#you can see one transition where my stitch failed

[paintedscales]

Thing that I spent entirely too much time on.

Song -> Snowflakes by Shihoko Hirata (NARASAKI remix) from Persona 4: Dancing All Night

[breesays]

This will be our year --

Moving and transitioning and ending and searching. Spicy popcorn and texts just to check in. K.Flay and drawing with the right pens and making up words. Fizzy water and Lorde and ace community immersion. Thinking of the worst responses possible and keeping them to myself. Anna Banana workouts and binge reading and lemon gum trees. Yellowcard's "end" lasting exactly as long as my marriage. The Crane Wife and roles and relationships. Done lists over to-do lists and taking back nostalgia and seaweed snacks. The trivial and monumental, interwoven. Fall Out Boy's best album and again feeling like I NEED to be at certain shows. Hearing "Space" at WWWY. Watching lives fall apart and be stitched back together again. Realizing I have so many more questions than the ones I am asking - how can I be the next Barbara Walters? Planks and patio projects and tingling in my toes when the gummies hit just right. Facing the Instant Pot and failing a little but also making it work, a few times. Glass Animals and Goldfinger for Des and counterspace after the downstairs neighbors that gave me PTSD. Book club(s) and 6 pack of peaks and having friends to send sad text messages to. My 20-lb cat sleeping on my chest and framing mantras and having a few morning dance parties with Des. From "I made the mistake of reading your blog" to scrivener to hold my hand while we fall asleep. Booking The Warning and listening to Nosebleeds and feeling sleepy at The Hollywood Bowl during DCFC. To groupchats and moms club(s) and buying a dining table. Olivia Rodrigo and Paramore and Kesha and also wasn't 2008 a great year?

When I wrote this: It's my birthday. I'm celebrating but still also kind of mourning and my kid had a winter show today where he performed 3 songs from Grease (which is maybe the most I've ever seen of Grease) and it was the cutest thing I've ever seen and then got my friends into a show I didn't care to see but wanted to be out, doing something. I also knew there were words, sentences bubbling up inside of me. Eat a grilled cheese, talk about life, get home before you spill over. Too bad we couldn't find the warm floor of an abandoned basketball court to watch for shooting stars. In this smog? Well, we're optimists.

I've embarked on a personal project to go through all of my 3200+ LiveJournal entries. It's self-indulgent, I know. It's not without purpose. I'm writing a book about all the relationships I've navigated while not (really) knowing I'm Ace and I wanted to make sure I got the timeline and the sentiments correct. It's easy to be a badass in retrospect - but I don't want to lie to make myself look better. I've loved with my whole heart, with one ankle bearing the pressure of a door plenty of people had try to -end scene- me with.

Two things can be true? Actually, ten things can be true.

Can you believe how many lives we've already lived, inside of this one?

PJ already has 7000 words. He always said he said he felt small compared to me. The reason for his tall tales. I've been courted and carried and loved and weaved into the fabric of other beings and yet this shitbird from Missouri - he opens me up like its arterial. He's dead, and I'm still bleeding. I don't know what the LESSON is here. Worse - maybe there isn't one. Maybe I just feel bad until I feel better.

Overall, though - I guess this is progress. I'm feeling my feelings, even if they seem overdramatic, irrational. Future me is going to be back here, searching - so I give her this: You were sad. Your friend cup was overflowing and everyone wanted to celebrate with you, but you didn't have the energy (or money) to plan anything. You were going to a lot of shows. Reading like a fiend. Getting Desmond into OK Go. Forcing yourself to workout for the endorphins. You love where you live, in Studio City. The giant window, the patio, trees, the hummingbirds - the smallest things make the hugest impact. You have so much to look forward to.

Celebrate your friends birthdays because they are not guaranteed. Reach out, reach back, reach wherever and tell people that they matter. Spread your wings, take up space because this is it. This is it.

[bookwyrminspiration]

Set it off I think

Okay! So looking at Swan Song by Set It Off to see how it can fit into keeper, nice! To save space, I'm putting my comparison under a cut!

One day I'll learn to be concise. I swear.

There's an entire verse in the beginning that I wanna look at first, which is "Draw the curtains / Take the stage / Smoke and mirrors underway / Hold your breath here comes the turn / This is where we all got burned," and I know that's kinda a hefty quote but stay with me. The talk of curtains and stages reminds me of the Neverseen given their flare for the dramatic--especially if we're looking at the era when Fintan was in charge. It was almost like a performance at times, but full of trickery, of smoke and mirrors. Especially if we're looking at the Nightfall confrontation where there were literally mirrors everywhere. Of course, the talk of smoke and getting burned also has particular connotations, as pyrokinesis is heavily associated with the Neverseen, so that whole verse feels very much like them.

Another line is "Burn the pages not the bridge / Sew your wounds without a stitch." The way I'd apply this to the series is to rid themselves of the ways of the past, of what's written down on page. Their traditions, their harmful thoughts, their discriminatory ways. Burn it down, forget who they were, that's part of the goal, getting rid of what they used to be. But don't burn down the bridge. Don't burn down the future, that bridge is what will take them to it. It's the way out of it all, the light after they burn everything else down--both for the Neverseen and the Black Swan.

Then the sew your wounds part without a stitch I think we can interpret to show the volatility of everything that happens. When you stitch your wounds, you care for them properly, you ensure things are neat and lined up and sterile and will heal to the best of their abilities. But here that's missing, these wounds are sealed another way--with all the fire imagery I'm assuming it was cauterized. So we can see how rough it is, like how rough the transition between the old elven world and the new one is that the kotlcrew are trying to bring about. It hurts. It's messy. It's dangerous at times. It's not what it should be, but it's what they have.

I also wanna look at "Abandon the people who shaped who you are / Selfish and thoughtless, you drown in the dark," because it can apply to different characters in different ways. Fintan, for instance, has abandoned the world that raised him because he thinks it's failing and wants to remake it, a selfish and mistaken decision that's hurt many. Sophie's own thoughts are departing from those around her (shown in burning down the storehouse), which those around her see as selfish and thoughtless, leaving her alone in a crowd. Keefe has abandoned his family and although they're awful, that has shaped a significant part of who he is, and we can interpret a lot of his actions as selfish and thoughtless (though other lenses may reveal other motives).

I think we can also take more meaning out of the focus on "the dark," specifically because neither side of the battle is associated with it. The elven world is associated with light, with brilliance, with glitter. And while Sophie and the Black Swan might not be glitter people, they are fighting for good, for light. And the Neverseen are associated with fire, and fire creates light. They intend to burn out the darkness in the lost cities with their light. So even though the groups oppose each other, being ostracized from either one takes you from the light to the dark. I just find that interesting

Anyway that got a little long, but those are some of the thoughts I had! There is, of course, also the comparison between Swan Song as the song title and calling swan song, which is something associated with the Black Swan. But overall I think you can find a lot in the song that relates to keeper!

[nevadas-night-time-novelist]

2BDamned x trans male reader

2BDamned had met you prior to transitioning, you weren’t the first trans mercenary he’d worked with, and no doubt wouldn’t be the last. He was fairly aloof at first, keeping conversations formal and strictly about work.

He’d only mistaken your pronouns once, and that was before you’d told him you were trans, and since then he’d always addressed you correctly. He would also correct anyone who misgenders you, curtly to those who’d do it by mistake, more aggressively to those who’d do it on purpose.

You’d overheard it once, he was snapping at some hired goon. “He’s a man, get that through your thick skull before I stick a bullet in there instead.” 2BD was adamant about defending anyone in SQ from discrimination and hate.

Hours working together had brought the two of you close, very close. He’d been the one to confess, a well thought out written confession of his feelings to you, it was rather lengthy, but incredibly heartfelt.

“And with all the time you and I have been spending together, I’ve found myself pining for your presence once you’re gone. If you would consider it, I’d like to explore where these feelings lead with you. You’re one hell of a man, and it’d be an honour to call you mine.”

You accepted, throwing all your feelings on the table too, worries and all. “Are you sure you want to be with me? I’m not a … typical man.” “Yes, I do. And your doubts are in vain, you’re very much a man. I never have and never will see you any different.”

A sweet and tender moment, 2BD lowered his mask letting his guard down for you to see his facial scars in all their glory, he had a sweet smile on his broken lips as he pulled your body close for a long and passionate kiss.

Word spread like wildfire that you two had become lovers, people treated you with more respect for fear of repercussions by 2BD. His bed space quickly became a shared one, making his tiny private space as warm and welcoming for you as possible.

A trans flag was pinned on the wall, you don’t know where the hell he got it, but you were grateful for the support from him. He sheepishly confessed he’d stitched it himself, his work on sutures coming into practice.

He was there to comfort and reassure you when your dysphoria came swinging hard. “You’re my handsome man, the most gorgeous man in the whole of Nevada.” Your head rested on his chest, one of his hands cupping your hip and gently rubbing circles into your skin, the other cradling your cheek sweetly.

“I’ve been doing a lot of reading, as well as Skinner, you know.” You traced old scars on 2BD’s chest, from bullet holes to knife wounds, intricate stories woven into his skin. “Yeah?” You kissed a jagged scar that crossed over his left pectoral, someone long ago tried to stab his heart and evidently failed.

“Yeah.” He confirmed, kissing your forehead, trying hard to suppress the grin pulling at his lips. “More of… Cosmetic surgeries than operations to fix wounds.” You sat up and raised an eyebrow at him. “Cosmetics? Like plastic surgery?”

“Reconstructive, changes, modifying one’s self to be more… True.” His hand rested above your chest. “I’ll.. cut to the chase. Skinner and I have been looking into surgery for you, top and bottom surgery, to remove those parts of you that don’t belong.”

“Kyle.. Are you serious?” His heart skipped a beat every time you said his real name. “Of course I am stud. I want you to be comfortable in your skin, and if I can help in the most literal sense, I want to.”

You dove on top of him, clinging onto him for dear life as a flurry of thank yous burst from your mouth, tears of joy streaming down your cheeks, furiously kissing his face over and over.

“Anything for the loveliest boyfriend in the world.”

-

2BD nursed you post surgery, moving around was near impossible due to the pain of your chest being removed, he doted on you completely. Painkillers where needed, cutting up food and feeding you, making sure you’re hydrated with plenty of water, helping you bathe and giving plenty of kisses and words of reassurance.

He’d catch you checking yourself out in the mirror some time after your scars had healed over, burying his face into the crook of your neck, feeling over the scarred tissue. “Some of my best work, if I do say so myself.” “I’m inclined to agree.” Your hands covered his.

“You know that whenever you’re ready, Skinner and I are on hand to finish the job, fix up the bottom half too.”

[lupismaris]

for the trope mashup promps. filnt/hamilton 1.royal au. 14. bodyguard au. i don't know what you're gonna come up with but i'm gonna love it

OH THIS SLAPS i honestly cant remember if im supposed to just write a ficlet or ramble about ideas so what we are gonna do is this

below are my ideas for the combo

you give it a read and swing back round my inbox and let me know which you want me to stitch together into a short ficlet, and i'll give it a shot, ok?

ok

so of course the super easy avenue to take with this would be the fantasy kingdom set up where one is a sovereign and the other head of the guard, i think theres actually a couple really good fics already on ao3 for silverflint and silverflintham where this happens? and i love this idea its a solid shiny classic for a reason you could easily polish Thomas up into being a king and having Flint being his captain of the guard, or maybe Thomas is top advisor or consort instead of outright nobility, and Flint is technically supposed to be focusing on protecting the actual monarch but keeps finding himself chasing after Thomas to keep him out of trouble? many posibilities here

but

i would also love to play with what we're already given. Thomas is already nobility in Canon, so regardless of whether or not you want to keep canon time line, or change it to like, regency or victorian, or even make it a straight up modern au, we have this key point established. Flint being military can of course also still work, a lot of ex-military guys wind up in private security, even way back in ye olden days it was probably easier to transition from low ranking soldier or sailor into the employ of a wealthy household who needs protection. So you have this rebelrousing Lord who can't stay out of trouble and the resigned celt of a lieutenant hired/assigned to keep him safe after an attempt is made on his life. bonus points if flint is hired by miranda after a failed assassination attempt that she believes is Alfred's doing.

both of course wind up with Thomas seducing his bodyguard because i mean, come on, wouldn't you?

Lemme know which you want to see written out, @detectivejester !

[buffcontrol]

New Story: The Black Tank Top

It of course seemed ridiculous, beyond improbable, that what appeared to be a regular tank top could do what it promised. Chris folded and unfolded the thing in has weighty hands, feeling the stretch material on his fingers and glancing at the accompanying note. “Wear this and you’ll get whatever you want!” That was all the note said, on nondescript paper from a nondescript package that had arrived on his doorstep that morning.

In any case, the large black top was just his size and looked pretty nice. The weird note was whatever, but he couldn’t complain about getting a nice new shirt to work out in, he supposed. He slipped off his white tee to try it on, feeling the collar bunch around his neck as he wiggled it over his wide shoulders.

He paused to look in the mirror, wondering, what do I want, exactly? What is it that I really want? He wouldn’t mind getting a little bigger, he thought, packing a little more muscle on would certainly be nice. He rubbed at his stomach before pushing up on his impressive pecs and flexing a little. Already, Chris’s body was something to behold: round in the right corners and heavy where he needed to be, in his big biceps and forearms, his chest, ass and legs all impressively dense and full. He was tall, handsome and naturally athletic without appearing overbearing or appearing cartoonish. Just naturally masculine and fit.

