#i am master of the universe now that I understand taxes

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

Marigold | ateez x reader

Pairing: college!ateez x college!reader

Genre: college, slice of life, romance, poly

Word Count: 1251 words

Summary: After your friend ditches you to become roommates with a rich group of kids in order to live in the Magnolia Apartments, you find yourself alone for your master's program. Never fear though, a long-lost friend has a room available and eight new faces might just make it much more memorable. 

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You weren't mad, just disappointed.

Your friend sat across from you, looking around everywhere but at you while you stared at her with an unamused expression as you took a long sip of your drink.

To be frank, you were a very understanding person. If she didn't want to be roommates then all she had to do was say so. Instead, she tiptoed around with another group of individuals who for some reason, did not like the best bone in your body. In your mind, you could only imagine the conversations she may have taken part in about you. 

The group was none other than an obnoxious bunch of former acquaintances who belonged to a particular tax bracket which afforded them the luxury of being able to live in the Magnolia apartment complex — the most prestigious residence near your university.

The property was a newly constructed, high-rise towering skyscraper with a shiny contemporary design. It was modelled out of excessive but opulent marble and ostentatious gold-plated fixtures, and was sprawled across a large-scale acreage with towering columns and numerous balconies overlooking the city. The entrance was beautifully decorated with a manicured garden and had an imposing entryway that was the epitome of an exclusive lifestyle that only some could afford. 

And you had a little secret…you were part of the some that could afford to live there. But you preferred not to and so, you never told your friend and hoped you would never have to.

But now here you are. You were going to end your friendship with her because you knew there was no way they would let her in if she only said nice things about you. And your friend wasn’t the most loyal person when it came to friendships.

"You should've just told me," you remarked, "It's not a big deal if you don't want to share a space."

"Well…” she answered, “I didn't know how you would react. After all, you lied about being able to afford staying there anyway." 

You grimaced and shook your head. There it was. 

"I admit I did lie, but what's the big deal staying there anyway? Does it matter where we stay? The master’s program is just two-years long."

"Yes! We had an opportunity to stay in the Magnolia apartments! Why wouldn't you want that??" 

"It's just an apartment building - luxurious and beautiful, sure, but it's not the end of the world if we don't."

"It is to me. I always wanted to stay there ever since they finished it and you knew that. And yet, you never decided to tell me that we could stay there."

"For good reason. I'm sorry for not telling you but it's not something I wanted to talk about."

"Am I not your friend?? Literally, how could you be so selfish?"

You scrutinised her with a blank expression. Selfish, a very interesting word choice coming from her. It was quite ironic that the embodiment of selfishness was calling you selfish. You planned on walking away from this calmly but that was no longer possible.

"Here's the thing," you vocalised, sipping your drink, "You could afford to stay there, can't you? But your parents refused because you selfishly and greedily usurped your trust fund to ridiculously splurge and waste it on unnecessary things. And then, you took, no, stole your brother's rainy day savings, to pay back the credit card debt you owed because your parents refused to pay for it. So now, you expect someone to pick up the pieces and help you out in maintaining your rich image, and you expect it to be me because I'm your friend?"

Your friend stayed quiet as you hit her with the harsh truth.

"That's all you ever expected from me. And the only reason why I agreed for us to be roommates was because your parents begged my mom since they can't trust you to not do stupid things."

"What are you trying—"

"What I'm trying to say is,” you interrupted, “You messed up your own opportunity at staying in the Magnolia on your own. You’re lucky your parents even considered paying your tuition. I have no interest in staying there and I won't be, and since you decided to become buddy-buddy with the most annoying group in this whole university, go along and join them, just remember don't come to me when they toss you to the side of the curb."

You got up from your seat and paid only for your drinks. 

"Have a nice life." You announced dryly before walking away.

-

It had been a few days since the confrontation and you spent most of the time touring apartments. Your mom mentioned that your friend had already moved into the Magnolia with the group the day after you two had it out.

You weren't surprised to say the least.

But you were surprised by the lack of apartment complexes near university. Some were...concerning to say the least, and any promising ones were about a 15-20 minute walk to campus. You weighed your options and considered the good cardio you could get out of it. But the idea of walking during the blistering sunny days and the colder months made it unappealing very quickly.

However, just when you thought all hope was lost, your saving grace in the form of an old school friend walked through the café door one Friday afternoon.

While mindlessly circling possible apartments at the back of the café, you didn't notice a tall figure approaching you.

"Y/N?"

You jumped in surprise at the voice.

"Song?"

Lucas Song was a longtime friend from high school who shared the same computer period as you and was your partner in every assignment. He is trustworthy and dependable, and moved cities to pursue a course in Computer Studies which the university didn’t offer.

“It’s been a long time! How are you?”

As you engaged in small-talk, you happened to mention your current situation on a whim, not thinking much of it as you conversed. Immediately, Lucas happily jumped at the idea of showing you a room in his parents' apartment complex the Marigold.

The Marigold didn't compete with the Magnolia, it was an older complex that had been around for the last 15 years and was once known as the cosy, homely safe haven near campus. You completely forgot about its existence because its structure was compact and slightly-worn down, with the paint peeling slightly and the bleak garden of wilting roses and hydrangeas making it easy to pass straight. Not to mention, it always looked like it was under construction with huge piles of sand and gravel, and numerous bags of cement scattered nearby the entrance.

But you trusted Lucas and agreed to a viewing. And it was probably the best decision you made because you were mesmerised by the beautiful interior. The rooms were cosy, quaint and efficient with a communal living room area. Lucas conveyed that you would have to share the kitchen and living room with a few others. You weren’t opposed to it so promptly, you signed the lease. 

But maybe you should have asked about your other roommates and how many of them there were. 

Because on moving day, as you strolled in with your luggage into the living room, you were abruptly greeted by eight persons - all boys, some of them with their hair dishevelled and only in their underwear...while the others were covered in flour gaping at you with a shocked expression.

[gatecoeur]

hey so, i’m now officially gonna make a slow return onto here - it’s been well over a month, and frankly i missed being on here. i guess i should give a lil update on my life for those who care, but i’ll get the rp parts outta the way first and put the rest under read more.

TL;DR, other than the starters people have written for me that i’ve yet to reply to, i’m dropping all my threads. i just really need a fresh start right now, and given that i’m going into a Master’s degree that’s in the English department, i’m not sure how well i’m going to be able to keep up with my more plot-heavy threads. i hope people see this as an opportunity to throw new ideas at me, and i hope to interact with some of the people who’ve recently followed me, so i feel like starting anew is the best way to go about it. 

for those who’ve left me asks, i’ll do my best to work through them. i may have to delete some, especially if they’re in reference to things that happened while i was gone, so please don’t take it personally. i’m just trying to take things at my own pace and time. i hope you all understand.

now, onto where the fuck i’ve been this past month and a bit.

so, back in late July, i was faced with a situation i was hoping i wouldn’t have to deal with, but nonetheless had anticipated - in searching for a place to live in for the school year with friends, they all bailed out on me. all their reasons were valid, but it put a crazy amount of stress on me, because i was already dealing with trying to get myself a car and the insurance for it. so i poured all of my energy into finding a place before i’d be forced to settle on a room i’d hate. 

for two weeks, i had to travel between my home city and the city the university was in to do viewings, which typically was a full day sort of ordeal. not that i didn’t do so beforehand with my friends, but it was taxing and frankly costed me a decent amount of money, especially when a lot of the places i initially looked at were incredibly shitty. i am so fortunate that i found the place i’m in now - sure, the room’s small, but the place is newly renovated, the rent’s cheaper than everywhere else i looked at, my roommates are very nice people, and it’s close to the university. 

when i had that out of the way though, i still had to deal with getting a car. my mom had been flip-flopping for WEEKS about whether or not she wanted to give me hers or not, but finally she did, which honestly ended up saving me a lot of money. dealing with the insurance had been a fucking nightmare though, and it’s actually still ongoing, but it should be resolved by the end of this week. during that time though, my mom had done absolutely nothing to help my stress, because there was potential that i had to stay with my parents for longer than i wanted to, since the car was still needed to get my brother to work, as well as needed for my mom to travel around to find herself a new car. the situation ended up being way more ideal than what my mom had projected, but still, you can imagine how much that sucked for me.

now, during this time, i had the brilliant idea of getting back into the dating pool. i ended up downloading a few apps, and met a guy that i really hit it off with - we’d talk pretty regularly on Discord, and we even went on a few dates. he had so many similar interests with me, was insanely intelligent, and he treated me with so much respect. by the second in-person date, i’m not gonna lie, i was head over heels for him. we even talked about him visiting me every weekend once school started up again, which was way more effort than any of my exes had ever put into me. 

but then, just a few days before i’d officially move into my new place, he messaged me saying he wasn’t ready for a relationship. even though we weren’t official or anything of the sort, it devastated me. i understood his reasons though, and we agreed to stay friends. sometimes it still hurts to think about, but i’m slowly but surely getting over it. we’ve sent each other the occasional message since then, but nothing more than that. 

i’ve also deleted all those apps since then -  i’m not sure how long it’s going to be before i’m okay with opening myself up like that to another person.

it wasn’t all bad though. i went to a wedding with my best friend, and her entire friend group from her hometown has basically accepted me as one of them - they’ve even invited me to join them in their yearly cottage trip that they’re hoping to have next year. i also got to meet up with an old friend from high school - even though it had been literally 3 years since we last saw each other, it felt like no time had passed at all. i got to see some family members that i also hadn’t seen in years, and just yesterday, i helped a friend move into a new place.

overall, the past month and a bit has been one hell of a rollercoaster for me. i hope things will be relatively more manageable, especially when my mental health is in such a fragile state - i need some healing, and part of that includes coming back here and doing what i love most. interacting with you all.

if you’ve read through this all, thank you. i promise i’m doing much better now, and i hope to get back into the swing of things soon enough. <3

[thaonos]

clear the slate and start over

book: foreign affairs

part: 1 of ?

word count: 3372

As the jet flew above the renown Vancross Institute, Joey couldn't help but contemplate the implications of her arrival. Her brain racked over the countless possibilities her new life could bring. Until now, all she had ever known was certainty. As the First Daughter of Rutherland, Joey's days were meticulously planned out from the second the sun rose to the moment whatever photo op she was to attend that night concluded. Every day was micromanaged by her mother, to say the least.

She wasn't ungrateful. She wasn't. There are worse ways to live. It wasn't as if she didn't enjoy the opulence and riches that came with being the president's daughter and a generally well-known public figure. She's had two terms to grow accustomed to her new life in the public eye. Joey would say she's done well for herself thus far.

Are there nights where she lays in bed, replaying lost memories with her friends back in the city? Does it hurt not remembering the person she was before a world full of flashing lights and cameras? Haven't two terms of presidency weathered down whatever relationship she and her mom might have had after her father passed away? Joey tries not to dwell on it.

"Josephine, we'll be landing soon." Winston, her mother's advisor and close friend, strolled down the aisle. He had momentarily cut off his conversation with someone over the phone to address the blonde. "Melissa won't be able to make it, regrettably. She had to schedule a last-minute meeting with an ambassador."

Joey stiffened. Although her mother wasn't winning any Mother of the Year awards any time soon, it always stung whenever she brushed her off. "This master's program was her idea. She couldn't find the time to see her own daughter off?"

For a moment the air between them consisted only of the animated babbling from Winston's phone. The poor assistant—she's assuming, it wasn't in Winston's nature to ignore important calls—hadn't even realized Winston's attentions were elsewhere.

"I could have helped her with the campaign, you know. Prove to her that I'd be a valuable asset outside of just parading around pretending to be some trophy child. She never even considered that," she finished.

The sympathetic look that she was so familiar with now adorned the advisor's features. "Josephine, she'll find a way to repay you. I'm positive she is as unhappy about this as you are. She's your mother, she loves you."

"Correction. She's the president first, my mother second. Maybe not even second."

"It's not that simple, Josephine."

"I never said it was." Joey deadpanned.

With that, she turned away from her mother's advisor and stared back out the window. Always the observant type, Winston took the hint and walked away to attend to his call. Hearing the footsteps fade into silence as he walked towards the cockpit, Joey cast her eyes down towards the school again. Only now were they about to pass by the school completely. Joey had to admit Vancross was impressive. The institute bested every Rutherlandian university in size, no doubt. Its alumni boasted some of the most influential people and leaders in the world. Vancross offered the best education money could afford. Not to mention, its stellar reputation spoke volumes. Her mother had been overjoyed during the phone call the previous night. Supposedly, Joey's rumored enrollment at Vancross boosted her approval rating by a respectable margin.

Joey flinched at the intrusive memory. The campaign and her mother was dead last on the list of things she wanted to think about. She forced her thoughts away from politics and focused on her observations earlier. She had seen many students in the beautiful pavilion outside a large, contemporary structure. There were people playing frisbee, students scattered around making use of the many benches and tables around campus, residents walking to their dorms. There were friends laughing at stupid joke one of them had said. There were couples sitting next to each other, each lost in their own world studying. Grandeur aside, the sight reminded Joey of any other university she had visited. It was hard to believe that half of them were the sons and daughters of some of the most powerful people alive. They were proof that, if she tried hard enough, maybe she could pretend to be normal too.

A wistful glaze overtook Joey's eyes as a ding signaling the plane's landing rang out through the cabin. Vancross was an opportunity to start fresh, away from the prying eyes of the media. She could find or reinvent herself again. Everything was about to change; she could feel it. Her mind strayed back to the conversation she had with Winston.

Well, not everything.

Moments later, the plane touched down. Winston appeared by her side the instant it came to a stop. He wasted no time, already spouting out today's agenda. "Josephine, the car will arrive any second now. Your new head of security is running a bit late, so we've arranged for him to meet us at Vancross instead. Fair warning, the gates are already swarming with paparazzi. Your arrival may be the only thing our people talk about for the next week or so."

That caught Joey's attention. "Why's that? Vancross has no shortage of politicians and monarchs. I heard the Prince of Ulmeria attended only a few years ago. How am I any different from the other students?"

Winston narrowed his eyes. "Josephine, it would do you some good to be more aware sometimes. All eyes are on you right now. The Peace Summit will be here in the blink of an eye, and it doesn't take a genius to piece together why your mother wanted to send you to Vancross in the first place. These are your metaphorical baby steps in the world of politics. Not to mention, your actions at Vancross could make or break the reelection campaign. Before this, only one other president has served more than two terms. Your mother is about to be the first woman to do so." He made a show of mulling over something internally. "Also, there are two princes of Ulmeria."

