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labyrinthofsphinx · 9 days

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Statistical Outliers

Part 4 and 4.5 of drabble. Couldn't really figure out how I should chop it up so, extra long one this time. Still working on something else in the meantime.

“Voxtek is proud to present the newest innovation in headset technology. Gone are the days when the screams of the damned or your annoying mother-in-law ruin your gaming experience! The sound cancellation on them is guaranteed to see you through even the noisiest situation!”

As if to accent the point, Vox, while wearing them, stood in front of comically large speakers. The sound cut out just as the speakers activated, the force of the sound enough to send his employees flying. Vox, himself, couldn’t hear anything. A quick press of a button to the side activated a secondary feature, sound filtering.

“And if that wasn’t enough, they can also filter out any sound you want, save for your voice. Again, perfect for the unfortunates still stuck in their mother’s basement! Not only are they connectable to any and all of your Voxtek devices, but the wireless communications can hook up straight to your speaker function. You can take your call and enjoy walking through a scream park without a problem! The perfect gift for a busybody like myself!”

On cue, Velvette slid into frame, sporting a brand new, very modernized outfit. On top her head was the special one she requested, the one with ears. The lights dimmed ever so slightly, and Velvette’s outfit jumped to life, including glowing eye shadow and, of course, the frames of the ears. Again, not sure why it was such a necessity but he’s rolling with it.

“And right now, we’ve got a specialty line of them, working in collaboration with Velvette Designs! You might’ve seen them on the web lately! These items are limited release, so get them while their hot!”

Then, of course, the finale.

“Here at Voxtek, we strive for innovation! So Trust Us and take a look at our newest product!”

Before the commercial even finished, the limited release items sold which, at least informed Vox, that Velvette had once again been right. Apparently, people were fighting each other tooth and nail outside of stores for a set. Muggings and an odd black market popped up almost immediately. And that also meant the knock offs were starting up too, things that only ever made his products look even better by comparison. People wanted these things so badly that they were willing to risk getting ripped off. And these were people that hadn’t been hypnotized. Odd.

He might’ve felt compelled to thank her, but the kid was reward enough. Speaking of…

He watched him sitting there in her studio like a glorified trophy. Velvette was working on some designs that Val came up with for his models, things that looked trashy and were made even trashier. Naturally, that just wouldn’t do for their brand. While Vox didn’t usually care about this sort of thing, especially since none of Val’s workers ever wear clothes long enough for it to ever be noticeable, he will admit that it looked better on the poster if Angel wasn’t wearing cheap stockings and fake leather.

Anyways, the rest of the studio was treating the kid like a set piece, something to look at, coo at even, and then quickly return to work. He wasn’t speaking, but he was sunken into the couch like a boy dragged out to go shopping. Just sit, smile, and pretend everything everyone puts on looks lovely. Velvette had him in an oversized sweater which only made him look even punier. Looked good in pictures though, he noted as he scrolled through her recent posts.

He waved the footage away. He had other matters to attend to.

Like, for example, filming that segment about the horrors and potential health hazards of a specific frequency of radiowaves.

…

Just a few more hours. Then, he’d turn in for the night. Just had to go over the stock list again, product numbers, sales, and finally the new pitches his lesser technicians came up with. Only a few more things to do…

His sharks started to swim agitatedly, circling more, and then disappearing from his peripheral. Oh, great. He had a guest. Three guesses who.

“Val, I don’t have time for this right now! I’ve got-”

The smell of coffee caught him off guard. Val didn’t bring him coffee. He brought coffee to Val sometimes, but the only person who brought him coffee he threw off the building the other day. He didn’t expect him back to work so quickly either. Huh. Employee loyalty was a heck of a drug.

“Ah, great timing, and here I thought I’d have to go grab one myself-”

When he spun the chair around, he was greeted to the kid. He had a tray in his hand. Sitting atop it was a coffee, apparently handmade, and a muffin, chocolate chip from the looks of it.

“What’s this?”

The kid opened his mouth, then promptly shut it without uttering a peep. Vox rolled his eyes.

“You can answer when I ask you a question. What is this?”

“Black coffee, only a sip of cream. And a chocolate chip muffin.”

He peered at them, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not fucking blind. I know what they are but what,” He gestured. “is all this?”

“You…you’ve been in here all day.” His ears folded behind him, granting him an odd insight into just torn up he seemed to be. “I notice you haven’t eaten anything for hours…and I thought, well, you know.”

“…where’d you get the coffee?”

“The coffee bar.”

“How’d you know what I liked?”

His ears perked up almost immediately, and a thin smile crept up on him.

“So I was right?”

Well that remains to be seen. He snatched up the cup, the need for caffeine just overriding caution. Sure, it might be poisoned, but the deadliest kind around here was Val’s kind, and Vox regularly makes out with the man. If it was going to kill him, it should’ve done so already. Now, that didn’t mean he didn’t do a secondary analysis, testing the coffee as he chugged it down. The results came quick, almost as quickly as the warm liquid hitting his stomach.

It was…coffee. Black, with just a sip of cream. Actually, this was better than the ones his assistant made for him on the regular. That’s…not what he expected.

How exactly had the kid figured out his order?

Not that he’d admit that he liked it, of course.

He made a sour face, looking at it like it had been poison.

“Disgusting.” He tossed his hand up before the kid made a move to take it back though. “But better than nothing I guess.”

He snatched up the muffin this time and took a bite. Okay, it was actually good. Warm still, the chocolate was melted slightly into the muffin. Their kitchenette wasn’t fully stocked, so he had to assume the kid used the ingredients from his cooking kitchen. A quick double check at least told him that the kid cleaned up after himself so…not so bad. Certain things were out of place and would need fixing before his next kitchen segment, but it wasn’t a bad price to pay, sort to speak.

“God, kid. Where’d you learn to bake? You should get your money back.” He snarked.

But, as he chanced a glance, the kid’s delicate smile grew slightly. His ears weren’t pulled back anymore. In fact, they flicked up with excitement. It was annoying.

“What?”

The kid’s attention flickered between the coffee cup and the remains of the muffin. There was pride drawing on his cheeks, almost turning them flush. He had to pull back the urge to shock some sense back into him.

“Well, why don’t you run along now? You’ve handed over your revolting-”

“But you’re eating them.”

He blinked. Did this kid just interrupt him? Him?

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” He quickly added. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t look sorry. In fact, he looked almost gleeful. Had he been among friends, Vox imagines he’d be bouncing off the walls. Even his tail was wagging like a dog.

And there was only so much disrespect Vox could take in one turn. Especially to his face. And despite the coffee and snack.

“Get. Out.” He sneered through his teeth.

That wiped the smile off the kid’s face. His ears tugged down again, and his tail pulled at the bottom of his legs. His eyes drooped as he nodded, bowing out. His head lifted only for a moment, peering at the aquarium. Vox couldn’t see it directly, but the mirrored image of him in the glass seemed to wag a friendly finger towards his man-eating friends. He didn’t stop walking though. The door hissed shut as he left, giving Vox back his space.

The coffee was warm on his hands. The warmth seeped into the very soles of his shoes as he took another sip. You’d think he’d be used to the cold now, since he often kept this room colder than others to save his monitor’s the extra workload of having to cool. But heat was something he craved, just like moths crave the moon.

He bit into the muffin again. When was the last time he had a chocolate muffin? He can’t remember. He should look back into the security footage, steal the recipe for his next dessert special. At the very least, he needed to write it down so that when his assistant does finally reform, he can have it whenever he wants.

Work called back to him again, even as he polished off the muffin. The coffee made the extra time bearable, as usual. Not great, but better.

The news was the usual assortment of dramas. Another turf war has broken out, pitting southeastern kingpins against each other in a violent exchange that encircled the block. Fifty eight dead so far, but who counts death that aren’t permanent anyways? His new headsets were doing wonderfully, and the fakes were proving themselves to be both a disappointment and, as Velvette keeps tabs on such things, akin to social suicide. It was Voxtek or nothing.

And not to worry, they should have new shipments coming soon! It’ll only cost an arm, a leg, or a soul.

The bitterness of the coffee held back the sweetness leftover from the snack.

Alastor was asking around now, about the kid. He caught him disappearing to the cannibal part of town, old stomping grounds to him. There were less cameras there, but he didn’t need them to know that he’d be visiting his old gal pal. Rosy, for all else that she was, knew a lot of gossip. Gossip that, ironically, really wouldn’t help here. Alastor should know that. The kid wasn’t even close to there when Vox’s men picked him up. Was he dragging his feet? He seemed less enthusiastic about the kid’s safety than Vox would’ve expected. They had seemed close. Well, as close as any of those deadbeats seemed to be. Alastor wasn’t the type to purposefully turn his back on a friend…or potential ally. Then, he considered how similarly he was treated once upon a time. Close enough to seem close, but never enough to truly care. For a moment, he wished the coffee was more bitter.

Finally, after a few hours slipped into a few too many, Vox was done with today. The rest had to wait for tomorrow. What was the point of being an Overlord if he couldn’t draw the line where he wanted? Oh, wait, no. That project needs to be reviewed and-

He caught an odd alert. Someone was looking something up on his T.V., something not in the library.

Sitting there on the couch, the newest waste of time sighed to himself as his search yielded no results. Vox tapped into the camera just in time to hear him complain.

“Oh, come on! He has to have it here somewhere. It was his show.”

A show of his? He brought up the search.

Well…it was one of his, one of his first ones. Back when he was still fresh off the hooves of the mortal realm fads. It was a sitcom of sorts, featuring characters dealing with life in a POW camp during the war. It was so old; it was still filmed in black and white. Half the actors in it had died to exterminations. One had drained his career down the bottle and drugs. Another had faded into obscurity when he refused to sign on for a different project, an insult Vox treated kinder back then.

It had been fun though, at the time. One of his first big breakout shows. People ate it up. Until times changed and tastes changed and no one wanted to hear about that war anymore. Vox got with the program. He wasn’t about to let an opportunity slip.

Unfortunately, that was the end of his first experiment. He gave it one last episode, ending like any other, before moving to the next thing. It’s too bad too. He’d been hoping the end of that show would showcase the actual end of the war, but…well…as he said, times had changed.

So, what was the kid doing looking it up? He hadn’t the slightest clue.

The kid kept digging, trying to find it on his streaming, his internet, even digging through the cabinet looking for DVDs. He wasn’t going to find anything. Once everything went to digital, that was the end of the DVDs.

He had half a mind to call Velvette up and tell her to watch her pets. In fact, he was going to but…his fingers curled around the warm mug.

Ugh, fine. Whatever.

A ping noise popped over the T.V., making the kid jump to attention. Look at that! All eight seasons of the show just got downloaded onto the platform! Aren’t you lucky?