With a final slap at his curved biceps and another glance at the tank top, he picked the thing up and yanked it over his chest and down his stomach. For just a moment, still staring in the mirror, he thought maybe he would suddenly inflate and enlarge into some godly adonis. He inhaled, flexed, stared in the mirror and waited. Nothing happened. He felt a little ridiculous but laughed it off. Time to forget about it and get his workout in.

Yet, he couldn’t really forget it as he began jogging toward his usual gym. Maybe it wasn’t that he couldn’t forget, it was more that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Yeah, he thought, hitting his stride, his pace increasing, maybe it’s working. Maybe I’m running faster. He laughed a little to himself at the thought it could be true. Maybe he was going to get bigger after all, albeit slowly or more gradually than he would’ve thought.

His workout was following the norm. He easily picked up each weight at each machine and followed his usual rhythm perfectly. It was effortless to the point he wasn’t even processing it, he was simply performing it like a task. Automatically. When he was done and had returned home, it was like none of it had happened at all, he just came to suddenly sitting on his couch with a satisfying, full bodied pump coursing through him and a haze that made it hard to think.

“Huh…” he wondered aloud.

He felt as if it had suddenly become a chore to move. He knew he wanted to stand up, get some water… or something… but his limbs were light and floaty. They weren’t responding to the circuits in his brain, too bogged down with a warm glow to function properly.

“Must be tired,” he said. He felt a dull surprise when it came out droll and monotone. It was if the heat in him had spread into his very vocal cords. Must’ve been a really good workout, he thought, must’ve been… why couldn’t he remember his workout? It was beginning to worry him when the sensation throbbing in him started to churn somewhere deep in his crotch, making it impossible to think of anything else.

HIs thick fingers were moving on their own toward his gym shorts and there was absolutely nothing on his mind but the heat incinerating in him. All the concern was slowly vanishing as he puffed out his chest and caressed himself on the couch. It felt good, he thought, it felt good to let go of whatever was in his brain, just feeling his muscles and the extraordinary pleasure in him when—

There was a knock on the door. Chris’s body erected automatically and he moved to the door without thinking. It was when his hand met the doorknob that a pulse of shock burst in him. He stopped, looking down at himself and the stiffness totally formed in his shorts, standing at attention. “What the?” Why was he so dizzy? And horny? And then why… why was his hand opening the door? He wasn’t trying to open it yet suddenly the door was open and a man walked right in.

He was short and thin with brown hair. Totally unremarkable. He dropped his jacket on the ground and marched into the flat’s living room. “Looks like you’re enjoying that tank top I sent you,” he said.

“Wha….” Chris moaned. He was following this stranger back in. This guy shouldn’t be here, he thought, this is wrong… “Who are you?”

“Do you care?”

“No, I… uh…” why didn’t he care? Suddenly, Chris was scared. This was all so weird, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t seem to find the emotion or motivation in him to stop what was happening.

“I already told you, I’m the guy that sent you that top you’ve got on. Looks good on you man,” he said. “You know, it makes you into whatever you want to be. What do you want to be, Chris?”

“Get out…” Chris stuttered. It was too hard to talk, he kept feeling that warmth coursing through him as he swayed in place. “I don’t know haha…”

“Tell me what you want to be, Chris,” the man approached him. There was a flinch in his body but it was immediately suppressed. “Feel free to do whatever you want. You’re safe with me.”

“Huh…” his hands found the bottom seam of his new tank top and pulled it up over his chest all on their own. He couldn’t believe he was stripping in front of some random stranger. The fear throbbing through him was laced with something so satisfying and pacifying his mind failed to connect his terror with any ability to act.

“That feels better, doesn’t it?”

“Yah dude…” and as the words moaned from him, he felt his arms come up in a tight double bicep pose. The muscles on his body tensed and expanded as he flexed them, quivering, like something in his body was trying to break free of what it was doing. He laughed as he flexed, the laugh coming from some deep and primordial place from him out of his control. He laughed, but his eyebrows were stitched in fear. “Please man… please…”

“What is it” he asked.

“Please let me go…”

“Is that what you really want?” He asked.

Chris strained. “N- no…,” he cried, some new truth settling into his brain and cementing. But he shook it off, sweating, everything in his body becoming harder to control. He managed to just barely jerk his head, “I mean yes! Please let me go! What’s happening to me!” His voice was panicked but his face was plastered with a big, dumb smile. He couldn’t change it no matter how hard he tried. Suddenly, he transitioned into a side pose that showed off his powerful deltoids. “I don’t want any of this!”

“Be honest with yourself.”

Chris’s eyes were clouding as his grin widened. Drool was slowly accumulating in the corner of his mouth as he tightened the muscles on his arms. He was clearly trying to say something, but it only came out in chokes and gurgles as he smiled, baring all of his pristine white teeth.

“Doesn’t it feel good?”

There was an impulse to lie, as if protecting himself, but it was quickly extinguished by the pleasure building in him. He couldn’t deny the satisfaction that was settling into his entire being. “Ye… yes… so good…” The more he felt himself giving in and the more he flexed, the harder his dick grew in his shorts, precum sliding down his thigh.

“So be truthful. Tell me what you really want. Is it just to be bigger?”

As if something inside of him had opened and he could see more clearly into his being, Chris’s innermost desire became starkly apparent. He had always known it but never had the ability to say it to himself. Whatever spell was over him, he could not deny it any longer. But he tried, “Nn… nnn…” he grunted.

“Accept the truth.”

“I want to be a brainless, muscle whore!” He blurted. “I want my entire life to be devoted to sex and pleasure! I don’t want anything else but fucking and flexing and cumming!”

The man opposite him grinned. “Are you sure? If that’s not true, you can say so and all of this will stop.”

But Chris knew this was true. No matter how deep down he had tried to suppress it, he was innately desperate to reduce himself into a stupid muscle slut, capable of nothing but working out, orgasming and giving orgasms. “It’s true! It’s true, it’s true!”

And with those words, Chris’s reality began to realize itself. A piece of his brain did not disappear, but rather it shrunk into the size of a marble in the sea of his mind. It was his consciousness for a normal life, his thoughts about work and friends and everything outside of muscle and sex. It was still there, but so small it was practically invisible in the utter ocean of gleeful stupidity and horniness flooding him all at once. He no longer had any choice in what his body did, it was a complete slave to satisfaction. Every thought attempting to escape that marble of normalcy was drowned with lust.

Automatically, Chris followed his desire as he raced to rip his shorts and underwear off and jerk off. All he wanted to do was cum. The tiny shred of his regular self could do nothing but watch in disgust as his body instinctually began to approach the twink to pound. Still whacking his thick cock with one hand, he rushed to get any of the stranger’s clothes off and get his dick inside. He was nothing like Chris’s old type, but it didn’t matter anymore: Chris had gotten what he wanted, to be a brainless himbo jock, and he would never turn down sex again.

“I’m so big!” He cried as his dick slid in. “I’m so hot! Gotta fuck, gotta fuck, want sex, yeah! Yeah!” He flexed both of his thick arms as his hips instinctively thrust back and forth.

Chris’s body fucked and fucked, cumming three times before he slammed his meaty ass onto the stranger’s own dick, riding him for hours. “I’m just a whore, I’m a dirty jock pig aren’t I? Fuck yeah!”

The continually diminishing shred of him still capable of understanding what was happening fought and fought, but it was powerless, just smothered in his true desire to give himself over to pleasure. Even after the bastard who put this curse on him was gone, he was subjected to watch in horror as the actual Chris downloaded Grindr, begging anyone to come over and fuck. Men came and played with his juicy pecs, making him flex for them. “I’m the hottest dude on this planet,” he laughed as men in front of him squeezed his flexed arms and thighs. “Look at these muscles!”

It wasn’t long before even the little piece left of the old Chris was gone. He had quit his job and started professionally camming to make money. He did nothing but work out and suck and fuck all day. He couldn’t do anything without it leading to sex or a pump from the gym.

But every now and then, as Chris flexes, squeezing his arms together and tightening his abs, showing off his strong back and sculpted legs, a minor pang of the past leaps into him, calling for help, trying to get out, only for  it to be put out by a dumb, masculine laugh as drool trails from his lips and he says, “I’m so horny man… hahaha…”

Next to him, a simple black tank top on the floor.

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 7:

A Sister’s Heart

Chapter 6

Read on AO3

About another week passed by of peaceful uneventfulness. Breakfast that morning had been quiet aside from Rabbie and wee Jamie chattering away to each other. There was a solemnity in all of the adults present, and even in Fergus.

It had been almost a month since they’d inquired about retrieving Jamie’s remains from Culloden. They’d heard whispers of people sneaking past the barriers the British had put up and retrieving loved ones themselves. Ian had mentioned it many times, but Jenny had insisted they do things properly. Claire was in enough danger as it was being Red Jamie’s wife. They couldn’t afford to do anything foolish to draw attention to her.

Jenny and Claire were sitting on the sofa in the parlor. Kitty was sitting on the floor, Bran laying dutifully, and quite patiently beside her as the toddler patted his head, and picked up his ears and paws over and over again, giggling madly when they dropped back into place. Jenny was attempting to teach Claire knit. Transitioning from stitching up skin to stitching fabric hadn’t been too difficult to manage, but knitting was an entirely different animal. She was failing miserably, and Jenny had taken the yarn and needles from her about three times now to correct something.

“Just tell me the truth,” Claire said, falling into the back of the couch and laughing. “I’m hopeless.”

“Yer not a lost cause until I say ye are,” Jenny insisted. “Come over here, watch how I fix this…again.”

Sighing, Claire sat up again and leaned over to watch Jenny fix yet another one of her mistakes, but something else caught her eye.

“Jenny!” she whispered excitedly. “Look.”

Jenny looked up and followed Claire’s gaze. Kitty was standing, still right next to Bran, having not used any furniture to get up. Jenny gasped in excitement. She threw the knitting down on the sofa and scrambled to her feet, grasping Claire’s hands. They silently crept several feet away from her, not wanting to startle her into falling back down before she attempted to walk.

“Kitty!” Jenny called, crouching down. Claire stood behind her, beaming. “Come on, Kitty. Walk to me, mo chridhe!”

Kitty stared for a moment, gaping at her. She made a little grunting noise, causing Jenny and Claire to laugh.

“Come on Kitty!” Claire joined. “Come on, sweetheart, you can do it!”

Jenny began egging her on in Gaelic, and she finally took a step toward them.

“Good girl!” Claire cried joyously, and Jenny stammered affectionately in Gaelic.

Katherine took two more steps, causing the woman to squeal. They continued to cheer her on, to praise her, until she finally took six, continuous steps into Jenny’s arms, smiling triumphantly. Jenny laughed joyously and scooped her up, standing and throwing her over her head.

“You did it!” Claire said. “What a clever girl!”

“She finally did it!” Jenny exclaimed. “I was worried, I was but…oh, mo chridhe..." Jenny kissed her yellow head, and Kitty laughed gleefully.

“I told you she was fine, just a late bloomer.” Claire cupped her little head and kissed her cheek. “Auntie Claire is so proud of you,” she said, and Kitty latched her clumsy hands into Claire’s curls, causing Claire to laugh out loud. Babies always had a tendency to latch onto hair, but there was something about Claire’s curly mop that was much more intriguing to her than her own mother’s hair.

Kitty made quite an indignant noise as Claire and Jenny worked to detangle her hands. They laughed and fussed over her; they couldn’t wait to tell Ian.

Suddenly, Fergus burst into the room.

“Fergus!” Claire said joyously. “You’ll never guess what wee Kitty just did!”

“I am sorry to interrupt,” Fergus said. “There are English soldiers coming up the road.”

Claire and Jenny’s smiles disappeared.

“Go fetch Milord,” Jenny instructed. Fergus nodded and scampered off. Claire went to follow after him, but Jenny grabbed her arm. “Ye’ll be staying inside.”

Claire burned a white hot stare into Jenny, but she did not release her. “I ken what ye must be feeling right now, but we canna afford for ye to make scene wi’ the British. I wouldna blame ye if ye did, but we canna take the chance. Ye’ll stay inside while Ian speaks wi’ them.”

“It’s my husband’s body they’re discussing,” Claire spat.

“Aye, and his child yer carrying. Would ye like it to be born in prison?” Jenny challenged. Claire’s jaw hardened, but she had nothing to say in response to that.

With a frustrated sigh Claire pulled her arm free of Jenny’s grip and dropped back onto the sofa. Kitty made another noise, sounding troubled, as if she could sense the change of mood in the room.

Jenny bounced her and kissed her head. “Mrs. Crook!” Jenny called. Before long the woman entered the room. “Take her please.” She handed her off to Mrs. Crook’s outstretched arms. “She just took her first steps,” Jenny said, smiling proudly despite the anxiety in her chest.

“Ah, what a braw wee lassie!” Mrs. Crook said, giving Kitty a tickle. “I’ll keep her occupied fer ye, Mistress.”

Jenny thanked her and called for Bran, who snapped into a standing position and trotted after Mrs. Crook, leaving Jenny and Claire alone in the parlor.

Jenny sat down beside Claire, putting a comforting, steadying hand on her knee. “Nothing so pure as a child’s laughter, no?” Jenny said in attempt to lighten the mood.

Despite her own anxiety, Claire smiled. “Yes…it’s a beautiful thing.”