"No pressure at all. You're really killing it in the motivational speech department, Winston." Joey deadpanned, rolling her blazer on. "I don't understand what me attending Vancross has anything to do with my mother, though. It's not like me failing my World History exam is symbolic of my mother's inability to deliver tax cuts."

The sound of a car horn could be heard from outside. Winston shouldered Joey's backpack, stepping aside so she could move into the aisle. "That may be so, but politics are tricky. People see you as a reflection of your mother. Not to mention, I wouldn't be so hasty to dismiss the notion. You could follow your mother's footsteps one day."

Joey started down the aisle, closely followed by Winston. "That'll be the day, Winston. That'll be the day."

As they reached the steps and walked towards the car waiting outside, Joey let her curiosity get the better of her. "Winston." The gray-haired man hummed, reaching the vehicle first and opening the door for her. Once she and Winston settled into the limousine, she continued. "You mentioned my mother meets with an ambassador today. Do you happen to know which country sent him?"

Confusion etched onto Winston's face from her sudden interest in Rutherland's diplomatic affairs. He quickly schooled his expression. "Truth be told, I'm not too sure. She mentioned the border skirmishes, so my best guess would be an Ardonian representative." Winston nodded affirmatively to himself. "Yes, that sounds about right. She would have been here if she could."

The strawberry blonde shrugged, picking at the hem of her navy-blue skirt. Truth be told, she hated wearing skirts or short dresses. She felt exposed enough in public. "Don't get my hopes up, Winston." Although she had meant it as a joke, this earned another decisive nod from the older man.

Eager to change the subject, Winston whipped out a notepad and flipped to his notes without even fumbling for the correct page. "I strongly advise you brush up on your knowledge of foreign affairs. Several other countries are sending their own delegates this year. We have it on good authority that Drivosa, Esherstein, Ithanstan, Naporvie, Pavadena, and Ulmeria are sending representatives. Your head of security should have more information on each of them."

The younger woman's brows furrowed. "That's every country in western Europe minus Ardona—not that there are any complaints there, of course. That would be a public relations disaster."

"The task may appear daunting, but this does work in our favor. You're already aware that this is a purely diplomatic move. Their support is essential in moving forward with the Ardonian Accords. Most of Western European Alliance—such as Esherstein and Ithanstan—seem to support your mother in welcoming Ardona and their allies into WEA, but there are people out there who would stop at nothing to prevent Ardona and the rest of the Eastern Powers from joining the union," he hesitated, unsure whether or not he should continue. "Especially after..."

"The war?" Joey finished.

"No." The advisor spared a hasty glance up at the partition. His voice dropped slightly. "The nature surrounding your father's death."

A flicker of emotion briefly passed over Joey's features before she adopted a blank expression. "I see. Which countries are not in support of the Ardonian Accords?" She trained her eyes forward, trying to focus on the conversation at hand. After all, it had been years. She had a duty to fulfill right now.

If Winston had noticed her behavior, he didn't let on.

"For starters, Ardona is only begrudgingly entertaining the idea. They're not happy about being practically forced into a peace treaty. This shouldn't be a problem, though. The prime minister knows what's best for Ardona. Drivosa is still upset about the humiliating loss they suffered in the Battle of Trinket Hill. You may have heard that Pavadena isn't a fan of the Ardonian Accords either. King Serrano was fond of Bleu." At the sound of her father's name. Joey's right hand clenched into a fist around the fabric of her skirt. "Luckily, Ulmeria seems to be cooperative. Prince Philip is eager to forge ahead."

The conversation died as the car lurched onto campus grounds. Joey took a glance at the flashing lights outside of the window and exhaled slowly, preparing herself. Her right hand slowly relaxed its grip. Next to her, Winston threw his notepad into his briefcase and shoved outside into the eager crowd. This routine was one of secondhand nature to the both of them at this point. Joey fixed her hair and adjusted her clothing in the few seconds she had before the door opened. She blindly grabs the strap of her backpack and turns towards the door in the same moment Winston pulls it open. Agents Demarco and Pierre are already keeping the photographers at bay.

"Josephine!" An obnoxious reporter jammed a microphone into her face. "Mike Williams with Stalker Media. Any comments on the Peace Summit looming over us? What does the Rutherland presidency think of the Ardona-Esherstein border clashes?"

Josephine rolled her eyes. Stalker Media might be one of the trashiest news outlets out there. At least the piece about Esherstein's First Son drunkenly crashing that gala the other night was interesting to read about. She was in attendance that night and had nearly choked on her drink when Alexei Vukoja drunkenly strolled in, a horde of cows trailing behind him. She'd have to ask Alexei where he found them.

Demarco pushed the microphone away and the two guards started paving the way towards the gates for Josephine. Seconds passed, and the voices began to blend as she tried to focus on the different media outlets vying for her attention.

"Josephine, over here! Smile, honey." Josephine gave the reporter forced grin as a flash went off. She turned away.

"Miss Fils-Aime! Did you see Lewis Wright's new campaign video? It's good stuff, he might just give your mother a run for her money." She shrugged innocently.

"Josephine! Josephine! Does your enrollment have anything to do with your mom's worsening approval ratings?" She avoided eye contact with that particular paparazzo.

She could see the gates by now. A few more steps separated her and freedom. Just as relief began to flood her system, another question rang out.

"Josephine, we were interrupted earlier! Do you have a moment to discuss the implications of the Ardonian Accords? Why is your mother trying to push for an alliance with Ardona given your father's assassination?"

At that, she couldn't help but whirl around, jaw clenched. She found herself face to face with the first reporter. Mark, if she recalled correctly. He had a smug smirk on his face, knowing she had taken his bait. "Why is she welcoming your rival, who your people believe is responsible for her husband's death, with open arms?"

Josephine opened her mouth to respond. Before she could make a fool of herself in front of the cameras, Winston gently turned her around and guided her towards the gates. "Really? Nothing to say, even about Ardona sending a representative this year as well?"

Joey frowned. Still walking, she looked to Winston for answers. "You didn't mention an Ardonian delegate," she whispered.

"Our intelligence indicated they wouldn't be sending anyone this year. Hopefully your new head of security will be more on top of things," He murmured in a clipped tone.

As the group crossed the gates, Joey was taken back by the contrast in atmosphere. Outside, it was suffocating. Between the cameras being shoved into your face and excessive badgering by the press, it was difficult to even hear your own thoughts. Inside, there was none of that. The tranquility made her teary-eyed. She thinks she may even hear birds. Winston quietly excused himself from the group as they reached the quad, leaving Demarco and Pierre to escort her to her room. Shortly after, the three of them reached the doorstep of her new living space for the next few years.

As the door swung open, Joey let out a small whistle. The dorm was spacious. The homey furniture made the room vibrant yet intimate. Vancross was treating her nicely. She walked in, nearly bumping into the luggage her team had dropped off a few minutes prior to her arrival. Joey slowly took in the sight of the dorm, the corner of her mouth quirking up.

With a toothy grin on her face, she triumphantly turned towards her guards. "This place makes the State Manor look quaint! Jealous, are you?"

The agents cracked a smile at her teasing. They'd worked for her family long enough to recognize that Joey struggled to enjoy herself, even in private. The First Daughter of Rutherland could afford many luxuries but being able to have fun wasn't one of them. They've learned to appreciate the young woman's refreshing personality on the rare occasion she permitted herself to be authentic and carefree.

Demarco's mouth moved to retort back, but a silvery voice rang out instead. "Almost makes you feel like royalty, huh?"

All heads turned towards the bedrooms. A young brunette stepped out from one of the rooms, planked by a burly man. "Of course, I actually am royalty, but all the dorms are this nice. I'm trying not to take it as an insult. You must be the roommate." She extended a hand. "Princess Dionne Mariana Regina Dorada de Rothschild Serrano of the Kingdom of Pavadena. This walking protein shake ad is my bodyguard Murphy."

Joey took her newfound acquaintance's hand, her easygoing smile softening into something less genuine. "Josephine Fils-Aime of the... country of Rutherland? I'm afraid those are all the names I have. I prefer Joey, though. Not sure that helps my case."

Dionne gave a dismissive wave. "Names are overrated, anyways. Luckily for you, I only go by Princess Dionne. For my new best friend, I'll accept just Dionne."

Dionne plopped down onto the couch, gesturing for Joey to join her. "Since we'll be spending an insufferable amount of time together, I thought we could get to know each other. Any dirty family secrets? Long lost half-siblings? Oh, I know! Did your first pet goldfish die as a direct consequence of your neglect and you have never been able to love anyone since?"

"As if any family secret could be kept out of the public eye for this long. Don't think I have any half-siblings, but you'll be the first to know if I find out otherwise. His name was Hugo and I took great care of him, thank you very much," Joey smiled as she received rolling eyes in response. "My mom thought it would be a great idea for me to enroll in the master's program here. She hopes I'll have some epiphany and realize I've always wanted to follow in her footsteps one day. At least I have some time away from the public. It's been a while since that was the case."

Dionne gave her a quizzical look. "I'd figure. You really sell the whole 'perfect First Daughter' image, you know. My parents always gush about how great you are with handling your image and reputation. I'd go insane if I attended the number of galas, conferences, or state dinners you do."

"I try," Joey shrugged, sudden insecurity clouding her features. She glanced around, noticing her agents' disappearance. She briefly wondered when they had slipped out without her knowing.

Dionne took note of the shift in the First Daughter's tone, rushing to amend her statement. "Not that it's a bad thing! It's admirable you're so supportive of your mom and her presidency. You hold your own against the press well, too."

Judging by the lack of change in Joey's expression, Dionne was unsuccessful. Seeing as Joey didn't seem like she was going to respond, the princess pursed her lips and continued.

"Have you taken a tour around campus?"

The Rutherlandian shook her head.

Her roommate clapped her hands together and jumped up. "It's decided, then. I'll show you around! Let me go get dressed."

"You weren't already...?" Joey trailed off as Dionne jogged to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. "...Dressed?"

Silence filled the dorm as Joey awkwardly sat there, awaiting the return of her eccentric princess roommate. Then she heard shouting outside. From the volume, she figured it was distant. Near the gates. If she was a betting woman, she'd guess another high-profile student just arrived. Curiosity peaked, she walked towards the window. She had to strain her neck a little to find the entrance, but as soon as she did, a brown-haired girl strutted through the gates.

Without turning back, the newcomer raised a middle finger towards the paparazzi as she walked away. Joey's eyebrows rose as her gaze traveled down to her ripped jeans and solid maroon blouse. As if her behavior wasn't scandalous enough, her casual attire was a bold statement in itself. Something in Joey lurched forward, drawn towards the woman with an attitude.

As the woman drew closer, Joey's breath hitched. From afar, it was easy to mistake her for anyone else. Although it had been a while since she had seen Blaine Hayes, there was no mistaking those striking green eyes up close. The last she's seen a picture of her counterpart was when Blaine was in grade school sporting a dorky haircut and neon pink braces. Time had treated her well, and, Joey had to hand it to her, those braces definitely worked. The woman she was openly gaping at now was refined, beautiful even. As Blaine and her security detail made their way towards a different building, Joey's eyes trailed the group across campus in disbelief. She must be seeing things.

"There's no way that's..." She began, mumbling to herself. She trailed off as the waving of a flag caught her eye. A fleeting glance at the top of the black vehicle pulling out of the lot confirmed her suspicions.

There was no universe in which Joey wouldn't recognize that sea green and gold striped Ardonian flag, floating mockingly around in the air.

[philosophicalconservatism]

Response and Question About Racism And Slavery.

https://whachu.tumblr.com

What is your supposition to why White Power is evil but Black Power acceptable? Or even Brown Power? I mean, it was Black Africa that enslaved blacks to profit from their bodies. Not condoning any of it, I feel it beneath the respect for human life. I am genuinely interested in your thought.

https://philosophicalconservatism.com

As far as I'm concerned, every form of modern day "racial pride" is grounded in attitudes of inferiority. An individual whose greatest value resides within his skin color or race is a poor man indeed. But let us get directly to your question. If we are talking about Blacks living in America 60 years ago we can absolutely understand why there would be a wrestling with feelings of inferiority. They were victims of an unjust, immoral, racially oppressive environment that attempted to instill into them the belief that they were second class both as citizens and human beings. Slogans like "Black power" and "Black Pride" therefore served as a means to psychologically counteract the atmosphere that surrounded them. The cries of "White Power" during this same era had no such origin. Their function was to propagate an ideology of racial superiority (and to attempt to subject others to that ideology). That is the reason that  these two phrases have traditionally been treated differently.

But here is the issue: it is not the 1960's. Yet divisive, contemporary,  Leftist political ideologies have an interest in pretending that we are all still in some earlier era of American history, and that the extreme transformation of society that we all see before our own eyes is unreal. That is because these ideologies work by sowing division within every realm of life (race, sex etc.) in order to justify ever expanding state power, and state oversight of every detail of civil life. Recognizing objective social progress means no longer having an excuse for not viewing and judging human beings as individuals as opposed to members of a racial group (as articulated in the speeches of the civil rights leader Dr Martin Luther King Jr. who Progressives claim to admire).  Viewing things through an individualist lense is  not in the interests of certain groups. The end of racialized thinking is simply not their goal.

As for slavery, it was as you suggest practiced all over the world and throughout history. It is worth noting though that the institution was not the same in every situation. Historically the most common form of slavery was debt slavery. One party owed a great deal of money to a second party but they did not have the means to pay it; and so they had to pay it back through labor. They could in fact buy back their freedom like a commodity. People in this position tended to have a certain amount of rights; they were not wholly at their master's mercy. Their humanity was not entirely lost, perhaps in part because it was understood that this was a position that could be escaped, and into which (at least potentially)  well off individuals could fall. Different institutions of slavery have different bases, but the more a particular institution was able to view the slave as an "other" the more brutal it tended to become.  

In the beginning American slavery functioned a bit like debt slavery, at least in one limited sense. Men and women were brought over both from Europe and Africa as slaves and (early on) they had the right to buy back their freedom (the Africans had of course never incurred any debt and so had to pay whatever their own market price happened to be).  Obviously it was much easier for the European slaves to buy back their freedom since they arrived speaking the language and understanding the culture. But many Blacks did earn their freedom. They became landowners, paid taxes, even voted according to certain records. And some Black landowners owned slaves themselves. Now over time the institution began to change, and instead of merely being financially based a new racist ideology began to emerge as the basis for American slavery. It conveniently corresponded to the South's growing economic dependence on slavery. Slavery was now depicted as the unique and inescapable lot of "the Black race", justified by its own inborn characteristics.

