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kingpreciouswrld · 1 year

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was thinking about this reading the cara mia fanfic.

one shot when reader (that is quite infatuated with a certain tall principal), gets asked by weems to help with the Rave’N for student inclusion. reader says yes, but also incloses that she won’t be attending because the person she wants to go with is unavailable. larissa asks if the person is taken and reader gives a vague, mumbled answer in response. weems observes reader over a few days and realizes they’re talking about her, so the day of the dance weems shows up at readers door, asking if she could have this dance, or something along those lines. sorry for a long post, i just wanted to see this kind of fic cause i wanna project :D

project all you want, i'm here to support you :3

pairing: Larissa Weems x Reader

word count: 1k

a/n: I hope this does your request justice. I wrote the majority of this in between customers at work so it might not be coherent :')

After class you were pulled into Larissa’s office.

You were close with said Principle ever since Weems needed help with watching Wednesday. As the eldest Addams, you needed to watch over your sister and apparently she's been giving Larissa some hard times. You were there to be a moderator between the two, someone to listen to Larissa's rants, and just a supporter really.

Expecting to be met with a question about Wednesday, you beat Larissa to the punch, "Whatever she did, I'll fix it. I don't know what it is but I'll take care of it, don't worry."

The white haired headmistress raised a brow, "Wednesday didn't do anything this time Y/n."

"Oh."

Shaking her head, she motioned toward a small stack of papers on her desk, "I called you in here to see if you could help me with this year's Rave'N. Now I know you could be busy so I decided that you could count this toward your volunteering hours."

You thought about it. Getting volunteering hours by spending time with Larissa? That definitely beat volunteering with Wednesday. It probably won't feel like work at all.

"Sure but I'm not gonna go."

"Why not?" Larissa frowned, "you'll be putting it together, you can bear the fruit of your hard labor."

Shrugging, you looked at everything except blue eyes, "The person I want to go with is unavailable so…"

"Is this person taken?" This was the first time Larissa has ever heard of you having an interest in someone and it didn't sit right with her for some reason.

The white haired woman loved to spend time with you although she'd never admit it. You brought her a sense of comfort that no one else could, made her feel things that no one else could, not even Gomez. She thought you two were close enough that you'd be comfortable enough to share this news about this…person of yours.

Was there something wrong between the two of you that she didn't know about?

"I don't think so? Ah…I mean she's just…she's just…busy that night and I don't want to take her away from her duties I guess." You answered her as you scratched the back of your head. "But it's totally fine, I'm fine with not going."

Larissa hummed, "Well, I'm sorry you won't be joining us Y/n, I would've loved your company as another pair of eyes to watch everyone."

'A chaperone,' you thought, 'and this is why I'm not going.'

— — — — — — —

Over the next couple of weeks, Larissa kept a close eye on you.

She'd be more interested in your day, more so than usual, she'd be more lenient towards Wednesday's shenanigans just so you wouldn't stress out. The woman would ask if you were okay or if you needed anything while you studied, she'd bring you snacks as you worked on the Rave'N, she basically mothered you in hopes of making you feel comfortable enough to share more about this mystery person who apparently wouldn't go to the dance with you.

It stumped Larissa on who it could be. You said she would be busy that night, no one Larissa knew would work the night of the Rave'N. Unless–

No.

No, you wouldn't be smitten with a normie.

Maybe it was the barista in town?

No, you still wouldn't date a normie, you absolutely despised them. But who else would be working the night of the Rave'N?

Well Larissa would be working–

Oh.

But that wasn't possible that you would be talking about her though, right?

She's felt the lingering glances, she's seen the very end of them, when you'd look away after she caught you looking at her. But surely you didn't feel the same way that she did…did you?

It was the night of the Rave'N and true to your word, you weren't there. Larissa had been hoping that you were bluffing but when she arrived on the dance floor, she couldn't find you anywhere.

She quickly got Marilyn to watch over the party before she slipped out and headed towards Ophelia hall.

You were oblivious to Larissa's thoughts and actions these past few weeks. Although you did notice the older woman making herself a more prominent figure in your life, you didn't think much of it. She was the headmistress after all.

A part of you hoped Larissa would figure out your feelings for her but another part of you wanted her to forget everything you said about who you wanted to go to the dance with.

You were studying on your bed when there was a frantic knock on your door. Sighing, you got up from the bed, "Look, Bianca, I told you that I didn't want to go to the dance with you–"

You swung the door open only to be surprised by a goddess dressed in a simple yet stunning silver dress. A gloved hand was mid-air as if to knock again.

"Princi– Larissa? Is everything alright?"

Larissa thanked whatever deity that you had opened your door. She wasn't expecting you to be half dressed, which concerned her that you were going to open the door to Bianca in that but she was onto more important matters at hand.

"I might've overheard something where Thornhill could work the crowd for a bit so your mystery woman could spend time with you."

Confused, you shook your head, "I'm sorry?"

"What I meant was…would..would you go to the Rave'N with me Y/n?"

You couldn't believe it. Larissa just asked you to the dance. She finally figured it out. You didn't know whether you should cry or shout for joy.

"B-But I'm a student and you're–"

"–no one has to know. No one will know. But what I know is that I'd love it if you were by my side tonight." The older woman took a step forward and gently caressed your cheek, you leaned into the warmth.

You locked eyes with Larissa and she smiled gently, "Cara Mia…"

"Mon cher…"

#larissa weems imagine #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #larissa weems fluff #larissa weems fanfic #gwendoline christie #gwendoline christie x reader

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klysanderelias · 2 years

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I mean to be fair historically a lot of political and social change did in fact work off the fact that the established power base would rather accept reforms rather than capitulate to extremist demands so technically, if you want to change things reliably, there's actually a lot of precedent for having an extremist wing cooperating with a more moderate political structure to drive positive change.

The problem is that 'left disunity' is often (from what I've seen, at least) a code for 'we have failed fundamentally to address the concerns of a group of people who see us as a threat because they don't fit in our worldview.' I've seen a lot of complaints about anarchists that rightfully ask questions like 'if I am disabled or chronically ill, what happens to me in your ideal world?' and the answers are lacking or disturbing - like yeah, a lot of anarchist thinkers have tackled this and much like 'what does a world look like without cops' there's a lot of very good answers, that work has been done, but often not by the people who are arguing methods. If I'm being asked to support a political organization that has no understanding of my needs, it's kind of on that organization to do that work to bring me in instead of expecting me to just blindly hope that when/if they start to make progress, they'll remember that I exist.

But also, as an anarchist, I also know that the state apparatus inherently requires violence to function and even as a 'fellow leftist' I am just as likely to have that violence deployed against me if I dissent, and again, if my needs aren't being represented by the state, do I become disposable in your political structure?

The problem is that 'real friends' and 'real enemies' is a very nebulous distinction when we realize that a lot of the left is made up of marginalized people and just because we've all been marginalized in some way doesn't mean we don't have biases or outright disgust when it comes to other groups. And a lot of this drives political action in a way that we often don't think about. I remember during the 2020 primaries seeing an article about the way that Biden started to overtake the polls, and there's a lot of discussion we could have about that topic but the argument this article made was that older black folks especially were voting for Biden because they simply did not trust white people to do the right thing. That Biden was the 'safe' option because they thought (and maybe correctly) that if it came down to it, white people would vote for a fascist who wouldn't raise taxes than for a progressive who would, regardless of ideology.

And those people aren't the 'enemy', they're people who genuinely do not believe that the high minded leftists would follow through because they've been burned so many times. And like, yeah, there are a lot of organizations that come to mind who, when push came to shove, I would bet money would happily throw me or other marginalized groups into the fire to consolidate power. I'm not partnering with the KS Red Guard, y'know? Regardless of what they claim, I don't trust those mother fuckers an inch.

And arguably the original post is right by saying 'we need to discuss those lines and hammer out unity instead of sniping at each other' but I think the topic of 'left unity' often hides that there's some fucked up assholes out there who are mad that people are against supporting revolution because yes people will die but nothing will change without violence and it's better than the sustained violence it takes to maintain the status quo etc etc but it's very clear that their acceptable casualties include like, all disabled people.

