#anyway. it’s been a good year in hindsight even though throughout it I had flashes of panic thinking I wasn’t going anywhere

[artificial-condition]

Having a gap year was really great for me because it was the first time in my adult life that I was able to just sit with myself. Figure myself out. Work on myself. Even though I had been an adult for several years, I feel like I really matured in my year of nothing. I now feel much more firm in who I am, even with opposition; I have always been a big pushover, letting other people do whatever they wanted and letting my desires go to the side, but now I am much more likely to assert what I want and tell people no. I’ll just do and be without analyzing what others want or expect of me, and it’s so refreshing to let that go. People really do grow in the cracks

[starker-eternity]

Taken

A little fic Drabble surrounding an idea that won’t get out of my head...

Warnings: Starker, societally accepted kidnapping, ABO

*****

Pepper Potts knocked on the ornate mahogany doors that protected her boss’ private office, waiting for permission to enter before pushing open said door. As she strode to the desk where her boss sat, she noticed his attention was focused intensely on the holographic and touch screen surface of his desk. Several windows were open and he was switching amongst them with sharp waves of his hand.

Pepper came to a stop right before his desk and waited for Tony Stark, genius and billionaire philanthropist, to acknowledge her presence. As she waited, she took note that the Alpha was lingering on an image of a young man with a mop of chestnut curls. She couldn’t clearly see the picture from her angle and she knew better than to let her attention linger. If it was a matter that concerned her, she’d know it soon enough.

“Ah, Ms. Potts, right on time.”

Pepper nodded her head once, a professional smile on her face. “Of course, Mr. Stark. You needed to see me? What can I do for you today?”

Tony traced one finger down the digitally imaged cheek of the young man’s face before his gaze snapped up to look at his Beta assistant. Piercing dark eyes held her gaze as a smirk spread across his face. “We need to plan a party. A celebration, in fact!”

Pepper raised one eyebrow even as she opened her tablet to start taking notes. “What kind of party, sir? Small or large guest list? Time frame?” She was not prepared for his answers.

“Large party I think. Invite the elite of society. And it needs to be as soon as possible... this weekend.”

Pepper was startled and it showed on her face. “This weekend? It’s Thursday, Mr. Stark. That’s not a lot of notice. Venues alone will take time to be vetted and booked -.”

Tony cut Pepper off with an impatient slash of his hand through the air. “I don’t have the luxury of time, Ms. Potts. He’s legal now and I need to act before someone else does. The party is only a courtesy to let society know I’ve made my claim.”

Pepper’s eyes narrowed as she asked, “Exactly what kind of party is this, Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s face broke out in a smug smirk. “Why Ms. Potts, it’s a wedding party. I’m getting married, now that my chosen Omega has come of age.”

****

Peter finished setting his text books neatly on the provided shelf above the desk and took a step back. As he looked around the single dorm room, he gave a small pleased sigh. A typical dorm room for an Omega, it was more like a small studio apartment as it had its own bathroom and small kitchen space. All meant to give unclaimed Omegas a safe haven for their quarterly heats, away from their Alpha and Beta classmates. Claimed Omegas either lived with their mates and commuted to and from campus, or if both were students then they lived in the provided campus housing suites.

Peter flopped down on his bed, attention turned to the television that was blaring some news story. The commentator was one of those reporters with a bubbling personality, enthusiastically reporting on some societal event.

“And I’m here live, at Stark Towers, where the party of the decade is happening! As you can see, everyone who is anyone is here to celebrate one of the world’s wealthiest Alphas bidding a fond farewell to his bachelorhood!”

The bubbling reporter turned to observe the crowd before her eyes widened in surprise. “And here he is! The Alpha of the hour himself! Tony Stark, how does it feel to be celebrating your pending nuptials?”

The man in question turned to the reporter, his eyes covered in a pair of red tinted shades, a smoldering grin on his lips. As he removed his shades, he answered, “It’s great to see so many people celebrating with me. Really, it is!”

The reporter gave him another blinding smile even as she shot another question at him. “And the question on everyone’s mind - who is the lucky bride or groom? Are they even aware of their impending wedding?”

Tony smirk grew wider as something dark flashed through his eyes. “Well to answer that question, I’d have to say no. In one of the only few times in my life, I’ll be following in my father’s footsteps and kidnapping my groom. So I’m afraid you’ll have to wait with everyone else for an identity reveal, my dear.”

As the reporter tried to weasel more details out of the billionaire Alpha, Peter angrily turned off the television. Grabbing his pillow, he hugged it closely to himself, sulking at life. Tony Stark was a major icon of the world and one of Peter’s secret role models. Peter never would have believed he supported what he had just revealed. Personally, he was disgusted at what Tony Stark had just casually admitted.

Spouse kidnapping.

A disgusting, archaic tradition where the dominant partner, usually an Alpha, kidnapped their spouse to be. First, the dominant partner had to announce to the public their intentions to kidnap their bride or groom. After the public announcement, he or she had 48 hours to actually kidnap their chosen. Once taken, the kidnapper had one week to secure the union, usually by successfully mating with the victim.

There weren’t very many unsuccessful kidnappings throughout history, most victims giving in to society’s view of normal behavior. Sometimes there was outrage, but usually quieted down by the kidnapper later through gifts. In these modern times, most of the victims knew their abductor beforehand, so it wasn’t really a surprise.

Peter objected to the practice in theory. No one he knew personally had been the subject of an unwilling spousal kidnapping. His Uncle Ben had courted his Aunt May and had proposed to her. He then had a mock kidnapping to satisfy societal norms. Peter wasn’t sure how his parents’ union was, but he had been told it was mutual.

If Peter’s future spouse wanted to have a mock kidnapping, he supposed he’d go along with it. However, if he was kidnapped by a complete stranger? Peter shuddered to even think of it. Maybe Tony Stark’s groom to be knew about all of this and the couple was just portraying the societal expectation that being a celebrity entailed.

A notification coming through his phone distracted him from his stormy thoughts. Unlocking the device, he read a text from his best friend Ned, asking if he wanted to grab some dinner. Sending a confirmation back, Peter resolutely shifted all thoughts about Tony Stark and his situation out of his mind.

After all, what did any of it have to do with him?

*****

Tony looked at his extraction team with a shrewd eye. Every single member had been hand picked for this operation. He wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

He turned to his best friend, James Rhodes. “Honey bear, everything’s set up at the Compound for my week of isolation with my groom?”

He received a nod of affirmation so Tony turned his attention to Steve Rogers. “All right, Captain. You have the details - this needs to go smoothly. I don’t want a single bruise on my mate.”

The blond man rolled his eyes even as he said, “We know, Tony. We’ve only gone over this a million times.”

“Then once more for luck,” came the sharp demand.

“Fine. Clint will be on high, keeping an eye on the target and anyone in the surrounding area, notifying the group when the target is alone. Natasha will be tailing the target from behind. Thor and I will be lying in wait to ambush the target. And Happy will be driving the car, ready to transport the target to the Compound. So the target won’t be spooked, Tony will be waiting in the car. He might have seen the earlier declaration and seeing Tony may cause him to bolt.”

“And Sam will be driving the other car that’ll take us all back to the Tower, where we will wait for the news your groom has accepted your suit,” finished Rhodey.

Sam shook his head as he spoke up, “Man, I don’t know about all of this. Wouldn’t it be easier just to talk to the boy?”

Tony glared at man even as he gritted out, “No, I can’t take the risk. His Aunt prevented me from interacting with him when he was underage.”

“Well, you are much older than he is, Tony.”