This ideology naturally made the slave into an "other" in the most extreme sense, and thus made for an even more cruel institution. Cruelty comes through dehumanization, and racism is an absolutely reliable path to dehumanization. So the particular character of American slavery is something that we have to take into consideration even while acknowledging the overall universality of slavery. It is indeed a stain on our history as a nation. But given that it was specifically this focus upon race that made the institution as bad as it was, it is ironic that Leftists fight ceaselessly to preserve racialized thinking. Or perhaps it is not ironic given that it was  Leftists that championed early racialized thinking  ( from the Jim Crow era backwards). And that is not an abstract claim. What we mean is that it was specifically the ideological wing of American politics that professes to defend the interests of  the "working class", that is suspicious of free markets and big business, and that loves government control and intervention.  The role of Leftwing labor unions in perpetuating anti-Black discrimination is pretty central.

[literaetures]

this might be more of a question for your sideblog, but how did you know you wanted to go to graduate school for english? was there something in particular that made you choose a PhD over a Master's program first, or did you already have a Master's when you applied? i've been pondering grad school myself lately, and it's hard to know how firm i should be in my convictions other than "i don't think i want to never be in this environment again."

ah yes the sideblog with a great url i don’t use nearly enough... maybe i should get back into that— but it’s fine! i post about my gradventures here so i don’t mind at all! ask away! 

i chose the phd over the masters for a few reasons— first, getting a phd in the u.s. is “free”... ish... they pay you a “living” stipend since you’re committing to a full time job for 6+ years, and they take care of you tuition and give you university health care, so financially it was more feasible for me to do the phd since getting a phd was a something i’ve known i wanted to get in my life— education is super important in my family especially being first gen so there was no doubt in my mind about it, and i felt like i had the stamina to keep me going through school immediately after undergrad (which uh... if i could have done a gap year i absolutely would have but it just wasn’t possible for me)

i didn’t have a masters first— i went in immediately after the summer i graduated with my ba— and i know a lot of people go for a masters first to see if they even want to commit to another 6+ years of that work (because it’s so. so much work. it’s completely different from the undergrad environment and experience so getting an idea of that environment before committing, or even training for it, are great reasons to get an ma!) or they need it for another job they want, etc. but i was certain i wanted to get my phd for myself so it made more sense financially and timeline-wise for me to just go for it!

so i had really strong convictions from the get go— i knew i wanted to get a phd for me and myself alone, while being fully aware that the job market in academia especially the tenure track professor job was and is garbage (and even worse now with a pandemic) and i’m probably not going to land a job at the end of this and every grad student and prof ever telling me not to do it since grad school is... so much and not great if you’re getting a phd. but getting paid (albeit a small amount) to dive into work i’m passionate about in a field that i enjoy and me feeling like my work matters and means something even if it is a drop in the ocean was enough for me to convince myself to do something like commit myself to this for so long! teaching students and helping them learn and grow and strengthen their writing and help them find their voices and support them in any way i can, trying to aspire to the amazing grad student mentors i had in undergrad, emulating the amazing classroom experience and knowledge my professors had given me in undergrad, and just wanting to explore this range of knowledge i get paid to work on felt like a sweet gig— and then you experience the environment of academia and the reality of the situation hits with all its toxic work environment and imposter syndrome and impossible amounts of work to keep up with, and feelings of utter loneliness, etc. etc.— but even through that, the thing that keeps me going is the idea that i might be able to write one good article, help one student with their writing and themselves, read books i have yet to discover or learn about things in ways i hadn’t thought to consider before! 

after being in a phd program, i understand why no one encouraged me to pursue it. it’s fucking hard and so taxing in so many ways— mentally, emotionally, physically— but i knew i wanted to do this, and i think i was certain of the motivations that would keep me going for the 6+ years that it takes to get it which was trying to rid some of that toxicity from the system in the minuscule way my presence can. i don’t know if that helps your feelings at all, bc i am now in the group of people that wants to save people from the toxic environment, but i do know that i’m still here and i still want to pursue the potential diss topics i wanted to pursue when i applied and i met a great roommate who gets to hear me vent about the experience whenever she texts me and my grad mentors/friends are a text away when things get cry worthy and frustrating. i don’t think this post is very encouraging or answered what you asked (and i’m sorry for that!) but i hope it gives you a more well-rounded image of the experience of it 

[pajama-nerd]

Reading my way through Fazbears Frights, thinking about how none of these protagonists have ever interacted with any kind of horror media.

Reader Beware: Spoilers Ahead

Into the Pit didn’t read like time travel to me. It read more like a particular kind of haunting where the negative energy of all of the bad shit that happened at that location was locked into the one remaining 'feature' of the location: the ball pit. And Pit-Bonnie isn't the ghost of Afton, but rather the entity that was created from the memories of all that bad energy.

And the interesting thing to me about Pit-Bonnie is that - aside from the inherent creepiness of the situation and the fact that he had literally one facial expression (he can’t even blink for cryin’ out loud) - he didn't attempt to harm Oswald until Oswald went back to rescue his dad. Once Pit-Bonnie was away from the negative energy that had spawned him, he did Dad Things™. He did them in the creepiest way possible, granted, but we don't actually know how he feels because of his inability to express.

Maybe he wanted to stay. Maybe he just wanted a break from that place. Maybe that place has a hold on him, and being away from it allowed him a measure of free will.

And the fandom that I’ve seen about the Dashboard has locked onto Pit-Dad-Bonnie because the general attitude of the fandom - as far as I've witnessed - has been 'Oh. A scary thing! Well, now it's friend-shaped.' (or, in this case, Dad shaped) so of course my immediate question is, 'how would the story have changed if Oswald had made a more serious attempt to communicate with Pit-Bonnie?'

The immediate, cynical response is 'well it would have slaughtered him' but that's infinitely less interesting than the possible alternatives.

Perhaps he takes in the fact that Pit-Bonnie can't talk, and proposes an alternate method of communication. I'm talkin construction paper and crayons. And he gets Pit-Bonnie to tell his story a la Nephrite from Steven Universe. About how one day he just was. And how sometime after that, that version of Fazbear's formed around him. And how there were happy, smiling kids laughing in the pizzeria and he was happy, but how every time he tried to be friends with the kids something would happen.

The world would flicker and they would just be in that back room, like that. How he was desperate for some kind of a connection and could never have one because those kids – those memories – were doomed to die by the memory of his hands. How he noticed Oswald because Oswald didn’t fit – he was real – and how he’d wanted Oswald to help him figure out how to change what had happened (or to make it stop), but Oswald had run away. About how he’d tried to fish Oswald out of the ballpit and gotten his dad instead. About deciding to take his dad’s place so that he could get away from that place and how being here with Oswald was nice. Driving him to school was nice. Making him dinner was nice. Cleaning the house with him was nice.

(Imagine Oswald getting less and less afraid as he interprets the story, checking in with PB occasionally to make sure he's getting it right. Getting slightly annoyed tho, because he's not getting rid of this rabbit, is he? But he still needs to rescue his dad, so now what?)

Oswald eventually tells PB that he can stay, which surprises but elates the rabbit. Then Oswald tells him they have to get his dad back.

There's a negotiation. Obviously, they have to get his dad back. Has Pit-Bonnie been going to his dad's job? What about taxes? Things his dad knows how to do? What about Oswald's mom? Is Pit-Bonnie just going to pretend to be his dad around her forever? What if she wants to do...like...parent stuff? With her husband? If you catch my drift (PB does not, in fact).

Eventually PB agrees, and even drives Oswald back to the same block as the pizza place. He doesn't get close to it - definitely doesn't park in the lot - but Oswald just tells him to wait in the car and goes and wakes his dad up from the ball pit. His dad is confused. Disoriented. Way out of it. Let's Oswald lead him back to the car and sits in the back, too out of it to comment on the yellow bunny mascot in the front seat. They return to the house without incident, and his dad passes out on the couch.

Oswald eventually figures out that PB is the one making his dad so loopy - that the connection PB formed so that he could know how to drive the car, how to work the vacuum cleaner, how to make Oswald's meals, is also keeping Oswald's dad borderline comatose. It takes some convincing to get PB to give that up. PB is afraid to give that up - afraid that if he doesn't have an anchor, he'll go back to being an aimless product of rage and murder.

Oswald's solution is to spread the bond out. He'll take part of it. If PB splits his focus, it'll be less of a strain on his dad, and PB will have more than one anchor. This has the added property of giving his dad the ability to see the seven-foot-tall grinning plush rabbit (he doesn't react well. Neither does mom. Oswald has never had to talk so much in his life)

So now Pit-Bonnie is a part of Oswald’s life, and it’s hella weird at first, but everyone gets over it, because eventually you just get numb to weirdness. Except Oswald becomes obsessed with Freddy Fazbears, in an Unsolved Mysteries kind of way. Starts researching the place wherever and however he can.

Pit-Bonnie helps, in his way, after they figure out a way to communicate efficiently (modified Sign Language, because being bonded to Oswald means that Pit-Bonnie knows how to do all the things that Oswald knows how to do. So Oswald learns sign language. Which means that Pit-Bonnie knows how to sign now. He still only has the one facial expression, which makes asking questions a little complicated, but they work it out).

I imagine that Pit-Bonnie is very tuned in to the weirdness/darkness vibe that Freddy’s and its remnants (ha) give off. He starts reading local and then state, and then national newspapers, and whenever he gets the Fazbear vibe, he sets the article aside for Oswald to look at. Also he doesn’t sleep, so in the first week of Oswald’s obsession, he generates a lot of leads for Oswald by going through back issues of...everything.

This is a rambly thing, but my point is that most horror has a solution and most of the time this solution is subverted by having it happen to people who have no experience with horror movies, books, comics, or other mediums, which is…I dunno. Kinda cheap.

‘What if they ever saw Frankenstein and sympathized with the monster enough to have empathy for this thing?’

‘They’re not horror fans. And the ones that are have never seen or read the stories where empathy solves the problem.’

To Be Beautiful (a terrible, one dimensional story with a terrible message about self-image told the way that high school stories in the 80's-90's were told, which wasn't even accurate to how highs schools were in the 80's-90's) could have been solved by literally anyone being more than passively curious about the drastic changes that Sarah was undergoing. (Puberty doesn't work that fast. Her whole freaking face changed). Or by her mom going into her room at some point and asking about the 5 foot robot doll.

Count the Ways has many solutions, although, really? She shoulda chosen starvation. More time to escape or be rescued is always, always, always going to be better than a 'maybe I won't be bifurcated’ any way you slice it (I’m not sorry), but I'm fond of the idea of Oswald coming across an article about ‘theft of proprietary animatronics from a Fazbear Entertainment property’ and it leading him to Milly’s grandfather’s house in time to save her. Along with his seven-foot-tall grinning plush friend who can alter people's perception.

Fetch could have been solved by treating Fetch like a dog. Seriously. He is dog shaped. He is therefore a dog, first and foremost. Dog first, killer animatronic second. Which Greg didn't fundamentally understand (he strikes me as a cat person anyway). But Fetch spent that entire story trying to do what he thought his master wanted, and never got so much as a 'good boy' out of it. He didn't even try to defend himself when Greg went to town on him with a baseball bat because he just wanted to be a good dog for his boy. And even after that, when Greg expressed a desire to see Kimberly, Fetch still wanted to do something to get his master to call him a good boy. Honestly, if - after being warned about Fetch - Kimberly had planted her feet and said 'Sit!' I would bet actual Faz-dollars that Fetch's haunches would have dropped to the pavement out of surprise alone, because it would have been the first time in the story someone treated him like a dog.

Alec was doomed to be a teddy-bear from the moment his parents picked up a ‘how to raise my kids’ book, but he’s still alive. There’s no reason he couldn’t be rescued (by Oswald, who’s on the trail of all the weirdness related to Freddy Fazbear. I’d read that story. I’d write that story. I will probably write that story)

The Plushtrap story...had no flaws. That was the only solution, and good on those boys for making all the right choices except for the initial choices that put them in that situation to begin with. A+. Those teeth, Jesus.

1:35 am could have been solved with an apology. Come on. For a character that was supposedly in the Foster Care system being bounced from home to home, you’d think she could empathize with an entity that didn’t appreciate being thrown away. A sincere apology, a promise to never do it again, and Ella would probably have forgiven her.

I don’t remember where I was going with this. I started writing it before I clocked on for work, but that was eleven hours ago. Who can remember where a train of thought that far back?

[earthfluuke]

1/hello! i'm late (it's already night here) but i really wanted to take some time and send you an ask 🥰 what you mentioned in your last reply about tax being a lot about memorizing lots of tax code and such totally makes sense. I kinda just.. forgot about that part 😂 it doesn't sound like too much fun to memorize these different things but it's probably not why you choose to study accounting and now tax, right? if you feel like talking about it, why did you choose those as your majors? 😁 - 🎄

2/ going in undecided into uni is also not a thing here, so, yes, i've already chosen a major. it's korean studies, actually! (I'm so glad my parents let me do what i wanted instead of forcing something on me that i'm not passionate about...) - 🎄

3/ it's a lot of fun, but it's also a lot of work. the semester being online is an advantage for me though - at least in some parts! I live quite far away from the university and getting a flat or a room in the city is nearly impossible, so i don't have to spend nearly 4 hours of the day commuting from one place to the other. it's sad though that i can't meet the other students and my lecturers/professors... :( - 🎄

4/ and about your favourite shows, dw!! i can relate so well, i'm undecisive af when it comes to my favourites from basically everything 😅 i've watched all of these shows except for still2gether (i dropped 2gether after episode 10 or so though). dbk gave us the cutest side couple tbh! morksun stole the spotlight from petekao, for me at least! you're a huge petekao fan though, right? - 🎄

5/ uwma was such a nice watch. it was a bit heavier and i couldn't watch certain scenes (did not need to be reminded of my panic attacks, thank you very much) but over all i did like it. the acting, especially on fluke's side, was awesome but i wish we could've seen more of earth and kao's incarnation of the main couple... i wish kornin's story would've ended differently :(( - 🎄

hello! good morning! i’m so sorry i didn’t get around to answering this last night! i wanted to make sure all of your messages had come in ^^

i don’t usually talk about my career path online, because...it’s very boring? haha, it’s just not something of interest. but since you asked! i took some accounting classes in high school to see if it was a feasible major, and i found out i was quite good at it. so i figured why not? as for my master’s, there is this thing called the cpa (certified public accountant) exam that almost all accountants take. it honestly just makes you look good on paper, if anything, and companies are more likely to hire you. in order to sit for that, you need to have a certain number of credit hours. with just undergrad, you won’t be able to meet those. so i figured that i’d get a master’s to fill those hours. it was between taxation and auditing, and auditing is just NOT for me (auditors are the people who make sure companies aren’t doing anything illegal on their financial statements, and that’s just the most basic way of putting it haha). so that’s how i ended up here!

it’s so nice that your parents are supportive of the path you want to take! i know for me and many others, that isn’t always the case (if i could’ve, i probably would’ve gone down the route of psychology, but alas). i completely relate to living far from my campus, so while online school is hard, at least we don’t have to make that long commute! especially as it gets colder. i’ve had to walk a good few miles from the train to my building, and let me say, i will not be missing that this year! not being able to make connections with people is really one of the worst parts of online school, but hopefully you’re able to meet at least a few classmates in group projects or something like that (even though group projects are the WORST).

still2gether, to me at least, is the superior between the two shows. i don’t want to say i had low expectations, but i definitely didn’t expect so many things i wanted to happen in the show to ACTUALLY happen. it was just so sweet and lovely and comforting. 

petekao...is everything to me? that sounds so dramatic, omfg. their relationship just makes my heart so full. i could write essays on them. but in fewer words, i adore that they’re an established couple and that they have such grown up, mature conversations. if we set aside the non storyline for a moment (which i could ALSO write essays on, and i’m planning on doing a complete rewrite of his storyline and therefore the trajectory of the show, because i’m crazy), they truly are so supportive of each other through everything. they’re just so GOOD, and i always wish we got to see more of them. but! i know morksun was The Couple of dbk for a lot of people, which i can understand. i should really go back and rewatch it, so i can pay more attention to them, because i really didn’t give them a fair enough shot the first time around.

until we meet again is my very favorite bl, and at this point, i don’t think that’s a secret haha. someone just recently asked me why i loved it so much, so i won’t go into too much detail here. but my tldr is: deanpharm best boys. they have my favorite relationship in the whole wide world. but i am with you! i want to see earth and kao act more together! maybe in a series of their own??