I'm kind of just rambling but over the years, watching some of this discourse go back and forth, a lot of the 'lack of unity' arguments really fail to understand that the right is united partially because they can all agree that SOMEONE should die or be marginalized as an intended outcome, and often marginalized people within that ideology either think that they'll get a pass for being 'one of the good ones' or accept that marginalization because yeah, women should stay in the kitchen and serve their husbands, like God intended me to do.

And that is inherently rejected by leftist ideology, even if not by individual leftist groups, so I'm ideologically opposed to an organization that wants LGBTQ+ rights at the cost of indigenous people, or whatever the flavor of asshole is, and asking me to support them because 'we both want the same thing' just isn't true.

#i screenshotted the original post to avoid getting dragged into the discourse too much #sometimes you got dumb thoughts aboit the fistfight you're watching #but don't want to wade in yourself #anyway I'm not saying i have perfect ideology #i rad that quote from the jakarta method and it fundamentally changed me #but also i follow a lot of black anarchists

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luvvewan · 3 years

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I'm so excited you are taking prompt again!!! For the hurt/comfort dialogue prompt #12, “You’re normally the tough guy. Today, let me be tough for the both of us.” From Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon. It doesn't have to be exact words, because I am honestly having trouble picturing Obi calling Qui a "tough guy"....

Thank you cass-rw for the prompt! I did change the dialogue up a little, as you suggested: “You have protected me more times than I can count, Master. This time, let me protect you.”

I’m still accepting prompts! This one got me good, wrote the whole thing this morning instead of doing any chores. It was glorious.

—

“No.”

Obi-Wan turned away, gathering a breath. The vastness of the dark forest beyond the small cave stared at him and he stared back, half in fear, half in wild, unearned hope. He knew from his research back on the ship, before all of this happened, before—he blinked and swallowed, shooing away the intrusive thoughts. He needed to be clear-headed. Focused. Alright, he could do that. On the ship, he had read about a small village somewhere in this forest.

People. Medicine, perhaps. Help.

“Padawan.”

The hand on his wrist tightened, though the pressure was still alarmingly weak. Obi-Wan looked down at his Master. “What else would I do? Leave you here to..” the words caught in his throat and he shook his head. “Master, you know I must do this.”

Qui-Gon’s blue eyes were clouded with pain, but they focused on Obi-Wan. Sweat gleamed on his too-pale skin. His long hair had come loose somewhere along the way and hung limply around his face. “You must…do as I say,” he managed to rasp.

Obi-Wan wiped the sweat from Qui-Gon’s brow with the edge of his sleeve. Heat blazed against his fingers where they brushed against his teacher’s forehead. “Let me look at it.”

Qui-Gon tensed where he was slouched against the rough cave wall. His hand crept over the wound. “There’s nothing to be done, young one. We called for help. They’ll…” he paused, trying to wet his dry lips, “Someone will come.”

With a careful touch, Obi-Wan pulled Qui-Gon’s hand away, so he could see the tiny tear in Qui-Gon’s tunic, rust-colored blood blooming around it.

Not very much blood, but then, it wasn’t blood loss Obi-Wan was worried about. It was the poison.

Qui-Gon must have noticed the change in his expression, despite Obi-Wan’s best efforts to appear calm, because he reached for Obi-Wan, patting his knee. “It seems to be slow-acting. I feel…okay, right now. We were lucky to find shelter.” A moan escaped him, and Obi-Wan helped him settle on the ground, quickly shedding his own robe and rolling it up under Qui-Gon’s head.

The cave was decent enough shelter, and the Force shields were added camouflage, well-worth the strain to Obi-Wan. Master Windu had said no skill was mastered until used in the field; certainly Obi-Wan had never maintained a Force shield for so long before. But he knew it would not be enough. The Noxii hunters that chased them were cunning and quick—able to land the poisoned dart in Qui-Gon’s flank before Obi-Wan even understood what was happening. There was no doubt in Obi-Wan’s mind that the Noxxi would catch up to them, despite the advantages the Force afforded them.

Which was why he needed to go for help. The Noxxi were outlaws, with very little support outside of the extreme fringes of society. He doubted the modest village was a haven for criminals, but they might be sympathetic to a young Jedi. The problem was he could not get through the dense forest fast enough with Qui-Gon in tow. If the Noxxi found them on their journey, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he could defend himself and his Master from them all. Yes, he was sure he needed to make the trip alone. He would be infinitely faster. Once he reached the village, he could borrow a speeder, medical supplies…

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon called to him, softly, from the ground.

He had two water skins in his pack. He would leave them both with Qui-Gon, and just take a swig before he set off. If necessary, he knew how to coax water from the forest.

“Obi-Wan.”

He’d need to gently pull Qui-Gon further into the cave, as far into the concealment of the shadows as possible, and cover him with branches and moss, so the Noxxi might not notice him, if they passed through while Obi-Wan was gone. Qui-Gon would have his lightsaber if—

“PADAWAN.”

The harsh whisper cut through everything. Obi-Wan’s stomach flipped at the obvious rebuke in the word. He kneeled beside Qui-Gon, head bowed in acknowledgement. His raggedy braid slipped out from behind his shoulder and dangled between them.

Qui-Gon inhaled, as if gathering the strength merely to speak. “I told you, young one. I forbid this.”

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. “I cannot stay here and wait for you to die, Qui-Gon.”

An unexpected smile briefly brightened Qui-Gon’s eyes. He lifted his hand, and Obi-Wan ducked down to meet it. His mentor cradled Obi-Wan’s cheek in a wide, clammy palm. “I cannot let you leave when it might kill you, Padawan. You will not do this. Not for me.”

Obi-Wan blinked against the sudden prick of warm moisture in his eyes. He squeezed Qui-Gon’s hand and rocked a little, letting the wave of worry and fear crest within him before replacing it with the steadiness of resolve, duty, the Force. “You have protected me more times than I can count, Master. This time, let me protect you.”

Despite his growing fragility, Qui-Gon dragged him in closer, until their foreheads were nearly pressed together.

Obi-Wan could feel the sick-sour breath against his face. He was not an initiate, or even a child anymore, but something inside him wanted to curl into the comfort of his Master, someone older and wiser, and hope the threats around them just vanished into the cool night air.

Qui-Gon stroked the back of his head, smoothing down the nerftail. “It is my duty…” he coughed and moaned, his pain spiking through their Force connection. “My duty to protect you. Don’t take that from me.”

He had very rarely gone against Qui-Gon in their near-decade as master and apprentice. Obi-Wan knew it was the right thing to do in this instance, but it didn’t make it easier. He could be sanctioned by the Council, or worse, damage the bond between himself and the man who had raised him. Yet no conceivable consequence mattered when Qui-Gon’s life was at stake.

He would do what he must.

Obi-Wan shored up the guards around his thoughts while allowing Qui-Gon access to his general presence in the Force. He emanated frustration and dutiful acceptance, emotions of a loyal Padawan’s surrender. “Yes, Master,” he answered at last.

A relieved, shaky sigh. “Thank you.”

—

Qui-Gon came to the independent conclusion that they should settle in the depths of the cave. Obi-Wan was sweating and trembling a bit himself by the time it was done.

His Master apologized for his helplessness and insisted Obi-Wan drink from a water skin.

Obi-Wan helped Qui-Gon take a few slow sips before doing as he was told, just a swallow to soothe the dry burn in his throat. The night ripened outside the cave; he heard the drone of nocturnal insects, the rustle of a slight wind through the trees.

“Come here,” Qui-Gon tugged at his tabards and Obi-Wan turned, crawling over to him. The ceiling of the cave was much lower here, claustrophobic. He wasn’t sure how a man of Qui-Gon’s size had been able to fit, but Obi-Wan was neither tall nor broad, and squeezed in beside his teacher.

Qui-Gon was spread on his side, head still pillowed by Obi-Wan’s robe. Obi-Wan drew closer at Qui-Gon’s urging, until he was snug in the curve of his Master’s body, and a heavy arm rested over top of him.

“Help will come,” Qui-Gon murmured against his hair.

Obi-Wan watched the night-flies twinkle and wink at the mouth of the forest. He wondered how long it would be until someone received their message, way out here. He wasn’t so sure Qui-Gon would be alive when reinforcements finally arrived. “I can help you,” he tried again, this time using a different tactic. “Do you think I’m incapable?”

