#[ what if it's just something it /could/ aid in doing. not its main purpose-- but one of the things. ]

[yuelun]

Have I stated that I love Guizhong (Haagentus) of Liyue yet today? Because I do, more than I can say in normal and coherent words. I don't know why adding 'of Liyue' got me feelings extra things, it's okay.

[edandstede]

i think canon izzy is an interesting character who is played very well but every day i’m SO FUCKING GLAD his arc came to its natural end and he died because all his fucked up racist fans have shown their entire arses with their behaviour. now what i REALLY hate is how almost ALL the conversation post s2 is around this one white dude - people doing insane mental gymnastics to minimise his actions and explain why he was actually right for abusing ed or why he didn’t actually do anything wrong and why ed is really the toxic violent one making izzy his victim and i am not even TOUCHING that backwards meta claiming stuff i couldn’t even dream up while high. something about jesus and aids? yeah because that makes sense you insensitive out-of-touch dickheads.

seriously if you hate the show now then prove it and shut the fuck up, move on, it clearly was never for you if you can misinterpret it this badly on purpose. the izzy you’re a fan of doesn’t fucking exist, you made him up in your heads and got mad when the canon character didn’t fit your woobified poor meow meow version. you wanted izzy to be a victim so fucking badly and he just isn’t. he is NOT. he repeatedly threatened and goaded and emotionally manipulated the main character - an openly gay indigenous brown man who expressed his emotions and wore effeminate clothing, who was actively depressed and suicidal - and he fucked around and found out as a result. he had ed released to him like his fucking property by the english after almost having the man ed loved executed in front of him and you think ed is the antagonist here? you think ed is wrong for reaching his breaking point and lashing out exactly how izzy repeatedly begs him to? he wanted blackbeard and he fucking got it.

anyway like FUCK ME there is a whole cast of excellent and interesting characters who don’t get talked about nearly as much, ESPECIALLY characters like jim and olu, roach and zheng, spanish jackie, hell ED HIMSELF. they’re sidelined by fandom racists constantly to make room for this one dude who was an out and out homophobic racist bully and dick for 90% of the show.

stop pissing your pants for 5 seconds and accept izzy (a side character there to accompany ed’s arc) was a canon antagonist with internalised issues who dealt ed (one of two main characters) a LOT of damage, but ultimately actively tried to change and embrace the crew and their ways on the revenge. he found his place in that family, that is a GOOD THING, and he died having found a peace most pirates like him don’t ever get to have. yes, ed lashed out and hurt him, and it was a direct consequence of the violence izzy THREATENED OUT OF HIM. izzy himself acknowledges his part in ed’s pain at the end, so you can too! how about that? if you can’t wrap your head around these very easy to understand plot points then just fuck off at this point y’know? literally just fuck off and find a different show because clearly the canon story of this one isn’t for you.

you cunts are fucking insufferable and have made this character one i don’t wanna touch at all, any post about him just makes me recoil because some fans just could not be normal about him.

now can we get some quality posts about literally anyone else

[kheprriverse]

Forgeconcept for the WIP ask game, please?

This one... maaaaannn Im still figuring out if this is going to be included in my au. But I like the imagery it creates + it's Ko'jin related so its already cool.

*Side note that I decided to combine this with "Forged2" from the ask game as well and just make it one post.

Image under the cut, but be aware there's images of blood and character death.

I mentioned in my last ask that Ko'jin is a jack-of-all-trades character, because he is! A lot of his younger years was spent in his lonesome, in the woods, surviving on basically anything he could find. He had a lot of time to himself where he could learn a lot of skills in hopes of earning money for food. A lot of it included stealing at first, then to stealing for others, then to taking bounties, then to crafting and forging. he ended up discovering a passion in sword-smithing and is even the one who originally forged his helix blade, a weapon he believes is his magnum opus (and continues to believe this).

This image though, and the whole idea, was made to put that to the test and also ask what his purpose for joining the main group. Was it really solely for paying back Ballad's previous aid to him? or was it for something else and what is that something else?

It's a bit loaded but can be explained a little further by one of the other things in the ask game since I don't wanna ramble too much. But my answer with this idea would be "to forge a new weapon" kind of like an ultimate weapon literally meant to do one task and forged by the bones, and blood, of other gods. Demise, in ko'jin's past, was an earth god, one of the oldest in hyrule even, who houses a LOT of power; "the spark of life" even which is still stored in his bones long after his death.