[deathstunt]

beetlejuice: the musical sentence starters.

‘we have only each other.’

‘scripture tells us: sorrow not, for we do not walk alone.’

‘you’re invisible when you’re sad.’

‘nobody understands.’

‘grownups wanna fix things.’

‘is it being greedy to need somebody to see me and say my name?’

‘holy crap, a ballad already?’

‘sorry to barge in.’

‘let’s skip the tears and start on the whole, y’know, being dead thing.’

‘if i hear your cell-phone ringing, i’ll kill you myself.’

‘we should have carpe’d way more diems.’

‘i do this bullshit, like, eight times a week.’

‘just relax, you’ll be fine.’

‘drink your fifty-dollar wine.’

‘full disclosure: it’s a show about death.’

‘everybody gets on fine here.’

‘every show i do, like, a ton of coke.’

‘jesus, pass the dramamine.’

‘we’re all on a hit list.’

‘hey, that’s just statistics.’

‘there’s a giant snake here!’

‘how you doin’? ...not good.’

‘death is taboo, but it’s hardly something new.’

‘there’s nothing medical professionals can do ‘cept maybe just bill you.’

‘that’s the thing with life, no one makes it out alive.’

‘gosh, it’s awful, aint it tragic?’

‘blah, blah, bible, jesus magic.’

‘namaste, you freakin’ posers.’

‘i have mastered the art of tearing convention apart.’

‘look at this crib!’

‘i know to the untrained eye, it’s boring.’

‘why do you polish your crib when you don’t have a kid?’

‘are you willing to take the next step?’

‘the world will never wreck you.’

‘together, let’s leap off the cliff.’

‘why rush?’

‘soon enough, our hopes and our dreams will be crushed.’

‘what about global poverty? what about world peace?’

‘no habla español, dos cervezas por favor.’

‘what’s the point of having children if we’re covered in debt?’

‘see, i wasn’t kidding!’

‘i’ll be your guide!’

‘jesus, i can’t spell.’

‘let’s all get naked!’

‘i understand that it’s a lot to process...’

‘lucky for you, i dropped by.’

‘i’m like a ghost-zombie jesus!’

‘i think we’re a perfect fit.’

‘come on, let’s make out a bit.’

‘it’s the perfect day to die.’

‘i need a little help here.’

‘i’m probably talking to myself here.’

‘i’m a bunch of broken pieces.’

‘it was you who made me whole.’

‘hurry up, get happy.’

‘forget about your mom.’

‘he wants me to smile and clap like a performing seal.’

‘you won’t believe the mess that we’ve become.’

‘you held my hand and life came easy.’

‘i want something to believe in.’

‘wake me when i’m twenty-one.’

‘daddy didn’t lose a mom.’

‘i’m running out of hope and time.’

‘i’ll go insane if things don’t change.’

‘whatever it takes to make him say your name.’

‘you couldn’t frighten a fly.’

‘you are super polite, middle class, suburban, and white. well, all of that is finished tonight.’

‘i want scary faces, now go!’

‘sever a head, preferably someone you know.’

‘don’t be so vanilla.’

‘would a little anger kill ya?’

‘c’mon, drop your panties!’

‘i’m trying to fill you... with wisdom and skill!’

‘you gotta make ‘em see you!’

‘raise the stakes by punching a baby.’

‘they’ll be quaking in fright!’

‘you’ve got some evil deep down inside you.’

‘what fills you with rage? being mean to a pet? chefs who use too much sage when they make their noisette?’

‘well, there’s lot there to use.’

‘maybe this time pretend like you mean it.’

‘i want freedom.’

‘i know that beggars can’t be choosers, but do they have to be such losers?’

‘why god, slash satan, did you send these bed wetters?’

‘even, like, a tax attorney would’ve been better.’

‘well, that was a soliloquy, so you’re the one who’s being rude.’

‘that needy pervert was right.’

‘let’s haunt this bitch!’

‘i’m sure we can haunt our own house.’

‘the universe is more than just space with no end.’

‘think positive, act positive, you are a child of the earth!’

‘science makes no sense.’

‘who needs evidence? go with your feels!’

‘crystals speak to me.’

‘everything happens for a reason.’

‘be a beacon of light in the world.’

‘gee, i hate to break it to you...’

‘the pacific islands are sinking, but negative thinking is hardly the cause.’

‘you think life is all unicorns and rainbows ‘cause you’re bored.’

‘positivity is a luxury that few can afford.’

‘one day, you make wake up alone.’

‘be prepared to take your eggs and freeze ‘em.’

‘sounds like terrible things can happen.’

‘god, it’s mortifying.’

‘what’s the point of even trying?’

‘nobody said life’s fair.’

‘by the time you read this, i will be gone...’

‘there’s nothing for me here. i’m alone, forsaken, invisible.’

‘that makes two of us.’

‘you could use a buddy, don’t you want a pal?’

‘don’t end yourself, defend yourself!’

‘together we’ll exterminate, assassinate!’

‘go ahead and jump, but that won’t stop him.’

‘i’m on the bench, but coach, just put me in the game!’

‘being young and female doesn’t mean that i’m an easy mark.’

‘i’ve been swimming with piranhas, i don’t need a shark.’

‘yes, life sucks, but not that much.’

‘be a doll and spare the lecture.’

‘really, it’s a flattering offer...’

‘it’s not as if i’ve lost my mind!’

‘he can help, we found him on yelp!’

‘every word is the truth.’

‘that was possession.’

‘what do i need you for?’

‘hold up, girl, i’m your pal!’

‘i know, i went a little hard on the sell.’

‘he was already dead!’

‘the three of us alone can wreck dad’s evening.’

‘together we can make a grown man weep.’

‘it’s our house now, kid!’

‘it’s not their fault that they’re overprotective.’

‘you could be killed by a random sneeze.’

‘everything’s gonna work out.’

‘i’m just gonna ring the bell of this creepy looking house.’

‘no one gets molested by a gothy teen.’

‘maybe i should come back another time when your parents are home?’

‘the sound of a scream is music to me!’

‘you wanna answer it this time?’

‘don’t oversell it, act natural.’

‘i don’t live here, i’m dead.’

‘we’re ruining lives.’

‘no more condescending adults hanging around.’

‘take it and trash it, burn it or smash it.’

‘we have to adapt to survive.’

‘we’ve got nothing to lose!’

‘i was driving lamborghinis, slipping super-dry martinis, and the tiniest bikinis on a yacht, but i was depressed.’

‘i had such low self-esteem, i was a mess.’

‘if i only knew the truth back then, i wouldn’t have had my little accident.’

‘don’t cheat on the one you wed.’

‘why did it take death to see happiness was up to me?’

‘if i knew then what i know now, i would’ve laughed and danced.’

‘life is short, but death is super long.’

‘whichever path i choose i lose, you know.’

‘you always saw life as a game, but since you left it sucks to play.’

‘is this the end you meant for me?’

‘i promise, i’m never gonna forget you.’

‘it’s messy, but they’re all that i have.’

‘i’ll make the best of being flesh and bone.’

‘now, i really love creepy old guys.’

‘hey baby, smile!’

‘one of ‘em loves me and wants to be mine.’

‘i’m a creepy old guy!’

‘i’m so happy i could cry!’

‘girls may seem disgusted, but we’re actually just shy!’

‘you know, i am older, but i’m glad i waited.’

‘fix his hair, get him prepared for armageddon.’

‘sure, the groom’s out of a tomb.’

‘she’s marrying a creepy old guy.’

‘have you guys seen lolita? this is just like that, but fine.’

‘i know that on the outside he’s disgusting...’

‘even on the inside, he’s disgusting.’

‘i found me a wife.’

‘i was ignored, but now i’m adored.’ 

‘cause i exploited, tortured, and lied.’

‘give it up for my underage bride!’

‘i can’t believe some cultures think this kinda thing’s alright.’

‘doesn’t he deserve a chance at life?’

[koholinthibiscus]

My Tumblr Journey and mental health

What the hell is this?  Where am I? What do I do and how do I do it?

You often hear of people getting to their 30′s and feeling more comfortable in their skin and just owning, accepting and loving themselves.  Well, maybe it’s because I need psychotherapy, and maybe it’s because I’ve come into adulthood in a period with huge economic and political upheaval as well as a pandemic; but I don’t feel that way.  I feel simultaneously old and young.  clueless about young things (like tmblr) and clueless about old things (like mortgages... even though I have one) 

I’ve deleted Facebook and use twitter sparingly these days so the reason joined this site is to purely vent.  To write my thoughts out and send them into the internet ether to languish, probably ignored.  But just getting it out might make all the difference to my physical and mental well being so I’m just going to give it a shot and see where things go. 

I feel terribly alone and isolated.  I have a type of social anxiety that you probably wouldn't notice.  You might just think I’m an idiot or a bitch.  You might barely acknowledge my existence.  I’m pretty average so I may not register.  But when I’m done talking I will think and think and think about it.  How did I come across?  why the fuck did I say that?  You think I’m a fucking idiot don’t you?  I will simply torture myself forever and ever.  And I avoid social interaction, especially with new people, as much as I can.  I can just about manage in a workplace setting but all my energy for this is taken up with that. 

I feel unheard, unseen and unsatisfied.  I feel a lump in my throat and a weight in my chest.  I feel exhausted and headachey most of the time.  I can’t bear this current situation.  I have a visceral hate for my country.  I can’t bear sad news.  I can’t cope with news that implicates humans as ignorant, unsympathetic, inhumane creatures.  I feel deep sadness at the existential threat our planet faces and confusion and sadness when I realise that barely anyone in my real life feels the same urgency and guilt.  I have changed my lifestyle (probably not enough) to try and alleviate the guilt but it hasn’t worked.  

So I get into things to try and distract myself; fandoms, stories, subjects, video games, novels and I feel sad about it because I feel useless “not good at it” or that they’re a waste of time.  I hate myself so much that my hobbies make me sad. How stupid is that?  I’ve recently been getting into DnD during lock down and watching critical role.  I enjoy it but it makes me sooooo sad and jealous that I don’t have a strong friend group like that who can enjoy playing DnD with the same level of fun, ease and camaraderie.  It literally hurts my heart and I’ve been feeling weird for days.  So I’ve tried to make myself better by consuming things.  I’ve bought a new set of dice and bought some unrelated books.  

I skip from one subject or thing to the next feeling unsatisfied and discontent.  I don’t practice things, I don’t finish things.  I give up. And I feel like I’m giving up at life. I am lazy and stupid.  My hobbies, likes and interests feel like a plaster over a gaping wound and was working but it’s not any more. Getting lost in a fantasy world just makes me feel sad I can’t create my own or be with a group of friends, either on line or on person where I can create together. 

I am petrified of parent hood.  I have an amazing 3 year old.  She is a marvel. But I have a constant dread of failing her. Doing too much, doing too little.  I want her to strive for happiness.  Take on hard things, work at things till she’s good at them, whatever it may be.  I honestly don’t care what as long as she enjoys it, has a passion for it and is ultimately happy.  I want to push her, but I don’t want to push her too much.  I worry about sending wrong messages.  I worry about not doing enough with her.  I do not want to bring her up the way that my mother brought me up. I am terrified of repeating the same mistakes. 

I’m ultimately a kind person who is trying their best but can’t unleash my true potential due to depression, anxiety and self-confidence issues.  I get so angry and sad at people who don’t follow the same ideals as me.  which.... isn’t ideal.  I can’t stand TERFs, racists, ableists, misogynists, right wing people, climate change deniers, ignorant people.  I can’t stand it when people think that poor people only have themselves to blame.  I hate capitalism and colonialism.  I want to change the way the world operates even if it is to my detriment as a white CIS English women living in comfort.  I feel trapped in suburbia where nothing changes and no one looks or is different.  

I don’t mean to fetishize certain communities with that statement and I reliaze that it’s probably ignorant of me to suggest that everyone is the same too, given that I struggle to interact with people.  And I’m not suggesting that I’m some sort of special flower  or that ‘I’m not like other women’ (eeww) either, I know there are people out there I would probably get on with but like I say, I struggle.

It frustrates me when people don’t feel the same way politically.  I think that people’s politics are based on their morals so I struggle with conservatives for example.  I don’t understand them or where they come from.  I want things that people need to be owned by the public and free at the point of access, healthcare being the main one and I fear for the future of the NHS.  Yes, even if it means higher taxes (but I obviously want the super rich taxed more) I don’t believe billionaires should exist.  I want universal basic income.  If the human race keeps breeding, if we keep suffering from pandemics, if we progress technologically to the point where mechanization is even more prevalent, we will not need people to have jobs.  We need UBI to level the playing field.  And I want a vegan world.  All of the above makes my head swim with anger and despair.  What type of world will my child have to endure when she gets to my age?  I fucking hope it’s better than this.  I can honestly say that I believe I am on the right side of history with my politics.  It is ultimately about being kind and humane.  But no... I’m probably seen as a soft SJW snowflake keyboard warrior twat by my family (which is why I went off facebook).  Even though I have a masters in Gender studies and a career in social justice work, but sure, I’m just after the ‘internet points’ or want to look ‘woke’.  I feel like not many people truly know me and if they do know all of the above and don’t like what  they see,  I don’t know man, that kills me.  I want people to think well of me. I want people to think I am a good person. 

