at the photo even after staring at it for 5 minutes- the fact that she was sharing this part of herself and also wearing color did things to your stomach. 

And maybe you made a little mental note in your head that she was wearing the color you said suited her best but you weren’t going to dive into that right now. 

You got up and did a little pace around your small living room, biting your thumbnail and wondering if you should comment on it before deciding you’d be more likely to get more photos the less you pointed them out.

Eventually, you sat back down on your couch, tucked your feet under you, and tried to formulate a response that didn't show how much you were internally freaking out. 

Y/n🍦:

God is real.

Nat🔪:

Ha ha.

Y/n🍦:

Wow It’s not even my birthday 

But this is a gift.

Truly.

Nat🔪:

You’re overdoing it.

Y/n🍦:

I’m actually crying.

Nat🔪:

Finally some good news.

Y/n🍦:

Hey!

Fuck you darth vader

Nat🔪:

these attempts at guessing

My name are getting worse

Y/n🍦:

I’m beginning to think

You frustrate me

on purpose sometimes

Nat🔪:

Everything I do is on purpose.

Y/n🍦:

I wasn’t.

You blushed at the accidental insinuation that Nat had ‘done’ you and quickly changed the subject.

Y/n🍦:

Your turn smartass

Nat🔪: 

Truth or dare Y/n?

After a few rounds of the two of you going back and forth daring each other to do ridiculous shit that may or may not have led to you chugging two full gulps of hot sauce (before and after evidence was provided) and you daring Nat to flirt with a random person in her contacts (Sorry to whoever ‘very old ice cube’ was in her phone, they seemed very flustered from the screenshots you received, another thing you were excited about but didn’t comment on). After all those dares you finally received the first truth proposition of the evening

Y/n🍦:

Truth or dare?

Nat🔪:

I think I’ve had enough of your

Unhinged dares.

Truth.

Y/n🍦:

You loved them-

Okay um…

Tell me something you’ve never told anyone before.

Nat didn’t respond for a while, whether she was thinking or busy you weren’t sure, you just watched as the typing bubble popped up and disappeared over and over again. You bit your thumbnail in anticipation. You thought it was an innocent enough question but the longer it took her to respond the more it felt like maybe such a simple question was more loaded than you’d anticipated

Maybe you should backtrack and ask another question… 

Just as you were about to call off your previous message Nat’s response came through. It was shorter than you’d been expecting it to be after she’d taken so long.

Nat🔪:

I used to do Ballet… and there was a time when I guess I didn’t hate doing it even though I was forced to.

With a confession like that you have a feeling there’s more to it- most people were forced to do some kind of extracurricular in their youth, plenty of your coworkers were former band kids. You knew that a lot of the time though, those activities could lead to a lot of trauma, some underlying family trauma, some mommy issues, or ruined confidence but you don’t ask. It feels like she’s shared something deeply personal although it might not sound like it to most people. 

And you’ll take anything new you can learn about her. 

The more you learn about her the more you’re fascinated by her. Even the little crumbs of info she gives you- a film she watched the other night, her waffle topping preferences. You think if it were any other person you probably wouldn’t care that much. 

But it’s Nat. 

So you make a notes tab and you start keeping track of the little things she tells you about herself. 

Because it’s Nat. 

And fuck if that wasn’t the most obvious shit in the world. 

You quickly shook your head and picked up your tea to take a sip, you weren’t going to let yourself think like that about someone you’ve never even met- and might never meet- you reminded yourself. You made a quiet noise of contemplation and shifted slightly on the couch before settling on a humorous response you hoped she understood as you acknowledging her loaded admission.

Y/n🍦:

Shit man, I used to do piano lessons

Nat sent back an unimpressed emoji and you barked out a laugh, having successfully eased whatever tension hung in the air- at least on your side. 

Nat was a mystery that was slowly coming unraveled, a puzzle that revealed its pieces little by little. The more you learned about her the more you liked her.

You just wished you could really see her.