Obi-Wan felt immediately guilty for pretending to be offended, for questioning his Master at all in a dire time like this. A large hand laid on his chest, over his heart.

“There is nothing of which you are incapable,” Qui-Gon told him, his feeble voice somehow filling up the entire cave. “It is me. Obi-Wan. I..I am…incapable of losing you.”

Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon’s lips press into his sweaty hair.

“Someone will come. Just stay here with me, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan found he couldn’t speak so he nodded, the forest suddenly blurring. He listened to Qui-Gon’s breathing slow down, though it did not find a healthy rhythm. He sensed the poison seeping through his Master’s aura, like a scum-squid’s fatal ink spreading in clear, clean water.

The dart was wrapped up in a cloth in one of his belt pouches. He wondered if a healer could at least vaguely identify the toxin from inspection of the dart. Qui-Gon’s symptoms were so common—fever, weakness, pain. How difficult would it be to narrow the options down?

He needed time. He couldn’t wait.

As if he could hear the direction of Obi-Wan’s thoughts, Qui-Gon pulled him tighter to his chest, inhaling fitfully in his sleep.

The dirt was surprisingly soft under Obi-Wan’s cheek. His adrenaline waned now that he was lying down and his own, slighter injuries made themselves known. He had some painful bruising on his back from a fall during their desperate, clumsy escape from the Noxxi ambush. Headache raged behind his temples. He wasn’t certain what hour it was, only moderately confident in the date, but it had been a long while since he’d eaten or slept.

Was Qui-Gon right? Would the travail to the village pose too great a risk? Obi-Wan shut his eyes, the headache pulsing harder. He wondered if he might be concussed. Perhaps he was overestimating his abilities. After all, he was not yet a senior Padawan, and his own Master, a devastatingly adept warrior, had been felled by these hunters.

He let the warmth of Qui-Gon’s arms settle in his bones. He knew the man’s plan had been exactly this, to keep Obi-Wan so close there was no way he could leave the cave without Qui-Gon knowing. Right now, Obi-Wan could not even roll over onto his other side and not awaken his Master.

He thought of Qui-Gon’s fear, a slash of silver in the black night. No fear for himself, of course.

I am incapable of losing you.

Obi-Wan understood what Qui-Gon had meant by those words, because Obi-Wan felt the same way. Losing his Master was not something he would survive. And he had not been taught to surrender in the face of mortal danger.

Resolved, his eyes flew open, and Obi-Wan steeled himself for what he needed to do next. He was no match for Qui-Gon, in Force strength or physical might, except the poison was stealing away his vitality with every passing moment. In their current circumstance, Obi-Wan might be able to nudge Qui-Gon deeper into sleep, maybe even a healing trance, and then he could extract himself from the protective embrace.

They had not covered Force suggestions among fellow Jedi before, not even at the Temple. Obi-Wan supposed it was a more advanced technique for a mid-level Padawan. Or Qui-Gon just didn’t want him to know how to do it because…well, because of situations such as the one they were in now.

Luckily, Qui-Gon was unshielded, and his unconscious Force presence floated out in the open. Obi-Wan sent calm sensations along the ties that held them together.

I am alright. I am here with you.

He repeated the messages, dispatching more and more, letting them carry Qui-Gon deeper into the soft, sheltering void of sleep.

Poison cannot touch you. You are of the Force. The Force cannot be poisoned. May the Force be with you, Qui-Gon Jinn.

He was not a healer, any more than he was a Jedi Master, but Obi-Wan wished fervently for a blessing, that his attempts at healing would do something to help Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan waited a few minutes, until he sensed Qui-Gon sink well below the surface. Then he very carefully pulled back the arm that held him, and inched out, replacing it on the bed of powdery dirt.

His hand drifted to his belt, alighting on his saber, and touching the leather pouch where the deadly dart was stored, just to be sure. He set the water skins close to Qui-Gon and placed leaves, branches and tangled moss on top and around him. He spared a second to study his Master, just in case—

No. There was no just in case.

Only the Force.

Obi-Wan wanted to touch Qui-Gon’s bearded cheek, but worried it would wake him. His throat felt like it was closing. “Forgive me,” he whispered, and sneaked out of the cave, away from his wounded Master and into the night, towards help.

#star wars #obi-wan kenobi #qui-gon jinn #obi-wan #fanfic #obi wan and qui gon fanfiction #fanfic prompts #LuvEwan prompts

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cozy-neko · 3 years

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The Cherry On Top • 02 • 03 | Charity stream disaster • 04

Kenma checked his stream overlay one last time to make sure everything was set up correctly. The streamer was only ten minutes away from his scheduled 24-hour charity stream that Akaashi had set up for him in partnership with the energy drink company, Black Sheep. For every donation Kenma receives during his live stream, all proceeds will be 100% donated to help animal shelters in need of supplies.

For once, Kenma was actually excited about a partnership. As a lover of cats and raising three rescues himself, it wasn’t particularly a hard decision for Kenma to make when Black Sheep had approached him and brought up the idea of a partnership and a charity stream campaign in conjunction with the animal shelter Black Sheep was associated with.

That was why when his sponsorship with Black Sheep had been threatened by a rumor, Kenma ultimately made a public announcement to deny the rumor and personally reached out to the PR/Influencer team at Black Sheep to talk it out with them.

Now, three minutes prior to going live, Kenma’s phone buzzed multiple times. He glanced at the lit up screen and rolled his eyes. It was Kuroo who was blowing up his phone, and Kenma had a fairly decent idea of what the texts were about.

Last week, Kuroo and Kenma had met up with Akaashi and Bokuto for their monthly dinner meet up when Akaashi had mentioned Kenma’s upcoming charity stream.

“A 24-hour stream is too easy for Kenma; the gremlin routinely stays up at least 36-hours once a week anyways.” Kuroo let out a barking laugh as he flipped the meat that was grilling in front of the four friends.

“That’s besides the point, Kuroo.” Kenma rolled his eyes and leaned back in the vinyl booth. “I’m doing a charity stream. All donations I get during the stream goes towards the animal shelter that Black Sheep partners with.” Kenma made sure to slowly emphasize the word “charity” when he explained his upcoming project.

“You know, I’ve never seen Kenma so excited about a project,” Bokuto quipped as he eagerly tucked into his meal.

“It’s for a good cause and Kozume was quick to say yes,” Akaashi added as he flashed a small smile towards the flushed streamer. Kenma still wasn’t used to hearing people praise him, no matter how often he was always featured in esports commentary and articles.

“I have three cat rescues myself, so it was a no brainer,” he mumbled, averting eye contact. He opted to push around the burnt pieces of meat with his chopsticks around his plate instead.

“Aw, you’re embarrassed that you got caught being openly excited for your next project!” Kuroo smirked and nudged his friend. It was all friendly-banter, and Kenma knew that Kuroo meant well and was extremely happy for him, but he flushed harder as Bokuto and Akaashi chimed in to cheer on their friend.

“I’m just being a nice person. Maybe you should try it some day,” Kenma shot back.

“What do you mean?” Kuroo scoffed. “I’m always a nice person.”

Akaashi and Kenma rolled their eyes at Kuroo while Bokuto let out a good-natured laugh at Kuroo’s response.

“Hey, wait! You know what you should do to make your 24-hour stream more spicy?” There was a mischievous glint in Bokuto’s eyes as he waited for his friends to respond.

“Bokuto-san, whatever you’re thinking probably isn’t a go--”

“Drunk 24-hour stream!”

“Oh, nice!” Kuroo snapped his fingers and grinned his infamous Cheshire Cat smirk. Akaashi sighed and Kenma grimaced.

"I’m not going to take ideas from two drunks. And we barely sat down to eat, how are you two this drunk already?” Kenma wrinkled his nose.

Kenma unlocked his phone and quickly scanned through his group chat. Yup. There it was: a barrage of texts from Kuroo asking Kenma if he had his booze ready followed by a spam of suggestive eye emojis by Bokuto. Kenma was quick to notice that Akaashi had purposely chosen to ignore the group texts and offered no help in diverting the suggestions.

