#I've been sick three or four times since December | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shellshocklove · 9 months

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Ooh what about a pre-epilogue blurb where prince!tom takes care of y/n when she’s suffering from her period or sick or smth like that?? Idk I just thought about it and how cute he would be, ik it’s like a common theme for a blurb so like you don’t have to write it if you’re not into it, just a thought 😊

pairing/au: university AU - modern prince!tom holland x female!reader

warnings: swearing, fluff, mentions of being sick (obviously lol)

word count: 3.6k

a/n: this blurb is set between chapter three and four! thank you for your request. i hope you like it, and i'm sorry this is so uninspired! i tried my best. i know i said i was open to write pre-epilogue blurbs for this series, but i've decided that this will be the last thing i write for them. the pre-epilogue blurbs need to fit with the rest of the story, and i don't want to mess it up. so i'm leaving it as is!

series masterlist / main masterlist

“Hi, my darling! Can you hear me?” Tom whispered.

His face had immediately lit up when you answered his Facetime call. He was propped up against fluffy pillows, airpods in his ears, face illuminated by the light coming from his phone. A soft but tired smile pulled at his lips.

“I can hear you!” you whispered back with a smile.

It was Christmas Eve – or more accurately Christmas Day – it was well past midnight. You hadn’t seen Tom in person since your party. The autumn semester had ended, and he’d been whisked away to the palace. Royal duties his new top priority, and he was busy. You’d felt your head spin as he’d told you his schedule for the end of December.

But even with his new, extremely busy, schedule, he’d made time for you. He’d texted you every day since you’d seen him last, and you always Facetimed before bed. A new routine for the both of you. And even when his texts were far and few between – he was always excited to talk to you at night.

And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as excited. Ever since you’d travelled back home to your family for the holidays – it was the one thing you looked forward to every day. You loved your family, of course you did, but being back again made you appreciate moving out of your childhood bedroom, a little more. They were starting to drive you crazy. But talking to Tom made you forget all about them. It was the highlight of your day.

“How was your day?” he asked you, moving a little against his pillows, getting comfortable.

It always made you smile when he asked you that. You knew your day, compared to his, had been less than eventful – but still he wanted to know. “Oh,” you sighed, “kinda boring to be honest. I feel like I’m in this trance when I’m here– like I’m not really myself… like I’m trapped by the walls of my childhood bedroom”.

When the words left your mouth, you regretted them. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so honest with him.

“I get it,” he said, a sad smile on his lips, “I feel the same way. Like you’re just walking around putting on an act all day– it’s exhausting”.

And suddenly you didn’t regret it anymore. “I’m sorry, Tom” you whispered.

“I’m sorry too, darling” he whispered back, “I’m sorry I’ve been so slow texting you– it’s been…” he trailed off with a sigh.

“It’s okay, Tom– I know you’re busy! How was your day? You’re still at Sandringham House, right?” you asked, sinking a little deeper into your pillows.

“Yeah, we’ll be here until after New Year’s” he said, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand, “But it’s just a lot right now– we had that dinner I told you about today– fucking black tie– lots of guests” he sighed, “and earlier today my grandma said I had to be the one to hold the speech before the dinner. And like I wasn’t prepared for that, so then I was scrambling for something to say, and… I just made a fool of myself”.

“Nooo, Tom! I’m sure you didn’t!” you tried to comfort him the way he always comforted you, “I don’t think you’re able to make a fool of yourself– you’re way too charming for that!”.

He hid a shy smile behind a breathy laugh, “Thank you, darling!”.

“I’m only telling you the truth” you told him, making his smile even bigger and more bashful.

“Shut up!”,

“It’s true!”.

He laughed again, looking away from his phone, “You’re making me blush” he mumbled.

“Well, that’s only fair– you make me blush all the time” you told him.

“I do?” his eyes were back on you, quizzical.

“Are you serious right now?” you narrowed your eyes at him.

“As a heart attack”,

You chortled, “Who even says that?”.

“Um… I do” he faked offence, making you giggle, which then made him giggle.

“Fuck, I miss you” he confessed after your giggles died down, “I wish you were here– or I was there”.

“Me too…”, you gave him a bittersweet smile, “what would we do, you think, if we were together right now?” you asked him, ready to disappear into a fantasy where you weren’t miles apart.

“What we would do, if I were in your bed right now?” he asked with a mischievous smile pulling at his lips.

“Tom…” you warned with a laugh.

“If I were with you right now, I’d wanna… make out” he said matter-of-factly, “Why? Did you have something else in mind?” he teased.

“What! No!” you lied. Of course you wanted to do a little more than kiss, but you respected Tom when he told you he wanted to take it slow.

“You said that way too quickly” he teased, “I thought you missed me”.

“No! I do! I just–”,

He cut you off, “Relax, darling– I’m pulling your leg”.

With a pout on your lips, you narrowed your eyes at him, “I’m not sure you deserve any kisses right now” you teased.

“Love, don’t pout at me like that,” he whined, “just makes me want to kiss you even more”.

“Nah-ah!” you shook your head, pout still on your lips, “No kisses for you”.

“Are you serious right now?” he asked you, a hint of hurt in his voice.

“As a heart attack” you teased, making him let out a cackle. “The only man I’ll be kissing tonight is Mr. Harry Styles” you tilted your phone, showing him the old One Direction posters over your bed.

“What does he have that I don’t?” he wondered with a sigh, playing along.

You tilted your head to get a good look at your posters. They were old. You had a couple of group photo posters, probably taken in 2011, and then a few solo ones of each member. You’d gotten them from magazines back when you were a tween, and you’d proudly decorated your walls. Now they were just memories, displaying your old self. You’d never bothered to take them down, and after you moved out, your parents never did either. The only poster you’d brought with you was the Sex Pistols poster your dad had gotten you.

“Hm,” you let a finger graze your chin, “A mop of the softest brown curls, eyes you can drown in… and… the cutest bowtie”.

“Don’t I have all those things already?” he pondered.

You looked back at him with a smile.

“I got the curls” he put up a finger, “I will argue I have the eyes–” he put up another finger.

You cut him off, teasingly refuting with a shrug, “No cute bowtie though”.

“Let me send you a picture of my outfit today” he countered. Then the screen got blurry. Not even a second later your phone dinged with a text message from him. You tapped the notification to a picture of him in a simple black smoking with a bowtie. He looked extremely handsome, like criminally handsome.

“So?” you heard him ask, “Do I meet your standards, or not?”.

You took another look at the picture he sent you, before you clicked back to your Facetime call again. Faking a roll of your eyes, you told him, “I guess”.

“You’re looking at Prince Charming, I’d argue” he quipped.

“Ok, Mr. Humble” you chortled, “You’ve got the prince thing right, but the charming… I don’t know” you teased.

“Um excuse me!” he faked offence, “Didn’t you say I was charming earlier?”.

“Ok, you got me there,” you giggled, “you’re my Prince Charming”.

You talked for another hour. Arguably, you talked for too long. Even if it were the holidays, it was way past your bedtimes when you finally hung up. You’d talked more about your day. He’d told you about Sandringham House, how pretty it was, and how he wanted you to come visit sometime so you could see it for yourself. Then he told you about his brothers who he said was driving him nuts. At least that’s what he told you, but you could see in his eyes when he talked about them, that he’d missed them, even if he denied it.

When you finally hung up, you promised to talk tomorrow. The last thing you heard him say was a whisper of “Merry Christmas, darling”.

Tom almost left John behind by the car, that’s how excited he was to see you. It was finally January. Christmas was over. The new year welcomed, and the old one left behind. He can’t remember if he’s ever been this happy for it to be January. January always dragged its feet, the days short but also somehow way too long. Now, he never wanted them to end. Not if he could spend them with you.

The café bell announced his arrival, behind him he could hear the low panting of John catching his breath. Tom didn’t need to search for you, he knew just where you’d sit. At you and Tom’s table in the corner. He couldn’t fight the smile from spilling when he locked eyes with you.