Pt.9

A/n: Y/n's personality is based on my shower thoughts~Starry

------

Taglist:

@marvelwomen-simp @cd-4848 @wandanatlov3r @rebeltombraider @ctrlamira @fxckmiup @aliherreraaa @natsxwife @la-douler-ne-finite-jamais @romanoffsgal @moistblobfish

[fandomnerd9602]

Wolf Spider pt. 2 (set during Scream VI)

Sam Carpenter x Spider Man!Reader

For @deafeningsharkslimeempath

Halloween time had come at last. And yet all was not calm for the Carpenter sisters and you, their friendly neighborhood Wolf Spider. The city was filled with masks and people in costumes. You knew all too well that anyone could wear a Ghostface mask, slash, and blend back into the crowd.

Trouble arrived the night before All Hallow's Eve. A murder of a film school student and his roommate. You snuck into the crime scene, Detective Bailey greeting you politely.

"Normally I wouldn't work with vigilantes" He intones.

"Well we're not under normal circumstances." you answer back. "knife?"

"Matches the slashes we found on that film studies teacher" Bailey answers back. His face goes ghostly pale.

"Ghostface"

"We don't know that yet!"

"Need more proof?" you head to the nearby ledge and swing out into the open air. You knew what it meant for your beloved girlfriend Sam and her sister Tara.

Your ear bud rings with the sound of your cell phone. A glance down to your phone reveals the caller id of Sam herself. Speak of the succubus herself.

"Hey honey" you answer the call. "How was your day?"

"My therapist was a total dick" she huffs.

You keep up the conversation while webswinging through the New York skyline, "Sweetheart, if i know a thing or two about blood, it's that you define you."

"But what about that incident with Richie?"

"I know several heroes who kill bad guys, it's only if you went after some innocent person that I'd get worried"

"Are you swinging?"

"M-Maybe"

"What have I told you about texting while swinging?"

"Well I'm not texting-" WHOOSH! A semi zooms right past you as you course correct your swing. "and that's why I love you so much, Sammie"

"Can you check on Tara for me?"

"Send me the party coordinates" you sigh as you swing toward NYU.

You found Tara drunk and being flirted with an obvious predator.

"Hey the lady and I were heading upstairs" the drunk college student continued pulling on Tara's arm. "Nice costume by the way"

"Sorry pal, you're heading downstairs" you sock the drunk predator straight in the jaw, knocking him clean out.

"I can handle myself, Y/N!" Tara intones before storming out of the party. "You're as bad as Sam sometimes!"

You quickly give chase. And so does Chad and Ethan. You charge after Tara and scoop her up before swinging off into the night.

"Where'd they go, dude?" Ethan asks your confused friend Chad.

"Put me down!" Tara drunkenly orders you.

"Well if you insist" you drop her from the height of your swing. Tara screams on the way down before you swing and scoop her up again.

"Are you crazy?!"

"Drinking's bad for your health and your grades, Carpenter" you offer a smirking smile under your mask. You come and set her down on top of the apartment's roof.

"Why can't you or Sam just allow me to make my own decisions?" Tara huffs.

"When you can start making the right ones." you huff back. "I don't mean to scare you but I can't let you wander the streets alone anymore."

"Why not?"

"Three murders recently." you remove your mask, "I think it might be-"

"Ghostface." Tara immediately sobers up before hugging you tight. "Thank you"

"You're like a sis to me, kid, I won't let anyone hurt you"

"What are we gonna tell Sam?"

"I don't know" you sigh, "could you tell her? I'm still on the hook for the whole texting and swinging incident"

Ghostface was loose in the Big Apple. You already knew who the targets were. Luckily, they had a Wolf Spider to back them up.

To Be Continued...

[graciegoeskrazy]

“and i do make art ty very much”

Matty Healy x Teen!Daughter!reader + lil bit of george

a/n: random thought the popped in my head. enjoy this cute lil blurb :)

As soon as you walked in the door you were expecting to follow your usual routine - burst through the door announcing your presence, grab a snack, tell your dad all the details and mundane facts about your day, then go upstairs and hide for awhile until your dad yells at you to do your homework or makes you come downstairs to get dinner. Today, however, that didn't exactly go to plan.