He’d not seen so much joy in someone down here in a long time. Like, childhood giddiness. He was smiling like it was Christmas and the first present he opened was the one he wanted all along. It was odd, to say the least.

“Yes!” The giddiness spread to his legs now, and he could barely keep from leaping off the couch as he turned it on.

The intro song played. It was a chipper tune, playing along the lines of the old marching songs but lighter toned for general audience viewing. The kid knew every beat of it, and he twitched his head to the drum. Personally, it’d always been an earworm for him. That’s one of the reasons he went with it. Anything that could stay inside your head all day was something you’d give another watch later.

But, again, it’s been a while since any of this aired. It made sense that he’d still remember the beat. He invented it. The kid had no reason to know it, not this well. Maybe he heard about the show from some old sinner lurking about, that he could kinda understand even if he didn’t get the fascination with it. But knowing the song?

The more he watched, the more he realized that the kid wasn’t just excited to see the show, he was a fan of it. He knew the characters, knew the catchphrases, knew the twists. Hell, he seemed to know most of the episodes in general, from guest stars to side plots.

By the time he’d finished with work, the series was up to its last season. It’s this one the kid fell asleep watching. Vox wasn’t even sure the kid ate anything this whole time. Vel and Val were still out partying or whatever at this ungodly hour of the night. Given how he hasn’t moved at all, he can only imagine that Velvette abandoned her little toy or, worse, expected Vox to make sure he was still alive by the end of the day.

Speaking of food, he’d need some himself. The coffee was gone hours ago, and the muffin felt like a lifetime away to his stomach. He could make himself something. Hey, those cooking shows weren’t just an act. But that would require so much more work than he felt capable of right now.

He dragged himself away from his monitor room, his pet sharks darting about for one last look at their owner before the doors slammed shut again.

Was the meatloaf he made the other day still there? Probably not. Anytime Val smokes too much, he devours any leftovers that managed to make it the day. The bar had some snacks stocked in it, some for Velvette and some for bar prep, namely lemons, limes, and small accompaniments. At this point, he’d eat a whole fucking tree of lemons if he had to.

When he got to the longue, episode eighteen of the last season was playing. He remembers filming that one, where the POWs snuck out dressed in drag to pretend to be army nurses for the other side. At the time, even in hell, the drag caught people off guard, mostly because Vox made sure it damn well looked convincing. He snickered to himself as the lieutenant asked if the outfit complemented his figure. That was an adlib. The actor actually asked to keep the costume afterwards. Vox obliged.

Okay, now, bar.

He found some of the spread snacks lying about: crackers, chips, and different cheeses. He also found the whiskey, which he needed after a day like today. He grabbed them all and sat at the coffee table, just as the characters flirted past the guards to get to the secret plans hidden in the hospital. Ordinarily, they try not to eat here, on account of the expensive furniture and because Vox himself has made a habit of standing on the furniture when he got too excited. But with both of them gone, he didn’t care.

As for the kid, well, he was too small to take up much space on the couch as it was. That, and he was curling up as much as possible, so he hardly took over much more than elbow space. He sat down beside him, eyes unfocused and starting to drift.

In the world’s worst excuse for a sandwich, he smushed a piece of cheese, the kind didn’t matter, between two crackers. He downed about twenty of them before he reached for his whiskey. Yeah, there definitely wasn’t enough of that for tonight. He finished the bottle way too fast. Great. Well, better get back to the crackers. Otherwise he was gonna have a massive migraine later. And that just wouldn’t do with the morning news!

God, he needed another drink-

“Do they get out, in the end?”

He almost spit the crackers and cheese out like a rocket. Thankfully he didn’t. Velvette would throw a fit if she sat down and ruined an outfit on spit out, half chewed crackers.

“Where you just sitting here the whole time awake-?”

“Because the last episode doesn’t say if they got out.” As the kid pouted and, before he could even come up with an intelligent response, noticed the empty bottle and snack food. “…is that your dinner?”

If he wasn’t so tired and, admittedly a little tipsy, he might’ve snapped at the kid for talking over him, then not even giving him the second to think. As it was, the alcohol, the sleep deprivation, and growling of his stomach was making his mind a little too fuzzy to answer like he normally would.

“I dunno, kid. Didn’t think too much on it.”

“…regarding the show or dinner?”

He blinked slowly. It didn’t make the world stop spinning.

“Both. I think both.”

The kid went silent for a moment, just enough time for him to sit up a little bit more. Geez, was he always that small? Was it just his stupidly big ears that made him look bigger?

“I can only make muffins.” The kid announced randomly.

He swears his processors were lying to him. He did not just say that.

“…What?”

“Lucifer taught me how to make muffins, but I haven’t figured out pancakes yet. Do you want PB and J?”

“The fuck are you on about, kid?”

“Everybody says hangovers suck, and that it’s worse if you don’t eat anything. You want crust or no crust?”

The alcohol was swimming in his brain too much. The kid had a point. He’s drunk too much and ate too little. What would the viewers say tomorrow if Vox, the Vox, looked like he drank himself stupid the day before? Logically, his numbers automatically fed back to him, he should eat something.

But his mouth wasn’t running by his logistics, unfortunately.

“What do you mean, ‘everybody says’? What, you’ve never been hungover?”

The kid’s face pursed like he ate a lemon, or a girl with kooties tried to kiss him. Revolt, the kind that only kids had for stupid things like love, baths, and vegetables, tugged on his face.

“I make it a point not to drink anything I could run a car on.”

A deep throated laugh burst from him. He’s not even sure where it came from. It kinda just puked right out his mouth and filled the room.

“That was funny.” He managed between filling his lungs. “Where you always funny, or am I way too drunk?”

He doesn’t think he should’ve said that last part out loud now that he thinks about it. Thankfully the kid didn’t answer the stupid question with a stupid answer. Instead, a small grin peeked under his muzzle.

“So, PB and J?”

He put the bottle down, the empty clang of it echoing in the room. He forgot how quiet it was when everyone else was gone. He was so used to this being their space, their collective space, that any time spent alone felt…odd. The kid wasn’t much. Even drunk off his ass, he couldn’t really compare to having one of the other Vees here.

But, you know, he was funny. A bit.

And he offered peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Even the other Vees never offered as much when he was drunk, not that he remembers anyways.

“Yeah, kid. Go make me a fucking sandwich.”

“Okay, but don’t watch the last episode without me!” He leapt up and over towards the cooking set. Again, he needed to chase his staff over and clean that up later, for tomorrow’s lesson. He was going to go over a filet mignon with red wine reduction sauce. That was the plan. Now, for some reason, he was wondering if he was better off showing how to make muffins.

The intro song played again. It was the last episode of the series. Nothing special, he didn’t get to have the grand finale he’d once envisioned. It was still as good as any other episode though. And no, he didn’t feel like waiting either.

The kid came back with the sandwiches about a fourth of the way through. He had removed the crust and sliced it down the middle to make two even triangles. It was a fucking lunch his mother could’ve packed him for school. He was eating school lunch. He didn’t feel drunk enough to be eating school lunch, though he was just hungry enough to cave.

It was good, obviously. Hard to mess up PB and J, especially with his own ingredients.

“I told you not to watch without me.”

The kid huffed as he bit into a different sandwich, also peanut butter and jelly.

“Did I ever say I agreed to that?” He mentioned back.

“…you’re kinda a jerk.”

Of all the insults he’s taken: the curses, the lengthy speeches, the loudmouth screeching of a certain radio, he’s not sure he’s ever been called a ‘jerk’. It was so wildly immature, but not in the ‘I’m spouting whatever curse comes to mind’ kind of way. But, probably because he was drunk and because it wasn’t the usual cursing white noise it hit harder than expected. Like, he laughed, but there was a bitter edge to it.

“A ‘jerk’? Really? That’s the best you’ve got?” His toothy grin might remind one of a shark, though it probably looked less intimidating with peanut butter all over his teeth.

The kid shrugged.

“I don’t know. Just seemed to be the word that fit best, I guess.”

Somehow, that was even more insulting.

“…shut up.”

He did as he was told, staying quiet for a good couple of minutes, but Vox didn’t really talk much either. He usually loved talking in the middle of movies or shows, partly to annoy but partly to entertain when the watchability wasn’t there.

“Do you still have the sets from the show? I know sometimes people in Hollywood would reuse sets.” The kid asked, interrupting the silence. And giving Vox plenty to talk about.

“From this show? Nah. We used some of it for other programs at the time, but a lot of it was scrapped when we branched out into Sci-fi shows. The space race was a hell of a time for TV.” Notably, the kid seemed genuinely upset to hear that, though something about the sag of his shoulders told Vox that he expected that answer.

And, okay, he was still drunk and not thinking right.

“I’ve got the captain’s hat in my closet.”

The kid’s jaw snapped open.

“Really?”

Wow, he just wore his emotions on his sleeve, huh?

“Yeah, it’s got all the pins on it still too.” Why had he kept it? Even he didn’t really know the answer. There’s been a few times where he’d thought about throwing it away, like the rest of the old, outdated junk but…well, then there were moments like these. When drunk, he liked thinking about those stupid passion projects. It was better than focusing on more recent events, usually.

“That’s so cool!”

Well, that might be going a step too far.

“It’s just an old hat, kid.”

“From a classic show!” He argued. “It just sucks that Hell doesn’t have museums or something.”

His show as a dusted up old display in a museum? Even drunk, that sounded suspiciously like an insult.

“That’s because Hell is the museum, kid.” He flashed his teeth again. “Too many old bastards long past their time hanging around and dragging their fucking heels. It’s all a museum and a fucking zoo down here.”

To that, the kid didn’t seem to have an argument. He gave up a little sigh.

“You’d think people with knowledge from, like, thousands of years ago would be really cool.”

“Fossils.” Vox, now hitting a little too close to his chest, stopped smiling. “Just a bunch of fucking fossils who are pissed off that the world didn’t fucking stop turning when they died. Bunch of narcissistic assholes who think everything should revolve around them.”

The kid stopped mid-bite and just looked at him. After a moment, it started being pretty funny.

“Hey, the world actually does revolve around me!” He stated. The kid raised a brow and gave a slow blink of his eyes. “It’s true! If it wasn’t for me, nothing would’ve ever changed down here. Trust me, before I got to Hell, you would’ve thought we were in the dark ages.”

The episode’s outro played, a reprised version of the intro song. As the last episode though, it seemed a little slower pitched than he remembered, as if it wanted to go on just a little bit longer. It was an absurd thought, especially since all episodes fitted nicely into the exact TV slot allotted to them, with commercials. None of them were any longer than others. But this? It seemed longer. Did he do that on purpose? He doesn’t remember doing that on purpose.

