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elfindreams · 3 years

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Hit me with ur sans opinions

OKAY HERE WE GO

Favorite thing:

Despite him being an apathetic shitposter, I really like how Sans is... actually a pretty hopeful person? Dude’s secretly depressed as shit even though that “ohhh okay yeah that’s what’s going on, huh” moment only comes quite late in the game and you see what his room looks like, and of course the Lost Soul dialogue during the final boss fight. But he has friends and shows interest in his normal hobbies and sincerely wants to be Frisk’s friend, in the murder route he apparently held out hope that if the player was shown enough kindness, you would willingly go back and fix all the bad things you did and be everyone’s friend instead. Like, way past the point where that clearly wasn’t going to happen. My man is TRYING SO HARD

Least favorite thing:

There are a myriad of Sans-related things which evoke responses from me ranging from disinterested apathy to a mild eyeroll to rabid frothing rage, but none of it has anything to do with the character himself, so it feels unfair to count that against ‘em... uhhh I bet he’s the type of person to talk with their mouth absolutely FULL of food and it would enrage me even more than it usually does because HOW ARE YOU EVEN DOING THAT SIR

Favorite line of dialogue:

Yeah yeah there are the intensely raw lines everyone chooses, and rightfully so, but I got a soft spot in my heart for the prank call where he asks if your refrigerator is running, and if you try to be contrary by saying no, he responds with “ok, i’ll send someone over to fix it. thanks for letting me know. good communication is important”. I seem to remember yelling something like “askdjdbdp YEAH OKAY THANKS SANS, THANKS” at the screen when it happened in my first play through, and my brother cackling bc he didn’t get that call when he played the game and didn’t even know to expect it.

BROTP:

Do actual brothers qualify? If not, uhhh Toriel probably. Joke buddies!

OTP:

I see Sans as pretty much aroace but could equally see him ending up in a very casual FWB thing with Alphys, or in an actual relationship in scenarios where Undyne isn’t in the picture, like the queen Alphys ending. It would be cute and their personalities and general vibes are super compatible imo, but on the flipside I could see their flaws feeding into each other and spiraling downward real quick, especially in the particular scenario of the Queen Alphys ending because uhhh yeah emotional trauma for everybody who didn’t die. Sans is so passive and lazy and conflict-avoidant that he would just enable all of Alphys’ worst behaviors, she would become increasingly isolated and depressed and paranoid and drag him down with her, it would be a mess. (I mean he kind of already does that in canon by helping her keep the Amalgamates a secret instead of intervening in any way??? SHE’S KEEPING PEOPLE LOCKED IN HER BASEMENT DUDE, HOLY SHIT) Sans x a healthier diet and sleep schedule and maybe some talk therapy = the true OTP.

NOTP:

Sans x Frisk. If it’s in the context of a fanwork where Frisk was already an adult when they fell into the Underground, then I guess I won’t HATE it hate it... nah jk I still super hate it, c’mon man why does this literal babeychild need to get shipped with anyone, much less an adult? Let Sans be the goofy sitcom dad figure he was always meant to be, dang it!

Random headcanon:

I’m sure I’ve posted this before but OH WELL, Sans doesn’t actually know what sex is. I mean he appreciates a good 69 joke as much as any not-self-respecting shitposter, but he’s Literally A Talking Cartoon Skeleton and this topic has zero relevance to his life, so he never bothered to look it up or ask anybody. (Papyrus does, though. Confirmed chad.)

Alternatively—

When used against a murderous soul with high LV, Sans’ KARMA ability does damage over time and drains health. However, if a KARMA “attack” were used upon someone with a clean and pure soul, it would have the reverse effect and heal them. Combine that with Sans’ terrible offensive and defensive stats, and you have... a classic white mage with an absolutely BUSTED spell mechanic at his disposal. In a Deltarune-style fight with other party members to physically defend him, all of whom are heroic good guy characters, Sans would make a superb healer. Alas, his abilities are only situationally useful and his boss battle in Undertale is the exact reverse of that scenario, so he’s stuck trying to make do with what he’s got.

(And now I’m having war flashbacks to that dreadful 1v1 fight in Final Fantasy Tactics where I had to minmax my main character’s abilities and equipment and hope to god that the RNG would work out in my favor because all along he’d only ever been expected to fight as part of a team and I hadn’t leveled him up very much... cinematic parallels!)

Unpopular opinion:

Absolutely none, everyone agrees with me and Sir Tobias Foxington himself manifested physically in my house to give me a gold star sticker

Song I associate with them:

uhhh I’ve got a few but how about Many Lives -> 49 MP by Owen Pallett

It’s about a clairvoyant who obsessively stares into the future and keeps seeing/hearing his middle-aged self frantically yelling back through time and urging him to invest more money, dammit. Idk how well the lyrics actually fit but like, VIBES??? lmao

Favorite picture:

#:D #long post #HAPPY SUNDAY!#edit: oh yeah also as far as headcanons... he’s trans. everyone is trans. fuck yeah that’s not even a headcanon it’s just canon

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trillian-anders · 4 years

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marital bliss

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, miscarriage, depression

word count: 2.2k

description: 1950s au; steve knew he was going to marry you the moment he laid eyes on you, but you struggle with something your parents deem not fit for marriage. and everything that comes with that.

note: for @jbbarnesnnoble‘s mental health awareness month challenge.

prompt: It was progress. Baby steps forward. Maybe it wouldn’t all be okay today, but someday? It would be.

Steve had loved you since the moment he saw you. And he can remember exactly when it was. You’d been at the drive-in. Three cars down with the guy you’d been going steady with for a while. You’d been wearing a powder blue dress and a matching headband in your hair. The dress had daisies stitched into it on the hem. You snacked on junior mints and scolded the guy for touching your hair with his buttery fingers.

You sat against the trunk of your boyfriend’s car on intermission. That’s when Steve first saw you. Shaking the box to unstick the candies while he walked past, bumping into the shoulder of one of the boys joking with your boyfriend, only because he wasn’t paying attention. Only because he was trying to count the lashes that were fanned on your cheeks.

“Watch where you’re going punk.” A shove and he was on the ground. His mom had just about killed him for getting grass stains on his khakis. His popcorn spilled all over the ground. His eyes met yours, connecting for the very first time and it just about took his breath away. He maybe looked a little too long,

“You lookin’ at my girl?” A fist in his shirt collar, yanking his small frame from the ground.

“Michael!” Your voice had been like a melody to his ears, your hands wrapping around ‘Michael’s bicep, his hand curled in a fist, “Leave the kid alone.” It hurt a little, but he was sure you thought by his height and lankiness that he was a kid. But he was sure he was the same age as you, or at least around the same age.

Steve watched in horror as Michael lay his palm flat over your face and push you backward, your back hitting the trunk of the car and without realizing he was even doing it, swung forward and connected his fist with Michael’s jaw.

The next thing he knew he was sitting in his living room with a bag of frozen peas on his eye, held there by your hand and wrapped in a dish cloth.

“My Ma’s a nurse.” He’d told you, “She works nights.” With no one to take care of him you helped him home, the sleeve of your dress ripped and a bruise blossoming on your arm. He was dizzy and unsure how it happened.

“I don’t know if you were really brave back there or really stupid.” He winced at the cold touch of the frozen peas and shivered when his hand covered yours, holding it to his own head.

He remembered seeing you yell at Michael. You threw something at your boyfriend, and Steve remembered you helping him off the ground. His head ringing.

“Are you going to be okay?” If you leave him. He doesn’t want you to. You smell soft like clean linens and cotton. Lemon.

“I should really walk you home.” He said. So he did. And he mapped out the slope of your nose and the way your lips curled. He watched you tilt your head as you debated something about the movie you didn’t get to finish. And he knew then, he knew then that he was going to marry you.

It was good. Really good at first. You were so bright and full of life. Happy. Your smile would pull the sorrow from his body. The soreness from his bones. He’d been so sore the summer he hit his growth spurt. But you’d been with him the whole time.

He could see it now looking back, the melancholy. The odd blue and grey moments that seeped in at the edges of your ray of sun. The days where you hadn’t seen him because you were feeling under the weather. Laid up in bed without visitors.

Your Pa warned him not to marry you.

“She’s not fit for it, son.” A hand on his shoulder when he asked your Pa for permission to marry you. “We shouldn’t have even let it get this far.”

He didn’t understand. Your Parents wanted you to be locked away. Like you’d just stay home with them for the rest of your life. “Her fits,” Your Ma told him, “She’s not what you would want in a wife.” But he loved you. And he reasoned those bad days were worth how good the good days were.

You turned him down initially, crying in your back garden. His knee in the grass as he looked up at you hopeful. “You don’t want to marry me.”

“But I do,” He assured you, “Baby… I love you.” In sickness and in health. He wanted to be by you through it all. He couldn’t imagine his future without you. “I want to marry you.” So he did.

He’d never been happier than on your wedding day. Something that happened much to your parent’s chagrin. He remembers crying, choked up when you walked down the aisle towards him.

The happiest day you’d had in a while. He could see it on your face. Cheeks sore from smiling and many kisses, a soft touch and bubbly champagne. It took those innocent, sweet, loving kisses into something a little more lustful. Timid touches of the first time, for both of you. It was over embarrassingly quick and left him wondering how he could do better next time, wondering if you’d even had the time to enjoy it.

You’d gotten pregnant almost immediately. A joy.

You were so happy, a little sick, but happy. You were glowing and flushed, a kiss goodbye in the morning as he went to work and dinner on the table when he’d gotten home.

But it didn’t last.

The horror of that scarred you. The blood you’d woken up in. A miscarriage a few months into the pregnancy. Not even long enough to show.

That was the first time in the marriage that you hadn’t been able to get out of bed. Steve remembers the routine. Kissing you awake, you’d smile and hum. He would get in the shower and you would start breakfast. He’d find you in the kitchen and wrap his arms around you, hand splayed wide over the growing life inside of you.

And then it was gone in an instant. He would try to kiss you awake and you’d push him away. Weepy and tired. It had begun a downward spiral that he didn’t know how to help. This was met with a snarky comment by your Ma. An ‘I told you so’. It didn’t help.

So he hired someone to help you around the house. Someone to cook and clean. Lucille who could keep you company while he was at work. And you eventually came around. You were happier, but the shadow was always there. A little emptiness in your eyes when you would gaze off into the back yard. The vacantness when he would ask you a question.

This is what they meant. Your parents. That’s what Steve thought when you screamed and cried, throwing things at him. The simple question of whether you should try again. “I’m sorry,” You said later, your hand over your face sunken down on the bathroom floor. The tile hard on his knees as he sunk down to sit beside you, pulling you into his arms. “I’m so sorry.” It broke his heart.

“It’s okay sweetheart.” A kiss to your hair, “We don’t have to.” This was enough. But it didn’t stop another pregnancy from happening. Less happiness this time. But you seemed to cheer at the thought. The prospect. He would find you in the kitchen with Lucille instead of her coming to wake you later. He bought you seeds when you said you wanted to try to plant in the back garden. Pounds of mulch and fertilizer he helped you lay over the weekend. Little sprouts of zucchini and your attempt at watermelon.

He was naïve. He thought you’d been happy this whole time. When the entire pregnancy you were just waiting to wake up in blood. The death of another child. The fear of that. You’d given birth to what would have been your second born. A sweet little boy you couldn’t bear to hold.

Full of cholic and wailing. He didn’t know what to do. Steve didn’t know how to help you and he felt useless, bottle feeding his son formula and staring at your back as you gazed vacantly at the wall.

He lay the boy in his bassinet, sleepy and full. And curled himself around you. He thought you’d be happy. Your baby was healthy. He thought maybe it was just the loss of your first child that made you so sad. He thought maybe you’d be okay now.

But you weren’t.

It only seemed to get worse. The anger, the yelling, the crying. The vacant stares and isolation.

“We should have locked her up.” Your Ma was unrelenting, “With the rest of them.” Steve asked them to stop coming around. He couldn’t imagine putting you away like that. His Ma told him about the asylum. How they treated people. You were better off with him.

He talked to a Doctor. Someone who might be able to help him, even if he was a little biased.

“She has depression.” Simple. Easy. “We can do electroshock therapy in these instances, usually.” He didn’t know what else to do. So he made the appointment.

You screamed at him that night. Told him no. You’d broken a lamp. Sobbing and shaking, “You think I’m crazy.”

“No, sweetheart, I just want to help you.” A sniffle, a plead. “This is what the Doctor recommends.” You shake your head, grabbing a fist full of hair.

“I don’t like it.” You cry, “I don’t want to. I’ll try harder.” You reason, and he looks at you with despair. “I’ll try harder.”

“I just want you to be happy.” He cries. He doesn’t know what to do. And for the first time he really understands that you don’t know what to do either. He cancels the appointment.

That night you wrap yourself around him and he holds you. “I don’t know how to be happy.” You whisper into his neck, “I do want to be happy.” A kiss to your cheek.

“We’ll figure it out.” He truly believed it.

The next day you were a little less blue and he woke you with those soft kisses and you didn’t push him away. Baby James, who had always been restless found comfort in your arms, laying on your chest while sitting in your lap. The sweet babe’s hair curled in your finger while you read the paper, chatting softly to Lucille when Steve came down for breakfast.

It gave him hope.

You started talking to him. He started accommodating you better. Helping where he could and standing back when he couldn’t. There were still those days dipped in blue. Days where you couldn’t get out of bed and where you didn’t take care of yourself. The days where he would bring you what you needed and leave you alone. But then there were days where you’d beat him from bed. You’d make breakfast like you used to, James on your hip. Singing in the kitchen.

Days where he would find those little bits of you that he remembered and not the person you fought against. But it hits him like a realization that you were this person the whole time. They were every bit of you just like the playful smiles and the way you fixed his hair with your fingers, the way you straightened his tie and told him to be home on time. You were the same person even if you were just laying in bed and weepy and tired, a soft I’m sorry and curled in on yourself wanting to disappear.