“I’m Home!” You said, but instead of being greeted my your dad or uncles, you were met with silence. “Hello?”

Nothing.

“Dad? George? You here?” You didn't worry and just headed up to your room deciding to shoot a text to your dad to make sure he wasn't dead. Before you could hit send though, you found your father when you walked into your room.

“Jeez! You scared me!” You yelled.

Instead of a ‘sorry’ or ‘oh my bad’ he kept a straight face when asked, “What’s this?”

It took you a second to register exactly what he was worrying about, but eventually you realized it was your journal. Like your father, you kept at least 2 journals going at the same time. You however had 3. One for your usual ‘dear diary, blah blah blah’, one for the stuff your therapist makes you write, and another for the lyrics and poems you jot down in your spare time. And that just so happened to be the one your father held in his hands.

“Something you weren’t supposed to find.” You shyly replied.

You weren't mad at your father one bit. You tell him everything anyways, it’s like there isnt even a need for a diary because he a human version of one. Filled with all the knowledge of your hopes, dreams, stupid habits, and crushes. This, however, happened to be one of the rare things you kept from your father.

He looked at the pages again, “When did you make this?”

You quickly diverted the conversation. “Why are you going through my journal!?”

“I was cleaning.” He replied.

“You never clean.” You said, looking at him quizzically.

He shrugged and smiled. “You’re right. George told me you got high the other day and I was looking for drugs.”

“Ugh! That bitch!” You said, throwing your backpack on the ground.

“But screw that- this is really good! When did you make this?”

“That one was like a year ago? I don’t know.” You said crossing your arms, suddenly feeling a bit insecure.

“Can you stop reading my private feelings and thoughts please?” You tried to grab the book out of your dad's hands but he pulled it away before you had the chance.

“Is this one about your crush on June?” He said tauntingly.

“Dad!”

“Awe! You’re in love!”

You finally grabbed the book from him and held it tight to your chest.

“Why did you never tell me about this?” he asked.

“Because I didn't want to embarrass myself. Duh.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dad, you're a Grammy-nominated musician and I’m an angsty teenager who writes about teenage love. There’s a fine line and I don't want to embarrass myself by crossing it.”

“Darling, those were good! Hell, those are fucking great!”

“Thanks?”

After an awkward silence he continued.

“You should record those-”

“No-”

“It would be really good-”

“Get out-”

“I know some peopleeee.” He said smiling.

“Get out!”

He smiled and left the room, not before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

When he got downstairs, he was greeted by George in the kitchen. “What was happening up there?”

Matty got a drink from the fridge, “My baby is a songwriter.”

“Hm?” George asked.

“She wrote lyrics, George. And they're good too.”

George looked confused. Matty continued,

“We need to get those songs she wrote and make her record them.”

“Mate, you can’t force your daughter into the business.”

“Yeah, you’re right…”

“But I’m her uncle so it’s okay if I do it.”

Matty just laughed.

[your-queer-dad]

hey dad

I have something of a long-winded rant; don’t feel like you have to respond, I just needed to tell someone