The deity featured in the image is Demise. And the sword's sole purpose is to slay him before the events of skyward sword. Its.. weird time-travelling shenanigans meant to sorta show why/how the Demise Ko'jin knows is different than the Demise SS Link knows.

Anyways sorry this was a lot lmao. I can talk about this for hours i think. I have so many Ko'jin related ideas x'D

There's also this image that's related to all this, showing Ko'jin and the sword. I shared a wip of it in january and just never shared the finished product xD

[anotherhumanpet]

The Realm Strider’s Curse: A Summary || Mobile

So what is the curse?

To answer in an in-character way, the curse is a strange phenomena that seems to be spontaneously hurtling Dennis across the multiverse. To what end or for what purpose remains unclear though because there isn’t any sort of puppet master pulling on any strings. There is only Dennis, and maybe the occasional companion he accidentally brings with him.

To answer in an out-of-character way, the curse is my personal writing excuse to have the main version of Dennis be open for interactions across the multiverse. So it doesn’t matter if your character hails from a completely different timeline, universe, media series, what have you; Dennis has the means of popping up in your character’s setting and to do his Dennis thing while he’s around.

How does the curse work?

In order to understand the mechanics of the curse you have to understand Transformers lore, and sometimes the lore can get a bit convoluted - especially when you consider how old the series is, how many times it has been (re)written, and how every writer approaches the series with their own interpretations in mind because everyone is right and no one is ever wrong.

With that being said, I’m going to present the necessary lore as neutrally as possible. Then, I’m going to explain my interpretation on it to help explain Dennis’ curse.

First, there is a relic known as the Matrix of Leadership. Typically, the Matrix is used to upgrade a mech with god-like powers while also granting them the title of Prime. How these powers will work varies from one series to the next, but the Matrix has a way of elevating whoever carries it above the rest of the cast. The title of Prime is also considered a very honorable title, and is typically highly respected by transformer society. Sometimes, mecha will change their entire name to something more befitting their Prime status, but this is not always the case.

For Dennis’ universe specifically, one of the things that the Matrix can do is grant its bearers a direct connection to the Primes of the past - better known as the Thirteen. They are the first transformers to be created by the likes of Primus, the transformer god of order, and they held the most god-like powers because of their direct lineage to Primus. As the thirteen died off, their consciousnesses meld with the Matrix, thus allowing future bearers of the Matrix to commune with the thirteen for whatever purpose or needs they had.

For my writing purposes, another power boon the Matrix grants is the ability to tap into the god-like abilities that the thirteen had. This is an unreliable boon as it is very hard to tap into, especially if the Prime used a relic or tool to exert their power, but it is something that can be done by those capable of figuring out the process.

Now, one of the thirteen was known as Vector Prime, and his specialty laid solely in space and time.

See where I’m going with this now?

So how does this relate back to Dennis?

In Dennis’ lore (which is essentially altered/canon divergent TF:P lore), there was a period of time where Optimus got very hurt, was laying half dead in a cave, and his only company during his seemingly final moments were Dennis and Smokescreen.

While Smokescreen was popping in and out of the cave to steal supplies and survey the situation outside, Dennis kept watch over Optimus and just simply hoped for the best because he didn’t know what else he could do at the time. The situation seemed bleak, he didn’t have any useful skills or knowledge that could aid Optimus, and he was deeply fond of the mech so staring at his corpse-like-state was more than a bit traumatizing for him.

Then, Optimus’ chest cavity opened up and the Matrix began to shine brilliantly from within him because it was desperately calling out for someone else to pick up its mantle while the current host was dying. There was no one to answer the call though. There was only Dennis, who panic-climbed his way up onto Optimus’ chest and pleadingly yelled at the Prime to wake up, all while pushing against Optimus’ chest panels in a desperate attempt to close them.

Dennis’ near proximity to a panicking and spiritually flailing Matrix would wind up infusing him with energy that is akin to Vector Prime, thus granting him minor power over space and time.

The problem is the kid doesn’t realize this. Nobody does.

And so now, Dennis just hops wildly around the multiverse, equally frightened and frustrated by his ability.