Finally.

With long strides he crossed the café floor. You were still wearing your winter coat, and around your neck you’d wrapped a big wool scarf. But on your lips, a toothy smile matched his own.

“Hi, darling” he greeted you with an arm open, just waiting to pull you in for a hug.

“Hi!” you sniffled, staying seated.

It was like he’d been punched in the gut. He knew he was in public. Being affectionate with anyone, let alone a woman was strictly against everything he’s been taught throughout his life. Someone could snap a photo at the wrong time, and in the next moment there was an outrageous and untrue story plastered across the front pages of Daily Mail and The Sun. But… he always hugged you hello. As chaste and as friendly the hugs could be, he always cherished the opportunity he had to touch you.

You didn’t get up from your seat.

His hand dropped like dead weight. His disappointment a sinking rock in water. Trying to shake it off he moved to sit down on the bench beside you.

“No!” you cried, hands coming up to stop him from sitting down.

He jumped up. Confusion and hurt blending together, while the sorry look you were wearing, stirred the pot.

“I’m sorry…” you started, and Tom felt his heart pick up its pace.

Were you about to break up with him? You weren’t even together, but he’d argue you were definitely dating. Maybe you’d realised after some time apart, that you actually didn’t like him that much, and that you’d only hung out with him because you had to. Now that you weren’t partners for history anymore, you didn’t need to be his friend.

Shit!

Had he come off too strong? Or maybe not strong enough? Tom liked you so much it scared him. But he knew he was complicated. He came with rules, and duty, and secrecy. He couldn’t blame you for not liking what you saw. He knew you didn’t.

“I’m just feeling a little under the weather,” you explained with a sniffle, “Can you sit over there instead? I don’t want you to get sick!”.

A breath escaped him in relief, which then turned into a chuckle. He sat down in the chair opposite you, hands resting on the table, “You know…” he smiled, “I don’t really care if I get sick”.

“But I do” you stressed. He could hear it now – in your voice – scratchy and hoarse. “You get sick because of me– and next thing I know the Royal Police are at my door arresting me for making you sick”.

His grin grew toothy, “No one’s gonna arrest you, darling”. He was about to reach out across the table, take your hand in his, but then he caught himself. He couldn’t do that.

“You sure?” you bit your lip in uncertainty. You leaned in a little closer, a quick glance at John as he stood guard. “Because I’m not so sure”.

Tom thought you were being silly, but he was enamoured by your concern, it made you look extremely cute. “Yes, I’m sure, darling! And if you were to get arrested, I’d tell them off and have them release you– they can’t say no to me” he grinned.

You gave him a meek smile, and his heart squeezed. He held your gaze for a second, and suddenly he felt himself relax. In you Tom had found shelter. A home away from the expectations everyone had about who he was supposed to be. A home away from all the rules. A home away from the pedestal he was constantly put on. You treated him with grace. Slowly, he’d started to understand that what he had with you, was sacred – but he couldn’t tell you that, not yet. He had to be sure first.

With a dry cough into your scarf, the moment was broken. He hated seeing you like this, and he hated that you’d left your house in this condition just to see him.

“Love, I’m taking you home– you should be in bed” he decided, already getting up from his seat. You started to protest, telling him you weren’t that sick, but he didn’t want to hear it.

“John has the car– we’ll drive you home”,

“Tom! I can’t make you do that” you protested again.

“You’re not making me do anything, darling! I’m offering” he held out his hand. Your eyes flicked from his gaze to his hand. You bit your lip again.

He flexed his hand, “Please”.

When Tom had told you he was taking you home, what he’d meant was: he was taking you to his home. When you’d realised you weren’t going back to your flat, you’d sunk a little deeper into the leather seat of the car.

You’d been dying to see Tom, cursing yourself for getting sick. A bug had spread from family member to family member all throughout the holidays. They’d been falling like flies, but you, you’d been unphased. As healthy as a horse. You now regretted how smug you’d been about not getting sick.

Now you felt like shit. You were shivering and sweating simultaneously. Head killing you with a pressing headache. Your scratchy throat hurt, and every time you swallowed it got worse. Waking up this morning, only one nostril was blocked, but now, you’d started having a hard time breathing through your nose. You felt like actual shit.

With an unnecessary arm around your waist, Tom helped you up the stairs to his flat. Finally at the top, he stepped towards the only door on this floor. The lock clicked, and soon he was guiding you inside with a hand at the small of your back.

You’d never seen his flat before.

The hallway opened up to an open planned living room. A big sofa was placed in the middle of the room, facing big floor-to-ceiling windows. All the walls were painted in a harsh white colour, contrasting the black metal frames of the windows overlooking a cloudy, but busy London.

Tom helped you remove your winter coat, hanging it neatly besides his own coat. A shiver travelled through your body. A prickling feeling, gnawing at your bones. You really didn’t feel well.

Leaving Tom behind by the door, you stepped inside the living room. The ceilings were tall and got even taller as you reached the back of his sofa. The ceiling curved over you, held up by strong beams connecting to a landing above your head. That’s when you realised this flat had a second floor.

“Darling?” Tom spoke softly.

You turned around at his voice, noticing him standing by the stairs with his hand reaching out for you. Quietly, you padded your way over to him, intertwining your hand in his.

He guided you up the stairs, down towards the end of a hallway where he opened the door to his room. He helped you sit at the end of his bed before he turned around to fish out some clothes for you from his closet.

“Do you need help changing, or do you want me to turn around?” Tom asked as he put down a pair of dark plaid pyjama pants and a soft looking lilac hoodie on the bed next to you.

“I don’t think I need help, but you don’t have to turn around” you said, already shedding your knitted sweater. Goosebumps prickled your naked skin, sending a feverish ache throughout your body.

“Okay,” he said with a soft smile. “I’ll go make you some tea, ok? Want you to be changed and under the covers when I get back” he winked.

“You barking orders now? Using your prince privilege?” you teased, slipping his hoodie over your head.

He chortled, “Yes, and you can’t disobey me– that’s treason!” he joked.

“Damnit!” you cursed, letting your head fall.

Cupping your cheeks, he tilted your head upwards. He smiled down at you, eyes crinkling with eyelashes kissing in the corners. Shit! He was so handsome. A beat passed before he bent down, pressing the softest kiss to your forehead. Your eyes fell shut at the action.

“You’re hot, love” he said when he pulled away, thumbs haphazardly rubbing your skin.

“Thanks” you whispered, which made him laugh.

“I meant you’re hot, literally,” he placed the back of his hand on your forehead, “you’re burning up”.

“Oh!” you opened your eyes.

He chuckled again before he leaned down to place another kiss to your forehead, “I think you have a fever– maybe we should take your temperature?”.

“I don’t think we’re there yet,” you said with a scrunch of your nose.

His eyebrows met in a furrow, “What do you mean?”.

“I’m not letting you stick anything up my ass!”.

A deep belly laugh erupted from Tom, “Love,” he tried, “I’ve got one of those fancy ones with the laser you point on your forehead”.

“Oh!” you sniffled.

“Yeah,” he laughed, “now get under the covers!”.

You did as you were told, slipping under his duvet, and waited for him to come back with your tea. When he came back, he was balancing a steaming cup in one hand, and a bowl in the other. You scooted a little closer to the middle of the bed, making room for him to sit at the edge. He placed the cup down on his bedside table before he moved an old glass of water and his phone charger out of the way, and carefully sat down the bowl.

“Ok!” he announced, “Ginger tea for you, my love, with some honey and lemon in it,” he pointed to the cup, “I also put paracetamol in it to help with your fever– my friend Kat taught me that!” he smiled, “And here’s some chicken soup” he picked up the bowl.

You sat up a little against his pillows as he handed you the bowl of soup. “How did you make that so fast? You were gone for like five minutes”.