He snatched the remote before the kid could. His eyes were dipping a bit from the need for sleep, and the cocktail of PB and J and whiskey settling in his stomach. So, rather than take a chance on the remote, he flicked the signal between his fingers, telling the TV to put on a game show. Guess he still had old crap on the brain because the one that popped up was one of the ancient, prerecorded ones. That was back when TV was on more of a schedule, meaning that at some point in the night the broadcasts would stop.

It was a non-creative project, something he’d ripped off from a show he’d used to watch, except instead of trying to figure out someone’s job, you’d typically be figuring out how they died. Vox had found some pretty amusing ones over the years. One of his favorites was the guy who’d been reporting the weather and died when a fish leapt out of the water and smacked him in the face. Poor bastard wasn’t even sure if it was the impact of the fish that killed him or if it was falling off the dock and getting run over by a boat.

Some of the best ones resulted in sinners that looked really fucking weird, because, apparently, part of being in hell was remembering, forever, how and what killed you. He remembered a guy that looked like his face was squashed by an old cartoony hammer because he’d actually died to a piano being dropped on his head.

Vox, of course, had been the host. Some other demons filled in the guessers’ positions, people who’ve long faded into the background of his mind. In this one, a demon resembling a polar bear wrote his name down and sat beside Vox as the questioning began.

“He got sliced by a hockey skate, didn’t he?”

Okay, color Vox surprised.

“How’d you figure that?”

“’Cause his fur looks like a hockey jersey and he keeps trying to hide his neck.”

Huh. He supposed that was true. Maybe he’d seen the episode before though. Maybe he was just lying. Well, there was one quick way to test it.

“Not bad. Alright, here’s a tougher one. How did I die?” He challenged. He better not say he got crushed by a TV. He’s heard that one way too many times, and he was sick and tried of people assuming he got knocked off like a looney tunes character-

“My guess would be a power surge.”

“…huh?”

“Well, I mean, you don’t look like you’ve got any scars on you, but you’re a kind of dark blue everywhere. And you short circuit the city when you get mad. So, my guess would be you got electrocuted or something.”

That was a first. Obviously, his death was a little more graphic and detailed than some random electrocution. Here, come watch the death of your favorite TV star! Live for one night only. Or alive for one last night only. And there were still people out there that thought the chair was merciful. Merciful, my ass. That shit had hurt.

“Couldn’t be further from the truth, kid. You really suck at this.” He teased. “But since we’re on the subject…”

There honestly wasn’t much to go on for the kid. He was used to having these answers behind an info card, rather than having to guess himself. Sure, constant practice showed some consistent things. He’s not sure how the fox part of his appearance played into things, but he could spot the pattern of his ears and arms well enough. The slight glint of his freckles reminded him more of taillights than of actual freckles. Also, he was a kid. What was the most obvious thought there?

“What? You go chasing after your ball and get hit by a car?”

The kid suddenly found interest in his feet, kicking them around like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Oh, he could picture it now. A stupid little kid on his way to school, playing in the street when all of a sudden-

“I got run over by an eighteen-wheeler.”

A What?

“Come again?”

“I was driving my car, took my eyes off the road for a second. An eighteen-wheeler had come barreling down the road going the wrong way.”

What the fuck?

“Like, run over though? Not just crashed into the car?”

He nodded.

“I think that’s why I’ve got treads on my arms, legs, and ears. If you get my meaning.”

Holy shit. Like karma was a bitch and, yeah, obviously the kid was down here for…something but-

“Was it quick at least?”

The kid bit his lip, and his body curled closer to him.

“I…I just remember the headlights.”

He was lying. Vox knew that. Oh, fuck, that’s a hard way to go. Plus, he’s a kid. He felt like his brain was running too many programs at once, never a smart thing to do while intoxicated.

“How old are you?”

“Um…twelve, I think. Maybe thirteen. I…I don’t really remember. Time’s so weird down here.”

Twelve? They threw a twelve year old down here with the likes of serial killers, sex offenders, and power hungry dictators? What the fuck did he do? Did he accidently bring a super psycho into the Vee tower?

“Where you murdering other children behind the school cafeteria or something? How does a twelve year old get into hell? You’re not even alive long enough to do anything. Or big enough. Or have a functioning brain.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“No, we are clearing this up right fucking now. Why are you down here?”

He was not going to let this go. The last thing he needed was for a deranged little twerp like Alastor’s girl running around stabbing things. Sure, he hasn’t shown any of that yet and he did check into that loser’s hotel but he’s learned better than to trust that. If the kid wasn’t going to spill, he’d just make him, with a quick suggestion of course.

“I…I mean.” The kid shuddered, and he seemed to gulp down air. “I-I went for a drive. It was dark, and it was raining. I-I honestly d-didn’t mean to hit him! He just walked out from the woods somewhere a-and I-I-I didn’t see him.”

Oh. Well, that made more sense then. But damning a twelve year or thirteen year old for an accident? Seemed excessive, even to Vox. Usually he punished people for, you know, actual mistakes. There was the occasional fuck up that couldn’t be ignored obviously, but he’d think kids would get a special pass, at least.

“So, what? You bury his body in the middle of nowhere?”

He shook his head.

“I just…I just panicked. I drove off…I…I didn’t even try to help.”

“…okay, then what? You lie to everyone and get someone else convicted?”

There had to be another reason…right?

“No. I only drove another few miles before the truck happened.”

Wait. Wait.

“You mean to tell me that you got damned to hell because of an accident? You? A kid?”

“…I…I think’s it more because I ran instead of helping-”

He said more but Vox toned him out because what the actual fuck. No wonder hell was overpopulated. An accident? An accident was all it took to send an otherwise innocent soul to shack up with the murderers, rapists, and tyrants of the world?

You knew something was wrong when he thought that heaven or whoever was in charge of this nonsense went too far.

“I am not drunk enough to process this.”

“You’ve had two bottles already.”

He had? Huh. Where’d the second bottle come from? A quick look revealed that he was holding a bottle, a different one from the one on the table. Though, from his spot on the couch, it’s started to look like four bottles rather than two. Again, not a good sign.

A quick check of his internal clock told he needed to be in bed like two hours ago if he’d planned on getting up without issue in the morning. He went to stand, putting just the barest amount of weight on his legs when he felt them buckle. Okay, too drunk and too weak to walk. Brilliant.

“See that blanket over there?” He gestured to the same one the kid found yesterday, labeled with their logo in that warm flannel knit. It was on Val’s couch which meant it might not exactly be clean, but if he’d been scared away by that about Val, they wouldn’t be in their stupid little back and forth all the time. “Go get it.”

He did as he was told. Being sober granted him the ability to at least check it before bringing it over. In that time, Vox pushed around pillows, making a small wall that he planned to use as a rest for his screen. The kid held the throw out, and he wasted no time in tossing it over himself. He always had to make sure it didn’t accidentally cover his fans, least he overheats and really needs a tune up in the morning. Almost as soon as he laid down right, everything in his body seemed to be losing power. Feedbacks were starting to fail. Limbs started turning to jelly.

“Do I have to sleep on the floor again? It’s cold on the floor.”

“Kid, could you just shut up? I’ve had too long of a day to deal with this.”

“…is that a no?”

Sparks started flying about his face, some getting dangerously close to the blanket. By now, most of the casual fabrics lounging around their inner sanctum up here have been made fireproof. Live and learn and all that. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t been known not to melt a few of them when in a particularly bad mood, anger he tries to keep tight on a leash.

Except when he’s drunk. Like now. Which is a bit of a problem.

Calm down. You don’t want to set the tower on fire now, do you? No, you don’t. That’d be bad for the reputation, the brand’s reputation, and especially your reputation. You don’t want him to win again, do you?

Plus, you’d have to deal with pissed off Val and Vel.

He steeled his nerves and opened his eyes a bit.

“Clean this shit up and I’ll think about it.” He wouldn’t. He’d be passed out long before clean up would be finished.

“…pinkie promise?”

Were pinkie promises deals? He didn’t think so. Nothing in his database said they were.

“Yeah, sure.”

Despite the dark circles on his eyes, the kid was surprisingly springy. And trusting, because he seemed to just take Vox’s word on the matter. He caught him bounding around the table like a jack rabbit in his fading peripheral vision, his red fur blending in with the maroon hues of the cushions around. Right before everything went offline, he had an odd moment of clarity.

He was unarmed, drunk, passed out on the couch at the disposal of someone who would literally only gain from his death. It wasn’t like he was under contract. His guards wouldn’t be so stupid as to let the kid leave, but it’s not like any of them could reach him in time if, say, the kid poured the whisky into his outlet.

This is a bad idea, he concluded. Then he knocked out.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fic #hazbin hotel ficlet #hazbin fanfic #drabble #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin hotel vees #the vees

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nobedofroses · 1 year

Text

December 2

pairing: Din Djarin x reader

warnings: fluff, allusions to spice

words: 949

a/n: slightly grumpy Din who is also a sucker

Last, Full List, Next

🏔🏔🏔

While Din had been hunting his last bounty, you and Grogu had gone into the nearby village (you were allowed to because it was in the opposite direction the bounty had gone). As was usual, you went to the market to buy food and other staples that you liked to stock up on just in case you weren’t going to be on planet for a while.

The baby always stuck close by you and he was generally more well-behaved for you than he was with his dad. You were never sure whether it was because he felt less safe with you than his heavily armored and weaponed dad or if he thought you needed him for protection. Either way you weren’t complaining.

Today, as you were buying things, the vendors kept mentioning a light festival in the town, asking if the two of you were planning on going. Not knowing the area, you tried to subtly get information from different sellers (probably overly cautious, but Din had influenced you).

Apparently, there was a large garden at the edge of the village that was decorated in thousands of lights and there would be food vendors and live music. Grogu listened just as much as you did, and while you weren’t sure if he knew what the lights would look like, he was very interested at the prospect of food. And you knew that he would love the lights when he did see them.

The festival was going on for a couple nights so you would suggest it to Din when he got back to the ship. You knew better than to try and go just you and the baby, never being allowed to leave the ship without Din at night. Sure that between you and Grogu he would be convinced, the two of you grabbed some lunch before heading back to the ship.

That night, Din didn’t return until Grogu was asleep and you were getting ready for bed yourself. You were in the fresher but you could hear him take the bounty to the carbonite freezer and then he knocked on the door to give you the all clear. Once you were dried off and dressed, you went out and found him in the cockpit, clearly having just finished eating, but with his helmet back on.

You smiled at him and he held out a hand for you, helping you to sit sideways on his lap. The two of you were committed to be wed, and some days it felt like you couldn’t wait to be able to kiss him, see his face. The thought of getting to do it soon distracted you for a moment, but when he tilted his head in a clear mark of curiosity, you remembered what you were going to say.

Grabbing his hand in both of yours, you started playing with his fingers absent-mindedly as you started talking, “So Grogu and I heard about something that sounded like fun today.”

