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dracowars · 3 years

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Hi! I was wondering if I could request a Draco fic where he and Y/N are cuddling together when Y/N receives an owl from her parents in which they give her bad news or scold her or something like that. Then she completely freaks out/shuts down and Draco calms her down and comforts her. I'm just really craving fluff and I love caring and protective Draco and would love to read something like this. If you don't wanna write it tho, that's a-okay. Thank you!

cursed | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x greengrass!reader

word count: 1,4k

summary: where draco comforts y/n after receiving bad news

a/n: omg, i'm so so sorry that this took so long!!! :(

warnings: angst, mentions of death

universe: harry potter

“AHH! Draco, stop it, please!”, you beg him in the middle of your fit of laughter, your body writhing under his while trying to avoid his tickling attacks. Because of all the laughter, your stomach already hurts, and your breathing turned irregular. Draco, on the other hand, does not seem as exhausted as you and therefore he does not even think about stopping any time soon and shows no mercy as he continues to tickle you.

“Make me”, he gives you a slick grin when he stops briefly to give you a break and to position himself on top of you, his legs on either side of your upper body.

Again, you try to stop him and try to get a hold of his hands until you finally manage to catch one of his arms in a firm grip. Breathing hard, you look in each other’s eyes and you immediately know that you have no chance against him. Draco is much stronger than you and will be able to get out of your grip quickly.

He would have been able to if it had not been for a white snowy owl flying in through the open window, landing on the small bedside table next to your head and looking at you with big eyes when neither Draco nor you move an inch. A rolled-up letter is attached to its foot and your heartbeat quickens all of a sudden when you realize that this white owl belongs to your family, the pureblood family Greengrass.

And whenever you get a letter from home, it always means trouble.

Quietly clearing your throat after a few seconds have passed, Draco finally crawls off you so you can sit up and remove the parchment from the owl’s claw, but not without exchanging worried looks with Draco beforehand. Happy to have been relieved of its heavy load, the snowy owl rises back into the air before disappearing out the window into the bright sunshine.

You sit on the edge of Draco’s bed with the long letter in your hands, already shaking in fear from the uncertainty of what you may read in it. Draco knows this and also about your bad relationship with your parents, which is why he sits down next to you instantly and gently strokes up and down your back with his hand. The atmosphere in the room suddenly changes as tension fills the air, the joy from only a few seconds ago gone with the owl that delivered the letter.

“I am sure they just want to congratulate you on passing your OWL’s”, Draco tries to calm you down and lowers his head to be able to look into your face, which is now only covered by a blank expression. Putting his index finger under your chin, he lifts your head up and leads you to him, looking straight into your eyes, his own gray ones still radiating concern.

“You know my parents”, you sigh out loud and slowly remove your face from his grasp, focusing your gaze back on the letter that is still closed. You slightly run your thumb over the green wax seal, which shows the crest of your family. For a brief moment, you close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself for what is to come – at least you try – and finally open the envelope.

While your eyes fly over the lines and paragraphs, Draco keeps his distance, but also keeps an eye on you the whole time, trying to already get a clue about what your parents could have wrote through your expression. It would be nothing new if they would scold you again or complain about your insufficient performance in Hogwarts. Draco has seen all of this before, and he is used to this because he too is struggling with his parents’ high expectations.

Stunned, you lower the letter after you finished reading it, your hands now trembling even more and your eyes full of tears- Your face looks pale and all emotion in your face vanished all of a sudden. You go through the words one by one in your head, repeat them over and over again in order to be able to understand them.

While doing this, however, a tear has already found its way down your cheek, giving Draco the sign that he has given you enough time alone and that you now need him. He quickly moves closer to you again, still remaining careful to still give you the necessary distance you may need.

“Babe? What did they write?”, Draco asks carefully as he brushes a strand of hair from your face and behind your ear. You still do not move at his gentle touch, your gaze fixed straight ahead.

“Whatever they wrote, I am certain that they did not mean it”, Draco continues, only looking into your now sad face. “You are such a wonderful person and your parents-“

“My mother is going to die”, you interrupt him and as soon as the words leave your mouth, you can hardly believe them yourself. Even after everything you read in the letter, even now you still do not understand these words. A sudden silence arises until you blink your tears away and turn to Draco, who still looks at you with shock written all over his face.

“I-I am- I am so sorry”, Draco stutters, just as surprised by your statement as you are. However, not letting another second pass, he pulls you into a tight, loving and overall protective hug. A hug that has always given you more comfort than anyone else could.

Draco gently strokes your hair and lets you cry into his shoulder until you have calmed down a bit. Keeping you at arm’s length in front of him, he looks at you worried, still with big question marks over his head.

“Our- Our family has been cursed for generations already”, you utter while sobbing, wiping away a few of your tears while Draco listens attentively, his hand firmly clasped around yours. “W-With a blood curse.”

After saying this, Draco seems to have no words and you can see that he immediately wonders if you, like your mother, are also affected by this curse.

“I-I do not know if I will have it. I also can’t say whether if affects Daphne or Astoria. In some generations it has never appeared before and was passed onto the next generation nevertheless”, you explain as best you can since your parents never told you and your sisters much about it, after all until recently they assumed that their generation and the one from you and your sisters has been spared. “There is n-no cure. The curse weakens the body to such an extent that it is very likely to result in.. death.”

“Babe, I do not know what to say-“

“You do not have to say anything, Draco. I lied to you. We lied to everyone here. Nobody knows that our family had this deadly curse, otherwise we would- Otherwise the pureblood families would no longer accept us as one of them”, you sniff and try to force a smile onto your face while looking into Draco’s compassionate eyes. “I would like to say that I do not mind that my mother do has the curse after all, but-“

“But she is still your mother, Y/N. No matter how she treated you. You do not have to justify yourself for feeling this way”, Draco assures you and pulls you into his strong arms again, immediately making you feel much safer and more secure. Because of the sudden closeness, all dams break within you and this time you let all of your tears run free. Draco hold your trembling body in his arms and tries to give you the support you need right now. It pains him to see you like this and he can understand how torn you must feel in this situation. Your mother was always the one in particular who pushed you, even forced you, to have good grades in school, and now that you both know what fate she has, it still feels wrong to say that she deserves it.

At this moment, however, you are just glad that you are not alone, that you do not have to carry this burden alone. That you were finally able to tell Draco about your family’s biggest secret. You know that he and your sisters will always be by your side, no matter what the future holds for you.

“Everything will be alright.”

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beawriter · 3 years

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Writing Cold

From a canadian

First, you need to know where and when your story is set in, to know the temperature. It can go from 0 to -15°C (23 to 5°F), which is an average winter day in Canada btw, or -30 to -40°C (-22 to -40°F), which is pretty cold. If you go colder than that, I don’t know if you’re trying to kill your characters or something, but it’s really not a good idea.

When you have an idea how cold it is, you can continue:

Average cold, but not freezing in two minutes (around -5 at -15°C)

- if your character is in average clothing (long pants, long-sleeved shirt, etc.) they will be fine for about 30 to 60 minutes. Their limbs will not necessarily be hurting

- if they are in clothing suited for hotter situations (dress, skirt, shorts, short-sleeved shirt, etc.) I give them thirty minutes, if not less, before their limbs start hurting. Trust me, I know.

- if they have winter gear (snow pants, mittens, scarf, etc.) they can last multiple hours, if not a whole day

A bit freezing (around -20 at -30 °C)

- if your character is in average clothing (long pants, long-sleeved shirt, etc.) they will last 15 minutes at best before having consequences (intense shivering, limbs hurting, etc.) (This is very precise, so I might be a bit off, since I haven’t actually tested it)

- if they are in clothing suited for hotter situations (dress, skirt, shorts, short-sleeved shirt, etc.), it will start hurting like hell in 30 minutes tops (or less). Also, when the character steps ouside, they will feel the cold on their flesh, and it will be cold.

- if they have winter gear (snow pants, mittens, scarf, etc.) they could survive a day outside, maybe. They’ll start feeling pretty cold in a few hours.

Hell but make it cold ( -30 to -40°C)

- if your character is in average clothing (long pants, long-sleeved shirt, etc.) they are so screwed. No, I’m serious 1 hour, maybe less, and they will have hypothermia

- if they are in clothing suited for hotter situations (dress, skirt, shorts, short-sleeved shirt, etc.) I am so, so sorry for them. I don’t know when the hypothermia will kick in, but it won’t take long. At first, they will be fine, for five seconds or so. I’m not sure when their limbs will hurt, but it won’t take more than very few minutes

- if they have winter gear (snow pants, mittens, scarf, etc.) I don’t remember exactly, but it will take 3 hours, or a few more, before the cold is unbearable, if their face isn’t screaming in agony before that

General things

- if there’s wind (probably) their eyes will tear, especially if there’s a lot of wind

- if your character is trying to protect themselves from the wind, they absolutely need something to protect themselves from the wind (a cave, or even a whole they dug in the snow)

- if there’s snow, ice, whatever, building a fire on top of it won’t be very useful, since it won’t last very long, and the warmth provided won’t be that much

- if they enter a warm place (a shelter, house, etc.) your character will probably feel like they’re burning, and their limbs will be very sitff, especially if they were out for a long time or in a very cold weather

- cold is tiring. it takes a toll on your body, who tries to keep its warmth

- your limbs will hurt at some point, starting by the extremities (feet, hands, head) except if they are covered (even though, for example, let’s say the character has good snow boots, but is wearing jeans, which are not much good against the cold, their legs will start freezing first, although their feet might stay okay for a bit)

- clothes get cold before your skin does, so if you enter a warm place, you’ll heat up, though your clothes will slow down the process (they can stay cold for a while), so I recommend your character changes clothes, maybe take a hot shower. Jeans are the clothes that keep cold in the most.

- hypothermia: Hypothermia is a medical emergency that occurs when your body loses heat faster than it can produce heat, causing a dangerously low body temperature. Normal body temperature is around 98.6 F (37 C). Hypothermia (hi-poe-THUR-me-uh) occurs as your body temperature falls below 95 F (35 C).

- I once have hypothermia, it was around -20/-25 C, I was in a school uniform (skirt, knee-length socks, long jacket, hat, good boots) and I waited for the school bus for about 1 hour and 30 minutes. In the bus, I kept my jacket tightly around me for all the twenty minutes of the ride. At school, where there was way more heat than in the bus, I kept shaking (my legs especially) around 1 hour to 2 hours. My teeth chattered as well, in irregular intervals and stopped randomly. I was still cold for at least 30 minutes after entering the building, even if my friends told me my body had heat up since my entrance.

- your character can forget that they are cold if they are distracted (it won’t take it all away, and they won’t magically warm up, but they won’t be thinking about it). Though the colder and longer it gets, the harder it will be for them to get distracted

- hands stay cold for a long time and are the most efficient way to know if someone is cold, or was in the cold (and I’m not talking abouut people who have cold hands naturally)

That’s all I have for the moment, feel free to add more:)

#writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing cold #writeblr #writerblr #writingblr #writers of tumblr #writer #writers #writing prompt

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undertaker1827 · 4 years

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Hello! I hope you're doing well ✨ I was wondering if you have any Othello headcanons? Could be fluff, or basically anything. He's my second fave. shinigami (first is Grelle 🥺) and I just like reading other people's thoughts or headcanons for him ❤️ thank u

Greetings! I am well thank you and hope you are too! Of course you can (I love Othello and Grell, they’re both so awesome) and sorry this took so long!

Masterlist

I see Othello as quite a confident person

He may not seem it at first glance, especially when in comparison to personalities like Grell and Undertaker, but I think he’s quietly confident in his own way

That said, completely different story when it involves his S/O

I suspect he gets all blushy and a bit nervous the first time he asks them out on a date (assuming they didn’t get in there first)

Probably quite a bit of hesitation and should I hold their hand? I mean, I want to, but would they mind? Should I ask or would that ruin the atmosphere?

To be honest, you’ll probably end up making the fist move in that sense

Once he realises its okay with you though, all that nervousness is going to go out the window

He’ll walk you back to your place, likely give you a goodbye kiss on the cheek

He’ll get more comfortable with you the longer you two go out together

More little touches just to keep a bit of contact, more hugs

He probably kissed you first as well

Othello is definitely introverted, but not to the point of trying to avoid company or being nervous around others

I’d probably call him a charismatic, confident introvert

He’s obviously very clever - I wouldn’t be surprised if he came up with some of the forensics techniques used by Dispatch, purely because he went to use the original methods then thought ‘there’s a better way of doing this’

He has a real passion for science, beyond just work

He’s probably the person who sits in the canteen purely to tell other people about new discoveries he’s made (other people being Grell, albeit begrudgingly and because wherever she goes, Othello manages to be there)

That’s only when he has time to, though

Most of the time, he stays in the lab to carry on working

I have a headcanon that all the reapers are literally surviving on coffee and he is no exception

He’s always so energetic, so I kind of picture him as the kid who sits in the back of the class drinking a flask of black coffee mixed with some sort of energy drink

Sleep schedule? What’s that? For that matter, what’s sleep in general?

Likely dozes off at his desk more than he ever actually goes to bed

Even when he’s at home, I think he falls asleep in his armchair/on the sofa more often than anything else

Night owl and early bird all in one sleep deprived, caffeine fuelled package

His house is probably an extension of his lab though

Like, home experiments, making stuff that explodes out of whatever happens to be lurking in his cupboards

Research everywhere

Papers piled on the coffee table, important things to remember pinned to the walls, kitchen counters covered in stuff

Generally very cluttered and untidy, I suspect

Food-wise, I think Othello is either the sort of person who eats like one sandwich at lunch and that’s it, OR he looks like the kind of person who only eats one sandwich at lunch but he actually eats everything all the time

In all honesty, he’s probably the second one

I see him as someone who snacks constantly as well, rather than eating many full/balanced meals

I mean he’s a reaper, he can absolutely get away with doing that and nobody is going to stop him (his own body included)

Othello finds the human world interesting, certainly, but probably more in the ‘ultimate science experiment’ kind of way

Humans are very interesting to him, certainly not something to be frowned upon, but again likely because he’s very curious about them

Really, the thing that would make him very happy is to just corner a human of any variety and full out grill them on the human world and their life in it

He wants to know everything. Literally everything

That said, he would also be open to having a human S/O

I mean it’s probably illegal (according to Dispatch) but as long as he’s careful and quiet about it, then what does it matter?