“I asked John to order you some when we got back here” he smiled.

Your gaze dropped to the steaming soup in your hands. You felt bad. It wasn’t John’s job to drive you home or get you soup – his job was to keep Tom safe.

“Tom…” you sighed, circling the soup with your spoon, “You didn’t need to do all this for me!”.

“I know I don’t need to, darling– I do it because I want to! It’s awful being sick without anyone taking care of you, I don’t want you to be alone” he found your leg under the duvet, thumb rubbing soft circles into the doughy flesh of your thigh. “Now eat your soup!” he ordered.

“You and all your orders!” you teased, tasting the soup.

He sat with you as you ate your soup. He did most of the talking, handing you the cup of tea so you could take a sip every once in a while. When you’d finished your soup, he asked you if you wanted more, but you just shook your head. He handed you your tea again before he walked back downstairs with your empty bowl. You’d scooted back down under the covers again when he reappeared in the doorway.

“How are you feeling?” he asked you, sitting back down at the edge of his bed.

“Honestly?” you sighed, “Pretty awful!”.

“Poor baby” he cupped your cheek, thumbing your skin. Then his face lit up, “Turn around” he told you.

With furrowed brows you turned around. Behind you, you felt the bed dip as Tom got under the covers with you. Swinging an arm around your middle, he pulled you towards his chest.

“Tom!” you tried to turn around, “You’ll get sick!”.

He held you in place; his nose brushing against the back of your neck as he got comfortable behind you.

“I really don’t care, my love” he said, placing soft kisses to your neck.

You melted in his hold. Savoured the closeness you’d longed for since your party. You’d missed him. Missed him a lot. You wanted him to hold you. To take care of you. If he didn’t care if he got sick, then you didn’t care either.

You turned your head to look at him. Your prince.

“Okay…” you said softly, “Thank you for taking care of me, Tom!”.

“No need to thank me, my darling!” he said before he leaned forward and brushed his lips over yours.

His kiss was soft and tender and everything you needed.

previous: three | next: four

tags (tagging the i want to forget taglist and a few other people that have shown interest after it was finished): @justapurrcat @lnmp89 @petrspideyparker @hollandweather @userholland @imawhoreforu @onepieceya @sparklingsin @annathesillyfriend @mayal0pez @transparentpsychicempathkid @fic-rewind @spideysmb @the-unknown-fan-girl @mannien @moonlightdotmp3 @padlockedhearts @moniffazictress11 @all4koo @angelayse @svechnibrock @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @xxtomspideyxx @i83andrew @clockblobber @fangirlinggalore @luciwritesstuff @spideysimpossiblegirl @lol-just-kidding002 @allywthsr @captainsbestgal @readheadwriter @parkersdahlia @cosmicryuz @tomxxxhollandxxx @the-not-so-silent-back-up @rebloggingtheficsilove @peterdarlingg @obsessedprincess @alltoowelltom @hey-im-bored504 @storybookholland @sadisticsongbird @mars2cupid @marsbars09 @mixedfandxms

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland blurb #prince!tom holland #royal au #uni au #college au #tom holland fic #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland smut #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction

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cutestkilla · 1 year

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Happy Sunday folks and thanks for the tags today @j-nipper-95 and @you-remind-me-of-the-babe! Thanks for alllll the tags over the past many, many weeks when I’ve shared nothing @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @ileadacharmedlife @ic3-que3n @hushed-chorus @artsyunderstudy @forabeatofadrum @larkral @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @fatalfangirl @whogaveyoupermission @shrekgogurt @palimpsessed @stitchy-queerista @blackberrysummerblog @shemakesmeforget.

Despite all appearances to the contrary, I have in fact been a busy little bee working on fandom stuff. I spent February making four (more like six because one is a composite of vignettes) illustrations for @captain-aralias' Year 3 Picture Book story, which I’m really excited to share when the time comes. For now, have maybe my favourite little baby Simon face I've ever drawn:

I’m a baby artist, so that many illustrations was A LOT for me and I haven’t written a word of anything since I finished my exchange fic on December 31st, though I have been thinking a lot about my “Wedding Fic” and how I want the second half to go. (Canon divergence in which Simon and Baz both end up at a WoM wedding the week before 8th year starts.) I’ve outlined it three different ways, in fact… ANYWAY, I do have many words written of that since I started working on it 7 months ago, so have some Simon/Jamie that I might end up dropping:

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “That you have to babysit me and miss the rest of the ceremony.” “Are you kidding me?” Jamie replied, cheeks reddening. “You’ve done me a favour. I can’t cast that spell either. A bit rude of them to expect everyone to be able to, if you ask me.” “But my magic… it must be bothering you. It makes my best friend sick all the time when it gets like this.” “Not really, mate,” Jamie smiled. “Maybe we’re just magickally compatible. If you average us out we might come out to one normal magician, eh?” I laughed, for the first time in the entire day. Actually, if I’m honest, more like for the first time in at least a month.

Tags back to everyone mentioned above, and a few extra taggies for: @facewithoutheart @aristocratic-otter @ivelovedhimthroughworse @technetiumai @onepintobean @raenestee @moodandmist @otherworldsivelivedin @thewholelemon @bookish-bogwitch.

#six sentence sunday #my art #my writing

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marmotsomsierost · 4 months

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I have been sick since fuckin. What day. The fuckin 16th of december is when this bullshit started. It is JANUARY FUCKIN FIFTH. That saturday i woke up, coughed (not super unusual with this persistent stupid postnasal drip crap) so hard i puked all of the little i had in my stomach out (super unusual) and had a scratchy throat for the rest of the day. Didn't think anything of it. Was feeling kind of but not really better towards evening. Then, decorating the tree, cough drop in mouth, i go to fling a string of lights up and inhale said cough drop, which lodges just below my thyroid.

I do not die. The dog and the husband are not convinced. I use actual words to mention the not dying thing. They are...slightly more convinced.

Sunday i wake up with sensation in throat, not like pain, not raw, just like...there's something there that isn't normally there. Have minor cough and very raspy voice. Sinuses mostly clear. I wake up on the 20th and have literally no voice. I need my voice to be able to triage people. I call out sick. I go back the next day, it's fine. Still little cough, mostly clear sinuses, just suddenly a tenor. This continues until the 25th.

Dinner on christmas i find annoying to eat. It's like my throat has decided it's full and the stomach goes 'eh okay sure let's stop' in weird agreement. I go to work the next day.

I have turned into the crotchety old man you never see out of scooterdress with snus in his lip and a suspicious possibly-sentient coffee mug in one hand and the other hand tucked into the front of his bibbed pants. Basically Bjørn Sundquist. Anyway.

I now have a coughing wheezy rasp where by the end of the night i will cough all the air out of my lungs, die, gasp in air, cough that out, die again, then am able to breathe again. Unfortunately not shiny and chrome. Still. I call out the next morning, have a video visit, get some antibiotics and an inhaler, we're good to go right.

Wrong. Turns out pretending really really hard that you don't have a fever does not actually get rid of said fever. I call out again. I'm off work the next three days anyway, that gives me a nice block of time to finish my antibiotics and get back to normal.

There's no tech for the two days before new year's day so when i show up despite sounding like a zombie everyone is all 'oh thank god you're here' and 'we have a tech?? We have TWO TECHS?? Yeah!' But about four hours in i keep getting the concerned face and side-eye of concern and avaunt foul beast from the rest of the ED. The doctor tells me i sound worse than half of the patients. The PA listens to my lungs and says something like 'wow with that cough i figured your lungs would be shit but they're actually really clear'. The loud triage nurse says 'well hell marmot's been coughing for weeks and she's still here' loudly several times in earshot of patients whose chief complaint is 'cough since this morning' and the night shift triage nurse tells the charge nurse that i can stay in the back, he wants to keep the front plague-free.

I almost call out yesterday. I had the phone in my hand but an alert went out that the evening tech called out and wednesday was a shitshow so i was like okay, i'm not that bad, i'll go in.