“Won’t be long before — ”

The front door slammed shut, causing them both to jump. They both listened with bated breath as Ian’s uneven steps came closer and closer to the parlor.

Ian entered the room, his face solemn. “That was a British courier responding to our inquiry.”

Jenny sighed, not waiting for him to say it. “They won’t give him back to us.”

Ian shook his head. “They don’t even know where he is.” Jenny scoffed, disgusted. She buried her face in her hands as Ian continued. “They buried the dead in mass graves right on the moor. Hundreds and hundreds of them.”

“Fucking bastards,” Claire spat, abruptly standing up. She began pacing. “They slaughter him like an animal on that field and they don’t have the decency to give us a body to bury? It’s barbaric! I could fucking throttle him.” Claire made for the front door, intending to follow that courier to the ends of the earth and kill him with her bare hands. Ian stopped her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Let go of me.” she said through gritted teeth, but Ian only tightened his grip.

“It’s no use Claire. There are hundreds of other wives without bodies to bury. I’m sorry, lass.”

“I refuse to accept that,” Claire said firmly. “Now let me go!”

“Claire.”

She writhed in his grip, to the point where he had to wrap his arms around her entire frame. “Let me go! You fucking bastard!” She was screaming now, unintelligibly, trying to throw punches, to knee him in the groin, but unable.

“Jamie!” she shrieked, long and drawn out, his name tearing through her throat in an agonizing, blood curdling scream. She cried out his name again, but this time her knees gave out beneath her, and she dissolved into uncontrollable sobs. Ian, holding her up under her arms, glanced up helplessly at Jenny, who hurried off the sofa.

“Let her down,” Jenny instructed, and Ian gently lowered her to her knees. Jenny dropped to the floor and caught her in her arms. She held her tightly and rocked her back and forth as guttural cries wracked her body.

Wee Jamie appeared in the entryway to the parlor. “Mam?” His voice was small and scared.

“Ian,” Jenny said exhaustedly.

“It’s alright lad.” Ian hurried to scoop him into his arms. “Dinna fash. Let’s see if we can bother Mrs. Crook for some biscuits, aye?”

They disappeared to the kitchen, leaving the two women alone.

“Claire…oh, Claire…” Jenny stroked her hair, rubbed her back, cupped her cheek. “I ken it’s no’ fair. It’s downright sacrilegious. I ken it’s no’ fair…” Jenny kissed the top of her head. “Try to calm down, mo ghràidh…I ken it hurts, and I ken ye need to scream and cry…but it’s no’ good fer the bairn, ye told me yerself.” Claire seemed to not hear her at all. She was inconsolable. She hadn’t even been this upset when they’d first been told of his death. Perhaps she’d expected him to die; she’d been prepared to hear it. But being deprived of a body to part with him properly was another matter entirely.

It wasn’t long before her lungs couldn’t keep up with her anymore, and she began breathing heavily, her back heaving. She very suddenly and abruptly vomited on the rug, startling Jenny. It was nothing she hadn’t seen before; she’d been spit up on by all three of her bairns. She got her onto her hands and knees and soothingly rubbed her back until she was dry heaving, nothing coming up.

“It’s alright, breathe deep now. That’s it.”

Claire was silent, breathing deeply and staring at her own sick. “I…” she stammered, her voice hoarse. “I’m sorry, I…I completely lost it…”

“It’s alright.”

“No, it isn’t.” She sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand “My behavior was abhorrent…I’ve soiled the carpet like a bloody child…”

“Grief makes us all fools, Claire. I ken I’d be wailing like that if the British took my husband and buried him in an unmarked grave. And didnae care to remember where.” Her voice wavered, stroking Claire’s hair.

“But I feel selfish acting this way. I’m not the only one that lost him.”

“Oh, I ken that, too,” Jenny said, taking a deep shuddering breath. “But he’s yer man. It’s different. And the two of you…ye were like two halves of each other. Drove me to drink to watch the two of ye,” she attempted to tease, and it worked, even if only slightly, bringing a tiny, tearful smile to Claire’s face. “It’s just…different.”

Claire forced down the urge to burst into more tears. “I’ll clean this.”

“Ye’ll do no such thing,” Jenny said firmly. “Let’s get you cleaned up. The servants can see to this.”

Jenny helped her to her feet, which was admittedly more difficult than either of them thought it would be. Claire was quite dizzy after the ordeal, and the pregnancy surely wasn't helping matters. They made their way slowly up the stairs, and then into Claire’s bedroom. Jenny helped Claire strip down to her shift and then sat her in front of the mirror. Claire absently stared at her reflection as Jenny wiped her mouth, face, neck, chest, and shoulders. She was vaguely aware of how pale she was, how gaunt her face had become. Was her flesh rotting away like Jamie’s was at this very moment, in his unmarked grave? Were they so inextricably linked that she was wasting away with him even as she lived?

“Ye’ll start showing soon,” Jenny’s voice interrupted her morbid thoughts. “Nearly been four months, has it no’?”

“Yes,” Claire said, her hands absently resting on her abdomen. “It has.”

“Are you happy to be wi’ child again?” Jenny said, dipping the rag again, then dabbing at Claire’s hairline. “I ken it’s different wi’out Jamie this time. But how does it feel to be carrying a bairn again?”

Claire smiled. “It doesn’t feel like much yet,” she said. “I admit, I haven't given it much thought, with everything else going on.”

“Give it some thought now.” Jenny put the rag aside and began pulling pins out of Claire’s hair.

“I feel…swollen, already.” They both chuckled. “And it’s only just begun. My breasts are sore, I’m exhausted…but,” she paused to look down at her abdomen. “When I really think about it, it’s…it’s a miracle.”

“How’s that?” Jenny put down the final pin and started gently combing through Claire’s curls with her fingers.

“I’ve heard of women who deliver…stillborn children, and they can never get pregnant again. I thought, perhaps, after how horrible it had been for us that I’d never…”

“Every child is a gift,” Jenny said, picking up the hairbrush. “But this one especially is a treasure.”

“I know. He’s the last thing Jamie will ever give me.”

“The greatest gift yer man can give ye.”

Claire smiled in agreement in spite of her urge to cry. “And when I really think about it…I’m also terrified.” Jenny didn’t have to ask. “I’ve also heard of women who’ve miscarried three, four, five times, or delivered stillborn after stillborn. After the first one they just…can’t bring a child into the world.”

“That’s always a risk, ye ken that.”

“I know but…it…it was horrible enough the first time. But to lose another one of Jamie’s children…I couldn't bear it. Not after all of this. I couldn't bear to…to lose the last thing he ever gave me.” Claire quickly swiped away her tears, not wanting to give into hysterics again.

“I understand.” Jenny laid down the brush and rested her hands on Claire’s shoulders. “I canna imagine how that feels, the usual fears piled on all the rest. Tell ye the truth, I dinna think I could bear losing Jamie’s child either. Not after all this. Like ye said.”

Claire sighed shakily. “It’s the only thing keeping me from wasting away.”

“I know.”

“I’d have died on that moor with him if I didn’t know I was carrying his child.”

“I know.”

Claire felt a heavy burden on her chest, one that she needed to relieve. “Remember I said that I…I never told him.”

“About the bairn?” Claire nodded. “Ye knew before ye left for Lallybroch?” She nodded again.

“I feel horrid for not telling him. I think about it every day. I could have given him one last thing…and I didn’t. He gave me the child itself, and to bring him that news, I could have returned the favor. It would have made him so happy.”

“Then why’d ye no’ tell him?” There was no judgment in her tone, just genuine curiosity.

Claire thought carefully about what to say. She’d thought time and time again about telling Jenny everything, especially now that they’d likely be spending the rest of their lives together.

She would eventually, but now didn’t seem like the right time.

“I…I promised him something. Something that would have had to come to fruition if I was with child…a promise I knew I couldn’t keep. So I…couldn’t tell him.”

“The guilt’s eating ye alive, is it?”

“Some days it does,” Claire said.

“Ye don’t have to tell me. I ken that husbands and wives make promises and keep secrets,” Jenny said, and Claire briefly wondered if there was more behind her saying it; if she was inferring that she knew she and Jamie had been hiding something from her. “But what I do know, is that Jamie is quite aware that yer carrying his child now.” Jenny wrapped her arms around Claire’s shoulders from behind and rested her chin on the crown of her head. “He’s smiling down on ye both, and he’s smirking to himself because he knows if it’s a boy or a girl before we will.” This made Claire chuckle. “Ye didna have to tell him then. It might have made it all the harder. He knows now, either way.”

“I’m sure he does.” Claire smiled through her tears, covering Jenny’s hands, which were clasped above Claire’s chest, with her own. “You know, we hardly talked about names for Faith. There was so much going on and then she…she came too soon for us to make a decision and then I…I didn’t name her.” Jenny tilted her head so her cheek was resting on Claire’s head. “But then, later on, months after, back in Scotland, here in Lallybroch actually, we were talking about your father. What a good man he was.”

“Aye, he was.”

“I told him I wanted to name our son Brian. When we had one. It…it made him very happy.” Claire briefly became lost in the memory. “So I promised him then that our next child would be Brian.”

“Father’d be honored,” Jenny said. “Ye know, when I first heard my brother married a sassenach I was red in the face, screaming at Ian that father was burling in his grave.” Claire chuckled. “But I’ve no doubt now that he’d have blessed the match a thousand times over if he could.” Jenny picked her head up again, returning her chin atop Claire’s head. “He’d be proud to have a second daughter in you. Just as I am proud to have ye as my sister.”

Claire beamed at Jenny through the mirror, touched beyond description. “Sister…I’ve never had one before. Or a brother for that matter.”

“Trust me, yer not missing much. Having a brother I mean.” They both laughed. “But I never had a sister either. And I didna ken what I was missing until ye waltzed yer proper English self onto my porch.”

“Yes, when you called me a trollop.”

Jenny tossed her head back in a loud guffaw. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Indeed you did,” Claire said, laughing nearly as hard.

“Oh…” Jenny gave Claire a brief squeeze and kissed the crown of her head before finally releasing her grip. She crossed the room to the armoire. “Let’s get some clothes on you, ye wee trollop.”

Claire bit her lip and reached for the wet rag. Not bothering to ring it out first, she hurled it across the room, hitting Jenny square in the back with a loud, wet slap. Jenny let out an undignified yelp, the likes of which Claire had never heard from her. Claire giggled uncontrollably, and Jenny whirled around, hands on her hips.

“Well, I never — !”

Claire could not stop laughing, and it was made all the worse by the face Jenny was pulling. Jenny shook her head, laughing in spite of the giant wet spot on her back.

“Jenny?” Claire said, finally able to abate her laughter. “You’re the best sister a trollop could ask for.”

“Aye, I am.” She bent down and retrieved the rag from the floor. “I’d have to be to put up wi’ this.” She hurled the rag back at Claire, who caught it, not without a little splash to the face. She laughed again, returning the rag to the bowl and standing to let her sister help her get dressed.

[pernatius]

Lost in Space Part 9: Ch 1

Summary: Syco and the unnamed Space Explorer question their choices.

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

At the center, behind the looming figure, a single ray of moonlight shines on the spilled dark, nearly blood-red paint that came out of its sideways bowl. It looks as if the paint is glowing, illuminating this poorly lit and now stuffy room with a red tint, giving the room a sinister vibe. 

The figure before Syco has their right eye twitch. Pointy face gulps and bites their lip. One wide-eyed moment later and our captor bursts out laughing. The figures, the accomplices, circling us follow suit. To them, Syco is a comedian. To me, he’s a brick wall. Not a single funny bone in his body, yet they laugh as if he told the funniest joke ever. Saamuki blushes at this. 

From nervousness to amusement to returning to square one, attentive with a tad bit of annoyance, Pointy Face’s transitions are awkward. Maybe it’s because they’re no longer self-assured. No longer does pride escape their lips. Discomfort, instead, drifts from their hand gestures as they speak. “I’ll also admit how downright brilliant you’ve been throughout this war. Though, you can’t run forever. At some point, you need to stop. We must catch our breaths before we dare to think of that next step. You already know this before taking that first step. However, we don't know everything. We can't plan for things we don't know. It's impossible. We trip on that crack we didn’t see, and we scrape our knee. It hurts. Badly.” 

“We’ve known each other for years, Zeq, but merely knowing is different from friendship.” Pointy Face, or as Syco says is Zeq, raises an eyebrow. “Although, I wish I was wrong. I see I’m faced with more enemies rather than given allies.” That’s what’s been in those blue eyes of his. He’s regretful. 

“And that surprises you? I can no longer trade. Supplies are low. My village is dying. Again, my people suffer,” Zeq lowers their voice with the drop of Syco’s ears, “This isn’t personal, Syco. It’s diplomatic. It’s about survival. The sooner this war ends, the sooner I can save my people.” 

“How long until they get here?”

“Less than an hour.”

“Then, I have plenty of time to do this.” Out first comes a grunt, then out second comes Syco. The freed Tauvox has Zeq stumble backward and with their words. Those around us motion their hands in a way I’m familiar with. Transforming their fingers into blades, surprisingly sharp for leaves, they take a step forward. They’re halted from taking another when Syco encases Zeq’s neck with his thick fingers. Zeq’s hat falls. It rolls and goes in a little circular motion before stopping and pointing in my direction. 