so I’m the “therapist friend”, and people come to me to talk about their problems all the time. Within the last few hours I’ve had two separate people vent to me, and I’m happy to listen. Except right now I’m going through a kind of tough time and I’m trying hard not to relapse into sh after being clean for almost three months. Hearing about everyone else’s problems really doesn’t help. I’ve set alarms to check my notifications during the night ever since I woke up to an ominous text and then couldn’t get a response all day, and every conversation I have with my friends turns into me comforting them. These are also really my only close friends, so it’s not like I have any other healthy relationships. I keep breaking down every time I’m alone and having anxiety attacks and worrying about food/starving myself and disassociating and biting my fingernails raw and snapping at people and my sleep schedule is getting messed-up, which are all signs that signs are getting worse for me. But if I tell them that I don’t have the energy to listen, then I’m almost certain something terrible will happen. These people have absolutely nobody else they can talk to, unsupportive family, and are even less emotionally stable than I am. For a while, there’s been a cycle: they unload stress onto me, they apologize for it, I assure them that I’m happy to help and thank them for sharing with me, and I relieve the stress through unhealthy coping mechanisms that they don’t know about. But recently I’ve cleaned myself up after contacting a hotline and I don’t want to go back to how it was before. I deeply care about these people, and I want to continue to be there for them, but if my mental state worsens, I won’t be able to support them at all. It seems like I’m the most stable person in my life, and I’m far from being that. It’s hard for me to seek help (and even though I’ve experienced symptoms of severe depression and anxiety for most of my life, I’ve never gotten help for it) because I feel like I’d be taking advantage of the person I’m telling, since that’s what people do to me. Honestly, the thing with my only friends constantly venting to me is just one of many minor things pushing me over the edge. It isn’t that big of a deal, but right now it is overwhelming me. My life is actually relatively uncomplicated and I have a lot of privilege; I just don’t know how to cope with the few problems I have experienced. I just don’t know what to do, and I’m a minor so there’s not much I can do, and I don’t have anyone else to talk to, especially since I came out to my mother as queer a week ago and I’m even more distant from her. This is the first person, besides the 988 operator in April, who I’ve told about any of my issues. My apologies about how long that was—I didn’t mean to write an entire essay, but now I’m not sure what parts to delete. Thanks for listening. I hope you’re doing well and we all really appreciate you, dad

—Gray

Hey kiddo, I am so sorry. That is so much for even an adult to deal with, let alone a person your age. If they are causing you stress like that, my dear , they aren't healthy relationships. You are as worthy of care, time and compassion as anyone you help. If you don't take care of yourself then you will crash and burn and that will hurt more than you asking for some space and putting in boundaries. I beg you to take care of yourself and say no. Redirect them to me, I'll listen and help but please don't let yourself reach crisis point over helping others.

- dad x

[codfanficedits]

One fucking mistake - Part Six

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader - She/her pronouns being used

Summary: Simon lost you after making a mistake on a mission.

Wordcount: 2164 | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: DEPRESSION (and not the uwu am a little sad kind) ,cussing, swearing, grieving, angst with no comfort, conversation, blaming, therapist, mentioning of flashbacks

A/N: Part six! I would like to mention that the portrayal of the depression is the way I have experienced mine, the therapist appointment is also one that I have experienced myself. I understand that this might not be the same for everyone, but please be kind.

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ AO3 Link

The days are starting to look the same, they melt together in a blur of grief.

He lays in bed, unless he really has to get out. A quick visit to the bathroom and back to bed he goes. When he is unable to ignore his rumbling stomach, he orders some takeaway, just to eat it on the couch, the empty cartons starting to flood the place. But he doesn’t care, not in the slightest, he doesn’t care when he can see the mold on the little pieces of food left in the pizza box.

He doesn’t care when he can smell himself whenever he gets into the bedroom again, he doesn’t care when he rewatches the same show for the fifth time, not a care in the world when his screentime is over sixteen hours a day. He doesn’t care when he stops answering texts, he doesn’t care when calls are met with a loud sigh, annoyed that they’re interrupting the game he was playing.

Simon despises the days he has to go to therapy, it is the only day in the week where he has to get up, shower, wash his hair and brush his teeth. It is the only day of the week where the rotten air from home is replaced by fresh outside air, and he hates it, the comfort of his home being ripped away, just like you got ripped away.

His legs bounces while he sits in the waiting room, he still feels as if he doesn’t belong to therapy, while he knows that there is something wrong, he doesn’t want to admit it, he doesn’t want to accept the help.

He frowns when he gets called in by someone else than his usual therapist, but he goes in anyway.

“Where is she?” He asks bluntly as he goes to sit down in the same comfortable chair he always sit in.

“Who?”

“My usual therapist.”

The woman in front of him frowns. “She didn’t feel as if she was booking process with you, so she asked me to take over. Didn’t she tell you?”

Simon can only shrug, truth be told, he never paid enough attention to even remember anything from those sessions. “Could be.”

Her lips press together until they are a faint line and Simon can tell he doesn’t like her one bit.

