#i feel my body going insane from the lack of more intense exercise | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sshadowritestoriess · 10 months

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I apologize because I know you get a lot of ramattra requests, but can I request a sexually frustrated ramattra?

No problem, this was fun to think about honestly :]

Sexually Frustrated Ramattra

Ramattra is already a very stressed-out and aggravated omnic, so I am in full belief that he would not be able to recognize right away where this new kind of frustration is stemming from

And it would drive him to the brink of insanity. He would seek solutions, first: being somewhat of a workaholic, he’d frantically complete task after task until he has nothing left to finish for that day, maybe even for that week, before he finally allows himself to sit down and meditate for a few hours.

But no matter how deeply he breathes or how still he sits, no matter how many times he refreshes his thoughts and (quite literally) clears his mind, he cannot shake this internal burning feeling that nips at his very fingertips and makes him want to scream

He would resign the peaceful exercise for something more exerting; violence. Practicing the martial arts he was taught at the shambali, kicking and punching at practice-bots and dummies, reaching the point of tearing one apart limb-from-limb and ripping into the center of its intricate chassis— pulling out wires like a child would do to grass in a temper-tantrum

And then the object of his infatuation would pass him by in this all-too-embarrassing moment, asking if he was okay, and then it would click for him. But who was he to ask for that kind of aid after being seen like this?

He would assure you that he’s fine, then escapes your presence to try to take care of it himself, hiding away in his own quarters and stroking himself off with an intense quickness to try and make it go away. Refreshing his systems to rid of this error.

He’s rough with himself, leaning hard into a wall and pulling at a fistful of his cabled mane until he hears the wire enamels creak and snap in his fingers, damaging his own ‘hair’. His hands are just my no means soft, providing an intense friction around his synthetic sex.

So as the Iris would have it, his own stimulation and imagination would not be enough to satiate this cursed sense of hunger.

He would try to disconnect his copulative attachments after some failed attempts to provide himself relief, yet the cravings would remain, just slightly altered for lack of equipment. He still needed to have someone near, to feel hands that weren’t his own reaching into the crevices of his body to force his guard down. He needed to relax at someone else’s bidding. He had just had far too much time by himself and his codependence trait had finally unraveled.

And everything about it makes him angry about the entire world around him, including himself. So the second time he bumps into you, much later in the evening, he’s somewhat hunched over and marching down a hall from his headquarters, red and yellow glimpses of wires practically glowing with a display of rage from the new tears in his cables. There’s always been an air about Ramattra that seems dangerous— but now especially, it felt that he may kill the next thing that enters a ten-foot radius around him.

So you would stop before getting to close, and he’d freeze just the same, staring at you through the dark slits of his faceplate. You could see the way his shoulders rose and fell in a more exaggerated manner, as if he was breathing heavy in his anger (though he doesn’t breathe at all).

It’s not at all difficult to guess he has had a very rough day. And he would further hate himself when you cautiously ask again if he was doing alright— clearly, he wasn’t, but it was invitation to speak or ask for help. And with a small pause in reluctance, feeling far more embarrassed than he would have liked (especially for spending half the day trying to get off) he would.

“I need… assistance,” The word would be hissed out as if he had gritted teeth, “for something far more mundane and—“ he’d force his gaze away from you, “—private than our usual tasks.”

You’d ask what it is he needs, of course. There’s an air of nervousness between you both— Ramattra in fear of dragging himself further through this muddy situation, and destroying all chances of you feeling comfortable around him ever again for what he’d like to ask of you.

But he’s already found himself here and has run out of ideas, and he’s not the omnic to put things very lightly. So he’d just come out and say it.

“Sex.” The word is spat as though it offended him, and he’d drop his head toward the ground with a defeated sigh. He’d raise a hand and roll his wrist almost dismissively, “I cannot bring myself to function without this lingering frustration for the moment, so if you would like to help or have any suggestions that would ensure this feeling goes away, I would certainly appreciate it.”

#overwatch #overwatch2 #headcanons #ramattra #reader insert #ramattra x reader #smut #ramattra overwatch #ramattra x listener #imagines

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escape-rock-bottom · 1 year

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Journal #26 - My Nemesis, Sugar (Discomfort Challenge Journal)

They add sugar to EVERYTHING. I’m definitely getting ahead of myself with the lack of context there but seriously. 95% of foods I see in stores have some form of added sugar. The ones that don’t and claim they’re sugar free have those nasty synthetic sugars instead (The ones that give you diarrhea or headaches. Those ones.) It’s pretty ridiculous, and I now completely understand why I gained weight eating what I thought were health foods.

I have a bit of a history with weight and eating problems. It really started in childhood and spiraled into full on insanity once I was put on pills and started getting some crazy bad symptoms from my mental illnesses. I graduated high school at a weight of over 250 lbs at a measly 5’2” height (yes. I’m short. Bad Genetics. Moving on.) and a really terrible habit of eating large portions of food alongside snacks.

Then, there was my lack of an actual balanced diet and hydration - No joke, most of my hydration came in the form of juice or soda. I rarely drank water. I didn't know how sick I felt thanks to the combination of antipsychotic side effects and dissociative issues. I was slowly and silently killing myself and I didn't bother to care.

It was when I almost hit 300 lbs and was almost incapable of walking without feeling horrible leg pain and unbearably winded from walking a few hundred feet that I made a hard decision: Lose the weight. I won’t get into the details of the weight loss journey itself since that is its own long story, but I did drop 150+ pounds over 3 years after stopping all my psych meds and having gastric surgery.

I’ll tell you, it feels great to be able to move, run, and walk. All the things I struggled doing are just everyday occurrences I don’t think twice about. I have a whole other fitness journey ahead of me regarding bodybuilding and cardio health but I’m happy to have lost that weight. The sad thing is that I fell back into old habits (on a smaller scale) and ended up not regularly exercising and eating pretty terribly. There are plenty of things I can’t do, but the fact that I eat in a calorie deficit combined with choosing sugar-packed, non-nutritious foods to consume, I ended up skinny fat - little muscle, high body fat. I also ended up with a bad sugar addiction, constant nausea and headaches, fatigue, and some deficiencies.

Right around the time this challenge came up, I decided I’d try to exercise more and eat better. I honestly didn’t actually commit until the challenge began and I tossed all my sugary, salty vices in the garbage and set myself boundaries.

I’m insane though. Just limiting how much added and natural sugars I eat to less than I normally eat wasn’t enough. I wanted to see how well I’d manage without eating ANYTHING with added sugars. I set a discomfort challenge to do just that. The only thing I learned from that is the above statement: Added sugars and artificial sweeteners are everywhere in store bought food.

Home cooked meals suffer this fate as well, since some of the recipes required ingredients with added sugars (that reeeeally don’t need to be there.) I couldn’t even eat ketchup! It’s really given me the awareness to actually analyze my decisions when choosing my foods. I learned where to look for “hidden” sugars and what foods are safe (Hint: Fresh food that you have to cook)

The way I felt was along the lines of frustrated at this fact, but I also had a bit of a mindset change: Going without sugar isn’t that bad, and I don’t feel any loss without it. I’m pretty sure I killed the intensity of my addiction due to the already 3 weeks long sugar restriction. I realized that reaching for sugary foods is both a habit and an addiction. It was annoying to not be able to eat certain things and having little selection to choose from that day aside from eggs, fruit, bread, and lasagna to name a few things.

If I truly want to finally move forward and leave my sugar addiction and poor food choices in the dust, I will have to rework my habits. So far, I’m finding these action to be the most helpful:

Throw out any junk food. Out of sight, out of mind.

Have emergency snacks or meals on hand for when you crave junk foods. These will be healthier alternatives that offer a similar feeling as the real deal does

Hold yourself accountable. Have a visible daily food tracker. No need to track macros or calories, just write down exactly what you ate if you feel that level is excessive.

Plan out your meals for the day.

When heading to the grocery store, have a list in hand. It helps to set intention and keep your focus solely on the list. Try to be in and out in under 20-30 minutes. Not only will you not grab junk food, but you will save on impulse buys.

Inform others of your dietary choices. Decent people will respect that, supportive people will hold you accountable when given the task to do so.

I won’t lie, part of me still struggles with the shift, but it’s actually a lot nicer to restrict sugars. I’ve noticed a decrease in sluggishness and nausea and an increase in energy and focus. I still have a long way to go, but it’s a great first step to improving my health.

Find what works for you. I’m not here to tell you to change your habits (eating and dieting is a touchy subject for some.) However, I just thought it’d be interesting to finally tell my story and my journey regardless. Maybe you’ll take something, and maybe you won’t. If you’re like me and need that extra push: Go empty that pantry of all that crap you shouldn’t touch, buy some healthy nutritious foods, and try and fail and try again until you find what works the best for you.

#drvn30 #food #eating #diet #weight loss #my journey

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megamobilestylesposts · 1 year

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Quarantine Weight Loss Tips to Get Back to Your Pre-Pandemic Body

Are you like millions of others who gained unwanted weight during the pandemic? We’ve got quarantine weight loss tips to get you back to your old self!

Tips To Successfully Complete Your Quarantine Weight Loss Journey

Completing a quarantine weight loss journey takes a lot of motivation and willpower.

Maybe it was the increased stress, the closing down of your gym, or just a complete lack of motivation. Or maybe you were already a bit bigger and the pandemic motivated you to try and live a healthier lifestyle. No matter the reason, we’re here to help you successfully start your quarantine weight loss journey to get you looking and feeling the way you deserve!

Use a calorie tracker

First thing's first — fad diets aren’t going to cut it in the long run. There is one way to lose weight correctly, and that is by counting calories. There are plenty of free calorie trackers out there, like Myfitnesspal, that offer tracking for calories, macro nutrients, micro nutrients, water intake, and exercise. These types of tools are ESSENTIAL to a successful quarantine weight loss journey, as it will allow you see when you are over or under eating.

Every person is different, and we all have varying activity levels that can affect our weight loss goals. Trackers can take into account how much you move throughout the day to give you an approximation of what you need to eat at your current daily activity levels, which you can then monitor and adjust as the scale does.

Eat foods you enjoy

A big reason people fail to lose weight is because they decide to “go all in,” or basically go “cold turkey” when they stop eating junk food. The motivation is clearly there, but weight loss isn’t to be treated like quitting drugs or alcohol. You can’t be expected to just fix your habits overnight, you have to adjust and figure out what works best for you.

Cutting out all of your favorite foods from your diet will only resort in boredom and a lack of motivation to keep going further down the line. “Why look good if I can’t enjoy my favorite snacks?”

That doesn’t have to be true. We can keep eating the foods we love, as long as we moderate them and also include some that are healthier for us. Some of our favorite fast food places, like Chipotle or Yoshinoya offer great low-calorie meals that have a good amount of protein and carbs to fuel your body. You need to find a diet that can fit into your calorie goal, while also providing clean energy throughout the day with foods that you like to cook/eat. This may sound hard, and it can be, but weight loss is a journey that takes time and effort, and hopefully something that can lead to an overall healthier lifestyle. So all of the work you put into your diet will definitely be rewarded in the long run.

Discover which form of fitness you enjoy

Here’s the thing about exercise: it will not be the reason you lose weight. That's what the calorie trackers are for. However, exercise is going to be more of a supplement for your diet that allows you a few extra calories to eat throughout the day. And overall, it’s good for your body to be doing some form of movement every day.

This movement doesn’t have to be strenuous. It can be as simple as walking during your breaks at work, or taking your dog for their daily walks. As long as it gets you up and moving for around 30 minutes a day.

If you want to go a bit more intense, there are tons of at-home exercise routines, like Insanity, that provide great bodyweight exercise you can do in the comfort of your own living room, or you can purchase some gym equipment like some free-weights and a treadmill. Whatever you can stick with and enjoy, pick that!

One thing about exercise that is worth mentioning, is that the only realistic way to gain muscle mass and and more muscular physique, is to lift weights and progressively overload your body with heavier weights overtime. While this may not be your current fitness goal, it is worth knowing so you can have realistic expectations about your quarantine weight loss journey.

Invest in gym clothes you like

There is something so special about buying a new outfit and loving how you look in the mirror. Doing this with gym clothes can motivate you to actively want to show off your new outfits at the gym, track, or trail. It may seem a bit silly, but if an outfit can spark your motivation to step into the gym and move around- then why not?

There are some great brands that offer stylish, fun fitness clothes such as Gymshark, Alphalete, Kinda Fit Kinda Fat, Darc Sport, and many more! Try finding some brands that offer gym clothes that fit your style to add some motivation to your workouts!

Track your progress

Whether you only need to lose five or 50 pounds, it is important that you track everything you're doing so you can make sure you're going in the right direction. Also, seeing the scale go down week by week will only give you more motivation to stay on track! Try taking a couple of selfies in a certain outfit that you can repeat every other week or so. After a couple of weeks or months, compare all the selfies you’ve taken whenever you feel like you’re not making any progress. The pictures will be a clear reminder of how far you've come!

If you are weight training or doing some type of cardiovascular training such as running, it is also important to keep track of your progress here, as well. Numbers in the gym and on the track/treadmill can serve as reminder of how your diet and fitness routine are both important to your overall goals. If your bodyweight is going down, but you’re getting significantly weaker or slower in the gym, then it may be time to evaluate what foods you’re putting into your body or if you’re eating too little. If it isn’t diet related, it may be that you’re not getting enough sleep or your stress levels may a bit higher than usual. Be sure to evaluate all aspects of your physical and mental health regularly!

Remember why you started

One of the most important things to consider when losing weight is the “why?”

We all have a reason for starting our fitness journeys — some are more health related, while others may just be for vanity, which is totally valid! No matter the reason, there are going to be times where you wake up and do not want to eat the food you prepared overnight, or you do not want to put your running shoes on. There will be days where you look in the mirror and ask yourself, “Why am I even doing this?” This can be extremely hard to overcome. Those days are the times you need to remember why you started your weight loss journey, and if that reason is still as important to you as it was when you started it.

If you can power through those tough days and stay strong when your mind is against you, then there is truly nothing that can stop you from reaching your goals!

Don’t feel discouraged if you see that you’ve gained a bit of weight over the course of the pandemic. You’re in the same boat as millions of other people who are struggling to shed those pounds off, and you can succeed with the right motivation and attitude! Be sure to follow the quarantine weight loss tips above to stay on track!