It’s certainly not going to detract from his work or work ethic

In fact, his S/O would be really helpful in him understanding their world better

He doesn’t get down there very often (though he makes far more effort to see his S/O) so he doesn’t get to carry out field research very often

With a human S/O, he has his very own personal tour guide

It’s great!!

And if the S/O other also enjoys science or is a scientist themselves, this dude is absolutely smitten

AND THEN if they willingly help him carry out research/provide him with information, he is going to be in love foreverrr

Othello might not be as bold and ‘out there’ as some of the reapers, but he is still involved in the social aspect (such as it is) of working at Dispatch

He rocked up to the Christmas party wearing the most hideous jumper he could find - a reindeer with a flashing nose - and antlers with tinsel wrapper around them on his head

Grell, dressed only in her finest, was utterly appalled by the display, which really only made it funnier for Othello

He does wear more normal things if he’s going out for after-work drinks though

A lot of the forensics division go out together on a fairly regular basis (for how irregular their schedules are), with the occasional reaper from admin, assuming they’re incredibly bored and don’t mind everyone talking science for the whole evening

As a kind of overall picture, I see Othello as the incredibly smart professor with multiple PhD’s who rocks up to lectures with steaming instant noodles in hand wearing something incredibly scruffy and who only tells his students his first name

#black butler othello x reader #othello x reader #othello #black butler othello #black butler #kuroshitsuji #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji othello #kuroshitsuji othello x reader #headcanon #othello headcanon #black butler reader inserts #kind of #black butler reapers

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1-800-i-ship-it · 4 years

Text

I’m literally going to strangle Tumblr for deleting this ask god I literally went on my phone so I could save it as a draft and put tags on it easier but god no Tumblr had to go and delete it. Thank you very much Tumblr. At least I copy pasted this ask. Didn’t have a screenshot though, what a pity. I’ve got lots of salt for you Tumblr just so you know.

Here’s the ask:

In the timespan we have seen Bam (10+y) hasn’t he only been hugges like three times (Rak, Shibisu, Khun)? Does he even know what a hug is?

My answer:

Hi anon!

Apologies for the extremely late response ah I’m so sorry but I hope my answer helps.

Your ask...is a good point. We don’t see much physical contact at all in ToG actually (save for like a bunch of fighting…)

Anon you’ve made me mindblown I have not thought about this before

Anyway to answer your question, hmm so I think he might not know what like, the word hug means, per say, but I believe Bam knows the feeling of a hug and like what consists of one, just probably doesn’t know what it’s called if that makes sense. I like to think Bam knows what things are in his mind but he just doesn’t really know what they’re called till later on, perhaps, when Khun teaches him.

If I recall correctly, I don’t think we have ever seen Bam and Rachel full-on hug or something like that before, but there were a few headpats here and there, and she kind of holds him in her lap sometimes but no not really a hug. (Wonder what that says about their relationship...)

So, while Bam might not really know what a hug is, per say, I think that since he has been hugged so little that when he is actually hugged, it kind of indicates just how much hugs mean to him, and in general perhaps how much SIU wants them to mean in the webtoon. When he’s hugged, it’s all by people close to him that he knows he can trust, and people that know him for who he is, not the slayer candidate, not the irregular, but just Bam. And I think that shows a lot about the ones that are really there for him and will have his back no matter what.

Now I’m going to take this opportunity (ahem free real estate, if you don’t mind) to talk about the khunbam hug in season 3 (and spread my khunbam agenda, whaddya know). What makes that I think, so intimate and different from the others, is that the hug with Rak, Shibisu, and Yuri and maybe some others I’m forgetting (Forgive me I have only acquired my single braincell recently after finals) were mostly from relief that Bam was back and alive and its kind of like a sibling-y kind of love. However, with the khunbam hug: first, Khun is typically depicted as kind of a not-so-touchy-feely person and secondly, Khun rarely does something without thinking it through (*cough* except for going along with whatever tf Bam decides to do); thus the fact that they hugged, basically in the middle of a battle, which literally spanned for so many panels, with Khun telling Bam it’s okay and not to feel guilty for using the power of the souls, and Khun just being there for him, is such a big deal. Khun sees Bam and what he needs, and it’s not like his other friends don’t, but just the dynamic between those 2 is excellent and while Bam is basically saying everything’s fine, Khun knows it isn’t and just goes to hug Bam and knows what Bam needs and look folks if that’s not bamsexual I don’t know what is (I am half joking pls don’t come @ me)

Anyway I hope that helped answer your question anon! Feel free to send me another ask to clarify something I said, and I’m sorry your ask legit just disappeared when I tried to save it sighhhh ai ya Tumblr

#bluris answers asks #i know im actually answering asks now #im so sorry for this late response anon #anon #tower of god #khun #bam #hug #The Hug

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teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years

Text

living in the real world (ain’t it fun) CHAPTER 6

cw: anxiety attack, driving while tired (DO NOT DO THAT), brief panic, swearing

word count: 2619

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // read it on ao3!!

“The first experiment we are running today is to determine exactly how far away from Thomas we can get before hitting an invisible wall or suffering adverse effects,” Logan says. Thomas, Roman, and Patton nod at him. Logan pulls up one of his blue mental screens and pokes at it. “Thomas, if you look in my backpack, you should find a tape measure which I brought from your home.”

“I didn’t even know I owned a tape measure.”

“You own three,” Logan recites. “Two of them are sewing tape measures and the third, which I have brought for our purposes today, is a conventional construction tape measure.” Thomas pulls the clunky black base from the backpack at his feet and hums.

“How did you know I owned this if I didn’t know I owned this?”

“Just because you are not consciously aware of something does not mean that it is not known to you,” Logan says. “I am home to a great repository of information that has fallen below your conscious level of awareness. Name three differences between an animal cell and a plant cell.”

Thomas stares at him. “Uh . . .”

Logan sighs. “Plant cells are surrounded by both a cell membrane and cell wall, whereas animal cells only possess a cell membrane. Animal cells are generally round, irregular shapes, whereas plant cells are rigid and rectangular. Plant cells, in addition to mitochondria -”

“The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell,” Thomas and Roman recite, in perfect unison. Logan sighs, again, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Plant cells also possess chloroplasts, which animal cells do not.”

“Whoa,” Thomas says. “I really know all that?”

“Falsehood. You knew it once and then forgot it. As the keeper of your memory archives, I retain this information and can call upon it at will, although I confess that I am . . . better in some situations than others.”

“Is that why I can never remember the answer in time for trivia games?”

Logan blushes, and the screen in front of him glitches out with some sort of indecipherable error code. “I - well - that is to say - um -”

He adjusts his glasses. “ANYWAY! The experiment?”

Thomas stifles his laughter. “Right, right, of course. My apologies, Logan. What do you want us to do?”

Logan adjusts his tie, looking thoroughly disgruntled. “You are going to stand in one place and hold the base of the tape measure. The rest of us will take turns holding the end of the tape measure and walking as far as we can until we hit whatever invisible force is binding us to you. I will record the data, and then we will experiment.”

Thomas nods. “Sounds reasonable.”

“I am your logic. Everything I say sounds reasonable.”

“Who goes first?”

“Me!” Patton says, freckles beginning to shine yellow. “I wanna go first!”

“The order does not matter in this experiment, so I will permit it if Roman is not opposed.”

“Go for it, Padre.”

Patton eagerly grabs the end of the tape measure and bounces in place while Logan readies his screen. “Wouldn’t a pencil and paper work just as well?” Thomas asks.

“For the purposes of recording data, yes. However, information that I enter into my screens is then encoded into your brain as short-term memories. When you sleep at night - which reminds me that we need to have a discussion about your frankly abysmal sleeping habits - I can enter the pertinent short-term memories and information from the day into your long-term memory.”

“Oh.”

“Patton, you may begin.”

Patton gives a cheery wave and turns around, beginning to walk. Logan stops him at five feet. “Any changes?”

“Nope! All good in the neighborhood!”

Patton walks another five feet, and Logan stops him. “Anything?”

“Nope!” Logan looks at Thomas.

“What about you?”

Thomas rubs his sternum. “There’s something . . . weird, in here. It’s kinda painful, but more so just . . . tight, you know?”

“Are you okay to keep going?”

“I should be.”

Logan calls to Patton, who walks another five feet. The tugging in Thomas’s chest is beginning to get more intense, burning slightly, and he can feel anxiety beginning to mount in the back of his mind. “Are you okay to keep going?” Logan asks again, voice gentler. “It is okay if you want to stop, Thomas.”

“I think I’m okay.” Thomas smiles, but it feels thin and strained. Judging by Logan’s expression, it looks that way, too. Still, he signals Patton to keep going.

Once he hits twenty feet, Thomas drops to one knee, clutching his chest. The tightburningtightburning tightburningwrongwrongWRONG feeling in his chest is starting to escalate. “Uh, Lo? I hit the weird invisible wall again,” Patton calls.

“I feel not great,” Thomas says. He drops the tape measure and jerks a hand up in a strange, twisting gripping motion. Patton yelps as he suddenly sinks down, dropping through the earth. Panic spikes through Thomas so intensely that his vision almost whites out, but Patton quickly pops up in front of him.

“Kiddo?”

Patton drops to his knees and pulls Thomas into a tight hug. The feeling in his chest evaporates all at once, and Thomas inhales deeply as he shoves his face into Patton’s shoulder. “Hey, hey, breathe, okay?” The purple light of Patton’s freckles bleeds through Thomas’s eyelids as Patton rubs firm, soothing circles into his chest. “I’m here, Thomas. I’m right here. I didn’t go anywhere.”

“What - what was that?” Thomas gasps. His voice sounds strangled and strange, even to him.

Logan frowns, kneeling next to Thomas and Patton. “It . . . seems to have been a panic response. Patton is an integral part of who you are. The three of us are literally fragments of your soul. When you realized that Patton was distancing himself from you, you panicked. You needed him beside you right at that moment, and you were able to call him to you.”

“Do you think I could do that with any of you? At any range?”

Logan hums, looking at Patton. “I do not know. We could test it, if you are up to that, but I will not force you. Your health and safety is most important here.” He gently puts a hand on Thomas’s shoulder and squeezes it. Carefully, Thomas leans back from where he’s clinging to Patton.

“Can . . . can you give me a minute?”

Logan nods. “Of course. Do you want Roman or I to test the distance limits while Patton is with you to keep you grounded?” Thomas looks at Roman, who’s been setting up the picnic blanket a few feet away.

“Roman, do you wanna go and test it now?” Thomas asks. Roman nods, drawing his sword. Panic spikes through Thomas’s chest, but Patton hugs him a little closer, and it ebbs away.

“Fear not, Thomas! I will return unharmed!”

“Just take the tape measure, Roman,” Logan sighs.

*~*~*~*~*

Roman and Logan both make it twenty feet away before they hit the same invisible wall as Patton. Thomas doesn’t feel the sick, twisting, cramping, heart-rending fear that he had when Patton walked away from him, perhaps because Patton is right next to him. Thomas is no longer curled in his lap like a child, but he does hold Patton’s hand.

“Twenty feet for both of us, as well,” Logan says, swiping across one of his schema. “It seems that is the hard limit for our distance from you.”

“What’s next?” Thomas asks.

“That gesture you did to . . . summon Patton to your side. Do you think you could replicate it?”

Thomas lifts his hand in the same gesture, but nothing happens. “Huh.”

“What were you thinking when you summoned Patton?”

“I was . . . anxious. I was thinking about how much I needed him at my side immediately, about how much I needed him with me before something really, really bad happened. I wanted him next to me.”

Logan hums. “I am going to walk approximately ten feet away from you. Once I am in position, I want you to make that summoning gesture and think about me appearing by your side. Do you think that you can handle that?” Thomas nods “Okay. I am going to walk away.”

Thomas keeps his eyes locked on Logan’s form as he walks, turning and nodding at Thomas once he’s in position. Thomas inhales, jerking his hand up, thinking about how he wants Logan next to him. Logan drops through the ground like a ghost and pops up next to Thomas, looking slightly ruffled. “That was . . . an experience.”

“Did it hurt you?” Patton fusses, reaching over to pat at Logan’s torso and arms. Logan shakes his head.

“The sensation of sinking and rising was . . . strange, but I am uninjured.” Thomas smiles at him.

“That’s good.”

“Yes, well. Alright, Roman? It is your turn.”

*~*~*~*~*

They perform a wide variety of tests before breaking for lunch. Thomas eagerly digs into one of Patton’s sandwiches. “This is perfect!”

Patton grins, face shining yellow with joy. “I’m so glad, kiddo! And I made cookies for dessert!”

“No processed sugars until after you’ve eaten a healthy lunch,” Logan says disapprovingly. Patton grins at him and wiggles a sandwich at him. “Wh - is that -”

“A jam sandwich!” Patton says. “With that Crofter’s stuff that you love so much. I know you can’t resist this, Lo!”

“I have a name,” Logan says testily. He still takes the sandwich, tearing into it and making a soft, pleased humming noise and smiling broadly as he settles cross-legged on the picnic blanket. Patton hands Roman another jam sandwich, and he makes a joyful noise.

Patton tries to eat a cookie, but Logan glares at him until he smiles guiltily and picks up a sandwich instead. “Can’t slip anything past you, can I?”

“No, you cannot,” Logan says. His chest puffs up a little in pride as he takes another bite of his sandwich. Thomas smiles, softly, and takes another bite of his own sandwich.

*~*~*~*~*

They learn many things during the course of the day and its experiments. Logan dutifully distills them into a numbered list.