Kenma snorted quietly at Bokuto's message as he locked his phone. He looked up at the monitor to his right and read some comments that were starting to flood in his stream chat. He gave his camera a small smile and leaned back in his chair, answering some questions that caught his attention and saying "hi" to others.

Kenma usually liked to start his stream off rather chill by interacting with his viewers. After playing his music playlist and adjusting the volume, he finally announced his agenda for the day after a few minutes.

"Today I'm partnering with Black Sheep for a charity stream. It's going to be a 24-hour stream and we're gonna spend most of the time playing some League. All donations I get will go towards helping an animal shelter which you guys know I'm all for." Kenma paused as his donation notification sounded and his text-to-speech setting began to read the donation to him and his viewers.

"meowriachi donated $25: 24-hour stream? too ezpz kodzuken"

Kenma laughed and ran a hand through his messy half-up styled hair.

"I was telling my friends about today's stream and Kuroo said the same thing. Maybe in our next collaboration we'll do a longer stream if you guys want that. We'll also be able to have more fun and do more things, too."

Kenma was smart and sneaky. He always was. Kuroo did always say he was the brains of the team back in high school when they played volleyball together. Kenma was good at analyzing situations, and because of this strength, Kenma knew when to use certain words and situations to create benefits for him and his career. This was no exception. The streamer knew Black Sheep would be moderating his stream, so now the company had slight pressure to partner with him again if there was an in demand from his fans. And this was Kodzuken we were talking about. There was no doubt Kenma knew there would already be a second sponsorship in the works.

Kenma smirked. Easy peasy stream indeed.

Kenma loved his job. He truly did. It wasn't every day someone could wake up every day and actually look forward to going to work, and for that, Kenma was thankful. He was thankful that he had the skillsets to do well in competitive gaming and that he had a knack of being able to pick up mechanics of new games so easily. He was thankful that he had a fanbase that enjoyed his commentary and sarcastic humor, and a fanbase that supported and helped him build his brand from ground up.

Kenma knew he owed one-third of his success to his fans and another one-third to his own hard work and passion. But Kenma also knew he owed the last one-third of his success to his friends.

Not once did Kenma regret making Akaashi his manager; Akaashi had gotten him way more sponsorships than Kenma himself could've if he was still balancing streaming, content creation, and managing his own projects.

Kenma was thankful for Kuroo for always challenging him to step outside his comfort zone. Even when Kenma was irritated and didn't want to hear Kuroo's words of advice and encouragement, Kenma was still grateful for it all.

And Bokuto. Kenma guesses he can be thankful for Bokuto for always hyping him up when he needed it the most. Especially when he was extremely hung over from a night out of (forced) drinking and had barely ten minutes to wake up and set up his stream on time.

Yes, Kenma was truly thankful for his friends. But right now, Kenma wanted to kill them. He wanted to kill Kuroo and Bokuto for coming over to his house uninvited even after he warned them not to and for raiding his stream in real life.

Right now, Kenma was seething. One, he was in the middle of a very important sponsorship deal. Two, he was in the middle of a ranked game in League of Legends and he didn't want to lose his winning streak. And three, his two goofball friends had showed up to his house with alcohol and announced out loud to his viewers that Kenma would now be participating in a drunk 24-hour stream.

Kenma doesn't remember the last time he got this mad. What's worse was that Kenma's fans were all for it. His stream chat was getting spammed with poggers emotes, and it was difficult for Kenma to admit that he had been getting more and more donations ever since Kuroo and Bokuto had shown up and the alcohol was brought out. And because of that, Kenma had begrudgingly surrendered and cracked open a White Claw.

Except he didn't stop only at one; not if Kuroo and Bokuto could help it. And at only about 5'8" with a smaller build, Kenma unfortunately fell victim to being a lightweight. And with Kuroo and Bokuto, kings of being instigators, were there to egg him on along with his stream chat, Kenma downed can after can.

Just a little something to take the edge off a work week, right?

end notes:

→ kenma’s twitch stream took me 30 minutes to piece together 😪

→ if you see the same comments on kenma’s twitch chat twice... no you didn’t 😀🔪

→ also peep the stream title change 👀

→ kenma’s the type to use scuffed candids of his friends as their contact photos, but it didn’t work out too well. he actually respects akaashi enough to use a decent photo, and bokuto never takes a bad photo. ever. i guess kuroo’s the only one he can easily clown.

TAG LIST:

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also, please make sure your tag notification settings are turned on, or else I won’t be able to tag you!!

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#the cherry on top #kenma x reader #kenma kozume #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smau #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu kenma #kozume kenma #haikyuu smau series #hq x reader #hq kenma #writings

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novelistash · 3 years

Text

Wattpad & Twitch?

I saw the term Writeblr. Am I a Writeblr? Is Writeblr a page or a person? Well, this Jon Snow has been dipping their toe into the wide world of Wattpad. Any other writers on there? Drop your links! I've been reading stories live on Twitch, and it's been a lot of fun! There's a lot of lost talent there, as with all writing spaces, but it definitely needs some help finding air to breathe.

Why did I decide to read Wattpad stories live on Twitch? Read more. (I hope I'm using this feature right.)

About two and a half years back, I decided that it was time to stop dragging my feet and get traditionally published. (Well I try to get trad pubbed.) I knew that Twitter would be the place to promote and Wattpad would generally be the place to share, but I also knew those places would be full of competition. November was coming up so I thought, "why don't I live stream Nano? That'll be fun." It wasn't.

As much as people don't want to read, they definitely don't want to read while an author is writing. Twitter had a very small writing community then and I haven't seen it get any more popular. Which isn't to say it couldn't get popular, but I don't think it works as a way to GET an audience. I could talk about those who've found moderate success, but if I'm going to do that I'd like to talk to them and maybe interview them. Something I've considered putting on my ghost town of a YT channel.

Regardless, I was on Twitch for about a month. I never gained any kind of following and every viewer I saw on those channels were people like me, those who were trying to promote their own writing. So, yes, I could gain followers of other writers, but I couldn't build a brand that way. I had too much experience with similar platforms to think otherwise. If I wanted to get readers, I needed to be on the platform that readers were using.

That lead me to more or less wasting two years on Twitter. I mean, I met some cool people while on there and had good interactions. But was it good for my brand? Did it help me find readers? I'd say a resounding "no" on both parts. The funny thing about Twitter is that it's great at making you think that people care about you. Shit post about a bad day? Hundreds of replies. Link to a blog going into detail about that bad day? Now you're starting to see how little people actually care. At some point I can go into the nuances of my time in the trenches of Twitter, but the point is that it didn't help my writing career.

For me, the biggest problem with Twitter was the same problem with all writer-centric spaces: we are sellers without customers. I like to describe these spaces as towns of vendors. We each have our vendor stall set up, and see lots of people walking. This is great! That means there are customers! Except all of those people walking on the street are also vendors. They're only there to sell their own wares. Yes, there's mutual inflation and reciprocal commerce, but writers make a poor basis for a readership. If someone is selling eggs, they want to sell to bakers, cooks, and the common man, not their fellow ranchers.

Regardless of fame and fortune, I want a readership. I write for myself, yes, but once those words are on the page, I want someone to read those words. I've been writing for over twenty years by this point and during that time my perspective has almost always been, how do I get readers? It's a natural question to ask, but it's driven by selfish desires at its core. I think for the writers of today, the bigger question might need to be, "how do I get people to read?"

The larger problem with readers, is that there aren't that many of them. If there are ten billion eggs in a town of a hundred, most of those eggs are going to rot. And even though most everyone knows that the general public doesn't habitually read, there seems to be this stigma against talking about it. Ever since I started writing, the talking point has always been "people thought comics would destroy the novel, but it didn't."

Okay, so, there are still readers, but could you say that a majority of the people read? Comic books, television, movies, and video games all offer more senses than the written word. They offer experiences that books never can, so why would anyone choose to read a book when they could instead watch that same story play out on screen?