It’s here I notice how tall Zeq is, almost as tall as Syco, but somehow looks several feet smaller than the actual height difference between the two. Zeq is lanky and wilting, so Syco’s hand easily wraps around it and can easily snap it. He’s imposing to them, but not to me. 

“You will let us all go, and in return, I’ll let your mayor go.”

“What are you doing? Let me go. Put me down. Don’t you see what I’m doing for you,” Zeq spoke up. 

“All you’re doing is delaying my plans.”

“No, Syco. I’m saving you from what’s to come as well. You’ve gone farther than your predecessor, yes, but you will fail just like him. Your, my people’s, and trillions of other’s suffering can end here.” 

That moment where our eyes met I thought he was going to do it. I thought he was going to end it all. To let Zeq go than to just squeeze Zeq’s throat until it ripped in half, cemented who Syco truly is. Time has truly lost its touch on him. It no longer means anything to him. He’ll take down those who are in his way. It also cemented their decision in attacking. A blade went through Syco’s chest. He elbowed them, causing the blade to slide out and the others now surrounding him to look at one another. Then, proceed. They slice into Syco’s skin, some of his furs break off from the cuts and scatter across their chests, and in turn, Syco stabs them with his horns. His horns go right through each of them, but all of them easily heal. I see veins stitch themselves back together and soon flesh as well. The same can’t be said about the lifeless, decapitated mayor. 

I try breaking free from my troubles, but all it does is tighten the sap around me. I see why the others haven’t succeeded as Syco has. I’m starting to sweat. Saamuki would’ve landed herself to be boiled alive. As for Shiitakee, well, he’s Shiitakee. 

The drooping mushroom says, “What I’d do to be lighting up a cigarette right now.” 

Three simple strokes of his horn between their swings and the three of us are freed. Syco catches one of their blades between his hands and throws them into the others before turning to us and shouting, “What are you waiting for? Get to the ship!”

Walking across the bridge made me anxious. Running and trying to balance while the bridge sways left to right because of the fight happening behind me still gives me anxiety, but now it's nauseating. At least now it's too dark to spot the ground between the wood making up this rickety path, but it’s too dark to make out what’s what. The bushy branches above let some, not enough, moonlight in. My crown’s fire isn’t enough either. I’d thank Saamuki for glowing on this hectic night if I wasn’t busy running and trying not to trip. 

Another obstacle stood in our way as Zeq’s aides don't know when to give up. They’re relentless. They don’t know when to fall. So, now we’re sandwiched between them and the scowled figure from earlier. I get out my blade, and Saamuki prepares to lunge, but it’s Shiittakee that challenges the figure who’s far larger than the three of us. Syco, if he wanted to, could crush Shiitakee just like he did with Zeq. This figure could crush Shiitakee and cause him to explode. I don’t want to see any more guts be sprayed out, so I take a step closer. I could hear Syco still deflecting, and his horns connecting with their blades as Shiitakee proves he’s more than just some whiny quitter. A yellowish gas sprays out of his cap, fuming all around us. The figure, Saamuki, and I cough. Its stench was sucked up by my nostrils and carried to my taste buds. I gag. It tasted like rotten eggs mixed with spoiled milk with a dash of a public toilet. When it finally escapes my senses, another bridge appears between us. The tree beneath us had magically, probably because of that rancid gas, had stretched one of its branches to the ground, puncturing through the ocean of darkness resting beneath our feet. What could’ve been our aggressor just watches as we escape to the makeshift bridge. We enter the darkness, and not a minute after, I hear Syco joining us. This bridge groans with his added weight as he continues to battle on with those several vengeful figures. 

Saamuki sends a blast their way. I hear someone slip. They plummet, but I don’t hear them land. So, definitely not Syco. Another blast, but it takes a moment longer before another one of them falls into the blackness below. There’s no third attempt. She turns back around, and I catch an ominous glimpse of the ones left watching us and the now caught up Syco walk the rest of the way. They watch us emotionlessly with their blades remaining.   

A wind glazed us once we set foot onto the ground. It's gentle, a feeling I haven’t felt in some time. 

Something new happens. Saamuki moves her hands in a circular shape. Little bolts of lightning shot out between her fingers. She breathed out and threw her hands apart. A small, glowing blue orb now floats above us, lighting everything around us within what I guess is a twenty-foot radius. Something scampers away, and Syco moves away from my awe, taking the lead. 

I walk by his side the rest of the way to the spaceship. I should feel equal to him now, but there’s still plenty of distance between us before that ever could happen. I feel like he noticed it too, or maybe I’m just thinking about it too much. It’s just strange that he asked me to join him in his meeting with General Knox, interrupting Saamuki and his second-in-command. Saamuki and I look at each other, as his second-in-command continues what he was saying before being cut off by his commander. The two of us know I can’t decline. General Knox has our friends wrapped around his thumb. The last I heard from Syco is that they were in Quadrant Forty. It’s been too long since then. Who knows which quadrant they’re in? After all, finding and having them regain control are the main reasons we’ve let ourselves be commanded by the sweaty Tauvox arguing with the non-sweaty Tauvox. Any information helps. Whatever is going to be said during the meeting definitely is.

I nod. He replies with, “Great. Follow me. The meeting is going to start soon.”

Again, I walk by his side. I steal a glance from Saamuki until she turns to look at the pondering Shiitakee. The second-in-command stalks off, cutting across the hallway and ending my glance at Saamuki. 

This room is new. Row by row across the walls, lights turn on. The room is large but not grand. Compared to the other rooms in the ship, even to the rented room shared between Saamuki and me, it’s small. On either side of the room sat two paintings. One of a man I know, Syco’s predecessor, and the other of a Tauvox with white fur. A scar stretches from their right eyebrow to the left side of their jawline. They’re just a picture, but I can sense they’re as much of a brute as The Commander, the terrifying presence instead of that corpse down below. 

“Only one other, besides us, has entered this room. You know of him quite well.” I follow the Tauvox to the center of the room. Resting there is a platform with etchings of alien writing. It’s similar to Sakhra’s quilt. Actually, I think it’s the same. It’s just upside down. 

I don’t have to look where he’s looking at it. Looking at that painting as long as I did was enough. So, I instead look at him. His expression is the same one he showed back in Zeq’s village. 

“Why did you ask me to join you?”

“Because I trust you.” Interrupting him is the platform before us blinking. “Stay out of his sight. Commander Knox does not know you’re here.” 

I move away as far as I can as the symbols on the platform float up and spin around Syco. Appearing in front of him is a hologram of that monkey-like commander. Would he and his people be considered cousins to humans? Human’s next evolution? Do they still count as humans? Besides the fur and metal parts, they still look human. I wonder what the Virmuses went through to look like that in the near millennia they split up from humanity. 

“Ah, Commander Knox you were able to make it today.”

“Quadrant Forty has been tedious, Commander Syco.”

“Oh?”

“This is not an admittance to the limitations of my intelligence.”

“I would hope not.”

“As of the last report, half an hour ago, we have taken control of half of the quadrant.”

“And what of the three?”

“Same as the last time. Nothing new. Although, they did help me in a tight squeeze this morning.” I imagine Syco to have raised an eyebrow because the other commander continued with, “Again, not me admitting my limitations.”

“Great. Casualties?”

A laugh. “None from my side, but hundreds from the enemy.”

A flinch. The very hand Syco used to kill Zeq flinched. It’s a subtle movement. Commander Knox doesn’t notice, but I do. From that seemingly small action, I now know why he asked me to be here.

[thethirdwheel404]

Med Rewatch Series (#5)

S3 e3: Trust Your Gut. From what I remember this is a big one. I just remember this episode title honestly but we’ll see what happens.

-look at that! ava’s just casually in this scene, minding her own business, doing her job! you would never guess that this is a character who would later have a psychotic break and commit suicide.

-that’s really the point i’m trying to make. I hate all those posts where they’re like ‘i hated ava before, but season 4 has finally shown her true colors’ like not even?? no??? we’re trying to prove that that was never even a thing. i want to eliminate the possibility of s4 happening from your minds. nothing from s3 should ever be used as foreshadowing. that’s what the rewrite is about, ava being a good character. ava was never going to commit suicide. she was never gonna go psychotic. that should be ingrained in everyone’s minds.

-anyways, back to the episode.

-connor takes everything like a personal attack. relax

- i never realized how fun stoll was. like obviously not in the story but as a character he’s hilarious. unattached by everyone else’s drama

-awww. this maggie interaction is amazing. tapping sarah on the shoulder (neck actually but whatever) just to say hi. adorable. and sarah is already super jumpy. come on. her anxiety is already setting in. they really gave sarah two huge storylines in the same season.

-maggie... no one else would ever slash sarah’s tires. i mean honestly

-WHY DOES CONNOR HAVE TO CONTROL OF EVERYTHING - honestly ava was just reading off the chart and he can’t even let her do that he has to take over just to say the same things.

-and the way ava just takes it with her smug smile

-she is such a strong character there is no reason she would have gone crazy over connor she literally needs nothing from him.he has not ever had anything that she needed. 

- SHE’S JUST ROLLING HER EYES, SMIRKING, AND SHAKING HER HEAD AT THIS INSECURE MAN ava I love you.

-okay there’s no way i can explain it but after rolling her eyes at connor Ava turns and looks at the patient and instantly her face changes and you can see such pure concern in her eyes?? s4 ava could never (can someone please rb with a picture of what i’m talking about? it’s uncanny and so so sincere.)

- she’s in control of her emotions. she cares so much for her patients so don’t even try to play that card. the only thing connor has done literally since she got here is get in her way.

-AND CONNOR LOOKS AT HER WITH SUCH DISTRUST AND CONTEMPT. TELL ME HOW. this is insane. exasperating.

-and the way she smiles and comforts the patient. i mean come on. she’s just so amazing. AND COMFORTING. if ava really was as heartless as people say, she wouldn’t take the effort to do that. connor didn’t even do that, he just scowls at ava.

-which just proves my point, ava is only ever mean to people who she thinks deserve it. and, the more that I think about it, she’s never really actually mean. sure, she’s blunt and rude, but never cutting. she’s nice to her patients (and I know what you’re going to say, it’s not because she has to be. she’s a doctor, she still wants to help people). but when her patients are dicks, she’s not nice to them. she’s as snarky with as she’s professionally allowed to be.

-like, take this guy. he seems nice enough. he’s funny, polite, comes across charming, so ava is nice and is polite back to him.

-let’s move on.

-why is connor always so suspicious of ava. come on. he’s the one who should be sus. she literally said ‘Don’t worry, Ray, we’ll take good care of you’ and he’s giving her this weird side eye.

-ethan and will being in this board meeting is really adorable to me. like, just, bros.

-oh godddd sarah please relax. sweetie. please.

-sarah fucking tranqed him oh my god

-oh my god noah asking people for help literally shut the fuck up

-straight people are gross. not to hate but how does anyone sit through manstead

-connor literally needs to chill. I know this bit (they’re arguing over menial things in surgery) plays more to them just picking on each other, pulling each other’s pigtails on the playground if you will (i didn’t like that analogy but I used it anyway), but if you look at it, ava was only trying to help connor (suggesting a wider possible target and an easier to handle stitch) and connor took it wayyy to personally. sure the second bit of advise is just poking at him, but she suggested a better spot on the base and he shut her down without any thought.

-and then latham points out that there is no point in arguing, to which ava defers, then connor snidely says ‘Thank you, Doctor, Now, how about from here on out we keep the background noise to a minimum’ and ava just shakes her head, scoffing.

-at this point ava just likes annoying connor because its fun. it’s entertaining. he gets so upset. everyone’s done that, just be annoying for fun (its bad to say but i mean come on everyones done it)

-another point, ava immediately deferring to latham might read to some as her being a suck up but that’s not what it is.

-ava really likes seeing how close to the line she can get. she goes right up to it, but she never crosses it. the same is true with her interactions with other people outside of surgery.

-I really like this story of the girl who passed out and hit her head, and her brother’s a wreck, and her parents obviously think the brother’s a disappointment. and it was finals week so of course she wasn’t taking care of herself. and the brother knew that, and you can tell he cares so much and feels so bad. it’s nice

-complication on the surgery they were working on. ava comes in with a solution (off of connor’s mistake during surgery after not following her advice) but I have a sneaking suspicion that by the end connor will be back on top

-the effort it took connor to say ‘it’s a good idea’ come on man just fucking let it go

-i’m glad we’ve all agreed that connor’s just a dick

-aw look at that she even held the door for him. connor would never

-i don’t want to overly push the ‘med is sexist’ thing but how is it that in a storyline between nat and ethan, characters who have never been romantically involved, they still pull the woman thinks one thing, man refuses to believe it and is right dynamic. i mean come on med seriously. what the fuck is wrong with you.

-the look of annoyance and disbelief on ava’s face that connor hadn’t actually messed up. comedic, but also i get your pain.

-glad that latham sides with ava, ava advocating for a riskier procedure so they could ensure the blockage is removed)

-(something could be said about ava’s high-risk, high-reward ideals. you could even draw the parallel to events in s4 and s5, even though I really don’t want to. it’s an interesting and notable character trait to say the least)

-YOOOO I FORGOT HOW METAL THE PSYCH STORY GETS

-dude straight up cuts his abdomen open and his intestines spill out

-the fear and shock and emotion on sarah’s face make me feel so bad for her

-WAIT IS THIS THE EPISODE WHERE SHE LOSES THE END OF THE INSTRUMENT? IS THAT WHAT THIS IS? i am not prepared to watch an ava bekker breakdown rn.