[duckdotimg]

hiii i'm the last anon, honestly i'm very interested in the whole story. who's lucia, how and when has she become a serial killer, why and when did she decide to have a child, etc. i'm also extremely interested in what happens to aiden, as i've seen you have an older design of her where she lost an eye, which i assume is due to something that happened with lucia? i'd love to know it all tbh!

i'm happy that you're interested anon! i'm not good with words but if you're curious about a "deeper" dive, here's the folder for the story on my toyhouse with all of the characters involved in the story (main installment and 2012 installment).

the long story short is that i wanted to explore a story where lucia, a mixture of norman osborne (the green goblin) and patrick bateman, decides that other than being a slasher she wants to bear the perfect heir to carry on her legacy of murder. with the aide of the cursed office building that is cursed on its own, not due to her doing.

it's hard to explain the story well since i haven't "structured" it, i only have vague strokes... lucia had a child because she just could. she was a wall street broker of high regard when she was 25 and had the money to go for artificial insemination, so she did. her being a serial killer is not a very deep thing tbh: she's a slasher as many can be, and like i said as she is inspired by the likes of patrick bateman she essentially started killing because it initially made it easier for her to go through the "ranks" by directly eliminating her rivals. with the years, it became something unnecessary that she kept doing because she liked doing it. hence why in her 40s (at the time of the story) she's still terrorizing her office workers and slaughtering them, despite being the CEO of a high-end investments company.

as for what happens to aiden, it is implied through her profile that indeed an accident happens between her and lucia. i don't want to "spoil" it for the sake of "what-if-i-make-it-a-comic"-isms, but i will say that lucia does indeed die and she does indeed give aiden that permanent injury in the process. as a reminder of whose daughter she is, and her "true nature" (bs like that)

there's definitely more to it as well since it mainly focuses on aiden but i like sometimes thinking about how comically truly twisted lucia is, but it is done on purpose, since i ended up developing her to fall between the lines of a kind of serious, yet also hilariously evil main antagonist. like she's so evil that it's almost ridiculous.

it is important to note, however, that lucia nurtures a twisted but very genuinely motherly love for aiden, even if the injury aiden has later on might make you think otherwise... hard to explain but i love the theme of a twisted mother who is inequivocably evil to everyone but their children, for whom they feel unconditional love and would support them through thick and thin. in her own bizarre, contorted way, this also applies to lucia. the way abuse is relayed onto aiden is less directly malicious than one would imagine (doesn't make it any less fucked up, tho)

i hope this eases some of your curiosities!!!! thank you for being interested :-))))

[navibluebees]

Someone to be Proud of (Recom Quaritch x Human Female Reader) - Part 6

Please read before interacting.

Thank you so much for your patience for this part! It was a hard week. I am so grateful for all the new followers, passed 100 this week! Welcome to everybody and thank you for the support!! :)

You packed a bag. You did not know when to leave, where to go. All you needed was to get away.  In a flurry, you tossed your clothes into the bag. You threw in a couple of portable solar power battery packs for the air masks. A first aid kit, some nonperishable meal packets and a water bottle. Your tablet lit up and you pulled up your notifications. There was going to be a trip in a couple of days to another location that would be linked to Bridgehead. If they spread out the colony sites, then the resources wouldn’t be depleted so quickly in one spot.

You sighed deeply. What was the point of even going? You didn’t really have the heart for it anymore. But maybe this would be the time to escape. You sent a confirmation that you had received the message. About to put your tablet down, you stopped at the ding of another notification.

Missing you. Hope to see you in a few days.