“Let me introduce myself.” She continues. “My name is Sarah, and I’m…” He zones out within seconds, pushing her voice to the background.

“Simon!” She has a fucking sharp voice.

“What.”

“I’m talking to you.”

Simon raises an eyebrow, this is the first time a therapist has been this direct to him. “Right.” He mumbles. “Continue.”

“Did you get anything I just said?” Sarah asks him.

“Well, your name is Sarah, and..” His voice dies out. “That’s all.” He adds with a sheepish tone.

“Why are you here, Simon?” She asks him, as she holds the clipboard to her chest.

Because my captain asked me to.

But he stays silent, just shrugging as she asks him that question.

“Do you even want to be here?”

Simon frowns at the second question, of course he doesn’t want to be here. “No.”

“Then why bother coming anyway?”

Because you would’ve been so disappointed in him if he didn’t at least try. But Simon knows that what he is doing isn’t even close to trying at all. It is just easier to lie to himself that he is trying.

“Because..” His voice his hoarse.

Because he wants to get rid of that feeling of guilt, that is weighing him down on his chest, the feeling that keeps him up at night, being so heavy that he worries that he’ll suffocate in the matrass if he acknowledges it. Because he wants to deal with the grief that came with losing you, because every little thing outside of the routine that he has created for himself reminds him of you. Because he wants to be happy again, but just the mere thought of it feels like a betrayal to you.

Because, because, because.

But the words leave him, just like he left you there to die by yourself, and the thought of that tightens his chest, his ribs suffocating his lungs and it feels like he can’t breathe. Short burst of air leaving his nose when he tries to wipe away the image. That familiar feeling again, a panic attack waiting in the shadows of his mind.

God not here, not now.

But Sarah doesn’t react, she doesn’t try to talk him out of it, instead she just lets it happen, observing how he handles it.

His hands pressing against his temples. He doesn’t want to think about you, about leaving you, he doesn’t want to be confronted by his mistake.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

He remembers the advice you gave him, you’d walked in on him having one as he sat down on the shower floor. He tries to remember your voice, your face when you said it to him. But he can’t. Fuck. He can’t.

He loves you, so why is he forgetting it? Why is your face becoming a blur. Why is your voice different in every memory.

Deep breath in through your mouth, exhaling out your nose.

The panic dies out after a few deep breaths, guilt popping up like the mushrooms do around autumn.

“Why are you here, Simon?” Sarah repeats the question.

“Because I can’t live like this anymore.”

“Like what?”

A scowl forms on his face, he hates feeling this vulnerable, it makes him feel weak and he still feels as if he should overcome this with ease. “Living in my own filth because I can’t be bothered to actually live.”

“Why can’t you be bothered to actually live, Simon?”

For fuck sakes, he hates how many questions she is asking, he hates how it forces him to think about things he doesn’t want to think about, things he has crammed away in the shadows of his mind.

“Because I don’t deserve it!” His voice is louder than he wanted it to be, but part of him hopes it scares her off, that it makes her stop asking questions.

But it doesn’t, Sarah doesn’t bat an eye.

“Why do you feel as if you don’t deserve to live?”

Because you didn’t get to live.

“Because I killed her, I begged her to come with me on a mission that killed her. I am the reason she is no longer walking on this earth. She said no the first time and I’m a selfish asshole for taking her with me!” God it feels good to get that off his chest.

Sarah stays silent, and the silence causes his words to float in the air.

“She said yes herself, right?” Sarah eventually says. “Why are you holding yourself accountable for that?”

“Because she said no the first time. And I bribed her with doing the dishes.” He spat out.

God he hated how Sarah would let his answers linger in the air, it meant he had to think, think about what happened, think about his answers, think about how actions, how it affected everything.

How he would never give himself peace.

“Because I keep wondering how life would’ve been if I had accepted her first no, I wonder how I would be if she wouldn’t have gone with me. Because. I. I. I.” Simon starts to stutter, the words flooding out him, things he had kept hidden to rot inside of him.