The Alpha ignored the comment from the only female in the room. “And now that he is of age, I can’t take the risk someone else might snap him up. I knew he was meant to be mine the first time I saw him years ago. I will not be denied my mate any longer!”

“Okay, okay Tony. Calm down, man! It’s not us you have to convince anyway.”

“That part I’m not worried about,” joked the billionaire.

Natasha rolled her eyes and then looked to the group. “All right, everyone try to keep a low profile. The paparazzi are literally foaming at the mouth because it’s been 24 hours since Tony’s declaration and they haven’t seen movement. They know his time limit like we do. Tony, is your body double ready to occupy the media?”

“Yup, he’s all ready out there leading them in the opposite direction of where we’re going.”

“Good. Then let’s go.”

*****

They came out of nowhere.

Peter had been walking back to his campus dorm from the dining hall, after parting ways with Ned and MJ. The Omega dorms were on the opposite side of campus from the other student dorms and he’d waved off Ned’s offer to walk him to his dorm. In hindsight, he should have taken Ned up on the offer, but at the time he was thinking that there was no need for Ned to have to walk the campus and back.

As he walked along, he noticed that the campus was pretty empty. He didn’t think too much on it though as school wasn’t officially starting for another week or so, and the students were sure to be flooding in over the week. As he was crossing through a parking lot of one of the class buildings, a strong voice called out to him.

“Excuse me, son, but do you happen to have the time?”

Peter stopped to look toward the voice and saw a rather intimidating blond Alpha standing there. Although his hands were nonchalantly tucked into his jeans pockets, he still radiated strength and authority.

Nervously shuffling his feet, some inner sense telling him to keep his distance, Peter glanced at his phone and answered, “Um, it’s almost 8pm.”

The blond man gave him an earnest grin and said, “Thanks son. Thor?”

Just then Peter felt two strong arms clamp around his upper body, keeping his arms pinned to the side. As he gasped and looked over his shoulder, he saw his assailant was another blond man. Peter tried to struggle against the hold, but the other man rushed in and grabbed his legs, lifting his body completely off the ground.

Peter let loose with a yell, even as he futilely attempted to wiggle out of their hold. He barely heard the screeching of tires as a car pulled up beside the three, the door being flung open. Hands grabbed for him as the other two men pushed him into the waiting vehicle.

Peter was shoved into the backseat of a luxury car, the door slamming shut as soon as his feet were clear. He was thrown off balance against the seat as the car peeled away with a screech of tires. As soon as he managed to right himself, he tried to open the door to possibly escape the moving vehicle, but the door wouldn’t open.

Peter pounded on the window, yelling, “Let me out!”

That’s when he felt the prick in his neck.

Whipping around, one of his hands going to his neck automatically, he was just in time to see a man capping a syringe. He gaped at the man, even as his blurring vision recognized him.

“Tony Stark?!”

The man in question gave him a large smile and reached a hand out to card some of Peter’s curls away from his sweaty forehead. He ignored Peter’s flinch backwards as the young man tried to plaster himself against the car door, out of Tony’s reach.

“That’s right, sweetheart. You can call me Tony.”

Peter’s vision swam and the inside of the car began to spin. He realized he was losing consciousness as black spots appeared in his vision and he felt his eyes close. As Peter’s body fell forward, he was caught by a strong pair of arms and held in a loose embrace.

Peter felt his body being moved into a more comfortable position, hands carding through his hair. As he fell asleep, the last thing he heard was, “Sweet dreams, love. When you wake up, we’ll have much to talk about.”

*****

Maybe a part two later.

[consumedkings-archive]

mayhaps 4. “You’ll play this game with me, won’t you?” for john/elliot?

BABES I AM. SO SORRY that this has taken so long but i am really pleased that i finally hit a stride with it and how it came out!! i hope you enjoy this absolute tooth-rotting fluff piece. i’ve been having a rough few days so it was so nice to get the chance to just write something sugary-sweet for once. (❁´◡`❁)

v. we can change or part ways ✤ pre-cult au

john/elliot + “you’ll play this game with me, won’t you?”, or: john picks a fight with isolde and immediately loses. hints of joseph/isolde mentioned very briefly. sort of a  sequel to this oneshot!

word count: 2.3k of pure fluff. also, some john bullying.

warnings: does john being an idiot count?

“This is a stupid game.”

It’s eleven o’clock on Christmas Eve, Elliot is snowed in at the Seed Ranch, and Isolde and John won’t stop arguing.

It’s almost enough to make it all worthwhile; the fact that they’re trapped, or that Elliot didn’t even want to come to this family dinner because she hasn’t forgotten about John impulsively asked her to marry him and her kicking him out of her apartment shortly thereafter, or that Jacob keeps looking at her from across the living room like, so uh, this is the one, huh?

“It’s not stupid,” John defends. “It will prove the superiority of Elliot and I over you and Joseph as a couple, and I think that’s not stupid at all.”

“It is,” Isolde replies flatly, “because any couple that has me in it is far superior over any couple that has you in it. No offense, Elliot.”

“None taken.”

“Offense is definitely taken,” John interjects.

“My point is that it could be Elliot and I versus you and Joseph, and I would still win, because anyone with two eyeballs probably knows Elliot better than you know her.”

“Then there’s no reason why you shouldn’t want to play!” John snaps, and then he looks at Elliot. Something in his expression shifts—something that Ell can’t quite read, and she thinks it might be because they haven’t even really made up yet from their last argument but have sort of been forced to play nice in close proximity.

And then his expression clears, and he flashes his teeth at her in that crooked smile, and he says, “You’ll play this game with me, won’t you?”

Elliot stifles a sigh. The idea of the game is simple enough—a couple stands back to back, is asked a series of questions about who-is-more-likely-to-whatever, the person who thinks they are drinks. And so on, and so forth. It sounds like a quick way for Elliot to get pissed at John, and also get piss drunk—there’s like, five rules about making them both drink—but he looks so earnest and—

And, well. He’s been trying. And that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

“Yeah,” she relents at last, “I will. If you stop fucking whining.”

“See?” John says, looking at Isolde pointedly, needling, and she groans.

“Can’t wait to watch you get drunk off your ass because you can’t get on the same page as your girlfriend to save your life.”

John rolls his eyes, almost so hard that Elliot can hear it more than she can see it, but he reaches out and snags her hand to haul her off of the couch. Isolde is prompt in producing two glasses full of alcohol—champagne, if Ell knows Isolde at all, and by now she does—and they stand, back to back, in the center of the living room.

Elliot says, “This is stupid,” with a withering sound, and John reaches behind him and gives her hip a squeeze. She still hasn’t forgiven him for his impromptu proposal, and yet he’s finding himself awful comfortable acting like everything is completely fine.

“Don’t be a poor sport, hellcat, you already agreed.”

She cranes her neck to shoot him a dirty look, with half a mind to tell him that she’d like to instead dissect everything he’d once done to piss her off rather than play this stupid fucking game, but her thoughts are quickly interrupted by Isolde settling onto the couch next to Jacob, looking quite pleased with herself.

Probably because she’d wriggled out of having to play a drinking game.

The first few questions are easy; softballs lobbed in their direction to get them to more relaxed. Things like, who’s more likely to get injured doing something stupid (Elliot), or have an embarrassing tattoo (John), or sell all of their belongings and move to Tibet (in which neither of them drinks, so then the rules are that they both must drink). In hindsight, Elliot thinks that Isolde is sending these easy ones on purpose, just ramping up for something better, grittier.

Halfway through, Joseph brings her a glass of wine just as the questions shift a little; who’s more likely to forget the name of someone they hooked up with (John), and date two people at once (John), and go home with someone they just met. The last one, they both drink, thanks to their most fortuitous first meeting in the club, and because they both drink they must then both drink again.