1: Twenty feet is the maximum distance any of them can get from Thomas before hitting an invisible wall. They cannot go any farther than that.

2: If a side is twenty feet away from Thomas and they both walk at the same time, they can move as long as both of them move in unison in the same direction.

3: Thomas can summon any of his sides with a hand gesture as long as he is thinking about calling that side to him. If he isn’t thinking about calling them to him, the gesture is ineffective.

4: The sides can refuse a summons if they try hard enough, but they all admit to feeling a painful tugging burn in their chest that gets stronger and more painful the longer they resist.

5: Because Thomas is the source of Logan, Roman, and Patton (Logan names him “the Host”), he can directly control their actions if he gives them a direct command.

(“Is that why you and Roman stopped talking when I yelled at you to shut up when you were fighting?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“I’m so sorry, Logan, Roman. I - I didn’t mean to control you like that -”

“It’s alright, Thomathy! We know you didn’t mean to!”

“It is not your fault, Thomas. You did not know. But now we do know, and we can work on this together.”)

6: The sides do not know anything that Thomas doesn’t. They are, however, repositories of any knowledge he has accrued over the course of his life. Specifically:

Logan can access knowledge and facts

Roman can access ideas and daydreams

Patton can access memories and emotional catalysts

“That’s a lot,” Thomas says. Logan flips the schema around to show Thomas, but it just appears to be random shapes and squiggles. “I . . . can’t read that.”

“Of course you can’t,” Logan says. “This is a representation of your subconscious thought processes. You cannot comprehend it with your conscious mind.”

“But you can understand it?”

“I cannot ‘read’ it in the traditional sense that you would read a book, but I can understand it. I can connect it to the information that you have learned. Would you like me to send it to you for processing?”

“Processing?"

“Patton and I are in charge of recalling your memories and knowledge, but your subconscious processes it. That is not us. I will give you this schema, and then it will integrate into your subconscious to be processed at a later date.”

Thomas nods. “Okay, Logan. Do what you need to do.”

Logan places a hand on either side of his schema and compresses it, inhaling slowly as he does so. The schema condenses and collapses into a little ball of dark blue light in Logan’s hands. Thomas doesn’t know when Logan closed his eyes, but when he opens them again they are solid blue and glowing. He steps forward, holding the schema tightly, and presses it against Thomas’s forehead.

Thomas expects it to hurt, but in truth it doesn’t feel like anything at all. The schema dissolves into his forehead, and Logan shudders as it phases out of his hands. “Transfer initiated,” he says, voice flat and monotone.

“Uh . . . Logan?”

“He gets like this sometimes,” Patton says. “Give him a couple minutes. He doesn’t directly control the processing of information and memories, but he has to wait for the schema to phase out of his grip and into the subconscious. He’ll be alright.”

Almost five minutes later, Logan stirs for the first time. “Transfer complete.” He blinks, and his eyes become normal again. He drops to his knees in the grass, and Thomas surges forward to catch him.

“Whoa, Logan. You okay?”

“Yes,” Logan murmurs, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I . . . have never done that in this manner before. It was draining, but . . . I will be alright.”

Thomas carefully lays Logan down on his back on the picnic blanket. “Take a breather, Logan. Just rest here, okay?”

Logan looks up at the darkening sky and laughs. “Look, everyone. Look.”

Thomas looks up, into the warm late-spring-early-summer night, and watches as the stars begin to appear. “They’re beautiful.” He blinks, rubs his eyes, and frowns. “This . . . those aren’t stars, are they?”

“Fireflies,” Logan says, sitting up slowly. One of them flutters down and lands on his nose, and Logan blinks, going cross-eyed to look at it. “Oh!”

Patton laughs, face shining yellow, and the fireflies flock to him. “They must think I’m one of them! They’re really lightning bug-ging out, aren’t they?” Roman sprints around the field, catching fireflies in his hands and bringing them back to Thomas.

It’s a pretty wonderful time. For the first time since the sides manifested, Thomas doesn’t feel the persistent anxiety digging its claws into his chest.

*~*~*~*~*

Thomas knows he shouldn’t be driving.

Patton, Roman, and Logan are slumped together in the back of the car. Patton is fighting to stay awake, but he’s not really succeeding; Roman is snoring against the window, and Logan is leaning into Patton’s shoulder, breathing evenly. Thomas is barely awake himself, but he wants to go home.

The road is dark and winding, and all of the trees blur together as Thomas drives. He blinks once, twice, three times, lifts a hand off the wheel to rub his eyes. He hears Patton mumbling to himself as he starts to drift off, and Thomas grips the wheel tightly.

“Stay awake,” he yawns. His head starts to lean forward, hands sliding off the wheel. His chin hits his chest, but before he can fall asleep properly, someone shrieks in his ear.

“THOMAS SANDERS, WAKE THE FUCK UP AND GET YOUR EYES BACK ON THE FUCKING ROAD!”

#starshinewrites #living in the real world (ain't it fun)#ain't it fun!au #platonic TLAMP

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romanianseba · 5 years

Text

Blood Stain

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Asking Bucky to do you an uncomfortable favor.

Warnings: awkward, mostly all fluff i promise (not real mention of blood)

Word Count: 1,737

A/N: I just finished this one and decided to post it before deciding against it. I felt so awkward at the beginning while writing this I thought for a moment "I'm not posting this, it's so awkward, nobody deserves to feel uncomfortable" but I know everyone deserves a caring Bucky in their life so here I am posting it. And well, it's a real life situation so... I hope you like it!! Also, the title is ridiculous but it's what I came up with when I got the idea so I decided to keep it like that. I hope this does your Monday better!

—

"Bucky," you mumbled softly under your breath, just loud enough so he could hear you, which meant no loud at all because his hearing was enhanced and he was standing right beside you as you both were about to cross the street. His gaze found yours at the sound of his name. "I need you to do me a favor."

He nodded. "What is it, doll?"

"Urm," you looked nervously around, anything but his face. "I would normally ask Nat or Wanda for this but, well, they're not here." You laughed shyly, looking down at your fingers.

"Right." An edge of amusement on Bucky's voice.

You sighed trying to find the correct words to say, without being too explicit yet making a man understand. There's probably not a not embarrassing way to say it. You thought.

"I just felt something and it could be, but it could be not because I was supposed to start this week, I just don't remember which day I'm supposed to start and I'm really not prepared right now." Stopping your rambling for a second you took a deep breath and looked back up at his face to find him with the most confused expression someone's ever done. You placed your hand over your face, cursing your awkward self under your breath.

Bucky reached out taking your hand away from your face, worry filling his beautiful blue eyes.

"What's wrong? What did you feel?"

Great, now you got him worried. While wanting to kick yourself, the caring look on his face brought a small smile to your lips, as well as the way he comfortingly squeezed the hand he took from your face.

You groaned in frustration. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you worried. I'm okay, Bucky. It's just- it's just this period thing, you know. And I just wanted to ask you if you could, discreetly, take a look to see if I'm not, uhm, if my jeans are not- dirty?" Wanting the earth to swallow you whole, you vocalized your petition quickly.

You watched as his face turned a bright shade of red, understanding what this favor is about.

"Oh," he nervously stroke his beard. "Sure, I can do that for you." He had started to move away, loosening his grip on your hand when you tugged at it.

"And, if I am, could you please lend me your hoodie as soon as possible?"

He nodded slowly, his determined gaze never leaving yours.

"Of course."

"Thanks." You said in a whisper, feeling like about to die from embarrassment. There wouldn't be need for any of this if you had brought your own sweater, you would simply have wrapped it around your hips just in case.

He moved behind you as people passed by, rounding you and giving you exasperated looks when they realized you were staying on your place once the stop lights changed; signaling it was people's turn to cross the street.

Half a minute -that felt more like an eternity to you- passed by and Bucky wasn't back by your side. How much time does it take to take a look? Turning your head around to see what he was up to, you chuckled when you spotted him standing by a tree and pulling on a poor pretending show of stretching. A big smile spread across your face at how at heart he took the world discreetly. Your heart swelled on your chest at how adorable he was being, he took your request as if it were an undercover mission.

Biting down on your smile you turned your head around again and patiently waited for him to come back.

Another half a minute passed and he finally approached you, slowly taking off his hoodie. The blood rushed out of your face and your eyes widened with concern when he stood beside you, offering his hoodie.

"Am I...?" You stammered, looking straight into his peaceful blue eyes.

"Dirty?" He finished for you and you felt the blood rushing to your face again from embarrassment but Bucky shook his head. "No. But you're growing cold." He gestured to your crossed arms over your chest, looking like you were trying to warm yourself up, and just then you realized you were actually slightly shivering with the cold autumn wind hitting your skin.

"Thank you." You mumbled as Bucky held open the hoodie for you, not letting it go until it was correctly placed on your upper body. "So, am I good?"

He nodded, leaning down to press a small kiss to your temple.

"Are you sure?"

"All clean, doll." You closed your eyes as the word clean left his mouth, you didn't really know why the term made you feel so embarrassed and uncomfortable at the moment. "Just your mind is a little dirty I've realized, but that's another thing and it doesn't really bothers me." His intense gaze on you as he spoke. "In fact, I pretty much enjoy..."

"Please, stop." You interrupted him, feeling the heat all over your face again.

He wasn't really a person to speak loudly but you still looked around to make sure no one had heard because people were once again gathering around the two of you to cross the street at the next stop light.

"Bucky, we're in a public place." You scolded him in a whisper which only made him laugh.

"Whatever you say, doll." He responded, biting down an amused smile.

You only rolled your eyes and started moving, crossing the street when the people around you did the same.

"That's something I don't want all people to be aware of. Feel grateful I feel comfortable enough to share it with you." You said after a moment in a serious tone, even though you weren't really mad at him.

Bucky chuckled at your words and he thought you looked adorable pretending to be upset; and how you couldn't hide your smile anymore when he responded. "Oh, I do. I'm very grateful for sure."

And indeed he was, he was pretty grateful to be the one you have chosen, the one that your caring nature is always trying to take care of, the one that you share all your love with, the one that you like to spend the most time with and the only one that you share your dirtiest fantasies with.

In general, every one else saw you as this innocent girl, and that might be because of your gentle, respectful and kind behavior that you charm everybody with. The same could be said about Bucky, preferring to keep his deepest thoughts to himself; and to you. So both of you liked and found exciting to keep your intimate life to yourselves. It was fun to come as the most innocent and collected couple to the rest of the team but having your own dirty secrets that only your significant other knows about. You would share looks in a room full of people that only the two of you would perfectly understand as intimate and you wanted to keep it just that way. Because you wanted to be only his, and he wanted to be only yours.

"Does it hurt?" Bucky broke the comfortable silence as you walked hand in hand back to the compound.

"What?" You looked up at him as you turned left at the end of a street.

"That period thing." He mumbled.

You shrugged. "Sometimes."

"Badly?"

"Sometimes."

"Does it hurt now?"

A warm smile gets control over your lips at his curiosity. This is the first time in your almost ten-month-long relationship that you're having a conversation about this topic. Mostly because you've been irregular lately and, when it comes, you very rarely get the pain that usually comes with it.

"Not yet, Bucky."

"But is it going to?"

"Probably."

He nodded and, for a solid minute, you could tell by his expression that his brain was intensely processing the information. "What made you think you were having it already?"

"My tricky mind."

You answered simply and he looked down at you, frowning.

"I know it's supposed to come this week, but I don't remember which day exactly." You explained. "It always varies anyway. But my nerves decided it was time right here, right now, at the end of our date, to make me think I was on it already." You let out a sigh. "And that's what us women are always worrying about."

"That sounds annoying." Bucky's features turned slightly into a grimace as he looked forward at the street in front of him.

"It is. You have no idea."

Bucky couldn't believe himself. His self-critical mind was at its worse. You've been together for almost a year now and he had never done anything to educate himself in the matter. Heck, he didn't even know it was painful. Nobody can blame him though, he was born 102 years ago. The women from that time were very reserved on the subject. And, even if he once knew something, all his memories were erased time and time again. Even considering all this, he couldn't help but feel guilty for never being there for you. You would tell him that you were in your period sometimes and he would leave it like that, thinking that you prefer to be alone. But, considering how open you're being now about it, he only wants to kick himself for never wanting to ask if you needed something.

"Is there anything I can do to help? I mean, if it hurts this time around?"

You were smiling so wide, your cheeks started to hurt and you were afraid you mouth would stay stuck like that forever. "Just keep doing what you're doing."

"What? Hold your hand?" He said in confusion, looking down at your intertwined fingers.

"Yes... and asking adorable questions."

He chuckled and you noticed how his cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. "Will that help?"

"Yes, a lot actually." You gave him a big, open wide smile.

Bucky felt a slight pang of proudness in his chest for making his favorite girl happy, even when he didn't understand how exactly.

"Okay." He nodded, flashing you a disarming smile. "That I can do."

"And maybe a chocolate peanut butter ice cream wouldn't be denied, you know." You added, making him throw his head back and groan at the reminder of your current sugary obsession.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #the winter soldier #winter soldier #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfiction #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x you #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #avengers fic

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reubln · 5 years

Text

Flooding all out.

I’ve been taking some time recently to ponder over the many, err… shall I call them ‘discrepancies’ of life. Like why some have made an everlasting mark on the planet at age 16, when I was trying to retain the hollow buzz of my existence, or in more hasty terms; an eating disorder. “Crikey”, I hear my psychotic audience oompf and bellow, “well what happened there”, I’m not all too sure myself actually, rather like a stabbed man would not know how the assailant planned or executed his attack, the victim only knows the damage. It’s a form of obsession, an obsession over control. Control of my body, my image, my problems, and even to a less mentally well outlook, control over other people. I would blabber on and on to friends, family, and concerned onlookers how I, Reubin, knew what all humans did not, nor knew, that you can live off of less than 1200 calories a day; I feel embarrassed saying that back in my head now so I think you can all imagine the looks on my fellows faces (I took it as jealousy).

Ofcourse this is probably moreso linked to Narcissism, but hey just throw all these names into a mixing pot and the result is one big incoherent mess, rather what this piece is turning into. This is only a vent for my OCD.