I should have called out. I have alarms set for when to take the sudafed and the cough medicine and the inhaler because time is fake at the best of times and this ain't the best of times. I survive to the end of the shift. I blow my nose before i leave and my ears pop- the right clears fast, the left clears by the time i get home.

I'm off today. Cough is demonstrably better in frequency if nothing else, even without regular doses of medicine. I get home from dropping samus at the vet (she's fine) and blow my nose again, and ears pop. Left ear won't clear. It doesn't hurt but it is driving me absolutely batshit insane. It's like juuuust on the edge of fucking with my equilibrium. I've tried gum. Decongestant. Antihistamines. Soak in hot bath in our dwarf-ass tub as best i can. Am about to try broiling in a shower.

I'm so tired of this crap. Where is bones with a magic lung-fixing ear-clearing pill when you need him.

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 4 months

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This is a fun thing about this John Robins/Elis James radio show: even the oldest episodes are recent enough so I can find the stuff they reference. On The Bugle, Andy Zaltzman sometimes complains about reviews but I often struggle to find them when I look them up, mainly because he seems to be mostly upset about reviews he got in about 2001 (aside from those few weeks in early 2017 when John Oliver had recently left The Bugle and Andy complained repeatedly and with clearly genuinely hurt and bitterness about the reviewer who called him a “left-behind sidekick”, he did not name the reviewer but that phrase was enough to successfully Google it, and Dominic Maxwell can fuck go fuck himself for that one). However, Robins and James mostly complain about stuff that is well within the timeline of Chortle archives, so it’s fun looking them up to compare the reality to their description.

In this case, John Robins also did not specifically mention the publication of the review, but he did call it the big comedy trendsetting website, and since my Tumblr blog didn’t exist in 2014 I figured that just left one option. And I was right. Here is a clip of John Robins on his XFM radio show on August 23, 2014, broadcasting from Edinburgh, discussing the show he did the night before and that had a reviewer in:

And here is the corresponding review.

John Robins made it sound like any review coming out of that night would be a lot worse than three stars. This Tornado Loves You, his 2014 Edinburgh show, is my favourite John Robins show of the three that are on his Bandcamp page (which means, my favourite John Robins show from before his big award-winning Darkness of Robins). It's useless to reduce something as subjective as comedy to a quantitative measurement, but also, I think that show was a solid four stars, and the review gave it three. However, three stars isn't that bad, and the review overall was all right. And they did acknowledge that there were circumstances beyond John Robins' control (that's how I know for sure that this was the night he was talking about, that they described the same unfortunate events in the radio show and in the review).

Reading that review did remind me of how much I like that John Robins show, and I've also thought of that as I've listened to the radio episodes he did while performing it in Edinburgh and then touring it (I'm into the December 2014 radio episodes now). So I decided to re-listen to it tonight. It's on Bandcamp, in case anyone else wants to do the same This Tornado Loves You, it says 2015 on Bandcamp because that version was recorded during his tour the following year, but it was his 2014 show).

I'm starting this post before actually listening to it, thought I'd use this to write down thoughts as I have them.

- Oh, he opens with the “pussy line” bit, which that mostly mediocre review mentioned as a highlight, but it makes me wince. I don’t even know why, it’s the sort of cynical observation I like, and I think it’s accurate, and amusing. But makes me feel slightly sick, possibly just from hearing the word “pussy” said so many times. I don’t think that word is, like, offensive or anything. But it makes me slightly squeamish, as does the accurate admonishment to a type of comedy that probably includes some comedy routines and/or performers I quite like.

- Then he goes into pretty much the exact thing I’ve talked about on this blog a few times lately; I didn’t remember this detail of that show until now, so while I’ve been writing screeds about it I forgot that John Robins had already addressed the issue himself.

Okay. So can I now stop feeling guilty about having said I like John Robins' comedy best when he's miserable, now that I remember he himself has acknowledged that is how it works? I've made some posts lately about how John Robins' comedy is centred on cynicism and self-loathing and bitterness, on how frustrating it is to be overly intense and anxious and hypercompetitive and angry and annoying about it, and as a person who is also all those things, I enjoy listening to this perspective in a comedy show. Which led me to say I'm very glad he got sober but, you know, I hope he doesn't fix everything in his life all at once. It wasn't just the alcohol making him act like that, right? He's still going to be bitter and annoying, right?

Well, I don't need to feel bad for saying it anymore, because he also said in. In 2014, while explaining that those days are over, because he has found the love of his life Sara Pascoe, ended a twenty-year search for happiness, and will never need to seek happiness again because he's found it forever. So that's all fine then. It's all fine, in this alternate universe where Hannah Gadsby won the Edinburgh Award on their own in 2017.

- He segways from this into his Stewart Lee bit, and I think I need to cut that clip out as well. I do think that Chortle review focused a bit of a disproportionate amount on the Stewart Lee bit, which was a quite small part of the show (though I’m also now about to disproportionately focus on it, I guess inter-comedian gossip is hard to resist), and makes me think a pro-Stewart Lee bias may have slightly unfairly impacted the reviewer’s judgement of John Robins. Though I, of course, say that as someone with my own biases (bias that include liking Stewart Lee, obviously, everyone likes Stewart Lee, he's a brilliant comedian, but I also think there are plenty of legitimate criticisms to make about him).

Look. It’s probably not the strongest part of the show, I think I can imagine a couple of ways he could have made that a bit funnier, and maybe it’s not a bulletproof criticism. But I do really enjoy the audacity.

I wrote a post about this last year when I first listened to this show, saying it reminds me of this guy who used to dominate in the wrestling national championships for a few years running. He had this really specific style that no one had a real answer for, like with every different thing you tried, you’d play into his hands because his style would let him use it against you. People across the country were trying to figure out how to get around it, and one day, I was doing video review with a friend because one of my athletes had to go up against him, and I said, “Has anyone ever tried doing it back to him. Like. I don’t know if it would work. Maybe it wouldn’t. But has anyone even tried? Everyone just thinks of him as so untouchable that he has a monopoly on this strategy, but there’s nothing actually stopping other people from using it, is there?

I just love the idea of John Robins trying to write his Edinburgh show, struggling as all comedians are with being in the shadow of the giants, trying to make sure that whatever he writes is something that comedy arbitrator Stewart Lee hasn’t declared asinine, something Stewart Lee can’t make fun of, and then just thinking: “Wait. Why not do it back to him?” Because no one’s tried. Well, Kitson, a few times, but Stewart Lee’s reaction to that was probably to say “You’re right, Daniel, you are better than me,” so that’s not quite the same thing. No one’s really tried doing it back to him. And, sure, John Robins may not have landed the perfect shot. But he tried. I respect the effort. Anyone can stand in front of an arts festival comedy audience and talk shit about Michael McIntyre. It takes some audacity to try it with Stewart Lee.

And then he goes into this bit, which is one of those moments in comedy that make me say - Oh, thanks for pointing out that thing that I think all the time and never hear other people articulate. Which is supposed to be a big thing in comedy, right? Lots of comedians claim to be saying those things, I think all comedians try to be saying those things. But there's so much comedy that most things have been said already.

Well, this one thing isn't exactly the deep and vital secret of the universe, but it is an accurate observation that I haven't heard made all that often:

Weirdly, for the second time in a row and about wildly different topics, I tried to think of who else I've heard say this thing from this John Robin show, and I come up with Kitson and not many others. Daniel Kitson dedicated a significant portion of his career to making this point in beautiful and poignant ways. I'm not saying John Robins has reached those heights, but I quite like his straight-to-the-point approach to it. It's also interesting to hear it from the perspective of someone who, at the time, was happily in a relationship.

I mean, I guess I can't say this is a completely novel observation, as comedy is full of "marriage is a ball and chain" jokes. But it's nice to hear that point made with slightly more nuance than "my bitch wife won't let me go to the pub with my friends".