You were the same person either way. And he loved you regardless.

You sit out in the back garden and get sun, while James toddled around. You said maybe you should have a barbecue for his birthday. How you went with Lucille to the store and saw sparklers for sale and bought three packs, how maybe you should give little James a sibling.

It was progress. Baby steps forward. Maybe it wouldn’t all be okay today, but someday? It would be.

And he wanted to be with you for all of it. He’d loved you the moment he saw you. And watching you, a full person in front of him and not the mirage of just a beautiful woman with a soft gaze, he knew that his gut instinct was right. He knew that he was right to want to love you. He knew that he was right to marry you and he knew that there would be blue days. And watching you chase after your son barefoot in the back garden, four new vegetables added to your garden and the soft way you’d wrap your arms around him later while he was brushing his teeth he realized that he wouldn’t change anything.

In sickness and in health, he wanted to be with you for all of it. Didn’t matter either way.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #chris evans #captain america #steve rogers x you #au

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fucker-anon · 4 years

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Puppeteer Headcanons

K so this mans has been living in my head rent free since I first laid eyes on them (like 2013) so here are my headcanons about their backstories, personalities, and more. Some are inspired by the original stories and lore, some are inspired by other bloggers, some are me self-projecting. Warning there are mentions of dark themes so keep caution. Also i am not a writer, (im sorry) @creepy-bi-day enjoy!!

Puppeteer~

Backstory:

Puppeteer was born as Jonathon Blake on July 23, 1974

Mother was Hispanic, dad was American. He grew up speaking Spanish and English. He also never really got along with both sides of the family cause he’s mixed (they didn’t like that). They kinda preferred his siblings.

had 4 younger siblings (3 girls, 1 boy). He was 4 years older than the second child.

ever since he could walk he was obsessed with musical theater. For a while his family was able to Johnny to theater camp. Stopped after the 3rd child was born due to financial reasons

parents were working full time to take care of their family. meant Johnny was basically acting like a 3rd parent. good news was he was able to take care of all 4 of them and meet their basic need of being fed, staying clean etc. bad news it meant that he was taking care of them 24/7 and was constantly tired and not taking care of himself. Started to develop symptoms of depression, but couldn’t get help due to the stigmas around mental health + he’s a guy.

got worse in highschool when his work load increased and he wanted to do more in drama and music but couldn’t cause he had to take care of his siblings. He also didn’t make many close friends except for one girl in his drama class Erma.

Erma was his best friend and they started dating in their second year of highschool. She helped him as much as she could with his mental health, their studies, and even helped babysit some days. They brought out the best in each other.

Erma loved dance and wanted to become a ballerina, but her parents tried to keep her focus on studies. They did allow her to take theater which she also loved. Her parents were very strict and controlling so she had to hid her relationship.

It wasn’t until the second child turned 13 (johnny was 17), when she started to help out more with the other three siblings (12f, 9f, 7m). Thanks to her help and now they were in a better financial position, johnny was able to join plays and bands which had afterschool practices.

He was really good. He discovered he was born with perfect pitch and was able to get the lead in a play in his final year. This was also when he was able to score a scholarship so some of his uni fees would be paid for.

he decided to major in theater and wanted to go on Broadway or at least become a drama teacher

however when apply for uni, Erma’s parents discovered their relationship and they offered Erma a choice, break up with johnny or else they wouldn’t pay for Erma’s schooling. They hated johnny mostly due to racism and the fact that he wasnt going into a “stable career”. Erma choose to break up with Johnny but didn’t want to tell him these reasons cause she knew that it would upset him. So instead she told him that she’s fallen out of love and wanted to break up.

Johnny agreed mostly to make her happy, but this started his spiral downwards.

Johnny didn’t have any friends other than Erma, he also went to uni in a different city so he didn’t have his family there. His depression got really bad, and he ended up isolating himself and failing first term. He decided to kill himself via hanging. Problem is he wasn't heavy enough to kill himself right away, so he was suffering for hours.

He spent his last few hours allowing himself to finally “be selfish” and allowed himself to be angry at his family, Erma, and his overall life.

due to this anger, he was able to come back as a ghost, wanting others to feel the same pain as him.

when he came back he was able to change his body into his idea of a perfect vessel, some improvement were making himself taller, better hair, clear face, smooth voice, bigger dick. and now feeds off of negative energy

Personality:

cold-hearted, cunning, manipulative, a smooth talking, somewhat charming. this is the very carefully crafted version of Puppeteer, He’s the guy who could talk you into doing anything, mostly stuff like jumping off a bridge

however once you get close to him, you see more of Johnathon than puppet. He is very protective of his close friends, will fuss over them and scold them if they aren’t taking care of themselves

good luck getting there tho. After Erma he really had a hard time opening up to ppl due to his fear that they will all leave him at one point.

Powers:

he feeds off of negative energies, the more trauma the better (finally imma a snack), so he usually influences his victims into a deep depressed state where they off themselves. However once he started hanging out with the creeps (mansion au), he really didn’t need to do that since everyone is a lil fucked up. He just feeds off a little bit of everyone, so that no one is really affected. At this point, he probably has enough energy to outlive the fucking queen

He’s a ghost so he can levitate at most like 10 m above the ground, and if he focuses, he can go through walls and become invisible.

he has golden strings due to the ectoplasm inside of him (make his eyes and mouth glow to). This strings are like limbs, They are tough to break but if you do its gonna hurt him a lot. They can extend up to 60 ft, and are about 1 cm thick.

Fun Facts (cause idk how to categorize these)

lots of trauma, need therapy. he feels a lot of shame for what happened and only opens up to his very close friends. again born in 70′s, theres the toxic masculinity and some internalized homophobia.

still a theater kid!! love musicals and can still sing and play guitar. His vocal cords are a lil more sensitive cause the whole hanging thing, but as long as he warms up, can has the range baby. also has Macbeth memorized

can still cook. while he doesn’t like his past and doesn’t need to eat. He wrote down all of the recipes he knew and will sometimes make them again

dick is 6.5 inchs soft 7.5 hard, i know y’all wanted to know. if also like 6′2 tall. tall big boi

i hc him as pansexual. yea he rather died again than admit that he loves someone, but he won’t care about gender. he still is cis tho.

he does fuck. not often but occasionally. slightly lower sex drive than average

grunge king. he grew up in poverty and he great at diy. very leans more punk grunge but can be soft grunge depending on his mood. love beanies and his hair is a little longer than chin length with lots of layers. He is tempted to shave off the sides of his head tho. also has grunge and punk music on his playlists.

bad with tech. like the opposite of ben. gets called an old man since he couldn’t figure out how the tv remote works.

he doesn’t grow facial hair, doesn’t like the look.

acts like he’s too proper to cuss, but he does.... a lot

experienced some racism while growing up so he does say ACAB

probably has some piercings or tattoos or both

still is depressed, has some tough days, but doctor ej gets him pills to help and he has a good support system

shit this was a lot so Helen is next with another post. ill get into their friendship and relationships with other in a whole new post if yall like it. someone tell me if this gives joy cause i could write an essay on this man

#puppeteer #creepypasta puppeteer #idk how to tag this man #jonathon blake #creepypasta

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peace-coast-island · 3 years

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Diary of a Junebug

A spooky midnight feast

What a long night - and I mean that in a good way! First the theatre, now it's the Spooky Moon Festival. We just enjoyed a spooky midnight feast hosted by Jack to kick off the festivities.

A couple days ago we visited Peace Coast Island to see Marlo and Don. Marlo’s an old friend from Rosevine who left home about six years ago to become an actress in New York City. Not too long after moving there, Marlo met Don, a journalist for News Times, and as of last year they became engaged.

Marlo is who some would consider a starving artist. While she has appeared in numerous commercials, soap operas, and stage shows, Marlo hasn't gotten her big break yet. She has always managed to get by with odd jobs in between sporadic gigs but it sometimes seems like she gets the short end of the stick. It's a shame because she really is a talented and versatile actress.

But it looks like Marlo's finally gonna get her big break with Sugar and Spice, a brand new musical comedy drama that just made its debut at Starlight Theatre. The show played for two weeks there and the next stop will be Port Beacon, followed by Etienne Falls, Glassenwick, Cabot Bridge, and Petunia. This isn't the first time Marlo's gone on tour for a brand new show, but in past experiences, the show turns out to be a bomb and the tour closes early. Though based on the reviews for Sugar and Spice so far - as well as my own thoughts on it - we have high hopes!

Tagging along with Marlo for the first leg of the tour is Don. Since Marlo went off on her first tour, Don has been tagging along to write a review for the show, so he gets work done and gets to spend some time with Marlo - a win-win situation for both. However, if the tour goes on for the full twelve weeks - or more if things go really well - that's gonna be the longest time the two have been apart from each other.

Instead of heading back to New York, Don's gonna be staying at the camp for a while. He's gonna write an article about the Spooky Moon Festival, which he plans to finish tomorrow to get that out of the way. Marlo was the one who suggested that he take some extra days off by visiting the camp to get his mind off things. It's so sweet how much they're gonna miss each other while Marlo's away.

I've met Don a handful of times since he and Marlo started dating. They're a sweet couple, like a comedic duo with Marlo being the funny one while Don's the straight one - they play off each other super well. Anyone who can keep up with Marlo's antics while having a great sense of humor is a winner. I can't wait for the day when they finally get married!

Considering how long they've been together, it was hard to believe that they almost broke up last year. Don spoke about the near breakup when he and Marlo appeared as guests on Garden Chats, a podcast about mental health, a couple months back. It's a really good episode that not only brings up interesting points about the stigma behind depression but also the strong bond Marlo and Don share. Don said that he was hesitant to do the podcast at first but in the end he was glad he did it.

How the two got together is a cute and funny story. Marlo had her first acting gig for an ad for a security system where she played a damsel in distress during a break in. Don was nearby and thought Marlo was in danger so he swooped in to save the day, only to be humiliated after getting yelled at by her and the crew. The poor guy was so caught up in helping someone in need that he failed to notice the cameras and other equipment that were clearly visible. After getting over the embarrassment, Marlo decided to take him out to dinner as she found him kinda cute and didn’t want to be responsible for him crawling under a rock and never ever seeing the light of day again.

For the next four years Marlo and Don hardly left each other’s side. Marlo’s dad often complains that every time he comes over to visit his daughter, her boyfriend’s always there - though over the years he’s warmed up to him. Likewise whenever Marlo comes home, Don usually tags along with her. I think it was Luciana or maybe Emmaline who said that sometimes they forget that Don’s not from Rosevine nor has he ever lived there.

In a way it’s kinda like an opposites attract sort of relationship. Don’s more serious and levelheaded while Marlo is more lighthearted and playful. She’s confident and ambitious, always jumping from one thing to another. He’s more of a go with the flow type, the one who picks and chooses his battles with consideration. He may come across as a no nonsense kind of guy sometimes, but he’s also a sensitive one. She may have a tendency to ramble on and attract trouble, but you have to admit her heart’s in the right place. Marlo gets in over her head while Don gets taken in for the ride. They compliment and contrast each other - sometimes even picking up each other’s traits over the years.

So imagine what was going through everyone’s heads when rumors started going around about the engagement being broken. Since there was never really a confirmation or a denial, no one really knew what was going on. At least for me and my circle of friends, while we were concerned, we knew it wasn’t our place to get involved in any way. Now that we know what really happened thanks to the podcast, I’m glad that the whole thing never really made the gossip mill.

The podcast that Don and Marlo did was hosted by Lessa, probably making it the first time I’ve ever listened to a podcast where I know the host and the guests on a personal level. Don spoke about how he was recently diagnosed with clinical depression and how he had suspected that something was wrong with him for a long time before that. Pressure from work and his engagement along with a bunch of other personal issues led to him getting cold feet and abruptly breaking things off with Marlo. With everything going on he suddenly found himself unable to cope so he ended up almost sabotaging the best thing to ever happen to him. Looking back, he felt that it was his way of punishing himself for not being happy enough despite having everything he could have ever wanted (and more) from someone he loved.

Marlo also spoke about the near breakup and how she began doubting herself when Don started pushing her away. When he told her that he couldn’t marry her, she couldn’t believe it. So she fought back, demanding an explanation and blaming herself. But because she loved him, Marlo knew that she couldn’t just stand there and watch Don slip into a downward spiral.

The “breakup” lasted for about a month, which was the longest Marlo and Don went without talking to each other. By then their friends had noticed a change in Don’s behavior as he was isolating himself from everyone and acting erratically. Marlo felt helpless but persisted and once Don realized that he wasn't all right, he turned to Marlo and her family for help. Since then their relationship has grown stronger.

It was interesting to hear them be so open and vulnerable about their struggles. If the whole conversation isn't proof of how much they care about each other, I don't know what is. I'm glad that Don's getting the help he needs and that Marlo's luck is finally changing.

As for the wedding, there's no set date yet but it's definitely happening. Though at this point they're pretty much like an old married couple, which is super cute. With everything going on in their personal and professional lives, they want to wait until things settle down before tying the knot. Daisy Jane, Andrea, Almie, and I are betting that the wedding's happening sooner rather than later - as in this year. Based on these past few days, it looks like we're not too far off the mark!

Marlo was absolutely fantastic in Sugar and Spice! From the catchy songs to the witty dialogue and relatable characters, it's no wonder that the play has been getting glowing reviews! Marlo stole the show, easily one of the highlights of the play. Unlike previous shows Marlo toured for, she's not stuck being the saving grace of a poorly executed script, something that she has been the victim of far too many times.

The show's about a group of friends who work at a bakery called Sugar and Spice. Marlo is Gingie, a newcomer who had just left home and rediscovers her love for baking through the bakery. There's a funny running gag of Gingie coming up with the most ridiculous cookie recipes that turn out good and leaving the kitchen in such a state of disaster in the process. It's a cute and funny show about a bunch of friends who like to bake.