“These questions feel a little pointed,” John snips out eventually, when he’s drank six or seven times in a row, and Elliot can see Jacob grinning at them from the corner of her eyes. She’s pleasantly warm, but certainly nothing close to how toasty she’s sure that John is—how he must be after heartily drinking expensive, highly alcoholic champagne.

“They’re just fun questions, John. Aren’t you always talking about how you’re the fun one?” Isolde asks playfully. Elliot swallows back a laugh—it would be cruel, of course, to laugh at John’s expense—but she can’t help it. He’s put himself into corners too easily. “Who’s more likely to have the highest number?”

“Oooof?” John prompts irritably. “Candles? Chris—Christmas ornaments? Dog hairs on their clothes?” All things that he knows Elliot would beat him in and thus, have to drink for.

“Bedwarmers,” Elliot says, at the same time as Isolde does, and now she can’t help but laugh at the sound that comes out of John; long, and suffering, and fully aware that had he not insinuated that he is superior to Isolde in any way, she would not be specifically targeting him.

He drinks. Jacob asks, “More likely to hit someone with their car?” And she can feel John’s shoulders sag in relief, because she drinks dutifully.

“Thanks, Jake,” John murmurs, his words slurring a little now after enduring an onslaught of pointed questions. Elliot sees Joseph lean towards Isolde, murmuring something into her hair.

“Joseph says I have to stop torturing you,” Isolde announces, resulting in another breath of relief.

“I only suggested perhaps John has reached his limit,” Joseph admonishes. “You enjoy twisting the blade, a little.”

“You’re right, that is very sexy of me.”

John finishes whatever’s left in his cup—which can’t be much and then sets it on the table, nearly taking a headfirst dive over to the other side, and Elliot steadies him and sets her own glass aside.

“Easy, Slick.”

“Unfair,” is what John whines at her in response. “Isolde likes—she—you better.”

Looking awfully smug, Isolde suggests, “Should probably get that one to bed, Elliot, it doesn’t look like he’s gonna make it much longer.”

She stifles a sigh. The last thing that she really wants is to spend Christmas Eve with John completely, absolutely shit-faced; though considering that she’s so much more of a light-weight than he is, it is nice to have there be that kind of disparity for once. Let John be faced with his crippling vulnerability that he’d can’t laugh off because he’s so toasted.

By the time Elliot gets him up the stairs and into his bed, John has moaned and groaned his way through seven different thoughts. He settles against the pillows and lets out a breath, eyes closing.

“Gonna be stuck here,” he says after a minute. “For a few days. ‘Cause—the snow.”

“I know,” Elliot replies, perched on the edge of the bed. And then: "Fuck, I hate this," the alcohol in her system making her painfully unable to filter herself. At her words, John laughs, sitting up and sliding his arms around her waist so that he can look at her at her.

Drenched in dimly-filtered moonlight, all sharp elegant lines and eyes so blue she thinks they might swallow her up—he’s infuriating. Infuriating. So handsome, and also somehow smart and dumb at the same time. The idea that John wants to marry her is incredibly absurd, not only because of their track record but—

"Do you remember," John begins, fanning out the blanket across their laps, "that storm? A few months back? Took out your, uh....?"

“Power?”

“Yeah, that.”

She does. Elliot hates the dark, and with the power out that meant all of the small little lights she'd spread throughout her house didn't work. "Yes. It was awful."

"I remember it fondly," he continues in that still-warm lilt of being inebriated. He settles more comfortably in his spot and thumbs the slope of her hip, easy and affectionate.

“That tracks. We tend to have different views on how things go.”

He narrows his eyes, but the gesture is playful; he seems to be in a better mood than before, the tension between them less aggressive, waning and waxing the way it likes to do. John will contest it to his death, but she thinks that maybe he had intended for them to be equally as inebriated, not one more than the other, when he suggested the game before.

“It was awful,” John concedes, “but also—good. A moment in time can be many things. Should I state my case?”

Elliot groans. She’s drunk, and he’s more drunk but also a lawyer, and there is no way she can out-talk him anyway. Not in a million years. “John, you know I can’t out-argue you.”

“Maybe you’ll end up agreeing.” The brunette shifts again, reaching out and taking her hand. He does it very easily, like the argument doesn’t exist, like she hadn’t told him to fuck off and kicked him out of her apartment those nights ago. “Consider this: you’re me.”

“Hate it.”

“You’re me, and you’ve been dating this girl,” John continues ceaselessly, winding their fingers together. “That you really like, and you keep—messing it up, but this is the first date since the last time that you messed up, and the power goes out.”

Elliot grimaces. Even like this, even with John leaning in so that there isn’t a lot of space between them, telling her the story like it was the greatest thing in the world—all she can remember from that moment in time is the panic.

“And she’s really pissed off,” he adds, for flavor. “So you light every single candle you can dig out of her cupboard, because if you don’t you think she might actually come unglued from hitting her berserk button so much. And when she finally calms down, she ends up falling asleep right against you, and just before she’s really asleep for good she says that she loves you.”

Oh, Elliot thinks, her chest tightening painfully. She doesn’t remember that. The adrenaline crash, sure, burying her face into John’s neck and smelling his cologne as she fell asleep; but that does sound like something half-asleep Elliot would say, the traitorous bitch.

“Stupid,” she murmurs after a moment, when she thinks she’s recovered. Her words elicit from John a half-cocked grin as he’s leaned in, studying her. “That you remember that.”

“I remember everything,” John replies, his voice pitching low, “about you, Ell.”

Bad. This is bad, a mistake. It’s cozy under a blanket, away from the bustle of his siblings, knowing how much it’s storming and snowing outside, and she keeps thinking about how he kissed her in her apartment that night he’d tried to sneak the proposal in—like he wanted more, like he wanted to kiss her more than that, but he was trying to behave.

He was trying.

“I can’t,” Elliot manages out, soft. “John, I can’t—this—back and forth, and—”

“I don’t want to either,” John insists. “I want you, Ell, I mean it—I meant it then, and now, and I’m sorry that I thought a ring would fix it. Or, not even fix it, just that I thought—”

Her chest feels tight, and hot, and she swallows thickly as he speaks before she interrupts. “It was really stupid, really really fucking stupid, like—the meanest joke you could—”

“It wasn’t a joke—”

“So what did you do?” she asks, suddenly, blurting the words out before she can stop herself. John blinks at her.

“What did I do?”

“That night,” she presses. “That night in my house, when the power went out. When I said...”

Her voice trails off. She knows what she wants him to say, deep down inside of her. She knows that she wants him to say, I love you, I loved you then and I love you now and there’s nobody else I want more than you, because she’s a hopeless romantic and there’s nothing that would make her life into a Hallmark movie than John whispering a profession of love like this, right now.

John starts, “Elliot, I’m—”

Panic. If he says it, it’s real, and then she will have to face it. Really, truly face.

“An idiot,” Elliot interjects, her words overlapping with his and strangling them until all she can hear is the tail end of him saying, “—with you,” and his mouth sets down in a deep frown.

She looks at their hands, intertwined. He’d been so sure of himself that night, sliding the ring on her finger, and it’s less that he seemed sure she would say yes but more sure that he thought he had been making the right decision. More than anything, all I want to hear is that you missed me.

“Go to sleep,” she says at length. “We’ll see how you feel when you wake up in the morning.”

John, true to form, heaves the most dramatic sound possible out of his body before he lays back against the pillows, still in his jeans and button up. Elliot stands, and leaves him like that, because there’s plenty of things that John Seed deserves and Elliot thinks waking up in tight jeans is one of them.