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stupendousconnoisseurpuppy · 3 years

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The son's warmth

Yandere! Hinata x Reader

Notes: This is my entry for @seijorhi's Deal with the devil collaboration~

Warnings: DARK CONTENT, Violence detail, injury detail, manipulation, kidnap, yandere.

Please refrain from reading if you are uncomfortable with the above!

That said, please enjoy!

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Generosity. You suppose it could be a bit of a double-edged sword.

Although in hindsight, all you had wanted was to care for the exuberant ball of sunshine you had believed was dealt a bad hand. Parents and younger sister deceased, orphaned at the tender age of 14 and placed in a less than ideal environment - one devoid of love.

You had always been one of a large sympathetic capacity and it had always been a goal of yours, born of the principle’s kindness and compassion, passed on by your parents and sanctioned by your entry into adulthood; allowing you to action your desire to care for a young child struck by tragedy…

You’re not exactly sure, however, how that’d landed you in the basement of your own house with a broken leg and shattered kneecaps.

It was to be expected you'd reasoned at first, you had defied common sense and made a deal with a less than savoury entity.

Too bad you hadn't considered the fact that demons could come in the shape of fair seeming, walking tangerines with an aptitude for overbearing affection.

To his defence (something you’ve now come to consider a very ironic concept) Hinata wasn’t exactly - as far as signatories go - the one you'd even made this... deal with. It had been his orphanage, an institution shrouded in fraud and doused in the bitter aroma of embezzlement that had sealed your fortunes in the form of crisp white adoption papers.

You didn’t mind his clingy nature, the crushing strength of his grip when his hand found - sought - yours… actions that could and would have seemed to untrained eyes like a misplaced and overwhelming sense of desperation, like the shock of betrayal carved upon his features when your focus wasn’t solely trained on him, or the unnerving intensity pooling beneath glittering brown iris’ whenever they met yours during his volleyball matches. Again, this was something you’d chalked down to an amalgamation of a passion for the sport, desire to win and an appreciation for the fact that his beloved mother had come to show him the support he had clearly lacked in the early stages of his teenage years.

After all, what was a guardian without unconditional devotion to their child?

He was the coolness of your eyes whilst paradoxically, providing an all-encompassing warmth (much like the sun) and with an ostensibly boundless supply of energy. Such was the ardour that made your heart swell with pride. It was just a terrible pity – in your case at least - that this energy he had was now being put towards severing your contact with the outside world.

Wanted to go outside? He’d want you to help him practice.

Meeting someone? He’d pout and complain.

How could you refuse? You’d naively attributed such possessiveness to the trauma of losing his family and would excuse such behaviour in consideration of the circumstance. It was only natural. You’d decided to be there for him, accepting the responsibility as soon as you’d inked your name on the dotted line… if he needed a little more attention, that’s what he’d get.

And so, the story progressed until towards the end of his third year of high school, he’d decided the affection you were providing him with, however plentiful, wasn’t nearly as satisfactory as he knew it could be. For you still to be surrounded by others must mean his slice of the pie was diminished in size and a growing boy such as himself needed all the nutrition he could get. He’d reasoned that the entirety of said “pie” belonged to him, anyway. Surely no one could chastise him for exercising a due right over his own property?

He didn’t want to be the occupant of most of your time, he wanted all of it… And it was to be brought to your attention as soon as he arrived home from school.

No sooner had he entered through the front door than he was skipping towards your location (in the kitchen) with a blinding smile on his face, proceeding to grip onto your shoulders with a force that clearly betrayed his cheery demeanour.

“What’s wrong Shoyo?” You queried.

He’d went on to detail how neglected he felt whenever you enjoyed the presence of anyone other than him “It feels like you don’t love me anymore!”, like he’s not good enough, y’know? But it wasn’t your fault, all you needed was the chance to see that he was fully capable of being the only one you needed to depend on.

You were, at first, inclined to think of such proclamations as some silly prank, followed by laughter, declarations of how well and truly you’d been fooled and fabricated in boyish mischievousness. You’d managed to ask as such, but the speed and surety of his response had you becoming increasingly concerned.

“Nope!”

You forced out a nervous puff of laughter, clutching at the rapidly burning straws of denial because surely, he couldn’t be serious, but your dismissal had only served to become the source of his irritation and he squeezed you harder, fixing you with a determined stare that could only have been described as no less than peering into your soul.

You had ignored the red flags and were getting your just rewards.

“Sho- stop that hurts!”

“Reeeeeally Okaa-san?!” He quipped with insincere concern “It hurts more when you don’t care for me…”

It was at this bitter intonation that you’d scrambled back in shock and had prepared your body’s primal function of flight in the direction of the nearest exit.

But were you really going to run away from him? Shoyo, your own child, the coolness of your eyes and springtime in the haggard winter of your life?

Yes, yes you were.

And you would have gotten away with it too, had not the subject of your internal conflict taken advantage of your moment’s irresolution. For in a ginger blur of motion you were on the ground, he had taken a hold of your leg…

SNAP

He roughly covered your mouth to silence the scream, pinning you down with the weight of his own body as hot, fat tears rolled down your cheeks. The pain was excruciating, but you wouldn’t feel it for long, as with a swift hook to the jaw you were out cold. It hurt for him to have to utilize violence on the one he cherished; however, it’d seem a tad counterintuitive for him to give you the opportunity to run away.

You’d forgive him, you’d come around. You always did.

He’d swept you up and carried you to the large basement of the house, gently placing you on a worn settee; sickly ochre in colour - the one you’d been meaning to dispose of for years. His actions were soft and caring and his thoughts clouded almost entirely with his overwhelming love for you.

In passing hours he observed your peaceful state mindfully as his core pulsated in the cosy warmth of his rib cage, imagining what a future found solely in each other’s embrace would hold… eventually you’d stay of your own accord, he reasoned. He’d have no need to harm you or to keep you under the low, flickering lights of the basement. Defiance would become a thing of the past. You’d realise how happy you are he’d made the decisions for you, both of you, together…

“Why?” That was a question you sometimes took to asking yourself; more out of pure, unadulterated boredom than anything else. Something you’d already explored the answer to but thought it better to keep your mind occupied with trivial matters than to succumb to insanity (or the intensifying ache of your battered legs).

On that same note, though, contact with the world outside wasn’t the only thing he’d severed.

At the time, such an observation had very nearly made you laugh (and you could probably blame it on the fact that you’d always been quite partial to the more gruesome forms of satire). It was in an impulsive burst of inappropriate and rather facetious humour that you’d wanted to entertain yourself in the recital of depressing hymns (expected, given the nature of your surroundings), to congratulate your stupidity and wallow deeper into the marshes your own self-pity; only to be met with the simple fact that you didn’t have the option.

Your tongue? Gone.

And it hadn’t been the work of the proverbial cat, but your own son, who – cheery as always – had explained that it was another necessary action to stop you from hurting yourself, done behind the ever-wise teaching that prevention was indeed, better than cure. Could you not see he only wanted what was best for you?

It was then you were sure he’d dangerously distorted his self-awarded role as your protector and had lost his mind.

“Okaa-San, Its aright…” He beamed whilst you’d engaged in silently cursing your weak will “You won’t feel a thing!” - he flashed a guilty smile - after I knock you out…again.

And you didn’t. He’d sutured the wound (with what you really didn’t want to know) and made sure you didn’t choke on your own life juices, patching you up like the loving, doting son that he is… It was your job not to worry about the extremity of his actions, as a mother that should do everything in their power to put their beloved’s mind at ease.

Saved from the fate of Exsanguination… shows how much he adores you right? Not that you'd had half the courage or audacity to end your own life in such a macabre fashion, but even if you hadn’t been relieved of the burden of speech; you weren’t one to shatter another’s fantasies - especially if they were high school athletes with inhuman amounts of strength.

In the passing weeks, your mind had dawned upon the realisation that no one was coming to save you - and did you even need saving? – for your parents were far too busy, friends far too distant and dashing officer that’d do everything in his power far too non-existent. Shoyo was the only one who had cared for you, providing you with physical and emotional sustenance you’d never thought you needed - maybe for the reason that he had made himself the only source.

Another thing you’d come to realise, this time regarding unintelligible murmurs, is that they are very much open to interpretation. So even though his barrage of saccharine words were met with your limited arsenal of what might be considered responses, they been understood as absolute agreement, alongside the reciprocation of his affections. Which, to be honest, wasn’t that far off from the truth, as it was by that point, you’d learned the path of resistance was futile and that you were beginning to get used to (and even bask in) the flattery and praise he showered you with, silently and psychologically solidifying the notion that he was yours and you were his.

“You’ll stay with me forever right, Okaa-San?”

He giggled, placing a soft, lingering kiss upon your lips as if he were certain of your answer. And so were you. However, when he looked at you, tenderly caressing your form there was something amiss, a dormant hunger that hadn’t been there before, one that when coupled with the intensity he’d always regarded you with gave birth to towering waves of nausea and accentuated the persistent throb of your injured legs as if in subtle warning…

But you could deal with that later.

Because, despite the fact that his, short, brilliant orange hair had grown long and luscious with time and his scrawny figure had evolved into a mass of lean muscle, he still looked to you … like he did the first day he entered your care. Young, innocent and without fault. Unfairly dealt a bad hand and with you tasked to be the provider of everything he never had. So, as per the contract signed…

You nodded.

After all, what was a guardian without unconditional devotion to their child?

#deal with the devil collab #yandere #hinata shoyo x reader #hq hinata #hinata shoyuo #yandere hinata #yandere x reader #yandere haikyuu #hinata shoyo x you #haikyuu hinata #yandere hinata shoyo #tw yandere

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datleggy · 3 years

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Totally random thought I had right as I am going to bed but ya know that show "I didn't know I was pregnant"? Buck would be on that show lol the boy is oblivious when it comes to his own body, so like I can perfectly picture him collapsing on the job one day wracked with pain, and then Hen is poking around his stomach where it hurts, her, Buck and Eddie packed into the back of the ambulance as Chim and Bobby drive to the hospital, and she gets out the stethoscope to try and listen for internal bleeding or anything but instead finds an infant heartrate and she's like "Buck, you're pregnant?" And he's like "uh, no? What the hell?" And then his water breaks and he tries to convince hen and Eddie that he had an accident bc even that would be a better alternative to suddenly figuring out he's about to have a baby???? What the fuck???? But Eddie holds his hand all the way through it and by the time they get to the hospital, Buck has a healthy newborn cradled against his chest, Eddie knelt beside him and alternating between kissing buck and the baby on the head, and observing the baby in disbelief. I can also picture Buck like, sobbing his sorry's to Eddie the entire time he's pushing, like "Eddie I swear I had no idea, if I had known, I would have told you!" And Eddie is just reassuring him the entire time like "don't worry about that now, Buck, just concentrate. No one is mad, okay? But you gotta focus on the- on the baby" and buck just sobs and nods and focuses on the delivery again. But for a good while Buck is in denial that any of this is happening and it takes a lot of convincing and encouragement from both hen and Eddie for him to start actively participating in his baby's birth. Anyways, random half asleep thought is finished sorry for the long ask hdshsjjsjdbsjsj

WELL SHIT ok so i actually love that show and i could see buck doing this lmao so i wrote a thing. also ignore all medical inaccuracies, this is my distraction from monday lmao let me have this wildly inept fic pls.

also just in case, it’s pretty brief, i think, but TW for talk of weight and weight gain

It's nearing the end of their shift now and Buck can almost hear his feet howling at him in pain. Today hadn't even really been all that busy, he thinks, annoyed at his own body's betrayal. He's not even thirty yet, but in the last couple of months he's felt as though he's aged about ten years.

He's put on a few pounds, which isn't too uncommon, sometimes Buck goes through stretches of time where he eats more carbs than he needs and works out less than he'd like and so a little tummy fat is to be expected.

It normally doesn't bother him, except that in the last maybe three months he hasn't felt like exercising much outside of work but he's eaten nearly everything in sight every night. He's up about fifteen pounds, which he wouldn't have even noticed, seeing that he does fluctuate at times anywhere between five to eight pounds over or under what he usually weighs, if it hadn't been for Chimney teasing him about putting down his third Krispy Kreme donut of the day and picking up a barbell earlier this morning.

Chim and Buck poke fun at each other all the time--it's a staple in their friendship and brother ship, in fact--and Buck had flipped him the bird, nothing new there. What had been new was the fact that he'd excused himself to the bathroom right after that and locked himself in a stall and bawled his eyes out as quietly as humanly possible.

Buck grimaces, embarrassed still, by the outburst, even if no one had been there to witness it. He still has no idea what the hell that had been about this morning.

Eddie notices the sour mood and pulls him in close. "Hey, you ok?"

Buck nods. "Yeah, just tired. Ready to go home--shit." Buck feels a shooting pain so intense his knees buckle and Eddie has to hold him upright to keep him from hitting the floor.

“Woah!” Eddie calls Bobby over, who’s closest, for help, “Buck? Buck, you with me? What’s wrong? What hurts?”

Buck just shakes his head and grits his teeth, the pain so debilitating he can hardly breathe much less speak.

The Captain is on his other side in an instant and together Eddie and Bobby help Buck towards the couch, where he collapses in a heap, throwing his head back and letting out an agonized whine. “What’s going on? Did he get hurt during one of the calls?” Bobby asks Eddie, frantic to help put a stop to this.

Eddie’s helpless, “Bobby I don’t know, one second we were talking about going home and the next he practically fell to the floor in pain.” he turns to face his husband, “Baby, I’m here, look at me, what’s the matter? What hurts?”

Buck’s face scrunches up and he finally exhales sharply, his grip on the couch cushions loosening, and he opens his eyes, wide like saucers, and says, “What the fuck was that?”

At this point Hen and Chim, as well as half the crew, have gathered around and Hen is quick to put on her doctors hat and try to sus out the problem. She makes Bobby step aside and Chimney hands her a stethoscope. “Buck, is it your stomach?” she asks, noticing the stiff way he’s holding himself around his midriff.

“I don’t--kinda? I don’t know. It was just like, this crazy wave of pain, almost like a cramp, but way worse.” he struggles to describe the feeling now that it’s more or less passed for the time being.

Hen had seen Buck wince when he’d been in the harness on the last call of the day, but he hadn’t said anything and she hadn’t thought too much about it until now. “Did you hurt yourself in the harness earlier? Maybe pulled something when we reeled you back up?” she asks, palpitating his stomach with her fingers, watching him almost retract from her touch.

“Maybe?” Buck shrugs uncomfortably, wincing when she hits a particularly sore spot.