I could yap on for ages about this honestly but it would make little sense.

I think I wanted to start this as a place to get my feelings down because I am starting a journey of therapy soon.  My sessions should begin in September but I feel the need to get stuff out now.  I’m having a bit of a shit time in my head right now and I felt like I would burst. 

I’m already worried that I will appear stupid and self centered.  There is nothing particularly wrong with my life.  I have a good job that I love but am also petrified of it and of getting it wrong so I self sabotage, worry and don’t believe in my abilities and I’ve been doing that since college.  (I need to un pack how I feel about work and my actions around it, I have a lot of thoughts, maybe for another time) 

I pick the spots on my face till they become angry red welts, I pick the skin around my nails till they get infected and then I hate myself for how I look, even though it was my fault in the first place.  I don’t shower, don’t wash my face, don’t get enough sleep then look in the mirror and see my greasy lank hair, baggy grey eyes and bad skin and I just hate myself.  Is this an analogy for the entirety of my personality? I am my own worst enemy and I need to give myself a fucking break.  Easier said than done. 

Things to unpack in therapy: 

My work 

My politics and how I interact, deal with people who don’t feel the same way as me

My child hood and family dynamics - It’s fucked up y’all. 

My Child

My husband 

My past relationship

The sick thing I do at night when i think about horrible things, like the death of my child for no god damn reason. (Is it punishment?) 

It’s frustrating being so aware of my issues and not feeling able to do anything about it. 

It’s probably an effect of lock down but I have been feeling really bad consistently for a very long period of time now and it’s exhausting.  I always have peaks and troughs, feel great to OK for sometimes a good few months then it just comes down on me like a bag of hammers and I feel like death for 2-4 weeks.  

I’ve been having those hiccups more often and for longer.  I’m so fucking tired man.  A couple of months ago a I had a terrible headache for 4 days, could barely move and felt tearful all the time.  I just thought it was a migraine attack at the time (which I very very rarely have) but I coincided with a particular event that I’m not ready to talk about (It’s really not that juicy it’s quite fucking pathetic actually) and I think it was a major depressive episode. 

I think I’m done now, I’m emotionally exhausted after reading this through and my throat hurts from trying not to cry.  Maybe this is the start of my tumblr journey maybe I’ll delete it all in a few days I don’t know.  I had to try something. 

[yenasmatik]

So I just read the Simon Snow Series, by Rainbow Rowell

And it left me with a bit of mixed feelings.

Fun fact: since I am an idiot, I put Wayward Son inside my bag instead of Carry On, so I ended up reading volume two before volume one. You can still totally understand the story and the characters, by the way, but I guess it made the characters a lot less sympathetic to me. I don’t know for sure if it was on purpose, but Simon, Penny and Agatha felt more obtuse and self-centered in this one than in Carry On.

The series was... amazingly trashy, in a really good way? These books followed lines that felt familiar, the characters, their archetypes and quirks all reminded me of fanfic. It was kinda predictable and not all that original, but it never pretended to be. Originality or unpredictability was not the point, the ride was the point, and it was absolutely shameless about it. The author was there for the shipping, I was there for the shipping, the plot was solid enough to carry that ship on a cool adventure, and it was fun.

My one problem with it was that the politics of the characters, in universe, and the way they were portrayed, was... disturbing. For me. Now, I’m willing to admit that I’m not the most subtle reader, or person, on the block. Maybe this is just because the author gave clever hidden hints that I didn’t get.

Still. When your main villain is the guy who revolutionned your world to put down the old system of aristocratic privileged that denied the weak and the other races/species education and the opportunity to master their own power... I think you have to be careful not to send the wrong message, please and thank you.

The villain spent his entire youth frustrated and angry at the injustice of the old system. He explained and argued, and he was marginalized for it. As a young adult, he tried non-violent activism, by writing pamphlets and going to the Council to present his case, and they laughed at him. Then he became even more obsessed, and ended up resorting to manipulation, accidentally killing people, and once he got power he forced the changes upon the aristocracy.  And yet the book portrays the old aristocracy as somewhat sympathetic. The mage is leveling taxes at them, who live in mansions, to fund the schooling of other children. He sends his men to raid their libraries to look at their books (which he may or may not give back, it’s never quite clear). And the overall tone seems to imply that really, there was a more reasonable middle ground here, the villain is such a tyrant. A reasonable middle ground. When one side has been denying access to education and, in fine, power, to already weaker people, and other races. When that same side is refusing taxes upon the wealthy to fund schooling for the less privileged. And since the villain is, well, the villain, his intransigence ends up leading him to do something that threatened the entire magical world! And he ends up ready to sacrifice anyone else for it! ...I can’t help but see some very unpleasant implications here?

My frustration with this aspect of the book really wasn’t helped by the fact that Baz, Penny and Agatha all reeked of privilege. They are white, and their parents are rich. Simon grew up in an orphanage where he was malnourished, then deemed a problem child and ignored. He is repeatedly portrayed as uncomfortable when he is put in upper society hobbies. And yet he never actually criticizes his friends for their lack of awareness? Also, for someone who was raised and indoctrinated by the villain, Simon is very willing to give his best friend a free pass on racist comments against her pixie roomate. And he has a borderline Dalek attitude towards non-human magical beings.

When the second book introduces a Normal teen who befriends supernatural beings, the prejudices of the magical kids becomes especially jarring. So maybe it is on purpose? Yet at the same time, the narration, again, seems to imply that there is a reasonable middle ground between his attitude and the prejudices of the other kids. (Which. No. Fuck no.) And the meeting with the Las Vegas vampires was such a disappointment! When Baz was listening to them, and they explained that they weren’t the monstrous carricatures he believed them to be, I thought we would get to something more interesting than “but in the end they lied and betrayed your friends to force you to follow them so everything they just said lost all credibility”.

I don’t know. Like I said, the shipping part was fun.

Also, the teenage characters are all a bunch of incredibly stupid idiots. Likeable idiots, so far, but still. Maybe these questions are all part of the plan for their character development, and will be answered in the third book. I’ll probably buy it when it comes out.

I just really hope I’m wrong, and the author blows my mind.

[gltrngold-a]

—  ♥　♡　♥　THE SLEUTH  ♥　♡　♥  —

“[She] knew she could not go on wasting her days in the stews of her untidied room, lying on her bed in a haze of smoke, chin propped on her hand, pins and needles spreading up through her arm as she read her way through Richardson's Clarissa.”

                                                                                           —  atonement, ian mcewan

｢ marilyn lima. twenty. female. she/her. ｣ welcome to cerulean pier, home of many mythological beings. did you know that our resident LORELEI FINCH is the child of TISIPHONE? they don’t, maybe that’s why they’re known as the SLEUTH around town. they are ASTUTE & HARD-WORKING, but also INTRUSIVE & BLUNT. they are also currently A YOUTUBER. don’t say anything, but they are hiding THAT HER EVIDENCE ACCIDENTALLY PUT THE WRONG PERSON IN PRISON. ｢ shannon, 20, she/her, bst. ｣  

 ♥　♡　♥　basics  ♥　♡　♥  —

name: lorelei alexandria finch age: twenty birthdate: 25 january, 2000 — marseille, france zodiac ( sun ) sign: aquarius orientations: homosexual, homoromantic relationship status: single label: the sleuth occupation: youtuber

faceclaim: marilyn lima height: 5 ft 9 in

—  ♥　♡　♥　personality  ♥　♡　♥  —

mbti: istj-a enneagram: five, with a six wing hogwarts house: slytherin temperament: choleric theme song: gimme a minute by pvris

hobbies: board games, true crime podcasts, pinterest, djing, crocheting, being a whiskey connoisseur, hacking on the low-key

—  ♥　♡　♥　favourites  ♥　♡　♥  —

songs:

cosmic love by florence + the machine hollywood whore by papa roach numb to the feeling by chase atlantic

television series:

criminal (2019- present) autopsy: the last hours of... (2014-present) black mirror (2011-present)

books:

inferno (dan brown, 2011) atonement (ian mcewan, 2001) sharp objects (gillian flynn, 2006)

films:

eternal sunshine of the spotless mind (2004) gone girl (2014) the jacket (2005) 

—  ♥　♡　♥　summary  ♥　♡　♥  —

you probably know how this goes by now. here’s the hoedown throwdown about my criminologist in the making, lorelei! tw for murder / smoking / religion mentions.

you don’t need her, she doesn’t need you. and that’s fine by her!

you know that line from odaat where lydia says she threw herself out a window because her husband saw her without makeup and they never spoke of it? lorelei.

if the men find out we can shapeshift they’re going to tell the church!!!

it’s laurie, not ‘lori.’

master crocheter. she made herself a long crocheted cape. yes she did.

always brews her tea for five minutes exactly. 

loves runs through the woods. 

true crime obsessive. shows, podcasts, she’s just started that ‘true spies’ thing on spotify. but really she’ll love anything with that darker air, like autopsy shows and black mirror. just that bleak kinda stuff. it’s her vibe.

definitely an aspie. ( asperger’s syndrome; i, the mun, am also an aspie! )

she does this to atone for accidentally sending the wrong man to prison when a family friend was murdered, back when she was younger and didn’t understand what weight her words had. ( spot the briony tallis + tess larson from conviction influences here ! )

yeah her youtube channel is pretty much buzzfeed unsolved. she’s workin’ with the ghoul boys while she studies criminology at university. 

she was a scholarship kid before the whole thing really started to kick off and she got invested in sleuths’ internet forums, spending all hours of the night trying to find something new.

her favourite cold case is the isdal woman! her dream is to solve it.

lorelei can be hot-and-cold, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t trying. she can drift in and out but if she cares, and that’s hard-won, you’ve got a friend for life.

has passed the mensa test.

distrusting. her family was very fight-for-yourselves. she doesn’t remember it, but she grew up in a tough part of marseille. defence is like muscle memory for her.

it’s fitting she wants to solve cases being the only daughter of tisiphone, given that tisiphone is the fury that punishes crimes of homicide!

her vice is smoking. it helps her think, or so she says, but that might just be an excuse. ‘you all smoke to enjoy it, i smoke to die,’ vibes. yeah, she’s carrying a lot of guilt.

dark! academia! aesthetic! lesbian!

vehemently anti-bra. they’re UNCOMFORTABLE okay.

can do an absolutely cracking christopher walken impression ( too much time looking into the natalie wood case )

her parents are v v religious so yeah she’s pretty much ostracised now, that’s fun for her but everyone’s surprised she doesn’t really seem to care that much

plagued by nostalgia for places she’s never been to, it’s a struggle.

messy but organised chaos. she lives in it, you don’t get to be annoyed about it she can be the stig of her dump if she wants to thank you very little.

political activist. probably on a list for infuriating a lot of very important people. but if she dies by assassin because of that she thinks it’s a pretty sweet way to go.

would probably do pretty well in the services if she trusted the establishment but nope they literally all suck thank you for coming to her ted talk.

has never dated anyone but that’s okay because women are hot in movies. and also in real life but that requires feelings and she doesn’t really know what to do with either of those.

she can be... very intrusive. she’s gotten herself in trouble for trying to meddle in people’s lives / active investigations but there’s nothing malicious in it. at least not usually. if you’ve pissed her off then all i can say is good luck to you.

yeah she’s just got,,, a lot on her plate. think dead weight and gimme a minute by pvris???

—  ♥　♡　♥　wanted connections   ♥　♡　♥   —

partner in (solving) crime — probably also her best friend and ride-or-die, until their unsolved murders do they part. have probably considered platonic marriage for tax benefits. and also because she’s just about the only person she’ll put up with.

crush — ‘when i was 7 i had a crush on a girl in my class & didn’t know how to deal w it so i wrote her a letter that just said get out of my school’

stressed person who’s trying to make her less of a chaotic cryptid but it’s not really working.

flatmate?

smoking buddies for my child with a problem please and thank.

[vaderssidechick]

FIC Snippet: Dark Angel: Dathomir, Chapter II (From the Chronicles of House Vader Series)

SUMMARY: Lylla and and the elite Imperial Stormtroopers of SCAR Squadron are on Dathomir to capture six Nightsisters for Lylla’s personal guard. Riding across the plains of Dathomir on her Rancor and their Dewbacks, Lylla and Sergeant Kreel have a conversation-- and come to an understanding. 

Series can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/762363 

“I read some things,” said Kreel, “about the Jedi, their view of the Force, both the Light and the Dark. ‘Defend all life, no matter what’. Even if that ‘life’ is murdering your family in front of you." Lylla noted how Kreel’s fist tightened around his reins. "Pretty words, and utter bantha shavit. That's not how the universe works.” He tapped that fist on his armored thigh with every word. “Order. Strength. And the will to do what needs to be done. That's what keeps the peace, that's what brings security. Lord Vader understands that. If he uses the Dark Side of the Force to make it happen for this shit galaxy, it doesn’t bother me one bit."

Lylla settled back in her saddle, eyeing him intently. "Tell me your opinion of Lord Vader, Sergeant.” She cracked a smile when Kreel peered at her through his lenses. “I assure you, this conversation is confidential. The tac-net is muted. You are safe."

He stared at her for a few more seconds, measuring her intent, before he conceded, "He is the greatest warrior I've ever known, Baroness. I don't just mean as Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces. I mean on the ground, in the mess, fighting beside us. Your platoon deploys with Lord Vader, you know you're coming home alive that day. He fights like an AT-AT and fears nothing.”

"How does he treat his men?” she asked, genuinely curious. “The troops I mean.”

Kreel hesitated for a moment before he huffed a chuckle. "He positively dotes on us, ma'am. I mean, in his own way.”

She chuckled back. "I understand. Perfectly."

“He’s got no respect for those family-connected Prefsbelt boys in the officers’ corps, who call a battle from cushioned seats and bellies full of real food. Well, Piett maybe, but he’s a Rimworlder who’s seen some action, like me.” He cocked his helmet toward her. “Like you.” Lylla smirked. Kreel continued. “Lord Vader is demanding, but he expects excellence and inspires us to achieve it." He blew a sigh. “When the Garscon system went public in their support for Lord Vader as the Emperor’s legal heir, he granted every troop in the 501st a reenlistment bonus of five years pay. Tax free, right into the every troops’ account. And doubled our pensions and death benefits to the families. That’s almost a million credits per troop.” He snorted. “Pissed the officers’ corps off to no end, which made it even sweeter. Hell, we had nothing to do with the Garsconi Allegiance, but he did it anyway.”