Okay, back to the story involving the imaginary audience. I have always felt bad about myself, my family, the way I look, it could be named as anxiety but probably a better term would be general insecurity, to an extreme form. This insecurity has always manifested itself through I would say, ‘extreme ideation of celebrities’ or even persons that I perceive as better than oneself. Living this way has led me from fad to fad, style to style, materialistic commodity to materialistic commodity, and finally not forgetting, insecurity to insecurity. First over my weight, my voice, my intelligence, my life choices, my hair, and now currently its over my skin; “iS tHAt a WriNKlE or A SCaR?!”. Yea, it’s excruciating. These celebrities don’t just impose their lavish looks, lifestyles, and standards onto me, they also give me an escape, a lust for a better life of which nothing must get in my way be it human, or object! I’ve crushed some from this.

What happens when i sick up these ideals onto others? Comparing them to my billionaire friends in every crease and nuance possible, I break. I break down emotionally. Emotionally not because my friend is not good enough, but because I am not good enough and not deserving enough of that person. This is where the fun begins.

From there ensues wave after wave or doubts, passive-aggressiveness, and deep-longingness that can only be described by a dog waiting at 6:50PM for his dinner at 7:00PM; It’s not very pleasant for myself, or for the person of interest for that matter.

This is the part of the piece where the imaginary live studio-audience want more details, more gossip. They’re up in arms about my pause for a breath of air, but i am going to relish on this breath of air, feel it scrape its way down my slightly constricted nostrils, the following expansion of my chest, the irregular beat of my heart, and its thump against my malformed ribs. Is this too deep? I hate that phrase, so nah.

I go into this because in the midst of crisis, in the midst of mental illness, we forget what we really have, and look to what we do not. I have myself, my family that I’m sure are not as dysfunctional as my head likes to tell me, actually they’re lovely and I’m blessed when thinking about it when devoid of emotions. But yeah, I’ve wrote this impromptu as its 2AM and I’d just be watching tech videos about whatever thing I want next that Zara Larsson has, or a certain t-shirt worn by Loyle Carner, this is never ending and only increases my false-illusion of self, or lack-of heresay, it’s a never ending cycle that has only gotten worse but i guess this is what therapy is for.

*Audience cheers*

This is wholely non-descript and vague on purpose, written to be somewhat engaging to someone that is too nosey for their own good, enjoy.

(I’m not gonna read this back else I probably won’t do anything with it but I’m confident that I can write well without making mistakes; I carry this said confidence into my more academic endeavours also.

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ghostmartyr · 6 years

Text

Pokémon White Randomized Nuzlocke Run [Part 1]

This is going to be a first in many ways for me. I’ve never done a proper Nuzlocke, I’ve never played any of these on a PC before, and my only previous experience with liveblogging belongs to things I’ve watched.

For people who aren’t familiar with Nuzlocke, here are the basic rules copied from Bulbapedia:

Any Pokémon that faints is considered dead, and must be released or put in the Pokémon Storage System permanently.

The player may only catch the first Pokémon encountered in each area, and none else.

Other rules that I’ll be using:

Each pokemon must be nicknamed.

If the first pokemon in an area is a species I’ve already caught, the first one that isn’t will become the catch option.

The catch rules start applying once I have the option of catching things.

No looking anything up on guides.

Team wipe means continuing on using whatever I have in the PC.

For added fun, all starters and wild pokemon are random. The rest of the game is as it is normally (or should be if I did this right), but considering how many years it’s been since I’ve played this version, that means very little to me except that gyms are going to have consistent typing, probably.

I think that’s it, so awaaaaay we go!

I neglected to screencap the dear professor because of course I did, but this generation’s tree name is Juniper. Hi Professor Juniper.

Thank you, I chose it partially myself.

See that? Two best friends I don’t know and didn’t bother taking screenshots of.

I don’t think I’m going to do a whole lot of commentary on things that aren’t related to the pokemon I get. I’m always pretty bad about paying attention to the plot of these games, which means maybe I should have picked a different gen for this, but yeah. I am here for the critters. The humans are boring.

(Cheren and Bianca are pretty nice, actually. I like how as the games go on they seem more and more interested in giving you good friends.)

So, the time has come for the randomizer’s first spin!

Let’s see what we’ve got...

That one’s out. Where’s the fun in picking a starter for a randomized run? Plus it’s already evolved. Part of the enjoyment is watching these things grow.

I’m going to go with probably not.

...

I think so.

I’m going to eat you alive.

That’s what I thought, anyway.

This is where, despite just starting, I got myself into trouble and had to start over. By which I means Psywave’s irregular damage meant that the Patrat murdered me. Legendary starter vs. Route 1 HM slave. The outcome could not be more obvious.

I’ve made the snap judgment that the catching rules might not be in effect yet, but the fainting rules are, so I restarted.

Then I realized that oh, because of how I’ve set things up, yes, it’s randomized from the original choices, but the same starters are still available. I also realized that I am far too interested in playing to really care that I’ve already botched this run, so whatever. Onward! Together we shall defeat the wretched Patrat and save the day!

Cue Psywave doing even less damage than last time.

While the Patrat just spams Leer.

All it needed to do was select Tackle once, and I could say goodbye to Latios, but thankfully, it did not do that, so we get to move forward a single step!

I appreciate I’m doing this the day after my dog got ink all over my carpet.

Next fight... go!

I can’t remember if Meganium has Poison typing to go with Grass. I’m leaning towards no, but hoping for yes, because I don’t really want to restart again. That would mean having to deal with figuring out the right randomizer settings, and please consider that I do not want to. We’ve got to pull through on this.

That’s... a good start?

I believe in you, currently unnamed Latios.

I can’t wait to find out if this is one of the versions that has you take poison damage outside of battle or not. I don’t think I will enjoy that. Watch, the first pokemon I catch will die because I have no antidotes and am too many steps away from a center.

Victory against Cheren achieved! With another nonexistent screencap because I am unprofessional as all heck. Yay for gratuitous amounts of exp because Meganium isn’t something level 5s usually fight!

It’s nice that my mother in this game is so understanding.

I see, so if they can’t stop you from going out in the wild grass, they’ll just inject plot to keep you from immediately running out the door. Geez I hope I get running shoes soon. I feel so slow.

I can’t remember what kind of jerk dad Bianca’s father is, but I do remember not liking him and very much liking the Electric gym leader.

It’s true, in an alternate universe that never happened she and her Patrat beat me up and I was very sad.

Loudly. Do not like.

Hi fellow kids.

The time to receive our permission to leave the town (aka pokedex) has come, but more importantly, it’s time for Latios to get his very own nickname! That’s how you know the difference between this one and the exact copy that died to a Patrat!

In the spirit of being uncreative, Latios’ new name is Boeing. Long may the two be attached to each other.

Every Pokemon game ever, until the end of time.

Bianca you are so cute. I sure hope nothing bad or inconvenient ever happens to you during the plot. Can you imagine how sad that would be for you and your bloodthirsty Patrat.

If I could have three wishes, one of them would be to skip the tutorial section in all of these games. Please just let me catch things and try not to kill them.

It begins.

You know, one of the problems with having Boeing only knowing Psywave for damage is that predicting what he’s going to do to the creatures I try to catch is going to be an entertaining mess. I predict whatever I catch first is going to be significantly more helpful in the process than he currently is.

(Don’t worry, Boeing. I am still obligated to love you until death.)

I really need to be better about screencapping things, but I don’t think I will.

Bianca starts a pokemon-catching competition between the three of us, and unless there are more routes than I think between where I am and where the three of us are going to meet up, I think I lose that by default.

What route is this?

Alrighty then. Let’s go forth and find out who our next partner is! Forward, Boeing!

You know. I wonder if I have made mistakes with my preferences for the randomizing here.

Okay Boeing. You and me. Trying not to die. If possible, trying to include catching our new friend in that mission plan.

Boeing, two misses in a row is not how we do that.

...Make that three.

He did dodge the Supersonic after he finally hit it. There’s hope here.

What’s a Seismitoad’s catch rate? I have my suspicions and they are not good, but...

Who thought this was a good idea.

Gasp.

Am I allowed to be disappointed that it’s already in its final form, or is that considered rude to my new friend?

I dub thee... Frogger.

I should probably run back and go heal before I get one of these overpowered little guys killed.

I can’t remember if you being Modest is a good thing or a bad thing, but you’ll hopefully be alive long enough for me to teach you Surf, so in theory it’s a good thing. Poison Touch is the good ability I think (thank you luck for not having Boeing know any physical attacks that could have gotten him poisoned). Frogger’s also “proud of its power,” which I think means might have max IVs in the category his nature isn’t good for.

What’s Boeing like?

He’s also Relaxed and loves to eat. I grant him the secondary nickname of Good Boy. Speed being lowered is probably the most neutral I could ask for that isn’t actually neutral, and I am not going to say no (like I have a choice) to having his Defense raised for a Nuzlocke.

Okay guys, it’s time to go grind and be sad about the things we could’ve caught. ...No offense, Frogger.

...

This run is going to be fun. I can tell.

I am not confused, and yet I still managed to hurt myself.

I think some people might have some rules where you can catch your first encounter for grass and your first encounter for water, but this one is just going to be straight-up, one pokemon per route. Hopefully I’m better at keeping track of that than I feel like I will be.

I imagine I will have much reason to appreciate the kindness of strangers in this game. I usually end up grabbing every single item I can, but out of me being a completionist, not necessity.

Every Shaymin I find during this grind session is mocking me.

I continue to be really slow about screencapping, and really fast about button mashing to speed through every solitary bit of text, so not pictured here is me and my two besties being happy about how all three of us have two pokemon each. Shaymin not included.

I can’t remember anything about these video chats. I hope they aren’t important enough that I feel the need to cap them.

Accumula Town. Pokemon seen here: None yet. I can’t remember if I can even get anything here. I remember so little about this generation. N’s entire existence was practically blotted out before I watched the intro cinematic.

When do I get my running shoes. I feel so slow.

Wait, is this the generation where the Marts and Pokemon Center get combined? Yessss. I have made one (1) good decision in my choices here.

Look, more names I don’t remember.

Hm. I am not used to having to do stuff with my money in these games. I just pick whatever up, heal at the centers, and maybe buy some healing items for the Elite Four. I’m not sure what the protocol is when you have to worry about your beloved partners actually dying.

Potions and Poke Balls. The two things I can buy here, and the two things I will probably need fairly quickly. Pokemon Go’s spoiled me with how easy things are to catch. This is going to be a rough awakening.

Current bag stock: 4 Potions, 1 Premier Ball, 13 Poke Balls. Plus Key Items.

I’m really starting to understand why most people just do these things in a video format. This has its limitations as a medium when I have my limitations as a competent host.

I put Boeing back in front so that he can maybe get enough exp to know something that isn’t Psywave, but I think that doesn’t currently matter because the plot has arrived.

Hi Team Plasma. Leave me alone, please. I am not here for plot. I am here for fun times and accidental murder.

This is sort of an unfortunate generation to Nuzlocke when it’s all about treating pokemon better. “Pokemon are my precious partners! Battling is a way to bond! Oh whoops Frogger’s dead.”

This is N. He hears pokemon. He also does what he can to speak for pokemon. He is a good egg, if memory serves. He also has a cooler outfit than I do, and that makes me sad.

Try... I don’t know, how many routes are there? Yell at Cheren and Bianca, not me. I’m going to be a very irresponsible pokedex filler.

Wait, this is a battle? Already?

Guess who thought, “I can’t remember if this is Dark or Normal. If it’s Dark Boeing is the least helpful thing I could use. It’s probably Normal until it evolves, it’s early in the game, right?“

Frogger, maim.

Frogger’s going to win and I’m not going to think any other way, but this would be a really sad way to go. Purrloin just murdering me because of critical hits and Boeing’s inability to hurt it.

Prediction proven correct. We win, Boeing gains a level, and yet again, no one is dead. Yay.

We blink the same way. That’s where you can really see the family resemblance.

Wait.

Is it...?

YES! Movement achieved! Best mom is best!

So the question is if we’re going to fight trainers or catch something first. I think I’ll take the lead and just step in front of the girl to the left. Then I’ll find out she has a Purrloin and Boeing will be sad.

Oh. She’s not a trainer. Learning all over the place.

Hello! Well, isn’t that convenient. Let’s hopefully not murder you!

That’s stage one accomplished. Now for the less fun part. Let’s throw the Premier Ball for luck.

...Let’s be sad when that has no effect.

Whoever wrote the reactions to the pokemon breaking out of the balls had a great understanding of what torture their players would be going through.

Success! Something normal to play with!

Hm.

You shall be Timon. Please don’t die.

I love being able to run back to the Pokemon Center instead of needing to walk like a peasant.

Switching Timon into first place since he is the weakest in every possible way. Don’t worry though, buddy. If you live long enough, we will change that together.

Timon is a Bashful boy and likes to run. The first neutral nature of the group. I have no strong feelings on that one way or another, but I do know me, and knowing me, I will be most sad if the Bashful one dies. You protect the Bashful ones.

Time for our first battle against an NPC. I foresee this going well. Even though Youngster Jimmy is a bearer of the dread Patrat. It’s level 7, so Timon belongs nowhere near it, and it’s a Patrat, so Boeing needs to stay far away. Frogger, you’re up.

Two hits later, the Patrat is gone, Frogger is level 8, and Timon grows to level 5. Progress.

Me too, as long as I win.

The theme of this run will just be never using Boeing in a fight.

Victory achieved, and Timon has leveled up to 7 and learned Ember! A productive fight.

Are you kidding me.

Hm.

Okay it turns out it knows Bite, so Boeing this is yet another creature to stay away from, Frogger, if you don’t mind stepping back into the role of enforcer? Yeah it’s a fierce dragon, but it’s also level 4.

Good Frogger. And you even all get to share the exp together! A solid group experience that didn’t take any years off my life, no sir.