Din nodded and hummed for you to continue, though you also felt him shifting just a bit underneath you.

“The town is having a light festival this week with food and music and lights, of course, and I thought the baby would love it.”

“Just the kid?”

You smiled sheepishly, “Well, I would love it too. What do you say, can we go?”

He hummed in thought, which you thought was just to make you sweat. “Will I love it?”

You laughed and said, “I’m sure there will be things there you like. And if there isn’t, I’ll make it up to you.”

Din’s hands tightened on you and he said, “I think I need an example of that right now.”

Smiling suggestively, you readjusted to straddle him instead and said, “You can consider it a thank you.”

___

The next evening, the three of you set out for the festival, and just as you predicted you all loved it. Even underneath his helmet, you could tell that Din was enjoying himself. He made a lot of comments about how everything was constructed and pointed out the particularly elaborate displays to the baby, all while sticking very close to you. The two of you didn’t like to display affection in public (mainly because Din didn’t want anyone to target you because of him), but he did guide you sometimes with a hand on the small of your back or the light touch of his fingertips on your elbow.

You and Grogu got your fill of yummy food and drinks as you walked, and you made sure to pack some away in your bag for Din to have later. By the end of the night, Din had to carry Grogu back to the ship, all tuckered out from the food and excitement.

While you put Grogu to bed, Din ate, and again you found him in the cockpit and again, you sat sideways on his lap.

“So what did you think?”

After several seconds, Din just shrugged and hummed noncommittally.

For a second, you questioned yourself, wondering if he actually hadn’t enjoyed himself, but then you felt his hands sliding up your thighs and you realized what he was thinking.

“Oh no, Din,” you said, exaggerating your worry. “You didn’t like it?”

Again, Din just shrugged, apparently incapable of outright lying to you.

“Poor honey, had to spend all that time walking around with us,” you gave him your best sad eyes, knowing he liked it when you babied him a bit. You moved to straddle him, again, and then leaned in, tugging his cowl down so your lips could find his neck, “I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you.”

🏔🏔🏔

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #mando #mando x reader #the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #smut #ish #fluff #blurb #nobedofroses #stephsdecemberwritingchallenge

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pulpandgristle · 7 months

Text

III: ALBATROSS

Pilot ID: Harlan Salk-Wakeford, RKTS-S Platform #107 ("Colony Veritas") Status: Active Current Assignment: Supply line suppression, standard anti-materiel targeting regimen

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dropped off Harlan's wedding ring earlier. Put it in his palm before they took him in for final preparations. They'd already rewired his optic nerves into the targeting superstructure before I got there. The technicians said he could still perceive his surroundings, but he didn't close his hand when I held it. Apparently that's normal.

I think I was too fast for him to feel me.

He's in orbit now, camping in the L8 Lagrangian Point between Colony Veritas and our shield moon. His installation's big enough to see from the cliffs south of our cabin. I camp underneath him on the seaside, at the big overhang with the willow tree and the gulls. My telescope fits nicely up there.

The barrel of his new body glimmers at night. It's two miles long, I'm told, big enough for me to walk down the grooves of the rifling. Every round he'll fire is the size of a four magrail cars stacked on top of each other. From planetside it's not so imposing, though. It's almost delicate from that far away, a razor-thin line projecting from the rest of him, incomplete under harsh light, like a cat's whisker.

He can see faster than light now. Command says he's the closest that colony stock can come to godhood. I believe it.

But I don't want to.

They unveiled his new body two months into the occupation. It's a new type of ultra-long-range battery, one that fires fast enough to warp space: a Relativistic Kinetic Targeting System—Superliminal-class. RKTS-S. Pronounced "rickets", like the ancient Earth disease that ruined people's bones. That turned children into hunched figures with legs like parentheses.

They break the gunner's legs outwards to fit them in, funnily enough. The rest follows slowly, incrementally cracking out then back into place, like a branch snapping in reverse. I asked the technicians why they did it like that. No one answered me. They just turned the cranks and stared at the floor.

They use some type of singularity lensing to alter the gunner's consciousness. Time dilation swallows them. In seconds they live a billion lifetimes, all prescripted targeting protocols injected into the spine with a cocktail of salts and stem cells that crack the brain apart. Somehow, the people stay inside, and they can take commands just fine. I'm unsure how.

They remember what their old life was. Some of them even talk. The signals of the speech fire beyond their reach, beyond will, looping for millenia of perceived time before their body spits them out. The world around them moves like a glacier.

Gunners aren't allowed outside of their bodies. It's inhumane to make them leave.

Harlan signed up when I wasn't home. He sent me out for errands in the morning, at the crack of dawn, acted like it would be a fun surprise when I got back. I didn't think anything of it at the time.

I could walk okay with the cane, but it took all day just to go to the markets without money for the trams. He misplaced my cards and used the cash for something he didn't want to talk about. I made it back at dusk.

I couldn't be mad, not truly. I know the Septarchy would have taken me for infantry if he didn't agree to it. I yelled anyway. I regret that now, so much. More than anything.

I think he was counting on that—me taking so long. I couldn't tell them to take me instead if I wasn't there.

"No, no, let me go. You're not cut out for zero gee. You still get seasick, remember?"

I do now, worse than before. I didn't when he held me.

He'd been inconsiderate before, especially since we lost the baby. The blood terrified him. I guess a fetus dripping through your fingers will do that to a man. Even after that, though, he found the strength to carry me to the ambulance and stay up in the waiting room for two days while they fixed things. He's his strongest when he's afraid.

What I wouldn't give for him to be weak, like me. Now that he's up there I can take official hormones. I can get a beard, get muscles bigger than these frail things my mother's side shackled me with. Get a voice deep enough to cry with dignity.

Sometimes I dream that he's sick. I imagine that he'll come home from the hospital instead of me, infirm and feeble, and he'll get to stop working for awhile while I make bread and cut firewood and carry him for a change. He can pick a ring out from the catalog on the coffee table, and read his novels and heal and sleep.

They married us then, on the installation, after I held his hand. The Septarchy said they'd officiate as long as he signed up for the program; men weren't allowed to be wed without service licenses, and I was only a man to the Septarchy because they didn't let colony women go to war.

Apparently Harlan is rare. One of a kind. Perfect for this.

"I can protect you from up here."

I lie in our tent. My sleeping bag is half-empty. I run my hands over vacant air and I stare into orbit. I think about the surgeon closing his hand around the ring. It's a size too big for him now, since the IVs feed him less heartily than I did.

The vows are over on Veritas. It's okay, though, love. You can take your time.

According to what they said, you'll be accepting them for the next ten million years.

#my writing #science fiction #scifi #biopunk #flash fiction #microfiction #mecha #original writing #gristlebits #sarcoclast #queer artist #mlm #transgender #transmasc #body horror #cw: body horror #cw: miscarriage #pregnancy #I take your hand now you'll never be lonely

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thygoddessouijathicc · 11 months

Text

Chapter 1: Arrival (Phone Dave Rewrite)

(Do not expect updates to be this frequent I’m just really into this RN)

“Hello there future Freddy’s employe- owner-“ Jack skips through the tape, nothing useful, since when was his first Boss a spokesperson anyway?

He puts in another tape, getting started. “Corporate gave me a very long script about the importance of phone guys, but I’m not reading it. If you hope to run any kind of successful business you’ll need a phone guy. We have a vast catalogue with varying prices ranging from Free, to $500k, which is my price. We do taxes, frame employees, run the entire place when you aren’t around, and some of us don’t even know who we are and haven’t been able to recover our memories yet. So if you want to run a business at all, get a phone while they’re still in stock. Put the next tape in to-“ Jack shuts off the tape and opens up the company website, going to the phone guy page.

Out of stock the tape had said… the reality was anything but, even with how many had left the company there were thousands of phones. And since they marked their own prices, accounting for experience, of which most had quite a bit, $500k wasn’t THAT crazy anymore.

Just to check if the tape was true Jack checks the page for the phone on the tape. “Steven Stevenson.” That’s… a name. $1500k Inflation huh. The tape was kind of old.

Jack has a grand total of $12.50 after buying the restaurant, $12.50 he planned on spending on weed. He clicked on a tab for cheap phones, $700 was the lowest amount. Still way too much. He sighs, almost ready to give up when he sees there is a free tab.

The free phones were apparently sold separately to the standard paid variety, with their own tab.

This was perfect! He could just get as many free phones as he wants! Foolproof!

He clicks on the free tab to see exactly one phone. He is now highly concerned. He had assumed the free ones were defective but only one… were they cursed or something?

Jack, being as high as he is and this unlearning the fear of death, clicks on the page. “Model number 51_02.” No name. This was looking great wasn’t it?

As there was no profile picture aside from a poorly taken photo of what looks like a purple finger covering half the lense with a purple and white phone in the background, Jack moves on to the info.

“51_02 has yet to remember anything, and despite company knowledge of his name, this information has been redacted from files. Phone is marketed as free despite having worked at over 2000 locations before the business model shift that granted phones basic human rights, this was done at his own request. Frequently used to open locations with a fierce loyalty to the company and seeming enjoyment of his job allowing him to be great for new locations, however this phone also behaved in a rather unsettling manner that drove off customers after the first few months at every location. A good phone to start but a horrible one longterm.”

Jack leans back in his chair, exasperated. If this phone is like this he’d be terrible for Jack. He opened the location to lure Dave back and get more weed money. This phone sounded obnoxious and the lack of any elaboration on what exactly he does that drives away customers was… well… suspicious. Jack didn’t overly CARE about the location he just wanted it open long enough Dave would take notice, but a phone that’s got nothing but AI and love for the company?

Jack decides to keep trying to find out more, maybe this phone could help him.

Medical records… no other phone had these… great.

“51_02 has a variety of strange medical issues. He seems to have some kind of rare skin condition causing a scaly off-colour appearance, it seems to not be causing him any physical harm but it is deeply unpleasant to look at. His skin has a number of surgical scars of unknown origin. Due to unfortunately being taller than the height cap the machine removed parts of his anatomy to fit, this resulted in fragile bones, severe muscle atrophy, and some parts of his skeletal structure such as the ribs being oversized.”

The text is followed immediately by a few images, the first showing him without a suit to show the body structure issues… wooo boy were there more than were mentioned. An unusually extended neck buckling under the weight of the phone, a seeming lack of any volume in the midsection, phones do tend to be skinny, losing some fat reserves, but it looks like he was free of any organs, and what looks to be claws poking out of his finger tips. His whole body is swathed in medical gauze and bandages seemingly only there to hide his skin.

Jack sighs in pity for the phone and nearly scrolls past the second picture, but manages to notice it just in time.

His blood runs cold… er than it normally is.

The image is of the phone standing awkwardly wearing no shirt with all the bandages and gauze missing from his body, revealing somewhat scaly bright purple skin.