“Really?” Vader had taken the tithe she’d manipulated from the King and Queen of Garscon and awarded it to the 501st?  She huffed an incredulous breath. “And he says he’s not a politician.”

“Ma’am?”

“I needn’t tell you that his actions weren’t out of benevolence, do I? He was ensuring the 501st’s loyalty.”

Kreel shrugged. “It worked. Every troop in Vader’s Fist signed back up. We make it out of the corps alive, we’re set for life. We don’t, families don’t sell their kids to feed their other kids. A good life for us, and a good death too. Not like the fucking Republic did to their clones.” 

“Do you think he’ll make a good Emperor, Sergeant Kreel?” Kreel slowly turned to meet Lylla’s cold stare. “Be truthful. Do not tell me what you think I want to hear.”

“As far as I’m concerned, ma'am, he already is,” Kreel answered, lowly yet firmly. “Lord Vader isn’t just a man. He’s a symbol, the embodiment of the Empire itself. And...with a woman like you at his side, I have no doubt that he will raise the Empire to even greater glory and prosperity.” He held her cowl-shrouded white stare before he jerked his attention forward. “I just hope I’m around to see that day.”

But Lylla never broke hers on him. She allowed a few moments to pass before it was time to finally get this out in the open. “And what do you plan on doing with that bonus when you leave, Sergeant? Settle down? Make little Kreels?”

Kreel huffed. “Don’t plan on leaving the Forces on my feet, Baroness. No better death than dying in the name of the Empire. But by the Force-damned chance that I might…” He shook his head. “No. That ain’t me.”

“You sure about that? A powerful…” She took a long, deliberate breath, “virile man like you leading a life of celibacy? Sounds downright Jedi.” A beat. “What a waste.”

She’d done something with her voice, woven it into a silken purr that seeped into his ear and curled around his neck like a loth kitt. Kreel slowly turned her way, right into the trap of her white eyes. Even under the shadow of her cowl, he saw her pupils blown wide under her black lashes, and the subtlest curve in her moist lips caused his breath to hitch. He couldn’t count how many nubile pleasure-slave bodies he had seen in his lifetime, all of which would cause any groin to twitch. But they paled in comparison to the sultry look this creature was giving him now. 

Lylla tilted her head. “May I ask you a question, Sergeant?”

“Of course, Baroness,” he said through a throat that had gone suddenly dry. 

“Why don’t you ever take your helmet off?” She gave a lilting shrug. “I’ve seen all of SCAR’s faces, but never yours. Why is that?”

“I take it off to eat and sleep. And then only sometimes,” he answered quickly.

“I didn’t ask when you take it off. I asked why you don’t.”

That sniper-scope glare of hers told him she wasn’t about to let up. Kreel sighed. “Very well, Baroness. You know I’m from Chagar IX.”

“Of course.”

“You know Chagar IX was a Republic penal colony for the Zapaach Sector before the Empire came?”

She dipped her head in acknowledgement. “I do.”

“Then you know that prisoners interbred. A hundred different species for a hundred generations.” He straightened in his saddle. “I’m not entirely human, ma’am.”

Lylla arched a brow. “I see. You don’t want to call attention.”

“That doesn’t matter to me. My helmet is my face, my armor is my skin. I’m an Imperial stormtrooper, that’s it. Don’t need to be anyone or anything else.” He blew a breath. “Haven’t seen my own face in years.”

“Not even to shave?”

“I don’t grow hair, so don’t need to.” 

Kreel turned at her coquettish laugh to see her hand slide under her cowl, fetching a lock of her scarlet hair. When she pulled it out, it went past her shoulder. “Consider yourself lucky, Sergeant.” She laughed again, a giggle and a growl all rolled into one.

A bead of sweat dripped under his helmet. He knew flirting when he saw it, and this woman was a master. She’s testing you, idiot,  he growled in his head. Don’t kriff this up.

She pinched a tiny frown as she examined the lock. “Hmm. Doesn’t usually grow this fast.”

“Must be this planet,” he grunted, shifting again in his saddle, looking off at the rusted cliffs to his right. “Like you said, it’s affecting us.” He paused, and cracked his neck with a jerk. “It’s affecting me.”.  

"You are referring to your sexual desire for me, which has only intensified since we landed," Lylla stated bluntly. Kreel snapped his head back to her and went completely stiff. Her smirk widened into a grin. “You’re not exactly subtle about it, Sergeant.” 

Kreel felt like a Gundark just kicked him in the chest. “Baroness...” A rush of breath came from his vocoder as he looked away. His heart pounded in his ears.

But then, Lylla chuckled. “It’s the planet, like you said. I’m not offended.” She tossed a wave. “Besides, I know I’ve intrigued you these last weeks.” She locked eyes with him again. “I was a pleasure slave, Sergeant. I can read men like a star chart. I’m fully aware of how beautiful I am. You think I don’t still use it?” But the grin faded as her eyes grew dark. “It’s what kept me alive for so long.”

“Saw a lot of pleasure slaves, both on Chagar IX and Nar Shaddaa,” Kreel blurted quietly. “They were beautiful too. Never met one who made it past the age of twenty-five.” Lylla slit her eyes into an icy glare. He shook his head. “What I mean is… You’re different. They weren’t smart like you. They never learned how to play the game to survive. They never got good at what they were. That’s how you come out alive. That’s why you survived the skin trade, and I survived the fighting pits.”

Lylla defrosted her glare on the Sergeant. “We have much in common, don’t we? We both got good. For you it was killing, for me it was kriffing.” 

“We were both child soldiers, Baroness. Just in different kriffed-up  divisions.” 

She stared at him for a moment. “I’ve never heard it put quite like that before.”

Silence hung between them before Kreel stiffened to attention in his saddle and looked forward. “I beg your forgiveness for… these urges.” He took a deep breath. “When you inform Lord Vader, I will gladly accept my punishment.” But when he looked her way, the Baroness wore an expression of amused chagrin.

“I told you Sergeant,” she said, “this conversation is completely confidential. I won’t tell Lord Vader a thing.” Her voice darkened after a pause. “Unless, of course, you give me reason to.” 

She needn’t say more. The scowl that seethed from under her cowl told him everything. He’d seen that look before, in the eyes of the slave-warriors he’d been forced to fight in the pits.  

Touch me, and I will utterly destroy you.

Drawing his huge shoulders back, Kreel reached into his pouch. “Baroness, you are my commander and, in time, my Empress. I will never betray you nor Lord Vader in that way or any other. I swear this to you.” He pulled out his lightsaber, turned the grip around and held it out to her. “If I even look at you wrong from here on out,” he said, his voice low and severe, “You can run this through my chest.” 

Lylla drew back in her saddle, mouth dropped open. A truth effervesced in her mind, one that until this moment was still just a plan in motion, a reality that hadn’t fully manifested yet. But here it was, now and very real, astride a beast and offering her his life. 

A warrior swearing fealty to his queen. 

Lylla found her breath again and collected some composure. Now it was her avoiding Kreel’s gaze. “Well then, I’m glad we have an understanding.” She cleared her throat, irritated at its abrupt dehydration. She grasped her canteen once again and brought it to her lips. “You may put that away now. I don’t even know how to turn it on.” And took several long, tight swigs.

Kreel drew his lightsaber back, puzzled by the Baroness’s sudden fluster. “As you wish, ma’am.” 

[biglifequestions-blog]

Big Life Questions

In 1991, I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes; an incurable autoimmune disease that would have killed me were it not for the discovery of a breakthrough treatment some 70 years earlier. Had my great grandmother—who lived to be an octogenarian with four grandchildren and eight great grandchildren—been diagnosed with the same condition, natural selection would have swiftly eliminated her and the potential for offspring as unceremoniously as it had thousands of others. By pure chance, my mother, uncle, cousins, brothers, and I would never have been born. Twelve unique progenies, gone; an entire branch of the family tree stunted and withered at the hands of a few faulty genes.

As luck or God or the Universe would have it, I was born at exactly the right moment in history to not only survive type 1 diabetes but thrive. And here I am today at age 29: a walking, talking, breathing, body with blood circulating and nerves firing, alive with not only conscious thoughts, but also feelings, opinions, beliefs, quirks, aptitudes, and proclivities. From this foundation, I’ve created a full and complicated life that includes accomplishments, hobbies, aspirations, and emotional connections to other walking, talking, breathing bodies. That I am even sitting here now in a 600-square-foot apartment in Philadelphia with a Chihuahua named Peanut napping sweetly in my lap, able to freely express myself through the typed English word using an online platform capable of sharing those words with millions of people around the globe, all while my loving husband cooks his take on vegan enchiladas in our tiny kitchen is nothing short of a holy-shit miracle.

I wish I could say that the mind-blowing awareness of my mere existence—never mind the trillions of complex, improbable events that coalesced to have me adopt a Chihuahua—has compelled me to live each of my 10,500+ days on this earth to their absolute fullest. I wish I could say the knowledge of my finite and delicate reality has inspired me to follow my passions, live authentically, and weather life’s storms with grace and fortitude all while dedicating my time and energy toward the betterment of society. Surely a life as precarious as my own would catalyze an ongoing quest to align mind, body, and spirit; to be a role model for overcoming adversity against all odds.

Alas, I am not quite so enlightened.

Last Saturday, for example, I spent the entire day in worn-out sweatpants eating buttered toast and playing Candy Crush on my iPad. Between waiting for more bread to toast, butter to melt, and lives to reload, I scrolled through the bottomless pit that is the /AmITheAsshole sub on Reddit, grappling with the complexity of human social norms while also getting my daily bump of “my life really isn’t so bad” by contrasting my comparatively insignificant problems to the drama of Internet strangers. By sunset, I had succeeded only in eating a half loaf of bread and irritating my husband by finishing off the butter and bringing crumbs into the bed. (AITA?)

I’m sure you’re wondering how I’m able to justify such a flagrant misuse of my time. While I don’t exactly know the answer to that question, I can hazard a guess it’s because I’ve collected enough insignia of a successful life—academic degrees, a wedding ring, my handsome husband, a Pinterest-inspired apartment, stamps in my passport—that the pressure to fill my days with meaningful, enlightened activities has lessened. So long as I continue showing up to work, paying taxes, saying “I love you,” and periodically posting #humblebrags on Twitter about some new promotion or my latest vacation, what does it matter if I occasionally splurge on procrastination and carbohydrates?

…right?

Until last year, I had only peripherally considered that there might be more to life than just achieving and owning things. From high school honors to senior job titles to a committed relationship, these milestones were my markers of success, happiness, and security. I craved them, worked for them, plotted how I would make them happen, and invested all my energy into proving to the world and myself that I was smart, hard-working, lovable, deserving; often to the detriment of my own physical, mental, financial, and spiritual health.

Moreover, I was actively encouraged to seek more of these achievements: to play an instrument in both orchestra and band, attend academic summer camps, double major in college, study abroad, work late, work weekends, work, work, work. I believed these tangible symbols would unlock the secrets to all the Big Intangibles: happiness, passion, fulfillment, security, joy, peace, gratitude, love. And when those fleeting moments of accomplishment came and went, and the Big Intangibles didn’t instantly manifest, I turned to my old, worn copy of the “Perfect Life Checklist” (which I wrote myself at the age of 10) and chose my next goal to appease the restlessness and disappointment in my heart.

And then, after years of sacrificing sleep and sanity to acquire these tangibles, it all came to a climax in May 2018: I had just graduated from a prestigious university with my master’s degree, was months away from marrying my soulmate, and had just been offered a dream job in a new city. Life was perfect or as perfect as I could have contrived. I awoke in my fiancé’s bed the morning after graduation expecting to feel elated, happy, fulfilled; or at the very least, well-rested and content. It was the first Tuesday in perhaps my entire life that I technically had nothing to do and I felt completely, inexplicably…. empty. 

Where was the happiness I was promised; the light at the end of the tunnel I built, brick by brick? I felt a sudden urge to laugh followed by the very real experience of tears. 

And then, in response to those tears, a harrowing, gut-wrenching, pass-me-the-wine-no-the-whole-bottle question materialized before me as if posed by some older, wiser, separate self: Who would you be without all these labels, titles, and accomplishments?

Who am I?

The answer that came was enough to make me want to dive under the covers and let the carbon dioxide build up around me.

Before I go any further, I want to recognize that despite living with a chronic illness, the problems and concerns I’m describing here are distinctly privileged-people-problems. I understand and appreciate that my ability to grapple with questions about my identity and personal fulfillment are luxuries only possible because of that privilege. I don’t have to worry about basic necessities like where I’m sleeping tonight or from where my next meal will come. I don’t wake up worrying about whether I might get arrested, mugged, shot at, or bombed if I walk out my front door or if I might be persecuted for my skin color, openly practicing my religion, or loving who I love. That I even have health insurance to afford the medication that keeps me alive is a blessing that I am keenly aware not everyone with my disease has.

Yet it’s precisely this knowledge—that other people who were born into different circumstances must work a hundred times harder and maybe not ever get to the point I find myself at now—that makes answering these Big Life Questions even more important. With all my privilege and so few barriers standing in the way of me living a magnificent, inspirational, blessed life of service and passion, why am I not making every day, hour, and minute count?

I pondered that question again a few months ago when I was asked to give a presentation at an all-employee meeting for work. “All-employee” meaning, of course, the entire company; hundreds of people in-person and remote gathered in one moment to critically judge my outfit, throat-clearing tic, and the way I pronounce “gala”—or at least, that’s what it felt like. A naturally nervous public speaker, I practiced obsessively to minimize the risk of forgetting my own name and spent copious time working through every worst-case scenario. In the shower, on the train, before bed, in my dreams; I worried and rehearsed that speech so many times that my ultimate irrational fear of a light fixture falling from the ceiling and concussing me mid-word could have come to fruition and my lips would have continued mouthing statistics while my hands, of their own accord, gesticulated to slide 5 bullet point 2 at the 20-minute mark exactly as rehearsed.

This exercise was, like many of my endeavors, not borne out of passion and commitment to a good cause, but a calculated attempt to take on another “professional development opportunity” in the hopes that it would indirectly increase the likelihood of my future happiness by one, maybe two, percent. Because more responsibility at work = more money = more success, stability, and therefore infinite happiness, right? The irony of all this calculation is that an activity I expected to yield happiness had the unintended consequences of increasing my stress levels by 1000 percent and costing valuable time with my friends and family. 