I should probably give up on screencapping every single encounter. It’s not exactly entertaining for anyone, and if the post doesn’t suddenly stop, the answer of what happens should be fairly obvious.

We’re going to let Timon try fighting for once instead of going pure switch training.

And now we’re going to let Boeing take over, because Lillipups are the terrifying puppies with STAB. Timon takes a level up, and Boeing takes the pride of actually being useful again.

My first experience with Randomizer should not have been wasted on a Nuzlocke. My only real complaint about Pokemon games is that I’d like more variety in the ones you find on early routes, and with that solved, it’s like being thrown into a candy store where everything is free.

Except I already caught something in this route, so sorry Yamask, time for you to go.

This thing knows Disable. I... think Psychic can hit Ghost, it’s just not very effective. It’s Dark it has a problem with, but we’re not going to find out this fight because Boeing missed and Yamask Disabled it.

Things like that are why early game variety isn’t a priority. Pokemon pick up their better moves as they advance, and that translates to a lot of early moves not hitting Ghosts.

A wild Salamence was found after I went back to go heal. It made Timon flinch twice in a row.

In some ways, this is exactly what I wanted, in others, mistakes have very much been made. There’s probably an option to keep all the evolutions found in the wild level appropriate.

If Boeing ever hits a Psywave, I might just die of shock. My poor useless Legendary. I’m going to let him try to kill a level 7 Tepig just so he can feel needed. Though he is a Relaxed guy, so his performance probably isn’t bothering him nearly as much as it bothers me.

Bianca, you and your terrifying Patrat should feel no obligation to fight me. You could just. Not. You also have a Lillipup now. I do not trust this encounter to go well, because I am a paranoid sort.

Then Timon’s Ember burns the Lillipup as I’m typing that, so fine, maybe not everything will be horribly dramatic all the time just because death is on the table.

Boeing, I know it’s scary, but I’m going to send you in to fight your rival. Don’t worry. In this universe, I have other things to switch to once it starts murdering you.

She used a Potion? Really?

Patrat please stop Leering at my Latios.

...Also please undo your knowledge of Bite. Boeing’s accuracy with Psywave is so bad I actually can’t guarantee that he’ll live long enough to strike the final blow, so once more... Frogger, time to pick up the slack. Sorry you are the most useful of the team when you are clearly the most unloved.

We win and arrive at Striaton, which I think I actually remember now that I’m walking around in it. It’s the one with the waiter Gym, I believe. And the Dreamyard’s next to it, where we will likely have our next friend.

This Gym changes based on who you picked as your starter... I wonder what Boeing replaced.

New location get. Oh wait... am I remembering wrong, or can I not access the grass without HMs? I’m pretty sure this is the area where you get the chimp pokemon, but that’s a letdown here since I don’t think I randomized gifts and the like. Maybe we are not meeting our new friend here yet.

As I’m going through the trainers here, Boeing is still level 8, Frogger is 10, and Timon is 11, so... sorry, buddy. You’re going to have to face down another Patrat. Maybe it’s a good thing I banned myself from looking things up, because I am guessing that however long it takes for Boeing to get a new move, it will be too long. His only other move is Heal Block, and that is only theoretically useful at this stage in the game.

Against any type, actually, but I guess that’s the answer to what Latios replaced among the starters. I now have a Panpour.

I didn’t really think much about what to do with gift pokemon... I think I’ll just add to my personal rules that using pokemon on my team that have not been randomized is a no-go. As a sign of its ineligibility, Panpour will receive no nickname. I’ll ditch it in the PC before the temptation to use it grows.

Yeah, the grass is currently beyond my reach... I guess we’re doing the first Gym with these three, then. After our obligatory journey to the Trainer School.

I don’t remember so many battles with non-NPCs in other games, but it’s also been quite some times since I’ve played. And I was tempted to go with a no-items rule for this run, but then I remembered I am a coward when it comes to small creatures under my care being in pain.

...Geez, I probably have to worry about what level the Gym Leader has... usually I grind the heck out of things by accident, so it never comes up, but there’s room enough for error here to concern me.

Cheren having a Meganium is going to surprise me for a while yet.

Boeing being pretty useless against it won’t surprise me anytime soon. I guess I’ll have my answer about how this generation deals with poison if I make it through this fight.

I apparently forgot to heal when I ditched Panpour. Whoops.

But Timon comes through!

Thank you my intrepid fire pig.

Hey, Boeing learned a move!

Helping Hand.

Latios replaced the Grass starter.

Isn’t that supposed to be easy mode.

Lucky me, this is one of the versions where poison doesn’t kill you outside of battle. That’s a relief; I never remember things like antidotes when I’m playing the games normally, so it was fully within the realm of possibility that my entire team would die just because I forgot about the rules.

...

I’m gonna yolo it.

Frogger, I believe in you. Murder the Fire pokemon with your mighty Bubble.

The first trainer has a level 11 Lillipup... I would probably be way more comfortable taking this gym after some grinding, but that’s hardly the point here. The point is for me to entertain myself and feel terrible when it all goes wrong.

It’s weird how little memory I have of this gym. I remember the final fight, but absolutely nothing else. I think that’s because Cheren takes over being the first Gym Leader in the sequels, and who ever remembers the peons anyway.

I can’t believe I’m switch training a Latios.

We’ve got a long way to go, Boeing.

This could go so badly so easily.

His name’s Chili? Really?

At least he only has two pokemon--

Lillipup with status boosting move and Bite, run Boeing.

Timon bravely holds the line, and... yeah, this is the gen where the amount of exp is determined in part by the difference between your level and your opponent’s, isn’t it? Because grinding needed an added complication, naturally.

Level 11 Frogger vs. level 14 Pansear.

This should be fine, but I am so used to being a higher level in gyms. Being a lower level while playing for keeps is making me twitchy.

Atta boy, Frogger!

And he learned BubbleBeam! That is so much better than Bubble!

One badge down.

...Does anything in my party learn Cut?

Okay, with the badge, that seems like a good stopping point for this post. I don’t know how these will end up going, since, in case it weren’t painfully obvious and you didn’t read some of my comments above, this is all brand new to me, but hopefully this proved at least a little fun on some kind of level.

#Pokemon #Nuzlocke Challenge #the reason this is happening right after me saying I have no time to write #is because time is a factor #health is more of a factor and it sucks #so I'm trying to relax

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immortalcockroach · 5 years

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LOVE IT IF WE MADE IT

summary: in which bellamy recalls the birth of his relationship with clarke.

pairing: Bellamy x Clarke

words: 1,095

read on AO3

The human species is flawed in its design; it requires a society to be able to function. It strives for an interpersonal connection, for closeness to other members of the species and a sense of security; of belonging. It strives for the greater kind of existence, where the parts amount to a whole that is comfortable and a safety blanket.

It strives for a society. It strives for rules and regulations, for the familiar to deafen the strange. It strives for the known.

There was nothing known or familiar or safe in waking up with her in his arms. He’d smell the earthy but sweet smell of her hair and feel the soft waves sprawled across his chest, her tiny body tangled with his, and he’d be surprised that she’s here.

Every morning, for the past two months, he’s woken up to this – and he’s woken up surprised.

He kisses her forehead. His lips are brief on her skin but he tastes something that he can’t put into words, but is so Clarke—something that he has both gotten used to, and not at all.

‘Morning,’ he says.

‘No,’ she replies.

She snuggles into him, even closer, and he needs to blow some of her hair out of his mouth. Her body is warm against his and he pulls her closer, too, eyes fluttering as he wonders if this is still just a dream; just a fantasy he’s been having.

‘Fine.’

He can feel her smile. ‘Five more minutes.’

‘You got it, boss.’

She laughs, and he thinks he’s never been happier.

It’s not a dream and he knows it can’t be, because he remembers how they got to this point. He remembers holding her as they both cried over Monty and Harper, with Jordan behind them, and looked at the new planet they were going to call home.

She held his hand, briefly, right before they announced the news to their people. It was a short squeeze, but he couldn’t have done it without her.

They descended to the ground together. They made first contact together. They led their people together.

And fell in love, somewhere along the way.

The first time they spoke about it, they were still just friends; or best friends, whatever they could be called. They sat at a bonfire, one of the many that were prepared during scouting trips they had to take with the people they found on the planet. It was just the two of them—everyone else was already asleep—and somehow the conversation flowed in that direction.

He was the first one to say it.

‘I hated you,’ he said, ‘when we dropped down on Earth.’

Clarke smiled and laughed, drawing into the sand.

‘And then I lost you.’

His voice gets deeper, raspier; her smile disappears.

‘It took me years to get over your death and even then, I wasn’t completely over. And when we came back down and you were there, I—’

He never finishes that sentence.

Bellamy watches her, now, under the light of the stars and a fire and doesn’t really believe they’ve made it – they survived the death of their planet, twice, only to be here. Centuries away from their home, miles and miles, on a different planet that’s still strange.

‘I know,’ she says. ‘I feel the same way.’

She gets up and walks over to his side of the fire, knees touching as she sits down. He can feel the heat of her skin against his more than the heat of the fire in front of him; her fingers laced with his, for the first time since they’ve landed here.

He wraps his free arm around her shoudlers and she leans against him, tucking her head in the crook of his neck. He notices the smell of ehr hair, for the first time.

Bellamy closes his eyes. Presses his lips to her forehead. Gives her hand a squeeze. Tugs her closer.

‘I could barely bear losing you once,’ he says. ‘Losing you again would kill me.’

His voice cracks at the second sentence and he barely gets it out, almost chokes on the words. They both know he’s telling his truth. He feels her breath, hot on the skin on his neck. It’s irregular, and almost as if she’s holding it – waiting for something.

So he says, ‘It took us a long time to get here.’ He doesn’t specify where “here” is – survival, this planet, this fire, this position. It doesn’t matter. ‘A long time to realize that we’ll always have to keep fighting for what we’ve got, ‘cause it doesn’t matter if we deserve it or not. There’ll always be fighting. But it wasn’t all bad. I realized there are some things worth fighting for, no matter what. Things like this.’

He looks at her, but can’t see her face.

She’s holding her breath.

He closes his eyes again.

‘Things like us.’

She kisses him, minutes later, without saying a word. It’s a chaste kiss, cautious, but there is so much affection in it that Bellamy feels like he’s drowning in it.

When they kiss the next time, it’s a little less cautious; braver. Every time after that, they explore more of each other, and find it easier to fall into a rhythm that allows them to be Bellamy and Clarke but also Bellamy and Clarke, where no one can see them. Where they’re alone, and safe, and away from prying eyes. Where they aren’t leaders or generals, but simply two lovers who have waited centuries on one another.

Who finally don’t have to fight for what they deserve.

And now, with her asleep in his arms, Bellamy thinks this is why he can’t fathom that she truly is his, after all this time – because he didn’t need to fight for her. All he did was let himself feel what his heart felt, and let his mouth form the words. To be vulnerable in front of her.

There’s no fighting for someone you love, if they love you back.

He kisses her forehead, like he did that time where he expressed his feelings the first time.

‘I love you,’ he whispers.

She smiles into his chest.

This – everything he’s ever gone through has been worth it, because this isn’t a dream. It’s a reality he’s waking up to, every single morning. It’s his life.

And maybe it’ll never stop feeling like a dream, but he doesn’t mind it. He knows she’s not going away, and if he doesn’t feel like it’s real, he’ll never let her go.

it’s been quite a while since i’ve written anything, so i hope this was okay. if you have any fic idea you’d like me to try writing, feel free to message me!

additionally, i know this is kinda annoying, if you'd maybe like to support me financially (as i am a struggling uni student) you can buy me a coffee. (which, of course, is appreciated but in no way a requirement ♥️)

#the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #bellarke #bellarke fic #ff: bellarke #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #bellamy x clarke #my fic

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jedimordsith · 5 years

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FIC DISSECTION: GIFT

Title: Gift

Length: 238,275 words

Finished: Dec 2018

3(+) Things I Liked/Am Proud of:

I’m not generally a stats person, but it was pretty staggering to me that 95 people had Gift bookmarked. Obviously, I’m pretty sure a lot of that has to do with the unreliable updating schedule, but still… that and 439 kudos and over 600 comments. It’s… a lot.

Gift was a huge step of faith for me when I began posting (years ago!). Before the Luke/Mara fandom I’d only ever written for myself, so it is absolutely enormous in some respects that I took the leap that I did with Gift – because without it, I’d never have gotten where I am (so blessed to be) now.

I loved writing the relationships in Gift. Mara with family – hers, Luke’s, the Jedi family they build together – and what relationships looked like while she was broken but on the path to recovery. I did it messily, but the experience was invaluable and it gave me the chance to write some scenes and ideas that I think are beautiful and worthy despite the mess.

I loved that Gift gave me an opportunity to play with so many little elements – the food, different worlds and the quirky OCs that inhabited them, underrated characters like Booster and Crix. As I demonstrated (to myself, at least) in Vacation, there are better ways of doing that, but I did enjoy it for what it was in Gift.

3(+) Things I’m Not Thrilled With:

Gift was the first (and, Force help me, the LAST) thing I’ve ever written of this scale that I truly finished without leaving gaps and that mattered. And I started posting as I went along. (*Facepalm*) Needless to say, I was woefully unprepared for the complexity I set up and a TON of threads got irreparably dropped along the way. : (

FREAKING GROUP DYNAMICS. It is *absurdly* difficult to write a whole bunch of people all being in on the same conversations, fights, events, etc… and I stupidly set myself up with a fic full of exactly that. Gift suffered for my lack of ability to orchestrate the large cast well.

Because Gift sprawled over such a long time frame and I wrote other things between and around it as I got stuck or overwhelmed or consumed by plot bunnies, the posting schedule was irregular and lot of potential got lost. I wrote myself into corners, pushed chapters out because sweet Force I just need to keep moving, and otherwise did what I had to to not give up. Which got the story done, but definitely kept it from being everything it could have.