Something about this feels familiar and strangely obvious, but Hen doesn’t understand why until she puts her stethoscope up to his belly to check for lack of bowel sounds, indicating maybe some internal bleeding or sorts.

Hen gasps out loud and sits up like she’s been smacked.

Eddie frowns. “What? What’s wrong? Is he gonna be ok?” He almost wants to snatch the damn stethoscope out of her ears and check for himself, his eyes darting between Hen and Buck nervously.

“Buck, you’re pregnant. And in labor, by the sounds of it.” Hen blurts out in disbelief.

“What.” Buck blinks at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop. This has to be a joke.

“I heard a heartbeat in there...” Hen informs them, still awed. “Buck, that was a contraction you just experienced.”

Eddie gapes at Hen and then at Buck. “You’re pregnant?”

Buck gapes right back at him. “No!” he denies, shaking his head incredulously. “That’s insane, I can’t be pregn--ah--” Buck leans forward in pain as another contraction begins. “Fuck.”

“Jesus, yeah, no you’re definitely pregnant,” Chim announces, “Your water just broke all over my favorite couch, bud. I’m getting the ambulance ready asap.” he says, before running to do just that, head reeling. He thinks about Maddie and when she gave birth to their daughter and how scared out of his mind he’d been and he sympathizes for Buck and Eddie, who up until now apparently hadn’t even realizes they were expecting...

Back at the lounge Buck continues to deny any of this is even happening. He whines into Eddie’s chest, “That’s pee, it has to be, because I’m not pregnant. There’s no way.” he lets out a pitiful whimper as another contraction begins and buries his face against his husband to hide the tears springing up in his eyes.

“Buck, son, we gotta get you to a hospital right now.” Bobby tries, running a soothing hand over the top of his head.

But Buck shakes his head no, shuddering out a sob. “M’not going.”

Eddie, overwhelmed, looks to Hen and Bobby for help.

“Buck, ambulance is ready to go, we need to move unless you wanna have this kid at the firehouse.” Hen grimaces. “I know you’re in pain and I know you’re confused and hurting, but we need to get you into that ambulance and now.”

Buck cries out when another contraction hits him and Hen gulps. “Your contractions are getting way too close together, we need to move.” she nods at her Captain and Eddie to help get Buck up and together the three of them manage to get Buck onto a gurney and into the waiting ambulance.

Bobby rides up front with Chimney, leaving Hen and Eddie to work in the back with Buck.

“Buck, you need to start getting ready to push, this baby’s coming.” Hen warns him, but Buck refuses.

“I can’t.” he sobs. “I didn’t--” he throws his head back, the pain lighting his nerves on fire. “I swear Eddie, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me.”

Eddie takes Bucks hand into his and brings it up to his lips. “I know baby, I know, you don’t have to worry about that. I promise. Nobody is mad at you, ok? I’m not. But right now you need to focus on pushing, you need to listen to Hen, ok? We’re ok, and you’re gonna be ok, but I need you to push, baby. I love you so much, you know that, right?”

Buck lets Eddie wipe away his tears, leans into the comforting touch, and nods shakily, exhaling. “O-ok, I’m--I’m ready.”

**************

The baby is so very tiny in Eddie’s arms.

Olive Buckley-Diaz is born weighing exactly six pounds and two ounces.

Christopher, who’s curled up against Bucks side on the hospital bed after a very exhausting day, looks up at his Buck, his little brow still knitted in confusion. “So she was a surprise baby? And that’s how come you guys didn’t tell me about her?”

Buck tries not to laugh. “Yeah bud, it was a huge surprise to us, too.”

Eddie nods along, smiling fondly down at the bundle he’s holding. Her blotchy red face is slack in sleep and there’s already tufts of brown hair sticking up funnily on her head under her hat. “I still can’t believe you only gained like fifteen pounds during the whole pregnancy.” Eddie chuckles, “Or that you worked through the nine months, God Buck, when I think of the stunts you pulled during calls in the last few months alone I’m--” he shudders. “Actually I’d rather not think about it.” he sighs, “I’m just happy you’re both healthy at the end of the day.”

Really, it’s a miracle. The doctor had said as much after the delivery.

“To be fair I never got any of the other symptoms,” Buck shrugs. “I wasn’t nauseous, my feet never swelled, I don’t remember any weird cravings? And you said it yourself, I didn’t really gain all that much weight.”

Eddie leans down to kiss Buck’s forehead. “You should be on that show.” he grins.

Buck tilts his head.

“You know the one, the one Hen made us watch when work was slow that one time. ‘I didn’t know I was pregnant’.” he teases.

Buck groans. “I regret all the jokes I made at the time. I totally get those people now. Pregnancy is weird.”

Christopher rests his head more comfortably against Bucks chest and smiles softly. “Yeah, but now our family’s even bigger.”

#mpreg #911 fox #i didn't know i was pregnant #i love that show #lol #ask #ficlet #writing #buddie #established relationship #buck #eddie #christopher #family

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pawpadink · 3 years

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Art Feedback Session - meepdrawartgood

This is an animation I did mostly for fun/practice, I'm aware I have room for improvement and I'd like some advice on how to do so. I'm a mostly self taught animator, I've never taken any animation classes and this is my first longer animation I've taken past just the sketch level, I've really only gone off of the usual guides I see online. I'd like to get better at animating as a hobby/possibly a career in the future, so I'm open to any critiques!

Also should mention this is not my character, this is a character from a webcomic called Ruby Quest and the voice acting is from its Let's Read series on YouTube.

- meepdrawartgood

Wow! I haven't ever read Ruby Quest before, but this makes me curious to look into it. There are a lot of very good points about the animation I would like to address before we get into the critique!

First thing that I notice that you've done well is how smooth the character moves and the lack of 'wobble' in your line art. Well done! This is something that can be quite difficult and you've hit the nail on the head here. You've also got some wonderfully intense expressions here, especially through the body language. The way he's hunched over expresses how the changes are probably quite painful, and you got the 'insane' look to him pretty solid. You've even included animal behavior here with the squirrel's tail thrashing to show aggression and the ears pinning. The way the mouths burst out of the cloth is well done too! And that lip syncing!

As for improvements, there's two pieces of animation technique that I feel you can work on that all kind of tie together. Squash and Stretch is the principal of deforming a form to emphasize a movement or action, and anticipation is preparing the viewer for the movement before it happens. For example, you do a bit of anticipation with the twitches of the tail before it thrashes and the bubbling of the cloth before the mouths burst out. However, a little more drama adds a lot of flavor and intensity.

For example, when he's about to roar you should really emphasize the wince beforehand, maybe make his whole body turn towards the camera and his normal hand come towards his head, and the wince would cause his whole face to squish in a little. For the roar itself, he then whips his whole body towards the character he was facing with that roar leans forwards with a follow through gesture- ending more hunched and closer to the ground, arms thrown back, and teeth bared to the point his gums are showing. These are all ways to emphasize the rational human mind being replaced with the mind of the monster.

Alyx did a quick sketch to show what I mean for those poses.

Here are a few more details that would add some sparkle to the animation! Something about the main mouth doesn’t quite seem right during the roar, even from a stylistic point of view. The way the mouth opens is a bit too warped and the teeth aren’t quite set right in the mouth even for a distorted monster mouth.

Adding some more out of place fur and some more jerky, erratic movements in the beginning would help display the pain, both mental and physical.

Starting the character out with slightly bigger irises would help emphasize how the pupils shrink through the animation.

A darker environment, or making the environment just before the roar, would help one notice the glow of his eyes better at the end.

I feel like there should be a more visible wince when the first mouth comes out... we have the eye twitch and he turns his head away, but it doesn't quite read as pain here.

I'm going to point you to a few classic YouTube videos I would recommend to any animator. The first is an old Alan Becker tutorial that you may have seen before, but it goes over the twelve principals of animation. Squash/Squish and Anticipation are the first two lessons, but all of these are important to learn.

The next two are by Toniko Pantoja. The first talks about smears- an important skill to learn for drawing fast movements. The second is a general exercise you can learn to help practice your animation skills!

Here’s a link to a tutorial on mouths- while this is a human mouth study, similar concepts apply to animal mouths as well when it comes to the way the mouth stretches and the teeth curve. This tutorial here is a good way to feel out more beast-like or monstrous mouths!

Thanks again to meepdrawartgood for letting us provide feedback! Keep up the great work and keep practicing and your animation will go far!

#cw: body horror #🍓 baking #art feedback

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frosteee · 3 years

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The Existential Terror of Asura [Soul Eater]

It's been a long time since I've thought about Soul Eater, but I've been thinking about it a lot recently and I wanted to talk about it. I've been thinking maybe a bit too much, which is relevant.

Asura resonated (sorry) with me years ago when I first got into the series, and he does even more now, for what he says about fear and its effects, and how the wrong response to individuals suffering from that fear can cause a spiral into even worse depths.

[LONG ASS POST UNDER CUT]

Lord Death created the first Kishin, Asura. Literally and figuratively. There's no two ways about it. Excalibur tells him as much in his final moments, telling him how wrong it was to create a being out of his own fears. Lord Death acknowledges that Asura, his own son, was created as an experiment, a means to the end of becoming a perfect god of Absolute Order. The quote from Voltaire's short story 'Memnon' comes to mind here: 'One day, Memnon conceived the insane idea of becoming perfectly wise.'

This foolish, if well-intentioned, effort was successful in Lord Death's case, but the consequences for those around him were horrendous. Early in the manga, Lord Death is unable to admit it out loud. Even the way he recounts Asura's fall into madness and betrayal, and how he dealt with that consequence, speaks to Lord Death's detachment, his lack of compassion and understanding at that time. He removes his relation to Asura entirely, removing the truth of the matter and placing himself on the moral high ground in the process.

When he is recounting Asura's downfall, Lord Death remarks that he did not know what lay in Asura's heart, pondering if it was fear. He does not seem to realise or take responsibility for the fact that Asura is literally his anxiety incarnate. He understood on some level that no being, god or otherwise, could stand such a condition, and was careful not to make the same mistake with Kid, but Lord Death (at that point) was unable to admit or think of Asura as anything other than a traitor and a threat.

Lord Death taught Kid that the real purpose of a Reaper was balance - conveniently forgetting to mention how he came by that particular titbit of wisdom - his eldest son, the most unbalanced creature to ever breathe.

I remember being in the car on my way to school with my dad. At the time I was suffering from an intense anxious phase where I was deathly afraid of bad weather - even something as harmless as dark clouds. I would cry when I opened my curtains and looked out. I didn't want to leave the house. I remember my dad saying to me: "You keep this up, and you'll be a nervous wreck."

That scared me, but I didn't know what to do to stop being scared. My fixation with the weather passed, somehow, later, but when I was in the grip of it I was powerless to do anything because I didn't understand, and neither did my parents. I was already a nervous wreck, and the prospect of a future where this continued, or became worse, only terrified me more.

Luckily, while my dad was never the best at handling my fears (more from his own 'pick yourself up' mindset and fear for me than disinterest or lack of love), my mum was always there to get me the help I needed and talk to me about my feelings. I still struggle today, but I have a good support system and am better equipped to handle and understand my feelings.

Asura had nothing and nobody like that. His father, Lord Death, created a fully mature being with full concept of his own makeup - the fears that Lord Death had discarded, the fears that made Lord Death flawed, imperfect, and wrong. Lord Death made a son of one of the the most corrosive and self-sabotaging emotions and was surprised when that didn't turn out well!

Lord Death saw a man, his son, so utterly terrified by the world, people, and himself, that he couldn't bear to go out without the protection of layers upon layers of clothing, a being so crippled by fear that he kept everything and everybody at arm's length, even his own partner Vajra, and spent his days in a state of constant introspection, barely paying attention to the outside world and mumbling incoherently.

Lord Death looked at that man, that firstborn child of his, and allowed that to continue. There's no indication he tried to ease Asura's anxieties, or help him in any way. Asura was a powerful member of his elite order, and that seemed to be all that mattered until it was too late. What kind of parent sees their child in such a state and does nothing?

Who looks at this and does nothing?

Lord Death created a nervous wreck of a man, and was both surprised and furious when that nervous wreck finally broke under the strain. Lord Death and others talk about Asura 'forgetting his discipline/teachings' and disobeying, like he was supposed to magically be able to handle being mortally afraid!

Being so helpless against the condition of his being, Asura sought the only thing available to him - the only thing he was valued for: power, and disobeyed his father.

Lord Death's response? To rip all of Asura's skin off his body and seal him inside it for the next eight hundred years, and doing everything possible to keep Asura there.

We all know that sealing something away and putting a rug over it never works, especially in fiction, so it was only a matter of time before Asura was freed, but in an emotional and moral point of view it was so, so wrong.

Asura had been gripped in fear for all his life, unable to healthily cope with it, and spent so much time in his own head his thoughts were coming out of his mouth as frantic whispers. The worst thing Lord Death could have possibly thought of as a punishment was to isolate Asura entirely.

I don't remember if this appeared in the manga, but in the anime (Lord Death and Asura's second/final confrontation), Asura tells Death of the things he thought about while in that sack of skin, because the only freedom he had left was to think. The worst possible thing for anyone, especially someone suffering from anxiety, is to do nothing but think. All this exercise does, and did with Asura, is exacerbate and breed more anxieties, and further embed them into the mind.

Left with nobody but himself to find a way out of the existential terror of his own thoughts, Asura came to realise that he had been an experiment, a tool, not a son. He refers to our heroes at puppets of Lord Death, as he once was, and regards Lord Death as nothing but a tyrant. Up until the revelation that he and Kid are brothers, Kid himself had never questioned Lord Death. Asura had eight hundred years to do that.

Eight hundred years in a stew of your own existential dread.

In the anime series, Asura concluded that it was the ability to imagine the future that was the source of fear. He who had spent so long terrified of the what if's and maybes, tortured by uncertainty, he sought to create a world where there was nothing but the immediate, static present, where nothing like that could exist.

Lord Death's response? "Sorry, I'll kill you for real this time" or "I've had enough of your rants!"

In either anime or manga, he never addresses or responds to Asura's thoughts or feelings. Even when Lord Death realised the error of making his eldest son the way he was, he never communicated this to Asura personally. To Asura he was flippant, dismissive and angry, acting as if Asura was solely responsible for the evil he did when Lord Death knew it wasn't. He'd sooner punish and hurt Asura than actually help him, a consequence of becoming 'Order' with no room for those who challenge or question it. It's like taking a young offender into a prison full of nasty criminals and violence and being shocked when they come out worse than when they went in.