And tell me, what exactly is the point of investing all this energy and being so completely exhausted if there’s no greater good, higher purpose, or feeling happy and inspired before, during, and after? What’s the point of tackling any endeavor if it’s only going to lead to a buttered toast/social media binge to cover the feelings of emptiness and dissatisfaction?

Until now, I’ve asked but not fully grappled with these Big Life Questions. But I want to. I want to wrestle and spar, analyze and critique until awareness turns into action and potentially transformation. In my short life I’ve had the opportunity to answer some medium life questions whose answers led to amazing, unexpected changes. Questions like, “What more do you have to lose?”, “Would you be willing to relocate?” and “Will you marry me?” I’ve answered and then watched life shift miraculously to accommodate my new conceptualization of what’s possible. And now, I feel myself standing at the edge of another new conceptualization with an ever-present awareness of my own potential, mortality, limitations, limitlessness, and connection to the rest of humanity. 

This blog is a chronicle of my attempts to answer and act on life’s biggest questions, including, but not limited to:

Who am I?

What is my greater purpose in life?

How can I find joy in the mundane?

How can I make the most of every day?

How can I be kinder to myself in deed and thought?

How can I honor and love my body?

How can I love unconditionally?

How can I forgive myself and others?

How can I overcome my fears?

How can I have more faith?

How can I live in the present moment more often?

How can I align my career and work with my passions and higher purpose?

How can I be of service to others?

If you decide to follow along, I hope my words can provide some perspective on how to begin answering your own BLQ’s, even if what I’m describing is a case study in what not to do. Consider what follows to be a record of hard lessons learned, a magnifying glass for bad habits, an arena for confronting fears and traumas, a whiteboard for exploring crazy ideas, and with a little luck and determination, a launching pad into the magnificent, inspirational, blessed life of service and passion I hope to live.

[fandomdragon20]

The Princess and the Pea-ist oFF PAPERBAG THATS WHAT (part 3)

So the group went into the dinning hall to continue dinner, after Flug threw the disaster of a dress into the fire outside, with their new guest, both Demencia and Flug engrossed in his story.

Black Hat however kept quiet. Skeptical about the man, who explained he was a noble of the kingdom and how his family was rich thanks to their line of works in the engineering field, however Flug was sort of the black sheep of the family who was close to only his brother. (I wonder who it could be?? Owowowowwowó) Cut away from the family name by his own choice, Flug started his own kind of "unauthorized" work with his share of wealth. Flug was an inventor at heart so he knew a thing or two about technology. Flug would sell confidential information to the black market, hack a few of the major banks, and post some fake news that would go viral on Facebook.

Black Hat merely scoffed, a lesser villain with the ability of technology and hacking, something Black Hat himself would never stoop so low to do.

"So what happened with," Demencia gestured outside where 505 was beating the fire down with a pine tree, "...all that?"

"Oh, well...The police managed to track my computer on my recent "heist" and so I had to make a run for it." Flug explained

Black Hat laughed bitterly, so the man failed to be a lesser villain at that. Weakling.

Flug continued, "So I made my way into town, where some crowd of people where having a wedding celebration. While being hunted by the cops, I didn't really blend in the crowd with the paper bag and all, so I had to hide in the dressing rooms. Apparently the bride left the ceremony early leaving her wedding dress and vail behind. No one else knew so I-"

"uh..."

Now both Demencia and Black Hat were laughing

"It hid my face well, alright?!" Flug said trying to justify himself,

"Anyway, I went through half the ceremony." he continued with Demencia laughing on the floor just imagining the situation, "Unfortunately my cover was blown and the police were back on my tail so I took out my plasma ray and shot at the wedding cake for a distraction as I ran out to the parking lot, thank god they had a private jet waiting outside with a "Just Married" painted on the tail wing, the nerve of those rich bastards..." As he muttered that last insult, Demencia interrupted with an enthusiastic wave of her hand,

"Wait, wait, wait" she commanded for a pause, "you said you had a plasma ray?"

"Yeah...for emergencies...doesn't everyone??"

"Where did you get it from?"

"Oh," said Flug, "I made it myself. It's one of my successful inventions. Being part of the digital black market you got to be prepared, buying weapons was too risky, so I make my own security..."

Demencia wides her eyes at Black Hat as in 'Holy Christ of Cow on a Shit Stick' where Black Hat shot back a glance that said, 'What Get your Glances straight, I can't Understand You?!' Demencia then stared back, 'Eagle is in the Nest!!' In which Black Hat raised his long ass eyebrows in a 'wHAT DOES THAT MEAN??' face, to which Demencia replied, 'GOOSE IN THE EGG' glance jabbing her head at the guest sitting blissfully unaware of their silent conversation at the end of the table babbling about mechanical claws and some alien-DNA-changing-Gucci-watch from space or something. Then Flug began to wrap up his tale,

"I mean I've never been to space, personally, but that's what I would do...Anyway, um, got a bit carried a away there... so I made it to the plane but was intercepted by one of the guards of the ceremony. So, from what you can guess with the blood and shoe, it's safe to say I made a pretty sloppy escape into a storm...and here I am!"

That made Demencia interrupt again, "Woah, how many times did you stomp him in the ground, five times?"

"More like twelve,"

"How can you tell??"

"From the number of holes in his skull..."

The table went silent and Black Hat grinned, a disgusting one at that, and Demencia only grinned back at Black Hat. Flug became a little uncomfortable under the gazes of his hosts, despite KILLING a man not even an HOUR ago??

Then Demencia broke the silence, loudly,

"IM GOING TO EXCUSE MYSELF TO THE KITCHEN, UH FLUG IT LOOKS LIKE YOU NEED SOME UTENSILS, riGHT??"

"Um....yeah, actually, uh, paper bag...and all..." Flug timidly replied, pointed at his mask

"OH good! Black Hat if you could 'help' me find the utensils in the kitchen?" She said through gritted teeth, trying to keep her excitement discreet,

"Can't you just give him yours?" questioned Black Hat,

Demencia threw her knife and fork into the kitchen,

"yEAH well, they're dirty and so are yours, that's no way to treat our guest!" She bravely grabbed Black Hat's sleeve and hoisted him from his seat, "Now into the kitchen and to the silverware we go!" Demencia chanted before disappearing into the kitchen with her boss.

Black Hat grew claws and snarled his teeth, "Touch. Me. Again, and I will swing you by your bush of a hairstyle!"

"Ooo, a new threat that one, but that's not the point! Don't you see?? We got a good catch!"

"What? For my company?? Please, all I see is a dimwit in a lunch bag that crashes planes into other people's fields! Honestly the fact that he is still alive in my presence is most shocking about him..." said Black Hat,

"He is what we need isn't he? And more! He's an weapon inventor who single handedly escape tax fraud while getting away with murder on a plane in a storm!" explained the demented witch hybrid, "and he's sitting right in front of you, quite literally, on a silver plate...! which I don't know why you don't just use the paper plates we bought?"

"It's less class! And we are not jumping into hiring just aNYbody! If he is an inventor, he has to prove himself worthy to even be sitting in my house! My company needs someone with perfectionist detail and character, he has shown a risky past in villainy, but what of his inventions? How do I know he will make them to my standards?" explained the dark master,

You're standards are a fucking roulette wheel,

Said the invisible narrator that nobody heard

Ok, even if this Flug WERE evil enough to work for the most powerful villain in the known universe, he had to be a perfectionist...but how to tell?

A wicked thought flashed through his monocle and the dark lord grinned,

"Demencia?" He asked quietly formulating his plan in his mind, "do you remember that take-out you brought from a few week's prior?"

The witch replied with confused hesitance, "Yeah? I think I might've left it in the back of the fridge,"

Black Hat teleported to the kitchen's cooler (the fridge, past me, being all "whimsical" and shit) and searched for a scruffy small take-out box next to some Red Bull and tinfoil wrapped dill pickles.

After finding what he needed, Black Hat pounded his fist on the box, crushing the cemented contents inside. Instead of opening it like a normal person would, but lacking anything humanly characteristics, it was expected. So whatever. Rice clumps spilled from the sides of the box and, with clawed fingers, Black Hat fished through the old leftovers to find a once steam wrinkled pea now tough and tainted yellow with age.

The dark top hat held the pea between the tips of his claws, inspecting it through his monocle as the Evil Queen would hold the poisoned apple thinking of her potential victim.

"Demencia," said the top hat demon with sly, "how many spare mattresses do we have in the guest rooms?"

"Oh damn...are we gonna finally build that Ultimate Pillow Fort of Doom?! That's great! I just bought (stole) enough mattresses to build a whole castle-!"

Black Hat cut her off,

"We are not building a damn Fortnite!" Clearly missing the use of youth culture reference,

"I have a plan, you go out there and distract our "guest" while I get everything into place."

Demencia, while suspicious of Black Hat's new scheme, went along with it and went back to the dinning room with a pair of chopsticks for utensils having forgotten that they were having pizza,

"Here you are! If you don't know how to use them, just stab the slice as if it where your enemy's liver!"

"Normally I'd go for the spinal column to draw out a painful death, but thank you anyways." Replied the paper bag wearing Hannibal Lector apparently,

Black Hat grinned, not once admitting he had high hopes to hire the strange visitor, and continued to the "guest" room.

<< Previous Next>>

[doctormage]

hi i just need to be really dramatic and long winded bc if i dont get it Out im going to fucking explode

ive actually been trying really hard this semester with my thesis and its REALLY fucking difficult for me. my depression makes me catatonic and unable to complete simple tasks or be motivated to do literally anything; my anxiety paralyzes me at the slightest unexpected change and then obsess over whether everyone in my life hates me because of my anxiety; my sleep schedule is constantly fucked and my doctor is unhelpful; my bdd will sidetrack me from my work and responsibilities for literal hours or days, and sometimes if its feeling spicy send me on a full scale fucking breakdown; and my adhd makes all this shit worse on TOP of all the NORMAL adhd shit. like thats just!!! my life!!!! at all times!!!!! and there have been several times where i have genuinely considered leaving this program or not continuing school after bc i was so fucking overwhelmed and exhausted and scared but i didnt!!! like i make a lot of jokes about procrastinating and wasting my time and doing the least and whatever but in reality its really fucking difficult for me even when im medicated!!! but i dont like admitting that bc of all my exhausting childhood baggage and shit but that is not the point of this rant so anyway

this semester i made a specific effort to try and be a better student even tho all of this stuff has been exacerbated by grad school. i felt i owed it to my director and one of my committee members because theyve been so fucking helpful and put their faith in me and took a lot of their time to help me. i wanted to show them i was worthy of it and capable of being a good student who does all the shit she’s supposed to do, does it well, and does it on time. i overloaded my fall semester and nearly lost my goddamn mind JUST to have a lighter class load this semester so i could focus most of my time on my thesis (like for real that was actually incredibly stupid of me. i lost almost 30 pounds from september to december without conscious effort just because i was so fucking stressed. not a brag and actually kind of concerning bc that has LITERALLY never happened to me). it has been like....significantly taxing, but i wanted to show them how much i appreciate their time and effort and help by being responsible and respectful. my Trying Hard is a lot of people’s Barely Doing Their Best and i know that. turning something in 2 hours early is below average for some but for me, literally anything more than 30 minutes before its due is an actual goddamn miracle. but i wanted to work hard and do things right for my committee members because they deserve it

this christmas my parents asked what i wanted and the ONLY thing i asked for was help with my library dues. last year from like march to october i was significantly depressed and entirely out of my head, and i racked up some pretty bad overdue fees. i didnt even ask them to pay all of it, just some of it. less than $100. im really truly grateful for the gifts they DID get me, but i didnt ask for them for any of it, and my overdue fees were left alone. i was under the impression that they got paid and, like a fucking idiot, i didnt check up on it to confirm. ive been so hell deep in my thesis and teaching and grading and applying to phd programs and looking for apartments and shit that it really just slipped my fucking mind!!! crazy!!!!

today i was in crisis bc i thought i fucked up with scheduling my defense/exam/whatever the fuck. im going to call it defense and i dont give a shit bc everyone calls it some other shit and i dont CARE. anyway i really thought i fucked up but i went and talked it out with my director and it was all sorted out. i’ve gotten like 50% of her feedback on my thesis draft, which i’ve incorporated, and im waiting on comments from another reader (the other helpful person on my committee). we have to run some dumbass software before scheduling, so i ran it today and tried to schedule it but couldnt bc theres a hold on my account. i went on a fucking....ALMIGHTY QUEST to figure it out and i finally discovered that guess what!!!!!!! its my GODDAMN LIBRARY OVERDUE FEES!!!!!! THAT I THOUGHT WERE PAID!!!!!!! i had to pay them myself which is fine idc but it takes several days to process. this fucks up my life on SEVERAL levels

for one, its fucking impossible to get a hold of my third committee member. she is a vapor in the wind. shes like super busy and thats all good and well but the point is theres like zero communication there. i finally got confirmation on a defense date from all 3 members and had been literally planning MY ENTIRE LIFE around this date. after todays first scheduling crisis i was so happy i was still on track, but now this? now i have to wait 3-4 days before i can even SCHEDULE the defense. the super delightful part is that we have to schedule a minimum of 2 weeks in advance. so now i cant schedule my defense until tuesday at the absolute earliest, but that ALSO bumps my defense date several days ahead. i have no fucking clue if my committee is going to agree on another day that works for everyone bc theyre all busy as shit and we’d been working toward the original date for weeks if not months, and im so fucking upset because this is exactly what i DIDNT want to have happen. i havent tried to email them yet because im hoping beyond fucking hope i can call somebody at the university tomorrow and see if the hold is something else besides the fee, but it makes me sick to think of having to be like “oh sorry i know i constantly fuck up everything ever and im a piece of shit but can we change this date we’ve had set since january because i was an extra shitty piece of shit this time??” like OHHH MY GODDDDD

and the thing thats really fucking with me is that like, yes its my fault but this one time its not ENTIRELY 100% my fault. i asked for a favor and had the understanding that it was taken care of. yes the fees were my doing and yes i shouldve checked but oh my fucking god. i feel like all the effort ive put into being a better student this semester has been for fucking nothing because im going to have to email my committee asking for a different date and ruin all their fucking lives and theyll be so disappointed in me. i have like legitimately been crying on and off about it since like 4:30 today

it so shitty in and of itself but i especially dont want to do this to my director bc she is legitimately the reason im finishing this program AND that im going to a phd program. a year ago i’d barely spoken 20 words to her but she still agreed to be a reader on my committee just because she heard me explain my thesis for all of 30 seconds and decided to give it a try. she literally had not read a song of ice and fire at the time and she started reading them for me to help me with my thesis. in the fall when my original director basically threatened to leave my committee if i didnt change all my ideas, my current director stepped in and helped me and talked me through it and then offered to take her place even though my research is BARELY distantly related to hers. through all of this she’s been so insanely patient with me, super encouraging of my ideas both in this project and in others, helped me decide whether it was right for me to get my phd immediately after my masters, proofed and edited and helped me with ALL my phd application materials, and STILL is in the process of reading these goddamn books just to be a better director. i have lost my head so many times and shes always been there to help me figure my shit out, and i wanted to have it figured out for once. how stupid of me

like bumping the date isnt the end of the whole world but its really not just about the fact that i have to reschedule. i was trying real goddamn hard to be a better student this semester and i REALLY fucking owed it to my director and other reader, but especially director, and i still managed to fuck up this bad. i feel like such a DISAPPOINTMENT and it just will not leave my brain bc im so mad at myself. i tried watching shows and youtube compilations about game of thrones and shit but now my bf is asleep and im alone and its all i can think about. im so fucking tired of being the person i am honestly and i dont mean that in an edgy way its just like jesus christ i wish there was less shit wrong with me. i wish i had any kind of willpower or discipline so i couldve learned these skills and been a better student from the start. i wish i wasnt a giant piece of shit!!!!! 

and now im going to be up late being anxious about all this which means that i will, once again, wake up late but also still be really exhausted, which means i’ll do a shitty job teaching and get overwhelmed by everything and who the fuck knows what fun bullshittery will ensue because of it. i am so fucking tired of me and my fuckery and the fact that it fucks with other people even why i try so hard for it not to. tired!!!!!!!! fucking tired

[starcunning]

Acherontia atropos

Happy Friday! Today I will be speedrunning the Eighth Umbral Calamity*. Part one was earlier.