There are definitely canon characters that I did not write well. The Rogues are a prime example, but Mon Mothma, too. Honestly, the Rogues ended up largely being whatever I needed instead of really good representations of themselves because I just lacked the skill to manage so many personalities well all at once. Where I’d hoped to highlight aspects of Mon Mothma’s character that I believe can fit within canon, even though they aren’t usually explored, I ended up taking her OOC for a lot of people because of issues of scope, clarity, etc.

Future Application:

(I’ve already been applying lessons learned the hard way in Gift to everything else I write!)

LIMIT THE SCOPE. Gift could easily have been a series (ala @frangi’s Boundaries). Or five different (much shorter and cleaner!) stories, each focused on one aspect of the bigger picture. There are many, many options and making better use of them can prevent some, if not all, of the main problems I encountered.

PATIENCE IS GOOD. Honestly, I don’t think Gift would ever have been completed if I didn’t start posting it when I did. That said, it decidedly taught me the value of having at least most of the story down and settled before starting to post because that’s the only way to prevent writing yourself into a corner, dropping threads that you’re unable to pick back up, etc.

It’s okay to indulge – if you do it right. Vacation and Desideratum are both examples of this lesson learned in action. Both were crafted specifically to give me the chance to indulge in scenes or Feels or world-building bits that I wanted to roll around in. But it WORKED because I narrowed my focus and the built around just that narrow focus… instead of trying to put everything together in one fic epic style like Gift.

Get feedback early and regularly. This falls squarely in the “lessons learned” category because I’ve started doing it pretty consistently and it makes a HUGE difference. Just talking through things with someone can be all it takes to make you see a flaw or a better way of doing something. But, again, it’s so much more powerful if you can do it while everything is still in development, and not when you’re already committed to or set up for a weak idea in posted material.

Most importantly, Gift was my portal into AO3, tumblr and the awesome L/M and SW online communities. And for that, I will forgive all its sins and shortcomings because YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING.

#fic dissection #writing goals #my fic #Gift

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castlehead · 3 years

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: LITTLE MILE,

PART ONE : : [live for the weekend and buy grams of blow with your paycheck.

see section A. feel good about going for walks. work thru a long distance relationship and get through the suicidal shit okay. then

break promises but also keep a few, not to keep up appearances but you wish rather to keep the purity of your word, which is hard fucking work. wait till she comes for a visit after super long time

apart and spread some roses on the bed because she likes that sort of thing. leave oreos on the pillow as oreos are delicious. ride her later in the night about that time you smoked six cigarettes in five

minutes as she was blowing xanax to prove a point. go to sleep crying but remember a few special moments as well and base your memories around that. see GOD for awhile but then decide it was

bullshit and perhaps just your conscience given a literal voice. see section A. hear nobody text you for days and understand some weird nonsensical ehrebung at really enjoying a smoke for the first

time in the morning as you look out the window. it is brisk and sunny and the bricks of the buildings look beautiful. think what a day what a day etc. then actually try to accomplish something with friends in

PARK SLOPE. understand finally that the general agreement is you whack as shit. then find a letter from your girlfriend from awhile ago and feel uplifted all over again for some reason but as for positivity

you do not discriminate. drink horn of sun to fierce last dregs. think about whether you are actually thin or just think you get thinner when you are really just used to how fat you are. talk to your girlfriend at

a certain point mentioned in section A. while on break for way too long.

sweat out a cluttered subway ride every morning forever. decide to jump off the BROOKLYN BRIDGE then decide not to. look meaningfully at a

church because you are reading twilight of the idols. repeat a lot of different stuff at irregular intervals. repeat stuff at regular intervals. learn that those statements are an acceptable example of an irregular repetition: or is

irregular as regards time only, not difference: an irregular life has less to do with fiber than we think. an irregular life can be as varied as disposition to pate : : as feeling to brokenness, as alteration altered to fear of change

might comfort one back into the nest of ignorance : it doesn't have to mean as regards, well, anything : it itself can be fiber, a fibrous fiber: so: we scrounge for something burred underneath the soft netting: crack up: put way too much

weight in your presence at social events : leave social events early or go to sleep in front of everybody pretending to be passed out : see social events as a total stressor : don't kno what to do : never know what to do ever: social

events. assume yourself a negative, discomfited person thereby. lose all friends because you dig deep into stupidity to find a reason for it, think about it until you go blind, rectify and rectify till all's a mess: is that what you want: yes:

friends are lost based upon too many simpering blasted apologies. really wish that you will leave a good looking corpse and do leave a good looking corpse. wonder why you don’t think about childhood very often, as in the concept.

see section A. come to the conclusion that fuck yes it is too late to have a happy one but really come to understand that that doesn’t matter as all things are for a time anyway but then get pissed off about this because you then realize as well

that you are mere mortal and still fields of open grass and oak away from describing something beautiful or whatever but then also wonder that you are infinite wherein the moment is concerned: and then think about your ex

for some crazy reason because all that matters is the past as regards what you’d want to retain in some eternal rolodex of spite or some shit, or maybe it’s just you but you can’t reimburse your mom because of all the infinite

you’re feeling and tell her you can’t and she says that is okay but doesn’t mention that it is ok because the advent of your twenties was mainly depressing, and you there, in room, gnawing at psyche like some useless ape as usual say, WELL

OUT WITH IT, and there she goes finagling a fart out of her ass your mom we are speaking of your mom and her aggravation and her remnant pain from a lost job years ago because oh certainly to fail once is to fail forever

and then you as you are young realize the moment is forever and you can make it a failure and you can make it a wonderful revealing of some big thickened BLEAR asking for property, asking for sense to be given it but you

can’t you can’t justify the dread nay [beckett] nor the odd ghosts in your bathroom that time you spoke to yourself for days and and and so then so then the weekend promises at least an end to this damned ineradicable

gloom and empty state as in empty and taxing but no state of emptiness no state of gloom yet here is gloom here is the reflections of a man refusing too long to look in the damn mirror and see himself is it you or is it i or is it all

the damn farts from the woman who birthed you wanting to be the final whiffing sound as to all of your gutsy failures and drudges through fields of stone and grass and oak you paint out of a backpack and some green

carpet in your room that one time you tripped balls on a tuesday on mushrooms and the razor talked to you and proved by its unassuming nature a very grill to the face that damned long face of a son too burnt

into his own damned house and wired by the damned eternity that sounds like some resilient, grand tocsin, some priketh ye some don’t but ya know it’s all just plain forgotten and happy at that, I’d live in codes wordless

more than explain this meaninglessness and/or stain on the life of time, that is humanity: that is growth: that is the paradigm of something written, written, scratched along the judgments of your mom’s farting fucking

asshole, your grown ass self, so proud to put on pants, so good at that one joke made riskily at a party and relished ever afterwards, so good at failure, happy failure, happy, happy to enter that small crack in the sadness too, happy

to bloom out of dismissal, shunning, happy to mature past the point of needing a single reason for a fart, an end, or a waste of mind. turn 30.

repeat. [etc] see section A.] ?? . . . .

RAGE on rage on, collapse into morning day like something of a storm, at least Frightful mist, some thunder bloom / glass incipient of the troubling harrowing: Some awful precondition. Out its frightful bells: wetly dew paints grass lucent-

-And I rise away from all that in my small cave in my state an eye half open, My knuckles are red from cracking them on my own jaw very a lot that night And some banging head i.e. sleep deprivation considered itself and made it

Worse. I thwarted myself continually mind whanging useless and thickly, like Sometimes i feel like that hamster I had when I was in middle school, wasn't, That i never named - - - uh, worth, it, wasn't worth it . S'ok it's ok for things

To no be worth it. Don't cry well then here's a fucking cookie Tard. I literally Just spat up phlegm right on my computer / no joke / I am freakish, & loud Also re hamster-mortality: I kno it is tragic, my girlfriend lost HAMSTERR

Named peanut. An entire quadrant of space specking thru eyes of that thing All day . Dont think ive evr done this much speed in one night (lol) i dont think i should be able to backtalk : this quick speed = religious,

[chalk dust molars fanatical facial people crunch 'em with 'em to dust. be sure to drudge up spume in the foggy brume some master floater or for sake of interracial justice an inanimate image of justice untarnished by opinion

or blaspheme. vulgar just for sake of cashing in on the weird honey : dip in there : of big politics etc anticipatory raging, prolepsis, summoner say : ARiSE ! ! !! : my girlfriend: she is sleeping right next to the and oh like a lamb she is, right

next to the voodoo-man, shepherd, making us all fly thru the honey right into some strict objective eye, truly naked vision, making commune with image and self. - - ] She goes on dozing into me and snoring soft like a, like subtle universal truth, or

Somethin. My snot is stuck in the bakc of my skull, i feel, i feel like waking up my Girlfriend with my hands all over like tidal waves : : i know hamstermortality, to let The reader kno : it is the wave of arcanum 17 : it is, it is waft of hope, like random

Prescience. Iit is the great like space etc of all, or some completely lazy encompassing. Kewl things only exist cuz hm i guess they exist for — — time, like hamsterts, Hamsters = meaning of universe, it’s like classical semantics or fuzzy logic:

Supervaluationists predicting borderline cases!!! How many hairs must i lose before You can call me bald : for the hairs will exist alway / they will, they will scream out : They will be a thing that is they are the very fuxxx god calls logic

Slash these words apart, greet blame and slash that, grab the bags: Run from the rage then, drum up some possibility for fuel, beat legs For leagues. ‘Message’ after ye with a bat, won’t get a thing so. But

Kicked up dust he’ll cough on, sweat drooling, finally fatigued: marigolds Fooling in the wind around him, agh, long day: we run into the ‘Pome’ Later: find it sucking on a sugar lump in some coffeeshop, well, money:

Who knew, who but the pivot finally: as drain groans a fable like a job to Do. Shit twists with flood and the seagulls berating lend belief at it all with Solid statement, caw, caw, wishing, duh, To Be Done With Message

Of course, especially one that some brine of heart sloshed up: some Reticular wisdom like as hair, hateful : some weird gloss over shadow Dims the bald head, the bald ‘Message’ - the crested ol’ bigot furious

Yawp yapping damnable in that there roast for the father: big squeeze, Squeeze of animus. Finally, down the block of stillness, down dug into The brig, obstructed color, rigid air, manic doors, kids laughing at him:

Little Mile : : feel it all over again : what answers can we get to as regards You fully: an elliptical, maybe? Or trash, or earthy disarrangement, dirt, Particles resulting in flipflop, wages made but unfulfilled for good? Or

Maybe marigolds !! Breezes coming out of their loops into wiggling weight Themselves, hulking as cathedral tunes, heavy with ambiguous threadiness, And that holy torment of an ever-figuring progenitor, professor of the

'Message'—black & bleak—against the righteous curiosity, ol' puff-head, ol' Apoplectic, Sorry For The State Of - - and dese homeless parties of the Sad. The sad chase, the chase as I must do is still solo. But grand, the

Hemophilic fire, the rusty brigade o’ pleaches o’ daffy hair, dummy cunt To stake on cosmic sex, just a blowoff: still. Then. Little dragoons whiffed It up anyways and blessed the fakery past mythos into real, made a great,

Big sepulcher for all 'em fathers: all the risks at tacky jive: lagoon: great, Great swoon of fibrous living out the ducky’s little murmuring in the mud, Tump-a-tump with buckles o’ swash : #dgaf : yet is we da pirate , as in ,

We is , we ah make anything magnificent and say it is that and leave it So. We. Croon and wait for that swell damned music’s dish to punch big and soft into the pillow : we: meet poetry POETRY POETRY POUR IT ALL

And soft into th. pillow. We. Down a side-street : have a baffled-eye ‘a sec: Din in the den gets closed the sisters ears : think some nature-shit: stfu: Bucolic site there wispy girl : pencil neck : root , , , for Image-Pleasant:

For you that is : root for the Panjundrum not, in his anger-yells all daffy, Deadening reasons for the noise, amplified like a big [bracket] to the side Of something, past declaration, past the final honesty and towards some

New squeamish chuck of ew-grease out of my bad throat : 'Message' Attempts to toughen with - providence, it feels, it knows - of mere scraps Of itself, and then I emit new strings for my shoes, frayed knot, couple

Stoners ranting in a parking lot when one sees a human innim and flees, From eye of him : one states the [bracket] as annotation even though it Supplies nothing : mere notation is as much enclitic for an infidel sense

As rhyming to behead borders of rhythm with timing , adding meaning Like chaff at the end while a sprocket ebbs out then 'splodes at once, a Gathering of mite and fingernail and bedding shod in the cracks under

The bland couch then sets aflame, burning down the garbage, which is Everywhere : police police : fuck da : : whelp : lost musings only whelm As much as one is willing to go rapidly , that is, will be as quality as the

Quicken, enacting some different statement thru defensive natures of style Like Declension : Logoaedic : parse the thought, then let it run before the Jello melts, food gets cold: picnic raped by ants. Premise of the rule. So the:

Uh: bracketed, shuffling fragged things dole more out for the warmness, As in, have something mean what it means, leave it at notation , make the Final well and, "End like a spear, not like a broom" - - Well, who knows

About honor: maybe just to prove myself I will right something really for Awhile too messed for the husbandman to mould with his ass: drop the Incisive manacles, they get my wrist bit with copper: write to right a thing

You never mention: madden out copper tongues: make demands about Stuff you have no idea you are actually talking about: but that's not going To mention itself either and is perhaps what is missing for the right reasons:

So why yell out proper tongues if that is all tongues want is their own voice To hock a spray of legit logey sniffed up the nasal psg. and out into the World. Well. Garbage burns itself to slew. But you like that. You enjoy

The mesmerized epiphanic trumpeting, priketh, prike prike : nasty uncle, He was , and a bald head a sunshine away from DEATH-LAZER. Stun, But be stupid as brick. As was said, I speak to reflect mirrors in darkness.

Should be obvious. Maybe this inkling of finding a new way to speak'll Dart straight for the first reason to pant and wave commodities at the sullen Sucker-tourist upon losing his next day's provender at the hands of silly kids.