Well, the written word can actually offer things that other media can't. In general, novels are closer to the emotional landscape of the story. Books invite the reader to be a part of the creation process, rather than a passive observer. The lack of a spoken word or portrait lets the reader construct whatever voice or face they desire. Beyond all of that, readers tend to spend more time with a book than any other media. (I'll hold off on a thorough debate of the narrative quality of iterative gameplay loops in video games for the time being, but I'd be hard pressed to find someone who enjoyed Preston Garvey's procedurally generated missions more than any of the designed quests in Fallout 4.) The point is that the written word is not without value, simply that its qualities are losing appreciation.

That's where the idea of reading stories came about, not as a way to increase my visibility, but as a way to increase the number of readers in the world. Opera single handedly created a boom in book sales by doing little more than talking about books. I think that modern entertainment can take interest in reading farther. Podcasts and Twitch streams are filled with content that is actually dead air, but people will tune in and listen. They connect with the player, the streamer, the speaker, and they are content to be apart of somebody else's discovery. A big part of what makes Twitch successful is simply watching these personalities react.

Wattpad is literally an endless supply of new stories that are available for free online. For some, anything that isn't traditionally published is a book not worth anyone's time. But there are hundreds of thousands of people submitting entire novels to literary agents every single year. Statistics alone supports the idea that great books are not going to get the representation they deserve. What are those thousands of unpublished authors supposed to do with their novels, wait patiently for exterior validation?

I don't think there's any shame in self publishing a novel and Wattpad and platforms like it are a perfectly reasonable way of putting out that content. Is there under edited content on Wattpad? Of course, but can anyone in good faith say the same isn't true of all published works? Yes, some writers are just starting out, and they dump their content onto Wattpad, but I don't understand why that's immediately a reason to balk. The writers liked the idea enough to bring it to life. Sure, finding a way to manifest those ideas is complex and difficult, but I honestly believe that a first body of work can still have an unironic entertainment in them.

I've been streaming on Wednesdays from 10am-noon pacific time. I might change that moving forward, but right now it's looking like I'm only going to be adding more time. If you're interested in joining me for story time, check me out on Twitch.

https://www.twitch.tv/ashnovelist

#writeblr #writing #twitch #explanations no on asked for #wattpad #seriously share your stories and I will read them

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yumestar19 · 3 years

Text

Can you make him confess... his sickness!?

When they heard Christo moaning, the demons instantly knew something was wrong. Even Red Magnus let his fist drop and stopped in the middle of his training to face his troublesome-looking friend.

"Are you okay, Christo?" Red Magnus asked with a smile that was too cheerful for Christo to look at, so he dropped his glance.

"I'm fine." He simply said, shaking off the sick feeling that made his limbs ache like... Damn, he couldn't even find a simile. He pushed two fingers against his throbbing temple, silently wishing for the pain to ease. Of course, this would have required luck and let's say luck was something he didn't have because his superior always picked up the worst horoscopes for him. His lucky word for today was "confession". Yeah... He wouldn't go that far...

As Red Magnus didn't stop glaring at him, (his stare almost screamed "suspect", Christo swore he had heard it), the tactician asked politely, "Why don't you continue training?"

"'Cause something's super wrong with you."

Christo's smile dropped, but he tried hard to make a good expression. At least, he had worn a smile for a split second, before the harsh coughing made him hide his face into the soft fabric of his cape.

"I'm fine", he mumbled, sounding less confidently than before.

"Ohohoho, nobody said anything about you not being fine just now" Seraphina's laugh hurt in his ears and he sunk deeper into the fabric, closing his eyes.

"But my, you really look pale", she said at least with a compassionate tone of voice that made her sound like a worried old lady.

"Don't you two have anything better to do than mocking me with your lame jokes?", Christo asked and looked up when he had made sure that there was no blush on his face anymore. Still, he felt like his cheeks were on fire and he could see on his friend's faces that they knew it, too.

That he, an angel, had come down with something only demons could catch.

A demonic sickness.

Damn, how he hated the small grin on Seraphina's face.

"If you are truely sick, then I may need to drop the "you're an angel" attribute of mine, because only demons can get sick, but you should know that."

Christo growled to himself. Why did this spoiled princess always twist the knife into his wound? Didn't he feel awful enough already? Wait, he just needed to think hard... Think hard, think hard... Damn, his headache was killing him. And still, he didn't know how to escape from the situation.

"You know, I don't know why you always mistake me for an angel. Do I have anything in common with such low creatures?" While saying that, he imagined the dumb grin of his superior and it felt so right to continue talking, "Angels are disgusting, awful creatures that will surely accuse you of anything randomly, like... They don't even have proof-supported reasons!" He shook his head like he couldn't believe it.

"So, you're calling me an angel, Christo?", Seraphina asked with a grin wider than the devil's mouth when consuming helpless human souls.

"Y-Yes, ehm no, of course not, no one's an angel here..." Christo looked around like he wanted to make sure. Sweat dropped from his forehead and he was now sure that his body temperature has risen to 200°C, at least it felt like he had developed a moderate fever. Damn, when did the atmosphere turned so hot? Even his throat felt sore and burned and it didn't help with the cough. Oh, when did he cough? He forgot to cover his mouth and yes, they heard it loudly.

Double failure: Usalia and Zeroken just came around the corner.

Now, he was ready to burst into flames.

"What's wrong with you, plip?" A worried child voice squeaked out. Usalia ran as fast as her small legs could carry her and she stopped sharp in front of him. The noisy scratch of the wooden floor made Christo grit his teeth.

"Nothing, nothing", he replied, keeping his composure. Of course, he felt fine. Of course, he was okay. He sense the alrightness throughout his entire body. NOT. (Expect you took away the bone aches, the clogged-up nose, the killing headache and the irritating feeling in his throat, but who would be so kind to stop his suffering? No one, of course.)

"You moaned about your pain a few minutes ago", Red Magnus reminded him.

Christo sighed and looked at all of them. Anger formed a knittering winkle over his nose. Somehow, however, he managed to not shout at them, as it was obvious that they weren't the cause for his malaise.

"Don't you all have something better to do than messing up with another person's life when they are in the middle of a cri... Critical thinking process?" He bit his tongue, surely he almost let the truth slip out. He shook his head and shook it again and again, until he felt so dizzy that he needed to steady himself with one hand on the wall. He smiled like the support made him look cool, when in fact, he looked like he was about to fall over. Zeroken rushed on his side and couldn't stopped himself from making an 'Awwww'-sound.

Of course, God hated him.

"Nawww, you look like a drunk."

"Have you got yourself a drink, plip?"

Christo was short before shouting that angels didn't carelessly drink (although he wondered if his superior had one glass or more whenever he called for stupid reasons), but he kept his mouth shut. There was the urge to cough, building up like a small fire that turned quickly in a major fire. How long was he able to resist? How long could he breathe? He heard the rattling, the little shakes in his voice when he spoke.

"I'm really... fine. Just a little... tired from... thinking."

'Or perhaps, a little bit too much tired from dealing with all of this disturbing non-sense', he thought for himself. It was then that he realized he was tired. Really tired. He could doze off in an instant. Of course, that was no option... Not here, not in front of them.

But this wooden floor almost seemed comfortable... He just needed to let himself fall on it, curl up and sleep. Every problem of his would be banned from the dream world. No pain, no cough, no sniffle, no disturbance.

He still had his pride though. That's why he didn't fall for it...

"Christo, you seem kinda pale. Better sit down." Killia advised him.

Of course, he didn't listen. He just focused on the voice. Had Killia's voice always sounded that soft and lovely like the singing voice of an angel? If so, he hadn't noticed until now. Perhaps, feverish illusions. He was fine with them.

"I'm okay, sweetheart", he said.

Wait... Did he just call Killia 'sweetheart'? Surely, the fever must have gotten higher. He shook his head and he immediately regretted what he just said.

"I knew he was gay!" Seraphina shouted half-angrily, half-victorious. How could a person be angry and victorious at the same time? It was a question that Christo never considered asking. But suddenly, he really wanted an answer. But first, he should clear the misconception.

"I'm not gay", he told them. Quietly. It was almost a whisper.

"You speak without confidence. I just found you out", Seraphina said, adding her usual Ohohoho-laugh at the end.

"I'm not gay!" Christo said now louder. It didn't help with his sore throat. He felt the fire burning. In his heart, too.

"If anything, I'm pan."

"Gay or pan, it's the same though", Seraphina told him.