Technically, this is the last scheduled update to Erebidae, but I’m doing a fic exchange and two of the requests therein pertain to either this universe or these characters. So please look forward to those in February after the exchange concludes.

OH AND I MADE A REQUEST TOO BUT IT’S ABOUT PASHTAROT. YOU’LL SEE WHY THAT’S FUNNY LATER.

*Eighth Umbral Calamity not guaranteed but strongly indicated.

[M/F] [WOL* (Kallisti)/Nabriales][If you’re looking for traditional-ass sex in here you will be disappointed.][If, however, you are subscribed to that Starcunning Soulbonding Bullshit package, you will be delighted.][This song is called: it’s a metaphor, fool!][Consensual snuff][Yeah, that’s what we’re doing in 2019.][Just a spectacularly bad idea all around][*technically Lensha Hathaar is the WOL; Kallie is one of her Echo-blessed companions][ARR 2.56][Erebidae][2.6k words]

Nabriales neither ate nor slept. As the days passed, this became obvious; he shared none of Kallisti’s concern for these needs. She could spear fowl from the air with lances of ice or call a levinbolt to stun the fish and frogs in a pond, cooking them over a fire of her own making, but for all that he sat by her hearth he never partook.

He could eat, and perhaps could remember how to sleep, he admitted; he simply had no need to do either. Sometimes he would touch her, the darkness of his aether spilling into her, as though into her very veins. And he would let her rest her head against his chest, leaning on the confines of his mortal frame—but when she looked upon him with anything other than her sight, she knew she was well past the bounds of his being. Slowly, the weakness of blood loss ebbed.

Through it all, her linkpearl remained silent.

“We should return to Mor Dhona,” Nabriales said one morning. It was crisp and cold—the sea tempered the teeth of winter somewhat, but Kallisti could see her own breath on the air when she answered him. “We?” “Yes, we.” “I have no idea what the situation is there,” Kallisti said, “and they haven’t called for me. What I’m more interested in is why you want to go.” “Your mortal fragility troubles me,” Nabriales said. “It was a nearer thing than I thought. And I yet require the Key.” “What? What key?” Nabriales looked at her, running a gloved hand through his hair, sweeping it back from his brow. “Do you recall the circumstances of our meeting?” “Minfilia? She’s the key?” Kallisti asked, feeling a flare of some hot emotion in the back of her mind. The Ascian only laughed at that, claws brushing her cheek, his aether stirring her own with that simple, possessive gesture. “Don’t be jealous, little fool,” he said. “Especially over a misunderstanding. Your Antecedent is of no interest to me. It was the staff I came for.” His thumb skimmed over her throat, stoking her pulse even as he pressed his fingertip to it. “Tupsimati,” she echoed, remembering at last. “What would you do with it?” “Solve the troublesome problem of your mortality, for one,” he said.

She looked at him, trying not to shiver from the cold, her breath a plume of white on the air, every puff of steam precious heat escaping her. Soon she would build a fire; she had not entirely forgotten the ways of her clan even after years of “civilizing” influence. “I didn’t realize that was a problem to be solved,” Kallisti said. “In most cases it is not,” Nabriales admitted. When he said no more, she reached for him, spilling her light into his darkness like a piercing ray. Perhaps this was not Hydaelyn’s purpose in granting her the Echo; Minfilia and Lensha had lamented often enough how little control they had over it—and even now she could not completely master it. Or else she should never have awoken to find herself at Laurentius Daye’s mercy. Nor could she compel a vision from Nabriales now—but there were other paths to understanding. She pressed against the boundary between them, and felt his surprise as her own.

It was the first time she had managed it without his prompting and guidance. The pride that swelled in her chest belonged to both of them. Nabriales still pressed a hand to her cheek, insofar as the distinction between them mattered; it was as true to call it her hand and his cheek, in moments like this.

He was afraid—they were afraid, and at the heart of that shared fear was the realization that Kallisti was the only thing Nabriales had been allowed to claim for himself since his ascension. She felt the fragility of her flesh-bound existence, the weight of mortality that seemed poised to snap the aetherial tether between the pair of them. She probed deeper, reaching into the core of him, that kernel of black crystal that maintained his sense of self even when they commingled.

He did not experience the world as she did. That much had long become obvious, the distinction made still more stark in that first communion in Sharlayan. Nabriales drew no distinction between aether and form; their shared sensation was unbounded by flesh. It was dulled by the layers they both cloaked themselves in; without that simple armor the ebb and flow of energy in the world might prove a distraction. She moved; he moved. As he had said. But he moved and he moved the world, all of reality bent to his superior perception.

They felt seconds as a lifetime; they felt eras as days.

She was such a small thing; a speck of light in a storm of darkness. Her life was like the flickering of a firefly. How could it matter? And yet it did. This had ceased to be a casual dalliance the moment he had joined his aether to hers—an impulsive decision made when Elidibus threatened his dominion, its consequences compounded ever since. From then ‘til now, her light seeping in through the cracks. Even when she withdrew, some part of her remained; some mote of light in a heart of darkness.

Nabriales was panting when she looked upon him again. It was such a curiously mortal reaction, she could not help but smile at it. She leaned in, kissing his slack mouth, awakening him from his daze. “I see,” she said. “Will it take long?” “No,” Nabriales told her. “Once we have the staff, I await only your readiness.” “Why do you need it?” she asked. “You don’t know what it does, do you?” he said, brow knitting in consternation. “No.” “That staff allows its bearer to gather vast quantities of aether from the surrounding environs and bring it to bear.” “And that will … make me immortal, somehow?” Nabriales scoffed, seeming annoyed. “You are already immortal. It is the flesh in which you reside that makes you fragile. You must renounce it.” “I have to die, you mean,” Kallisti said. “Does a tree die when it drops its leaves in winter?” he asked. “I wish only to unmoor you from the bonds of your mortality.” She considered that a moment, and found no reason to doubt him. Not when she had felt in her own breast his feelings for her.

It seemed foolish in retrospect to have ever questioned them in the first place, she had to own. “Alright,” she said. “The scholar gave you a prism of white auracite,” he said. “I will need it. And I will need your athame,” he said. “If it’s aether you need, there is a confluence in the old ruins,” Kallisti said. “Mhachi ritualists would use it. I remember …” She lifted a hand to her chest, stroking the smooth surface of her violet crystal. “You’ve done this before?” “It was done to me,” Nabriales said, “in eras long past. I am familiar with its workings. Are you prepared to return to Mor Dhona?” “No need,” Kallisti said, retrieving her pack. At her feet she cast the sword, the stone, the staff. He bent to collect them with reverence. “You had it all along?” he mused. “Yes,” Kallisti said. “Then you were always the answer, little fool,” he said, tipping her chin up with his fingertips.

The sky was a featureless plain of light; its blanket of clouds diffused the sun to undifferentiated silver. The stone against her back was cold. Kallisti could feel the runes carved into the ancient plinth against her bare skin, subtlest voids in the chilly sensation. Her Crystal of Light—called forth in preparation—rested against her chest, its crimson glow the brightest color in the bleached ruin.

Nabriales put one hand against her cheek. In the other, he held the rectangular prism of white stone. “It’s time,” he said. Kallisti said nothing; there was no need of speech between them now. She lifted her hand to curl her fingers around the cool white stone, and let it leech the heat from her palm. The auracite was a thirsty stone, greedy for her aether in the same way her mage’s staff readily called it forth. But its intent was not to focus her will; no, instead it leeched her aether from her and held it.

The already-dim world grew more distant. The stone’s cold seemed less pressing; the feeling of Nabriales’s clawed gauntlet against her face no longer filled her with smothering warmth. She felt exhausted, as she did after a taxing battle or a number of long-range teleports. It was a familiar sensation; a life in service to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn was neither easy nor comfortable. Kallisti tried to call the sustaining, infusing power of ice, but she could not focus long enough to form the spell. Her hand fell from the stone. Nabriales’s naked face swam in her vision. She reached for him; her grasp fell short. her fingers burned against the black crystal at his throat.

Then she saw no more. The pain wracked her, squeezed her eyes shut. She had so little left to give, and he wrung it from her anyway. She would have called it cruelty, had she the faculty for speech. But she had been robbed of it long since; she was a kernel of self awash in a sea of agony. How easily a candle in the darkness could be snuffed.

Somewhere, far away from here, a knife slipped through her ribs. The last burst of aether from the ritual dagger allowed her sensation enough to feel the blood well and pour, the searing pain of her pierced heart. Hydaelyn’s little fool breathed her last.

Her agony was not ended then; the breath of her soul was the first captured by the staff and channeled back into the crystal. Kallisti felt herself stretched across insurmountable distance, but the aether caused her Crystal of Light to flare still brighter, power welling in its hallowed lattices. She had felt every bit of her being torn apart; she felt every bit of her being put back together, drawn from the auracite prison by the staff and poured back into the Crystal. She was flame and light; she could feel the world dying around her. Mosses and mushrooms that had seen the turning of a thousand years gave up their energy unto her; the chill upon the air and the levinbolts that crackled unborn in the clouds above joined the maelstrom of energies at her heart. Even the Ascian gave up some part of himself, as he had long since done.

In marking his supremacy he had given himself to her.

She did not need to breathe, but gasped all the same. Still the power flowed into her, rising like a spring to the surface, threatening to spill over in a thousand rivers. The Source, she recalled at once. Like its endless waters she flowed back into her body.

Kallisti could exist without it, but the vessel was useful. At the very least, it shielded her from the raw currents of aether that still flowed over her. The auracite was tapped, the staff pumping an empty well; all the energy it could collect had been given unto her.

“Nabriales,” she said, and felt the way his name rippled through the air. He oriented himself toward her—not merely looking with the blinded eyes of his vessel; she could see that now, could truly see him now. Every mote of umbral aether that comprised him reached for her, darkness rising up to meet her light.

Was this what he had felt all along? She no longer concerned herself with cold stone or gelid wind; she cared only for the way the aether flowed. They had deadened this place to make her live, but already the currents were bringing life and energy back to the ruins. She reached out and pressed her hand to his bare face, and watched the way he reacted. Had he been mortal, that simple touch would have made him gasp. But that was a mortal reaction, and so she saw instead the way that his aetherial form bristled, her overwhelming power finding ground in him.

It made her laugh. She stripped him with nothing but a thought, unmaking the simulacrum of his robes so that she could press her skin to his. It felt no longer like a boundary, a membrane between them; it was as ephemeral as a shaft of light or a cast shadow. She could reach into him without effort now, could commingle readily with him.

They were one. Not in the same way they had been one when she had been mortal, where his sensations, his thoughts, his history were hers to explore; they became at last a single entity of radiant light and deepest darkness. An estuary was neither the sea nor the river; it was both, and so were they, until she withdrew.

He was in awe. She did not need to see his expression to know that. “I am of the Source,” she said. He laughed. “I have not forgotten,” he said. He leaned in as though to kiss her, in much the same needy fashion she had lifted her mouth to his once. She felt the kiss as mortal sensation and as a much more immediate touch, and then she felt the rising tide of aether that presaged teleportation.

Elidibus was winter’s darkness, cold to her even at a distance. “What is this?” he said. “You cannot truly have believed this would escape my notice.” “No,” Kallisti told him, drawing her light about her like armor, making of it a shroud against his influence. “But it is too late for you to intervene now.” “What an amusing pet you’ve chosen, Nabriales,” the Emissary said. “Bring her to the palace. Now.”

She could feel the darkness at the heart of the moon—Zodiark slumbered beneath her feet, Nabriales had told her. There was no air to convey the words, but they made themselves understood to one another just the same. It was cold, she noted, in much the same way she noted that the walls around them were tinged with violet. Both facts had become remote to her.

Elidibus seethed, though Kallisti could not yet guess at the cause of that. It could not be that he was angry at being robbed of her, for he was soon joined by his own flickering light. His face was none she knew.

But there were aetherial signatures that were familiar to her—Lahabrea she knew at least a little, and there was another Ascian who seemed familiar somehow, though when she cast herself out to reach him he swiftly rebuffed her. “Who is that?” she asked. “That,” Nabriales said, “is Pashtarot. Why.” “I think we’ve met,” Kallisti said. “Unlikely,” he advised her.

Her concentration was stolen a moment later by a disturbance upon the empty platform to their left. Kallisti could not help but turn her head and watch the shadows coalesce into the last robed figure to arrive—a woman, she realized, with blue hair and a bifurcated mask. She stared a few seconds longer, forcing herself to see past aether that whirled like snowflakes in a winter squall and down to the mere physicality of her. Even so, it was nobody she recognized.

Not so the second figure that appeared a moment later, the third light to flare into existence in this benighted realm. She knew her by face and aether both, for such overwhelming brightness could belong to only one other person.

Lensha Hathaar noticed her staring, and scowled back.