DeMand: Wring rungs out proper tongues, lick pompous, drone on in thatt Stat o’ thing: status of thing: state of things: rut t tt t t t tt t tt t t tttt tt t t t t tttt Guts me : feeling in’t I feel nothing but in hole: & & & & & & & & & & & & &

Still the great compilers edge more into the fantastic, learn to eat it along with The tragic as one happy meal. Eventual blossom, hoping Mary and Ed ride fine Off into the sunset, cans tied to the bumper clicking like cliché: Jesus is sick :

He tells me so much is at risk here : then again, who could harbor such a feel But Big J or Yeezy : : well he’s a prick : that’s why you shouldn't music so much: I don’t listen to music nomores: even you’re tarnished bc of all this harlot noise

Attempting heaven, & whatnot : WHAT? WHO THN ?? WHAT THEN ?? So Fortunately, I’m Done. Getting into ye head. I’m already there. Felt random & Also, tortuous pressure spread keen thru label after label, waiting for sustenance,

It was given, as if words could ugh the body with ugh : feed me with 'don't' is What the character 'Message' means. This sentence means it is myself declaring A sentence. That is what it means, and the Myself in it shines out of that part of

It like some beautiful renegade oxygen, a distillation more perverse, a naked way, A death of all that damnable stuff we got our heads warped around in like some Exquisite Fucking Turban [tho false] tho, maybe drunk off picked points smacking

Of defeat, well : : : such's to give up meaning at all - - MESSAGE _a t_ _a l l_ [?] As if words could damage the body : does language uh have one string it can plukk To stop the heart?[.] Or does it all. Well. Uh, lose weight: is it a fascinating receptacle,

Or mere extensiveeverything: ” Do You Believe In God.” – – – – – – I wouldn't be Able to give you anything for jesus, much less Jews. HAve little idea what I believe. Belief is odd. I think I believe in, just, being chased, you know, for thievery. It's a

Saturated L.A. sun like in this song by [The National] it is called "Pink Rabbits." it Is really damn good I remember feeling like the string to my heart almost cut that one Time. But I couldn't tell you anything a medium in some spooky curtained shop

Wouldn't be able to perform with a bit more erggh 'flair' well damn I despise flair write To construct a core or write to DeMand to write or write to right something wrong w. Your sister's [hairdo] or write about strings. Write about all the strings. What all of

Them would do if connected THE WORLD IS POME across the globe. Don't think There'd be much room else for people. Well no worries then, you’ll steal hunches till you Can’t even breathe a thinnest wisp of sister-air. Enjoy never figuring out anything. I

Like to tip-toe but that's no way to run , I gotta say the world is fucked w/o a point , , , The drain is really sick [!] w. all this flood it might as well be the guts of garbage And the rightness of wrong , of the failed and of lineage thru language do we bring

Our own booze do we sing some amped version of the obvious soullessness everybody Gets to grate all over everybody else like some annoying sadness too small for this World, too inscrutable to be anything bt what it is, what it is not anything, as POME

Is words, not ideas, get subjugated by need to buddy up with certainty by corroborating This or that line with another, breaking another, letting pennies go slipshod thru da Grate, while all the while mighty confusion rends a new surprise in plain polished sight,

But o the bees in my gut wig out more folly but as plain to live and hope by their ruin To bring the ties untangled, yes, state the statement-as-goal, martyr a few mirrors thru Indelible mistake, ending Kierkegaard at Democritus' river etc. NO WE NEVER

STEP THRU THE SAME RIVER TWICE NO NOR PERHAPS ONCE, anyways, The bees escape nathless from a pirson-prison. In spite of all this floppy flotsam, Like some weird torture. The stingings bless, the robust yellow flow mitred across

De backs uf'm. And I still considerable, a regular pill for the unagog men still seeing Me unsightly, some lack, some twit, some spook : er something as like, as what god Makes of his leftovers in the afternoon between jobs: but me young boss: HOSS:

What?, zooks, gain, what gain 'questionmark' nothing an adorable steeple could not Bring together as all us wonderful people together rise them, these middle fingers- -Pointing up UP UP, run with lacking, then, fuck, huh?, shut up, suited only to

Sslipped phrase, the bank account gets canceled & yr out on the streets with only Luck and Fucks to feed you. Wiring runoff, shattered, wrecked, fetid, but all of it So Human that nobody seems to mind: neither of those three words can understand

My theosophy, nor gainsay, I'm too cryptic: : fault fault, fault fault, thwartedness- -But still continuance, shorn but not straight dead. Lucky but suffering. What a bore, To get brought in by force, to the party, snatch a few lichen, press against petri dish

To make dialogue unheard of or no at the party what this is about, this sleight of hand, This emotional screening we seize up and clench our asshole to forget about, rot in it I Say, row those sewage tentacles, mandibles, new legs from the mess, new smack to

The veins, new shot, lessening as day and eyesight, NARCAMNARCAM. Ruin stake [valuesystem] bless me achoo gradient risen sceptic collide me w truth,

Ruin stake dress me up in my garters and delirious falbalas at table, valuesystem,

Run to the ruin: make stand up puppetry the rotary: vast tracts of time enable the- -Child to believe he is infinite. Child god goes wishing-wishing at peak, wishing To see: you flee from definition like that stoner guy from earlier all the time, you

You let the questions mysteries bleed out thru yr fanciful cufflinks: drat: quaint: Wanna bleed staid blood. Want to create the hurt that must hurt, that must come: Just to have some control, as elusive blood, got to pour lopsided from a precious

Wound : : we gaze into ourselves and do not speak, wondering what batty thing Happened back there: we go wishing to dash away performance with a little more Laze: 5-year-old Genius. But yea. But, with you I shuffle into someone free. You

You see the curtain and you know the pianist is behind it nodding off into overdose: You are knowing what curtains mean and that curtains rarely help to cover meanings: You realize there is nothing to peek at nothing to see so you shrug and go home to

Your death, ever-approaching some more-appropriate redness , , , but the redness in The West , tho. What's with that haze that looks like the hoarsest GLARE of all: It is the shot in the arm taken too breezy, brought you to the finale, the glimpse then

Recession into embedding blank blankets of so-and-so upon your life, weighty big Deaths greeting you with comfort, delicious sating of the lorn, and raggedy willful Bravery so long perceived like an animal, that is, now seen so much to salute. So I

Have access now into your maze : it is dangerous here : bees go grinding against the Gut. Entrails that trail haphazard underneath everything forever : the flighty frolic Of your hair, sister : good on you for nvr doing hoarse/horse. Your hair that speaks

In looks looks like the bigger maze, the bigger harder hug to give one day when just , When things get better: just so one don't get bitter, what from examining all sides of The same pipe dream. DeMand, and makes thus bigger dissonance w. me. Say me,

Of your aspect, at base, nothing less, your talent is my name and sister-curse, my uh My name is one to have in spades, you gotta have it so it radically disappears under A veil mentioned elsewhere in full wherein the chase is always and never the point

As your legs, extremities exist by the disappearance of a prior location, or some Name, some name called death we get into other ideas 'bout. But it is a lost name. Bu I cannot bless more than I bleed. Whatever that means. Perhaps I tell

This to others, they do not offer but stares and blinking : oh alienation : what an Easily dismissible thing : REAL PROBLEMS hah : in that case, those girls Kidnapped in Nigeria're having real problems : suffering is subjective & hell

We, as In I, Race Towards It as anything the wiser, wise as answer, jus cast answer, Jus cast ANSWER:- whatever happen to be, jus quake out a few inappropriate Inabilities in front of anyway, including meshing: hear aspersions there, here

And there: I say, if one feels pathos then uh you know the whitest lash fuck express it, fuck!, don’t you painful on your brow loose the snow came, bother with a perfect shape as the clad in crammed houses families shape you have is naturally a very frown at homies, themselves children, improvisation, imperfect as a sky made random and the same as all storm, asleep flakes or something, like, one sky, just made like me to feel like an actor one. i guess, uh. that is what i make like to me guess. that nothing happens if we within the thin walls, while bruised dads glimpse the hood are indifferent or something. give in rochester, barely guap to eat, to obsession, passion etc. then uh my father runs into a grand jizz what follows’s a thing the greater on the way back captures it and puts it in a safe . for therapy. write on for therapy? his father was a vato, well fuck yes. do it and do it and gift-wrapping raining down do it. i like channeling whitman , , on christmas, wanting to capture fame and getting the pink slip . cuz it’a means wealth, like, iduno it was majestic, slowly he i guess like, [vulgate,vulgate] it drowned in throat cancer, later. my dads hates is freewheeling all over the place christmas, but at least he caught a good fuck in childhood and without regards -blank- see yu kno, i cant write on tumblr atm bc something is wrong with my uhhhhhh

keyboard. it doesn’t allow me to , , delete the space between one anddd another line. so i am writing this

to you. it’s probably not really i guess to interesting just see that infinitesimal cube understood so , ,

uh, distantly, as me here, in this room, hanging out with whitman! as in i see ‘im, right here. he is in

the corner smiling to himself bout some private meditation, mostttttt likely. have you figured out this

is a msg in enjambments yet?, you are really cool and ring out , , , , , , despite, right?, whether or not or

maybe regardless. PART II : : : : ERHEM: fast sadness folds in a toilet like down it you know like those soothing squares, gulls take to the particles after response to command goes lagging, and the aqueduct explodes filter to filter after longing for more than garbage could recall, prideful trash–

garbage i done made myself blind blabhah i done made a bad hither, done dash right into the fount of degrading. i feel very such things as i feel and call them detritus still. i am monstrous i am - big eye, i can fuck myself without any charity-help from anybody.

i am to call myself things like topaz once the giddy girth sloshes within a pictureframe's modest dimensions, and the sharks while snapping snapped alive by the implied sort of movement given only to starkly imperishable images that lighten you up at the art

show. well its time t-to start from the start and start a movement founded on a ginger ignorance of other movements. is i-t: is time to start from the beginning of focus way past bemused glance, ripe glare, teeth beside themselves w cavities of roe and garlic:

it’s time to inaccurately anticipate something, like we knew it was coming and wanted our surprise to look nice. anticipate the perfect slur, find a wide audience for that: it is, uh, time to enact maelstrom considerably, like, lofted above the saddest cloud's

drenching of itself: clouds they are clowns : be sure to recognize the hidden voice, what rattles us is not the mystery of how and logical wherefore but in transmuting some odd warfare of a distant crud's finding, that is - - - it is not what links but what is explained,

which for me is the distance crud, or clod, i call planet : am i a part of it or do i depart from its frequent accusings, importances, rudeness, and flat commodity, material, or just shattered booms hailing the demise of precept got so infrequent that one, less

righteous, is more thru the confessional of the lessness, a lesson : us, , rule, , : the sea like an antelope’s stride is, that is, like the picture purely between man, shark, and sea, of slopping sides over the frames of the picture: something by movement not volume,

by not expanse but a few flits of eye - big eye, - regardless of bigness it is, is and will be there for when the ranting stays, crucial delectable bizarre 'mischance of machinery' while the self goes further out, taken by the turning tides, and then yet this is a bit more

than mangling the heart by placing it on sleeve; this will always be here, distant, or like, remote!, yeh, better word!, you will disassociate whatever

from whatever, [edittttttttttt ttt ] from your blinding clarity [edit] : : you will take an eye out for the bossman cannot : since

wills black as char make the crud, clod, dusty clod, a piece of crud: "shouldn't be so hard to have a nice day." Mutter and grimace. wake up to totally remove yourself in the only way possible, that is, from the world of dreamstate: and piss dole me a new

self of yuck and maelstrom. PART III : : drying the die out of to play craps . or somethings like pinochle of life itself, shouted madman. made anterior who wants the soul who wants it made outside of use I see. something— / something digs for a very hinting it goes like something as must to stop,

as much to save the world as self by saving declamatoriations [!!!!!] declarations yeas, declaiming . / well go ahead and rue the ensuing bratty corps of lifer’s whom stake much on image / nada -rtiet- [edit] editwrite made something is^^^ within that words

them words something letters inverted salamander-language seen spanking new by breaking every rule, ruling over breaks like you had more time. / discovering the body, etc. and it all makes you want to imprint on the wise world some attmept, to do more

by removal of sense if sense is not snuffed out already by now in this senseless world, just going on and on!!!! to the creakiest hints shuffling under floorboards like captives from the bad!! quite the soul search. make more inklings, don't harry yourself, I say,

to discover a bunch of cool shit, also, uh, master it. master thinking in language. maybe i always never did nitpick and nitpick only yeup that is me I knit together the nits the nits are scratchiness, a scratchiness. then I think about how nice honesty is as re the slow

deliverance or rather sparing of us all by the most high / as by and by,, we grope for some bigger socket to launch a sensitivity of me I we errybody into, and me and ha and ha. ALERT. cannot diverge ALERT ALERT ALERT!!! Whoop show./Whopp whoop

whoop, can’t but take it down I wsiwiwsh i wish i was blind, i wish the rails weren’t so sharky : : so bloome [!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] 5$%uh September 13, 2014. Leave a comment Edit POME34 there is language to report, a monster essence. hammer away

and believe till the growth gets funnier and then throw it away handsomely / feel it run like sand thurr rthru your thru thru you[edit]hrought your fineger.s ample tome, im ean time, to write, requite certain disposable nothings like a big random power/ mind goes

and glowers at itself again. ah you kno. broken triangle. anything broken becomes an angle or many. a ziggidy line or somesuch. / so break a whole, rift it to life as some ziggidy line. some sorta line that breathes with uncaring for anything like information

but retaineing formless form as if your occupation was with something else/ let relax the

strands in you ankel, let the angel fall my dear / dont deny it / yur a good person, dammit. all the se facile blunders. all this. these stupid years of making. in the making,

or just making, about too. etc. greqat. great magnificent quiet [edit] is that which i search for and make and build into the most complex geometric shape for good / only to rift it and - - make what people would holy-fy even more bettr than the more better it was /

bby oh how you go on concealing pleanty of plaintiveness. am i nice ?? so what if you are. youre a stara special star . . . yr starved, strande line you ssay you are a bulk of issues you say you dance like a man made

of things .. light as wing . dwindle. wind. light as wind. so much so much to destroy sitll. my eyes need more blurs t[edit] to in order make everything wrong rightwise. foreget aspbergers. or any label / speak pretty

mane’s ruffling sinousity in wind. / a bloke with flow / gnarly [edit] speak charlie stude the sirfur, charlie stud is he who rides the wave, rides wthe wave in /by just meeting

wit ha hello and a hahaha at ripe ombustive ripe combustiveness at / a large offense

#writing #poetry

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wirrrp · 6 years

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What kinda meds are you on? If this question is too personal, you can just delete it, I won't mind.