In between shows, Marlo joined us at the camp. Most of the nights were sold out or didn't have enough seats for the camp, which was why we were unable to attend the first week. Once things got settled down with rehearsals and such, Marlo and Don were able to have some time for themselves at the camp. The two enjoyed picnics on various hangout spots, sightseeing near the mountains, and chilling at the beach.

We also helped Jack set up for the Spooky Moon Festival. Marlo was bummed that she's gonna miss it so Don promised to take a lot of pics for her. It's been great catching up with them and seeing them have fun together. They plan to return in the near future so that's something to look forward to!

The Spooky Moon Festival comes once every few years to celebrate the Spooky Moon. While helping out with the festival, I've learned a lot about the event. Basically there's a spooky looking moon that looks like it's covered in cobwebs that comes into view every four years. It looks super cool, like something out of a vintage spooky picture you see in old books. Everything about the festival gives off Halloween vibes and I'm really digging the aesthetic!

After seeing Marlo off, we got to prepping for the midnight feast. Don's been a great deal of help and it's nice getting to know him on a one on one basis. I think this is the first time I've hung out with him without Marlo. He's been enjoying the camp, which is great as Marlo didn't want him to worry about her too much. Like I said, it's sweet how much they watch out for each other.

At midnight, the festivities began! Making the food was a lot of fun, especially making everything look spooky and cool for the occasion. Decorating cookies was my favorite part as well as cutting out dough into fun shapes for the pies. It took a lot of prep time but the effort was so worth it - everything came out great!

Along with the food, we enjoyed listening to spooky stories, playing fun games, and looking at the moon through the astronomer's telescope. The Spooky Moon's a lovely view to see, made even better with good company to share it with!

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

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iriswc1995 · 4 years

Text

Ash In Ordina

Chapter One: ‘Home’

The screech of the railcar grinding to a halt startled her awake. Ash peered from under her hood, instinctively grabbing the hilt of her sword. The car was empty save for her and a few wandering ghosts. It was difficult to see through the smeared windows. It was utterly dark outside. She sighed, wiping crumbs from her eyes and standing up. After a moment, the doors hissed open, and she stepped through.

The ‘station’ was hardly more than a platform of corrugated metal, dripping with rust, that bridged two sides of the yawning darkness below. Orange lights gleamed like eyes on the distant walls that did little to reveal the vastness of the dozens of floors extending above and below. Ash made her way across, combing fingers through her matted hair. Past the station, a blue light illuminated a lone figure leaning against the wall of the corridor. He had a boyish face, a mess of dreadlocks, and perpetual bags under his eyes. His left arm was a cybernetic prosthesis, which he waved as she approached.

“Heya. Glad you made it.”

Ash nodded and pulled her coat closer around herself. “Lead the way, Cygnus.”

She followed a few paces behind him through a labyrinth of oily hallways, trying to stay alert. There was never much in a given Tower to distinguish one area from another, save the occasional worn sign. What was different was the layout, and the people. Smells of dirt and skin and cooking meat surrounded them as they entered a crowded intersection crammed with dingy shops. This district had working traffic lights to dictate the constant flow of activity, which the pair pushed their way through as hastily as possible. A thin stairway led to an auxiliary floor, where Cygnus cut the chains on a gate that led to maintenance. Ash perked up a bit.

“Home sweet home?”

“Not yet. Watch behind us.”

Complex webs of pipes and wires guided them through the dark, claustrophobic maze. Cygnus didn’t say much except to warn her about a gap in the floor or the sound of footsteps approaching. Ash stayed relaxed. She trusted people who lived behind locked doors or in cramped spaces more than whoever was patrolling outside them. As much as she would trust anyone besides Cygnus, at least.

The arrival of more ghosts, pale and eerily indistinct like clouds of water vapor, signalled their exit from maintenance and back into a populated area. Cygnus slowed his pace as they entered a long living hall, lined with apartment doors and people who were either hunched over or entirely prone along its sides. A nearby sign read ‘District 17, Floor 3.’ Ash squinted.

“I thought you said you’d found somewhere isolated.”

“Again, we aren’t there yet. We’ve still got a bit to go. Are there ghosts around or something?”

“No more than usual. I hope you got some food, by the way.”

“Two large pizzas, right?”

She chuckled. They carefully wove through the carpeted halls of the district. Thousands of people could live in a single Tower, and the corporation heads tended to cram in a lot more than that. Ash wove disdainfully at buzzing flies and ignored the hands reaching out for her as they passed. It’s crazy the kind of thing that the city can make into a routine, she thought bitterly.

Then, her sword vibrated in its sheathe. Ash slowed her pace and looked around, flicking the hilt with her thumb to reveal an inch of the blade. A familiar surge of adrenaline pulsed through her. Her vision reddened, beginning to switch focus, blurring the halls around her but sharpening the humanoid figures, including the wisp-like forms of the ghosts. The sword was a slender katana Ash had held on to for almost ten years, and it was unlike any other piece of equipment she’d found. Glancing to the left, Ash saw a small group of wisps huddling together, but these ones were bright red instead of pale. Though they were partially obscured by a wall, she saw them suddenly begin moving downwards as a single unit, presumably down an elevator shaft.

“Ash? What’s up?”

Cygnus had stopped a little ways down the hall. Ash looked around for another moment before running to catch up.

“Nothing, for now.”

“We can’t stop for every skeleton bird ghost you see flying around.”

“That was one time, dude.”

He smirked and continued walking. The apartments fell away behind them as they climbed another set of stairs. Ten minutes passed before Cygnus stopped in front of a door that was dirty enough to look like it had merged with the floor and ceiling. Wires drooped haphazardly above their heads, some of them still sparking. He typed in a code on the number pad and the door lazily forced itself open. The lights inside flickered on. It was a laboratory, full of old computers lined up on desks. Every surface was coated in dust, and the shelves were lined with boxes that had long ago been combed for anything useful or valuable. What few tools littered the floor were rusted nearly to pieces. In one corner of the room was a set of monitors that looked newly-cleaned, hooked up to several smaller devices that no doubt belonged to Cygnus.

Ash sighed and stretched her arms, immediately settling into one of the darkest corners of the room. A small sleeping bag was already rolled up here; Cygnus knew her well enough to know she wasn’t going to be using any chairs. She started to unroll it as Cygnus sank down at his desk and started typing away.

“Where’s my pizza?” Ash asked.

A moment later, Cygnus tossed over an almond nutrient bar.

“Fuck yes.”

She tore into it without hesitation. It had been a while since it’d felt safe enough to rest. Their last hideout had been compromised so completely that they’d come a long way to find somewhere new, as far as possible from the patrols of Ordainers. An hour passed quietly, save for the tapping of keys and the rhythmic scrape of Ash sharpening her sword. She wasn’t even sure it ever needed it, but it was something to do. Surviving in this city consisted much of filling the silence. Ash stood up and sheathed her sword, leaning it against one shoulder.

“I’m gonna take a look around. I saw something with Red earlier.”

There was the heavy sigh she’d braced herself for. Cygnus stared hard at the empty space beside her. “Ash. We’ve been here all of five minutes and you’re already wanting to find trouble?”

“I’ll be more careful this t-”

“Every time, she says that every time and what do I do? Not much, just get walked all over.”

“You know that’s not what it’s like.” She walked over to Cygnus’ desk and put a hand down on it, waiting for him to look at her fully. He finally did, resting his cheek on his hand.

“It always starts like this. That’s all I’m saying.”

“This is important. I saw red ghosts. Something serious could’ve happened nearby, maybe a Dissonance.”

“Ugh. Fine.” He sat back, firmly rubbing his brow with his non-cybernetic hand. He always did that when he was annoyed. It was charming enough to make Ash smirk a little. Even when he was stressed, Cygnus always thought about things carefully. He took an earpiece from the desk and handed it to her. “Call me when you’re back. If the cops are chasing you again, don’t lead them back here.”

“Mhm, I won’t.”

“I mean it. I’m not getting in another gunfight. Good luck out there, I guess.”

----

Charred metal and snapped wires made her surroundings smell like a welding shop. Sickly white lights illuminated the elevator shaft at the end of hall, right where Ash had seen the red specters. It looked like it had been out of order for a long time, and wherever the car itself was stuck certainly wasn’t on this floor. Ash braced herself; before taking a running leap, wrapping her arms and legs around the steel cords suspended in the shaft. After getting a decent grip, she let go with her hands and allowed herself to slide downwards with the cords braced against her shoes and coat sleeves. Several minutes passed, and when Ash felt her muscles start to ache, she picked another opening in the shaft to leap outside again, now on a much lower floor.

She stared down a hallway that was so ill-maintained it was listing partially to one side. The floor was a mess of rubble and detritus, but the power still worked enough to illuminate the hall with the flashing signs and video advertisements that lined the area. Ash stepped carefully through the neon-painted darkness. It seemed like this had been a major thoroughfare of some kind at one point, but had gradually fallen into disuse as people migrated to higher floors. Sometimes it was almost surprising how decayed certain areas of the city could be. It was less so when Ash remembered that most Towers were so large, a missile could hit one part of it without people who lived on the opposite side noticing.

A red blur suddenly darted through her vision at an intersection up ahead. Another ghost. She walked up to where she had seen it and focused her vision, unsheathing an inch of her blade again. Ash had seen ‘ghosts’, for lack of a proper term, ever since she’d first claimed this sword, which she called ‘Red’ for simplicity’s sake. From the very start, it had been obvious it wasn’t a normal weapon, and it only became more intriguing as she learned its exact properties. In addition to greatly enhancing her strength, it had the ability to sense an afterimage of beings who had died but, as far as Ash could tell, not yet fully passed on to whatever comes next. The red ones in particular were those who had died fairly recently or in an especially brutal manner, still clinging to the memory of blood running through their veins.

However, the sword also left a murky redness in its wake that could be followed by Distortions - or anyone else with a means to track it. The perfect weapon for finding trouble, or for trouble finding you.

Ash made her way down a spiraling concrete staircase while checking the gun at her hip, making sure it was loaded and ready. While bullets were typically ineffective against the Distorted, she always had it ready in case she ran into a less paranormal opponent.

Emerging from the staircase, Ash entered a room so colossal that a layer of cold fog obscured the opposite wall. She blinked a few times, hesitantly stepping inside. It seemed like an old hanger of some kind for transport shuttles or private vehicles. Monolithic pillars supported a dizzyingly high ceiling, through which soft footsteps would echo like rolling thunder. Much of the hangar was flooded, knee-deep, with what Ash hoped was just dirty water as she waded through it, alert for any sign of movement.

She caught some when another ghost darted into a nearby office building, a crimson haze trailing behind it.

Ash followed, running up the stairs to the railway where it had vanished.

A few kicks to the thick iron door broke it open just enough for Ash to cut through the lock with her blade. It had been a while since she’d seen this many red ghosts in such a short time. This had to be a Distortion, a group of Harvesters, or maybe some kind of turf war between rival gangs.

The dark, brutalistic hallway of the office was eerily silent. Ash stepped inside. Her breathing slowed, hand tightening around Red’s hilt. The only sound was the water gently dripping from her cloak. One of the doors on the side of the hall was leaning open. Ash peeked around the corner.

The stench hit her like a solid wall. Rotting flesh. A single light flickered on and off above a sizable office space with desks, computers, cubicles, all in disarray and coated with dust. Stretched between them and along the ceiling were dark, ragged curtains that almost resembled party streamers. Whole cubicles were wrapped in them. Ash covered her nose and stepped inside, looking around. A stench this awful meant the deaths were recent. It smelled like a big pile of corpses - Ash lamented how well she could recognize that. Flies and moths danced beneath the broken light. On the chairs in front of each desk, an old suit and tie was draped, presumably the uniforms of the staff who worked here. All of them were drenched with blood. That accounted for some of the stench, at least. But there were no bodies.

Ash’s eyes flicked back and forth, her hands shaking. One of the curtains stretched across the entrance of a cubicle to her left. She experimentally nudged it with the hilt of her sword.

A sickening squish. A few drops of blood. Ash’s stomach turned, her eyes widening. Then, a voice.

“ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ~ ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ… ʟᴇᴛ’ꜱ ᴀʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ~”

Scratchy and inhumanly shrill, the voice was shockingly close. One of the ceiling panels near the flickering light gently peeled aside, until an impossibly long, sallow-skinned arm slithered from the darkness. The panel thudded to the floor. A horrifying visage, an absurd facsimile of a human face, stretched and twisted, with bulbous eyes and stained teeth, smiled down at Ash.

“ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ ɪꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅᴀᴀᴀᴀʏʏʏ~”

Ash drew her sword and leapt upwards, cutting at one of its arms, but like a skittering spider it retreated into the darkness. The muffled tapping of fingers filled the room before it slunk to the ground a short distance away, fully emerging this time. Its entire body was similarly twisted and elongated, and other than a vague humanoid shape and a head of patchy black hair, its overly-tight office suit was the only human thing about it, which only served to accentuate its monstrous, distorted nature. Ash gritted her teeth, pointing her blade towards it with both hands clasped around the hilt. This thing was disgusting, but it didn’t seem to have an overly adverse effect on her sanity. Hopefully that meant no mental hazards to watch out for. Its stance was spindly, off-balance. Mindless. She could win if she could corner it. She slowly circled her prey, simply ripping through the curtains of flesh with her body mass. The creature jittered and spasmed, lunging towards her with a clawed hand. She ducked, and slashed upwards, but it was too fast again, skittering across the rims of the cubicles.

“ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴏʜ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ! ᴡᴇ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟʏ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ! ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅᴀʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴘᴇʀ ꜰɪꜱᴄᴀʟ ʏᴇᴀʀ!”