Everything seems to fall into place in Jack’s constantly drugged mind. Well… some things. “Dave…” he mutters. “That’s where you went…” the man says, running his hand over the screen and then. Scrolling up to hit “add to cart”.

…

It only took a day for Dave to be delivered, a company guarantee. Jack hadn’t slept that night. He cried a lot. But he didn’t sleep.

What else do you do when you hear your boyfriend from the 80s who you thought abandoned you in Vegas turned out to have been transformed into a deformed phone guy who still was trapped under the AI even today and apparently liked the company now?

Dave was delivered in a box, a common practice back in the day. Jack drags the heavy box inside and opens it, before he even finishes the phone pops his head out. Metal. Shockingly well kept, as if repainted frequently.

“Hello? Hello? Hello? My name is Scott Cawthon I’ll be your new manager how can I help you today?” The phone says, Jack almost falls over hearing the Scott voice coming from his old “friend” from the 80s.

Jack gives the phone an uncomfortable smile. He remembers Dave being MUCH taller than him, now the height difference is minimal.

He reaches up and puts his hand on the phone’s shoulder. “Uhhh… hi sir? Are you ok?”

Jack starts crying and hugs the phone.

The phone guy responds awkwardly. “W-wow this place is a dump. I’ll get right to work cleaning it up.” He wedges Jack off himself and goes to get a broom without saying another word.

#dsaf #dayshift at freddy's #dsaf dave #dsaf jack #davesport #dsaf old sport #dsaf phone guy #tw body modification #tw body horror #tw Ouija on her bulshit #cw body mutilation

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palialaina · 8 months

Text

Where do I even begin. Einar, Eshe, Kenyatta, my boys....

Sheesh.

Let's go with Zeki, because the thing he gave me cracks me up.

How else am I supposed to react to getting a laser pointer???

So, apparently Auni decided he wanted to use the douplifier for butterflies and other bugs, and uh. It actually worked. I am amazed, I tell you, that Auntie Del didn't shout the house down when that happened.

I am also sad I missed it.

But Zeki told me that he's not skilled at bug catching (which I doubt, he's just fluffy and a bit lazy XD), but if I could help him cut down the bug population, he'd appreciate it.

So I did, and he gave me that for it. I told him it wasn't necessary, as weird as he is, he's my friend, and he insisted, so now I have a laser pointer. Honestly, the palcats love it, I just have to make sure to not point it at anything breakable.

Learned that one the hard way.

So there was that. Then I finally got all the things together for Kenyatta's ball (hey, you try stalling with Eshe breathing down your neck the way she does! Scary lady!), and man, I wish I could've seen her face when Kenyatta declared her Path as a healer apprenticed to Chayne. Granted, I'm also amazed Eshe hasn't decided it's all my fault, but like... Small favors.

Which are good favors because oof, if she actually finds out I read her private mail, I'm not sure I won't actually get banned from town. Which would suck.

So, apparently the Duchess is questioning Eshe's governance skills, which like... first of all, why, and secondly, the letter called Eshe delicate. Like. I know the Duchess is Kenli's sister, but has she actually met Eshe recently? Eshe is so not delicate. Eshe will murder anyone with a glare who calls her delicate. (And we're not gonna tell anyone I lied to Kenli about putting a present in her room. Nope. Maybe I should get her something though...)

At least after that whole incident I was able to buy the Maji plush! My boys were both being weird about it, and I had to be very frim about not letting either Jel or Hassian buy it for me. Though it is sweet that Hassian offered; he's so offended by the chappa stuff at the market, but he said he'd tolerate it if I wanted the plush so badly.

Jel just tried to slip me money, and I had to scold both of them.

Sometimes a girl just wants to spend her hard earned money on some silly frivolities! Honestly, the plushie is overpriced, but I'm proud of myself for saving up as much as I did and getting it. Proof that I can, you know?

Now I just need to do it again because I want the basket Reth's selling (It'll be perfect for laundry), and those springblossom vases Auntie has. I like the standing planters I have now, but I really want these to sit in the entryway before my room.

It's silly, I know, but I like them!

And then again, because I need that giant backpack Zeki has. But that one can wait because Zeki's got a ton in stock, and the Maji Market is only a little bit longer.

Oh oh oh, I almost forgot Auni's nonsense. This kid is gonna be the death of me, I swear! Nai'o wrote that Auni's been acting funny since their last camping trip, but he wouldn't tell Nai'o, so Nai'o asked me to ask Auni what was up.

...that was convoluted.

So, apparently Auni picked up a statue, and started having dreams about being lost, and no one else being there. Apparently he took it to Elouisa, and she said the statue was cursed, with the only way to break the curse being putting the dang thing back.

Auni, child of no brains at all, had no real idea where he picked up the statue from, other than a vague location in Bahari. In the interest of him actually sleeping, I offered to take it back there. Not like I don't always find stuff to do in Bahari anyways (I need more sweet leaf... celebration cakes use up entirely too much.), so off I went to Bahari.

Turns out, the place he was thinking of was the Statue Garden, and I have to admit, once the thing was back in it's spot, I felt better myself. This kid wants to join the Order, but honestly, I think he'd be better working as a researcher like Jina. Maybe he doesn't get to do magic, but he'd learn a lot more about things and how they work, I bet.

Oh, and then there was Einar, who tried to help me understand Flow. I still don't think I really get it, but if nothing else, I helped catch something so that he could fix a busted music box in his cavernous home, so that was nice.

I also found this out in Bahari. I'm not really sure what to make of it. It had an inscription about little things making big impacts, and it's made me sit and thing for a bit, because that's true. Not that I think humans are a little thing, but we're definitely making big impacts all around Kilima and Bahari, and probably the rest of Palia too. Jel mentioned that there's a collection of outfits done by a human designer, and that's pretty impressive.

I'm perfectly content to stay here and just have a good time with my farming and a good life with my friends in the village. I guess I'm not much of a wanderer.

Hm.

I wonder if that would bother Hassian... He mentioned earlier that he sort of misses being untethered. I wonder if that meant... me as well.

Tch. I'm being dramatic. I think I'm going to go enjoy this darn celebration cake that took way too long, and way too much stuff to make, and not worry about it.

I need to invite Lark and Orion over for another dinner-and-vent session, I think. Could be fun!

#palia #palia online #singularity 6 #berry plays palia #palia game #palia journaling #palia journey #palia mmo #palia roleplaying

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tamelee · 8 months

Note

Hey, I hope you're doing great and in good health! 💐🏵🌻🌺🌹🌼🌷🍁🌻🌼💐🌺🌸🌷⚘️🌻

(If you've answered something like this already then you can ignore it).

You know abt four new naruto episodes that will release in September, what do you think they will be about? Do you think it would have anything to do with Boruto, or just a couple of fillers for fun or a short side story or will it cater specifically to the ships (nh/ss)?

Also, do you find it weird how they're dragging the old Naruto series back? Like are they purposely releasing episodes from the old series to bring back any fans of the original series? Considering that Boruto is doing real bad they might think of catering towards the old fans and try to win them back?

Maybe I'm speaking trash and rubbish but I can't help but feel apprehensive but excited at the same time with the release of these eps. Like what is SP planning? I can't help but feel suspicious (It's sp after all).

Anyway, will you watch them? Or wait for the reviews to see if it's worth it and then watch it or not? I can't decide myself if it would be worth my time.

Take care of yourself and I hope your studies are made easy for you.

🌸💐🌻🌼🌷🌺🌹🌻🌸🌷💐🌼🌺🌻🌸💐🌷🌼

Hi Nonee, thankyou for the kind words! *-*💕 And the flowers 🌷! Still waiting for some better news in regard to my health, but my studies are going good 🧡 I hope you're well!

I'll definitely watch them right away!

I saw a bit ago that the episodes are postponed because of quality issues?

They constantly have these now apparently? I remember the little bits and pieces I saw from the Anime-adaptations from that filler-novel and everyone blamed it on the many (MANY) interns that worked on it, but honestly? It just showed the company didn't care- which in that case I understand lol... but for these 4 episodes???? I hope they bring in some experience and quality.. we all deserve it ;-; and so does Kishimoto.

(Also I don't like that new art-style, they don't even look like themselves..)

Me complaining about that aside, I believe they said it'll be about "team" 7 going on a mission without Kakashi and Naruto being the leader or something. That's all I know but even that could be wrong.

Idk if they want to bring back the old fans for the sake of grasping for some success that possibly could go to 'Boruto'. I don't believe that's the case because 'Boruto' genuinely became the laughing stock of Anime. Everyone's rightfully making fun of it 😆 they've done everything to make it as bad as possible and disrespect what was already there... it's too late to beg for the 'Naruto'-fans to now suddenly support the damn thing and put up a middle finger to their own nostalgia. Absolutely not.

It may have been an idea simply because the big three would run at the same time- which to me is kinda cool. But that's just me being hopeful and having my glass half full. It also said Kishimoto is supervising it..... but that doesn't say much if SP claims that. They often use his name for marketing purposes only. So, I share your concerns Nonee... I'm excited but worried at the same time that they'll try to do some damage control or have an underlying motive 🤷🏻‍♀️ We know they constantly do so when they have the chance as long as it is profitable without any concern for the original story.

*prays* please don't let it become a fan-war, please don't let it b- ... so, I guess we'll just have to see? And who knows, maybe these episodes are going to be just a lot of fun ;-; I hope so. I really, really do.

#asktamelee #naruto talk

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whitherwordswither · 8 months

Text

Logs from the Starfields, IV

Captain's Log #0.04:

So, sometimes, when I'm visiting New Atlantis I like to take a stroll down through The Well. Sure, the air quality ain't all that great but… there's some decent shops down there. And the Trade Authority allows me to drop off a lot of random lost and found items I come across.

One shop though, the surplus market Antonio runs. I was mindin' my own, browsing his goods when a customer comes in demanding a refund for some boots. Because they bring her bad luck? What did she say now? Somethin' about… "It's like walking under a ladder with a broken mirror in my pocket!" …And he gave her a refund! I ain't ever seen this man give refunds. So, after she leaves I decide to ask him about the boots.

Turns out she's not the first to return them. Apparently these unlucky boots are cursed. Hah. Like, are ya kiddin' me? Cursed space boots? Sounds like something straight out of one of them Tamriel Adventure novels. So anyway. Apparently these boots are so unlucky Antonio just wants to get rid of them and offers to pay me some decent creds to take them to a whole 'nother system and stash 'em away somewhere.

Well, shit. I didn't have any plans when I woke up this morning so why the heck not! Looks like we're going to some place called The Den. Pretty specific locale, if ya ask me. He could've just said to drop 'em in any 'ole corner of the galaxy. Guess we might find out why once we get there maybe? I'm kinda curious m'self.