I think that sort of thing is why this show is my favourite pre-Darkness of Robins stand-up show that John Robins has done, even though I don't normally tend to be a big fan of "I've recently found love, let me tell you about it" shows. The Darkness of Robins is my favourite John Robins show, which makes more sense, because it's a breakup show, and I tend to like breakup shows. For reasons that John Robins outlines in a clip I uploaded further up in this post, I guess. Misery makes better comedy than happiness.

But also, I tend to specifically like breakup shows because I do often think a lot of relationships are probably a bad idea. My friends know not to go to me for romantic advice, because I will always say vaguely neutral things that boil down to "Well I'm sure there's a way past this problem and stay together", to compensate for the fact that of course I think they should break up. Because I just about always think everyone should break up with their partner, I think almost everyone in a relationship is pretending to be happier than they are about it, but I understand that we're supposed to respect their relationship, so I guess people have signed up for this because they want to be miserable with each other, and I won't advise them against that since it's their prerogative (not all of them, there is one person who might be reading this who has what seems like a truly excellent relationship, and yours is one of the few where it seems like a very good thing and a net positive in life, I promise I am not hearing you tell me about your wife while secretly thinking you should probably break up, I think that about almost everyone else I know but genuinely not about you, sorry for this).

Anyway. The point is, most "I found love" shows don't feel all that sincere to me, while a breakup show, like a breakup in real life, is where you can stop pretending not to see all the massive problems in a relationship, and tell us what really happened. Which makes the breakup comedy show, by and large, more entertaining than their opposite. However, This Tornado Loves You is John Robins' "I found love" show (three years before his breakup show, which was better than this one and won the big award to prove it), and it's so good because it's honest. Because it has passages like the one I just posted, which doesn't have "honesty" along the lines of the old school "ball and chain, I hate my wife" comedy, it has honesty like "I love my girlfriend and she's wonderful but my friendships have inevitably taken a hit". That seems honest.

...Okay, so I am still adjusting to work after a week off, it's getting late and I worked long hours today and have to get up early tomorrow to do the same, and I think I'm going to stop this post. Because I thought it would be fun to re-listen to the hour-long John Robins show and liveblog it, but it's now taken me about 90 minutes to write about the show's first twenty minutes, because I keep stopping to cut out clips and write stuff. And I do not have that kind of time in the short window between when I get home from work and when I'd need to go to sleep to not be exhausted all day tomorrow. So I'm going to cut it off here so I'm not up all night writing.

It's a good show. But it off Bandcamp and listen to it. Its an "I found love and I'm happy now" show by one of the top five most cynical comedians I've ever heard. I actually think Speakeasy is probably John Robins' objectively best show on Bandcamp (and all three of his Bandcamp shows are good), but this one is my personal favourite due to subjective tastes. I think the Chortle reviewer under-valued it, as did that man who used it as an umbrella.

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catchingbigfish · 9 months

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writing plans for the rest of 2023

aka, yet another accountability post i'll laugh at in a few months when i realize how off track my plans have gone again

i am freakishly close to done with the first draft of Conversion; i'm at 57k words as of right this very second, and i'm trying very hard to not go past 90k words on the first draft (even though i think it could edge closer to 120k if i let go with full reckless abandon), and really, my target is to make it a tight 80-85k words. plus, my weekend plans to swap my office and bedroom (who the fuck decided the largest room should be the place you sleep?? that makes no sense!) have been thwarted by my fiance getting sick again, so if i run another few 4-5k days in a row? i might knock this out within the week.

on top of that, i'm enrolled in julia inglis's new shadow doll course (it's a shameless indulgence of mine) which starts august first, so it seems like the prime time to consider exactly how i plan to spend late summer/early fall and nanowrimo this year. here's my current plan:

finish the first draft of Conversion by July 31. this seems very doable so far, unless i really do let go and indulge in all those side conversations and small subplots boiling around in my brain.

spend all of august really delving into the shadow doll course, giving my brain a serious break from writing, and channel all that energy into other types of creativity. this also seems doable, but there's a chance i'll be forced onto a business trip in late august. if that's the case, it'll probably be three or four days, and i'll go ahead and do my first read-through of conversion on the trip. (i read So It Goes way too early and i realize that now -- i have to find a way to force myself to give it at least three weeks before i read through Conversion.)

spend september working on a developmental, high-level, birds-eye-view revision of the first draft of Conversion. if all goes according to plan, i'll use the first few weeks to draft new character sketches and go back to tidy up any mischaracterizations from the characters developing along the drafting process, tighten plot points that i think are dragging, and do a new zero draft based on the first draft plus any new additions i think are necessary, then spend the last few weeks doing the actual drafting for any new scenes i need (and hopefully, for the love of god, creating actual chapter breaks in there). this also seems doable.

get Conversion ready for alpha-readers and zero draft the sort-of-sequel Apostate (👀) in october. yeah i'm basically fully committed to this idea now, lol. the working title is Apostate because i'm terrible at titles and i think it's a fun counterpoint to the title Conversion. i've realized my original cult fiction concept works unreasonably well as a follow up to Conversion (and that's one of the two reasons the ending changed so dramatically), so i'm going for it. i'm not confident i can do this all in october, but i'd love to do nanowrimo again this year and draft Apostate during the month, so this is like my stretch goal. also, i'm not comfortable calling it beta reading just yet, but i'm hoping to get Conversion to a point where i can hand it off to some people who can tell me if it's working, where things are lacking, and any glaring issues i can't see because i'm too close it. (if all goes according to plan, i hope to make a call for alpha readers in early october and have the draft handed over by november so i can force myself to only work on Apostate that month! i wouldn't expect readers to actually dive in until after november, since most likely, they'll be doing nano too -- but it's just the best way to motivate myself). this is definitely the goal i see most likely to fall off track.

spend november drafting Apostate. again, the entire concept of writing Apostate is definitely the weakest link in my plans, but it would be so nice to do!

take december off. seriously, if i actually do this in the way i want, i will need *so* much of a break it's unreal.

#writeblr #about elle #wip: conversion #wip: apostate #accountability post #plans

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thebattleisoverbut-thewargoeson · 2 years

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TW: Sexual coercion, stealthing, women on contraception.

A friend of mine, E, is getting married in a month's time. Last weekend was her twice-postponed hen do (owing to the 'vid pandemic), arranged meticulously by her best friend, B. We stayed in a glorious Airbnb, with the Friday night involving games, a piñata, an outdoor jacuzzi and karaoke. Late Saturday afternoon, we went to the cocktail-making class which one of the hens, E's colleague, had booked.

During this, I went over to speak to B and A. I caught the tail end of B saying '...as soon as I came off them, I was fine. My body went back to normal'. She explained to me they were talking about contraception, then asked what my favourite form was. My initial response was: 'My personality does the trick!' before I told them that I'd been on a couple of contraceptive pills in the past which had led to multiple ruptured ovarian cysts, involving agonising pain and being rushed to hospital from work. These have always coincided with me either beginning the medication or ceasing it. Just over eleven years ago, I had an Implanon inserted into my upper arm which did prevent pregnancy when I was r*ped shortly afterwards however, six months later (having been celibate for that entirety), I had a period which didn't stop. When I went back to my GP surgery, they opted to put me back on the Pill for three months, AS WELL AS still having the Implanon in my arm. This prescription ran out just before that Christmas and when my period started that December, it didn't stop once again. I returned to my GP surgery in January 2012 and had been bleeding for six weeks by that stage. This time, I saw my usual female GP and she booked me in to have the Implanon removed and tested me for anaemia, given my prolonged menstrual bleeding.