Ash took out her gun and aimed towards the creature. It continued moving in its frenzied pattern, and she aimed for a moment before firing three times. Two of the bullets connected, blood coating the wall behind it. As expected, it only flinched slightly, and began scuttling towards her again. Her eyes gleamed in the dark as she grabbed a nearby chair and twirled her body, throwing it as hard as she could. It thudded against the creature’s torso, and at the same moment Ash charged forward, cutting a red line across its waist. It let out an ear-piercing squeal, and a flailing arm caught Ash’s head, sending her sprawling.

It jittered in place for a few moments, a cacophony of screams and squeals, before suddenly charging directly for her. Ash tried to get to her feet, but its hand locked around her throat and carried her forward with its weight. Her spine thudded against the door she’d come through and they came fully through the wall. They careened over the railing, spiraling two dozen feet down to the hangar floor and splashing into the murky water. Ash’s head swam with color. She coughed, gagged, tried to reach for Red... its gnarled fingers were still locked around her throat. It picked her up out of the water, reaching high above its head. Its face wore a warped smile.

“ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅᴀʏ~ ʙʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏɴꜱ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ~ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀʟʟ, ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴀ ʜᴏʟɪᴅᴀʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴅᴀʏ! ꜱᴛʀᴇᴛᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʀᴍꜱ ᴡɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀʏ ʜᴏᴏʀᴀʏ~ ᴡɪᴅᴇ, ᴡɪᴅᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʟʟ ɢᴏ~”

Fingernails dug into the back of her neck and tore outwards, beginning to peel the skin from her spine. In doing so, its grip loosened slightly, and she swung back and forth to gather momentum before kicking it in the face. One of its eyes popped, oozing dark pus, but it didn’t blink or flinch. Ash’s lungs screamed for air. This was bad. She was too weak. Her gun wouldn’t work. Red was down in the water somewhere. Out of reach. Could she try to draw strength from it, even while she wasn’t holding it? She had never tried before. Seemed like now or never.

She closed her eyes and focused. Focused on the red haze. The smell of rust. Sharpening instincts. New sights and scents. The world condensing to the head of a pin. The tip of her blade. Blood. Thirst. Strength. Survival.

Crimson haze ebbed from Ash’s form. A guttural growl emerged from inside her, the raw sound of a desperate animal. The creature continued laughing, and began slamming her against the ground, again and again. Pain stabbed through her head, through her back. But if pain was wood, she was a fast-catching fire. She couldn’t muster as much strength as usual, but this had to be enough. Her throat screamed for relief, but she forced her hands away from the creature’s fingers and grabbed its forearms instead. She started to pull down, blood trailing from beneath her squeezed eyelids. She felt the creature’s misshapen bones start to bend. It squealed, shaking her back and forth, but she didn’t let go. She pulled harder. Harder.

SNAP.

Its arms broke at the wrists; its hands going limp around her throat. She fell to the floor, sucked in a breath, and quickly dived, swimming between its legs as it screamed. Her hand trailed along the concrete, searching.

“ᴅ-ᴅ-ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ! ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ɴᴏᴡ! ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ!”

She felt it, and picked it up. Holding her blade aloft, she swept it into its sheathe and sprinted at the creature. Staggering, arms hanging limp, it turned to stare at her.

“ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅ-”

“Shut up.”

Warped guts exploded from the cloven rift in the creature’s midsection, the inertia of the blow forcing it backwards. Ash twirled her blade, kneeled, and stabbed behind her, piercing what was left of its torso up to the hilt. Blood rained down on her. A few deep breaths later, she felt the creature’s weight begin to lessen. She stood up fully as it dissolved into blood and flecks of pale ash that began to disintegrate in the dark water.

Ash slashed the blade through the water to clean it before resheathing it, sighing and rubbing the back of her head. She watched the pool of viscous remains spread further throughout the hangar.

“If someone else were here, I’d say something badass, like ‘party’s over’ or something. But there isn’t anyone else here, so.”

She heaved another sigh and rolled her shoulders, starting to sluggishly wade towards the exit. Hoping Cygnus would be able to stitch up her neck so she wouldn’t need to find a surgeon again, she began the long climb back to her new home higher in the Tower.

#writersontumblr writing horror cyberpunk

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encouragementblog · 3 years

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Fibromyalgia Awareness

For the large part, fibromyalgia victims encounter many different painful symptoms that seem to worsen as time passes and that regularly cause a infinite field of physician's visits which attract neither relief nor replies. Fibromyalgia Awareness frequently go via a range of varied meds and overthecounter drugs that include sleeping pills, anti depressants, SRI's, (non steroidal ) NSAIDs, along with painkillers, since they hunt for understanding, reliable replies and suitable care and treatment.

Present palliative hospital treatment means of FM aren't dependable nor will they be the clear answer. Taking all these medication puts up the patient for a collection of decreasing medical troubles and also a cascade of side effects and negative effects which further reduces health. This contributes the victim meanwhile to melancholy and deep fatigue because they see in grief while their own lives unravel in a downward spiral of decreasing health.

The accuracy of the situation is that there was not any magical pill; the procedure isn't seen at a prescription drug or a medication. When some medications may possibly provide shortterm symptom relief, fibromyalgia looks mostly associated in 1 manner or another with inadequate diet and nutrient deficiencies. What's mainly needed is altering how that you live and living in harmony together with your characters. It's maybe not using foods and chemicals which are working genetically. It's an issue of eating nutrients and foods which can be healthful and construction instead of individuals that upset our biochemistry along with the own body's normal rhythm and balance.

This manner we song to and eventually become far more attentive to the signs and also the feedback our own bodies are giving us. We eventually become tuned in to some extreme issues which occur until they will have the possibility to develop into chronic diseases-since that really is the arrangement and sequence of events. Acute upsets and wellness issues always combats chronic illness conditions as well as conditions. Your system is actually a biological organism; it's a living animal and it's always offering you feedback. Inorder to work and flourish you can find a few essential principles of physics that individuals must followalong with These would be the laws of nature and also if we don't follow themthen we're likely to eventually become sick.

Into a substantial extent, our whole wellness insurance and health version needs upgrading. As opposed to seeing each illness as isolated or as a distinct phenomenon, we must comprehend the full organism out of a holistic outlook. As soon as we know the roots of disorder, as well as biochemistry and genetics, then we may do some thing positive about disorder until it happens and this manner catch illness early and steer clear of them down the road. Nevertheless, so as to do so medical practioners desire a fresh road map in which to use.

Health practitioners have their hands tied into their range or range of healing choices which are offered in their mind. Health practitioners aren't schooled in the regions of nutrition and preventative health measures but based on just how best to help make the ideal identification. The entire procedure is installed to create as accurate an analysis as you can which means that you realize what medication to prescribe, even though accurately naming an ailment or disease is equally crucial, we are apt to confuse the name with the disorder from believing that the name could be your disorder. But, that's merely a symptom of the actual problem-it is merely the name of the issue rather than its origin. To some degree, we don't need to be aware of the name of this disorder; we just must balance the own body and give the human body with all of the vital nourishment and nutrients it resides on and also requires daily so as to do its own occupation of functioning and maintaining homeostasis (that will be another word for'balance').

As soon as we offer the human body with what it has to work optimally, by eating correctly, and from keeping the ratios of all these minerals and minerals at the appropriate proportions (both out of our foods and supplements), the human body can heal itself. Increase the a balanced way of life, exercise, and a wholesome attitude and also we are able to be free from a lot of our"modern" life style maladies. Vomiting may very well be the opportunity; it's a indication that there's some genetic imbalance. This indicates whoever owns your human anatomy wasn't attentive (or simply was presented with poor information ) and had been available into a virus, or germor degenerative disorder that slipped into inform the master he had been doing some thing amiss. Fibromyalgia is perhaps not some thing which unexpectedly does occur. It's in the building for a range of years and can be brought around by life style factors that may likewise be reversed.

We have to look more closely at the entire person and speech their own life style and dietary customs. We are apt to set all of our beliefs in something whose chief options of treatment include medication and operation. Drugs aren't necessarily the correct solution as soon as the own body has gotten to a condition of chronic disease or disorder.

Sometimes they're essential and useful, specially in medical crisis cases however too frequently though, medication are the initial choice from the system of treatment, which could usually harm significantly more than heal. A radical change in your daily diet and life style customs is generally consistently vital. A growing number of research is showing that nutrition, diet, environment, life style, customs, disposition and stress have a deep effect on the resistance and immunity to illness.

If your system is currently providing you with symptoms and also you've been identified as having some chronic illness that is the signal that you're going to need to generate some very definite adjustments to your life style. You can't expect to have a magical pill and also revert back again to exactly the identical life style patterns that you were living before your disease and acquire well-it isn't how it works. This is the chance to earn some welcome improvements on your own life. This might appear hard or difficult to do initially, but it's just like learning any new habit; it requires some time to turn into fluid and natural in it. Once you do, even however, you grow your self at an entirely new manner that is better than previously.

#Fibromyalgia Awareness #Chronic Illness Support #Awareness Products #Encouragement

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imaginative-spirit · 4 years

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hii! i found your twitter acc when i was searching for sefikura meta/analysis, and i found your tweet! i wanted to ask if you know some blog posts (or any posts) of their relationship analysis, as i am quite new to the whole ffvii series and i am intrigued by their relationship. i wanted to ask through cc but i noticed you dont have curiouscat so i’m asking through tumblr, sorry ;;

I didn’t mean to put all of this under a readmore but tumblr is being an ass so that’s what we’re doing now, I guess...

Hello!! Unfortunately I can’t really come up with anything on the spot, because despite seeing posts like that around before, I’m very unorganized and bad at keeping track of posts... so I decided to write you one on the spot instead, lmao!! I’ve been planning to write a more coherent, longer analysis for a while but still haven’t gotten around to it, but I’ll share some of my condensed thoughts here. The sefikura relationship is what intrigues me most about FFVII after all, and I usually yell quite a lot about them on twitter!

You say you’re new to FFVII, which means that I should definitely give a spoiler warning here. I’m going to address spoilery stuff from the OG, Remake and also some of the compilation material, because it’s hard to talk about their relationship without doing so. (I’ll also assume you’re familiar enough with the world of FFVII to know what I mean when I talk about stuff like SOLDIER, Shinra, Jenova, the Lifestream and such... this would get too long if I explained all of that here, lol)

Okay, so. Cloud and Sephiroth are narrative foils, which means their stories and arcs parallel each other in many ways. The most central themes surrounding them are their loneliness, sadness and how they cope with trauma.

Sephiroth was most likely raised by Hojo in a Shinra lab, and if you know Hojo, you know that there’s no way Sephiroth was treated as anything but an experiment. He never knew his mother, and the only person he had any respect for - Professor Gast - vanished when he was young and this seems to have given him abandonment issues. Cloud, on the other hand, had a mother but not much else. He felt alienated by the other children growing up in Nibelheim and seems to have been generally disliked by the adults as well, due to them blaming him for the time Tifa got hurt. In other words, they were both very lonely as children.

Shinra sent Sephiroth to war when he was very young (people disagree quite a lot on how old Sephiroth actually is but it’s assumed that he was around 12), and as the years went by, Sephiroth became the poster child of SOLDIER. We know that Cloud grew to idolize Sephiroth for how strong and brave the media made him out to be (A.K.A. had a celebrity crush on him), and that was what inspired Cloud to leave town and try to join SOLDIER.

As we see in the prequel game Crisis Core, Sephiroth at this point is well-respected by his peers after his efforts in conquering Wutai. His two only friends are Genesis and Angeal, who are also SOLDIER 1st Class, but they end up leaving SOLDIER, which means Sephiroth gets left behind. Considering that he already had abandonment issues to begin with, being abandoned by his only friends must’ve hit hard. I’d say this sets the foundation for Sephiroth’s downward spiral. However, at this point, I would argue that Sephiroth is still a good person at heart, despite all the trauma he has endured. He persists, refusing to hunt down his deserter friends, and even begins a hesitant friendship with Zack, who was Angeal’s apprentice.

Cloud befriends Zack as well, but doesn’t make it into SOLDIER and instead remains in the ordinary Shinra infantry, which is a crushing loss for him because he can’t achieve his dream. It’s at this point I like to imagine that if Zack had introduced Sephiroth and Cloud to one another, things could’ve gone better. Sephiroth is older than Cloud and outranks him, but with how isolated Sephiroth has been for his entire life I think there’s potential for a meaningful friendship here. They’re both very lonely and neither of them is really a people-person, so I think they’d get along well once Cloud gets over his hero-worship and Sephiroth manages to open up a bit. I would say that sefikura, if Nibelheim didn’t happen, has the potential to be a healthy relationship.

But of course, that’s not how canon goes. The Nibelheim mission happens, Sephiroth finds out that he’s not human and finally snaps after years of mistreatment, burning the town to the ground. Cloud manages to kill Sephiroth, ends up spending several years as an experiment, gets injected with Jenova cells, goes into a coma, wakes up just in time to watch Zack die, and ends up so traumatized that he creates a false identity for himself as a former SOLDIER 1st Class.

We’ve now reached OG FFVII. At this point, Sephiroth, while technically dead and chilling in the Lifestream, uses Jenova as a vessel to move around and takes advantage of Cloud, using him as a puppet for his own gains. He constantly dehumanizes Cloud and generally doesn’t give a damn about him as a person, while Cloud resents Sephiroth but can’t resist his manipulations. In a lot of ways, I think Sephiroth projects his own trauma onto Cloud here, because if Sephiroth had to suffer as Shinra’s puppet for his entire life, then Cloud should suffer as Sephiroth’s puppet as well. As a victim of horrific abuse, Sephiroth has a lot of justified anger, but he takes it out on the wrong person entirely. It’s definitely a very unhealthy situation.

But of course, unlike Sephiroth, Cloud doesn’t let his trauma define him. He reaches his breaking point and falls apart completely, but he gets back up, because unlike Sephiroth, he has a support system of friends who stand by his side and work together with him to defeat Sephiroth at the end of the game. For most of his life, Cloud has been chasing Sephiroth. This is where he finally catches up and surpasses him.