“Because I know that she would’ve been alive if it wasn’t for me.” A tiny voice for a big soldier.

“You can’t change what happened, Simon.”

Of course he can’t! Fuck, it annoys him. “I know.” He grits his teeth.

“Do you think she would want you to live like this?”

Fuck, a cold sensation running over him, his stomach feels as if it is doing summersaults.

“No, no, I don’t think so.” He eventually admits. Of course not, you would only want the best for him, you would’ve wanted him to move on, to make something out of his life. Oh God, you were always so sweet, so innocent, and he, he took you away from this world.

That same feeling in his chest again, he presses his eyes shut.

The image of that fucking flash grenade sticking out of the debris again. Haunting him, taunting him.

As the tightness in his chest gets worse, he can’t stop the hot tears falling down.

Fucking weak.

“Simon.”

“Simon?”

“Simon!”

Sarah’s voice brings him back to reality, but not just enough, flashbacks running through his mind while he tries to feel the fabric of the chair under his fingertips.

“Tell me what is happening, Simon.”

Short, quick breaths, the tightening in his chest becoming worse, and worse.

“Simon? Tell me what you’re seeing, right now.”

He wants to open his eyes, he wants it to stop, but this is the clearest he has seen you in weeks. He doesn’t want to lose this, even though it hurt like something he has never felt before. He wants it to stop, but he doesn’t want it to end.

“The mission.” He mutters.

Silence again. He hates how Sarah lets him struggle with his emotions, his feelings, and he wants his old therapist back, whatshername, who would fill up the silence so he wouldn’t have to.

“I keep replaying the mission in my head.” Simon adds.

“Tell me.” Sarah commands. “Walk me through what is happening.”

“It always starts the same.” He begins. “Always.”

“How does it start?”

“We’re waiting for the chopper. We’re both wearing a bulletproof vest, and I make sure hers is safe. I tug on it a little, a few times actually. I would brush the skin of her cheeks with my knuckles.” It is a whisper, but it is a start.

“And then we move to the chopper, she is sitting next to me, and all I see is her beauty. It was supposed to be an easy mission and she is talking, talking about how she will let me do all the dishes she can find, she is teasing me about having to wear an apron while I’m doing the dishes.” His breathing is starting to get more controlled.

“It was supposed to be an abandoned area.” Simon continues, his hands gripping the armrest of the chair. “I let my guard down, we were joking too much, laughing too hard. The enemy must’ve heard us. And then, then, then.”

“Stop.” Sarah says. “Put the film on hold, and tell me what you see.”

“I see her, the sun high on the sky, a smile on her face, not a worry in her eyes. And then I spot the flash grenade. And I want to warn her, but it’s too late.” Simons starts.

“Okay.” No it’s not okay.

“Can you put yourself in the image?”

“What?”

“Put yourself in the situation, standing alongside yourself and her.”

Silence again.

“Can you do it, Simon?”

“Yeah.” He mutters, feeling awkward, but he can, standing next to himself and next to you.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to her?”

His heart starts to race again. Yes, yes, yes! There are so many things he would like to say to you, so many things that he wants you to hear, but that will never reach you.

“I. I. I want to tell that I’m so, so sorry.” He begins. “I want to say that I should’ve listened to her, that if I could do it all over again, I would do it differently.”

He holds back a sob.

“I want to tell her that I will always love her, that she will always be a part of me, no matter what happens, no matter how old I grow, no matter who comes in to my life, she will always matter.” The raw words leave his lips, dragging the heavy feeling from his heart with them, leaving him able to breathe for the first time in months.

“Can you hug her?”

What a stupid question. But he can, and he does, he presses his eyes shut and hugs you, and although it is in his imagination, it feels real, for him it is real. The version of you that got one more hug, tells him that he is forgiven, and it brings a little bit of peace to him.

Simon finally opens his eyes again. “God.” He breathes.

“How does that feel?” Sarah asks.

“Better.” He admits.

“Good.” Is that a smile on her lips?

“Are you going to be able to handle being alone?” Sarah breaks the silence.