“Hellcat,” he says, when she reaches the door. She pauses, glancing back; he’s quiet for a moment before he says, “Mean it, you know.”

I’m in love with you. She knows that’s what he’d been trying to say before she’d spoken over him.

“I know,” Elliot replies softly. “We’ll see if you mean it tomorrow, too.”

She hopes he will.

[analyzing-the-rebellion-story]

The Rebellion Story Analysis Addendum

It’s been four years since I finished the analysis, and a lot of my views have changed! Here are my revised opinions!

In italics is something I said in the analysis.

In plain font is my updated interpretation.

I highly doubt that Kyubey has a biological need for sleep, so I guess that means he’s just been lying there all night. Contemplating.

Another possibility is that he’s communicating telepathically with the other Incubators. After all, what better time would there be to discuss their plans?

Sayaka is a raspberry. Raspberries are soft, but have a strong and distinct flavor. That describes Sayaka pretty well, I think.

Kyoko is an apple. Apples are sweet and wholesome, but their seeds have traces of cyanide. This suits Kyoko well because, while she’s generally nice nowadays, she can be kind of a jerk sometimes.

Homura is a pumpkin. The pumpkin is a delicious and fulfilling produce, but it can be twisted into something frightening (like a Jack-o-Lantern). Considering Homura’s mutation later in the film…

Mami is cheese, a dairy product made from milk. The purpose of milk is to nurture young, and Mami is easily the most nurturing of the girls, so the cheese is referencing her motherly personality.

I wasn’t very serious about these interpretations to begin with, but in hindsight, there are far more straightforward connections between the girls and their respective foods:

1) According to the Madoka Wiki, raspberries are known as “healing fruit” in Japan. I couldn’t find a source for this, but if it’s true, then the connection to Sayaka should be obvious.

2) Kyoko being an apple is probably an allusion to her religious background (think forbidden fruit). This is reinforced by the fact that she stole a bag of apples in the original series.

3) The pumpkin is another one of Homura’s witch symbols, like the newts and owls.

4) Mami is cheese because Bebe eats cheese, and… well…

…Yeah.

This part makes no sense. The figures start crowding around Homura and Kyoko, and don’t leave until Kyoko agrees to keep a lid on things. Homura’s emotions influence the Gemworld, but all she wants is for Kyoko to keep a low profile. This would mean that Homura wants Kyoko to avoid drawing attention to herself, but at the same time is unconsciously willing attention towards Kyoko. What?

The figures surrounding them probably reflect Homura’s fear of causing too much of a disruption. When Kyoko agrees to keep her head down, the fear is assuaged and the figures leave them alone as a result.

The Incubators should’ve spent more time beta testing their memory-altering tech, because it’s proven to be very easy to awaken the girls’ memories of the real world.

Originally I assumed that the Incubators had wiped the girls’ memories so that they wouldn’t catch on to their plan. However, there’s a distinct possibility that it was Homura altering everyone’s memories, which would explain how she recovered her own so readily (and this is supported by the fact that her new world ability is memory manipulation). Kyubey does explicitly state that he wants Madoka to remember her purpose, so unless he thought that her amnesia was some sort of technical failure, I’m gonna place my bets on Homura.

WHAT THE-?!

This... This thing randomly appears behind Mami and displays a walnut, presumably for cracking purposes. I honestly haven't the tiniest clue what this is supposed to represent. Is it symbolic of Mami's dormant memories "cracking open"? Is it foreshadowing Homura's transformation into the Nutcracker Witch? Just... what the heck?!

Since this happens immediately before Bebe is ruled out as the witch, it’s probably just vague foreshadowing without any real symbolism. It could be argued that the uncracked nut represents the unsolved mystery, but since Homulilly is incapable of cracking nuts to begin with, that feels like a stretch.

A rune briefly flashes. It translates into, “you”. As in Homura.

This is supposed to be an answer to the question, “Who is dreaming?” from earlier. I’m sure most of you already knew that, but I feel as though I should’ve pointed it out anyway.

(If you don’t remember this part, it happens right before Homura does her witch test)

The pink spool reappears, only to be kicked away by the Clara Dolls. Not even Madoka’s influence can save Homura from this despair.

Another possibility is that, in her mind, Homura deliberately defied the Law of Cycles (hence the spool getting kicked). It isn’t until Kyubey opens his telepathic mouth that she realizes this isn’t the case.

Shouldn’t Homura’s parents be wondering where she is? Does she even have parents?! I’ve been wondering that since the original series…

I can’t believe it never occurred to me that Homura didn’t invite her own parents into the labyrinth. That’s pretty strong evidence that they’re either dead, or put her up for adoption at a very young age.

Seeing Kyoko at a diner makes me wish there was a spinoff series exploring the personal lives of the girls (preferably with drama-comedy themes). Also, those familiars are giving me chills.

Another thing that flew over my head is that those familiars were sent to kidnap her. Same with Mama, Hitomi and Kyousuke.

Mami summons a train, and unsurprisingly, it has a teacup motif. The deer are kind of random, though…

Since Mami primarily fights with guns, the deer are most likely a reference to trophy hunting.

The runes translate into, “The Eternal Feminine”. This is probably a reference to Faust, a poem that apparently served as an inspiration for Madoka Magica (it’s about a man who trades his soul for unlimited power. Sound familiar?). Here’s a snippet for context:

“Everything that can be perceived is only a symbol; the imperfect, which cannot be realized, here makes itself reality; that which cannot be described, here finally completes itself. It is the eternal feminine, always attracting us to the higher.”

Homura is definitely drawn to “the higher”, though the underlying theme of salvation kind of gets subverted in the end…

While I still agree with this interpretation, I don’t think I did a very good job at describing/contextualizing it. At the end of Faust, the main character’s soul is saved from damnation and guided to Heaven by Gretchen*. This achievement is attributed to the Eternal Feminine, a female essence that draws humans to salvation. This is precisely what Madoka accomplishes at the end of the TV show and is attempting to do with Homura in this very scene.

*The namesake of Madoka’s witch form.

When the explosion the over, the magic forms this symbol. I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be, though? It vaguely resembles the portal to Magical Heaven, but the color effects make it hard to tell. It might also be a wheel, but the contours are very crystal-like.

Don’t know if this was intentional, but the symbol bears a loose resemblance to a dreamcatcher. “Who is dreaming?” is a recurring question throughout the movie, and at this point in time, the world Homura “dreamed” inside her soul gem is becoming a reality. From her perspective, she’s also preventing a “nightmare” by relieving Madoka of her duties and returning everything she sacrificed.

I’m not sure where else they would go, Homu. You didn’t make a new world, you just rebuilt the old one.

She’s probably talking about the Law of Cycles Dimension/Magical Heaven/Land Without Cheese/whatever you want to call it. Homura only took the part of the Law that contained Madoka’s original identity, but since it was the original Madoka that wished for the Law in the first place, her removal caused the entire system to collapse and expel her angels, too. This is why she says that Sayaka and Nagisa “somehow” got dragged along too even though she only wanted Madoka.

In other words, Homura pulled the wrong block from a Jenga stack.

Lastly, I want to point out an observation I made about Demon Homura’s world. When she unravels the Law of Cycles and renders it inaccessible, but also forces the Incubators to shoulder humanity’s curses, the end result is a “middle ground” between the previous two worlds. Think about it: In the first world, Magical Girls are doomed to become witches, while in the second world, they’re ultimately saved by Madoka. In Homura’s world, however, neither of these things can happen, which means she essentially created a world where there is neither salvation nor damnation. I really hope the eventual sequel explores this concept further; it’s very interesting.