And here, the tables turn. Cloud kills Sephiroth but that’s never stopped Sephiroth before. This is where Sephiroth first develops his Cloud-obsession. He fixates on Cloud so hard that his hatred keeps him from completely fading away into the Lifestream. Cloud is literally his lifeline. (Isn’t it romantic? lol) He returns in the sequel movie Advent Children, where he fights Cloud one-on-one and basically just taunts him for 10 minutes before Cloud kills him again. It’s implied that Sephiroth can keep coming back as long as Cloud exists as well.

Canon beyond this has, for a long time, been unknown territory. There’s a sequel game called Dirge of Cerberus that the fandom at large pretends doesn’t exist because it’s... kinda weird to say the least, lol. And it doesn’t really have anything to do with sefikura anyway. People have written post-canon sefikura as something that continues to be toxic, but there’s also fic that offers redemption and forgiveness for Sephiroth, acknowledging that he was a victim too. It’s left very open-ended.

All of this basically explains how I see sefikura. They’re two people who were alike in many ways, who could have been friends before everything fell apart around them, if things had been different. But they never did meet, before it was too late. Instead, they keep chasing each other, full of hate even though they’re probably the only people in the world who could truly understand each other’s trauma. The only real difference is that Cloud had friends to back him up while Sephiroth was abandoned, and I really, truly wish they could get an opportunity to reach some sort of understanding. And that would basically be it...

...but then the Remake happened. Diving into speculation territory here. I firmly believe that the Sephiroth we see in the Remake is a time traveller, or is at least aware of the future to some degree, and that the remake is actually a sequel where Sephiroth is quite literally remaking OG ffvii. He’s completely obsessed with Cloud to a degree that he never was in the OG, and considering how loyal the developers stayed to the characterization of basically every other OG character this immediately stuck out to me like a sore thumb even though it took me until the end of the game to piece it together.

I’m not kidding here. Sephiroth is desperate for Cloud’s attention in the Remake. He's constantly trying to touch Cloud, everything he says to Cloud makes him sound like a pining ex-husband, and he generally doesn’t do anything to harm Cloud except scaring him shitless simply by showing up. He actually has quite a few moments when he’s very gentle with Cloud. At the end of the game he basically even proposes to Cloud by asking Cloud to join him and genuinely seems upset when Cloud rejects him. And even then, he claims he doesn’t want Cloud (nor himself) to die.

For the life of me, I can’t wrap my head around what Sephiroth’s goal is in the Remake and I have no idea what they’re planning to do with his character in future parts, but I’m very excited to find out. The sefikura content in the Remake was very delicious and at this point the only thing they could do to surpass it in the future would be to have them actually make out on screen, lmao.

I hope this is coherent enough to read, I basically just tried to condense everything I could into a neat little essay and there’s definitely things I didn’t mention here, lol. I’ll write a proper, more well-thought out analysis another time!

Also, if you want to ask me anything else or talk to me about sefikura in general, my DMs are always open, both here and on twitter ;D

#hhhhhh I didn't mean for the entire thing to end up under a readmore but tumblr is a bitch and I can't fix it >:(#adventures in answering asks #sefikura #ffvii #Anonymous

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bravenew-what · 4 years

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I debated on even writing something like this, but I have a strange feeling. I just need to write something down.

I’m thinking about where I was last year around this time. Last year was a mess. I had probably the worst summer of my life last year. I was just sad. Melodramatic. Pessimistic. Blunt. I avoided my very few friends. I was constantly tired, even after 10+ hours of sleep. I couldn’t find anything to be cheery about. I couldn’t keep up my basic hygiene without it feeling like a monumental task. I feel behind in my summer classes. VERY BEHIND. It was a lot more than this. But it was still a lot.

I often spiraled downward into low moods, ranging from every day to twice a week. Usually consisting of me telling myself I’m not worth shit, my mistakes mean I’m good for nothing, all of this is just to appease me and no one actually cares about me. I also over did a whole lot because I over assumed. And when I over assumed, I was immediately the worst person in the world. Ending the day crying from exhaustion and not being able to shut off thoughts is killer. Literally killer. All I did was work and sleep. Ate when I felt like it.

Nevermind the almost weekly panic attacks that I didn’t do something right or good enough. Or being scared of something. Or because a (now former) friend would make an off hand comment about something I said or did because she either didn’t agree with me or was hellbent on trying to change my mind.

I found out what a mental health crisis was last year too. I crawled into bed with my parents cause I was so scared. Of these thoughts that keep telling me how worthless things and my life were getting. I let it slip that I just couldn’t take life anymore and then they send me to therapy for the first time LONG OVERDUE. Nevermind all the years of conditioning myself into believing I didn’t need help with anything and suppressing my own needs.

Earlier that year my Pap passed and I had barely scraped through the semester. That was a huge blow because my dad had just gotten a successful kidney transplant after years of being on dialysis because of two types of cancers. My therapist said it was the trigger of a downfall. Going on summer break only added to it. It was a total shock to my body going on summer break. The physical reaction was to fall down a rabbit hole.

The therapist I saw when I moved back up to campus last august said point blank that I “checked every single box off for depression” and explained to me it was either major depressive disorder or seasonal affective disorder.

woo. go me.

no, its not something to be proud of. But it was what I needed to hear. And I needed to hear her say that cognitive behavior therapy was okay if I didn’t want to medicate.

It’s a lot to think about and I just put a lot down in so little time, but the comparison to where I was then and where I am now struck me a little hard. I’m sitting in bed watching Star Wars: The Clone Wars in my robe with Detroit Rock City stuck in my head and writing this. I think that I’ve made hella good progress if that’s what’s happening.

Lord knows I’m not all the way there though, lol. I still occasionally fall into lower moods, but not as often. The intrusive thoughts are short lived and the longer bouts are fewer and farther between. I have hard days that I just cannot do anything, but not as often. I look forward to more things, even if I’m anxious about them. I have a few good friends that know that I need healthy boundaries or else I am going to fall back apart into isolating from them. I do make excuses sometimes though.

But all of that is good. And I’ll take good over something less.

dude if you got through this you have my full permission to either go the fuck to sleep or berate me for rambling. Something that lets me know you finished this.

#late night #amelia speaks #amelia rambles #mental health #positive mental attitude #recovery #depression tw #cognitive behavioral therapy

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becauseoftswift · 5 years

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My mum and dad brought me up on country music and that’s how I found Taylor. I was at a UK school where no one knew who she was at the time which made me think I was in an exclusive lil club all by myself, Taylor’s no.1 fan in said town. I didn’t have friends, not because I listened to country music, and if it was I wasn’t about to stop listening to something that made me feel like I was flying.

When I started school I got bullied straight away. I was quiet, I never bothered anyone. I got used to the feeling of being hurt inside every day. I forgave them at first for everything they said. I really learned that from Taylor she’s so forgiving especially with the outside world. She goes into everything in life with so much love on her heart, but as I got older it kept getting worse it wasn’t just in school anymore people outside school would now bully me. But at the end of the day I had Taylor’s music, a pocket-sized pick me up. Driving with my dad, I’d play Taylor’s music so much that her lyrics are now the soundtrack to my life. Honestly, I felt she was the only person who understood me

I’m plus sized and everyone makes a judgement on me the second they see me, and it’s usually “I don’t want to be associated with her” or “she’s not worth my time” “well if that’s what’s on the outside what’s inside” or my personal favourite “oh my god what the fuck is that”. I was the target for every single ‘joke’ maker in my entire high school. It was like they found the jackpot. I found out just how cruel humanity can be to a teenage girl / young adult it still happens at 22 because sure I’ve felt pain but it’s truly nothing compared to those who are determined to see you disintegrate under their stare. Someone who knows this is Taylor, people or “haters” can be evil. The media even worse, she is one of the only people despite us never meeting that I think can understand the way I have felt on every single level. I know how much it hurts when people judge you on what they see/hear.

“That you cry, but you don't tell anyone That you might not be the golden one and you're tied together with a smile But you're coming undone”

But there was one assumption based on my music taste which makes me cackle purely because of its stupidity, here I tell my tale:

“There was once a girl at my high school who had the audacity to say, how can thou relate to Taylor Swift you’ve never even had a suitor / bae”

and I dear reader let me tell you I fucking laughed in her face and said

“Listen now, here is what the common folk get wrong. Miss Swift isn’t some hussy like the realm would have people believe she is noble, brave and a musical scholar her writings will be remembered far more than you or I. I can relate to her emotions, us Swifties really break down a mfckn track when it comes to the analysis work we hustle you unholy minion there is so much more than to what is on the surface”

“You have pointed out my flaws again, as if I don't already see them”

Mean was my high school anthem and speak now was my soundtrack I would play it on repeat over and over and over, it gave me strength to get through the day. My parents took me to my first concert, the Speak Now World Tour, which was amazing. The Speak Now tour is and always will be pure magic to me. That album holds a special place in my heart and it always will.

The downward spiral in my life started once I began high school. They say that they’re the best years of your life, I will scream in objection that they’re not.

I told teachers I asked for help. They said “boys will be boys”. No punishment.

A few months later the same boy smacked my ass in front of the entire corridor of people and not one of those girls said a word I didn’t move I just stood there frozen. I was terrified. I cried. They mocked me.

“You have knocked me off my feet again got me feeling like a nothing”

I walked home one day and a group of guys were behind me they started throwing rocks at me stoning me hitting my head. The same week some girls did the same thing to me.

I’ve had trainers thrown at my head, been pushed over, tripped up, chairs pulled from underneath me so I hit my head on the table behind and in every single incident not one person asked if I was okay. Taking “people throw rocks at things that shine” to a new level, I actually take deep comfort in those lyrics. I still have nightmares. I have untreatable depression, complex ptsd from everything I’ve been through.

A few weeks from finishing high school Red had just been released I remember because I had it on repeat. My depression was too much for the community mental health team to handle and they were worried, I was already self harming and they were worried I would go further so I went into an inpatient psychiatric ward to get treatment. Away from my family. Which was so hard, unbelievably hard .

I got put on new meds, more new meds, and some more new meds, I Hit a wall. Took an overdose. Engaged in a long list of things I still can’t talk about. I’ll just say I hurt myself because I didn’t think I deserved to live. I still don’t most days but I get by, I have reasons to be here Taylor is one of them. On the bad days, I would remind myself Taylor was releasing a new album 1989

I worked towards getting better for the album release and as it got closer I started making more friends, really good friends, I did my A-Level English with a teacher from the hospital, I started to draw again, I was more social and interacted with my treatment groups and started coming out of my shell

Album release day came, and one of the nurses took me out to the shopping centre, we got to the shop it was playing wonderland and I did a happy dance because it sounded magical as heck, and I brought that album took it back to the hospital and played it until I knew every. single. word.

Taylor was always there at the end of a bad day, always.

I couldn’t attend the Red or 1989 world tour because I was ill but I said to myself. Next album cycle, I WILL BE BETTER AND I WILL GO TO TAYLOR’S TOUR multiple dates if possible make up for lost time.

So after 2 years in hospital I finally transitioned to my own house, where I have a super supportive team around me, relapse happens but falling down is part of the journey. Healing is not linear. as of right now I’m going through a real rough patch. So TS7/Lover is a more than welcome distraction and fun event. It lifts my spirits so much and I can’t tell you how excited I am for everything new.

Last year I traveled all the way to Manchester for 2 days and had the most spectacular time of my life, the crowds went wild and anxiety? I crashed through those walls. Because even though I was in a stadium full of people I felt like I was in the most intimate gathering. It felt like home. Everything was stunning.

“Taylor Swift Cares” She puts her heart, her soul, her mind into everything and that’s the most courageous thing you can do. With the world trying to constantly shut females down, Taylor is my inspiration to dive head first into anything I want to or choose to conquer next. Kindness is Key in a world that benefits and profits from people’s insecurities, anxieties and fear. Taylor helped me realise this she does so much for swifties out of the kindness of her heart. She wants to and likes making others happy. Taylor’s music is a special kind, it’s written in a way that no matter how long I look at the lyrics I can always find something new to love about it. Her songs are beautiful, and her mind knows no bounds she is constantly transforming and recreating what it means to be an artist in the music industry. Love and affection radiate off her and I’m more than proud to be a Swiftie. I love you. Taylor Swift

I believe we are capable of setting our own limits with the help of those around us, no one should be able to tell you what you are or what you should be.

Taylor gave me a voice when I did not have one. She gave me an understanding when I felt so confused, lost and isolated. She gave me strength in my darkest hours. She gave me the courage to be the fireworks shining over my sad empty town. The words I lacked for the first half of my life Taylor gave me hers. And Now here are mine.

Thank you

Thank you so much Ellie for sharing your story! If any other Swifties want to share their story of how Taylor has impacted their life - message me! To see Ellie’s story and others, visit my site: www.becauseoftswift.com

#taylor swift #tswift #becauseoftaylor #stories for taylor

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inmournfulnumbers · 5 years

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TAGGED BY : stole it from the dash TAGGING : @wintersflower @lathal

— BASICS.

▸ IS YOUR MUSE TALL / SHORT / AVERAGE ? Hodge is shorter than the average man by a few inches, standing at roughly 5′8.

▸ ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT ? As a younger adult/older teen it bothered him, he insisted he’d grow just a few more inches until he was about 25 when he finally accepted he’d never get any taller. In some ways he was lucky to be born a mage because it spared him from ridicule from other boys who would think him less manly. He never had to worry about appearing intimidating or brawny because of his role as a scholar, though after escaping the Circle he thought that a couple added inches to his height would come in handy.

▸ WHAT’S THEIR HAIR LIKE ? Jet black with loose curls, Hodge finds his hair difficult to manage. Brushing it out makes his hair go frizzy and look altogether ridiculous, but without brushing it looks like a bird’s nest. A wide toothed comb helps ease the struggles of untangling his hair but he has no clue how to style it. Given how he cuts it himself, its a wonder he looks presentable at all even with years of practice behind him. His hair is also coarse, dry, and thick which only makes the styling and cutting process more difficult. When his mental health declines, Hodge has a very difficult time with self-grooming. During those spirals he’ll often let his hair grow untamed and wild.