(readmored in case people aren’t into TMI, but also posted publicly in case any of this sounds Uncomfortably Familiar to anyone -- I’m a big proponent of meds, when properly used)

Currently, I’ve run out of my prescriptions, and I’ve been that way for a year. But, I felt remarkably better and healthier and more humanlike when I was on:

Fluoxetine. It’s the first thing they try you on for depression, and I‘m one of the like 60% it works out for. They started me at 20mg, and I needed the dose upped to 40, and that was pretty comfortable. There were two main effects when I was on it --

My emotional range expanded significantly. My emotions went from “specific cause and vague sense only” to “sometimes you are just happy for no reason and that is okay”. I also gained the reflex that makes you laugh without meaning to when something funny happens, which did not previously occur. Even a year off the meds, some of this is still sticking around -- I smile without meaning to, and cry when I’m sad now. I did not do these very much growing up, and they tended to be things I let myself do when I knew it was contextually appropriate to do so, rather than responses to impulses. There are also times when I’m just happy and catch myself having an expression about it. Weird but positive change, even if I sort of miss having a consistant poker face.

Energy level improved dramatically, and executive dysfunction became impressively manageable. I still had bad habits from a lifetime of depression, but I could just spontaneously decide to do things that needed to get done, and frequently did. I was tired less. I had more of whatever energy it costs to be around other people (yay introverts). When I felt bad, it was easier to pick myself up instead of sleeping it off.

Vitamins. I could probably skip them if my diet and lifestyle were less garbage, but that’s not happening, so specifically:

Vitamin D is great because I do not go outside as often as I should. It helps me manage the borderline narcolepsy, and stay conscious and energetic for more than 8 hour stretches, which makes keeping a normal schedule easier. Maintains energy level and positive mood. Considering my current borderline stress-narcolepsy, I should really get back on this one.

B supplements are also great for energy regulation, and typically come from eating fruits and vegetables, which I do not. I noticed that I tended to have a better day after drinking energy drinks that brag about their B-vitamin energy blend, so I tried some vitamins on their own, and lo and behold, it worked without the caffeine and sugar. It feels like they help with a different kind of energy than vitamin D does, since neither they nor D work on their own, but the two together work out for me. Your mileage may vary. I think these were the Introvert Energy and Spoon Supply, without actually making it easier to start tasks. It made finishing them easier though.

Iron supplements are important because I am chronically anemic due to another quirk of my body chemistry. I don’t eat enough meat and spinach either. Sometimes I get dizzy if I overwork myself, and need to take a second to lean against something or sit down. Physical exertion is hard and uncomfortable. Constant low blood pressure. When low in iron, I feel a little flimsy, and can’t maintain working on a task for long stretches without a break -- with the supplement, it’s easier to stand for long periods, to carry heavy things, to push my limits and work when tired. Good stuff. Blood’s important, people need that.

Lastly, birth control pills. Those not fond of TMI can skip the rest of the post, and I highly recommend penis-wielders particularly do so, but you do you.

Birth control may sound odd on this list, but it’s not actually about sex -- what they do do for me is artificially regulate my hormones. I’m not convinced that my body produces hormones on its own, or if it does, it does so very irregularly and at ineffectually low levels. It’s hard to describe the general feeling of health that having these things managed by an outside source gave me. I think I remember the doctor saying something about estrogen and progesterone when I got them, but it’s been ages.

I’ve been describing a lot of mental stuff, but imagine those descriptions in a physical way. Imagine your body just feeling good and healthy for no reason, instead of just sort of existing. Imagine “healthy” as a mood that your body can feel. Maybe normal people feel that way? I don’t know. Anyway, the main thing that had the doc assign this to me was irregular, heavy periods (”Once a month for 3-5 days? lol. How about 1-4 times every 8 months, for 1-6 weeks each. Also wear the biggest overnight pads you can find, 24/7, and double them up.”), combined with a few other physical symptoms of poor hormone regulation (mild facial hair and a low voice probably didn’t hurt).

Extra special bonus, these things usually come with a placebo week that’s designed to let your normal cycle happen...but the doc said I could skip that. For a while, I skipped having a period entirely and it was delightful and amazing. No more ruined clothes, no more surprises, no more “I guess I’m just physically invalid this week, and possibly for 1-2 more until it decides to go away, i guess I’ll work that into my schedule”. They were about as expensive per month as buying pads would’ve been, or less, and very very very worth it. This also rendered the iron supplements about 50% less necessary, but I kept taking those anyway with no ill effects, until I stopped doing meds entirely.

Being able to be a neutral human, who does not bleed, and feels healthy for no reason, and can initiate tasks, and can work on something for more than an hour at a time, and does not need to sleep every 6-8 hrs, is a very useful set of traits. Being happy and having my face just do things without my permission is just novel icing on the cake.

Everybody’s body works differently, but that is the chemical blend that worked for me.

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set-phasers-to-whump · 4 years

Text

love and luck

Prompt: comfort (alt no.3)

Whumpee: Keith Curry

Fandom: Irregulars

hi here i am with a fic from a fandom that doesn’t actually exist it’s literally just Me and that’s all. which is such a shame bc irregulars is such a dope universe and i love the characters so much!!! on the extremely extremely unlikely chance that someone who actually knows what i’m on about is reading this, this is set sometime post-cherries worth getting, keith and gunther are like Together but it’s not super super serious yet...(also this isnt terribly whumpy but the focus is comfort so..its fine)

Keith Curry wouldn’t consider himself an especially lucky man. People who are ex-accidental cannibals don’t generally consider themselves lucky. People who had been anti-goblin to their coworker-with-benefits-turned-boyfriend who had turned out to actually be a goblin also don’t generally consider themselves lucky. Keith, boasting both of those accomplishments, had considered himself to be someone with a relative absence of luck.

The key word there being had. Because he can hardly say now that he’s unlucky. Not when he’s curled up in a squeaky hotel bed in San Francisco, with one Gunther Heartman sleeping peacefully next to him, hogging the blankets and breathing deeply.

Keith is trying not to look at him too much, because the way the moonlight is filtering through the window is making him look absolutely beautiful, silvery and radiant and god, that sounds so cheesy, but it’s true - and Keith thinks he might love him, which is a little too much to be thinking at midnight, so he’s trying not to stare and trying to fall asleep and trying not to think about how he just might be luckier than he’d thought.

His resolute not-staring eventually gives way to sleep, and Keith immediately takes back his previous statement about having any luck as he falls into what he knows is going to be a terrible dream.

He is standing in front of a stovetop, hand wrapped securely around the handle of a frying pan. A steak sizzles inside, seasoned to perfection and on its way to being medium-rare. Keith stares at it. He knows he’s dreaming, naturally, but that’s about all the control he has over the situation. Someone taps his shoulder. He turns around, looking away from the steak, keeping an ear on it so it won’t overcook.

“Gunther?”

Gunther nods, smiling, looking very pleased with himself. “Surprise,” he says, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Keith’s cheek.

“What are you doing here?”

“Can’t I just come visit my boyfriend at his restaurant for no reason?”

Keith flips the steak in the pan with a flick of his wrist. “No,” he decides, finally returning Gunther’s smile. “What’s up?” He turns away for a brief second to check on the steak, but when he turns back around-

“Gunther?”

He’s gone. Keith turns back to his steak, for lack of anything better to do.

Someone taps his shoulder again. He spins around, already yelling at Gunther for wandering off without telling him, and stops cold. Gunther stands in front of him, all gleaming white bone and red eyes and a gruesome smile-if you could even call it a smile-on what passes for his face. “The meat is going to burn,” he says, his voice sounding exactly the same as it had a few seconds ago, when he’d been...just him.

Yet again, Keith turns back to his steak, feeling shaky and faintly sick. He looks into the pan. And screams. Sitting in the cast iron, cooking beautifully, smelling nearly done, is Gunther’s arm, or a cut of it, anyway. There is nothing immediately obvious on it to distinguish it as anything but an arm, but Keith knows, instinctively. He stumbles backwards, and a pair of arms wrap around him, pinning him tightly. “Keith…” says the voice he knows so well. But it isn't Gunther, can’t be, because part of him is cooking on Keith’s stove right now…. He fights frantically against the arms, flinging up an elbow.

“Keith!”

“Stop!”

“Keith!”

He jerks awake, breath heaving, sweat dripping down his forehead, and flinches backwards when a hand touches the side of his head.

“Hey, Keith, it’s just me,” says Gunther’s voice, but the last time Gunther’s voice had spoken to him, he’d been cooking on Keith’s stove, so the reassurance does nothing.

He’s trying desperately to get himself under control - he’s had plenty of nightmares similar to this before: cooking people, Gunther being a goblin and him being not okay with it, but the two combined is something uniquely horrible.

Before he can think about whether they’re really at the talking-deeply-about-their-deep-seated-issues stage of their relationship, which is surely what is going to happen eventually if he goes down this path, he’s crying and trying frantically to explain the whole situation to Gunther, which goes quite poorly and consists of a few garbled sentences, sobbed out breathlessly into the dark.

Gunther, for his part, is momentarily startled into inaction, having never really seen Keith cry before, but instinct takes over soon enough, and his arms wrap around Keith in a move that would be very comforting if Keith had just been dreaming about anything else.

Instead, though, Keith jerks backwards, tumbling inelegantly off the bed, which, if nothing else, jolts his mind back into reality. “Ow,” he says, and laughs thickly, his throat still clogged with unused sobs.

The light beside the bed clicks on, and Keith glances up. Gunther is standing above him, concern etched deeply into his face, and Keith laughs again, and then suddenly he’s back to crying, and he’d try to hide it but he’s pretty sure that bridge has long been crossed, so he just looks to Gunther helplessly instead.

Having learned from his previous error, Gunther sinks down across from Keith, leaning against the edge of the bed, not reaching out to touch him, but sitting close enough that Keith can initiate the contact, if he wants. “It’s okay,” he says, because he doesn’t really know what else to say.

Keith shakes his head and sniffs. “You wouldn’t say that if you - if you knew what I was dreaming about,” he says, and buries his face in his knees.

Gunther sighs, and very cautiously extends his foot to press against Keith’s leg. When he doesn’t pull away, Gunther speaks. “I don’t care what you were dreaming about,” he says. “You can’t control it. And you can tell me, if you want.”

Ordinarily, Keith would stop the conversation there - he’d say something like, “that’s nice, but I don’t want to talk about it,” and leave it at that. But he’s still slightly out of it, and more than a little freaked out, and if he loves Gunther (how can he not?) he supposes he should talk to him about this kind of thing.

So he does. He recounts the whole dream, not sparing a detail, refusing to look Gunther in the eye. When he finishes, he finally looks up, half afraid of what he’ll see in his boyfriend’s face.

Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been this - pure compassion and concern and caring, so openly painted across his features that it damn near makes Keith start crying again.

“Can I touch you?” Gunther asks. “It’s okay if you say no, I just-”

Keith nods after a second’s consideration. He feels less jumpy now, and the nightmare’s intense feeling has begun to fade, so that when Gunther’s arms wrap lightly around him, he just feels Gunther, and not the snow goblin or the cooking meat of his dream.

He melts into the embrace, trusting Gunther to hold him up and keep him steady.

Some time later, they’re both back on the bed - sunlight is peeking through the curtains, Gunther is chewing on the end of a cigarette and flipping through the case file, and Keith is leaning his head on Gunther’s shoulder, a hot cup of coffee in his hands and a warmth settled over his heart.

Maybe he’s luckier than he’d thought, he reflects. Maybe he’s not. Maybe his luck doesn’t matter quite so much as what it’s led him to, which is this: he’s staring at Gunther, every bit as gorgeous in the early morning as he was in the moonlight, and Gunther has abandoned the case file and is looking right back at him with a look Keith doesn’t want to name on his face, and it’s a lovely morning in a grungy hotel which will turn into a less lovely afternoon chasing down a cannibal on the streets of the city, and he is in love.

If you read this i love you but also….why?? If you just read this bc you thought it seemed fun or whatever but you’ve never read irregulars then Please I Am Begging You read it i am the only person in this fandom and i’m Lonely!! And if for some miraculous reason you read this bc you Know What I’m Talking About then please for the love of all that is holy hit me up bc as i said i am All Alone. Anyway regardless of your motives thanks for reading!! I hope you have a lovely evening!

#whumptober2020 #altno.3 #comfort #irregulars #fic #keith curry #my writing #i say things #nightmare #emotional whump #crying #nightmares seem to be my Thing for this month #but i swear i can and will write more than that lmao. its just where this is taking me rn #anyway time to blab in the tags a little bit for anyone who is interested:#irregulars is a shared world anthology of four stories and basically theyre all agents who deal with the supernatural world #keith and gunther are from cherries worth getting which is about cannibals and goblins mostly if you couldn't tell #anyway keith like i said is an accidental cannibal which is a whole thing and gunther is a goblin but he's transmogrified etc anyway #its a lot and i cant get into it all #but i love this shit so much and yeah #also every single story features a gay romance and its so so great and really fun and i love it so much #but nobody else even knows it exists #when i post this fic to ao3 itll be the first in the tag #theres nothing on tumblr for it #and its a damn tragedy bc its so good #anyway end of that nobody read this but like. there ya go.#hmu if u wanna know more Please i beg you

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