Aaaaaaand that wraps it up! I hope you enjoyed this little bonus round as much as I did!

[bounward]

DAW | 1,623 words - but still not enough [re: everyone]

Dawson… was ready. He (thought) he knew what would come next, and he was prepared for it. Or, rather, as prepared as a man could be, before ultimately facing death.

Then death walked through the doors, alive as ever.

The folklorist stared, his head reeling as he tried to make sense of the situation. Listened, as his peers spoke - voices somehow more real than ever before, when they had been mere ghosts of themselves. Waited, for the questions about his crime, for O'Malley to pull away, for the escape via punishment that… seemed like it would not come. Not yet.

Shaking and miserable, Dawson was not. A man wrestling with his convictions… perhaps that was more apt.

His heart ached, seeing Dola again. Lucita again. Chirin again. Vixen and Chuck again. Basil again. He’d had no way of knowing that they’d be returning, somehow, some way. If he had, would he have held back? Dawson felt the familiar sting of loneliness, of loss - now more than ever, seeing them here, in the flesh. It was right that the people he longed to reach out to most sat furthest from him, out of reach. (Not that they would consider reaching back, at this point.) He watched their emotional reunions, aching for one of his own. Dawson withdraws his hand from O'Malley’s entirely, and places it in his lap.

Well, he’d made his bed. He could lay in it later - for now, answers.

“Ah, I suppose any questions I have can come later, hm?” he asks, green eyes slowly drifting from person to person. “You want to know the how, and I assume Prix’s not going to give us much time for the remainder of our discussion, so… Allow me lay it out plain, then. No point in hiding it, and no time to waste hashing it out.”

After inhaling deeply, he begins speaking, and does not pause for questions or sidelong glances. Dawson keeps his eyes trained to the table in front of him, as if looking anyone else in the eye might cause him to falter.

Even as he spoke, their words flooded his mind.

“This wasn’t as methodically planned as you probably assume. I didn’t sit and stew over wanting to kill [Basil] for weeks, plotting out my plan of attack. You saw the hasty cover-up - death hadn’t been my intention. Not at first.”

“I spoke to Basil a few weeks ago, about… more or less the same topic. The Wardens, whether our association with them might be able to lend itself to some use in understanding the tapes. I’ve been mulling those things over, since I realized they existed. How do they work? Why do they work? What combination of technology and magic allows these artifacts to function, and could we glean some sort of information from them? I’d hoped Basil would be able to assist.”

“… The conversation didn’t go anywhere, and I felt as though he’d been hiding things. Understandably, in hindsight, considering his feelings toward the Wardens - ah, and towards me.” You’re a real fuckin’ dick now. “Both of which I have been oblivious to, it seems. And since I seem to be rather skilled at drawing the ire of my peers around the topic of the tapes, I took it to the living members of my crew.” You cooooooooouldn’t wait until I was cold in the ground before pissing me off again. "Dola and Lucita were gone, but this was something we might be able to do. The three of us talked it over, decided to try and question Basil further. I asked [O'Malley] to stay behind, knowing that I didn’t want to put him into the middle of my own theories - and knowing his closeness to Pan. However, we decided Fievel would tag along, just in case anything did go awry - and to be a second set of ears to hear what Basil might have to say.“

"The plan was to question him, then bring the information back to the rest of the group to discuss and figure out how we’d handle it from there, together." …But you have never listened to me anyway. "Fievel and I went to the theme park to test out his abilities in a larger body of water. If anything went wrong, we wanted to be able to stun Basil - not kill him. You saw the results of those tests - the People Mover was drained of power, the fish in the lagoon had been killed. Not exactly a thorough means of training, but good enough to know how much or how little charge to use in the moment.”

“… I met with Basil that night, in the lobby of the Modern building. We were headed toward the Old Time Bar via the Oasis, and I stopped to discuss things there, where Fievel had hidden himself. I brought the tranquilizer gun with me, tucked into a pocket, just in case. The conversation… didn’t go anywhere, again. Ah, it got a little heated.” Yo-ou gave him no escape, forced him to dig up terrible memories for your own satisfaction, to satisfy your own theory crafting–! “I pushed Basil into the pool, and yelled out to Fievel. I think what happened next is obvious. We quickly retrieved Basil from the water, and restrained him with the bedsheets I’d cut earlier, preparing for an interrogation once he woke up. I’d tossed most of them into a bucket of bleach, not anticipating needing them all… but ended up using them, anyway. I’m not a master of tying knots.”

“Which is clear, since Basil broke free from his restraints upon waking up, after Fievel had already left to recharge. I pulled out the gun, but didn’t shoot. Basil started to use his powers - light radiated from his hands. It was bright, I dropped the gun, I, ah… I panicked.”

Beneath the table, Dawson knits his hands together. He wouldn’t force O'Malley to comfort him through this. He could hardly look to Smee for support, now that Dola was back with them. He’d put enough on Tanya, after killing her close friend. His quadmates couldn’t be expected to carry him anymore.

But still, the image of the light… It seared through his memory, like a seven-year-old boy, back in the forest amidst a thunderstorm. His heart beat faster with every clap of thunder, until he saw that flash of light, and everything went dark. His mind turned to static, and his body moved on its own. Dawson squeezed his hands together, knuckles draining white.

“I rushed Basil. He was still weak from the shock. I thought his reaction to my questions was proof enough that he might have had something to do with the tapes as a whole. The traitors. And… I figured that the only way our group would be able to make an actionable decision would be here, in the boardroom, with a vote.” If you don’t want what happened to [Chuck] to happen to Fievel or Dawson, vote for me. "Even if it meant facing my own death in exchange for murdering an old colleague, I… wanted to bring us back here.“

Finally, he pauses for longer than a breath between paragraphs. It’s a lot to take in. It’s a lot to put out. There’s no catharsis, no release of the weight from his shoulders. They droop, as if holding more weight - as if each explanation only adds to it, rather than allowing it to lift.

”… I’m not going to re-hash all the details about trying to cover it up. Most of you saw it, anyway. And I’m not going to excuse my actions, either. Ah… What was it I said, last time we were here? ‘Every single one of us has something that can justify the crimes we might commit, or the crimes we might overlook.’“ You didn’t get it none. Guess, guess you do now. ”I suppose in that moment, I felt that the ends justified the means, despite being unforgiveable.“

His eyes pan to Knuckles, next to him. A gaze that reads, I understand now, affixed to an expression that laments, I don’t want to.

After a few moments of this, he turns his face to meet the eyes of those who had asked him questions. To Campion, to Chirin, to Dola - a pause, however brief - to Tanya, to Chuck, to… as many faces as he could, before returning back to the table.

"I think the connection of the case to the traitors is clear, isn’t it? I wanted to question [Basil] based on my assumption that he could have done something to help explain - or at least more effectively look into - the tapes, and how they worked, perhaps lead us to a connection to the traitors. I killed him because of his reaction; I assumed he was one of the traitors, and wanted to bring us back here to discuss and vote on it. If I was going to kill anyone, at least it would have been…”

He trails off. Easier? Better? One fewer person to have to kill later?

“… one out of the two traitors. I know that so many of us were content to living here for however much longer - but why would we trust Prix on her word, or lack thereof? And none of us knew that we’d be reunited at all, let alone so soon.”

“I would not have done what I did, had I known everyone would return. That we might have been able to get this chance without the need for such drastic action. But I can’t undo my mistakes, so ah, perhaps all I can say now is…”

The regret permeates throughout his body as Dawson finally allows his eyes to settle on Basil.

“Welcome back.”