▸ DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR / GROOMING ? Hodge dislikes a full beard on himself, so he’ll trim and shave to keep his growth in check, but he usually has a bit of a goatee (like his faceclaim). When his mental health dips he tends to have more stubble and may have a ragged beard if he spirals long enough.

▸ DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE / WHAT OTHERS THINK ? While he does care about his appearance, it is low on his list of priorities. Hodge has had few chances over the last decade or so to put much effort into his appearance beyond the bare necessities. For years he’s worn stolen clothes and patched them up himself, he’s maintained cleanliness and grooming standards to the best of his ability but when his health takes a dip he struggles with taking care of himself. Joining the Inquisition is the first point of relative stability in his life since before things went wrong in the Circle.

He’s not concerned about whether he’s well liked, to the point that he’d rather try for an opinion of him where people won’t be outright violent towards him. However, he cares a great deal for the opinions of those he already considers close friends.

— PREFERENCES.

▸ INDOORS OR OUTDOORS ? Outdoors ▸ RAIN OR SUNSHINE ? Rain ▸ FOREST OR BEACH ? Forest ▸ PRECIOUS METALS OR GEMS ? Metals ▸ FLOWERS OR PERFUMES ? Flowers ▸ PERSONALITY OR APPEARANCE ? Personality ▸ BEING ALONE OR BEING IN A CROWD ? Alone ▸ ORDER OR ANARCHY ? Order ▸ PAINFUL TRUTHS OR WHITE LIES ? Painful truths ▸ SCIENCE OR MAGIC ? Both. ▸ PEACE OR CONFLICT ? Peace ▸ NIGHT OR DAY ? Night ▸ DUSK OR DAWN ? Dawn ▸ WARMTH OR COLD ? Warmth. ▸ MANY ACQUAINTANCES OR A FEW CLOSE FRIENDS ? Close friends ▸ READING OR PLAYING A GAME ? Reading

— QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸ WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSE’S BAD HABITS ? Hodge tends to pick at his skin and chew on the insides of his cheeks while he’s thinking, also humming or talking to himself when he’s alone. These fidgety habits can sometimes annoy others. Keeping himself awake far longer is reasonable is a more serious bad and sometimes dangerous habit. While insomnia often strikes him, sometimes he stays up because he doesn’t want to sleep (or more accurately, doesn’t want to dream) which can leave him weak and exhausted as well as compromise his mental health.

▸ HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM ? HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM ? He’s lost a few people.

Death wasn’t his first experience with loss. His very first experience was when he lost contact with his parents at 11 years old. At first he’d sent a few letters to his parents, but without ever receiving a reply he stopped trying. Even after escaping the Circle, Hodge never attempted to rekindle a relationship with them and he’s not sure whether they’re still alive today. Like most young mages brought to the Circle, he was terribly homesick even years after leaving home.

After that he lost his mentor, Heinrich, in the Circle when he learned that the man was planning on turning him over to the Templars for the Rite of Tranquility. Rather than a loss from physical distance, it was that of shattered trust between the two. Hodge had thought his mentor would understand him, he’d trusted Heinrich to guide him through the his study of magic and to shield him from Circle politics. Instead, he learned that Heinrich had not only lost faith in Hodge’s abilities but that he was scheming behind his back. Already Hodge had paranoid tendencies, but it’s been difficult to discount all of his delusions when some turned out to be true.

It was then that he lost his few friends in the Circle, one of whom he was in a relationship with at the time. His closest friends didn’t believe him when he told them Heinrich and the Templars’ plans for him, and they wanted nothing to do with him when he staged his ‘escape’. He lost them permanently during the Annulment process when they and everyone else he knew in the Circle, were killed. He doesn’t blame them for their initial disbelief, he might not have either if he didn’t see the possibility for cruelty from Templars directly, but at the time it only served to solidify his isolation. Losing them to death was harder than he’d expected. Already they were distant, and he was in the throes of a downward mental spiral at the time, but he didn’t feel the full loss of their friendship until it was too late to ever go back.

▸ WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS ? Hodge has fond memories of home before he was taken to the Circle, and he has a few fond memories from the Circle (working to master his magic, the exhilarating moments of discovery he’d had, moments with friends and... more than friends, etc). Despite the last ten years proving difficult, the pain he endured towards the end of his stay in the Circle, and the dark spots that plague his life, he holds onto the bright spots.

▸ IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL ? No. It’s easier if they’re attacking him and he has no other way out of the situation, or if they’re actively harming other people. When sees them as people, people with lives and friends and family, it’s more difficult. Everybody is trying to survive, he has a difficult time faulting people for that even if they must do wrong to accomplish that. However for those who carry out undue harm, for those who are cruel without purpose, and for those who are impinging on others’ struggles for survival he has little mercy.

▸ WHAT’S IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN ? There are two main ‘modes’ in which Hodge might break down.

The first involves a loss of trust and acceptance of his paranoia. For his last years in the Circle his paranoid tendencies kept him alive, so he may sometimes trust his instincts even when they’re unfounded. He’ll avoid people and struggle to take care of himself. Attempts to reach out are almost always in the form of pictures or notes. They might come as warnings to others or other attempts to communicate his jumbled thinking with other people. These breakdowns are difficult for him to escape on his own and difficult for people to help. He hasn’t reached the lows of these breakdowns since being trapped in the Circle and he works hard to avoid this type of breakdown.

Emotional breakdowns present somewhat similarly but to a much smaller degree. Hodge retreats into himself, his paintings become more abstract and rushed. He may sit on the parapets alone at night and he’ll avoid talking to people. The best way to pull him back up from this is to just talk with him, not even necessarily about what pushed him to this point but just make sure he’s not alone.

Actually there is a third type of breakdown which is just... angry. If he’s pushed far enough with someone, forced to stay after the point where he normally would have left, he’ll grow bitter and sarcastic. Hodge doesn’t blow up exactly, but he stops watching his mouth and his tone with people.

▸ IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE ? If asked? No. But in actualitiy, yes. For him to give that kind of trust takes great difficult and a long time, though. First and foremost, he considers his life to always be in his own hands. If he gives that control over to someone else then he considers his life functionally lost already. Say he’s dangling over a cliff, and someone else is the only thing holding him over the rocks below: Hodge wouldn’t doubt that they would drop him and he has already either made peace with that fact or tried to come up with a plan to save himself on the way down. It would take proof that they didn’t let his life go (ie. not dropping him) to make him reconsider. On the battlefield, this is liable to happen as he can’t possibly control every facet of his own safety when fighting in a team. He must rely on his teammates to watch his back, just as he’s watching theirs.

▸ WHAT’S YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE ? Hodge is quiet and he is gentle in love. He’s not very good at openly expressing emotion on his face, but he yearns to show it in any way he’s able. Holding hands and other small touches of reassurance are his go to, as well as being attuned to the needs of those he loves. He’s more open with those he loves and he’s willing to share things that are private and special to him with them, he wants to share pieces of himself. He tries to encourage them to be unabashedly themselves when they’re together and works to prove himself safe enough that they can take down their walls. Whether it takes a listening ear or a shoulder to lean on, a cup of coffee in the mornings or having their back against a foe, Hodge wants to show that he cares.

#;about Hodge #long post

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optimism-is-sanity · 5 years

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I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell

Thanks to Matchbox20 for the title, pretty much sums up how those struggling with mental health can be perceived. Although at times I feel like I am crazy, actually I am unwell.

I am the first to say that it has been a while since I have posted, I am also the first to admit when I have avoided how I have been feeling and right now I put my hands up to that. I have avoided my anxiety and depression quite a bit recently because I have been in denial about it coming back with a vengeance and smacking me right in the face.

This year has been full of changes, positive ones but equally overwhelming ones that have taken some time to adapt to and are still taking their time. I started a new job in January and I love it, its within the Mental Health sector and I am determined to help others not feel crazy. I want to remind them of their worth and remind them that they deserve a life. I threw myself into that job and managed to get a promotion after 6 months which I am incredibly proud of myself for. I now live on my own with my little cat and see my wonderful dog every day.

When it has come to my mental health, I have had major highs and major lows. I can’t even explain how happy I felt when I got promoted, I work incredibly hard and am so passionate about my job and the promotion made it feel like those things were recognised. However, living on my own and being on my own has made me realise how far I am from where I want to be. I was reminded that it is ok to not be where I want to be, and yes I agree it is ok but its ok for society which doesn’t mean its ok for me and my own expectations and standards. That kind of sent me into a downward spiral and I have questioned if I will ever have those things or reach that point where I want to be. I have spent evenings feeling so low that I have just gone to sleep because it has distracted me from urges I really didn’t want to act on. I have spent less time breaking down my thoughts and more time ignoring and avoiding them because I refused to accept that I was going back to the place I hadn’t been in in a while. I would not acknowledge that I was going backwards in some ways, or I acknowledged that I was going backwards but I didn’t want to admit that I had a hell of a lot of work to do to get myself out of that place again. I felt like ��why should I have to do it again?’ and ‘I’ve put this work in before, why am I in this place again?’. It felt unfair, which really isn’t like me. I am not usually one to question fairness in life but there have been times where I have questioned why I went back to the place I spent so much time trying to get out of and managed to do it so why did it feel so difficult this time. I spent nights and days crying, I isolated myself massively and avoided making plans with anyone and cancelled a lot of plans, I didn’t want to talk to anyone of see anyone. I started feeling like such an inconvenience especially when people started pointing out that I have cancelled a lot recently. I didn’t want to talk to them about the real reason. I didn’t think they would understand.

In addition to the above, I had a health scare and was sent to the hospital by my doctor with suspected meningitis. I went to the doctors for a rash and she immediately sent me down to the hospital. Panic mode set in. It was my physical health that triggered my decline in managing my anxiety two years ago and that was the worst I had ever felt and it was happening again. I was in the hospital with my amazing friend for 5 hours to have blood tests and vitals done. It was as if I had gone back two years and was in the exact same anxious state I was in then, I felt sick and dizzy and I kept going hot and cold. As in proper sweating then feeling freezing cold. I didn’t want to eat and I couldn’t think past the ‘suspected meningitis’. I shut myself down and told myself not to think about the future because I might not have one. It probably sounds ridiculous, but genuinely when anxiety takes over, it is so difficult to convince yourself to rationalise the statements your own head is making. The blood results came back all within the normal range and I was told ‘we don’t think you have meningitis’. The thing with health related anxiety is you don’t know what to believe and your brain has spent such a long time overthinking every scenario that you don’t feel relieved. I was glad - yes - but deep down I still felt anxious and it wasn’t instant relief. I was told I needed to return to my doctor for a further test and was told to go to A&E if my symptoms worsened. Just under two weeks later and my test results are all normal. Again, where is my sense of relief? In exactly the same way as two years ago, my sense of relief hasn’t come yet. I feel so overwhelmed by the stress of the situation that it feels like my body is delayed and hasn’t caught up with me yet. It’s really difficult to explain but all those symptoms are still there - I feel sick every day, sometimes dizzy, sometimes just not with it where my head feels like it isn’t my own, I am only just getting my appetite back after not eating properly.

My depression and anxiety has taken over in the last couple of months, it has been exhausting and it has been such a rollercoaster ride. I have had to admit that actually it is possible to go back to places I never thought I would go back to mentally, I have had to force myself to do things like get out of bed and shower. I have isolated myself from family and friends, part of me didn’t want to explain things to them because I didn’t want them to worry or I didn’t want them to dismiss it. I also thought they would enjoy their time much more without me being miserable and in those times I couldn’t feel anything else. I went between feeling numb and feeling miserable and I didn’t want to put that on anyone else. Right this second, I don’t know where I am at with my depression and anxiety. I still feel low, I still feel in denial a bit and I don’t know how to move forwards at the moment. Making plans still feels like a massive obstacle and attending them feels like an even bigger obstacle.

I will get there one day. I need to remind myself that I have got myself out of this hole before and I can do it again.

#depression #anxiety #mentalhealth #fear #goals

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lovingconnie-blog · 5 years

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My First Pelvic Rehab Appointment

I’m about 10 years into Sweet Remission from my first gyn cancer, and 8 ½ year into remission from my second gyn cancer. I’ve had 2 major pelvic surgeries, many pokey proddy vaginal tests, 7 weeks worth of radiation and 6 rounds of chemo during active treatment. Since then, I’ve had many follow up CT scans and gyn oncologist check ups. It’s a lot of pelvic trauma.

During all of that pelvic trauma, not a single gynecologist, gyn oncologist, nurse practitioner, physician’s assistant, or nurse has EVER mentioned that a physical therapist may be helpful in my physical and emotional recovery. It’s a tragic failure of the medical community, especially the cancer medical community to not offer a physical therapy referral with even a basic explanation of the potential benefits. I had absolutely no clue, and I’ve suffered emotionally, physically and sexually because of this failure. To me if feels like a lack of caring for the whole patient. I’m grateful that my doctors got me into remission, but getting to it took a big toll on my Whole Being.

I didn’t even know that Physical Therapy could be helpful to me until I went on a Teal Diva Retreat for Ovarian Cancer Survivors in June of 2017. A PT who specializes in pelvic rehab, and is also an Ovarian Cancer Survivor, shared some empowering and fascinating ways that PT may help our unique traumas.

Our mouths dropped open with amazed and many of us experienced waves of anger and disappointment for never being offered this kind of specialized rehab. One of my biggest take-aways of Dr. Glenna Sears-Brinker's talk is that my pelvic floor muscles most likely need to learn how to relax. Until this talk the only thing I heard about the pelvic floor is that it “must be strengthened with Kegel exercises”. Intuitively, that never felt right to me though so hearing that relaxing may be a key to rehab and healing filled me with hope.