Miles

Repulsed, you swiped it away, refusing to respond. How you’d handle that, who knew? But you weren’t going to be waiting for him. 

~~~

Miles watched as the mother tulkun was impaled by the harpoon. She let out a groan and her calf whined. He winced, something bothering him. Something he wouldn’t look too closely at. The tulkun was pulled onto the ship, a machine taking him, Spider, the captain and a scientist in its mouth. Spider was looking around in awe of seeing another creature of Pandora so closely. The scientist was talking to him, explaining about the intelligence of the tulkun. Spider listened attentively until the captain interrupted, making a joke about dropping the Amrita. The scientist, Garvin, stared at him flat-faced and then turned around to his screen.

The captain annoyed Miles. He was just a tiny, greedy man. No true purpose other than money and fame. Worthless. The word resounded off the walls of his mind. What was his own purpose?

They dumped the tulkun, leaving the tracker stabbed into its side for Sully to find. If he was so close to these ocean clans and they were close to the tulkun, he could be provoked out with anger.

A few days after, they saw a lone tulkun. The small boats dropped and shot a tracker into it before returning to the main ship. The ship followed the signal and came around a tall rock to see small blue shapes moving on top of the creature. Miles looked through the binoculars and smirked. “Well, I’ll be damned. Sully’s kids. Let’s go.” He stepped away, moving to alert the captain to drop the smaller subs to go catch the kids. Spider ran after him and jumped, pulling on his arm.

“Why are you doing this?! Stop! Just leave them alone!!”

He whirled on Spider. His mouth snarled in a furious way. He was so close to getting everything he thought he wanted. So close to completing the mission. If Spider was more of a soldier, Miles was sure he would understand. “Get to the bridge. Go now. Or else the ass whoopin’ I mentioned a while back still stands.”

Spider growled and Miles signaled for guards to escort him back. He jerked his arms away and stomped on ahead of them. Miles’ ears flattened and he shook his head, clearing his thoughts. The subs returned after a bit and brought three of the kids along with it. One was a lighter blue with a different tail, but he handcuffed all of them to the railing anyway. Jake and the tribe he’d been hiding with had come into the area. He held a gun to the head of the boy next to him. ‘Boy’. A child. He winced internally, imagining Spider in his place. He knew he would do anything to save that kid for a chance to know him. This was the right choice to bring Jake in. 

He talked to Jake over the comm systems and threatened the lives of the children. He paused, waiting for him to come closer to surrender himself. What he’d do with the kids after? Maybe hold them hostage. What would you think of him? Damn, you probably wouldn’t approve of the situation in the first place. He decided he wasn’t sure he would ever tell you.

~~~

It wasn’t up to him anymore. Your train was leaving in an hour and so you had your bag prepped and ready to go at your feet. You went toward the room that had the body cam footage in it before. Just on the off chance you could see more of what was going on. The door was cracked again. You covered your mouth in panic, trying to hide the gasps that were coming from you. 

This was Miles’ cam. His voice was too close for it to not be him. He was holding a gun to the head of a young boy, his head turned, anger in his eyes. Another girl, worried sat beside him, and no, there was one more, hidden in between the two older ones. She looked up, her eyes wide, face so small and vulnerable. Children. He was threatening children to get to Sully. Whatever Sully may or may not have done, threatening children was something that could not be justified, something that you would never be able to unsee. You picked up your bag and shuffled quietly to the end of the hallway from the conference room. You took off toward the train, determined not to miss it. You had been given confirmation of your decision to leave.

~~~

The ache in your chest swallowed you whole as you rode the train toward the potential location of another colony. Were you even told the truth? Humans had twisted and messed up the world for as long as they had been alive so you supposed it made sense that they would tell a completely false story about the events on Pandora years ago. Head pounding from the new revelations, you rested it against the window, steady motion lulling you to sleep. 

A screeching alarm woke you up. You looked around, but all you could see were your other team members panicking and putting on their masks. You followed protocol and donned yours too. The train squealed loudly over the tracks, trying to stop. You started to rise in your seat, quickly pulling your seatbelt over you to stop it and gripped the armrests, fighting the nausea and hysteria rising in your throat. The train flipped and toppled over. You felt the impact jolt you, rattling your brain around in your skull. Keeping your eyes shut tight, you waited until your body stopped shaking long enough to register what had happened. 

You opened your eyes and looked around, not seeing any team members. Turning a bit, you saw they were staggering to the door, struggling with being upside down in the train car. You waved your hand weakly and one ran to you, unbuckling you and helping you down. You glanced around and by some miracle, your bag had stayed nearby the whole time. Slinging it across your body, you went to the exit as quickly as you could manage.

They had all run ahead and you stumbled, landing in the rubble. They turned and waited and after not seeing you, ran down the tracks, heading back to Bridgehead. Your knees were too weak to stand, your hands shook and so you curled in on yourself, drawing them to your chest. Sounds raged around you. The smell of smoke. Shouting in a foreign language somewhere behind you. A shadow fell over your eyes and you opened them slightly. “Miles?”

The person leaned closer and you saw it was one of the Na’vi tribe you had heard of. The clan that Jake Sully had joined. Weakly, you turned back and stayed curled up. They could kill you. Or leave you. It didn’t really matter at this point. You weren’t going back. Strong hands scooped under you and threw you over a shoulder. Your eyes popped open, but the raging light from above forced you to close them. Blood seeped from a cut across your stomach and lightheaded, you passed out.