“Yeah.” And for the first time it does feel like he is able to handle being alone. For the first time he wants to go outside, to breathe the fresh air. Hell, he even wants to grab the bin and clean the house.

He wants to live again.

[luminecho]

An acquaintance once stopped me on my way to class.

"Are you happy?" he asked me.

"What, just like, in general?" I said, confused.

"Yeah, just in general."

And it's not exactly the sort of existential question you're expecting to have dropped on you at 11 am on a Wednesday. And it was actually my birthday that day, but he didn't know that and it didn't feel super relevant so I didn't mention it. But the question itself made me stop and think after.

Because it's this question that gets asked of us so often in life. Are you happy with where you are now? Do you think you'll be happy in the future? You were so happy when you were a kid. What changed?

And I think when you start to get into adolescence and adulthood, it becomes expected of you to not be happy. Because that's the sort of society we live in today. It's so damn hard to be happy. And it shouldn't be. But it is. Happiness is like this fleeting thing way off on the horizon that people constantly grasp for, and we all do things in desperation to finally reach it, and maybe it works for some and maybe it doesn't for others.

I don't know if the typical college student is happy or not. But I do know that I don't really consider myself the typical anything, and one thing I pride myself a lot in is that I have a very strong understanding of exactly who I am and where I am in life. I'm at a school that I like taking classes that I enjoy. I have a bunch of friends who I love, and maybe they're all online and far away from me but that's okay. I have a bunch of hobbies that I love doing and a bunch of interests that I share with others and each day they bring me a little bit of enjoyment.

So, in that moment, I didn't even really need to think before replying.

"I am," I said with a smile.

And my acquaintance turned to the friend beside him.

"See?" he said, "I told you!"

I chuckled to myself and walked away.

But I couldn't stop thinking about it. Because like... what were they talking about? The scenario I found myself crafting in my head was one where this friend of his was saying that most people these days aren't happy. And maybe they're right. But that doesn't mean no one is happy. And that doesn't mean you can't find happiness. It's out there. It's out there in the little things. In the smiles of strangers and in the soundless laughter of text conversations, in music and poetry and art and the hot lights of a stage. It's in butterflies landing on flowers just beside you, and taking the time to stop and admire it for several minutes even though you know you're missing your bus because somehow the butterfly is just so much more important.

And I think my favorite part is that not only did I get to prove to a stranger that day that happiness exists, but I also got to prove it to myself, both in the past and in the future.

Because what if I had been asked that question a few years ago? In the middle of a pandemic, stuck at home attending high school in front of a computer, feeling like I'm drowning because I don't have the motivation to do my work and the one hobby I've held onto so dearly, drawing, feels like it's slipping through my grasp and I just can't enjoy it anymore and it's this real grief that's weighing me down. Telling my therapist that I wasn't sure who I was yet because I felt like this walking contradiction who longed for things I was too afraid to act on. Would I have said I was happy, then? I don't know.

And what about in the future? When any number of possibilities could happen. Will I say that I'm happy, or will I be stuck in a rut and not know the answer?

I didn't have a good birthday. Some days I'm stressed more than others. Sometimes I get overwhelmed, sometimes I feel like the world is caving in on me.

But the question wasn't, "Are you happy right now?" It wasn't a "How are you doing today?" or a "How's your morning?"

The question was, "Are you happy?"

"In general?"

"Yeah. In general."

And even if today is hard, tomorrow may be better. And if tomorrow is hard too, then you have countless weeks ahead of you that will look different and brighter than they did before.

I'm happy. I'm not happy every second of every day, because no one is. But that's not what "general" happiness looks like. General happiness is just... being satisfied with where you are now. Being comfortable in the new and unfamiliar experiences you're sitting in. And being comfortable with knowing it's all going to change soon.

Happiness is real. And if you don't have it now, then it's still out there, waiting with open hands.

And I just think that's neat.