I came home from the retreat excited and determined to find a pelvic rehab specialist. My Google searches led me to a couple, but unfortunately, they only work with pregnant women. It felt like another slap in the face by the medical community. I was disheartened and felt isolated. I quit searching. Over the next couple years I developed knee, hip, hip flex-or, SI and sciatic pains as the stress of care-giving grew. I turned to Yoga and old favorite low impact workouts to strengthen and stretch, but despite sometimes temporary relief, things kept getting worse. Still, I had this Knowing that the doorway to my healing was getting closer, the path just wasn’t clear yet.

As a 24/7 caregiver to Hubs, I have learned and accepted that I need to take care of Whole Self so I can show up for him with compassion, kindness and confidence. So this growing pain wasn’t going to work for me.

My mom is very involved in her church and is on a committee with a Physical Therapist. She’s also friends with the PT’s family. I don’t recall my mom mentioning that she specialized in pelvic rehab, though, so I didn’t pay much attention.

Last month I had a massage which brought me great relief. I feel really comfortable and safe with my massage therapist and shared my struggles and intuitive knowing there the right help would come. She asked if she could text a PT friend to see if she may be able to help me. Of course I said yes. And yes this PT could help and I was given her name and number. The name looked a little familiar, but I was so excited and filled with hope that I didn’t concentrate on the familiarity.

Later that night I shared with my mom. She looked at me in disbelief. This was the PT SHE had told me about months ago. She was a little disgusted with me for not just listening to her in the first place, which is maybe understandable. I saw it as Divine Guidance. My path was clearing!

My first appointment was yesterday. I arrived feeling excited and fully IN my body with confidence and a lightness I’m just starting to embody. A younger version of me would have arrived anxious about the PT body shaming me or saying that nothing can help me until I lose weight. The younger version of me would have been defensive and timid. Not the Current Connie, though! My body may not have been receiving rehab or healing, but my mental and emotional Self has been doing a lot of deep healing and opening. So I showed up to the appointment feeling excited, hopeful, and happy believing that the PT would certainly be able to help me.

The appointment started with getting weighed, which I wasn’t really expecting, but I can understand why. Instead of closing down and freakin’ out internally about it, I joked with the Tech about the staff audience that was standing in the scale area. Everyone laughed. The Tech kindly said that she wouldn’t say the number out loud and if I wanted I could close my eyes and not even look. I did look and after the initial internal groan I filled myself with loving accepting words in my head for a few moments, and then shifted my focus to the purpose of the appointment. THAT felt incredibly empowering and so self-loving. I accepted the number, loved myself in that moment, and didn’t let the experience of being weighed send me into a downward self-hate spiral.

Then I met my PT. Instantly, I liked her and felt safe with her. That in itself felt like a miracle!! As I shared my history and what brought me to her, the education and philosophy she shared were in beautiful alignment. She acknowledges that pelvic trauma has a big emotional element, too. I shared with her that I’ve been doing deep emotional healing and that I think my body is catching up. It made sense to her. She didn’t dismiss my “woo-woo” beliefs! I wanted to hug her! She also is frustrated that more gyn cancer survivors aren’t referred to PTs, and even most pregnant women aren’t. I felt validated and valued as Whole Person, it sparked joy.

She gave me an overall body assessment to see how I was moving. I kept my clothes on the whole time, in case you’re wondering. I did simple things like bend down to touch my toes, bend my knees, squat, resist her from pushing my legs in different directions. Then the initial diagnosis- my pelvic floor is tight- VERY tight. Kegels would have been bad for me. I Knew it and my trust in myself grew in that moment. One of the main objectives to healing for me will be relaxing the pelvic floor which will take time and patience. It’s so different than relaxing your shoulders, for example, it takes time and un-learning.

Then I laid down on the table for an external pelvic assessment. In the moment I felt totally safe and comfortable with my PT touching my tummy and rubbing/massaging my scars. I don’t touch my scars, and rarely look at them. Same goes for the tummy, until really recently (more on that in an upcoming post). Yet her doing it for medical purposes was totally fine. I noticed, though, that I disconnected from my body to a degree while she was doing it. The tummy and pelvic areas are such vulnerable spots on the human body... the source of our power, our core, our creativity and sexuality. Yet, cancer and being in a larger body has kept me from connecting to that part of my body since I was 12, if not earlier. How beautiful it is to be coming home to my body with such love, hope and acceptance now.

I learned something really important about scars and doctors from my PT. To get the full impact, I want you to do a quick and easy experiment. Grab the middle of your shirt and pull into a ball. The ‘ball” or “knot” is the scar. Now notice that the entire rest of your shirt is being pulled to some degree. That’s what a scar is doing to your body! Mind blown, right?! Now imagine you have 3 BIG scars in your pelvic area, all pulling on your back, shoulders, hips, SI, and down to your knees and up to your neck. That’s part of the reason my pain has been expanding. Rubbing on the scars, with tolerable pressure, breaks up the scar tissue and fascia which will, eventually, lead to releasing and relaxing the tight muscles that are causing me so much pain. That's another part of my PT work.

I’ve always thought that scars create scar tissue on the inside of our bodies. It just makes logical sense to me. So I’ve always felt disappointed that post surgery doctor visits didn’t address the issue of scar tissue. My PT told me why- it's because doctors think that creating scar tissue is a failure on their part. They think that if they did a good job that scar tissue shouldn’t happen. That’s not been my experience.

Finding this out feels really BIG and important to me. Doctors (generally) feel like they are a failure when it comes to scar tissue, so instead of helping the patient treat it (r care for it) they are usually ignoring it. Of course, it’s not every doctor. In my experience, though, I’ve NEVER had a doctor talk to me about scar care. And I’ve had 5 major surgeries beginning when I was 12. The ego is such a powerful thing. If you have scar tissue, please know that there’s hope with Physical Therapy and possibly other methods.

I did a little Googling last night, after my appointment, about scar tissue because what I learned had such a strong effect on me. There ARE many articles about scar tissue and how to care for them available- even from well-known cancer clinics. So the information is out there, but shouldn’t our doctors, our surgeons, be telling us about it? I hope you’ve had a different experience than I have.

I digress, as usual. Back to first PT appointment.

My PT rubbed my tummy and scars for a few minutes. We found 2 distinct spots that felt really tender in my upper abdomen. One I felt all the way down my left hamstring! The other I felt into my low back and hip. On the scars themselves I could feel tightness and/or pain into my SI joint, low back, glutes and hips. A big lightbulb moment for the origins of my pain! And Divine Synchronicity with another method I just started using to heal that I’ll share in a separate post soon.

Though there was twinges of pain as she massaged, I could also feel relief and relaxing. And more hope came washing over me.

Then I had electrical stimulation while laying on heating pads for 12 minutes. It felt a little tingly, but not painful. It was relaxing. It was the first 12 minutes I’ve had laying down to relax all by myself for a long time. Heavenly.

When I got up off the table and walked out I felt a fantastic shift in my body, greatly reduced pain and the sense of physical alignment. And the Angels sang!!

I have 3 simple stretches to do 3 times a day until next week’s appointment. I’ve done them just TWICE and ALREADY notice a big and wonderful difference. I feel validated and so proud of myself for staying the intuitive course towards healing my Whole Self. I’m so grateful for the path that led to Here.

#hope #pelvicfloor #ovarian cancer #grateful #intuition #physicaltherapy #scars #sacralchakra

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mtraki · 6 years

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Happy (belated) Birthday Prompto!

(This is super late, but here is my submission for the sunshine boy’s birthday!)

Note: (I must be some kind of monster for writing a sad story for his birthday D: )

Prompto woke up alone. There wasn’t anything uncanny about it, but the realization was a heavy one this morning. His birthday morning.

Again. Always.

Cor usually woke up a little before him, so waking up alone in the camp wasn’t a surprise. Nothing had been said about the occasion (well it usually wasn’t an occasion anyway) so there was no reason to expect anything different. Lying there on his back, looking up at the nylon ceiling of the tent they shared, the twenty-one occasions weighed him down.

He knew it really shouldn’t. Most every other morning of his twenty-one years had been spent alone, too. He should be used to it-- and he was.

It was just..

… he knew.

He knew it wasn’t like this for most other people-- not necessarily the very-specific ‘waking up alone’ part. A lot of people woke up alone on their birthdays, and that was fine. Most people didn’t spend every day including their birthday, as far back as they could remember, alone, though. He knew friends and parents wished happy birthday and made cake and gave presents or went on trips. He knew that, but it wasn’t until the last few years he’d experienced it himself.

Once Noct got around to learning when his birthday was, he’d been great. He’d go out of his way to make sure something was organized to make a real occasion of the day, and Prompto was grateful-- really, truly grateful for his friends for it.

One time, a few years ago, Noct had tried to arrange a sleepover party. It would have been the first time Prompto didn’t wake up alone on his birthday. But things fell through after some major protests and a temporary curfew was instilled. They’d still had a great time during the day-- especially getting the photo of Noct warping a slice of cake into Gladio’s face. Prompto hadn’t even really thought about what he might have missed out on with the sleepover cancelled. He’d even managed to not feel so isolated when he had to go back to his little house alone.

But that wasn’t going to happen this time. His friends had gone on without him.

It upset him, and he hated that it upset him, that with everything going on he could be so childish as to be upset that his friends weren’t going to be around for his birthday. He should be glad he had even made it this long with the world the way it was now, to even have a twenty-first birthday. A lot of people weren’t going to.

But…

He spent a long time looking at the ceiling and feeling the full weight of his loneliness. Which was dumb-- he wasn’t alone. If he just went out of the tent, he’d find Cor. Despite everything, and the potential for how much Prompto could screw up, Cor was still there.

Except he wasn’t.

When he finally managed to drag himself out of the tent into the morning sunshine, Cor was nowhere to be seen. Disappointment, not panic, was the first thing to settle in his guts. He’d been looking forward to the opportunity to flip the switch inside and be… okay. To go on with the day like nothing was unusual and twenty-one years of self-doubt and crushing loneliness weren’t threatening to push him over some invisible cliffside into an uncontrollable downward spiral into an unfathomable place. Faking it sometimes did make it. At least enough to get through the day.

“Ookay…” He huffed out a breath, “he’ll be back in a minute.”

But he wasn’t. Prompto had packed up everything and still the Marshal hadn’t come back.

That was when the panic spiked through. His first thought was not that something had happened to Cor-- it was Cor the Immortal, after all-- but that Cor wasn’t coming back.

That Cor had left him behind.

“No. He… he wouldn’t.”

Shouldering the pack, the blond left the haven and went looking. After a ten minute search of the surrounding area, he returned, just in case the Marshal had come back and they had just missed each other.

Nobody was there.

“Shit…”

Fumbling with his phone-- and dropping it twice on the hard stone-- he discovered he had no signal to call or text. So he headed for the road. They’d had a car, about a week ago, but it was a salvage and had broken down. After a resigned call to Hammerhead, Cor had accepted that there probably wasn’t any bringing it back. Prompto had been thrilled to learn that the alternative was chocobos. He’d been even more thrilled to learn that Cor absolutely had the eternal patience to allow him over five-hundred photos of nothing but chocobos over two days, and had even offered twice to take photos of him with the chocobos.

But the best part had been when he hadn’t said a word about the ‘not so secret’ photo Prompto had taken of his mount nibbling gently at the lapel of his jacket while he’d started unbuckling the girth after a long day of riding. The blond had spent many private hours staring at that photo, admiring the hint of softness in Cor’s handsome face and the relaxation and trust in the chocobo’s eyes.

“... It’s a mistake.” He told himself with a fierce kind of desperation, “... He… he wouldn’t just… ditch me.”

After all, he’d made the fluttering, foolishly excitable things in Prompto’s guts real. He’d said he… that he wanted to be with him. Like two people who really cared about each other.

Right?

Except… except maybe he… maybe he got it wrong? Or maybe Cor had… changed his mind?

And why wouldn’t he change his mind? He knew he’d been kind of low energy the past couple days, trying to handle the coming disappointment that would topple on him on his birthday like a wall of darkness. Seeing it loom closer and closer had just… sucked all the life out of him. He’d probably been a drag. No doubt Cor wanted a break from his moodiness--

“Prompto! Hey!”

It was Cindy, leaning on the front fender of her truck, waving at him. Her appearance here was such an unanticipated shock that Prompto could only stare in response.

“Well come on, birthday boy! Daylight’s wasting!”

Numbly stumbling over toward her, he managed to ask, “W-where are we going?”

“It was decided that you deserved a little reward for all your hard work roughin’ it out here with Uncle Leonis, so we thought you ought to have a burger. Get in.”

“‘Decided’?” He sputtered, “‘Uncle Leoni--’ do you know where Cor is? Wait, a burger?”

“Slow down, I’ll explain on the way. We’ve got a ways to go. Had to agree on a location where everyone could meet up, y’know?”

“E-e-everyone?!”

“So,” The beautiful mechanic began cheerily three minutes further down the road, raising her voice over the roar of the big engine, “we’re off to the Crow’s Nest. Some friends are waitin’ for ya there. Uncle Leonis called me yesterday to make sure you made it there. I thought he’d be with ya, but I’m sure he’s got something else planned.”

“... Planned… for me?”

“Guess so. This whole thing might be his plan, y’know.”

Prompto frowned at her, “But he doesn’t know today is my birthday…”

“Ys sure about that?”

“How could he? I didn’t… I never…”

Laughing, Cindy spared a hand to reach over and pat him on the shoulder, “He knows a lot of things he don’t let on about.”

With his heart racing, Prompto looked down at his hands, “Is… Are… are Noctis and the others going to be there?”

“I dunno.”

He didn’t know whether he wanted them to be or not. There were too many feelings… and this was all such a shock.

Cor knew about his birthday? Cor had… planned something for his birthday?! Somehow behind his back while right in front of him? Did…

… Would Cor do something like that? For him?