-the shock on ava’s face when connor said nice job.

-ava actually tried to apologize to connor. well, not apologize but she feels a little bit bad for just how abrasive she’s been to connor. (connor didn’t necessarily have to make it super competitive). Ava said “Look, I know i have the tendency to step on toes. it’s nothing personal”

-and now they’re not arguing and are this close to actually working like a team

-and i cannot believe connor’s big one-liner is ‘Murphy’s law’

-the emotion on april’s face when the girl’s parents won’t even let her brother grieve for her. I feel it. astounding. its so painful omg

-ava: “your optimism is enchanting.” when i was writing earlier I was worried I wasn’t being accurate with her dialogue and making it sound too overly formal but i guess I nailed it. also, this line reinforces how much I love her (so does every other line)

-connor just refusing to give ava anything, no credit, no nothing. doesn’t even give her credit for earning the surgery saying “you may have elbowed your way onto the case, but he is still my patient” (I JUST TRANSITIONED INTO A QUOTE SO SMOOTHLY WHY CANT I DO THAT IN MY LANG RHETORICAL ANALYSIS ESSAYS YOU’RE KIDDING)

-hey it’s joey!

- i can appreciate him so much more when he’s not chasing after reese

-do you remember their first meeting? bickering over who gets the last splenda? (real meet cute amirite)

-dr. charles remarking how all the scientific advances can’t beat human instinct, nice little tie in to the episode title

-ava just smiling while connor waits for her to apologize. she. takes. no. shit.

-i literally hate connor’s face so much. it fucking looks predatory like stop looking at her like that. it’s almost like you were planning her psychotic break

-ava’s cunning, saying ‘we’ instead of ‘i’ when talking about the decisions being made. she’s smart. she knows what to do. She knows how to present herself. (and yeah, a little hypocritical that she said to connor ‘when you fail, I will make sure that it is noted that it was your fault and not mine,’ but like I said, she just knows how to present herself)

-latham: “Dr. Bekker seems to enjoy this discordance.”

-rhodes’ face when changing his mind and saying ‘maybe I do’ when asked if he enjoyed it too - he literally makes the dumbest faces. please. stop. (is it a straight people thing?)

Alright. Another episode down. 17 to go. This was actually a pretty good episode all around. Ava took none of connor’s shit and you’d have to squint to find any sort of romantic subtext in their interactions, which is huge win in my book. reese’s storyline wasn’t too bad, she didn’t go through too much trauma, which, the bar for watching med is incredibly low i guess. This was a really good episode for ava. like I said before, very little romantic subtext, and she had a redeeming quality in the way she obviously cared for her patient at the beginning of the episode.

The main point is something I’ve been reiterating again and again. Ava cares about her patients. Ava is mean to connor because she knows someone needs to put him in his place, and she is glad that it is her.

All in all, this was a pretty good Ava episode. Very happy.

thanks for sticking with it.

-

read the rest here:

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Extra

[flowerbeom]

What I Wouldn’t Give | Part 1: The Right Fit

Im Jaebeom x Female!Reader

Genre: Stylist AU. Fluff. Eventual Smut 

Warnings: Some swearing. 

Words: 3.2k

Concept:  A story where a heartsick, pining and ‘hopelessly in love with his stylist’ Jaebeom finds himself in an awkward situation in the house of the stylist who’s equally heart sick and hopelessly in love with him. But neither of them know… yet.

A/N: Please do enjoy soft, nervous Jae - one of his stronger forms. Chapter links will be in masterlist once all posted. 

Part 1: The Right Fit

Part 2: The Wrap Party

Part 3: Home

Song Mood: Sunny Days, Summer Nights by Sam Kim 

You had always hated the title 'Junior Stylist'. You hated the instant prejudice you would see in someone's eye when you were introduced, as if you couldn’t hold a candle to someone ‘senior’. You knew your skills were bar none and your eye for detail would be the very thing that would solidify your place in this industry. So, you were patient, working under creative directors and doing scut work until your fingers bled just so you would be seen; seen as worthy. 

And one day, you got it; you got your chance. You were pulled aside by the department lead and told you had been assigned to a debuting rookie group and their leader. Working in a small team, you would lead their style direction for the duration of their contract. They would be your avenue to explore your artistry, and he would be your canvas. But Im Jaebeom proved to be a challenge; to dress and for your heart. 

Era: Girls Girls Girls 

“Just put the damn jacket on, Jaebeom.” a face to face standoff played out in the middle of the dressing room, a clenched fist crushed the leather jacket in your hand; Jaebeom squaring you down. Hands lazily resting in his pockets, he tilted his head; the narrow in his eyes mirroring yours. Everyone had cleared the room only to leave Jackson sitting in the corner, mildly entertained by the stalemate he stole glances of over the top of his phone. 

“It’s not really my style.” Jaebeom sneered, smoothing an index finger over the sharp edge of his jaw. Closing the space between you, your eyebrow quirked when Jaebeom’s guard broke for a second; his eyes jolting open, neck flaring - your closeness rattling him momentarily. 

“Okay, leader-nim, let’s see what JYP’s opinion on the matter would be.” He forced his tongue through gritted teeth, chin jutting out; vexed. 

Shoving the garment into his tensed torso, you paused, “Or..” swallowing down the lump your heart had thrown into your throat, “You can put on the jacket.” 

He scoffed, visibly impressed with your tenacity but annoyed all the same. Hand quick to grip your wrist, his eyes wavered; darting from your intense stare to his hand back to your eyes. The sudden shot of electricity that passed through both of you knocked you both out of your stupor, Jaebeom quickly pulling the jacket from your grasp while you stumbled back, shoving both your hands into your back pockets. 

“You-you know, it’s not that.. Bad. I mean.. It’s okay.” Jaebeom stuttered, pressing down the collar, staring at himself in the mirror to avoid staring at you. Drawing in a deep breath before stepping to him, you arranged the jacket to sit better on his broad shoulders. 

“Seriously, are you for real.... “ Bewildered with the distance your hands had to travel to smooth out the jacket you failed to hear Jaebeom throw a question your way. Still playing with the jacket, you missed his voice again before he spun around, leaving your hands to rest on his collar bones, his face far too close for comfort. 

“What?” 

“Huh?” Shaken, you snapped your hands away from him, stepping back. 

“Before, you said was I “for real”, what was that all about?” Words catching in your throat, Jaebeom’s fingers fiddled with the zip on his jacket, eyes softer than before. 

“I-- ahh, well..” Your hand buried into your nape, rubbing the back of your neck as if it’d provide the right answer. 

“Two minute call!” Both your heads whipped to the door, the runner poking in to get the boys to head to the stage. Your eyes slowly met, unspoken words hung in the air; his knuckles brushing over yours as he stepped past you, both your breath hitching at the touch. Fuck. 

Era: Just Right

Watching the performance from the dressing room, Jaebeom’s smile seem to radiate through the television; the joy it exuded filled your chest with a warmth you couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it felt comforting. Unlike their previous comebacks, this one was lighter, filled with zest and cheer and dressing them as such was enjoyable to say the least. 

You debated how far you could take the concept, and how irritated Jaebeom would be as you made him try on outfit after outfit; but the utter look of happiness on their faces as they performed live was enough to quell those doubts. 

You hadn’t noticed just how widely you were smiling, or how your shoulders were bopping to the music that swirled around the room. Hana watched you from the side, analysing your face as she steamed a shirt. 

“What are you giggling about?” Pulled from your trance, you turned to your assistant; her quirked eyebrow enough to draw a sigh from your mouth. Your smile had dropped.

“It’s a fun song.” Picking up a shirt, you folded it carefully; placing into the crate, packing up to leave.

“We both know it’s not the song.” You wanted to slap the smirk off her face. “It’s Jaebeom.”

“What?!” 

“What what?! Tell me you don’t like him.” You wanted to slap her, smirk or not. Hana put down the steamer and caught your wrists before your hands could muzzle her. 

“Shhhh, shut up. What are you talking about? Stop it.” You were shaking, completely unprepared to be called out. 

“Ever since you put him in ripped jeans and a bomber jacket you’ve had heart eyes for the guy. Your ears prick when you hear his voice and you can smell his cologne from a hundred metres away. I swear I can hear your heart thump when he stands next to you.” You had lowered your hands, shoving them in your pockets; your lips were screwed into your cheek. You had nothing to say. 

“Have nothing to say?” Hana poked a finger into your shoulder. She was right. You had denied it when feelings for him started to stir in your gut and slapped down butterflies that flitted too closely to your heart. Jaebeom had etched his name onto your skin every time he grazed you, and you had lost the fight not to let it happen. 

“Let’s just pack up, okay.” Hana saw the acceptance in your eyes and said no more. But it wasn’t going to stop her from pushing you tell him how you feel, one day. Could be a day way off in the distance, but one day. 

Era: New Era

Dinner. Dinner was all that was on Jaebeom’s mind as he exited the elevator. Yours on the other hand was figuring out how to not lose your job. The stress that wreaked havoc on your face was enough to strip any thoughts of food when Jaebeom found you curled into yourself as he entered the hotel lobby. Back pressed to the wall, knees pressed to your chest, heel of your palm pressed to your forehead, phone pressed to your ear. 

Jaebeom crouched down in front of you, placing a timid hand on your knee to bring your eyes up to his. The crease between your eyebrows didn’t soften, but only transferred to etch between his. 

“Yep, yep - no, I understand. Yes.. yes. I’ll figure it out.” Hanging up the call, you placed your phone on the ground before burying your face into your hands. 

“What’s wrong?” Jaebeom’s voice was sweet, stained with concern and helped you breathe again. Pulling your hands down your face, you met Jaebeom’s eyes; his gentle, yours bloodshot. 

“The crate. The crate with all your clothes for this entire week of schedules. No one knows where it is. It's not in Seoul. It's not here. For all we know it fell off the plane mid transit and got eaten by a whale. No one knows!" You were rambling, and Jaebeom listened, kindly; intently. Your face returned to pool into your shaking palms, an exhausted groan muffled into your skin. 

“Argh, I have to go out and buy an entirely new wardrobe tonight. I have to practically stampede around Tokyo flashing credit cards like a crazy person. And Hana isn’t even here to help. What am I going to do?” Violently raking your fingers through your hair, you slapped your phone off the ground.

“I’ll come with you. I’ll help.” Eyes shooting up, sincerity was all that was painted on Jaebeom’s face. Holding out his hand, you gingerly took it; letting him help you stand. 

“Wh-why?” The question trembled off your lips before they haphazardly blew back the hair that had fallen over your face. Jaebeom tried his best not to giggle, composing himself with a hand rubbed under his nose. 

Trying not to risk sounding cheesy by sprouting out a line like “I don’t like seeing you stressed” or “I’d drop anything to help you out, because I just want to see you smile again”, despite it all being true, Jaebeom opted for reason.

“I have to make sure things go well. Fix problems, solve dilemmas, save the world. Leader things, you know.” 

And trying not to seem desperate by saying something like “I was hoping you’d say that” or “You’re the only one I need right now”, despite it all being true, you opted for logic. 

"Sounds good to me.” 

The static that buzzed between you as you explored Harajuku was palpable. The little knocks of hands against hands, or brushes of shoulders against shoulders drowned words in your throats and striped air from your lungs. The stolen looks over clothes racks and hidden smiles behind turned backs kept the thought of possible unemployment far from your mind as Jaebeom insisted on carrying every bag and constantly reassured you that everything was going to be okay. 

And it was, because he was with you. He even bought dinner. 

Era: Lullaby 

No one, not even Mark with his acrobatics or Bambam with his five hundred diverse dabs a day, could rip through their pants as well as Jaebeom could. Whether it was the inner stitching on the thigh, or the buttons that held it all together, you were always sewing up his pants back stage. 

At one point it stopped being annoying and became somewhat therapeutic. The small embarrassed smile on Jaebeom’s face as he handed over another pair of pants to repair was enough to bring the quiet joy you needed to sit in the corner and pull out a needle and thread. The simple offering of his sincere apology as he bit his lip was payment enough, no matter how many times he offered to buy you bubble tea for your efforts. Though you always found one tucked behind your bag before you left for the night. 

But alas, his pants still needed fixing and that’s exactly where you found yourself, sitting cross legged in the corner; hunched over a pair of black trousers, one headphone wedged in your ear. Singing along quietly to their new album as you pulled thread carefully through fabric; your fingers worked skilfully to fix Jaebeom’s mishap.

“Hyung, you’re staring.” Jaebeom sighed as he tipped his temple to rest against the door frame, Jinyoung meeting his side; handing him an iced coffee. 

“I know.” Replying through an exhale, he sunk lower into the door frame; lifting the straw to his lips. 

“She’s just sewing on a button.” Matter of fact, Jinyoung spoke before taking a sip of his chai latte. 

“Exactly, she’s just sewing on a button and I can’t stop staring.” Jinyoung cupped Jaebeom’s shoulder, a reassuring grip of his fingers made Jaebeom drop his head back. Peeling himself off the door frame, he spun on his heels; walking away from the room, away from you. 

“Are you ever going to tell her?” Jinyoung queried, hand still resting on Jaebeom’s shoulder. 

“No..” Jaebeom’s face slowly crumpled.

“No?” Jaebeom winced further at Jinyoung’s sharp tone.

“As if I could…” Unwilling to argue, Jinyoung merely offered Jaebeom a consoling pat on the back. There was no use debating the issue with him, he would simply deny the possibility of you ever loving him back; even if it was the furthest thing from the truth. 