I also disclosed to B and A, hesitantly, that I'd always been pressured into going on the Pill because every partner wanted to 'fuck [me] without a condom'. I used to be uncomfortable with asserting boundaries and instead of standing up for myself, I went along with it: visiting my GP, discussing different Pill options (ruling out any that could interact with my epilepsy medication) and taking contraceptive Pills as prescribed, purely so that my partner could relinquish any responsibility with regards to to sexual health or unwanted pregnancy in pursuit of his own pleasure. B confessed that her husband kept complaining about having to wear a condom after the birth of their second child four months ago. I suggested that her husband could go on hormones or get the snip if condoms bother him so much. A sneered that men don't want to go on contraceptive Pills because of the side effects, to which I replied: 'So it's fine for women to deal with headaches, migraines, nausea, weight fluctuation, mood swings, ruptured cysts, disrupted periods, acne, changes in libido and who knows what else?' She could only shake her head.

This conversation would've sobered me up, had I not already been drinking mocktails. Having not seen most of these women since our late teens when we were in sixth form, here we were at E's hen party thirteen years on, voicing our disheartening and disenchanting experiences with male partners pressuring us to sacrifice our body's natural hormone levels in order for them to enjoy 'raw' sex. Following instances of my last partner withholding contraception (telling me he'd put on a condom when he hadn't/ removing condoms without my knowledge or consent), meaning I had to seek emergency contraception, I've been celibate for over a year now and honestly? I have no desire to fall off that wagon. Often, I felt like I was just chronically unlucky when it came to this, yet clearly women everywhere share similar experiences. The hen party drove home that even in 2022, women are still expected to aspire to and prioritise events such as engagement and marriage to a man. There are separatism women's movements in Japan and South Korea for women who are sick of dealing with this nonsense. Perhaps it's time that women everywhere followed their lead. In fact, it's long overdue.

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chibinightmares · 1 month

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サッカリン染め承服 «🌸» Saccharine-dyed Compliance

It's been seven months and twenty-six days since your contract was nullified with the Navy and seventeen days since your last day of work.. overall, it's been a busy ride, hasn't it?

Ever since your newfound lover came into your life rather unexpectedly last September, it seemed like things had finally gone in your favor.. at least, until you started to feel.. burnt out. Three-to-four months into your very first job, it felt as though you were making your way up.. a little too fast. Going from a simple employee to a rather shitty and confusing company to becoming the Lead-in-Training for your club's team, it all was too fast.. and the worst part was, you never wanted it to begin with.

You knew your nature well, easily guilt-ridden and simple to trick, but why was it that your boss' words could sway you so easily? You knew this job well, hell, your own mother had spent four years in utter misery because of it.. but then.. why was it that you were becoming too competent to say no?

Of course though, as you'd soon come to find out, this would come to have consequences.

It.. felt weird and scary to feel burnt out for the first time-- almost as though you were letting everyone down by wanting to quit in mid-December.. seeing your name as "Employee of the Month" no longer filled you with a sense of pride.. but rather disgust. You always hated being in the spotlight ever since childhood but seeing your name on that piece of paper on the cork board made your blood boil.. it felt as though your co-workers would come to expect more from you.. even if you knew that wouldn't be true.

It wasn't until January, when your mother convinced you to stay for at least another month, that you found out your boss, the very person who managed to push you this far, was quitting.

..and what followed the days after she quit was hell on your mental health.

Constant back and forthing between not being able to do your job because you knew too much and trying to make it so everyone else could do theirs had made your body weak, sick even, till the point where a possible hire came in and brought a sense of false hope.. a false hope that made you panic when you heard he didn't take the job.

It was horrible until you decided that you had enough.

When February came around, you made your decision. Of course, your boss' employer had offered you a sense of relief but your mind was set in stone.. "you know, when we get a new supervisor in, all the weight of what you've been doing will be lifted off your shoulders,"-- what bullshit to hear.

Though when the day came, it felt.. strange.

The last day of work came and went and.. you went home happy. Happy to have experience but happy to relax finally-- happy to finally feel as though your life was your own again.

It's been seven months and twenty-six days since you felt free, having kept your contract nullification hidden from those around you until you returned home from visiting family out-of-state, and six months and twenty-nine days since you started your first job.

Adulting has just begun and with it, you're lucky to have your partner by your side.. the one who helped you understand it was normal to feel what you felt, who held you close as you got sick from overexertion.. the same boy who you never thought you'd get to hold in your arms as you slept, finally feeling at peace rather than on your guard, damn near 24/7.. the same one who tells you he loves you.

It's an odd feeling to be loved for once.. but it's a welcome thought, nonetheless.

It's been a while since I've made a proper post and well, who would've thought that this would be it.. it's nice to vent once in a while.

#blurb #angst blurb #saccharine series

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psychicdragoncoffee · 3 months

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Books

I believe I might have a bit of a problem lately.

I sometimes go to these book sales that take place at a library offshoot that sells used books from the library or books that are donated.

The sale in question mainly involves filling up a tote with whatever you find that you want. Sometimes I can completely fill up the tote. But not every time. Not if I go to every sale.

Then after that, I could go to another store to buy even more books. The first time after moving I didn't do this, but the other two times I did. The first time I did this I went to Target later and picked up four more books.

Then yesterday I went to Barnes and Noble and got three more.

The problems...

I have growing piles of books and don't have shelving space for these books. The only bookshelf I have is exclusively bought for manga. I will have to get more shelves for my growing book piles.

Unless I'm hyperfocused on the book I'm reading I'm a really slow reader. I got my copy of Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes probably in November and I'm not even halfway done with it. Though I do admit I haven't even picked up the book once in December. Since getting that book the two sales happened and I have bought 7 new books [Not including what I got from the tote sales because I have no idea how many I got during those sales] Nor does this include the books I got for Christmas [5 addition books, 6 including a manga. I'm not including manga in all of this.] And this doesn't also include any books I get from Book of the Month either. [5 Books in November, 1 in December, 1 in January though I gave that one away since I had no interest in any of the books for the month.] And then I forgot at least three other books. One was a cookbook, one a used book that my mom had an extra of, then a book about muscle and weight lifting.

So lately I have been trying to progress in the book I've been reading; even if it is just reading a chapter a day. Since I had gotten sick I'm mostly been sleeping crocheting or reading.

I have a server I have made to be like a book club. It isn't very active right now, but I'm hoping it could encourage me and others to work through their TBR piles by talking to each other about these books.

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dawnowar · 5 months

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Post from the future 12/30/2023

Now I'm back up and around, im starting to exercise again and i'm trying to be a person but im sleepy all the time and im coughing like crazy and I have so much gunk in my lungs and it replaces itself as soon as i cough it up.

I'm basically going to work and doing Jazzercise classes because i only have to the end of the month to get in 17 more classes to get my t-shirt and then i sleep and thats about it.

The bronchitis is sickness #5 in a row.

I've been sick since the end of the first week in October save about four or five good days and a day and a half i was in some denial and tried to be OK for Halloween.

I decide to write off the rest of the year and just work and get my tshirt. Also i end up with unexpected bills for having had to tear the shed down at the same time my vacation was happening and getting sick and missing work and the cat had a thing i had to take him to the vet for (hes fine) and i'm just eating a lot of junk and getting fatter and fatter.

When im sick i eat whatever im craving and im certainly not eating low calorie and exercising. When im sick 5x in a row for basically three months which includes the eating holidays... well I have definitely gained back some pounds i took off before Setzer to look good in my outfits.

December is diet sabotage month anyway so im eating the holiday foods without guilt and i'll get back to diet and exercise in January.

I keep exercising to get my tshirt through December so im flabby but im not out of shape. Hoping that gives me a head start in January.

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secretlykoishi · 9 months

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VENT POST (TW: Mental Health Issues, SH, Suicide Mentions, SA, LGBTQIA+ Issues, Attempted Murder, Abuse, ED)

I'm just so tired of everything. Like, legitimately everything. It isn't enough that I grew up in an abusive household, survived four murder attempts (at least one of which was an attempted hate crime) and three suicide attempts, have been a victim of sexual assault twice, dealt with homelessness for a year and a half at least only to get into horrid living conditions surround by awful people halfway across the country from anyone I've ever known, and I can't work because I'm so disabled from my mental illnesses as wells as Autism and ADHD (which I can't medicate because literally every medication meant to help with these things has given me an eating disorder that makes me unhealthily skinny and underweight), living in a country rapidly devolving into a third would country and/or Germany in the 1930s, no. None of that was enough.