"It's not the same, Seraphina." Killia told her. Surprised, she turned around and looked at him with her mouth open.

"And you consider yourself...?"

"Bisexual", Killia said with a bright smile.

Now, they were talking about sexual identity. Great. Christo really meant it. It was great that they didn't focus on his ill... He shook his head. He wouldn't even call it sickness for God's sake. He would go with "a little bit under the weather". Nothing several. Maybe, he should think about renaming it after his harsh coughing send him mercilessly down on his knees.

And the attention was back on him again.

He heard steps coming closer. Felt like a horror scene. Shadows were above him. The air was thick and it was hard to breath. He swallowed and it hurt. He clinged on his chest as the pain grew inside him. First, a little pounding, he could bare it, it's okay. Then, as the coughing started again, the pain was a cross over his chest, squeezing all the air out of him. Felt like monsters were laying their cold hands on him, suffocating him. He gasped for air. His breathing was out of rhythm, something between deep intakes and short outcomes. Almost like a panic attack. Was he panicking? He didn't know. Didn't want to know. The pain was the only thing he could focus on. And his breathing. He needed to calm himself down. Breathe in, breath out. Damn, why was something so simple so hard right now? Rattling. Didn't sound good. Should he sit up? Should he lay down? Was he able to move?

Questions overhelmed him. Unregular like his breathing. Uncontrollable. He was desperately trying to grab answers. Grabbed someone. Who was it? A demon? He would have laughed if he had had breath for it. He was safe. Maybe, he thought so. Safety didn't exist in the Netherworlds, did it? Why should he feel safe?

He pushed the hands aside with all the strength he could muster. His own hands reached for his bow and arrows. Could he make a hit in this condition? He wasn't sure. His finger trembled as he put them on the wooden grip. Sweat. He could taste it. Salty and bitter. He bit his tongue. The blood tasted like metal. Disgusting. He put the arrow between the arrow rest and shelf, then bend the strings. His fingers wouldn't stop shaking. Something awfully felt wrong.

The shadows stepped away from him. Scaried faces. Oh, he must be looking like a psychopath. His hair all messed up, his eyes red like blood, his pupils reduced to small points. Survival bonus. The tension of the string shook his body. He let go of it. Didn't saw what was hit. Just a sound similar to metal crashing. Then, everything went silent.

He smiled seemingly happy, then he crashed to the ground.

"Christo!"

Who was calling the angel's name?

It wasn't even his real name though.

"Christo..."

His name sounded funny. Was it a German word? 'Christ' maybe? Or did it come from the word 'Christmas'? He was born one day after the holy night. Coincidence, maybe?

"Christo!!"

Now, they were getting annoying. Voices calling out for a codename... Oh, wait, they didn't know it was one.

He was really dumb when being unconscious, wasn't he?

For the sake of not being called dumb, he opened his eyes, only to look into a burning light. He thought he was looking into the sun. Beautiful. Not really. It hurt.

He closed his eyes again, moaning. Maybe, rainy days were better days to get back to consciousness.

"Christo..." A quiet voice said.

"I wanna sleep", he replied, grabbing a pillow. He coughed softly into it. His throat still felt awful. Even more burning than before. He couldn't resist to the coughing urge, so he hid his face in the soft fabric, swearing to never let go of it. Somebody gently removed it from him.

"You need to keep your airways open" this someone said. It was Zeroken who put a worried glance on him.

"You really scared us, bro."

"I was so worried about you, plip!"

"Yeah, you made us super worried!"

"I'm glad you're awake." Killia said, even smiling a little.

"But you didn't need to attack us so suddenly, did you? Not that I was scared. I know how weak you are, ohohohoho!"

Christo looked up at them and met everyone's glances. Behind their kind faces worries lied. He couldn't even imagine how they felt right now. Maybe better than him. Maybe worse than him.

Maybe, they felt the same.

There was a call. From his superior. He didn't care for answering. Not now. He was feeling weak. Weaker than before. But somehow... Cooler.

He felt a cold towel on his forehead. Refreshing. He calmed down a little, he even relaxed. His thoughts were still a mess. He couldn't figure out where he was.

The underground was soft. A mattress? And there was a blanket... Though, he wasn't under it. He wished he did. He was shivering. Was it winter? Was there even weather in the Netherworlds?

No, he guessed no, Celestia hadn't snow either.

"Shhh, you are in the hospital" Killia explained while stroking through Christo's hair. It was a simple act, but it was good enough to calm the angel down.

"H-Hospital?" Christo asked weakly. He seemed to not know what it was. Something off the place. He shouldn't be here. He wasn't sick.

Coughing.

Maybe a little.

Harsh coughing.

Okay, he was really feeling down and ill and he had never felt that horrible in his entire eternity life.

His coughing eased a little. He put a hand on his chest in hope of finding the pain and rib it out. Then, he wouldn't need to feel it anymore.

This pain... It was cross-shaped. Though, he didn't know why he thought so. Just felt like it.

Someone put his hand on his. It was Killia. A warm touch. A wonderful feeling. If he hadn't been that sick, he might have smiled about it.

"Tell me what happened", Christo begged. He couldn't live with his ignorance.

"You attacked us, but you didn't hurt us", Killia told him.

"The healer said you had a high fever" Zeroken added.

"But a really really high one! Like... 41°C or more, plip!"

"A dangerous temperature for angels." Seraphina added. Her voice unusually cold.

"This was needlessly added" Christo said, "Cause I am not an angel!"

He coughed. Then, he coughed again. Suddenly, he remembered his lucky word.

Confession

Why was it so big in his head? The word felt out of place. It didn't sum up the story. Maybe he should just go over with it.

He opened his mouth, but he closed it in an instant. He didn't feel ready to tell them.

In truth, he never wanted to confess.

Especially not when all forces of the world were against him.

This couldn't be one of his lucky days. He knew it.

And when all of his friends were looking at him, troubled, worried, maybe even scaried, he couldn't tell them.

He looked away, breaking with all of their glances. He felt the rush of the fever. An energy draining and pushing at the same time.

He opened his mouth again. This time, words came out.

"I need to tell you something", he said.

"I'm actually... You see, I'm actually... An..."

"Sick, you wanna say?"

Killia was really a blessing. Christo just nodded.

It seemed like the confession took a little bit of his burden.

And soon, he would recover...

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csykora · 4 years

Note

....you ok? I'm laughing at your caffeine malfunction to a degree that probably says more about my own state of mind than anything else, but like also genuinely concerned

Thank you. It was the best prop comedy I’ll pull off all year and I wasn’t aware I was doing it, I’m pretty pissed about that.

(I truly believed I was making A Healthy Choice. I picked up my coffee filter, which, yes, is patterned like hockey socks. It’s got cursive on the other side that says mange pas tes bas! (don’t eat your socks, i.e., ‘you need to chill’) Then I thought I shouldn’t have more coffee, so I…well….)

Listen, to be real for a minute.

You know those rolls of cotton they stuff into aspirin bottles? They soak up the bitter taste and rub all wrong against my fingertips when I have to pull them out, frictionless but sticky and fucking up my senses. I’ve felt like a cotton ball stuffed into the plastic outline of a life—hours of work and sleep, being needed by patients, being lectured by a boss, an apartment, Duolingo alerts—a lot lately.

For the last two weeks I’ve been in a situation where I’m, mm, let’s say moderately at risk of violence from someone in my community. I can’t get mad at him about it. He’s not behind the wheel of his mental health right now. I don’t even know him. And yet, the absence of day centers and other ongoing support for people who need it is fucking up both our lives. I’m taking the basic anxious protections of keys between my fingers, phone always close, entering and exiting via the fire escape bafflingly built into my bathtub, and getting as jacked as possible. But at the end of the day I can’t control what will happen to me, not completely.

Not to make it a metaphor, but I think a lot of people can vibe with that right now.

For the last two years I’ve been dealing with a manager who routinely upends my schedule, calling after 6 and before 7, “We Need To Talk” texts to schedule closed-door meetings to discuss a surprise mix of my many failings in filing paperwork (or fitting my pants). I shouldn’t get into what nursing jobs are like, right now, because I couldn’t stop. I feel like a failure for complaining but my unionist sympathy is stronger than my self-esteem so let’s just put it like this: I’ve worked an average 55 hours a week until last month, not counting nights oncall, and I’m not allowed a lunch break. Too many people vibe with that, too.