[sage-a-licious]

I’m kinda down. It’s a long one so under a cut

The organizer of the beach meetup I went to on Saturday called me on Monday and chastised me for bringing up to her (off to the side) that I was feeling awkward because the person I sent a text to who didn’t reply was there and ignoring me. I was caught off guard by this but I apologized and said I wouldn’t do that again. But that wasn’t enough. She then brings up how I gave the event 3 out of 5 stars on the meetup website and wanted my reasoning. I told her I had a perfectly fine 3 out of 5 star time but also told her that the beach chosen wasn’t very accessible and I felt dismissed by her. She’s always talking about how she’s a therapist and trying to foster connection between people in the group so I thought it was appropriate. She then chastises me more about not knowing how beaches are and not getting there early even though the event started at 11. And not knowing the right way to fill out the rating. And she didn’t dismiss me. She said words to me, didn’t she?

I’m probably getting the order of this 40 minute(!) phone call wrong but she also badgered me about how I’m going to handle dealing with that person. I was confused because I thought she didn’t want to be involved. I told her I’d have to think about it. Then she says that the person came to her and said the conversation the person and I had at the picnic was getting “intense”. Maybe that’s the reason she didn’t reply. And I’m like, “Why did you tell me that? If that’s the reason, that person could have told me herself.” And she just seemed worried that it was going to ruin future events so I told her that I considered it over at the beach. The girl straight up ignored me. She obviously does not want to be friends. I got the message.

She also made me promise that I wouldn’t leave the group because of this person. But I want to leave the group because of the organizer. That phone call was wild. And as hard as I’ve tried not to, it’s making me self conscious about being too intense and my brain keeps going over what I remember from the picnic and trying to find what I did wrong. But I’ll never know. So I guess I have to leave the group? Ugh.

Edit: oh, and Tuesday morning the organizer texted me an apology. And after I accepted it she asked if I wanted to help her with an event about introverts. No? I can’t imagine her being my therapist. Oof.

[ae-azile]

Hello how are you? I love your Progression fic so much and I can't wait for another chapter. Do you plan to post some voting pool and preview, like usual? I don't want to pressure you at all. It's just my way of checking up on you to make sure you are doing okay. You are very punctual with your updates so not seeing new update made me worry if everything is okay.

Hello! I fell a little behind of schedule due to stressors and distractions IRL and was waiting until some of those passed before starting Chapter 29. Chapter 29, 30, and 31 are all pretty important chapters, so I didn't want to write it until I had the time to properly dedicate to it. I do plan on trying to write tonight, so I hopefully I will get a good chunk of it done and the chapter out by sometime this weekend. I haven't posted a poll because I didn't get as far along in the story in Chapter 28 as I planned, so a few of the plot points in the last poll will apply to this chapter. 😃 Some of the definite plot points will be:

- Chay dealing with the music producer being inappropriate with him and confiding in his brother because he is embarrassed that Kim was right.

- Kim's therapy session, expressing confusion about how he experiences attraction. "Asexual" and "Demisexual" are thrown around and gives him something to think about.

- Arm's sisters moving in, despite Arm being nervous about it conflicting with his trip with Khun.

- Weed night heart to hearts:

Kim, Khun, and Kinn: Khun talking about his upcoming trip with Arm and letting something huge slip, Kim talking about his planned trip with Chay and maybe what his therapist said, and Kinn asking if it might be okay if he schedules a session with Lane for himself since he doesn't want to go through the screening process to hire a different therapist.

Porsche, Chay, and Arm bonding over being Theerapanyakul SOs.

Vegas and Pete being in their own world for a while before Namphueng and Fern crash it.

Others are present as well and the groups do intermingle.

- Chay hearing back from college and giving Kim the news, along with admitting to the texts and interactions he has had with the producer - possibly with Porsche's encouragement (since Porsche is likely seconds away from intervening if something isn't done, but is also trying to respect Chay as an adult).

- Kim's reaction to that. A tense, but productive conversation following where they get some feelings out, but Kim also develops a plan that Chay can tentatively accept.

- Planning and embarking on their trip shortly after Arm and Khun embark on theirs.

Hopefully I can work on it today! But I will say that answering this post helped me organize my thoughts a little! I'm glad you like the story so much and hope you are doing well too! 🩵