It just… didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem like the right answer. Cor didn’t like making a fuss about things unrelated to the mission, and circumstances being what they were, there wasn’t much in the way of time or energy to… make a fuss over something as silly as a birthday.

Cindy kept his mind busy though, chatting away about some of the new modification kits she had planned-- a car that could transform into a jet!-- and the latest news out of the Hammerhead, which continued to be one of the bigger hubs in Leide.

Prompto wondered in a private part of his mind if Cor had arranged this on purpose. He wondered if Cor knew about his lingering crush on the mechanic and was…

… trying to play matchmaker…?

It didn’t seem likely. It didn’t seem like a ‘Cor’ thing to do.

Then again… Cor had been doing a lot of things he hadn’t expected. Like not ditching him before now. Like not reacting with revulsion after finding out Prompto had it bad for him. Like telling him he wanted to...

He didn’t know how to feel if it were true. If Cor accepted that Prompto liked him… was he trying to distract him with Cindy? Did he think his feelings were so… fickle? Or had he-- like he figured before-- just changed his mind?

But these were quiet thoughts, and he stayed focused on how glad he was to see her, and not be alone. Grateful to have someone around so he could turn on the switch inside. His misgivings could be predominantly forgotten, even. This was turning out to be a pretty decent birthday after all!

He managed to convince himself right until he realized they were going to Longwythe, where Noctis, Gladio and Ignis had decided it better to leave him behind. Then his heart stopped and he was convinced he was going to puke all over Cindy’s passenger seat. He realized two things at that moment: first, Noctis and the others were definitely not going to be here. Secondly, Cor had not organized this.

Which meant he was still unaccounted for. Still gone.

If Cindy noticed his sudden gut-clenched paralysis, she made no indication and instead pulled off to the side of the road, just inside the reach of the big lights that would ward off any daemons. Sunset was still some few hours off, but Cindy liked to be cautious about her vehicles. Prompto didn’t remember getting out of the cab or crossing the stretch of hard packed ground to the door of the diner, so he must have moved via teleportation, a rip in the space-time continuum formed by the dysfunction of the mirror of his face, reflecting Cindy’s bright smile, and the hollow, howling, frozen void in his chest that somehow sent lightning through his nerves.

The brightly ringing bell of the swinging door preceded the hearty cheers of “Happy Birthday!” from three full booths of hunters and a few others he’d met since leaving Insomnia. Some he’d met as acquaintances of the Marshal’s, some had been strangers to them both. They were good people, all of them, but a step removed from ‘friends’.

Or maybe Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio were a step beyond ‘friends’, somewhere closer to family… And maybe that was why he couldn’t quite move on from the fact that they had left him.

Here.

Maybe Cor was somewhere around there too, and that was why he couldn’t really convince himself that he hadn’t done the same thing.

Maybe that was why he was standing there, laughing and grinning, heart stampeding toward his toes… and clenching his eyes against hot tears because it seemed he was somebody so unworthy of being loved, that the people he’d hoped would do it had abandoned him and the task three times.

… Did other people see the act of being loved a task? An imposition on others?

He had to stop. He had to stop thinking this way right now. These were good people and it was ungrateful of him to feel this way when they’d all gone out of their ways to set this up. The people he loved didn’t want to celebrate with him, but these people did, and that…

… That was pretty great.

That was really good.

He could ignore how this hole in him was only getting bigger and rawer, and have fun with them.

“Geez, you guys! You really know how to surprise a guy!”

They ordered and ate and laughed. Brayce said he’d lost weight since the last time he’d seen him, and Margo complained that the Marshal set inhuman expectations for the people travelling with him-- she knew from a brief experience. There wasn’t a cake, but there were milkshakes that were cake-batter flavored, and Prompto proclaimed they were better than cake. They told stories and took photos. Then Shawn and Kacie brought out two big unmarked bottles of clear spirits-- and they were all politely but firmly told to leave by the owner. Though he did give them a stack of paper cups with a wink.

Full of trepidation, but still throwing himself willfully into the spirit of the occasion, Prompto left with the small crowd of merrymakers, spilling out into the parking lot. There, he was informed that three rooms had been reserved in the motel for everyone, so he didn’t have to worry about people trying to drive home after drinking.

And the drinking did happen. Cups were passed out amidst jokes and laughter and the spirits tasted like fire and ginger. When asked where it came from, the vague answer was that it’d been made. It was too harsh for Prompto’s taste, but he drank down every cup he was poured in the hopes that it would silence the nagging worries about the others leaving him, about what that would mean for tomorrow, and that all of his insecurities and inability to measure up were somehow showing on his face.

But also… because it tasted like something Cor would drink… sort of. Something Cor might drink in the desert while watching the world end.

If there wasn’t any more good scotch left.

It was when he started to wonder if it tasted like kissing Cor felt, that he knew he was drunk. When he kept laughing and strangely felt choked up inside like he needed to sob hysterics instead. He was glad.

He was really so so glad for these wonderful people and their terrible desert moonshine.

A couple of them rambled back into the diner to order another few more plates of fries and play too many rounds of Justice Monsters Five. Prompto made a new high-score without really knowing how he’d done it. When they stumbled out into the parking lot again, Brayce’s arm was slung around his neck, pulling him into his side. He was warm. It was nice.

Then he realized it was dark out. Night had come at some point. Cindy and a few others who’d come long distances clapped his back or gave him hugs and confessed it was time to get some shut-eye. They said they were glad they’d come and hoped he’d had fun.

He had, he swore he had. This was the best birthday he could have asked for. Thank you, so much, thank you.

There was a hole in his chest, but at least he wasn’t alone. Thank you.

Cindy scolded Brayce to not let him drink too much. Brayce told her Prompto would be fine. Prompto agreed that he was fine.

He had another cup. Maybe more than one. It was hard to remember. Brayce was warm and it felt good to be tucked against his side with the weight of his arm around his neck, still. The bright lights had soft, wide halos around them, and the headlights of the cars pulling in and out wove arcing, skittering patterns across the darkness. He wished he could photograph it, but every attempt came out wrong.

There were so many photos. He’d have a week’s worth of reviewing to do.

Brayce was leading him toward the motel room doors with a sort of directness that gave Prompto the sense that something other than sleep might happen, and he was busy trying to gather enough shards of his feelings together to decide how he felt about that when a voice cut through the parking lot.

“Looks like my timing is impeccable, as usual.” It was biting, delivered in a soul-crushing deadpan, and Prompto gasped and choked, nearly tripping over his own feet to turn and face the speaker.

“Cor?”

He was there, crossing from the darkness, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, giving vague gestures of greeting to the other party attendees who greeted him with the other. But his eyes stayed fixed on Prompto.

Until they flicked to Brayce, whose arm around Prompto’s neck was starting to feel more like a restriction than a casual embrace. But Brayce laughed and told the Marshal that he ought to grab a cup.

“Good call,” Was the reply, and he plucked the cup out of Prompto’s hand and replaced it with a rectangular package wrapped unattractively in newspaper, “Sorry I’m late, Prompto. Happy birthday.”

It was at that moment Prompto realized he was really there, and took a good look at him, shock giving him a temporary clear-sightedness. He was filthy-- filthier than usual-- sweat-soaked, and breathing hard in a way that made the blond wonder if he’d run across the whole desert of Leide all day.

‘I’m so glad you came at all!’ He wanted to say, but instead, “... You… Is… is this… where you were?” was what he mumbled loudly, like an ungrateful brat.

Like a loser.

Like a stupid kid who didn’t deserve to be loved and it’d been proven to him three-- two? times now.

Cor was looking at him, but he couldn’t tell what was on his expression because it was Cor, after all, but also because he was drunk and tears were brimming and blurring everything. He felt a strong hand in his hair, fingertips combing against his scalp neither gentle or rough, and all Prompto wanted in the world was to fling his arms around Cor’s middle and have him rake his hands through his hair until the world finally ended. Something cracked in his throat, and he thought a sound came out.

Cor’s voice washed over him, “I’ll take him from here, Brayce. I think he’s had more than enough…”

“It’s because you don’t feed him enough, ya cruel bastard!” But the young hunter dug in Prompto’s hip pocket to pull out the motel room key and handed it to the Marshal. Meanwhile the remainder of the party came over to say their ‘goodnights’ and wish him a happy birthday again.

The blond wanted to believe he’d done more than stand there and mumble with tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t be sure, though.

Then he was in the motel room, the badly-wrapped package in his hands and the Marshal’s hand at his back directing him to a chair.

“Sit. Calm down,” Were the instructions, “It’s all right. I’m gonna wash up real quick.”

“A-am I s-supposed to op-pen this now?”

“You can open it whenever you want.”

“... Hey.”

The long, dark shape paused, lingering in the threshold between the washroom and the rest of motel room, striking in black against the mottled green of the wallpaper.

Breathing deep, the blond asked, “... Was Brayce trying to…?”

“... Probably.”

“... I’d… probably have gone with it… If you hadn’t shown.”

Prompto felt the weight of Cor’s gaze, but was too cowardly to raise his own to meet the look.

“... I guarantee he won’t ask any questions if you go knock on his door, if that’s what you want. It wasn’t my intention to pull you out of something you wanted.”

“... I…”

“... From experience, though, you should probably wait until you’re sober again to decide.”

Prompto didn’t move, his fingers crinkling into the newspaper, eyes fixed on the Marshal’s back while he stripped his jacket and washed up in the sink.

I don’t want Brayce...

“Hm?”

Blanching, Prompto braced backward in the chair, “... shit…” He dropped his gaze to the package and began tearing the paper open, needing the excuse to avoid the older man’s attention as he turned around.

There were two items inside. The first was a 2TB SD memory card. The other was a powerful wifi transceiver. After verifying they were precisely what he thought they were, he couldn’t help but gape at the man who was now standing nearby watching him, “Cor… th-these are… You can’t.”

“I already did.”

“No, I mean… this stuff costs… this stuff is like a car and a half!”

“Two and a half… or three, nowadays.” He shrugged, but there was the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth, “Only the best for the ‘procor’ fans.”

“Fuck!” Prompto swore--unsure why he’d chosen that particular word--lurching to his feet unsteadily enough that Cor grabbed his shoulder to support him. He didn’t have to worry though, because Promtpo grabbed him too, one hand fisting the collars of his shirts and hooking the other arm around his neck and to drag him down into a kiss.

It was rushed. Sloppy. His top lip bumped painfully into the taller man’s teeth, shooting sparks through his vision. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter and it didn’t matter if Cor was about to reject him because he’d already left him and somehow it hadn’t destroyed Prompto today.

Between that and all the booze, he was invincible.

Cor didn’t struggle. Instead, the blond heard him exhale slowly out his nose, felt the pooling of his breath against his face, then felt him tilt his face and reshape his mouth to fit his better.

For a moment.

It was perfect.

For a moment.

Then he drew back, “Promtpo,” he said softly, “you’re drunk.”

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop, please. I thought… I thought you were gone… I thought you’d left… Don’t stop… please… I need you… and I’m… I’m sorry…”

“Calm down. I sent you twenty-eight texts telling you I was meeting you and running late. I left three voicemails. Where’s your phone?”

Staring up at him, still pressed firmly against the front of his body, forcing the Marshal to stoop, Prompto realized he didn’t know. He’d had it this morning…

Had he left it in the diner? In Cindy’s cab? Somewhere in the deserts of Leide?

“I… fuck… I’m… I’m sorry…”

“Calm down,” Was the reply for a third time, “It’s alright. I’m not going to leave you-- not without good reason, and not without telling you.”

“... W...What would be… a… good reason?” Suddenly he very desperately wanted to know, so he could make absolutely sure he never did such a thing.

“Nothing to do with you, so don’t worry about it.”

“You were gone a day and I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown! You can’t--of course I’m going to worry about it!”

Sighing, Cor looked Prompto in the eye and stopped his heart, “... Come to bed with me.”

“... What?” They’d just now kissed for the first time, and it had been… well it had started terrible until Cor fixed it… but he apparently didn’t want more of it… but now…

… he wanted to…?

Somehow the Marshal slipped out of his desperate grasp and went to go recline on the bed on his back, where he beckoned, “Come here.”

Suddenly nervous, Prompto went haltingly, his steps unsteady, to the side of the bed. There, Cor’s hands guided him into the bed, supporting him at the waist and hips enough to prevent him from just collapsing haphazardly on top of him. The blond ended up lying against his broad chest and squirmed around until his face tucked forcefully under Cor’s jaw and against his throat so he could be inundated with his scent--sweat, leather, amber, and the faint tang of blood and steel--and feel his heartbeat through his own chest.

Was it just his imagination… or was the Immortal’s heart racing a little?

Nah. No way. Not with him relaxing under him like this was the most normal and natural thing they could do. Like they’d done it a hundred-thousand times before.

Like this wasn’t the first time Prompto had the opportunity to taste his skin-- like it wasn’t the first time he parted his lips against his neck to do so.

“Prompto.”

“I thought--”

“Go to sleep.” Was the patient, but firm instruction, the deep voice rumbling through his entire body molded against the older man’s own, “You’re drunk, and going to be very embarrassed, and very sick tomorrow.”

“... I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“... I thought you weren’t coming back. I’m sorry.”

“Shh.”

It was the first morning after his birthday that he didn’t wake up alone. Cracking his eyes to the gray light edging through the curtains, he was still engulfed in Cor’s scent, his face still shoved into his neck. Cor’s chest still rose and fell under him, exuding an almost uncomfortable amount of heat into his own body. Thick, strong fingers still worked their way lazily in small back and forth motions against his scalp.

Prompto froze, remembering pieces of the night before. Cor was right: he was fairly embarrassed by most of what he could make sense of.

Clenching his eyes to try and settle the tumble of his guts, he also realized he was working on very sick.

But…

… But he was happy. So heart-renewingly relieved. He wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t alone.

It’d been the best birthday. Twenty-one was going to be the best year.

#ffxv #fanfic #ffxv prompto #prompto argentum #happy birthday prompto

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