In my defense, I have been planning all year to quit in May. I’m moving, so I was going to have to quit. That’s the longest I’ve ever planned anything. (I work—worked—will for two more weeks—with terminal patients in their homes, not COVID. I’m hamstrung from seeing my patients, and I hate that on the world’s behalf, but it does mean I’m suddenly extraneous.)

Yesterday morning the manager woke me up again to ask me to come into the office To Talk, so I left early, bought a gas station coffee, and printed my letter on his copier.

He thought the envelope was a thank-you card from a patient until he opened it, and you know what, watching his face drop I felt like the bitch I used to be for the first time in a while.

Turns out he’d wanted me to justify why a note in the patient’s chart contained no useful clinical information, didn’t describe the nursing interventions I’d taken to fix the problem…and referred to “Nurse Gabby” in the third person.

The medical social worker had written it.

Poor reading comprehension kills, Jim.

So yeah, I really am doing okay, and I’m glad to hear it made you laugh.

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yunsoh · 5 years

Note

hi! i'm curious what your headcanons for yuki's mental health/wellbeing are

i’ll try to focus more on the ‘wellbeing’ side of things because this boy goes through too much as is

- he doesn’t start his garden as a means of self-care, but it turns out to be just that. he doesn’t really ever realize this, he just knows that garden time --> happy time.

- this makes the winters hard! he keeps some plants in his room to take care of over the winters, but it’s not the same. he feels safer being able to escape to his garden to collect his thoughts, versus doing the same in his room while everyone else is still home.

- he’s not bothered by the general mess of his room, but he always makes his bed. if his bed is unmade, he gets stressed.

- we see this in canon, but he’s not one to really get big, heaving panic attacks -- instead, he more or less freezes and goes completely silent. the physical reaction he gets though is pretty moderate nausea. this is all to say that there are a few times where he’s just experiencing a panic attack like, in his room, and he isn’t pulled out of it until someone interrupts him completely by accident. no one really notices what’s going on because it’s not very overt :(

- i don’t think he seeks out therapy right away, between moving on to university, generally feeling the best he has in his life, and not wanting to really dwell on what’s happened. but, ptsd and triggers can be sneaky. i think the first time it happens at uni, he’s really thrown for a loop. it just takes him by surprise because life had been going really well.

- to continue, he’s still not ready to talk to machi or kakeru about his childhood, and doesn’t want to worry tohru over it, so he goes out on a limb and asks ayame if he could come by. he’s not really sure what to expect, or if he’s made the right choice, but ayame is kind of his only resort.

- it turns out ayame’s really helpful. i think he got attuned to hatori’s depression and has, at least, figured out what works for him, and tries those same methods with yuki (this includes tea, and yes, yuki finally accepts it -- ayame battles his wills and waits to call hatori until after). this is also kind of a test for ayame in the whole “talking with, not talking at” department.

- anyways, yuki eventually seeks out therapy, i think after he has a few more relapses and realizes this isn’t something that will just go away. at this point both machi and kakeru have mentioned it to him, and he feels that, if not for himself, he needs to do it for them. so he goes. he has to kind of edit himself in terms of the curse, but the point comes across.

- he still keeps a garden (albeit a small one like, on his apartment porch), but i like the idea of him and machi getting into a hobby together! maybe something like tennis so they can get their stress out but have fun with it. or going to those rooms where you smash things, which i THINK someone made a post about for these two like. a while ago lmao

- opens the windows when he’s feeling isolated to just listen to people going about their day à la mitski. wherever he’s living is much busier than living in the middle of the woods, and i think he likes that there’s some constant life going on.

- i think he ends up on the phone with tohru somewhat frequently as is, but sometimes he’ll call specifically to get his mind off of things, or if he’s just feeling low. he never tells her when he’s doing poorly (he lives by a “don’t worry tohru” code); he just likes to hear about how her life is going. knowing that she’s doing well always gives him some peace.

- when kakeru announces he’s coming over, he asks yuki if he should pick up snacks. more specifically, he asks if yuki wants wafer cookies, and if yuki says yes, he knows he’s in a bit of a funk (this wasn’t formally discussed ofc -- kakeru just noticed that these cookie things are like a comfort food for him). he bolts in with a “YUNYUN I’M HERE DON’T CRY” and yuki’s just staring at him from the couch, face bone dry, telling him for the hundredth time not to yell so loud and to hand over the goods

- kakeru’s a good buddy to have around when he’s feeling down, though. yuki won’t admit it to his face, but he’s glad to have him around when he needs a distraction. (he doesn’t tell him because he worries that kakeru will never leave, because kakeru would pull a “but what if you’re sad all the time and you don’t tell me! i need to stay here to save you from yourself!!” line).

- all in all, he ends up with a really solid support system who loves him, and he puts in the work to manage his traumas. he ends up at a very happy point :’)

#fruits basket #yuki sohma #headcanons #this got loooong i'm sorry #fruits basket spoilers #answered #Anonymous

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flightysquip · 4 years

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hi, what are some signs i should look for if i think i'm bipolar?

thank you for the ask! so first thing i want to say, i am NOT a medical or psychiatric professional, but i know sometimes it helps just to have a sort of baseline

so first off, if you think something is wrong, you should see a doctor. full stop. the thing with bipolar specifically is you really shouldn’t self-medicate. it’s tempting--god it’s tempting as hell--but while i’m all for self diagnosis, the thing is self-dx isn’t going to be enough to get the resources you’ll very likely need. there’s a lot that you can do to help yourself, yes, but that’s more supplemental coping mechanisms than treatment on its own. please, see a professional. i understand that insurance can make this difficult, and anxiety, and i know it’s not as simple as just ‘see a doctor’--i KNOW it’s hard. but it really is best if you do see one. i’m not an expert by any means, but if you’re having trouble figuring out who to see or what sorts of financial options you have, or if you just need someone to help you make a phone call, or anything, i will do what i can to help you find these resources.

i also highly recommend, if you’re able to, taking someone with you for this initial appointment/assessment. outside observations can really help pinpoint symptoms you don’t even realize you exhibit. the relative objectivity can absolutely be good for your mental health. also, having someone on your side in a situation that can feel frightening and unfamiliar can be important enough. it’s important to find someone who can be a good advocate and support without actively speaking over you, though. outside observations are important, yes, but you need to be able to communicate too.

now with that out of the way, as far as some signs to look out for...i mean, obviously mood swings are going to be the big one. it was called manic-depression for a reason, right? the real important thing to keep in mind is the extremes--extreme highs (i’m talking euphoria) and extreme lows. everyone has mood swings, yeah. everyone has various emotions. not everyone goes from the pure nirvana of feeling like an omnipotent god among mortals to the crushing devastation of not even being worthy of suicide or leaving a pretty corpse. (also, hey, important sidenote, mentally healthy people don’t want to kill themselves anyway, so even if you’re not bipolar, wanting to kill yourself, even in an idle sort of way, is reason enough to seek out professional help)

but that all sounds pretty subjective, right? it’s hard to judge whether something is ‘how people usually feel’ or ‘am i unbalanced in some way’. especially if you’re afab, it’s super easy for people to dismiss your feelings as “hormonal” or “pms”. hey, for the record? even if it is "just pms”, if you’re distressed enough by your emotions to want to kill yourself? no fucking normal and not okay. you deserve better. also frankly, just because something is “hormones” doesn’t invalidate the pain or suffering of it, so screw their sexist bullshit anyway.