[thisnerdsadventures]

basketball

Ask me why basketball is important to me, and I’ll say it’s because it’s the gift that keeps on giving. I’m surprised it still does though, because for the number of times I’ve chosen basketball over other things, I’ve also not chosen it. When I was 15, my coach asked me once if I wanted to play full time on the varsity team. My high school varsity team was in of itself a full time job - ranked top 50 in state and fresh off a deep state playoff run, it was a box brimming at the edges with opportunity. But I said no. My robotics team had just wrapped up its first season, and I was already committed. Sometimes I regret not saying yes, and I wonder where that would have led me.

Flash forward two years, and I’m 17 staring down college decisions in late April. Basketball had already given me more than any single entity could have in that two year span, from introducing me to people of all different backgrounds to keeping me afloat in my darkest periods. It even gave me an offer to play on a collegiate team, and I almost said yes. But I said no again, and it was one of the hardest decisions I’d ever made. I questioned whether I’d ever play again, be part of a team like that, even lead a team like that again. In hindsight, I never gave it the time and dedication it really deserved, and I don’t think I truly ever recognized how important it was to me.

The past few days have been rough, in the news and in the world, and on campus too. No one’s having a particularly good time around now. It’s times like these where I’m thankful I’ve found my gift that keeps on giving. For a lot of people, it’s music, maybe it’s their family, and maybe if you’re really lucky, it’s your job that you go to every day, but for me, the sport of basketball has given me community, motivation, and drive. It’s simultaneously a period of calm in a world of chaos and a small piece of my life that I can dictate and bring other people into. I don’t think many people have that part of their life figured out, which makes me grateful every second of every day for having it.

For a while, I thought I had lost it, I had finally chased it away, but this year I’ve dedicated to keeping myself grounded in what’s important, and I’ve realized it’s never left. My dorm recently started up an IM basketball team, something I had been dreaming about being a part of since I first stepped onto campus, and I’ve gotten the chance to lead it. I was worried at first that no one would join, but it’s now filled with some really excited people and wonderful alums I’ve met through the sport. We won our first game the other day, and there were maybe seven or eight “best feeling in the world” level moments throughout. After turning down the chance to play ball in college 3 years ago, I never thought I’d get the chance to feel like that again, but there I was, nearly three thousands miles away, a little stronger, a little older, feeling on top of the world again with my team.

It’s not easy to put into words what basketball has taught me, but it’s ingrained in me a couple of really important things. One is to fearlessly put your all into everything you do, to drive a layup against a guy a foot taller than you with at least 50lb on you. And if (when) you fall, to get back up like nothing happened and do it all over again, even though everyone’s expecting you to stay down for the count. Two is to expect to defy expectations, that prior assumptions are limitations that mean nothing. A group of random, scrawny high school kids aren’t supposed to win six in a row, and a group of undergrads most of whom hadn’t played ball in years aren’t supposed to put up a fight, but no one’s out here trying to fit what people expect anyways. At the end of the day, basketball teaches everyone humility, so it’s really about who puts in that extra sprint and that extra dive.

Basketball and I, at the end of the day, have come a really long way. From my first small child game in 5th grade and always dribbling into the corner, to almost quitting in 7th grade after being benched for not playing well, to a resurgence in 8th grade after a fierce determination to be better, to trying the Nike camp in 2012, to getting named MVP of my high school team, to travelling to so many towns in SoCal, to accumulating a Nike sock collection with my friends, to being recruited by an actual college and meeting with the coach, to playing with future D1 players and meeting people of all sorts of backgrounds, to sharing the sport I love with my neighbors in college and meeting alums, and to being an outlet for everything that’s gone wrong in all the other parts of my life, I’m honestly just really excited to see what’s next.

[ipilates]

Take it easy on yourself, sweet soul. You are doing much better than you think.

Notes on Menopause

Jen Day

Being stopped in your tracks

By the Menopause..

2014, aged 39, I lay on the bed sobbing. I hadn’t the energy, I had run out of steam. That year I had competed in Aix en Province half Ironman, I followed a five month training plan to the letter and trained for 18 hours a week. The seven years before I had been competing in Olympic distance Triathlons. I ran a Pilates studio, teaching for 30 hrs a week. I was raising two spirited teenage boys. I was tired, really tired. Looking back it was no wonder, but something wasn’t right. I have always had boundless energy, this year I also married Tim, my love, my biggest fan, support crew, steady step father, and all round best human being who stood shoulder to shoulder with me, and also dried my tears and told me I was doing a good job. 

As it happens, at 37 I started to feel drained, I kept coming over ‘all funny’, I was getting hot and bothered all the time, I was anxious, I felt every bit of sorrow in the universe, I had become emotionally super sensitive. I worried about the boys, not just general stuff like have they brushed their teeth worries, but astonishingly irrational worries. I worried about everything. I wasn’t sleeping as I was being roused out of sleep by a hot sensation that started in the palms of my hands and souls of my feet that radiated throughout my whole entire body. I once woke up convinced I could smell gas and that we should get the hell out of the house. I put most of it down to being over tired. It got quite crazy, I went to the Dr’s, they ran some blood tests. And boom there it was Oestrogen levels way low, I was going through the Menopause.

I wasn’t a sporty child or adolescent. I was artistic. I have an Arts degree, arty people are rarely sporty. After my son Olly was born I started running (in 2000) and have never really stopped. In 2011 a girlfriend and I cycled 700kms in Northern Vietnam. I hadn’t been on a bike since I was 11 and thoroughly enjoyed the challenge. Also that year I was asked to take part in my first team triathlon. I was asked to do the run leg and I had a decent 5k time of sub 21 minutes. I was a runner, marathons, half, 10k’s, I loved running. 

The day of the triathlon I watched in awe as swimmers launched into a lake, freezing cold, very early one September morning. I couldn’t swim, never learnt. After being disturbed watching Jaws when I was nine years old, I was convinced I would get eaten alive in a swimming pool. I even went through a phase as a child of having to look behind me whilst sitting on the toilet, convinced something would emerge and take me down. But something sparked in me that day as I watched the swimmers, and it ignited a passion, albeit a little obsessive for the next seven years, I had found Triathlon. Slight hurdle to overcome though.

I had to learn to swim. Both my boys swim well, I watched them progress from babies, they had to love the water, I was certain they wouldn’t feel my fears. Never once had I the urge to learn to swim. I had never been out of my depth particularly, and could just about tread water in my Pajama’s if necessary. That I remember doing at school. As a child we never went on holiday, and I certainly didn’t have the privilege of swimming lessons like my boys. So I read EVERYTHING about swimming, I found a pool and started swimming. Kicking hard with my arms stretched out in front of me dipping my face in and out of the water (which I hated doing). 25 meters was a massive goal.

I swam everyday for the first year and that really is the truth (ok maybe not Christmas Day). I joined a swim club that met every Tuesday and Thursday lunchtimes called Swimfit and I was by far the worst. Everyone swam amazingly. David the group coach gave me every bit of encouragement that I needed, not that I needed a great deal as I am quite determined it turns out. He inspired me to keep trying to tickle the toes in front of me. I was seriously slow, and to this day I blame my ‘runners’ legs. I learnt only front crawl and four months in I signed up to do a 3k open water swim, having NEVER swam in open water. So that was next, come early spring my first experience was a complete disaster. Terrifyingly cold, the wetsuit was so tight around my neck I couldn’t breathe. I tried to put my face in the water but the shock sent me into panic. Lets not even talk about the demons lurking low in the murky waters…

If at first you don’t succeed….and of course I persevered, I had set myself a goal and being an upholder I was sticking to it. After seven months of learning to swim I found myself on a chilly (they are always chilly) morning treading water (still not very good at that, but the wetsuit gives you buoyancy) facing my biggest challenge yet. 