Era: Focus On Me

You kept stealing glances from across the room. Straight back, head down, eyes burrowed into a book; Jaebeom had read for most of the day. Saved for the moments he spent with a make-up brush in his face, or limbs sliding into clothes you had curated for him; Jaebeom willingly lost himself in the world found on those pages, rather than the anxiety swirling in his mind. 

Lingering looks from over your shoulder were enough for Hana to flick your forehead with a harsh snap of her middle finger. Her pursed lips and narrow eyes drew you from your longing and back onto the earrings you were fiddling with. A violent shake of your head knocked you into focus.

“Jaebeom-ah, can you-- “ Holding the earrings in the palm of your hand, you turned to step to him; the wide expanse of his back momentarily distracting you; your step faltered before continuing to approach him. 

“Hmm, huh?” Looking down at the book cradled in his gentle hands, you saw no less than ten pages left for him to finish, and upon tilting your head to look into his eyes, you saw them furiously scanning the text; his face blank with fixation. 

You debated doing what you were about to, knowing you would regret it the second you touched him. Knowing how fast your heart would race, and how red your ears would turn; but call time was approaching and you needed him to be ready. Swallowing down a shaky breath, you tipped at the hip; leaning down to his shoulder. 

“I’ll just put these on for you, okay. Finish your book.” Merely a whisper, said too close to his ear; your breath fanned across his skin and you thought you heard him hitch. Taking his earlobe gently between your fingers, you swore you saw him flinch, his body tensing at the sudden touch. 

Holding the pin of the earring, you gripped his ear slightly tighter, “Don’t move, I don’t want to hurt you.” Jaebeom slowly exhaled, his body leaning back into the chair. You could feel your heartbeat on your skin; goosebumps pricked your arms and you were thankful your sleeves were hiding them. What you didn’t notice were the hairs on Jaebeom’s neck standing, or the vein in his temple flaring, or that he has stopped reading all together. 

After securing one earring, you put on another; spinning them so they sat just right. You also didn’t notice Jaebeom staring at you in the mirror, his eyes following you as you rounded the chair to place earrings onto his other ear. You were too busy trying to breathe.

You had been close before, but this, this was intimate.  You wanted to run, sprint into a closet and cower in the corner because you hated how much he affected you. Be professional. Yes, but it was hard when the person you worked with had your heart in his hand. 

“Two minutes!” You and Jaebeom whipped your heads to the door, the runner amused at this common occurrence. You stepped back, allowing Jaebeom to push back his chair. He slipped his arms into the jacket Hana held out for him and turned to the mirror. Eyeing the earrings you had ever so gently placed on him, his thumb lifted to slide down the chain of one of them and smiled before catching your eye in the mirror. 

He left the room not nearly quick enough for you to catch your breath, humming to himself and singing as he trailed down the hall. Hana was by your side and screwing an elbow into your waist before you could bring yourself down from the cloud his smile put you on. 

“So, are you going to let him?” Forehead creasing, eyebrow cocked; your face met hers with confusion. 

“Have you not listened to him this entire time?” Leaning against the make-up bench, Hana crossed her arms, one finger tapping impatiently against her forearm.

“What are you talking about?” 

“Are you going to let him? Let him love you?” Your hands slapped onto the chair in front of you and pushed it violently into Hana’s knees. She cursed and you cursed back, but she insisted that he was singing to you. That this entire debut, unit, album was him trying to confess to you. 

Ludicrous, improbable, utterly absurd; but as you watched him on the waiting room television, you entertained the notion for a second. That the way he was staring into the camera was how he wanted to stare at you. But you slapped yourself before you fell into that fantasy; hard enough for Yugyeom to ask what happened to your cheek when they came back. 

Era: Eclipse

[12:21pm] Y/N Stylist: What bet did you lose? 

[12:22pm] Jaebeom-Ssi: What do you mean?! I look good!

[12:25pm] Y/N Stylist: 1.That beret is for Bam’s Allure shoot. 2. I’m not even going to ask how you got it out of storage. 3. You look like an idiot.

[12:31pm] Jaebeom-Ssi: Perhaps. But I made you forget about that asshole from Div 3, didn’t I? Humour me, I totally rock it better than Bam.

[12:52pm] Y/N Stylist: Have a safe flight, Beom.  

Safe in the knowledge that he made you smile, Jaebeom slid his phone back into his pocket. Leaning back into his seat, he stretched his arms out; yawning as his muscles loosened before Mark slipped in beneath his arm. Nuzzling into Jaebeom’s side, Mark smiled cheekily as Jaebeom coiled his arm back, pushing him off playfully. 

“Excited to go home?” Mark cooed, Jaebeom raised a questioning brow. 

“We haven’t even left yet.”

“Yeh, but are you excited to come home?” Jaebeom’s face crumpled into confusion, mouth opening in question, palms up-turned: puzzled. 

“The wrap party, you idiot!” Mark jutted his shoulder into Jaebeom’s.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jaebeom sighed. “I’ve been called an idiot too many times today. But why are you talking about the wrap party now?” 

“Y/N.” Whispered, a little too closely into Jaebeom’s ear. Jaebeom’s silence edged Mark on.  

“Y/N will be there.” Mark smirked watching Jaebeom’s eyes widen.

“Everyone will be there.” Jaebeom spat out, trying to mask the excitement that stirred in his stomach.

Mark shimmied in his seat, clearing his throat teasingly. “Y/N never comes to wrap parties. But suddenly she’s coming to this one.” 

“And?” Jaebeom cocked his head, cracking a single bone is his neck; not nearly enough to alleviate his tension. 

“She’ll be there, potentially all dressed up - having a drink or two, dancing - maybe dancing with you, if you ask her to, this could be your chance. Who knows-” Jaebeom cut him off, standing suddenly and ripping his bag off the seat. 

“Who knows if she’ll even be there. Come on, we have to board now.” Shaking his head through a laugh, Mark watched Jaebeom storm off, visibly irked by the notion of acting on any of his feelings. By now, everyone knew your shared pining had developed into deep seated, intense, full blown 'I'd risk it all for you' love, but no one knew what exactly was taking you both so long to actually risk it all. Maybe all you needed was a nudge and a bit of liquid courage. 

[flirting-with-psychology]

All About the Face

Eyes

What color are your eyes? Brown Do you have big eyes or small eyes? Average sized? Do you or anyone you know have a lazy eye? I used to have one and it might be coming back a little

Do you need to wear glasses or contacts? Yes, I wear glasses

Do you wear “regular-sized sunglass” or “big sunglasses”? I usually just wear my glasses because they are transitional lenses, but when I’m at the pool or something I wear big sunglasses

Do you pluck your own eyebrows or get them waxed/shaped by a professional? No Do you wear eyeshadow often? If so, what colors? I haven’t worn much during covid but usually I do, and I like a variety of colors Do you make wishes on eyelashes? No Have you ever pulled your eyelashes out before? Accidentally from rubbing my eyes How often do you have eye boogers/crusties when you wake up? Probably a normal amount?

Have you ever had pink eye before? Yes, it sucks Name some sights that are appealing to you. Cute guys, jewelry, sunsets, oceans Do you know anyone who is colorblind? My middle school crush was colorblind Do you know anyone with two different-colored eyes? I don’t think so Do you know anyone with a glass eye? No Do you know anyone who uses/wears colored contacts? Only for cosplay Do you tend to look at people when you talk to them, or look away? A mix When you cry, do tears come out? Yes, do some people not have tears come out?

How many different parts of the eye can you name without using Google? Like 3 probably Do you blink often? Yes Would you be any good at a staring contest? No, I can’t keep a straight face Do you know anyone who is blind or legally blind? There was a blind kid in one of my classes Can you do any weird or creepy eyebrow-wiggles? No, I wish Can you make yourself go cross-eyed? Yes Do you enjoy watching 3D movies, or do the glasses give you a headache? Sometimes if it’s well done, but if it doesn’t add then in it’s just annoying because I have to wear the glasses over my regular glasses

Are you able to see things from multiple points of view/perspectives? Physically or emotionally? Physically yes but I have some problem with depth perception, and emotionally yes I try to Do you get dizzy have blurred vision, or vertigo often? No Have you ever had to get something small removed from your eye or had any sort of eye surgery before? I think I might have had some tear duct thing when I was a baby? Do you wear eyeliner or mascara? Yes (just not so much during covid)

Ears

Do you have differently-shaped ears? (ex: elfin ears) No but they are slightly different heights How often did you used to get ear infections as a child? I can’t remember ever getting one Have you ever failed a hearing test? No Do you know anyone who is deaf? No, but my grandmother is very hard of hearing Are your ears pierced? How many times/what parts? Yes, just my earlobes Do you have good listening ears? Eh Have you ever lost your sense of hearing before and had it come back? (ie: had your eardrum burst) No

Do your ears hang low? Not particularly lol Can you wiggle your ears? No How do you get the earwax out of your ears? I use Q-Tips What are some sounds that would make you cover your ears? Fire alarms What are some sounds that are pleasant to your ear? Music, waves Do you or anyone you know have an auditory processing issue? Not sure Are you guilty of frequent eavesdropping? Yeah lol Have you ever gotten anything stuck in your ear canal before? If so, then what? Don’t think so

Nose

Do you have a large, medium, or small nose? Large Are your nostrils small or large? Average Do you get seasonal allergies? Not excessively How often are you guilty of digging for emeralds? Every so often What’s the highest number of sneezes that you’ve done in a row? Maybe like 4? Usually I do 2 What are some smells that are unpleasant to you? Pickles, sauerkraut, garbage, bodily fluids What are some of the best smells, in your opinion? Cookies, citrus, my boyfriend’s body wash, cinnamon Are there any unusual smells that you enjoy that most others do not? (ie: gasoline, Sharpies) The smell of a heater being turned on for the first time in the winter What’s your favorite candle or air freshener scent? Citrus Have you ever stuck anything up your nose before? If so, then what? probably Do you get frequent nosebleeds? Do you know what causes them? Yes, not sure what causes them. Maybe dryness and/or altitude Do you have any nose piercings? If so, then where? No Have you ever had a broken nose before? No, but I had to get stitches on it when I ran face first into a brick planter as a kid Have you ever lost your sense of smell before? How did it happen? Not really other than when I’m sick Do you use any sort of nasal spray? Occasionally but I don’t like it When’s the last time that you had both nostrils close up on you at once? Probably the last time I got sick Do you have a habit of being nosy and sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? Maybe just a little bit Have you ever snorted any sort of drug before? If so, then what? No Do you snort when you laugh? Occasionally

How often do you get sinus infections? I’ve only had a couple in my life How long does it take you to get through an entire box of tissues when you’re relatively healthy? Like a month or two, but I’ll go through a box in two days when I’m sick

Mouth

Do you have plump lips, thin lips, or one of each? Maybe on the thinner side of average Do you wear more lipstick or lip gloss? If you wear it, what shade do you normally choose? I guess lipstick lately, but I used to like gloss a lot. My favorite is like a raspberry color Do you use lip liner? No Do you remember those LipSmacker Chapsticks from your childhood? Which was your favorite one? Yes, I loved those. I think I had a cinnabon flavored one that I loved What brand of chapstick do you use as an adult now, if any? Chapstick brand Do you have a tendency to pick at your lips or chew on them? Not really Who’s the last person you kissed? My boyfriend Nick Do you lick your lips often? Yes Do you make “the fish face” often in photos? Not really unless I’m making a joke Have you ever had gingivitis in your gums? No Do your gums bleed when you brush your teeth? No How often do you brush your teeth? Twice a day How often do you floss? Like twice a year when I go to the dentist  What brand of mouthwash do you use, if any? I don’t use any How many teeth are in your mouth currently? 26. I know I’m missing the two top laterals and I’ve had all my wisdom teeth taken out Do you have any cavities? Not that I know of Have you ever had a root canal? No What color are your teeth? Off-white, they could use some whitening What brand of toothpaste do you use? I never remember the brand, just what the bottle looks like Have you ever had any teeth extracted? Yes, my wisdom teeth and a couple baby teeth How old were you when your last baby tooth came out? 13 or 14 Do you grind your teeth at night in your sleep? Not that I know of Have you ever broken your jaw before? No Have you ever swallowed something you shouldn’t have? Yes Has your throat ever started to close up from something before? A little, I think I was allergic to something a couple years ago but I never figured out what

Have you ever choked? If so, on what? Not seriously, but I choke on water all the time How many times have you had strep throat? A few times, it sucks ass What is something that causes your throat to itch? Dryness

Have you ever lost your voice before? If so, when was the last time? Yes, on my 19th birthday. People actually listen to you more when they have to make a conscious effort to Have you ever lost your sense of taste before? How long did it take to come back? A little, the same time I had that unknown allergy What are some of your favorite foods that taste delicious to you? Pasta, cheese, chocolate Can you fold your tongue into a taco shape? How about a clover? No Can you tie a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue? No What’s the last thing you licked? My lips Can you roll your R’s? No Who is the last person that you stuck your tongue out at? My boyfriend Have you ever choked on your own saliva before? Yeah lol How frequently do you experience dry mouth? I’m always thirsty Have your parents ever threatened to wash your mouth out with soap before? Not that I remember Who’s the last person that you mouthed off to, and why? My boyfriend because he beat me at chess Do you speak any other languages? I took french and italian classes in school but I don’t remember much Have you ever worn braces or retainers? Yes

Chin & Cheeks/The Whole Face

Do you need to shave your upper lip or chin? No Do you shave your entire face? If so, how often? No Do you have a moustache? No Do you have a beard? No Have you ever fractured your cheek bone? No

Who was the last person to kiss your cheek? My boyfriend Do your cheeks get extra red in any of the following instances: sickness/fever, drinking alcohol, cold/windy weather, embarrassment, or infatuation? All of the above probably, but definitely embarrasment and infatuation, and also when I get hot Do you have any relatives who are guilty of pinching your cheeks and making comments about how big you’ve grown? No

Are you mature enough to turn the other cheek? Depends When’s the last time that you said something cheeky, and who did you say it to? Probably to my boyfriend Has anyone ever slapped you across the face before? If so, what was the reason? Not on purpose Do you get a lot of blackheads or acne? If so, are there any special products that you use in order to combat this? Not really Do you wear blush or foundation? I use compact powder What shape face do you have? I think oval? Idk Do you have any scars on your face? One above my nose Would you ever consider getting a face lift or Botox? I’ve thougth about it but I probably wouldn’t

[ohsh1t2wksl8]

[camychristelle]

Born Dead

When I used to work at daycare, I loved being in the Nap Room where we watched the babies sleep. Between the calming sound of the wave machine and that indescribable baby smell; the only thing that made me uneasy was their stillness. I would randomly pick one up and hold them so I could see the subtle suckle their mouths are constantly doing while they dream of their mothers' breast, the wiggle of their tiny arms and feet, or best, the tiny thumping of their heartbeats. The large amount of life in their miniature bodies brought me joy, because babies are full of life.