So off we go! The Wolf System. I dig the name.

…

Turns out The Den is an old UC station. According to the Vanguard folks posted here it ain't seen much action since the war ended. Fine by me. I enjoy the calm. I mosey my way around and find a nice lookin' crate to stash the boots in back in a corner down some janky hall. Surprisingly, there's some young buck here, eyeballin' me.

Real good eyes too. Spots the boots. Can tell they're his size and everything. Even offers to buy 'em off me. Tempting. But I can see the risk comin' a mile away. Antonio's an alright guy. I don't want this to somehow blow back on him. So I decline and stash the boots in the crate. I mean. The guy could just as well pilfer them from the crate when I'm gone. It's the principle of the matter. Plus… well. I ain't gonna do my contract dirty like that. And sure as hell not for 500 measley creds.

But that was it. I'm still not sure why the boots had to be put in this specific location. Suppose it will remain one of life's great mysteries.

With that out of the way I decide to explore the station a bit. I find some cute plushies in an unoccupied room past the hall and I… Sigh. …Ok, ok. I admit. I might have a tiny problem. Ya see. I love all these cute lil plush toys. I can't keep my hands off 'em. So, yeah. Frown on me all ya want. I takes 'em when I sees 'em. Have you seen how frickin' adorable the plushie Parsec Pooch is? C'mon now. Ya'll'd be nabbin' 'em for that sweet five-finger discount too!

Anyway. The Den is… has a disappointingly small interior to explore. Besides the bar on the lower deck the only other post of any interest is the Trade Authority. Though the man here does have a charm about him I kinda like… I'd almost like him to invite me to see the special stock in back, if ya get my drift. Ahem.

Well. While we're here, I do a cursory scan of the system. Nothing really of interest. It really is the ass end of nowhere. I scavenge a couple wrecked ships near the old Den station. Would've liked to board the derelict, but. Didn't see any ports to dock to. Ah, well. I jump back to New Atlantis and give Antonio the good news. He gives me credits. All is right as rain.

As I'm pondering what to do with my day next I decide to pay a visit to my scientist friend and see if he's learned anything new about his tree. He seems to think the vibrations it is sending out are like a matin' call or whatever. All that science-y stuff is a bit above my pay grade. What he needs to test his theory though, that. That I can go and get. Seems like an old tree was given when the colonies were first established here as a peace offering to Akila. Though that tree died, it's branches are still in the museum there and apparently my friend may be able to science up some of its DNA and reciprocate a response to get the tree here to calm down its ponies.

I was wantin' to visit Akila anyway so this works out! Ain't been to the Cheyenne system in a long while. Not since before I lost my haulin' ship.

…

Akila's got some nice folks. Bit of an old Earth west feel to the place. That's kinda helped by it bein' on a rocky, desert kinda planet. I don't care too much for the area around the port though. Too muddy. I'm not a big fan of mud. Gets everywhere.

Soon as I hit the outer gate of the city a guard advises caution. Some ruckus happening at the local GalBank branch. Because of course there is! And it's a hostage situation. Sounds like my kinda party to crash and wouldn't ya know. I can see it from the gate. So of course I'm gonna mosey on over and offer my assistance since the sheriff ain't makin' any headway. It don't take too long before I've persuaded the gang to release the hostages and come out all quiet like without a fuss. It's almost like I'm the main character in a sweet intergalactic space opera. Maybe I should be sheriff. Hahah. Wouldn't that be cute? But I got things to do. Did I mention Akila has one of my favorite little bookshops? No digital content. Purely physical. I could spend hours in there. The owner's a nice gal.

I swing by the museum and manage to convince the owner to let me take the tree branch out of storage and back to New Atlantis with me on the contingency I bring it back in one piece. So. I hope the science won't damage it. Before I head out I take some time to wander around the city. There's a couple cheap properties here I can afford and I just might. I run in to another little squabble between a couple of guards and a woman who has some ideas about making security safer from the local beasty population outside the gates. The head of security doesn't want to listen because "Gosh darn I done it this way for years and it works so I ain't changin'!" blah blah. It's that kinda stuck-to-my-dusty-old-guns no-woman-gonna-tell-me nonsense I don't really care for. It don't hurt no one to listen to some new ideas. Especially if the new ideas could actually increase safety. And in the end, ain't that what this is about? So I end up helpin' the lass on the sly. She gives me some modules to set up along the perimeter of the town wall and then I casually occupy the attention of one of the guards near their security tower while she adjusts some settings on one of their computers to work with the modules. Technically, she's not really allowed in there.

Might be a bit shady but… like I said. If it's something that could keep people safer, what's the worst that could happen? She'll need a good 24hrs to collect a decent amount of data. Which works for me since. Since I got a date. With science. Back to Atlantis!

…

I touch down and jog my happy ass over to give my scientist friend the branch. He does his science stuff. And then figured the best way to serenade the tree is to have the audio he's created play from a near kiosk.

I offered to sing it, but. Apparently. My chops ain't cut for it. Pfft. Figures. So anyway. I skidaddle on over to the SSNN and upload the vibrational-sound-DNA-data or whatever. Which apparently, I can just do. From a weird little wall terminal without askin' nobody. Maybe MAST is authorized to just change up the tunes? I dunno. Again. Logisticalities are above my pay grade.

According to my friend, this method seems to be working. Visually, the has tree stopped dripping its drippy stuff. But otherwise still looks like the same ole tree its been. A win for science! Or somethin'. I guess. Well. Credits for me and my science friend is sporting a bigger smile. I suppose we saved the day and no one is the wiser. And no trees got to get harmed. Sometimes good happens quietly. Roll with it.

After that's all said and done I finally decide to head back to the Lodge and talk to Sarah. She's got a lead on an artifact and wants me to accompany her to pick it up. I'll spare you a loooong story about how this led us on a bit of a system-hoppin' goose hunt full of spacers and laser fights, bouncing around the Sol system from Mars to Uranus and boy… it was a mess tryin' to get ahold of this thing.

We finally save this poor lad from being spaced in his own ship. And here we find out he had been trying to hawk the dang artifact for extra creds! Well, lucky on us since we pulled his toasty rear outta the fire he just gave it up without a fuss at that point. Sarah got to bite off a bit more than she wanted to chew. I ended up dragging her down to some crashed ship remnants I wanted to check out on a nearby moon. And then we found a secret bio-research facility. And ya'll know I just had to waltz on in and check it out. Ran in to quite a few more pirates in there. Since I'm writing this, obviously, we made it out. And there's one group less of pirates in the galaxy to pirate. Another win for the day. Found a lot of good loot. Didn't really find out a whole lot of what the facility had been used for. Just some hints. Lots of frozen bodies. Apparently attempting to alter human DNA to better acclimate to hostile planet environments. Seemed sketch.

And hey, on the way back to New Atlantis those bounty hunters caught up to me again! This time, hopefully, I sent them a clearer message. By blowing their ships up. We'll see how that comes back to bite future-me in the ass.

Got to meet a couple other members of Constellation. A father and his kid. They seem nice enough. Kid seems like a smarty. I like 'em. Sarah points me to three new leads to follow up on. But that's enough artifact chasing for me for a minute or five. I still got a whole log of stuff that seems to keep getting bigger I want to look in to. Not to mention a whole mess of loot to sell. One step closer to a better ship!

I've managed to amass almost 200k. My eye is still on that Shieldbreaker they have in the shipyard. Just wait for me a little longer, darlin'…

End log.

#creative writing #queer writers #writing community #sci-fi #space #starfield

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nautilus1954 · 1 year

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What's something interesting to you personally about Vincent's life as a human? Or is there not too much lore behind his past?

Oh where do I begin >=]

He was born in a rather wealthy family. Not rich rich, but richer than most. His father worked in stocks as well as mines, and got a few good scores in the markets. He eventually decided to move his family to the states where most of his mining operations were.

Vincent (who was 5 at this point) wasn't necessarily scared of the ocean, mainly because he was to busy being sea sick ALL the time. He has a low tolerance for sea sickness so those 9 days where torcher for him. Half way through the trip, his father was able to bring him down to the holds of the ship in hopes of him losing his sea sickness. When they got to the engine room, Vincent's sea sickness vanished completely from the sight of that giant iron monster snorting in chorus. If any of you seen a reciprocating marine engine, then you realize the absolute astonishment Vincent had with the thing. This would impact his life by him having a curiosity with anything mechanical.

After they had gotten to the states, Vincent's father had a large house built in an open field, and had Vincent enroll in school. He had a good taste of what bullying was like being that... ya know... he's "different" apparently... yeah the kids in school where a bunch of dicks.

To try and fit in more he tried sounding more American and dropped all words that where British, almost that is. He wouldn't say "Where's the loo" or ask for "crisps" (for all you single minded Americans, loo is "bathroom" and crisps "chips") He could never go full american accent but he settled for a mix of two. He still uses his mixed voice to this day and can go full UK if he wanted, but he's just used to the mixed voice a this point.

From there to 1903 is pretty uneventful. He learned to play Violin at the age of ten and was actually quite good at. Got into art, and began to help build things with his father. He also got an interest for reading those classic novel like "Jules Verne" and "H.G Wells". His favorites being "Around the World in 80 Days", "Master of the World", "The Time Machine", and "War of the Worlds". [You though I was gonna put "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea" didn't you. Sike >=]]

1904 his father was going on a business trip back to England. He had done these trips before, and ecationaly he would bring his family with him. This time however, he went alone to New York and left for England. All was smoth sailing and got to England on schedule. Did his work. Then set of back to America on board the S.S Norge... The ship was lost near Rockwall and lost 700 out of 800 passengers and crew.

Both Vincent as well as his mother where both devastated by the news, and this is where Vincents fear of natrual bodies of water peaked. His mother was absolutely heartbroken by the news, but they still had money. When someone dies and there money is in the bank, then that bank is now entitled to that money being that it belongs to no one now. Finders keepers. But Vincent's father never trusted banks, so he kept all the savings in checks and put them in a safe. This meant that now Vincent's mother had to be entitled to the business, and so she did. At the time, men found it odd and in somecases, offensive that a women could operate a full scale business, and Vincent had a few fist fights about the subject, most of which he won, but she ran it, and did a damn good job until 1921.

Vincent would make it an ecation to visit his father's tombstone once a month. A tradition he still keeps up to this day.

Vincent's mother didn't like the idea of living alone for the rest of her life, and that's somthing that stems out to Vincnet later in life quite dramatically. She remarried an industrialist by the name of Jonathan in early 1905 and had a child by the name of Morgan, who was Vincent's little sister. I'm gonna keep Jonathan anonymous for now.