His suffering son is a blemish, a shame, a threat. At one point, Lord Death even threatens to put Asura through the same existential hell again. Can people really blame Asura for hating him and turning on everything Lord Death cares about (more than he ever did his own son)?

In making his anxiety a person, Lord Death was obviously going to detach himself from Asura as an individual. Asura is everything he wanted to dispose of, only powerful and capable of taking out his enemies en masse. He was clearly only kept around and tolerated for that purpose, but never looked upon or valued as a thinking being capable of feeling and reacting to the condition of his birth.

Asura is Lord Death's biggest, most horrendous and reprehensible act. It's not a mistake, either. Lord Death intentionally created Asura to be the way he was, with no mind for the consequences until it blew up in his face. And when it did, not only was Lord death not humbled or sorry, but he pinned all the blame on Asura in a fit of rage and punished him - and punished him in the worst way both for Asura himself and for the world in general.

Lord Death treated Asura and his mental breakdown like a rabid dog to be locked away and forgotten about. That is not something a good parent does. A good parent acknowledges their hand in their children's problems, they talk to them, they help them out.

Lord Death may have been a good father to Kid, but he was the absolute worst Asura could have had. And Kid, aside from that flicker of doubt, doesn't acknowledge it, continuing to praise Lord Death and be the true Death God Lord Death had wanted.

Asura lashes out and sees everything in the world as his enemy, a thing to fear, a thing to hate, and he could not conceive of anything except terror. He was completely unable to understand a state of peace, harmony, bravery, in the face of all the fear life throws at you. He was a nervous wreck until he died, and that scares me. I don't want to become like that, but it's difficult to imagine some days when you're gripped by this unnatural fear of something, even if you know what it is, that you can get better and be truly content.

Asura was never happy and always afraid. He was fucked over by his parent like Chrona was, but nobody (including the narrative) gave a shit. Yes, his actions were wrong, he had to be stopped, he couldn't be allowed lash out against the world and others like he was, but I still see Asura was a tragic figure who was fucked over by the person he needed most.

I'm sorry this is so long, I have a lot of feelings right now.

#Soul Eater #tw anxiety #anxiety discussion #mental health #Kishin Asura #Asura Soul Eater #Lord Death #Lord Death Soul Eater #Death the Kid #Death the Kid Soul Eater #spoilers #anime spoilers #Soul Eater spoilers #manga spoilers

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wolfpawn · 4 years

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I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 161

Chapter Summary - Tom is irked to see Danielle did not tell him about her physio and then she dreams something horrid.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1 @black-ninja-blade

Tom pursed his lips and looked at Danielle as she went across the bedroom towards the bathroom, walking stiffly as she did. In the warm weather, Danielle was not able to hide her kinesiology tape for too long and the tape on her left shoulder was quickly joined by more on her right knee after placing on the podium in a Sprint triathlon race, telling him that she had in fact been to a physiotherapist, more than once. He had been annoyed by her not telling him, but it was made very clear that she had not told him because she did not want him to fret, which, irony of ironies, he did all the more because she had not told him. To Tom's dismay, that did not cause her to cease or even calm her training, instead she just focused on cycling to allow her shoulder settle some bit and to relieve her leg of her weight, but she continued to train, with almost greater intensity. She also seemed to spend an hour a day stretching and using an assortment of different objects that seemed more akin to torture implements than physio instruments, hissing and groaning as she worked out the tension in her muscles. Looking at the date on his phone, Tom yearned for early September, knowing that the sooner she achieved this goal, the sooner this madness would end and she would cease this insane training.

When she came back into the room, there was almost a guilty look in her face as she sat onto the bed and then slid in between the sheets again and tried to get comfortable. She knew to move around too much would only bring focus to her injuries more and that Tom was less than pleased with regards her current physical status, so she remained still, even with a throbbing knee, to not cause an issue.

Tom, however, could hear the pain in her breathing and turned slightly before gently urging her to him. “If you're hurting, you need to pull back.”

“I can't.”

“One good reason?”

“I was late beginning my training, I would actually be more at risk of injury if I fell off pace and then tried to push myself more at a later date.”

“Training already injured is only going to intensify the injury. What was it you said to me before, all pain, no brain?”

Danielle sighed. “I'm getting older. My body never niggled like this before after races and in training.”

“You never pushed it like this before, but yes, I too found that after thirty, my body was less likely to spring back from a training session.” He pulled her in against him. “I know I come across as slightly nagging, but I don't want you overdoing it and I loathe seeing you hurt yourself.”

“I know.” Danielle leant in against him, inhaling his scent. “I'm sorry for stressing you, I am a terribly selfish person recently. There's two of us in this and here I am, doing this when it impacts you too.”

“It's only a few more weeks, really. We can do it. A month is not a long time.” Tom consolidated.

Danielle considered his words for a moment, realising that time was closing on the date of her act of lunacy. She also thought if the last time she and Tom had been intimate. It had been weeks and not once did he bother her about it. He respected that the training was exhausting her, as was her paperwork for her job, not to mention her feelings regarding parenthood were intensifying even more of late. She also knew that he had to have been feeling slightly neglected. For all of his comments on his body's slower recovery, she knew that more than once, Tom was very much willing and able to exert himself with her twice in a short timeframe and felt sexual urges on a regular basis and with her not keen to have sex, he was left with just dealing with himself.

With that in mind, she looked at him again, focusing on his face, which was slightly hidden by his longer beard. Realising she was looking at him, Tom looked at her curiously. Even though it did her shoulder little favour, she shirked up slightly and placed her lips against his.

At first, Tom relished the sensation, but a moment after, he leant back, shaking his head slightly. “Your shoulder.”

Danielle could not argue it. She wanted to but it was not assisting her back to health. Groaning, she leant her head to his chest. “I feel like I should pull out of the race.” Tom stared at her startled, a moment before she stated she would not lessen her training, now she was speaking of pulling out. “I am being stupid with this.”

“No, this is a goal of yours, it has been for longer than I know you. You're a month out. Just relax your training and you will have a shoulder after it.”

“It's not my shoulder I'm worried about.”

Tom frowned before looking at her to see her looking at him worriedly. “Elle, I asked you to marry me in the middle of this madness. It was not a momentary lapse of sanity that caused me to do so, I planned it for some time. I was and am still fully aware of the situation at present and I respect that this and everything associated with it were merely temporary and we will soon be planning our wedding instead but this is one month more. One month. It's completely doable and please don't think for one moment that I am going to run off because of this.”

“It's weird to think we are going to be planning a wedding,” she confessed. “I still can't wrap my head around it fully. It negates your statement with regards a lack of sanity anyway.”

Tom chuckled. “No, insanity would have been letting you slip through my fingers. Not seizing my chance to make you my wife.” He paused for a moment before taking a deep breath. “Even saying that, that you will be my wife.” It was clear how happy the thought made him, causing Danielle to beam back.

“By this time next year.” Tom's eyes widened. “If you want, if course, no need to….”

“You'd want it that soon?” There was no denying the hope in his voice.

“Well, it's been over a month since you asked and we agreed a year so, yes. I thought it a good time frame.”

“In a year, we...Jesus.” he chuckled again and pulled her against him even more, kissing her head. “I love you. We better get up though.”

“Walk the boys?”

“They prefer it in this weather, don't they?”

Danielle nodded and sighed before pulling herself up with her better arm before sitting on the bed.

“If you're too sore…”

“No, I'm best off exercising it gently.” She stretched, hissing as her shoulder burned from the stretch.

Tom looking at her awkwardly, wanting to say something but wondering if he should, he chose to say nothing when he looked at her face to see her angry with herself. “We better go, in case that yapping rat is there again. I swear, it only acts like that because that horrid woman allows it to and knows that were Mac to get at it…”

“If Mac wished to, he could chomp it in two, but yes, you know that is why it is like that, and part of me thinks she wants him to do it. She knows who you are, I think she wants publicity,” There was more than a hint of dislike in Danielle’s tone for the woman that seemed almost wanting her pet to be injured by not having any form of manners placed on it. They said little else as they readied to get the dogs exercised before the temperatures went into the twenties again, something that was a rare occurrence in Britain and of late, seemed the norm, which most Britons, and indeed Irish people and animals were not able for, Danielle, Tom and the dogs included.

Tom could help but chuckle.

Danielle woke and was in the most horrendous of moods, sulking and growling to herself. At first, he was worried if something was wrong, but then he realised nothing was. Then he fretted that she was annoyed at him as she was giving him slight angry glances but when he asked was there issue with him, she scoffed and revealed it was an issue with herself. It took a little prying as she seemed slightly embarrassed by it but in the end, she revealed what it was. She had dreamt the night before that Tom had cheated on her, something Tom was immediately shocked to hear but even she dismissed it, not believing him one to do such a thing, the only issue was, the imagery of him doing such caused her to get upset, her stomach clenching at the idea of such everytime she thought of it or even looked at him, causing her current behaviour. Tom reassured her that there was no likelihood of that happening anytime in the foreseeable future or indeed at all, so to cease her fretting and that were he to take leave of his senses and think a mad thought that perhaps there was a possibility of another to entice him elsewhere, he would never be so cruel as to do such a backhanded thing to her. Danielle acknowledged such, she did not even consider it a possibility when she thought about it on her waking but that only caused her anger to irk her more. She did not want to be annoyed over non-issues yet she was being. Even after a run and a swim, she was still bothered but it actually caused her to scoff and laugh at herself, which was leading to Tom’s amusement as a result also.

“It’s not funny,” She growled.

“You’re laughing.”

“I am scoffing at my stupid brain.”

“And I am laughing at the preposterousness of it.”

She did not retort.

That night in bed, he noticed Danielle was all but holding onto him for her life. “I would never do that to you,” he assured.

“I know.”

“Then what has you like this?”

“Because even the thought of it breaks my heart.” She looked at him pleadingly. “Please Tom, if you’re not happy, I’d rather know.”

Tom inhaled deeply and recalled when he was on the Infinity War tour, how part of him felt that, even though he had the engagement ring readied to ask her when the time was right, he felt that asking her was to ask her to be okay with him being in close contact with women, many of whom would be incredibly beautiful and he would, on occasion, be in scenes where he, they or indeed both of them would be in some state of undress or all out naked and be in positions that many would argue to be intimate which he wondered would she be okay with that all the time. As time would go on, she would have to deal with scenes where the man she married had to kiss other women and touch them and though there would no true intimacy, he knew it was a lot to ask of her. He had discussed it with Ben and a few of other actors and gotten the same answer, it caused strain, even in the happiest relationships and with her dream the night before, he wondered what effect such things had on her in general. He could not fathom being in the situation of the partner forced to endure that. He knew that with his co-stars, there was little or nothing of an attraction to any of them. It was a scene, nothing more. The High Rise sex scenes with Sienna and Kate, he saw them in the same manner as he saw the fight for paint scene but if it had been Danielle who had been the actress doing such things with other men, he couldn’t stomach that Irish vet and the manner he all but stated he had expected Danielle to favour him. The idea slipped into his mind of Danielle and...John, he could not recall the man’s name for a moment, or indeed her with any other man gave him a feeling in his gut like he had been electrocuted and punched by Mike Tyson in this prime in the gut simultaneously. At that moment, her behaviour that day made a lot more sense. He pulled her in closer to him, fully aware that her left shoulder was still recovering, thankfully, the tape had been removed for the most part, but it was still slightly tender, so he ensured not to hurt her.

“Tom?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re tense.”

“I put myself in your shoes.”

“In what manner?”

“I imagined how it would feel if you…” He could not even finish the sentence.

Danielle moved around gingerly until she had her sore shoulder comfortable and curled herself into her favourite spot, her head on his shoulder/chest and her hand on his side, his immediately joining it, intertwining their fingers. “I would never do that to you, I couldn’t.”

Tom gave a small smile. “I am enough work.”

“Oh Jesus, two fella’s, I couldn’t have the energy if I was the Duracell bunny. One’s enough.” She jested back, causing Tom to chuckle and kiss her.

#i hate you i love you #chapter 161 #wolfpawn #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic

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rosesforshego · 4 years

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𝓘𝓯 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓜𝔂 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 7: ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢꜱ

August 28th, 2002 6:30 am.

The fabric of his cotton button-up folded around the curvature of his elbow that rested upon his desk. Pen in hand, he rearranged his day planner to accommodate a pop-up meeting that sprang upon him only five minutes prior. His frown deepened, increasing the intensity of the wrinkles that hung around the corners of his mouth, as the permanent ink scratched out the preparation of his dinner that he was going to start as soon as the shrill bell rang at 2:30 pm. His sigh, long and slow, audibly left his nose as his cheek sunk further into the palm of his hand. Looked like he would have to settle for something small, and easy to make, for his lonesome meal.

It’s for the best, he thought. After all, he had lesson plans to catch up on, and a report to write for his superiors, so he shouldn’t spend time preparing a formal dinner for the one person who sat at his kitchen table—himself.

Drew pushed the frame of his glasses until it settled between his eyes, straightening his vision before the lenses fell from his nose entirely. He was not particularly happy when he received the news of this “emergency” meeting yesterday afternoon, and he was nearly furious when he was instructed to conduct a “team-bonding” exercise for the science department ASAP. He would have to admit, it was a rocky start to the school year—the clique culture that controlled the faculty was as present as ever, despite administration’s attempts to stop its formation over the summer—but, was it his responsibility to wrangle these adults and lecture them on how to be adults? Treating others with respect and kindness was a lesson that was taught in Kindergarten. He thought by the time his colleagues were old enough to return the favor, they’d at least remember this important lesson. Alas, he had put too much of his faith in the faculty, yet again, and it was his job to clean up their mess.

Sometimes he wondered why he accepted this “department head” position. It seemed to be more trouble than it was worth.

Besides this babysitting gig, he was tasked with orchestrating this afternoon’s gathering like a poorly-trained conductor in front of a group of ill-prepared musicians—but that seemed to be the theme of every department meeting for Dr. Lipsky. He and his colleagues knew that little direction equated to little progress, but no matter how many times the science department had voiced their concerns over faculty and students, their meek solutions were lost in the ether, never to be discussed by their boss—the Principal—ever again.

His gaze remained transfixed upon the daily planner in front of him as the vague image of his colleague’s solemn faces flashed before him. After years of poor treatment, he wondered why they still worked at Middleton High.

They deserved better.