Aside from being, frankly, the only person to do jack shit around the house that I live in, constantly cleaning up after the four people I live with since none of them will wash their dishes, take out the trash (something that physically hurts me due to an issue with my wrists), sweep the floor, wipe the counters and stovetops, clean any of the tables around the house, or mop spots that need it. I do all of this effectively daily because no one else will clean even though they're all peachy fucking keen to make messes everywhere and just leave dishes lying around. That's on top of the blatant homophobia, transphobia, and/or ableism that some of the people I live with have. Aside from all of fucking that, I can't even get a victory with my fucking identity.

I got my approval notice—not my actual paperwork for it, just my approval notice—for my name change back in September last year. Mind you, I was homeless at this time and living in a sixth month shelter. My time there ran out in December but after that, I managed to get into a housing program through my mental health... in which I've stayed in possibly the worst room and board known to mankind. I was supposed to receive my actual paperwork in November, I would much later learn, but I never got it because it was never sent out to me. I ended up having to eventually pay $40 I didn't really have in order to get that paperwork so I could finally start changing all my documents legally. Now that I had that, it was time to get my social security and new ID and all that, so I ask my mental health service for help in doing this. I proceed to get cancelled on four sessions in a row, making it nearly a full month, until I finally manage to get to the DMV today.

Aaaaaaaaaaand I can't get my fucking updated ID yet because there's even more fucking hoops to jump through. I feel like slamming my head repeatedly into a brick fucking wall. I'm not sure how much more I can take. Now I have to find a way to the social security office myself, with no help from my mental health service, even though I don't have a car or bike, and I can't take any kind of public transit due to PTSD from sexual assault, and I don't have anyone who can give me a ride, and I don't have money for an Uber or even gas, and it's too far to walk. I am fucked in every sense of the word, and every single fucking capacity. And even fucking then, the very fucking soonest I would be able to get there is a week from now and it would still be a week even after that for me to get what I need from there, and that's assuming I can make it there and get it filled out, and then I need to somehow get back to the DMV with unreliable transportation, and even if everything that goes well, it's probably going to be another two weeks before I get my ID. Keep in mind, I only have housing support for about the next month and a half. At this point I'm genuinely wondering what even is the fucking point. Literally everything has gone wrong and is still going wrong and I am sick and fucking tired of trying to hold everything together. I am genuinely not sure I can take any more. I need a fucking break, plain and simple, but I can never fucking get one.

If God really is real, then when I die, only one of us will have to beg for forgiveness, and it will not be me.

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astralscrivener · 2 years

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⭐ for at skyfall!! :D

first of all: i love u

second of all. this is a long one so i'm putting it under a read more, but first, for anyone who doesn't know what at skyfall is:

can i interest you in a klance and adashi fic where shiro and keith get kidnapped and adam joins the castleship crew

fanfic writers: director's cut!

OKAY SO it's silly. it's so silly. the very very basic premise for this one had been sitting in my google docs for four years. since senior year of high school, bestie!!!! FOUR YEARS!!!! i'm almost done w college that's how long the basic premise has been sitting there!!

here. i can provide a screenshot of exactly what it looked like in my notes. it was a google doc full of things i could use as potential fic titles or chapter titles bc i STRUGGLE with titles so it was handy to have some notes for that. the edit history on this bitch goes back to december 17, 2017, aka peak of the voltron fandom

ID: a screenshot of a google doc. in bold and italics, "skyfall / at skyfall", followed by six bullet points: "multichapter probably, or a oneshot, either way it has to deal with kuron and someone has to come close to death, focus on the downfalls of the two previous black paladins (shiro & keith), black paladin lance, klance for reasons". End ID.

and so you can very much tell that this was in the era when everyone thought lance should have been the black paladin, and also that time when everyone knew kuron was a clone from like the minute he entered season 3 but they dragged the plot out for three and a half seasons. ANYWAY

like many other people, 2020 sent me spiraling back into klance because quarantine truly was the time when people just went back into old hyperfixations. like i was still actively writing and interested in klance, but hoooo the panini brought the brainrot back in full force, and so i wanted to write angst. it had been a long time since i wrote angst. and i wanted a long-term project that wasn't the fix-it fic and also wasn't a modern au. i wanted the paladinsverse dammit. and then lo and behold i found this in my notes and went "oh. i can use this"

i ended up scrapping the kuron thing mostly because i missed shiro and i was sick of the little clone bitch, and also my feelings on BP lance have gotten more complicated, and ALSO i wrote the original premise when no one had any idea who the fuck adam was, and ALSO i've gotten way into the broganes dynamic, and so with the Glasses Of Hindsight on the plot became: shiro and keith having to survive together, keith and lance secret relationship, adam joins the castleship crew

i still chose "at skyfall" bc black lion guardian spirit of the sky and blah blah blah, but the focus is a little less on the whole "black paladins" thing and more on like, the team's bonds as a whole. and also i'm a sucker for devotion, be it platonic romantic familial whatever, so jot that the fuck down. really i just want more hurt/comfort. more "how far would you go to protect the ones you love." more "what would you sacrifice to keep them safe." and so during the past few nanowrimos i just began. writing chapters. and yelling about them. and now i'm six chapters deep and proud of the way it's coming along

(and thank you for editing them my wonderful beta bestie <333)

thank u for this ask!!!

#eileen answers #my writing #ask meme #queen eevee

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thesickpanda · 4 years

Text

Where is My Mind?

Stress can make you feel like you're going crazy.

I cannot emphasize this enough. Long-term, persistent and intense stress well above your baseline levels can make you feel like you're losing your mind.

Life is stressful and when I think back to when the intense periods of stress started in mine it gets a bit ridiculous because I grew up in a domestically violent household with severely mentally ill parents in a country on the brink of civil war with one of the highest crime rates in the world. So I have been kinda stressed for a very long time. However, in more recent months, the level of acute stress I've been experiencing has made me feel disconnected from reality. I've experienced derealisation a number of times due to Lyrica withdrawal and accidental cannabis highs. But this one is different. The depersonalisation I’ve been experiencing is from pure, unrelenting stress. I really did question my sanity more than once.

In July, I saw my psychologist to describe this feeling to her. She very helpfully drew a diagram which explained the neuroscience of why we feel this way when we've experienced high levels of stress for a long time. It was really helpful to see that because it reassured me that what I was feeling was, as much as this can be said, "normal", given the amount of strain I was under. But the stress hasn’t let up since then and I have been well above my baseline for much too long.

Long story short, I haven't really recovered since my family visited me last year. 2018 was a year from hell. 2019 hasn’t been much better but for different reasons. Basically, the hardships I’ve endured being the leader of a non-profit all these years reached critical mass and finally, at long last, broke me. After 8 years of pouring all my heart, soul and every last spoon I had into it, I quit last month…and to very little fanfare at that. 3 people turned up for our final meeting, and only because we needed to hand them the organization’s physical assets. We had a little unplanned dinner out and that was that.

I'm grateful to the handful of people who have reassured me they will continue its legacy beyond my departure, genuinely I am, but overall I think I stayed in that position at least a year longer than I should have. I feel incredibly jaded and cynical about the whole thing.

And I’m sorry if this offends anyone, but screw Sydney’s activists. The vast majority of them can barely call themselves that. I have never been in such an apathetic, vain, self-centered and lazy city when it comes to political activism. This migrant has had enough of trying to get Australians to care about their own issues. (And yeah, the people I handed the non-profit over to? Also migrants).