the big things i can think of with bipolar off the top of my head though, if i had to bullet point it, would be:

extremes in moods

risk taking behaviors (gambling, hypersexuality, picking fights with strangers, theft, drug use--so i’m not talking about “likes to ride rollercoasters a lot” as a risk taking behavior, i mean things with very real world consequences)

moderation? what’s that? (everything is an extreme of an extreme, black and white absolutes. indulgence and lack of impulse control)

delusions of grandeur (you think you’re the most important person in the room, you have a sense of being ‘the main character’ in the narrative of life, you literally think you’re a good, you’re the most talented/most intelligent/the only qualified person on any subject whatsoever)

disrupted sleep patterns (too much/too little sleep)

disrupted eating patterns (too much/too little eating)

aggressive/agitated mood at little to no provocation

inconsistent/illogical mixed mood patterns (suicidal fixations in the midst of an otherwise pleasant mood, fits of anger during sadness, etc etc)

precarious moods (specifically being in a very good mood/emotional state, only for something very minor to completely knock you down again)

memory issues and issues with the perception/passage of time (suddenly realizing it’s midnight when it seemed like it was just 9 am a moment ago)

making big bold lifechanging plans on a whim (suddenly deciding to move across the country, changing career with little research or thought into it before)

financial irresponsibility (reckless shopping sprees, buying things on a whim continuously on unnecessary things, opening multiple credit cards and maxing them out)

a lot of these are specifically mania-focused, i’ll admit, because i feel like culturally, there’s more education on things to look for in depression. there’s also a good deal of overlap between symptoms with bp compared to other disorders. that is to say, just because some of these things ring true to you, doesn’t mean you’re necessarily bipolar (off the top of my head, other things that have similar symptoms are bpd and adhd, but that’s not an exhaustive list, of course).

and i also cannot stress enough to listen to those around you. the thing about delusions is, when you’re in the midst of them, you probably don’t realize you’re being delusional. it’s sorta be design. the thing about being angry is, when you’re in the midst of your rage, self-righteous fury can feel really toxically good, or at least justified (and it certainly feels better than depression and numbness). the thing about euphoria is you really don’t have much of an interest in ‘baseline stability’. the thing is, the delusions go away, the rage fades into shame, and euphoria is not sustainable. a trusted loved one expressing concern can feel like an attack, but it can actually be a gift to have some clarity when everything is so stormy and off.

that being said, you never mentioned a loved one saying you may exhibit symptoms, so that’s just a tangent. my advice really is: if you think you’re bipolar after seeing others with the disorder or reading about symptoms or listening to your gut, please see a doctor. whether you get confirmation or not, there’s no shame in seeking help. i know a lot of people say that these disorders are a moral failing, that they mean you’re predisposed to bad behaviors or toxic mindsets, but that’s just uneducated fear-mongering. i don’t advocate for treatment because i think you’re broken or wrong if you’re untreated. i advocate for treatment because you deserve to have a healthy, happy, stable life. you deserve better for yourself.

i hope this helped answer your question. thank you again for the ask!

#more mental health talk and stuff #i hope this made some sense #like everything i post it's fine to rb

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segadores-y-soldados · 6 years

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I'm honestly frustrated by people complaining about getting lore through "secondary sources", esp. When Tracer was revealed as gay. In nearly any other situation this would be fair but in OVW? Where would that reveal have worked? In easily missed ingame dialogue?

I’m going to go on a personal story here.

(Long personal post under the cut)

My first console was the Gamecube. I was in my early teens, rapidly becoming very confused by increasing gender dysphoria, though I did not know the term for it at the time.

In late 2005, Nintendo of America released Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance. It was not my first FE game - I had played through The Binding Blade (FE7) and Sacred Stones (FE8) - so I expected nothing different here. Core mechanics were the same, basic plotline felt the the same: Ike, a young mercenary, must choose between helping the distressed Princess Elincia reclaim her country after a neighboring country attacked it. Ike and his band of mercenaries choose to do the right thing, they help her - the whole story is about their efforts to secure an army for her, and then go on the counterattack. Along the way, there are implications that Elincia is developing implied romantic feelings for Ike.

Incredibly, Ike does not.

Despite the efforts by Nintendo of America to “scrub the game” free of this content, the largest subplot in the game is about Ike getting his male best friend, Soren, to open up and trust him. If this plotline is pursued, Soren dedicates his life to Ike. In Fire Emblem, this translates to an A relationship status, which can then be carried over to the sequel game, Radiant Dawn.

If a game file with an A relationship between Ike and Soren is achieved, you can unlock special bonus content in Radiant Dawn, including another large subplot storyline about finding out more about Soren’s personal history.

At the end of the game, they literally run off into the sunset and go on what is effectively a lifelong honeymoon.

When peace had settled on the land, Soren packed lightly and set off with the only person he had ever trusted.

---

Once he saw stability returned, Ike left on a journey to lands still unknown. He was never seen again.

In 2018, most people would accept that this is a gay relationship.

In 2005 to 2007 (when Radiant Dawn was released), this was not the case.

I have seen slurs, mockery, harassment, and threats against people for advocating that two fictional male characters loved each other. Two years ago, I essentially left a Fire Emblem community that I had been a member of for years because the moderators would not stop another user from harassing me for being openly LGBT and for supporting this ship.

I would probably not be as hardcore in the Overwatch fandom if I was still a part of that community.

...Even now, thirteen years later, I would sell my soul for anyone from Nintendo to say:

“For those who have specifically asked, Ike identifies as gay.”

...

I’m not saying that tweets by the lead writer are the best way to reveal these details, nor am I saying that the pacing of Overwatch’s releases are necessarily good or efficient or amazing. Do I wish we got to see the other MEKA pilots in the short? Absolutely. Would I love a comic about them? Of course.

But you know what?

Sometimes just stating something openly and honestly IS an acceptable way to reveal something, whether that’s D.Mon being from the same esports team as D.Va or Tracer’s orientation.

I think people in the OW fandom sometimes forget that a number of things have been revealed or confirmed - concretely - by developers and writers in tweets, or interviews, or con panels. Sometimes, you don’t have the space to write it into a short or comic without the dialogue feeling stiff or wooden (imagine how incredibly awkward it would be if Winston was like, “Oh, Lena, you’re a lesbian?”). Sometimes, you simply need to reaffirm a basic fact (“these guys loved each other” comes to mind) or make a statement of clarity:

Michael: Moira is a scientist. She is not so much interested in conquering the world, even though she has allied herself with people who might have proclivities in that direction. She is really just into the actual science. She wants to understand the fundamentals of human life, and how they can be manipulated. She is a geneticist, and that is her primary goal, and that is all she wants. But the thing that makes her villainous is that she doesn’t quite have like some of the morals that the rest of us have.

(Michael Chu on the Moira reveal panel at Blizzcon 2017)

We can look at things like “Captain Myung” and go, “That’s ridiculous. Why won’t they just put that in the game somewhere?” and completely forget that sometimes, decisions to make content as simple as the leading female protagonist kissing her girlfriend can still have real world repercussions, both good and bad:

The “Reflections” comic is blocked in Russia.

So sometimes, stating things open and honestly is the answer.

Yes, not everyone has access to Twitter, or Reddit, or the Blizzard forums. And on the flip side, not everyone has access to Youtube, Twitch, or even the comics.

I’m using big examples, but the semi-open dialogue between Overwatch fans and the developers/writers can still be important on smaller levels. Someone on reddit posted that the memorial stones in the Busan shrine map have some inaccuracies, and in less than a day, Michael has already commented that:

I did (see the post)! We're going to try to get it fixed for Busan's release.

Another example, people are pointing out that the mech garages in the MEKA base map is missing one for D.Va’s mech Tokki. When Michael said that they decided against it for level design (as in, they were worried that players would get confused by an “extra D.Va mech” on the map), people commented with, “Maybe just make an empty pink garage?”

I’ll pass the feedback on to the art team!

...Being a conscientious consumer - and a conscientious fan of something - does not mean you can only react with praise or criticism. And sometimes, being a conscientious creator - and a conscientious writer - means simply “telling” and not always “showing.”

Again, this does not mean to NOT critique or engage in critical discussions. We should, we always should. But maybe, sometimes, it means not sending out that petty “Get off twitter and go do your job” reply and instead thinking, “Here is the lead developer or writer for this game. Maybe I can ask something instead.”

And you never know what answer you might get.

I don’t like sounding like a shill. This company does not need me patting its goddamn back. But in light of another major, non-game fandom currently having a major community discussion on bad LGBT tropes (you can probably guess which one), a tweet listing the mech names is pretty solid.

And there’s probably a few people out there who are happy to see something as simple as “they loved each other” and “matching gaming handles” get a tweet.

#personal #reply #replies #answer #deadgodjess

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