The door to the lab shuffled against the floor, displacing a thick layer of dust that accumulated upon the tile. Behind the frame stood the slender stature of Miss Goodwin, carrying two freshly-brewed cups of coffee. Startled by his unsuspecting presence, she nearly receded into the hallway, but instead of giving in to her insecurities and subsequent embarrassment, she confidently stepped into the dimly-lit room, illuminated by the dawn’s rays.

“G’ mornin’, Drew.”

“Good morning, Sheila.”

She closed the door behind her, pressing her sole against the slab, maintaining her balance as she slowly moved closer to him. Drew watched her, in awe, confused and intrigued by the way she carried herself on top of the thin heels of her shoes. He always found fascination in the ability to remain balanced upon such thin plastic and, while Sheila crossed the room with a bit of elegance in each step, he found himself with a lack of understanding for such a feat, yet maintained his sense of child-like wonder.

Sheila placed the coffee in front of him, dissuading his roaming eyes from staring at her grace. Not like she particularly minded, nor noticed. The cup rested within the perfect ring that was created by the coffee that sat on his desk the day before. She cocked her head at the sight, a little perplexed and amused that Drew didn’t wipe away the ring. She thought that such a small marking would have driven him insane.

Maybe she assumed wrong.

She smiled, her teeth peeking out from being her blackened lips in an endearing way that Drew could get used to. However, her sly ploy to distract him was not successful as his eyes landed upon the gloved hand that subtly retreated from the cup, carrying within her palm a crumpled, yellow piece of paper.

“What’s that?”

Her sweet smile faltered.

“What’s what?”

His brows lowered, along with the melody in his voice, “The paper in your hand.”

She grew anxious at the twang of accusation within his tone as her hand deposited the paper within the pocket of her blazer.

She lied through her grinning teeth, “Receipt.”

His gaze bore holes into her fake demeanor, which nearly made her forehead glisten with sweat. Bull, he thought. What kind of receipt was printed on yellow paper?

“Well,” his legs swayed, turning his chair from side-to-side, bringing his idle body with it as he chewed on his words. Curiosity may have killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back and that was the principle he lived by.

“Feel free to throw it away in my trash.”

He gestured to the bin beside his desk.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” she deflected, nearly immediately, at his intriguing proposition. Drew sat up, his back pressed into the chair as he watched her free hand wave his words away. She had something to hid, he was sure of it. Just, what? He needed to know.

Quickly, without weighing the consequences, she continued to spin her web of lies as she attempted to add a sort of justification to her statement, “I need it for reimbursement purposes.”

Reimbursement? For what?

Enough beating around the bush; it was time for the direct approach, “What do you mean—"

“So, Doc,” she slid her leg onto his desk, closing the artificial gap between them with such abrupt energy that she nearly split her coffee onto her gloves.

Strange, he mused, eyeing the deep, burgundy that encased her hands. The morning was not chilly. Why did she choose to wear gloves?

The desk creaked beneath her frame, accommodating her weight as she shifted into a more comfortable position. Her words, abrasive against the calm that encapsulated the room, pulled him away from his curiosity, “How’s your morning?”

Truthfully, he was rather appalled that she had decided to make his desk her new seat, but he did nothing to stop her.

A sliver of raven hair fell from behind her ear and Drew resisted the urge to brush it back into place—not like the kind gesture would have eased her frazzled mind. After her successful break-in the previous morning, Sheila had not expected to find Drew slouched behind his desk. She hoped that her sly caper would be just as successful—if not more since she took his coffee suggestions to heart—but, as she felt the heat of her embarrassment rise to her flushed cheeks, there was nothing she could do. Though, she was a little upset that she would have to trash the note she wanted to leave for him. Not in his trash, though.

Maybe it was for the best.

Drew’s raging mind remained fixated on her hunched stature. The confidence that she had entered the room with dissipated behind the worry in her eyes. He may not have known her for long, but if he knew a thing or two about human behavior, he would have to guess that she was stressed—possibly due to whatever secrets she hung over his head. He hoped that Sheila, of all colleagues, could confide in him, but it was only Day 3 of their budding friendship. Maybe he was asking for too much too soon.

The corner of her mouth quivered nervously as her eyes searched his, waiting for his absent reply. Her words pierced the conversation in a way that was rather odd for the two of them, then hung in the space between them as Drew remained silent on the matter. She smiled, meekly, attempting to quell the quiver, but to no avail, as she hoped that he’d drop the subject and free her from her entanglement within the web she spun that would make even the most dignified of spiders proud.

So, drop it he did.

He leaned further into his chair—opening his crossed arms in a comfortable, calming gesture to ease her tension, but he maintained his watchful eye, unsure of where the conversation would lead, nor how his colleague would react.

Miss Sheila Goodwin was a book he’d have to pry open with his bare hands if he wanted to know her secrets. She wasn’t going to simply give them to him, despite his charms.

“Fine,” he replied. His chair squeaked under his weight.

“Just fine?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at his response. The quiver in her lip subsided.

“Drew, I’m surprised. You’re usually more elaborate than that.”

Usually? She’d only known the man for three days. Yet, she possessed the uncanny ability to analyze his behavioral patterns—his strange, wacky, slightly familiar with an aura of comfort patterns. It was something she’d like to explore.

“Well, I had a meeting with the department heads this morning,” he continued, obliging to her subtle request, “and I—”

“Wait,” she interrupted, her curiosity clutching her rational mind, “The department heads? Why did you need to meet with them?”

A short snort escaped Drew’s nose as he crossed his arms, closing the invite he had extended towards her, “I’m the head of the science department.”

Oh.

A pale pink broke through the green tint of her skin. Monday may have been her first day as a full-timer, but she had her substitute experience to fall back upon, and she was rather appalled at herself for not knowing this important bit of information. She knew who held the reins over the other departments, but not for science.

It was just her dumb luck that Drew Lipsky had to be the head of the science department—and she just had to showcase her ignorance in front of him.

How embarrassing.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t worry,” Drew waved his hand, dismissing her apology, “You’re new. I’ll give you a pass on this one.”

Truthfully, he would’ve given her a pass anyway—on anything. She was nice to him, treated him with kindness and respect that he had craved for years. Why be pressed over a silly matter?

She subtly rolled her eyes, which prompted a cheeky smirk from her colleague.

“Thanks.”

With a gentle push, she gracefully leaped from the desk. Her heels pressed upon the hard floor with a satisfying clack that rang within Drew’s ears. He watched her brush the accumulated wrinkles from the cloth of her slacks and, without saying a word, departed from his workspace.

Drew lurched forward, stretching his hand towards her receding frame, but stopped his movement before he could grasp her arm.

Damnit. Leave it to Drew to screw up practically every good thing that graced his miserable, lonely life.

He retracted his hand and leaned back into his chair, watching her stiff stature fade into the greying light. James had always warned him that his sarcastic personality was a niche sense of humor. His mother had always told him that he shouldn’t utilize commentary in the form of jest. He always knew that his awkward, geeky, socially inept personality would drive others away, but he had hoped that this time things would be different. That they’d click. That she’d understand his sarcastic wit and appreciate the sense of humor that had tormented him throughout his formative years. It was never his intention to offend her and, if he did, he was deeply apologetic about it, but for Sheila to simply state her thanks, then saunter away without a word pierced his beating heart.

When he first found her, sprawled upon the mucky floor, prying gum away from its hold on the tile, a warmth grew within his chest. She and her infectious personality was a gateway to a plethora of opportunities to find friendship within another—someone outside of his little group of scientists who understood the hardships of teaching; someone who’d laugh with him, talk with him, support him through his successes and his failures. He desired for someone different, who could release him from the strong confines of his mundane routine. A colleague who could provide a sense of fulfillment in his dull life.

Was that too much to ask?

She zeroed in on the port that led to the vacant hall outside of his classroom, but she didn’t pass through it. Instead, she turned to the long lab table that sat beside the door and snatched a chair from underneath it.

Sheila dragged the padded, metal legs across the tile towards Drew’s desk, then haphazardly spun the chair and straddled the plastic seat. The back of the chair faced the scientist in an informal, comfortable manner as she rested her elbow on the metal—her balled fist held her chin while the other lazily draped over the chair. A slight grin crept upon her features as her stature invited Drew into the easy-going, laid-back atmosphere her informal stature created.

“So, what happened?” she asked, “Tell me more.”

Drew blinked away the uncertainty that pooled within his eyes. For a brief moment, Sheila recognized a subtle perplexed look etched into the crease between his eyebrows, but it quickly faded once he found the courage to compose himself.

“Well,” he brought a finger to his thin lips, tapping them as his eyes trailed to the brown stain on the white ceiling, “this year has been off to an. . . interesting start.”

She shifted in her seat—the uneven legs rattling against the tile, “You’re tellin’ me.”

His gaze met hers for a brief moment of understanding. Her smile softened the corners of her eyes, but her emerald irises displayed a similar sort of uncertainty, laced with sadness and frustration, that reflected within Drew’s.

The job never got easier and he didn’t have the heart to tell her.

“Yeah,” a small chuckle escaped with his response and faded into the thick atmosphere, “you’re not the only one who had a rough first day if that’s any consolation.”

“Somewhat,” she admitted. It was nice to know that she wasn’t the only person left to suffer in the harsh elements that came with the high school, but the curve of Drew’s frowning lips indicated that there was an issue that ran deeper than new teacher initiation day.

Drew broke eye contract with Sheila, his gaze wandering to the posters the clung to his classroom walls. His lips formed a thin line to counteract the growing frown from settling into the creases that formed deep folds around his face. He was positive that she’d hear about the events that were recounted in the early morning meeting, but, after the horrifying experience she called her first day, he fought against the urge to gossip, despite the intense curiosity that laid within her, begging for him to keep her in the loop that she was shoved out of.

Sheila placed a gentle hand on his outstretched forearm. The simple gesture immediately forced his eyes to find hers, but they still held a vacant expression as his mind remained lost within his thoughts. Bothered by his distant stature, and his stand-offish gaze that passed through her, she leaned closer to his stiff body that swayed, slightly, in the chair.

“Everything alright?”

“Huh?” he shook his head, her voice yanked him from the confines of his head.

The look of concern that lined her clenched jaw startled him, yet sent shockwaves of a calming sensation that eased his mind. It was an open invitation for him to confide in her.

It was everything he could’ve wanted.

“Oh, yeah,” he regained his composure, removing his arm from Sheila’s touch, “the meeting went well. I’m just not looking forward to hosting one later this afternoon.”

“With the science department?”

“Yeah,” he eyed her as a soft gleam reflected in the beautiful blue that captured Sheila’s attention, “I was hoping to go home early. Maybe take a nap. . .”

“You’re already that tired?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as a hint of a mischievous, playful spirit rose within her banter.

“I only wake up this early if I have to,” he retorted.

Lately, it seemed as if he could never get enough rest. Waking up before the sun didn’t help.

“Not an early riser, I see,” she remarked, crossing her arms upon the back of her chair.

“I thought you knew,” he said, gesturing to the coffee that sat, untouched, on his desk. Its warm steam continued to seep through the cover, dissipating into the morning air. It invited Drew to take a sip—to wake his drowsy, clouded mind—but he remained immobile, too attentive to the conversation, and Sheila’s cheeky responses, to move.

“I made a guess,” she admitted, “It was nearly a fifty-fifty shot since I knew next-to-nothing about you.”

“You knew I liked coffee, didn’t you?”

She laughed—its melody allowed the light from the new, morning sun to enter his welcoming gaze, “No.”

“Lucky guess?”

“You could say that,” Sheila remarked as she stood from her chair, snatching her coffee that sat beside Drew’s upon her departure, “Hopefully I made it right this time.”

“Not like you made it wrong last time,” Drew mumbled, leaning forward to grab his cup.

The liquid behind the Styrofoam warmed his cold hand. He hadn’t meant for Sheila to hear, but in close quarters, it was difficult to mumble anything without her sensitive ears grasping onto every word. She was quick and keen—blessed with a youthful spirit; a witty personality that he’d have to learn how to keep up with if he wanted to maintain the friendship that bloomed between them.

“Yeah, well,” she pushed the chair back towards the lab table, its legs scraping against the floor as it nestled into the nook beneath the chemically-stained surface, “I tried to follow your instructions, but you didn’t give me any.”

Drew brought the coffee to his lips. The bitterness that coated his tongue the day before was replaced with a rich, creamy taste that brought chills to his ample skin. He hummed into his cup, delighted by the taste, indulging for a moment in the delicious caffeine that would, without a doubt, aid him through the long day ahead.

“It’s perfect,” he remarked, reluctantly pulling the cup away as his gaze trailed towards his colleague who was making her way out the door.

“Hey,” he sat up in his chair as she turned her head in his direction, “where’d you get this?”

She smiled, her irises beaming in the sunlight, “I made it just for you.”

With that, she left—the click of her heels echoing in the empty hallway.

The corner of his lip curved into a smile but immediately faltered as he set down his coffee.

If she made it, then what was the paper for?

Alarmed, he abruptly rose from his seat and followed the draft that flowed out the door in her wake, all the way calling her name, asking questions that demanded answers, as child-like laughter beckoned Drew to Classroom 121.

#dr drakken #drakken #drew lipsky #shego #miss go #sheila goodwin #drakgo #kim possible #kp fanfiction #drakgo fanfiction #if you could read my mind love #iycrmml #iycrmml update

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farelian · 4 years

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Humans are Insane “Insurgency” Part 1

Disclaimer: Blood and violence are in this post, proceed with caution.

So i want to take a turn around and do something serious with Michael, hope this is good and thank you for the number of people that liked and reblogged my previous story, thank you so much

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being a temporary diplomatic envoy is quite hard, especially when you’re not experienced in speeches and answering questions that are presented to you in which you know nothing about, or know the answer in that matter. After the Migration Meeting being overtaken by another human representative, Michael took the next few days thinking, planning, planning to get his health back on track.

it was shocking to find out that he's suffering from Type-2 Diabetes, not the worst but still taking a toll on his body. High-Blood sugar and Insulin resistance make his body weak, the doctors said it’s from his Liver that keeps cranking out sugar into his system. He doesn’t understand, he’s a fit guy. Maybe moving to the Zarqon homeworld changed his lifestyle a bit, he does sometimes binge-eating while watching a movie, and he rarely exercises now.

Maybe that was the reason, maybe that is the reason his health if going downhill. No matter, right now he's ordered to give a tour to a group of aliens around the city of Ursa Jaron on the agriculture colony at the edge of UTA space, the planet of Dawut. Known for its abundance of fertile land and it's many volcanoes that crank out natural resources that make the land fertile, it's one of the colonies that contributed a lot to the UTA food stockpile and distribution.