As Vincent got older, he found that kids in school started trying to be his freind, but he was keen in what they were trying to do "Freinds give eachother things right? So what do I of all people have to give but money" he would say. His same attitude was towards the women who would flirt with him and where even wishing to Ummm... "give him somthing he wouldn't regret" if he paid them. This somewhat scard him for eternity, and forever had the notion that someone was always out to get somthing from someone.

When he turned 14, he began working for a small branch of the "Westinghouse Electric and Manufacturing Company". New factories means new jobs, and engineering jobs for that matter. He quite quickly rose up the ranks as being an electrician for the electric dynamos. He wouldn't call himself a young genius when it came to the stuff, he just learned quickly and had a nack for electric energy. He was fascinated by its mysterious force and power, and sometimes experiment with it as well. He got electrocuted many times, but still came back for more. He wasn't obsessed with it, he was just fascinated by it.

From there to 1909 I want to keep anonymous as well just to be secretive X]

So yeah... I just looked at your question again could of wrote you what should of been a simple sentence. But no, I give you a hole damn passage. Hope you don't mind <=]

#nautilus rambles #nautilus answers #my freind the demon #vincent #our fire/electric demon #history #yeah most things in here where actual events that took place in the era #thanks for the ask!#=D

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watching-pictures-move · 2 years

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Movie Review | The Gold Diggers (Potter, 1983)

If there’s one tangible thing I took away from The Gold Diggers, it’s that particular feeling I would sometimes get as a teenager first getting into art cinema. Of watching a Godard movie and being moved by the camera moves and the colours and the affectations of the actors and all the things you can kinda sorta touch and feel, but having the endless allusions go completely over my head and having only the vaguest grasp of what the movie “means”. (I suppose that feeling wasn’t exclusive to my teenage experience with Godard, as I still have a large percentage of the allusions go over my head anytime I reimmerse myself in his work. But with a few more years of book-learnin’, by which I mean Wikipedia-learnin’, under my belt, I like to think I do a bit better with each go.) There isn’t much colour here as this is shot in black and white, but all those other nice touchy feely things are here in abundant supply, and I have barely any idea what the movie is trying to say. I’m sure I’ll stumble across some well articulated review that will explain the secrets of the movie to me, but until then, I’m gonna take a stab at parsing my thoughts and hopefully some method will emerge from the madness. Ignorance has never stopped me before.

What I can say with conviction about this movie is that it is undeniably stylish. A lot of movies would be content to shoot in black and white and call it a day, but this actually channels the visual language of a variety of earlier eras, from silent comedies (The Gold Rush gets blatant nods) to costume dramas and a whole bunch of stuff in between. (Okay, those are practically the first two genres that get evoked, and I was either too lazy to keep track of the rest or too ignorant to identify them.) And the movie evokes them with a combination of precision and fluidity that it’s undeniable that it knows what it’s going for at a given moment. (X was a recent viewing that rankled me with its rendering of a supposed arty porno that demonstrated no real familiarity with its subject.) And there are definitely arresting sequences, like the opening where one of the heroines disrupts the costume drama in progress by picking up the female lead and riding off on a horse, or the scene where one of the characters is chased by a group of anonymous men, or the scenes where the heroine is met with condescension as she tries to get at the truth about what exactly she does for a living. This last scene is one that perhaps many of us can relate to, being stuck in a menial button-pushing job where the value of what you do isn’t readily apparent and your bosses won’t even bother to explain it to you. But not to knock the movie, but if you work in a white collar industry right now, menial jobs like this are basically being automated out, so I couldn’t help but look at this situation and think maybe it wasn’t so bad. I dunno, perhaps that’s a glib thing to say.

And from that scene, it starts to become clear that there is some kind of capitalist satire here, but as to what exactly the movie is trying to say, I have no fucking idea. There’s a scene where a bunch of those anonymous men sing about gold, and maybe the message is that capitalism sure is kooky, but that’s a pretty lazy observation to devote this much concentrated filmmaking power to, especially when it never actually tries to capture its rhythms. (I won’t go into my voting record, but my views on the subject are basically that if you’re gonna have a market economy, it might be a good idea to regulate it, which I suppose puts me somewhere in the range of sane political views. But glibness around the subject annoys me, and while I’m much more sympathetic to one side of the debate, I think there’s enough annoyance to go around. If you’re gonna tackle problems about a system, it helps to be specific. But I digress. But you think of montages from Wall Street or even the non-critical stock exchange sequence from L’Eclisse, and you see those movies captures something about how the subject feels. What’s here feels like someone telling you a joke they overheard incorrectly.) And there’s an element of how the female leads are being forced into certain roles by the patriarchal society they find themselves in, and as a man there are perhaps things that are not readily relatable to me here, but I also found this to a bit patchy in how it’s depicted. There are intriguing strands here, but I never really felt it cohere.

I feel weird about where I’m landing on this movie, as I don’t think movies are essays or articles or argumentation, and shouldn’t feel the need to coherently articulate a message and run it through strict logic. But there’s a kind of disconnect between how the film looks and feels and moves and the ideas that it’s trying to express. This is directed by Sally Potter, best known for Orlando, which I enjoyed a great deal more. It’s tempting to chalk that up entirely to the performance by the inimitable Tilda Swinton, but I think that movie devotes a significant amount of energy to building a direct connection between her and the viewer (most overtly through the breaking of the fourth wall). There’s a certain charge the movie gets from the extremely distinct way Swinton looks and sounds and the fact that she’s confiding in you. With the leads here, I guess they’re supposed to be audience surrogates, but I found the movie’s flamboyant style rarely generated actual empathy for their experience, and I didn’t find them given enough in terms of actual characterization to really relate to or root for. Again, as a man, there are perhaps things in their experience that went over my head, but I found the movie was pushing me away rather than pulling me in.

But yeah, if somebody can slip me the Coles Notes for this movie and explain what it all means, that would be great.

#film #movie review #the gold diggers #sally potter

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queenoftheboard · 1 year

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' you're ... you're interested ? '

♕ Bandersnatch starters . accepting

Intelligence came in many forms - Eirene knew she was blessed with the logical mind, critical thinking and the ability to correctly anticipate and predict the moves of her opponents (and enemies). It had been precisely the skill that saved her life, too - by preventing panic from taking over, the young girl sent to death by her own father had managed to survive.

And perhaps that had made the Sinner arrogant; Eirene deemed intelligence superior to brute force; logic better than emotions. There was no fighting the hard evidence of scientific laws and the greed of human nature - feelings, on the other hand... These were complicated, hard to read and posed too many variables.

For that preference of hers, many had called Eirene soulless, a machine, a money-hungry tool with no regard for the subtleties of mankind. But in truth, it wasn't as if she failed to understand that there was an appeal to let go; to willingly surrender to emotions and to be controlled by them instead of another impulse or vice.

Eirene Campbell was just not good at dealing with emotions and any form of expression associated to them - creativity, for her, was kept to the corporate charts, takeover processes and stock market strategies. Making music, creating paintings, performing at a stage or writing poetry... Those were all skills that she lacked, and would probably never acquire. No matter how hard she trained - her mind was wired for the black and white of a chess board with clear rules rather than the rhythm of a ballad.

But it didn't stop her from admiring certain things - particularly now, while detained and setting the pieces of her latest plan in motion, there was time and room for one to dedicate to hobbies. And while she wouldn't necessarily say that she enjoyed reading poems as much as a good chess match against a worthy player, Eirene didn't dislike it.

And even after all these years... She still recognized his style.

It had been a surprise to see Genesis locked up with her; particularly because the man had changed so much since their youth. Something had clearly happened to him - his eyes told a different story, and their encounters in the Syndicate and DisCity before both ended up behind bars (albeit for different reasons) were testament to that. They had once been... Friendly. Acquaintances, maybe, frequenting the same places and sharing stimulating conversation in relation to their hobbies and passions.

Later, the woman had been nothing but a job; one that was never fulfilled, but a sight that returned some memories to Genesis. Now, at the MBCC, there was not a trace of the hostility the poet exhibited outside - whatever were his orders, they clearly didn't matter anymore. Paper, pen and inspiration clearly occupied most of his time, and Eirene found herself reading his latest pieces, forgotten at a desk at one of their common rooms.

Picking it up, the CEO of the Quinn Group walked over to his cell - and after politely knocking on the open door to announce herself, Eirene handed him the papers with a small, knowing smile and a compliment - mania could have done much to him, but it hadn't robbed Genesis of his talent. Even a cold, logical soul like hers could appreciate the choice of style and the cadence of the rhythm.

That, apparently, surprised the man.

"You're... You're interested?" came the question, his gaze attesting to his stunned state of mind, "You're interested in poetry? My poetry?"

"I'm interested in great minds," Eirene replied easily enough, still standing by the door to his cell and looking every bit as regal as she had been at her own office, directing a multimillionaire empire that had fingers in all of DisCity's pies, and yet discussed such a menial thing like draft poems with a fellow inmate under MBCC's custody, "Yours is still a particularly interesting one, Genesis. It was what drew me before, it is what brings me here still," she tossed her hair over a shoulder, motioning towards the returned papers, "There's talent there. I have availability on my agenda these days, my empire runs itself - if you want a second pair of eyes, you can just drop by my cell."

#♔ answered . this is my move #tanjodos #v: checkmate (or is it)#here it is!#I've been meaning to write this for a while now #I hope it's in line with your Genesis post-detainment?

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bearpillowmonster · 8 months

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So I learned something today. My (car) insurance rate has went up a few hundred dollars but nothing has changed. Call the company and they're like "the price of parts has increased and the amount of damages in your area has increased."

Whatcha talking about woman? You think just because the price of everything else going up gives you the right to just claim that it's the same for this too. I understand this because I sell stuff in an environment where prices are constantly changing and we monitor those rises and falls as cost of goods (Cogs) but I'm not getting any goods here, it's the same coverage, I did nothing wrong.

"But you have free accident forgiveness." So if you charge 40$ for a burger and call the fries free, that's supposed to mean something? I'm paying for it, it's a given.

Now the area thing is beyond me because last I checked this wasn't a stock market where we invest and the company uses those shares to pay for their services, that's like taxes. More people in my area are getting into accidents (apparently, I'm supposed to just believe you) therefore my rate goes up because I have to help pay for it? Apparently this isn't uncommon either

"As unfair as it may seem" yeah, a little on the nose, huh? Wording it this way leads me to believe that because I live in an area where nobody knows how to drive (I live in the county with the highest percentage of senior citizens in the state) therefore that's now my fault because I'm at most risk. I'm being punished. But trust me, if it were up to me, I wouldn't live here but these forkers keep needlessly keeping my moving money down.