We had pink caps on, about 50 women, I decided a women only race would be a good gentle start to my swimming career, goggles on and waiting. The klaxon sounded loudly, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Everyone surged forward, I hung back thinking basically I’m going to drown. I got going and about 30 metres in, disaster struck. My ‘lucky’ goggles snapped, (I had fiddled with them and tightened them so much with nervous anticipation). I suddenly became the biggest NON swimmer out there, my goggles gave me security, without them I was going no where. You are told if you get into trouble just lay on your back and put your hand in the air, well I couldn’t think straight and somehow thrashed my way back to the start, ( I have no idea how that happened), thinking I can’t even lay on my back and float, I’d never even tried doing that before..

So I hauled my body out and sat in shock on the jetty, by this point the stronger swimmers were almost completing the first 750m lap. Trying to compose myself, my legs were like jelly and I was shaking so much with cold and adrenaline,  I said to myself that’s it, that’s over then, just get back to the car and get warm. What the hell was I thinking anyway?! I clearly wasn’t ready in the slightest, no way. And this is what happened next: A lady marshal in her 50’s asked me what happened and I explained that my goggles snapped and that is was ok, I just want to go home. ‘Hang on’ she said ‘there’s a bucket over there with spare goggles, go grab some and get yourself back in’. I protested politely  and said ‘NO but thanks, really.’ What she wouldn’t have understood at that point is how utterly terrified I was and that my ‘lucky’ goggles were the only pair in the whole wide world that were going to assist me in swimming 3k( I had trialled so many pairs, it was a joke).

‘Don’t be silly’ she said, I rolled my eyes like a teenager and dutifully went to peer into the bucket, which in hindsight I should have used to throw up in, but I showed willing just to get her off my case. FORTUNATELY they were all mens, all large, all wrong and hallelujah I’m going home! ‘WAIT’ she exclaimed I have mine in the car, and off she runs. I stood there thinking what the hell? What the actually F*@k. Is this really happening? At this point the swimmers are almost two laps in by the way, sure enough like a flash she returned with two sets of goggles.

Again, I said ‘look really kind of you but I don’t want to get back into that water and I’m absolutely 100% ok with that, ok?’ ‘Not ok’ she said. ‘Put the goggles on, she was a little stern which could of gone two ways but I found myself complying. ‘Listen’ she softened ‘ I don’t care what happens today, I want you just to jump back into that water, swim to the first buoy and back, then you can go home, deal?’ I actually started to cry, ‘ I don’t think you understand (of course she did) this is all new, I have a fear of the water, I have made a huge mistake, I’m terrified and I just cant, I’m sorry” I sat down in protest still holding onto her goggles. Then this happened: She started to undress, to my relief, surprise and dread she had a bright orange swimming costume on underneath, she took my hand, ‘come on, we will do this together’ Was this woman out of her mind? She said ‘get the goggles on, we are going to jump in together, that’s all, then you can get out’ I was in such shock that I didn’t really have time to think about it ( however I do remember thinking get this god dam woman off my case). So, three, two, one we jumped. To my utter surprise the goggles stayed put and we bobbed up like two corks, she must have been freezing, Her eyes never left mine, ‘few strokes?’ She pleaded. My heart rate would have been 200 I swear, we remained still for a minute eyes locked. I decided to start swimming to the first buoy, that’s it, no further, and we did, together, I had her orange swimsuit on my right hand side the whole way, 20 freaking metres. I had a choice, I could turn round and swim back or I could carry on, and that’s what I decided to do, for that woman. With no word or signal I just swam, I found myself on the course with a mantra that went over and over until my heart rate settled, ‘bubble bubble, breathe’. I completed the four laps, 3 kilometres, at one point a guy in a canoe with a flask of tea paddled along side me, probably thinking I may drown at any point. I surrendered and found a rhythm, a flow, and I remember the swim being very peaceful given the struggle.

I exited the water, second from last (yes that’s right!) and she was there (dressed) , our eyes met, she cried, I cried and that was the start of something truly amazing. That lady was a gift to me, we didn’t know it at the time but she was the reason that Triathlon became my next big passion. I’m convinced I would have left that lake (had I not gone back in) and stopped swimming altogether. Instead that was the start of a fabulous journey with many many more strokes to come. That lady was a gift.

So I spent the next seven years pushing boundaries, always slightly out of my comfort zone. I went to Mallorca early springtime and trained with proper age group athletes, I acquired a series of bike upgrades ( that was fun). I swam in seas, rivers, lakes and lidos. I ran tracks, trails, mountains, and cities. I cycled everywhere and hunted hills. I met a brilliant community of triathletes. I succumbed to taking HRT in this time and it truly lifted me. I still had good days and bad but my anxiety was reduced and I could sleep. There was a nagging feeling that I wasn’t fully listening to my body, it was asking me to slow down. Teaching Pilates is a fairly physically demanding job and it takes a lot from you. So something had to give.

My last race in 2015 was Aix en Provence, a stunning course, beautiful lake swim ( horrendously physical start) the bike ride was the moment for me where time stood still and something shifted, that’s the only way I can describe it. I had been so convinced I would get a puncture, I was worrying I wasn’t eating or drinking enough, cramp was starting in my feet, by the time I actually lifted my head up to breathe I was about 30k into the 90km course. I was going through a very flat section purple mountains ahead, the scenery was breath taking but I couldn’t afford the breath, and that’s when a voice inside my head said, slow down, you’re missing this. I had become fixated with times and numbers and stats that I had begun to loose the joy, I couldn’t even appreciate the view. And I was tired, so tired my body wanted to stop.  

I have never been so relieved to finish, the run was the biggest endurance (aside from childbirth) of my life. But I felt like I’d achieved a massive goal and I was happy with the race. However that voice got louder. I got home had a lot of moments of crying on the bed, I took some time off. Scaled my work schedule down a tad, stopped training and had to go through a transition of not beating myself up for not training, this I found hard. At that point I had been running for 16 years, triathlon for seven, I needed a break. By the way, I’m one of those slightly obsessive people if you hadn’t noticed, when I do something I do it.. 

*a note: The one consistency in my physical life has been Pilates. I have been practising and teaching for 18 years. I absolutely adore The Method, it has kept me strong, pretty much injury free and sane. It has given me so much more, I couldn’t imagine life without it. And yes, I think it is absolutely brilliant to ease you through Menopause. I started practising Yoga, gently, carefully knowing not to get competitive with it. I introduced meditation, again without trying to make it my next big obsession. 

I tread lightly these days. When I was first told at 37 I was going through the menopause I was in denial, I felt it wasn’t fair, I was embarrassed, I felt like life was slipping through my fingers. Some of my friends were just starting their families! I felt my life just stopped, having been very driven, active and determined, I lost my joy and that drive. My path seemed to fizzle out, I wasn’t sure of my direction anymore. The menopause made me fuzzy, forgetful, and low. Having entered into my second marriage I was young enough to have more children, but that was taken away. The very feeling of not being able to have children anymore is quite frankly sad. 

Seven years in and I’m feeling a shift again. Over the last year a more dramatic one. And it’s this, I am starting to feel that this is a special time. A time to reevaluate and put your health ( which includes mental health) first. Given that I am incredibly grateful to be gracing this beautiful planet, I feel life is a gift, like that woman. We have a choice, keep swimming up stream, feel the sun on your face, walk barefoot, eat nutritiously laden food, move our bodies with grace, be strong and centred, breathe well, meditate, jump in when you feel scared and don’t let life pass you by, love and be loved, its a gift.

These words by Susan Sontag from the book The double Standard of ageing pretty much sum it up for me..