This makes the colony rich and more developed over the years, but when the War of Insults started it's one of the worlds that got hit in the first attacks. Garrisons at the time could not repel the Janid onslaught that came and forced to retreat after an evacuation of the civilians. Some people were left behind in the chaos, forced to live in ruins and scavenge for food while trying not to get detected by Janidean patrols.

Rebuilding efforts immediately started after the war, cities getting rebuild, farmlands and greenhouses are built, but it will take years until most of the scars are healed. He sighed, wearing his Tuxedo quite proudly with the UTA emblem on his left upper chest but still, he rather stay home at Zarqon, and with Yaku. He's grown quite attached to the little alien gal, he likes her patients and curiosity of everything. He wished he can answer all of her questions about humans, then again, he's not a genie.

Walking down the hallway inside the Murmur embassy within the city, he walked into the ballroom where all the alien delegates are waiting. He tightens his tie and straighten his suit, and begun his announcement "Gentleman, the UTA appreciates your arrival to our colony here today, as you already know you will be given the best accommodations this colony has" He glances at the single Janid delegate "Because after the war we're short on recreation and landmarks so please excuse our lack of beautiful architecture"

All the delegates nod in acceptance, understanding the situation humanity is going through. "With introductions sorted away, I Michael Stone will be your guide today" He hates being formal, and why does he have to do this and not a professional guide? Could it be that his title of "Being the first human to migrate" gave him a special place in the UTA?

He turned around and walked out of the room, a group of aliens following closely behind him passing the embassy guards and several Murumur guards that are here. He smiled and shook his head, he cannot believe this. Walking out of the assembly he quickly shows off the things in front of them, a big commercial mall. Unfortunately, a UTA Warbird swooped down from the skies dropping off it's the payload of Humanoid Machines that quickly enters the mall before Michael could explain to them. "Well, that wasn't on the schedule..." He pondered to himself, then went back to the delegates.

"This is the Yukatan Commercial Center! One of the largest shopping centers we currently have in the city. With over 20.000 shops and 7 stories tall, it has everything you need starting from kitchen appliances, electronics, food, and everything else" He turned back around and noticed the unusually high presence of police cruisers and police officers in the area, there's even a SWAT van down the street with its squad of heavily-armed and exosuit wearing men. He got a bad feeling about this.

His feeling was proven when he got a call from the Central Chief of Migration. "Michael gets out of there that area is not saf-" the transmission was cut when there's an explosion on the 4th floor of the mall, the alien shopping floor to be exact that sell alien goods and food. Michael turned back to the delegates as glass falls and shatters onto the street. "I need all of you to return to the embassy right away! NOW!" His command startled everyone, even the Janids who haven't seen a human yell that loudly.

Then on the speakers of the city a man can be heard, talking through it. "All civilians please clear sector 2 and 3. Police lockdown has been initiated over at the area please evacuate" That's when panic kicks in, all the bystanders starts running away, it only gets worse when there are loud gunshots can be heard from within the mall, adding screaming into the chaos. The shooting moved from the fourth floor to the third, to the second and then a police android gets kicked out the window and fell to the ground. The SWAT team that's here quickly set up barricades and cover on the main entrance, as the side entrances are locked down.

The alien delegates, instead of returning to the embassy, they observe from a safe distance. Who could've done this? Michael walked to one of the officers. "What's the situation here?"

"We got reports shots fired on the fourth floor from one of the androids, possible terrorist attack" The officer quickly explained as more police reinforcements arrived.

Michael took cover behind one of the back cruisers, away from the entrance with a police officer as he took out his own handgun. "Well fuck, everything we try to approach the aliens peacefully someone has to fuck that up huh?" He exchanged a couple words with the police officer.

"Haha! Always the case sir!" The man answered back with a cheery tone

Michael looked over the hood, feeling the intensity of the situation in the air. The SWAT team trained their weapons towards the entrance. "AST! EVACUATE THE AREA NO-" The SWAT officer yelled out but t was too late, a rocket got shot out from within the entrance straight into the crowd of policemen. Men flying and a police cruiser exploded.

The ground shook making Michael widened his eyes from shock and held the bumper of the cruiser, a police officer crashed onto the ground in front of him. He gets the injured man into cover behind the cruiser as he heard the shooting starts. "An AST!? How the fuck did they get that!?" The man that's tending to the injured one exclaimed.

"Hey, what's your name?" Michael asked the officer.

"J-Jacob sir!"

He nodded as he peeked out from again, a single massive Armored Suit Transport standing in the crowd of bodies scanning the area for prey. Not even a Warbird dared to enter its Killzone. It's M4 Mini Under-Hand Rocket Launcher can take out an attack helicopter in one hit. Then it's S.W.A.R.M.S missiles can lock-on to infantry and obliterate their ranks.

He then noticed on a corpse of a police officer is a S.M.A.W Launcher, it can incapacitate it. Ugh, he wished for an emp grenade right about now.

Michael looked back at Jacob. "Ok Jacob here's the plan, the AST has a manual ejection lever on the back, between the spine and hip armor okay? What I want you to do is go around it, while i cause a distraction with that smaw launcher alright? Time to be a hero" Michael said to the police officer patting his shoulder

"A-are you sure about this sir? I-i'm just a police officer"

"I don't care about ranks Jacob, men are men, now are you ready? We can't let that thing go on a rampage for 5 minutes until the military comes to deal with it"

Jacob took a few seconds to think, finishing treating the injured police officer and then nodded. "...I'm ready" Michael grins and pats his shoulder once more. Both of them takes their position.

"On my signal... now!" Michael got out from behind the cruiser sprinting for the next, the AST quickly took notice of Michael and starts raining hell down on him, firing it's Vulcan Minigun on its right hand at Michael. Close calls but Michael made it to the next cruiser, but the AST doesn't give up, it kept firing and firing at the cruiser but doesn't want to waste a rocket on one guy.

Meanwhile, Jacob is sneaking around on the side while the AST is distracted, hiding behind a cruiser then moved slowly towards the van as the sounds of repeated gunfire can be heard.

The Minigun finally overheats and Michael makes his next quick move, running out of his cover and slide towards the Smaw launcher picking it up in his hands, and then hid behind another cruiser. The AST, seeing it's in danger goes back to firing at Michael while closing the gap, walking towards Michael's position. "Come on Jacob... pull it..." Michael muttered.

Jacob slowly, sneaked up behind the AST, seeing the manual ejection lever between the armor of the suit. He reached into it and pulled as hard as he can, falling back on his ass. "Attempted Manual ejection procedure detected, failsafe activated," The suit said. Jacob looked on in horror at the giant AST, turning around, looking down at the puny little police officer with anger, lifting its right hand up ready to squish the poor man with its fist.

"JACOB COVER YOUR EARS" Heard from behind the AST as a series of launchers went out of the Smaw launchers first shooting up at the sky, then rained down on the AST explosion after explosion of the mini-missiles. After the missiles finished, the AST fell weakly onto its knees, then forwards onto the ground. "Fucking hell..." Michael cursed throwing the empty smaw launcher to the side and rushed over to see if Jacob is okay. That attempt was denied when a bullet hit the ground in front of him coming from the entrance of the mall.

Three men wearing spray-painted exosuits came out from the darkness, pointing their weapons at Michael. He held his hands up. "Who the fuck are you guys...?"

The one in front answered that question with a punch to the face, blood splattering onto the ground as Michael fell to his hands and knees coughing up blood. A gunshot shortly followed as a hand fell and came into his view, it was Jacob's. "Humanity's Front" the man then finally answered his question correctly in a deep, heavily modified voice.

Then one of the men's head exploded then followed by a bang, the other followed the same fate, then the last one as well. UTA snipers have come and saved the day as jeeps and APCs arrived on the scene. He looked up, at Jacob's dead body, eyes wide open with fear and shock, blood flowing down from the side of his head to his face.

Michael couldn't stop them.

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #aliens #humans are adorable #humans are complicated #humans are crazy #sci-fi

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healieas · 4 years

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levels of beholding feeding; aka, will this successfully feed me or the eye?; aka, there are actions that beholding avatars are likely to take that may not constitute life-sustaining feeding; aka, the illuminati food pyramid.

the post where i break down what i personally consider feeding the eye to entail, including things that fall under the eye’s “jurisdiction” ( remember that fears are malleable and bleed into each other, and the eye especially tends to overlap with everything else bc it is a gratuitous voyeuristic sack of fuck, but for the purposes of this post i am going to try to focus on what in and of itself is eye fear and if it overlaps well that’s just fun and sexy isn’t it ) but do not feed it, things that engender beholding behavior but are not in and of itself feeding, things that eye avatars need to do to maintain themselves, and things that make the eye sigh and go “ah yes that was great food.” also this does not detail beholding powers. i’m just talking about the food, man. the gifts the eye grants its avatars is another story.

first and foremost, what qualifies something as feeding the eye? how does the eye “eat”? if something falls under the following categories, it feeds the eye: fear of being watched, fear of being exposed, fear of being followed, or fear of having your secrets known to somebody else. if something falls under the following categories, it is eye-related behavior likely performed by avatars, but is not in and of itself “eye food”: pursuit of knowledge, especially at the cost of one’s own health or sanity. obviously the latter can enable the former if that pursuit of knowledge is at somebody else’s expense, but what separates the two categories for me is that, to keep the eye as an entity from spreading so thin to the point where anything can be construed as capital-b Beholding because it involves observation or information, is holding fast to the eye being a fear entity. i.e., something can technically be in the eye’s territory of knowledge, but it does not become eye-related unless there is an active element of horror. of course, what constitutes “horror” is subjective, but i think that narrows down the options and removes, say, doing a book report from beholding. tma has a tight thesis of beholding being the horror of watching something terrible and doing nothing to intervene, or the inherent evil of inaction when one is witnessing an atrocity.

therefore i’m going to make my grading for eye food the following. ( note that like... there’s grey area in between each level where, by taking a lower level to an extreme, you could slide it up to the next, etc. )

level one: are you watching in an obtrusive way? i.e., is this something you should be seeing? are you an active participant? or are you eavesdropping. things that fall into this category include people watching, listening in on conversations, or reading private correspondence. this is the fear of being watched / known against one’s will at play, but only one person ( the avatar ) knows the secrets, so it’s low-level feeding. just hoarding secrets unto oneself gives the avatar what i’d consider a steady drip of water, necessary for life and remaining active, but after an extended period of time with just water, you’re going to want for food.

something like following someone and making them feel watched as more than just a prickling on the neck for an extended period of time would probably start to actually feed the eye a bit, as was the case with the cursed mirror; someone with a constant and perhaps debilitating fear of being watched, facilitated by the actions of a beholding avatar, would advance to feeding the eye.

institutionalized watching in an obtrusive way, i.e. the lack of privacy afforded to inmates in a place like millbank, ratchets up to full eye feeding. again, the longer and more intense the watching, the more intense the fear produced, the more likely it’s going to drift up into actual feeding territory. but as a casual action, it’s not sustainable.

level two: are you revealing to the person that you know their secrets? to distinguish this from the above category, i’m talking about the situation with elias and daisy / martin / melanie -- digging out someone’s secrets and then throwing them in their face, making them feel the despair of being peeled open for examination. what puts this at a lower level than mass exposure is the fact that it is probably only the beholding avatar who’s getting anything out of this. this is semi-solid food to the eye, like a gelatin or pudding or other soft hospital food. you can sustain yourself on it, but try to go for any extreme period of time just doing this and you’re probably going to suffer from malnutrition ( if you want to talk to me about malnutrition and how it actually works, aka you’re getting plenty of calories but not all of the components you need, and historic examples of mass malnutrition, we can totally do that; but i want to make it clear for those that might think malnutrition is just like starvation lite, it’s not -- you can be eating a ton of food every day and if you have no variety and if it lacks the proper nutrients, you’re still going to suffer the adverse effects; all this detail to say that’s what happens to an eye avatar who only feeds by privately exposing someone’s secrets to their face, a slow and conscious wasting ).

constantly harassing someone about their secrets might make your diet a little more diverse, metaphorically, but this category really doesn’t have the same mobility as the previous one.

level three: are you making other people aware of the information you’ve gleaned? this is fear of exposure, where somebody is going to face the fallout and consequences of having something unsavory put on display for an audience. ( yes, this covers body image fears of people in the public eye, which is imo a flesh fear that the eye can also feed upon, but that’s an intense discussion for another post that needs to be handled with nuance. i only mention it to make it clear that like... it doesn’t even have to be something objectively horrid that’s exposed; if the person who is being put on display has a fear of being seen, that’s enough to put it in this category, because it is producing anxiety or discomfort. ) no need for bullet points! this gets more and more intense the wider the audience and the more people talk about it. this is solid beholding food with good nutrition! you could make a beholding career out of this! i’m certain that elias does some feeding by allowing students in to read the dirty laundry of named statement givers ( in addition to slurping the despair of visitors who aren’t going to be helped at all by the institute ). after all, statement givers frequently express fear of being pegged as “insane” or having experienced the denial, pity, or avoidance of their friends and family after their experiences. judgement cast upon vulnerability? eye food.

level four: taking a statement. this is sort of disconnected from the rest and may exist alongside them rather than above them, but canonically, reading and experiencing ( getting into character, allowing yourself to feel the presented emotions ) a statement feeds the eye. notice how jon works through tons of “statements” a week, documents gathered by the institute, but only reads one true statement a week on average. he “steps into the shoes” of the statement giver and re-experiences the terror, often while learning something about another entity and how it functions, increasing his own knowledge of the fear world. in my opinion, this is where we get into the eye simultaneously feeding on what’s offered and feeding on the avatar. jon is exhausted after reading a statement and needs to rest. multiple people state that it seems to take a lot out of him. he needs them to survive, but he also finds the experiences draining. this is a solid cooked meal, and the eye has the digestion of a snake, so if you get one of these a week? you’re good.