Dead babies are not. The baby I had just delivered was cold. His mouth looked like it was in mid-suckle, his fingers held together mid-wiggle, his legs folded mid-kick - but cold and not moving. The mother’s tearful first words as I wrapped her baby up was, “It’s not fair. It’s not fair.”

It’s hard to write past all that. I’ve closed and reopened my laptop a dozen times. Where do you go past the dead baby? The mom crying in agony and you know it’s a pain no stitches can heal. How? I don’t know but I’m going to try. Because in the last few weeks I’ve asked myself about how to deal with a lot of things… and I don’t know, but I have to try.

I wish I could talk about things more because I care. But I’ve been worn down. I wish I had the energy I see so many advocates have - to write, speak, march, teach, etc. I resonate with their heart, but I’ve lost the energy. It’s like drinking coffee then going to bed (which I know many people do but it’s best analogy I can think of right now) – I’m buzzing and tired at the same time. I would like to take a moment to applaud and thank those of you who have been and continue to be advocates.

But back to the dead baby. You may wonder what advocacy has anything to with a dead baby. The mother’s words, “it’s not fair.” In her face, I could see the same agony of all mothers who have ever been unable to help their child. To me, “it’s not fair” translated to “I can’t breathe,” and all other unfortunate last words. It echoed the chants for justice black folks have been screaming in the streets – not just the last few weeks, but the last few decades. The irony that this mom and her baby were black was not lost on me. And worse, the irony that there was absolutely nothing I could do to make it better was not lost on me either.

So I wrapped her baby up, and said some form of apology. I wanted to break down with her but, for the sake of professionalism, I didn’t. Nonetheless, I let my eyes get teary enough for her to see that I cared. To be honest, she probably didn’t even notice, and it doesn’t matter either way.

As soon as I was out of that room, the nurse told me another patient felt ready to push. I had a 30-second whirlwind moment where I remembered that my job wasn’t delivering dead babies. The room I was about to walk into was going to be filled with joy, excitement, and most importantly, life. My heart was torn about celebrating life when I had so recently touched death. Not an uncommon phenomenon in medicine. One of my favorite lessons in medical school was how to practice a 10 sec moment of mindfulness (ie. via a deep breath) to reset before entering each patient’s room. This is to ease the transition between the varied emotions each patient would present and meet the patient where they are emotionally.  

This is a skill I try to replicate in non-clinical situations, but sometimes the emotion is more than I can carry  - from a news article of another unjust death, from a friend in need, or from a simple, ignorant comment on social media from someone who dares to sit back and argue whether someone’s life mattered. The world around me is spinning. People who look like me are dying and the rest of us are mourning. And there’s not much I can do about it. I don’t cry, this time not to remain professional, but because if I start crying I won’t stop.

So I pause, let the emotions hit me like a truck, navigate through them as best and quickly as I can (or sometimes just tuck them away in the corners of my heart), and then breathe. And I did it again when another patient and her baby died a week later. And again when George Floyd was killed a few days after. And again, and again, and again. Because the world never fails to remind me, “Congratulations, you care too much; too bad there’s nothing you can do about it.” I’m learning to find my voice to speak up for the unfairness of the world, including the black moms with dead babies, whether newborn or adult. Because it’s okay to feel. As long as we keep breathing – especially for those who can’t.

[mirroralchemist]

Untitled FFXIV Trash pt.4

I think at this rate Imma forego my monthly writing update for this month since LOOK AT ALL THIS WRITING I’VE BEEN DOING

Notes: Still in ShB spoilers hell. This is after pt.3 and just after WoL and Ryne reunite with the others. That and the Thancred scene(tm) before it are my absolute favorites from the expansion (so far) so it was inevitable that I would write Ami’s feelings about him almost dying. This is just more me being wishy-washy on will they or won’t they.

Also more sad times.

“ ‘Filia, we have to go.” she said.

“But Thancred!” the Oracle of Light cried.

Blue eyes stared at his form. He was ready to fight the Eulmoran general, she could see that. This was a fight that he was adamant on having. His words earlier still ringing in her head. He was going to protect the resolve of this Minifilia with everything he had.

“He knows what he’s doing.” she finally said.

The Warrior of Darkness took a deep breath as she focused her energies into her speed. She nodded towards him before taking Minfilia’s hand and running towards their destination. She didn’t look back. Not even as the sounds of battle began. She couldn’t look back, lest the temptation to fight by his side win out.

He trusted her to protect this child.

That was the least she could do.

‘Don’t you dare die on me Thancred I swear to the Twelve.’

*   *   *

The Warrior of Darkness stopped. She and Minifilia were well on their way to their place. Minfilia stopped as well, seeing her pause. Blue crystalline eyes looked at her in worry.

“Ami? Is something the matter?”

Ami said nothing at first. She could only look down, her hand touching her chest. Something felt wrong. She soon felt a pair of hands reach up to her cheeks, wiping the tears strolling down her face.

‘Tears?’

“Ami, please speak to me.” Minifilia pleaded.

Something felt very very wrong.

She shook her head. It was just the worry coming through, she reasoned. She had every right to be worried. Ran’jit was a foe not to underestimate. The few skirmishes she had with the man well warranted her fears. She knew her Scion couldn’t die. He had cheated death so many times already. When this was all over, they would all meet up again and have a laugh over this.

The pang of emptiness gnawing at her chest didn’t go away.

“I’m fine? We’ve been running for a while, lets take a small break.”

*  *   *

“Your hair, it’s different.” Ami remarked.

Minfilia took a lock of her hair, blue eyes staring at shock. Not only did the Minfilia she had known changed this girl on the inside, to give her full reign over her abilities, but on the outside too. If no one had knew before hand, the girl standing before her now could never had easily figured out as the Oracle. Worry etched on Minfilia’s face.

“Thancred is pr-”

“He’ll be fine.” Ami assured her, “I’ll walk with you to meet him. He doesn’t stand a chance if we double up on him.”

That brought a smile to the young woman’s face.

“You care for him deeply, don’t you?”

Ami froze at that statement. She let out a small sigh. Whether some residual feeling from the Minfilia she knew or just the girl’s excellent observation skills, she couldn’t decipher how she knew. But Ami would not deny it. Not to this girl who shared so much with her.

“I do.” Ami admitted, “He most likely didn’t tell you this, but he was the one who recruited me to the Scions.”

She stared towards the sky, its unyielding light a reminder why they had set out here on this day. A feeling of nostalgia washed over the Warrior of Darkness. Back before all of the battles she would soon face, she was just a novice Pugilist sent to find a noble.

“It feels such a lifetime ago. We have changed in those times since we took down a voidsent together. As comrades and friends we have grown. I can scarcely imagine where I would be in this moment without him.”

She shook her head to will away those thoughts. She soon turned her gaze towards Minfilia, letting a small smile appear on her face.

“The others should be waiting. Let us go meet them.”

*   *   *

Words failed to express what I am seeing before me. We were all together again. But sitting at the steps of an abandoned station was Thancred; and he looked worse for the wear. His pristine white coat caked with dirt and tears at the tails. Dried blood and dirt smudged his skin as well.

I thought back to that moment earlier, where the emptiness had started to hit my chest as he recounted the tale of his encounter with Ran’jit.

He had nearly died.

If it wasn’t for the quick timing of our friends’ healing arts, he would not be standing here.

I took a deep breath as he reunited with Minfil-no, it’s Ryne now. We had said goodbye to a dear friend, one that brought us all together. But we welcomed a new one into our fold.

But it picked at my mind that I could have lost two friends this day.

My hands balled into fists as the realization set in. For the sake of not souring the relieved atmosphere, I kept my emotions hidden. We were so close to the possible location of the Lightwarden here, we couldn’t afford more delays than what we have already. 

I let myself fall back as we traveled through the trolley tracks towards Malikah's Well. Ryne was really taking to her new abilities. Regardless of other events, seeing her with this new found confidence made me proud.

“We’ll have to go deeper.” she said.

We all gathered at the opening to the mining area. It was expansive, so it was ideal that we took a small break to prepare ourselves before exploring its depths. I still couldn’t take my eyes off of Thancred’s current state. It was a harsh reminder of what could have happened.

I dug into my pack and pulled out a bolt of cotton cloth and a vial of filtered water; leftover material from my crafting ventures. I bit into the fabric, making a haphazard strip before pouring the water over it. It was an automatic process as I made my way towards him and began my attempts to clean him up a bit. My hands trembling as I wiped the soaked cloth against his cheek.

It must have took a full minute for him to realize what I was doing before he grabbed my wrists.

“Ami?”

“You look terrible.” I could only say, voice wavering.

There was that smirk that I had come to get used to over the time of knowing him. Any other time, however, I would just play along in a knowing smile too. But I was drained mentally. I dropped the items in my hands on the ground as I lowered my head and the tears pooled around my eyes. It didn’t take long before they soon fell. By some small grace, it wasn’t as obvious I had begun to cry.

It was reminiscent of watching Haurchefant die in front of me; the thoughts of regret and guilt ready to consume me.

Once again, you almost were too late.

How pitiful, you cannot even save those you hold dear.

The stoic mask I had carefully constructed had cracked. The silent tears gave way to muffled sobs, growing louder and louder. The hold on my wrists lessened only to move to my shoulders. Words were being said to the others but I couldn’t discern what was spoken. I was too wrapped up in my emotions to be fully aware of the situation.

“Come now, Warrior of Darkness, no more tears.” a whispered voice spoke.

“I know the others said you are fully healed.” I said, “I don’t trust my healing capabilities but I have some alchemic knowledge. Maybe some of my medicinal remedies could help?”

“Am-”

I shook my head. I was aware that Thancred was speaking to me, but his words seemed foreign in my mental state.

“Your coat is tattered,” I continued on, “I’m no armorer, but the tears should only need a basic stitching. I can do that at least.”

“Ami look at me. I am fine.”

I glanced up at him. The tears still running down my face. His hand gripped my shoulders just a little tighter.

“Please let me do something, anything.” I pleaded, “I can...I cannot-”

His gaze lowered. The concern on him was obvious for me. It would only feed my guilt more. He almost died, and was concerned for me? 

He picked up the cloth and pressed it into my hands.

“If you insist, my dear.”

I nodded before setting to work on cleaning his face with whatever clean cloth I had. The tears still didn’t stop as I wiped down on his skin. Normally I would assure him I was fine.

But I wasn’t.

Something was happening to me with each instance of primordial Light I had absorbed.

The battle at Lakeland still weighed on my mind.

Knowing definitively that Minfilia has passed; someone I felt a kinship to understand my Echo.

All that to top it all off with the realization that I could have lost Thancred too? It was too much. It must have been minutes before the tears eventually slowed. The transition of my guilt to anger coming in as fast as I shift my fighting forms in battle.

“If it wasn’t for the fact that you almost died and my weapons are my hands, I would hit you right now.” I admitted.

My hands balled up into fists as my eyes narrowed into a glare. Thancred was surprised at the sudden lowered tone of voice. I took a deep breath before poking his armored chest.

“I don’t know if I should be angry at the fact that you almost died or that you are so nonchalant about it. Godsdammit, this is the fourth bloody time and I don’t think my heart can take much more. I don’t want to keep worrying if the next time I see you is going to be my last. I lost too much to get where I am, I will not lose any more. I...cannot lose any more. If I did, then I-”

I put my arms around his waist as I hugged him. At the time I didn’t care that this was considered out of character for me. I wanted, no needed his presence. I needed to feel that he was here. I felt him stiffen, but eventually he arms circled around my waist too. There was only a head difference between our heights, but I still felt so small in his embrace. Even as the grime rubbed off on the bare parts of my skin, even as the buckles and the metals of his armor dug into me I was content.

If only for a moment.

Regrettably, the reality of the situation has sunken in thus we separated.