So I have to wait until everybody else is on their best behavior to get back to the rate that I was before. F-

#who came up with this #its such a scam #car insurance #the more i figure out #the more i realize that its just people screwing with me #like these rules make no sense #people warn about the adult world but they just accept mistreatment #fight back for darn sake #i studied to be a car insurance salesman and this wasnt in the book

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dzpenumbra · 11 months

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6/8/23

Today was weird. I had that doctor's visit. It wasn't that bad, I got a decent amount of sleep, I even woke up half an hour before my alarm and got a shower in. But I did leave and forget to bring a mask, I usually use a bandana. Besides dinner with my brother and his family, the doctor's office was the last place I had gone to, I think. Actually, I went to the pharmacy that one time... What I'm saying is, I don't go out much... so that habit of having the bandana around my neck kinda didn't occur to me. Luckily, for my sake, they loosened the restrictions around that.

But I felt awkward as hell without one. I mean, of all people... I'm someone they can count on to not be carrying the virus. You know, because I never leave my house. But it does make me more vulnerable. But yeah, no one really seemed to care.

My appointment was just a physical. It wasn't that bad. My pulse and blood pressure were elevated again, and they did a cholesterol test and apparently some of those levels were elevated too. It's a bit spooky and I want to take it seriously. It was a good launch point to talk about how... I've been putting on weight for the first time in my life and... I don't really know much about nutrition. Like... barely anything at all, really. So... I don't even really know what things to cut out of my diet to make it more healthy. Like... I just made this big batch of spinach artichoke pasta. Is that good for me? Or bad for me? I don't fucking know.

They gave me a pamphlet with some local nutritionists. Like I can afford that. But hey, at least now I have something specific to look for when I search for dietary recommendations, instead of "healthy diet".

Honestly, I don't even eat that unhealthy. I cook every meal. I try my best to keep fruit and vegetables in stock; despite it being very difficult and expensive nowadays. The only meat I eat is chicken, and eggs sometimes, if you count that. The only real thing I can see is that I eat a lot of cheese... and the new ice cream habit.

I mentioned that my primary focus has been mental health. He offered meds again... and I really struggled with the conversation. I was very transparent, expressed the bad experiences I had in the past, my concerns about dependency and shit. My concern about the simple act of walking to the pharmacy being a trigger... He left the door open for it, and I told him I'd discuss it further with my therapist. And what I didn't mention? I think meds are going to be prohibitively expensive. And that just is what it is.

I briefly went over my sleep schedule, he... didn't seem very fazed by it. I mean, I don't imagine he encounters many people who say "I go to sleep at dawn and I have been consistently for many years." But I appreciate him not being judgmental about it. He didn't really seem to have many concerns about that.

All-in-all... it seems like the big bad wolf in my life is mental health. It's a barrier that gets between me and meeting new people - which is a key to a life outside of my house. It's a barrier between me and living a public life without other people by my side, because I often don't feel safe alone.

Like... even today. My walk to the doctor's office was like... 3 blocks? Really not bad. On the way up, I passed some people working at an Asian market who were unloading a truck and I got anxious and didn't feel safe. And coming back, there were two guys across the street pushing an overfilled shopping cart down the sidewalk and I got anxious and didn't feel safe. Being alone, that shit gets me. With others, much less so.

The problem with working through mental health stuff is... as my doctor said... it's an "incredibly slow process". So I get caught in this tug of war. On one side, it's me doing huge amounts of work on self-awareness and working on self-esteem, and keeping myself grounded and pushing myself outside of my comfort zone but not too far... and that takes time, so I have to pace myself. And the pacing, takes place in isolation. That brings us to the other side, pushing against me - isolation. The longer I am away from social situations, the harder it is to get myself out the door. The more my imagination plays up all the spooky shit. And that takes place at a level that is like... just below the surface of conscious thought, so close to conscious thought that it feels like conscious thought. But it's not. It's instinct, reflex.

Like... okay, I don't know if that makes sense, let me try to use an example to make it make sense. So... say I want to take my trash out to the trash room. And say it's a bad anxiety day for me. I get a strong push that feels like something bad is going to happen. And its quality feels like it's something likely, something reliable. It feels like I've had a bad experience taking the bag to the trash room before. I have not fucking once had a bad experience taking the trash to the trash room. In fact, I think I've only one time had anything even remotely close to a bad experience happen in this building, and it was when I was coming back from doing laundry and accidentally and awkwardly opened the door by the stairwell right in front of a woman who was moving a giant box, and she screamed and it scared the shit out of me. And it was just awkward. It wasn't even bad. It was just... "oh shit, I'm sorry" and move along. I don't even have an emotional response to it when I relive it. So... if I've never had any negative experiences taking the trash to the trash room... why does it feel like something bad is going to happen?

My fear is leaking. My feeling of being vulnerable or unsafe is not working properly, it's overactive.

I'm glad to be able to identify it, and have this kind of presence of mind, and all that. But like... what the fuck do I do about it?

The worst part... and I've probably said this hundreds of times in these journals... and millions of times out loud... The worst part is that this fear and feeling of being unsafe is hugely diminished if I'm around just one other person. My pre-existing disposition to be overly fearful and feel unsafe (on both sides of my family, both genetically and habitually)... the isolation is like rocket fuel for it. And I'm so fucking proud of myself every day for how well I've been able to function given the circumstances. But goddamn is it frustrating and hurtful to see how frivolously people in my life have burned even casual acquaintanceship with me to the ground, over such petty shit. Especially knowing how massively impactful and beneficial such a minimal contribution to my life would be. Like... just having someone to go on walks with once or twice a week is such an insanely massive contribution to my life; like... it could literally change my entire life. Because it keeps me comfortable interacting with others. It keeps my "tolerance" up, I stay comfortable with it, which makes doing social things myself (like the farmer's market in town) not as big of a shock to the system.

I guess I'm just venting now. I just... I'm frustrated. And I don't know what to do about it. I feel like I need to... be more targeted and proactive about finding a social group.

Good lord, okay, I need to just baby step a bit more. Today, I was chatting in Twitch chat with a streamer I had never really watched before... and he was actually directly responding to some chat I was writing... and it had been so long since that had happened that... it actually started freaking me out a bit... So... I think what I need to do is find a nice multiplayer game. Any game, really. I was tempted to get Diablo 4, since I have played every single Diablo game since... probably a few months after Diablo 1 came out. But... okay, I don't know how I feel about playing multiplayer on that with someone else... though I may be hugely overthinking it. Okay, here's the big underlying thing. I was really into Diablo 3: RoS when I met my ex. Like... really into it, learning endgame shit and farming sets and all that. And... I got my ex into it, and we played a lot.

Man... I wasn't really expecting to tell this story any time soon. What happened was... after I broke up with my ex (let me preface this by saying it was an incredibly toxic relationship and I was super brave for breaking up with her) we agreed we wanted to try to stay friends. And within a week and a half, she was "dating" a guy who worked the front desk of the hotel I got her a job at. And... that hurt. A lot. After 3 fucking years. But honestly? What hurt me way more? And this may sound stupid and it may be more of a coping mechanism to blunt the pain than an actual reason, but I still feel it very strong. She started playing Diablo with him. He noticed her Starcraft shirt that I bought for her for her birthday, that I introduced her to, that we used to play together. She played fucking mobile games before she met me. And Diablo was really our thing, our first thing. And she ditched me to go play with this guy. Throwing away the romance, the physical, and the friendship - absolutely nothing was sacred, nothing of "ours" remained. And it cut really, really deep; for a sentimental person like me. Again, maybe it sounds stupid to others... but like... when that's your thing... it really fucking hurts to be... that easily replaceable.

So... Diablo comes with strings for me. I haven't played it since then. It just... yeah. So I don't know. But hey. It's been 5 fucking years. If I'm ready to date again, I should be able to go down that road.

An alternative idea I had was trying to find a Space Engineers RP server. I have no idea if anyone does actual RP in Space Engineers, but I can imagine some cool scenarios unfolding.

I just need something where I am interacting with others, more than a Twitch chat. The more regularly I do that, the easier the daily maintenance will be, the isolation upkeep. Which starts the snowball in a positive direction, rather than a negative one.

Ugh, I'm tired. I'm gonna do tarot and head to bed.

Past - VI: The Lovers, inverted (Soul-felt connection. Vulnerability, sharing your true selves.) Present - Five of Wands, inverted (Competition, disagreement, strife, and the accompanying need to step up to the challenge, prove yourself and see it through.) Future - XIX: The Sun, inverted (Hope, clarity, confidence. Success, fulfillment, revelation.)

Oooo boy, three inverted cards again. Yay.

The thread starts with the symbol of The Lovers in chaos. How I immediately react to this is... betrayal. It's me sharing my true self and being rejected, or met with deception, or having my vulnerability used against me.

This leads to... Five of Wands, inverted. Which I am intuiting is about... how I struggle to really meet challenges. How I avoid conflict like the fucking plague, to the point where I often avoid people wholesale. To the point where I write comments or replies or things to type into chat, I proofread them at least 3 times, then I just delete them... rather than risk a potential conflict. This is a big one for me. I absolutely can see my trait of avoiding conflict at all cost being clearly reflected in the inversion of the card that's like... the representation of the impulse to meet competition and see it through.

This leads to... The Sun, inverted. A lack of confidence. A lack of fulfilment. A life lived in the shadows, hiding, avoiding. The Sun is a wonderful card, all about new hope, rediscovering the world through new eyes.

So... put simply... the people who treated me like shit? Who I bared my soul to, who fucked me over and left me to rot? All of them. The wounds that I carry from that manifest with me... wow, this is an interesting thought... very ironically feeling incapable of handling conflict. Isn't that strange? I survive all of those conflicts, with all of those people, and I handle myself better than I have my entire life, worlds better than any of them. And I feel like I can't handle petty conflict with others. Hmm... Well, because I'm just so tired of conflict existing at all. I'm having a lot of really fast moving thoughts on this, I need to rope it back real quick. The result of this avoidance is that I don't live a fulfilling life, my confidence is shot, I'm in isolation and I am constantly afraid. But more than that... this looming fear is preventing me from seeing how wonderful a lot of the world is out there.

Maybe... hmm... Okay, bear with me here... maybe I need to get in more debates? Maybe I need a smurf account where I post shit and don't give a fuck... conversationally. Hmm... I'll float it by my therapist.

My theory being... people who have martial arts training aren't nearly as afraid of getting mugged in an alley as people who don't. And that's because they specifically trained for that, they practiced. I still don't know why I'm afraid of conflict when I have more goddamn experience with being levelheaded in stupid, childish and brutally low-blow-throwing conflicts than anyone I know. That point got me stuck. I guess it's just like... I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of it. I paid my dues and I just don't want to... I don't want to suffer more loss, I guess. That's probably it. Even if that loss is just the loss of a potential friend. It seems stupid, I guess... but it makes sense instinctually... that it's better to avoid than to lose another friend. Which is like... the polar opposite of "it's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all".

I have a lot of reflecting to do on this. But for now? Bedtime.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

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