level five: taking a statement directly from another subject, though? that’s just feeding. cutting out the middle man and the mental transportation of reading a literary piece ( or listening to a tape, or watching a recording ) means that you just get to feed off the person’s fear, because you are peeling them open and knowing them. this does relate a bit to level two, which is why i said it’s probably more of a horizontal relationship, but the difference for me is that you are forcing them to give an account of their encounter with a fear, thus accumulating knowledge of a lived experience and of the other deities, and you are making a person feel known and exposed, often ( in canon ) in a way that’s abrupt and uncalled for. willing statement-givers do not seem to have the same reactions as the poor people jon yoinks in public. taking statements seems to be compulsory for archivists in particular. whether or not it impacts administrators ( elias ) in the same way is hard to discern. maybe not, or maybe that’s solved by having the institute function the way it does, because all those statements are technically elias’s. ( i also have opinions on how elias feeds every single day but we’ll get to that later. the fear machine of the institute. ) this is good food. this is gourmet. this is why the eye stans jon. feeding just off of direct statements is going to cause your own power to skyrocket because you are eating so well.

there are probably more examples of ways to feed, and if people wanna shoot me ims or asks like “is this proper eye feeding?” i’d be happy to answer with my own takes on the situation ( because these are my own takes lol you do not need to live or die by this headcanon I Just Think My Theory Is Sound Enough For This Blog ). but now we’ll look at behaviors that may indicate a propensity for beholding, or that keep a beholding avatar in shape without feeding them; the exercise counterpart to a healthy diet. presented in bullet point form because these are not as in-depth as the above.

an inclination towards extensive research. not just looking up what you need for a book report and nothing more, we’re talking about going down a rabbit hole of research frequently out of a desire to know more. because this does not necessarily produce a fear response and does not necessarily deal with witnessing horror, it is not feeding ( i think about the idea of true crime beholding avatars and i get a little woozy because like... could it work and be canon compliant? certainly. is it therefore a valid take? it sure is. is it something i’m willing to get into? no, because it makes me personally uncomfortable sadly, because i feel some kinda way about the glamorization of serial killers and so on, and though i think an interest in true crime can be pursued tastefully, it’s so nuanced and so Not Me in particular that i just don’t want to get into it, even if i acknowledge that it’s something that probably exists in the tma universe because the tma universe is uncomfortable horror! )

being a nosy bitch. are you always involved in other people’s business, especially drama? do you subscribe to tea spill youtube channels? are you prepared to drop a hot tweet about something shady a celebrity did? ( THIS IS NOT A CRITIQUE OF OR COMMENTARY ON CALLOUT CULTURE INB4, PLEASE I BEG YOU. ) you have the beholding inclination to dig and reveal secrets! awesome!

a desire to organize and preserve information. i think often about this one because one of the things about the ceaseless watcher is that it knows but does not comprehend. it is not interested in understanding or exploring the nuance of what it observes, which is what makes it so horrific. it doesn’t care, the only thing it’s invested in is watching fear and accumulating knowledge so that it can “say” it has more information than anybody else. this, i think, is why beholding tends to center itself around academic institutions. the idea of gatekeeping knowledge, of an ivory tower, is so beholding-appropriate because if you think about the implications then yes, it’s bad. hoarding knowledge and not allowing other people to learn is not a good thing, and that’s why beholding is so very into it. HOWEVER, I AM ALSO DEEPLY INVESTED IN THE IDEA THAT THIS IS WHAT SEPARATES THE FEAR GOD BEHOLDING FROM ITS HUMAN AVATARS. because the avatars are painfully human! michael is proof enough of that i think! even if avatars consider themselves a different species, at the very least “formerly-human” categorically, they were humans and still have human flaws and inclinations. one of these, for beholding avatars, is organization. it’s putting the puzzle pieces together ( unless you’re bad at it, i’m so sorry jon you’re really trying and i love you, but in this case i think that has more to do with jon’s tendency to shoot himself in the foot / put himself at a disadvantage because he is afraid than a beholding-wide thing ), because the human brain usually wants to understand things. it wants to draw meaning from things. even elias, probably the least human of the beholding avatars we see, has to organize the information he has and put separate stories together to form a larger picture, because functioning in the human world just necessitates doing that! you want to stop another ritual? you can’t just gather different pieces of information and not relate them to each other, you have to categorize them and draw conclusions. and, imo, this is what separates the human world from the post-apocalyptic world. the post-apocalyptic world does not require analysis or organization, it can simply be; that is reality as warped and controlled by the fear gods.

there’s probably more to this but i have talked so much, i think that’s enough for now. anyways i care so much about beholding and how it functions and this is actually my least academic bullshitty piece on it, so yay for that. usually i’m all “voyeurism and The Gaze and how it functions in society and especially media!” but today? today we just talk about good eats.

#➢ beauty is in the eye of the beholder ( headcanon. )#|| i put in a read more because i love you i really almost posted this without it.#|| i had to scramble back up and slap it on.

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the-many-facets-of-folly · 4 years

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The Time is Now

We’ve all been different people in our lives….. Looking back you can see those people very clearly, well at least that’s the point in growing, you evolve and see yourself clearly, objectively. You admit to yourself your shadows. I’ve had moments I see myself and wince. Instantly filled with shame, regret, remorse… This is where being gentle with oneself comes in to play. Instead of allowing that emotion to settle into their physical spot, behind the eyes, face, throat, chest… You take a deep cleansing breath and blow it all out of your body, you then turn your energy and self to your inner child and by that I mean, you hold yourself as you would your child, if you’ve had children. For those of you who have not had children I cannot give you any clues as to if this exercise will work for you. You talk to yourself as if you were your hurt son or daughter, the concern you have for their well being, their comfort, their life… You hold them and tell them everything you need to hear. If this cracks the hold on your emotional scar you will have a release at this time. I’ve had profound pain come from inside of my body. Deep, black, thick like tar, it comes out in force as if vomiting something from the body.

When you can achieve a pain dump, as I like to call it, your body has so much space for good. I’ve emptied out my center more times than I can recall with any certainty and I can tell you, it feels so incredibly amazing to empty the abyss. There is a freeness that comes as a reward. My personal work is unavoidably intertwined with my life's work. As a light warrior my purpose came with me into this life. I have chosen this path to assist mother gaia and its dwellers in their “ascension” or raising of the frequency. I have struggled with living openly with this knowledge due to the negative backlash that inevitably comes from making such bold statements. Those intimate few that surround me are privy to that information but it ends there. My lack of “tribe” is also a hindrance. I’ve never actually known anyone like myself, (I know you’re out there, I just haven’t met you yet.)

My work consists of anchoring myself to Mother Gaia and transmuting energy to or from her and her dwellers. Like a lightning rod, the energy moves through me and into the planet. The energy that comes to her is from the Universe. I am attempting to find a human word that can describe the moment that energy hits me…. The current energy that is hitting the planet has been a real rollercoaster to transmute/assimilate. The last time I checked the Schumann Resonance was 91 during a spike. That is absolutely insane! This human form is doing an amazing job. When the energy moves through me from the planet and it’s dwellers it’s very, VERY emotionally heavy. There is an incredible amount of pain on this planet. It’s like if you don’t let the pressure out of the pot you’ll blow the lid, I’m like the button on top of the pressure cooker. It passes through me and out and away, dispelled. It hits me like a fucking mack truck…. The pain is so incredibly intense….. And then, it’s gone, like the moment your baby is born, the pain disappears and you’re left with nothing but love for that tiny human. That is how I love the Universe and all that Is, like a Mother loves her child. Everything that happens on this planet and in the surrounding solar system, then the Milky Way, then out into the expanse, affects me.

I have always felt as if I was living in some kind of backwards, upside down, surreal nightmare world, confused and baffled as to why it exists in this manner. I live future forward with knowledge of what is to come, because I exist outside of this physical matter. I have “touched the sky” and beyond, sat atop the planet as an energy being, meeting others in that state who have risen above, only glimpses and flashes but the connection remains. We are all doing our work, separately but completely united in purpose. I’ve traveled astrally, instantly as an energy being. I am not special in this, all human beings can achieve this. Unfortunately my perspective makes it hard to connect with Humans. My ego mind gets impatient with others who cannot understand me. The human language is so primal, archaic. It’s sloppy, it’s like trying to build a ship with a sewing needle. It doesn’t even come close to describing the entire Universe inside each one of us.

I cannot meet my tribe if I hide my light under a bushel. I hear the famous lines from the poem by Dylan Thomas, “Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Now I must shine my light openly, without shame, without guilt, with my shield fully intact, protecting me from the negative frequency of lower vibrational situations.

#living openly #lightwarrior #myexperienceinlife #personal

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momtemplative · 4 years

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Watching My Diet.

Of Words and Images, That Is.

As for a spoiled life, no life is spoiled but one whose growth is arrested.—Oscar Wilde, from The Picture of Dorian Gray.

When I was pregnant, I was astounded by the amount of shit-advice people felt entitled to force upon me, thanks to the visual whistle-blower of my growing belly.

I kept the book, Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth, by Ina May Gaskin next to my bed like a sacred text. The second half of the book contains a collection of empowered women sharing inspiring stories of their natural birth experiences. I read at least one story every night to off-set the deflating stories that were pushed at me. (One, still clear as day in my mind over a decade later, came from a woman who had never had kids! She said, in low tones and with concern in her eyes, “It’s the most painful thing you will ever experience. You WILL NEED DRUGS.”)

I would often fall asleep with Ina May’s book on my chest, thinking maybe the positive messages would cause seep into my being, like a topical treatment.

Now, during the era of COVID19, the news is an IV drip of mounting catastrophe into all of our collective veins. And the way we receive news during these current times is 24-7, on screens, visual, relentless and without limits. (PS: as said in Time, “media images can be so intense that they can cause symptoms of acute stress or even PTSD.”)

Like many, I find myself falling into the habit of using my few-far-between windows of space to either read updates from the Post and the Times, or to check social media. While informative at best, these word-venues are, nutrient-wise, anemic crumbs not suitable for a bottom-feeder.

So why the impulse to keep going back?

According to Time Magazine, “The human brain is wired to pay attention to information that scares or unsettles us—a concept known as “negativity bias“. Meaning, our brains are predisposed to go negative, and the news we consume reflects this.”

On a personal level, my intake of news is rising by the day—sometimes seemingly out of my control. I’ll just be grabbing my phone to check the weather and suddenly I’m well into an article on the pandemic, as if in a trance.

Without clear boundaries and a bit of mindfulness, the news and media we are ingesting can be far more toxic than beneficial. The effects of constant negative-news consumption are real and complex.

And I feel the wear-and-tear in my mental state, to be sure. I’ve been taking in the news every night, just before bed, via my tiny phone screen as if that makes it less potent and more manageable. Not the case. I can easily slip into helplessness, along with tasting the vinegar of potent rage in the back of my throat, even as I’m trying to settle in for sleep.

Anxiety and stress create cortisol, which can wreak havoc throughout the physical body and beyond. My neck and shoulders feel like they are clutching with white-knuckles for some unseen disaster, pretty much all the time. Yoga and breathing provides a world of help while doing it, but the muscle memory is so deep, that the bad patterns often return within moments of back-to-life.

This is not to say the solution is to bypass the news entirely. But if we are in this for the long haul, deliberate choices need to be made, for the stability of everyone.

Last week, my dear friend, Steph, mailed a box of crafting goodies to my girls. An eclectic mix of junk-drawer extractions and art things—things that have the potential to clutter up a house. But, when assembled in a package with intention and love, feel like vintage treasures from another world. Girl scout patches, circa the early 1990’s, ribbon in original packaging from the Carter administration, an untethered bouquet of white plastic glitter flowers. And in the midst of this treasure chest: a hardcover copy of the Oscar Wilde book, The Picture of Dorian Gray.

It was a fancy, old-timey edition that I had read through and written-in during college, using the same red ink from the same red pen the whole way through. My handwriting is young—an un-mastered version of my current script. But my brain is searching and inquisitive. I’m not sure why Steph wound up with the book, but there was a time when I passed out Oscar Wilde books like a communist would pass out propaganda and I likely forced it upon her.

Back then—over twenty years ago, more than half my current age—Oscar Wilde spoke to me in a way I was not accustomed to being spoken to, and brought about feelings that literature rarely provided. I indulged in Him, collected photos, quotes, and bought multiple used copies of his books. He became an unwitting spiritual guide of sorts. I carried the story of his tragic incarceration and subsequent death with me the way a god-fearing man would hold the image of Jesus’ crucifixion close to his heart. If they sold Oscar Wilde on a necklace, I’d have bought one, for sure.

Placing my hands on the cover of that book—while my girls squealed and unpacked the rest of the boxed treasures—was not far from the feeling of placing my hands on a body to massage. Flesh—living, breathing flesh. Cracking open the book brought with it not only the slight sigh that takes place in the inner ear during a good stretch, but also a swell of emotions. I flipped through the pages, feeling saved.

The article, What You Read Matters More Than You Might Think, in Psychology Today discusses the difference between “deep and light reading.” Deep reading is defined as reading that is slow, immersive, rich in sensory detail and emotional and moral complexity. It is distinctive from light reading, which is little more than the decoding of words. The author continues by saying deep reading is great exercise for the brain and has been shown to increase empathy, as well as inspiring reflection, analysis, and personal subtext to what is being read.

A passage from The Picture of Dorian Gray—”Words! Mere words! How terrible they were! How clear, and vivid, and cruel! One could not escape from them. And yet what a subtle magic there is in them! They seemed to be able to give a plastic form to formless things, and to have a music of their own as sweet as viol or of lute. Mere words! Was there anything so real as words?”

Another passage (how can I resist?): “In this country, it is enough for a man to have distinction and brains for every common tongue too wag against him. And what sort of lives do these people, who pose as being moral, lead themselves? My dear fellow, you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite.”

How I missed that man. And what a time for him to pay a visit.

Last weekend, I was feeling particularly ill-at-ease. My speech had edges like so many sharp river rocks. Tears and sadness rotated through in unpredictable gusts.

On the particular day I refer to, a book called Ordinary Magic, Everyday Life As Spiritual Path all but did a swan dive from my bookshelf and landed at my feet. The cover-image was dated and sun-bleached. The font and spacing came directly from the early 90’s, which is when it was published. I have a vague memory of buying this book at Half-Priced Books in Columbus, just before I made my move out west, in 2002, eighteen years ago. It’s a collection of Buddhist essays that focus on sectioned-out, topics—creativity and community, for example. It did not take long to realize that the editor, John Welwood, steals the whole dang show. His intros to each chapter sparkle with the quiet wisdom of one who is not the headliner, but knows his own worthiness.

(As with Oscar Wilde, I could include countless quotable phrases, but a taste is all you need.) In his introduction to the creativity essays, Welwood said, “By being still and receptive, instead of busily trying to find solutions, we give our intelligence the time and space it needs to find an appropriate way to proceed.” I read that line and gently set the book on my lap to take pause and think to myself, Thank god.