Now I couldn’t meet his face.

Sobered up from the crack of my emotional mask, I had come to realize what I had done. I felt myself flush in embarrassment. Whether he took the moment as a response to a friend in need or a different matter entirely, he didn’t comment on it.

I remain hopeful that he is blissfully unaware of what I had unintentionally revealed.

“Ready to rendezvous with the others?” he asked.

“Yes...and thank you.”

I stayed a comfortable distance from Thancred as we walked to the others. Belatedly, I realized that I had cracked in front of them too. I couldn’t meet their gazes as well. 

An apology was right on my lips, for slowing them down. For making them concerned over me and my feelings I should be better at controlling. For ruining a genuine heartfelt moment. 

Almost as if she knew what I wanted to say, Y’shtola put a hand to stop me from uttering a word.

“I take it you have had your fill of making maidens cry today Thancred?” she quipped.

I snapped my head up, shock clear on my face. She smiled at me while having that mischievous glint in her eyes. I didn’t think it was possible for me to blush even deeper. But somehow I was. If it wasn’t for the fact that we had a Lightwarden to slay, I would have hidden away by now. I felt Thancred’s hand on my shoulder, patting it lightly.

“You wound me Y’shtola. I have you know that I am quite used to making maidens cry. Albeit for a different reason.”

“Please, no.” came the dry response, “We need not to enrich the others with that kind of knowledge.”

I snorted at the conversation. The embarrassment giving way to a smile before I laughed. It was reminiscent of old times back home. How, regardless of what mission we went on or how far it would take us, this familial warmth would always be awaiting for us.

“There,” she said, “that’s the look I am used to.”

“Thank you.” I spoke in earnest, “Full glad am I that I am making this journey with you all.”

“Come now, the sentimentality can wait until after we bring the night back.”

“Alisaie is right.” I said, “Let us be off everyone.”

[mrclinical]

Sorry We Missed You (2019)

Directed By Ken Loach

Rating: 84/100

What Loach seeks to highlight is the boiling pot of stress which submerges people performing low-income and highly demanding jobs without being overly patronising or rhetorical. The result is an extremely human movie about an earnest family caught inside the machinery of modern Britain, where people are too occupied with surviving day-to-day to think outside of themselves

Just a couple of weeks ago I sat in a packed auditorium attending my partner’s graduation. The air fizzed with jubilation and wheeling motorboards. Amongst the optimistic tumult, one of the speakers was keen to point out the precariousness of the modern job market. He rather glibly said something along the lines of: “the average person will have five careers in their lifetime”. It was this line that came back to me as Sorry We Missed You, Ken Loach’s new feature, began. It opens with a black screen accompanied by the title credits and the  candid voice of Ricky Turner, played by Kris Hitchen, explaining to his prospective boss the myriad of jobs that he has held in his lifetime. Ricky is a grafter who turns his hand to whatever is in demand. His latest furore into the job market sees Ricky enter the gig economy, becoming  a delivery driver. Taking inspiration from the publicised exploitation of delivery workers here in the United Kingdom, Loach uses his characterisation of Ricky to explore and express the issues that are symptomatic in an increasingly unregulated economy which is quickly turning its back on humanity in its ceaseless quest for higher profit margins. 

Loach is the kind of director who wears his political affiliations on his sleeve and bleeds them into the celluloid of his films. In his last film, I, Daniel Blake, Loach wanted to shake his fist at the needlessly bureaucratic and callous welfare system and the upsurge of food banks. In this film it is the erosion of workers rights which Loach takes aim at. The film, therefore, moves in a rather predictable trajectory of drudgery and strife as Ricky navigates the bustling Newcastle metropolis in his white transit delivery parcels to customers who are apathetic - or more accurately - ignorant to the unrelenting time pressures and rigid protocols which have him in a stranglehold. Ricky’s fourteen-hour workday is coupled with the turbulence of his family life.His wife Abbie (Debbie Honeywood) is having her time swallowed up before her eyes working as a carer - who cares too much, and is exploited because of it. She is handling too many service users (no doubt a result of downsizing and privatisation...I assume) and, therefore, must pick up the slack where the system fails to provide, often doing unpaid hours of work so she can still provide a personalised and very human service to the most vulnerable members of society. Ricky and Abbie’s absence from home creates instability for their children. Their teenage son Seb (Rhys Stone) has started to skip school in favour of spraying the city walls with his cronies. Seb’s snowballing behaviour becomes the catalyst for the family’s arguments which broil over into drinking, swearing and violence. The only person who seems to have the time to stitch the family back together again is younger daughter Lisa Jane (Katie Proctor) whose notions of family are yet unspoiled by the cold world outside. 

Far from being a chance to become the master of his own destiny - the job is advertised as working for yourself - Ricky finds that his aspirations of greater freedom and fiscal growth are a falsehood. Self-employment is merely a guise to exploit Ricky by the company, headed by the slow-moving sociopath Maloney, played by the terrifyingly good Ross Brewster. Maloney is like an incredibly efficient automaton who keeps the machinery of the company ticking over by being relentlessly cut-throat and unforgiving - his priority is ensuring customers receive their products within the time frame. Maloney is the embodiment of the system: it’s cold, impersonal and heartless. As Ricky’s home life starts to crumble he finds himself on the wrong side of the system, ensnared in a vicious cycle of debts and fines.

What Loach seeks to highlight is the boiling pot of stress which submerges people performing low-income and highly demanding jobs without being overly patronising or rhetorical. The result is an extremely human movie about an earnest family caught inside the machinery of modern Britain, where people are too occupied with surviving day-to-day to think outside of themselves. Despite the inescapable paradigm Loach presents, it is not a picture that is completely humdrum. There are flashes and moments when it can be extremely funny, as it asks the audience to laugh at its own sense of entitlement and general swinery. It is also extremely touching, as Loach manages to capture the beauty in the quotidian. The beauty in a father and daughter sharing lunch and laughter whilst overlooking the Northumberland valley from the back of a delivery van. For Loach understands that human relationships, family, is a bond that has its own intrinsic beauty. It needs no money as fertilizer to grow, but what it does need is time - And time, in Loach’s opinion anyway, is in modern Britain, is in short supply. 

[cosplayinamerica]

Loki // Cosplayer: Troublemaker Cosplay // Photo: @gnerdcorner

My cosplay is actually a fan art that was floating around on the Internet around 2012. My roommate loves Iron Man and so I asked her if she wanted to do it with me. She agreed. I tried to make this version of Loki that year but I failed miserably. I did not plan it out properly and came out with another Loki instead. So like a lot of cosplays, I shelved it.

Years passed, I got married to someone in the armed forces. I suffer from extreme PTSD, ADHD and bipolar type two. So I have learned to deal with these things by sewing and cosplaying.

I got told a lot growing up that I could never do anything right. I have a younger brother, who was treated like a prince. I was always told, "why can't you be more like your little brother?" So I always saw him as Thor in my mind and I was Loki. Trying to get into the spotlight but never being good enough to be the golden child.

Every time a new Thor movie came out, Loki was at a different part of his life and so was i. I self-analyzed who and what I was. Why did I feel this way? How do I move past this? I analyzed what he went through and who he was at that time.

So last year, I sat in my sewing room going through a depression episode, just sobbing. I just could not see where my life was heading. I felt aimless, so lost. What was I doing with my life? All I wanted was to run back home, but I couldn't because I had chosen the life that I have now. I have never regretted it. The transition has been extremely difficult. Anyone who has married into the armed forces will understand how isolating it can be.

So during this episode, I started to watch the Thor movies. That is when it came to me that I needed to make this Loki finally. I had kept putting it off. Something in my mind just clicked that I needed to make this costume now. That this was the right time to revisit the costume I had failed on so many years before.

Photo: @singular_photography 

I sat down and started to draw out how the costume looked to me and I started to break it down and writing out what I might need to do for it. I wanted that beautiful collar that was in the artwork. I found a butterrick pattern. The pattern was a shirt with a high collar with no seam. After I was comfortable with the start of it, I proceed to take in the pattern. I am extremely tiny, so I always have to take everything in to the extreme. I forget my size at times because I don't see myself as this petite 5'3 thing in my mind. I am seven feet tall in my mind and a builder who can crush boulders in my hands.

I used muslin to pattern out the whole costume, I highly recommend that everyone always mock-up things they have never made before. It will save a lot of headaches later on. I just drew on the petals for the lower half on to the shirt pattern, measuring out the bottom half of the shirt and using that as the guideline for the bottom of the petal.

I have always loved Loki sleeves. They are literally my favorite part of the whole costume. I could look at them forever. This is basically the only part of the costume I am ashamed of. I skipped patterning out the sleeves with muslin and went straight into using the actual fabric. I took a bunch of scrap material, folded them, sewed them down and started to position them on the sleeves. There are about 300 studs on the sleeves, I planned the layered fabric around the studs. I hand stitched all the gold chain-mail onto the sleeves.

I put zippers into the sleeves since they were going to be skin tight, I knew there had to be a way for me to get it on and off. I eventually just hand-stitched the zippers in because the sleeves were so tiny and thick that I could not get my machine to work with me.

Photo: @singular_photography

For the details, I found all of them on Amazon. I found a gold chain mail dance club shirt for 20 dollars. The zipper stoppers were a bit harder. Those are what are on Loki's coat. I spent a long time searching for zipper stoppers, eventually, I found a pretty decent size on Amazon. There are almost 900 zipper stoppers on my Loki that i hand crimped on.

I was having so much fun creating something so personal to me. I was putting all my grief, anger, sadness, loneliness into that one costume.

For the midsection, I started off with a pattern I thought that would work, it didn't. so I just flipped the design around and re-cut out the pattern and extended the ends to take in when I needed to like the strap at the top of the shoulder. I organized the straps around finding the best way to sew them together. after they were sewn together, I stitched snap buttons on to all the points so it would sit where I wanted it to on my torso. I put more snap buttons on the back by the zipper to finish it off. I hand sewed more chain mail on to it. I used a curved needle for most of the sewing for it. because curved needles are easier to sew with.

The whole costume is interfaced. I will warn people against trying to interfaced 36 pattern pieces in one day. Don't do it. I literally hurt. It sucked. I had so many chances to turn the ship back around and stop but I did not. Lesson learned. everything but the skirt is interfaced. It is also topped stitched as well. I wear two petticoats under it to give it that extra poof. I wanted a super poofed out figure.

Photo: @singular_photography

The costume has impacted my life in so many ways. I did not think I could sew something like this. I still battle self-doubt and self-worth quite a bit. It helped me evolve how I create costumes and pattern things out.

Anytime I am feeling down and like I can't do anything right, I have this amazing piece of art that I can go back and look at. I went above and beyond what I had ever done before that point and showed myself what I could achieve. I feel such love for it when I look at it. I can not stress how much this character and costume has boosted my confidence.

Now I look at costumes I thought that was too hard for me, and go I can do that. Peoples reaction to it help alot because I don't realize what I can do at times and again I will downplay myself. their reactions snap me out of that mentality and I m like Oh yeah I made that. I can do that.

https://linktr.ee/troublemakercosplay

[werevulvi]

I just wrote this poem, in a bit different style from how I usually would. It's pretty strong. The teddy is a metaphor for my female sex, detransition and lesbian sexuality. Although the teddy is also real, I never destroyed her and I didn't have her yet as a child. It is my femaleness that I destroyed by transitioning, and that in turn affected me to not only hate my own sex, but also my love for other females. The trauma also confused me to think I was into males. I've been very misguided and confused, but now I know myself much better. That is what this poem attempts to reflect, or tell a story about. I intended to just write a poem about being gay, but this is what came out of it. Says a lot about what's brewing under my surface... a lot of unprocessed pain. Also I’m struggling really a lot to integrate that particular trauma in therapy now. Going through that made me also blame myself for my attraction a lot. So my feelings about being a lesbian just keep circling back to it. That is why, even when I see my sexuality in a positive light, it is through that pain. Anyhow, here's the poem:

Teddy tigress

"I have always loved my teddy tigress, for as long as I can remember. Her softness, and that she was always there. As a little girl I loved in similarity, those of my own female kind. But kindness wasn't what I could find.

She failed to protect me, she failed my tender heart. When the boy found my vulnerability and tore it apart. She failed to protect me, my own body, my boundary.

I cried and beat my teddy tigress, weakest of them all. Slammed her against the floor, tore her up, I tore her up... for a deep pain I was too young to understand.

And the older I got I took to more drastic measures to make her a stronger tiger. Teddy tiger would be able to protect me like she could not. He would become what I could not.

She had always been there, soft and caring. Giving me the sweetest, warmest, most patient love, as I had betrayed her, and taken from her what she needed the most. I had tried to save her at a terrible cost.

Oh my sweet teddy tigress, what are you now? Breaking in my hands, lint everywhere. Can you hear my sobbing, my painful regret?

And I will attempt to stitch her back together again, with a compound of tears, golden embroidery and essential oils.

My teddy tigress loves me like no one else can. Her touch the softest, gentlest embrace, warming my soul from within. She heals me where I am wounded, kisses me where I am scarred. Such is my love for my own kind.

No tiger's strength could ever compare. I always knew, but now I know. As a woman I love in similarity, those of my own female kind. But kindness wasn't what I could find.

For as long as I still in my bed bleed, my teddy tigress' comfort is what I need I just needed to destroy her to find that out. I just needed to destroy what I love to know what love is."