“Women have another option. They can aspire to be wise, not merely nice; to be competent, not merely helpful; to be strong, not merely graceful; to be ambitious for themselves in relation to men and children. They can let themselves age naturally and without embarrassment, actively protesting and disobeying the conventions that stem from this society’s double standard about ageing. Instead of being girls, girls as long as possible, who then age humiliatingly into middle-aged women, they can become women much earlier - and remain active adults, enjoying the long, erotic career of which women are capable, for longer. Women should allow their faces to show the lives they have lived. Women should tell the truth.”

*Today I am still on HRT, the advice is to take it for 10 years. Originally it went against everything I believed in, I went down every natural avenue I could find first, nothing helped. I stopped eating meat three years ago, one of the best decisions I’ve made for my health. A whole plant based diet works for me.

Thanks for reading xx

[ddrkirbyisq]

I suppose I better talk about VBall first and all the other stuff second.  So let's get on with that. Last year's post is here.  (You'll notice this was during my experimental month where I was doing all of my social media via handwritten photos, haha)  Reading over it again, I talked a little bit about how VBall seemed more tiring than I remembered, how the dance contests were as always a good opportunity to push myself, and how us waltz-types really needed to step it up because we got completely outclassed by the dancers in the swing contest =(

This year was pretty fun!  I had a hoop skirt in addition to my petticoat, omg it was so amazing, it shaped my dress so well, I love it.  I feel like this hoop skirt alone made me excited to go to the ball, lol. I wrote last year that I felt that VBall was ceasing to be a place to catch up with many friends and acquaintances from the dance world, and I think that trend continued this year as well.  That is perhaps just a function of another year passing by, perhaps interests have changed as well as people and even if I did see some people from previous times, would I really connect with them again?  I'm not sure.  Whether I had or had not let go of those threads of fate that once bound us together.  Or were they even there in the first place? Every time that I push myself in my dance, as I tend to do in these competitions, I find that I learn a bit more.  Not just of dance, but about many things besides.  It's a bit hard to describe, but I think every time I push myself to go further than I have before, I am able to see things from a slightly different perspective than I once did.  Dancing changes, people change, what is "good" or "not good" or "cool" changes, and we constantly redefine where we are in our search for self-expression.  Or, well, maybe that's just me being a romantic about it. For once I felt like the waltz room was if not on equal footing, then at least in the same ballpark as the swing room, and that was something I was happy to see, given how invested I have somehow found myself in this dance form (and how unhappy I felt about it last year).  I was also really happy with how my dance has evolved in the past year.  Despite having nothing to prove, I realized in the end that I did prove something, not necessary to anybody else but rather to myself.  There are few dancers to truly look up to in our relatively eclectic form of waltz, and I have found myself wandering alone throughout the years as a result.  Though my flaws are still ever-present -- some by negligence and others by inexperience -- it is a reassuring feeling, at least for myself, looking back and seeing that after walking forward in the darkness I had reached somewhere new. Ok, but returning to the real world for a second here, I will say one more thing about the contests -- competing in both waltz events was =exhausting=.  I feel like I am more and more worn out every time and I am definitely feeling sore from it as I write this.  I felt like I really gave it my all, and man, trying to go all out for four songs in a row of high energy rotary waltz is....just........exhausting.  My shoelace came untied in the middle of it (oops), not to mention I also somehow managed to rip the bottom part of my petticoat (ugh), and somehow my foot kept finding its way through the hole (I was wondering why I kept feeling like something was wrapped around my ankle).  So that was...fun.  ...But no, really, it was actually really great, I don't think I have ever put so much emotion into performing a dance ever before compared to the preliminary rounds of the rotary waltz contest (such good songs!). One of the songs that was danced to was "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri and though I always say the song (ironically) is one that kind of overstays its welcome (when I play it I cut out the part at 2:50, blegh), dancing to that song was not only a joy but quite interesting for me personally because I performed a choreo to it just half a year ago in July as part of Decadance's final performance ever (oh man, flash back to that performance, it really does seem like ages ago).  Part of the reason I left Decadance in the first place was to leave choreo behind and continue pursuing my greater passions in social dance, so it felt quite validating being able to directly experience that.  Dancing to the same song freely, I truly felt like I was able to put so much more into it than before.  I guess that is just the type of expression that I find myself reaching for. (quite literally, in this case...I seem to be a big fan of arm reaches lately) Anyways, enough about that.  Contests aside, in the end it was of course just awesome being at the event with everybody, all of us putting on our best looks and fanciest clothing.  I even stopped by the contemporary room for a brief glowsticking stint as well, which was fun, and though I am not good with photos in general, I managed to get some nice ones wearing my dress, so that is quite nice! Since we're already talking about dance, I should take the time to shill for my own event -- come to JaSmix next month on March 2nd!  We'll have workshops, a few private lesson signups, and of course awesome dancing, so come on out!  I'm pretty excited to finally be hosting a JaSmix event during the school year, since JaSmix is always a bangin time and it's a shame that a lot of folks who aren't in town over the summer months don't get to come to it. ===== Okay, that's all I'm going to say about dance, so if that was all you're here for, you can leave.  Bye! In cooking news, I tried making pizza!  Followed Kenji's no knead + no stretch dough and pan pizza recipe which was not too difficult!  The result was okay, definitely could have been better, but I'd call it successful anyhow.  Topping the pizzas was of course quite fun and its definitely something I would try again, hopefully next time actually having a kitchen scale on hand to measure out the dough more accurately, and using a bit less salt, and of course perhaps experimenting with some different toppings. ===== I haven't caught up with all the Genesis 6 footage, but yo Axe, can we get a round of standing ovations for Axe?  That was insane, it was really something, and it honestly felt like he "won" in all of our hearts regardless of the fact that he could not overcome the GF set and took 2nd place.  Axe you have solidified yourself as the true protagonist of Melee.  We love you dude. ===== And pride is my sin, and pride goeth before a fall. I'm really not the best at being a polite and friendly and respectful and outgoing person, so it's something that I have definitely sometimes just had to catch myself on in hindsight and apologize for or take back something that I said.  I think I still have the same tendency to jump to judging people rather than giving them the benefit of the doubt, to form an "us vs. them" narrative in my head rather than respect that everyone has their own story, their own path, and is trying in their own way.  But I have at least begun to see that when I break that mental narrative it really helps me feel better about the world, that we are all part of this shared human condition, and that the world is not just full of terrible people who are stupid and suck.  Really, we all are dumb in our own ways, and that should be okay.  So we need to find it in ourselves to be compassionate to others, in such that we would also learn to be compassionate to ourselves.  I have been watching Sangatsu no Lion which talks about that kind of theme a lot, and that has really resonated with me. ===== I am still learning how to relax.  Of course, even if I am unemployed, it's hard to take an off-season from being an adult, not to mention all of the other things I expect from myself.  I think I am no longer feeling that sort of "active" stress over all the things I have to do, in fact just a few days ago when I was really in the groove, having had a lot of fun with pixel art and even more fun with glowsticking, I thought to myself "wow, I finally did it.  I think at this moment I finally feel like life is a 5 out of 5.", and that was quite something. That said, I have been having trouble sleeping recently (though I didn't have trouble sleeping today, hah!  VBall may be more tiring than big dance lol) and I think part of that is a latent anxiety that still lingers.  I don't know if it is just things that have been on my mind recently, like some music distribution hassle stuff and blahblah adulting real life things.  But in those hours when life is no longer around to distract, I found myself feeling a bit stressed and sad. =(  So I think despite how well I am, doing, I am still searching for peace.  Hopefully I am taking steps in the right direction...