Another account of being liberated by the right words.

The Unknowing. Yes, that is the landscape we all inhabit now. How do we work with such potent feelings of lack-of-control? A classic solution would be to distract the hell out of ourselves so the low hum of anxiety doesn’t seem as loud. Or, we could try to re-frame our reaction, teach the brain that there could be another approach.

Our lives are, in many ways, on hold as we await a vaccine to protect our collective physical health. But our mental health is not on hold. Our intellect is under non-stop media siege and our sanity begs to be nourished and protected now more than ever. An essential piece of that puzzle (the puzzle of avoiding going clinical insane, that is)—more so than what’s contained in a bottle or that can be purchased online with a credit card—may very well already live on our bookshelf.

John Welwood also said, “What is fresh and alive comes only from the unknown.” I’m pretty sure I’m going to have that phrase tattooed on my forearm in old-english script after this whole thing is over.

May 17, 2020

#momtemplative #mindfulparenting #COVIDwords #DietOfWords

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bestfriendforhire · 3 years

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Children of BFFH, Entry 109

Eventually, the mansion was relatively silent again with most of the inhabitants sleeping. Messy, Crazy, Four, Aid, Luce, and Valeria were still awake, and all were looking at me.

“I don’t really know. Do any of you have a preference?” I asked hopefully. During my time here, I had seen the kids laugh as they teased one another, fight against each other with far more skill than I could claim, use magic that still boggles my mind, and show me that they somehow had time to cultivate incredible characters in my favorite game as well. How was I possibly supposed to choose what we do next!?

Before anyone else could speak, Luce said, “I want to fight you.”

“I am very well aware that you would win if you got serious. I knew even before Aid helped train me for the battle, which I still lost.” I assured her, wanting to cut off that line of thought.

“I’ll fight you, Luce!” volunteered Crazy, her face looking innocent with its broad grin as she waved her hand in the air.

Luce frowned, staring at Crazy, but to my surprise she said, “Okay. Let’s do this.”

I very much wanted to protest, but I was also really interested in watching. Luce didn’t even look scared! Was she that much stronger than I had expected to be confident against Death’s granddaughter? Before I could think what to say, a portal opened to the backyard, and everyone else started heading through. I hesitated so long that Valeria peered back through the portal from the other side questioningly.

There was a flash of light, startlingly bright in the relatively dark night. Luce and Crazy’s clothes had both been replaced by suits similar to what Aid and I had used for our exercise yesterday.

“Begin!” exclaimed Four, looking amused.

Luce was a blur, but the dirt didn’t explode from behind her, protected by a quick telekinetic wall she had made. Energy trailed in her wake, thick and relatively still, like a glimmering mist. She attacked Crazy with a series of punches, kicks, and small spells meant to throw her opponent off-balance, nothing to account for the amount of her natural magic she had to be using, though the fleshy sound of the impacts was very loud.

My eyes widened in shock as hundreds of thin beams of water were suddenly surging through where Crazy had been. I couldn’t follow their individual movements, especially when more shot up from the ground. Happening to glance up at where the streams seemed to have originated, I saw a massive body of water floating in the air, reminding me of when Luce had swept Father and I up with a river.

“What if someone sees that?” I exclaimed, pointing up into the sky.

Four laughed. “Father placed an illusion over this entire yard and far into the sky years ago. No one out there ever has a clue what’s going on anywhere on this property.” he explained.

I certainly hadn’t even noticed the illusion when I entered. James’ skills were legendary for a reason.

When Crazy suddenly threw something that flew with the speed of an enchanted bullet at Luce, I thought she’d fall over, but a thick wall of ice had appeared in front of her, surging up from the ground. I couldn’t guess at how much effort it took to keep ice solid enough to block an enchanted bullet, but the projectile didn’t even hit it. Blackened, shriveled vines covered in thorns exploded out, wrapping up and around the ice. Luce darted away, and the vines shriveled and fell to ash.

Instead of keeping the offensive, Crazy just started walking forward until that huge body of floating water crashed down at her. She didn’t even dodge, letting herself be swirled around in the sphere which formed. Father had taught me how lack of oxygen could still affect me after enough time, and drowning made things even worse. Swimming against that tide would be impossible for me with Luce actively manipulating it against me. If she froze it, I didn’t have the strength to shatter it and might not be able to form spells even if she let me.

“Should we do something to intervene?” I asked, feeling a little worried.

Messy looked at me in surprise, smiling as she said, “If you interrupt Crazy fun, she might attack all of us. Luce will probably forfeit soon.”

“What? Why!?” I asked in surprise, clearly seeing Luce as the victor.

Messy turned my body to face Luce and pointed at her feet. A single blade of grass had grown over a yard long and was periodically taking a stab at Luce, who kept moving to avoid being poked.

Aid sighed and said, “I’ll help her.”

He created a spell that lifted his sister into the air as he walked toward her and a large chunk of the yard seemed to erupt into flame, but I didn’t feel the heat at all, meaning he was protecting us. Darkness seemed to envelop him for just a moment, and his clothing changed to match the one he had worn yesterday.

Crazy suddenly shot out of the water straight at Aid, he ducked, kicking her into the air where Luce’s small lake surged after her, dividing once more into fast-moving streams.

“She’s not even gasping for breath!” I exclaimed when I realized she seemed fine.

“She doesn’t need to breathe.” stated Messy with a small shrug.

“Yeah… I better help my siblings too. Valeria, mind joining us?” he asked, looking back at her.

Another puff of darkness, and both of their outfits transformed. A chunk of the residual energy which had been forming up around Luce and Aid streamed toward Four, and I was stunned to see them suddenly firing off dozens of deadly spells each at Crazy. I couldn’t follow her movements at all as she dodged. Two of Valeria’s gateways appeared, and there was a large explosion in the ground, which could only be Crazy hitting it with her insane speed.

“How did Valeria time that?” I asked in astonishment.

“Aid’s keeping telepathy going between the three of them as he’s doing his other spells. Four probably called it. He’s still the fastest of them for now.” explained Messy with a smile.

“How hard is keeping up with all of this for you?” I asked, watching as Crazy waded through the intense flames, frowning at the group.

“Much easier than I can keep up with her when she gets serious.” she told me, nodding toward Crazy.

Impressively, Crazy started countering the spells that were being thrown at her from the three siblings as well as Valeria’s slower and somewhat amateurish magic. A continuous barrage of lightning bolts were deflected to the ground, flames couldn’t quite touch her, boulders of earth were caught by torrents of wind that lobbed the earth back at the siblings, water was vaporized, and… I believed there were other currents of air made by the siblings, meant to dismember through pressure. The battle was far too much to follow. Each of the siblings were doing magic beyond what I could manage.

“Who’s going to tire out first?” I asked, some of my awe escaping in my tone.

“No one. I’m sure you can keep up a fight at this level for a good ten minutes at least. Crazy doesn’t tire any more than I do, and she’ll probably fight back soon.” commented Messy, calmly watching the madness.

As if on queue, plants thicker than the length of a limousine tore out of the ground all across the yard, and a deep, instinctive fear rose within me as I looked at them. Before I could register what had happened, they moved and the Somersets as well as Valeria were dumped next to me.

“She’s really getting better at holding back.” insisted Aid as he rubbed his head with a grimace.

“Messy! Messy! Messy!” chanted what sounded like thousands of people.

Messy frowned. “Fine.” she replied as she pulled Valeria to her feet.

As she spoke, light flashed around her. Everyone’s clothing was returned to what it had been, and hers changed to one of their workout suits. What happened next didn’t make sense. There was darkness, light, and far too much movement that seemed completely unnatural all across the yard at once. I didn’t know how long I stared before I realized that several hands were patting my back. Tearing my eyes from the confusing images, I saw the siblings and Valeria watching me. A spell gently wiped the tears from my eyes. When did I start crying?

“You’re fine.” insisted Four.

Even Luce was nodding, giving me a sympathetic look.

“The trick is,” said Aid as he stared into my eyes, “not looking directly at Crazy’s plants. Non-demon brains aren’t wired to process demonic intrusions into this world, which is essentially what happens when Crazy uses her innate magic. You have to force yourself to focus just around them, though that’s easier said than done in that mess.” He motioned back toward the chaos where Crazy and Messy fought.

He glanced at his sister before saying, “Sorry about all of this. Luce really wanted to give you a better impression of what she could do, and we decided to go along with it. Are you okay?”

I nodded, but I felt physically and mentally drained even though I hadn’t participated. For six thousand years, my family was said to be the strength that kept the monsters at bay for the sake of humanity, but what were we next to these kids? I had to force myself not to look back again Crazy and Messy’s fight. My family could not afford to anger these people.

#Children of BFFH #Children #of #BFFH #Jovial Times #Jovial #Times #Fantasy #Fiction #Story

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stuckonvenus · 3 years

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♥ ˚⊹ RIDLEY ALBRIGHT.

❝ I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things We can do the tango just for two I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings Be your Valentino just for you Ooh, love, ooh, loverboy What're you doin' tonight, hey, boy? Set my alarm, turn on my charm That's because I'm a good old-fashioned loverboy ❞

𝐢. Born in Monterrey, Mexico, and adopted by two women from the Midwest — Ridley has known nothing but a normal, picturesque life. He's excelled in school and sports since childhood, becoming the captain of his soccer team by the time he reached high school and the town sweetheart to boot.

𝐢𝐢. He's got everything he could ever want, except for the girl next door, who he's been not-so-secretly in love with for a decade. While he was under the assumption that was the height of his problems, life after graduation is getting more complicated than he would like it to be.

𝐢𝐢𝐢. Suddenly staying awake at all hours of the night, feeling intense waves of hunger, and heightened emotions that he's unable to control, he thinks he's going insane. The truth is, not only does he biologically belong to a werewolf, he was adopted by one as well

♥ ˚⊹ WANTED CONNECTIONS

Anything!

♥ ˚⊹ BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: RIDLEY ADAM ALBRIGHT NICKNAME(S): RIDS, LELE PREFERRED NAME(S): RIDLEY BIRTH DATE: JUNE 6TH, 2000 AGE: 21 ZODIAC: GEMINI GENDER: CIS MALE PRONOUNS: HE/HIM ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: HETEROROMANTIC SEXUAL ORIENTATION: HETEROSEXUAL SPECIES: WEREWOLF LIVING CONDITIONS: WITH HIS MOTHERS

♥ ˚⊹ BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: MONTERREY, MEXICO HOMETOWN: KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI EDUCATION LEVEL: HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATE FATHER: UNKNOWN MOTHER: MARCELA DE LA CRUZ (BIOLOGICAL, DECEASED), BEVERLY ALBRIGHT (ADOPTIVE), DEIRDRE ALBRIGHT (ADOPTIVE) SIBLING(S): NONE. PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: MULTIPLE GIRLFRIENDS. ARRESTS?: NONE. PRISON TIME?: NO.

♥ ˚⊹ OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: CENTURY THEATER USHER SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: LITTLE LEAGUE COACH. CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: ENJOYS HIS SECOND JOB MORE THAN HIS FIRST. PAST JOB(S): NONE. SPENDING HABITS: SPENDS MONEY ON SNEAKERS AND CLOTHES. MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: LETTER FROM HIS BIRTH MOTHER.

♥ ˚⊹ SKILLS & ABILITIES

TALENTS: CAN PLAY SOCCER. SHORTCOMINGS: SLIGHTLY OBSESSIVE. LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: ENGLISH DRIVE?: CAN DRIVE. JUMP-STAR A CAR?: YES. CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: YES. RIDE A BICYCLE?: YES. SWIM?: CAN SWIM. PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: NO. PLAY CHESS?: NO. BRAID HAIR?: NO. TIE A TIE?: YES. PICK A LOCK?: YES.

♥ ˚⊹ PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: BENJAMIN WADSWORTH. EYE COLOR: BROWN. HAIR COLOR: DARK BROWN. HAIR TYPE/STYLE: SHORT AND CURLY. GLASSES/CONTACTS?: NO. DOMINANT HAND: RIGHT. HEIGHT: 5′10. WEIGHT: 145LBS. BUILD: ATHLETIC. EXERCISE HABITS: WORKS OUT MULTIPLE TIMES A WEEK. TATTOOS: NONE. PIERCINGS: NONE. MARKS/SCARS: EYEBROW SCAR FROM A SPORTS INJURY. NOTABLE FEATURES: N/A. USUAL EXPRESSION: BORED. CLOTHING STYLE: CASUAL STREETWEAR. JEWELRY: NONE ALLERGIES: CATS BODY TEMPERATURE: HOT. DIET: EATS WHATEVER IS GIVEN TO HIM. PHYSICAL AILMENTS: NONE

♥ ˚⊹ PSYCHOLOGY

JUNG TYPE: ENFP ENNEAGRAM TYPE: 6 [THE LOYALIST] MORAL ALIGNMENT: CHAOTIC NEUTRAL TEMPERAMENT: SANGUINE MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: NONE. OBSESSION(S): NONE. COMPULSION(S): NONE. PHOBIA(S): TURNING. ADDICTION(S): NONE. DRUG USE: MINIMAL. ALCOHOL USE: DRINKS OCCASIONALLY. PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: NO.

♥ ˚⊹ MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: CASUAL ACCENT: NONE. QUIRKS: NONE. HOBBIES: SOCCER. HABITS: TAPPING ON ANY SURFACE. NERVOUS TICKS: BLINKING EXCESSIVELY. DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: BE CURED. FEARS: TURNING, ENDING UP ALONE. POSITIVE TRAITS: CHARISMATIC. NEGATIVE TRAITS: OVER-PROTECTIVE. SENSE OF HUMOR: DEPENDS ON THE SITUATION. DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: YES. CATCHPHRASE(S): GODDAMN.

♥ ˚⊹ FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: SOCCER. ANIMAL: AXOLOTL. BEVERAGE: ROOT BEER. BOOK: BRAVE NEW WORLD. COLOR: BLUE. FOOD: MEDIUM RARE STEAK. FLOWER: TIGER LILY. GEM: RUBY. HOLIDAY: HIS BIRTHDAY. MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: CAR. MOVIE: TENET. MUSICAL ARTIST: THE FRONT BOTTOMS. SCENERY: MOUNTAINS. SCENT: FRESH LINEN. SPORT: SOCCER. WEATHER: SUNNY. VACATION DESTINATION: VANCOUVER.

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