It is telling that the final meeting was also the night before we moved house (because we always had to wrap our own lives around the goings on of that organisation, not the other way around, which is another major reason we quit). So after an hour and a half’s drive into the city, we had to get home late to get up early the next day to start that fun process.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Before we ever got to moving day, we first had to find a house. If you haven’t done it before, let me tell you, the process of house hunting on a tight budget in a hostile market is disgustingly stressful.

We were looking from June. The property market in Sydney is unbelievably expensive and even though it experienced a so-called "correction" for a year, (meaning that house prices stabilized instead of continuing to rise), that ended just as we entered into the property hunt. I am extremely grateful that we got the house we did at the price we did, but my God, getting to that point nearly killed me. I keep explaining to people that it felt as if my partner and I ran full blast over broken glass to the edge of a dock, leapt several metres and grabbed onto the barnacles of a departing ship by our fingernails. I really do think we may have been among the last millennials that got on that “property” ship, and it was only because, at long last, we had help from my partner's extremely wealthy parents. After shaming us for a decade for not being able to afford impossible house prices (“ok boomer…”), he finally relented and helped us out. Again, I'm grateful, but also disgusted that this is the world we live in. Housing should be a human right and we shouldn't have this intergenerational greed and infighting over something so basic. Forgive my inner socialist.

Finding the house was only the first part of the equation; moving into it was the next step.

The moving process was incredibly arduous. At the time we should have been packing up the house, my partner's work decided to send him interstate for business on multiple occasions. By the time moving day came round, we were not ready and we couldn't afford to pay removalists. We enlisted the help of two amazing friends and Joe's brother-in-law. Again, super grateful that I had their help, but my God, was it intense. It took the better part of four days to move everything. We had to pay off the mortgage and the rent for the previous place for a two-week period, putting considerable strain on our savings. At the same time, we needed to get some work done in the new house so that was being done while we were trying to sort out the old house. The rental laws in this country are a joke and are widely considered to be abusive to renters, including by many of my American friends who now live here. I doubt we will ever see our bond returned, even though we were treated like crap living there for three years in a house that was not sealed, had no insulation or air conditioning, leaked and was draughty, didn't have proper doors et cetera et cetera. I mean, we had maggots falling from the ceiling… twice. The place was rotting and rotten but because my partner couldn't completely colour match the paint when he tried to cover up what was absolutely reasonable wear and tear on one of the walls, I'm sure we will lose all that. As usual, the landlord will claim it costs our entire $1800 bond to get a $50 an hour painter in to patch up one wall. They always do this. In your contract it says reasonable wear and tear are a few knocks and dings on the wall and that the tenant is not expected to pay for that. In reality, in every rental we have ever lived in, the landlord has refused to refund the bond when there’s been even the slightest bit of damage, even if we had a record of being model tenants. It was almost comical how hard my partner was trying in the middle of the move to cover up a few scrapes on the walls from moving furniture in and out. It all came to nothing because for love nor money he couldn't find the correct match of paint. And then of course he had to mow the entire grounds of the last rental when he really wanted to be using his weekends to sort out and unpack the new house. Good God, it was awful.

My partner and I barely spent any quality time together during this period and he was extremely stressed out and distant from me. I totally understand why but the whole thing flared every single one of my conditions and I needed him as my carer. But he couldn’t really do that, as he was trying to do literally everything else. Moving house is hard on a healthy body, never mind one with two chronic pain disorders, irritable bowel and generalised anxiety disorder. And then (because of course), a family member of mine (one of the abusers) picked that moment in time to start harassing me, thereby triggering my PTSD which led to a nervous breakdown which led to intense depersonalisation, insomnia and nausea. Everyone and everything seemed unfamiliar to me, even my partner. I started to doubt whether or not I loved myself or anyone else anymore. I just felt so completely and utterly disconnected from the world. I began to lie awake at night terrified that I was fading away, that I could no longer feel anything other than fear. All the time, people kept saying, “congratulations on the new house! You must be so excited!” But all I could feel was sickness and dread.

Two weeks after moving in, I had to drop my Lyrica one more time. This drop has been very difficult. All of the stress has led to some dark thoughts in the back of my mind which of course Lyrica then co-opts and exaggerates. I have had a more than a few moments of suicidal ideation. Everything in my life on paper has improved. We are now homeowners, we live in a beautiful part of the world, we've made some new friends lately, things are settling down et cetera et cetera. But I feel like I'm in shell shock after this year and last year. I haven't even had time to process that I am no longer the president of the not-for-profit I founded and formulated an identity around. I just haven't had the time to process literally anything. I've been more exhausted that I have ever felt. Oh, I'm sure everyone will say, “this too shall pass”. But I do not believe that bullshit. Yes, this individual stressor will pass but more horror will come and I know that makes me sound super negative but I just cannot remember a period of time when things were calm for… I can't remember. I just feel like I've been in a hurricane forever.

So yeah, I'm writing this post while experiencing Lyrica withdrawal which makes me depressed and anxious. It's probably colouring my vision on everything. Fine. But I have been going through Lyrica withdrawal for two years, so it’s kinda become my normal. My final drop is on 26 December after which I will experience two more months of withdrawal and hopefully, after that, some semblance of sanity again. In the midst of all this I have to study for my citizenship test which is at the end of this month. I don't get any government support for my disability until I have been a citizen of this country for eight years, and as I’d like to survive my 40s, I need to get citizenship now. But yeah… studying an eighty-page textbook with an addled brain is just so much fun.

Of course, during this time we haven’t have Internet because we had to disconnect the old place and it takes an age for it to get reconnected at the new place. We only recently acquired it at the new house. So there are piles of emails waiting for me. Many of them are from friends and I'm glad for that. But there is also a lot of life admin I now need to do. I have to change my address on every account I hold, which is really tedious. We have also had to organise time with family. Because my partner's family helped us get this house, we feel especially obliged to go to every single one of the family events, of which there are many. He comes from a big Catholic family so every relative who comes to visit, every party that's being held, every birthday, wedding, funeral and religious holiday, we’re now expect to attend. We have several in the next few weekends, taking up most of the time we *needed* to be unpacking the house. We’re obligated now.

In all this negativity, though, I want to say that I am genuinely grateful to be one of the lucky ones to have a house. I know it sounds like I am whining about a good thing. It's not that I'm not glad for this (I know how ridiculously privileged we are). I just haven't been able to really feel it yet. I think that regardless of what happened this year, I’d be feeling this way. Something broke in me last year and just hasn't really come back. I feel shattered.

And all my chronic pain conditions have been wearing me down too. I found out this year that the operation that cost me and my friends so much money (to remove that nerve in my foot) had failed. Or rather, the surgeon had completely botched it up. I have PTSD from that surgery. Just the thought of going back to have it done again fills me with heart racing terror and cold sweats. I’ve had numerous surgeries before that one and been fine, but the reaction I had from the anesthetic last time was so severe, and the recovery so long, that I genuinely fear it more than almost anything else. And yet I need to go in for that nightmare all over again in 2020. I'm going to be asked to trust a different surgeon to do the same so-called “simple operation” to restore some functionality to my left foot. My right knee is probably also going to need surgery since it has been resistant to any physiotherapy rehabilitation. And on top of all this, my poor partner's health has also taken a hit this year from the stress which is worrying me. Because I can always do with some more worry…

But hey! This too shall pass! You should be happy! Life is great now! Yay yay yay!

Fuck, sometimes it just want to be allowed to feel shit and to have other people say “okay you can feel shit now. Yes, some good things have happened but right now you need to process the bad and that's okay too”. My lord, if people could just do that for me. If they could just let me feel what the fuck I need to feel.

What I feel is exhausted, scared, freaked out, traumatized, weird, sick, angry, overwhelmed and fed up. And I need to feel those things before I can feel anything else.

#rant #Fibromylagia #chronic illness #chronic pain #chronic stress #stress #overwhelmed #personal catharsis

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