~~~

When you woke up a bit later, your mask wasn’t on. You grabbed at your face and patted around you, holding your breath and then sat up quickly. Your head swam and hands moved to your shoulders, gently pushing you back down. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay. Just rest. The train shook you around a lot. It’s alright.”

“Who are you? Where am I?” You mumbled. 

“My name is Max. You’re with the Omaticaya.”

***

Taglist:

@drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @mechformers

[hayatheauthor]

How To Write An Antagonist

Your antagonist is one of the most important characters in your book. They create conflict in your book and help establish obstacles for your protagonist to overcome. Their significance to your plot makes it very important to create a good antagonist. Unsure how to write an antagonist for your book? Here are some tips from a querying YA fantasy author! 

Give Them A Purpose 

It’s important to have a clear idea of why your antagonist is the way they are. Before starting your book, create a concrete backstory for why your antagonists are the way they are. This can be anything from childhood trauma to a vendetta against the protagonist. Or maybe they’ve always just craved power and aren’t afraid of using any means to get it. 

Establishing your antagonist’s reasons and purpose helps your readers gain insight into their personality and role in the book. Something as simple as ‘your antagonist wants to steal a sacred stone to selfishly keep its power to themselves’ is enough for your readers to understand why this character is an antagonist and what pits them against your protagonist. 

It’s also important to establish a purpose for your smaller antagonists. Think of books like Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, or even non-fantasy ones. Most of these books have a group of antagonists rather than a single villain, each with its own purpose and vendetta against the protagonist. 

Draco Malfoy wasn’t nearly as bad as Voldemort, but his heritage and mindset birthed his hatred for the protagonists. You should establish your minor antagonists’ purpose and reasons too before jumping into your book. 

Establish A Goal 

It’s important for your readers to know what your antagonist’s goal is. Their purpose is very different from their goal. A goal defines what they want to achieve by the end of the book, but you should also create short term goals for your antagonists. 

A new short term goal should be established every couple of chapters. These goals should aid in your antagonist’s final plan but also help drive the plot forward. Authors often establish short term goals for their protagonists but forget to do the same for antagonists. You might think that saying they basically want the opposite of what the protagonist wants could be effective for some aspects of the book (for example, if they were going through a fight scene), however, this can be redundant when overused. 

A good short term goal for an antagonist should: 

Show your readers their perspective on what is currently happening in the book. Maybe the protagonists are having a meeting and a minor antagonist is spying on it vengefully as they think of how these very people killed their parents. 

Further or shorten their progress towards their main goal. Why is this antagonist spying on this particular meeting? How will the information they hear help in the long run? 

Have an impact on your book’s plot. What happens if this antagonist goes back to their higher ups with this information? What happens if they don’t? Establish a clear ultimatum or a significant development in your plot. 

You don’t have to necessarily incorporate all of this into your writing, but it’s important to have a clear understanding of your short term goals so you know where you’re going with your plot. 

Similarly, here are some things to consider when creating a long term goal for your antagonists: 

How will this impact your protagonists and/or their world? Will the world dissolve into chaos? Will your protagonist lose their dream job? What are the stakes? 

What will your antagonists get when their goal is achieved? World domination? A relationship with your love interest? Vengeance? Revenge? A promotion? 

How will this impact your antagonist and their dynamics with their allies? Will they become the leader? Will their allies stand with them or try to betray them and steal their advantages for themselves? 

Can the protagonists alter the effects of their goal if it is achieved? Think of characters like Katniss Everdeen, Percy Jackson, or Kaz Brekker. They each faced hurdles due to the antagonist getting what they wanted at some point near the end of a book, yet they overcame these hurdles in the next part. Can the same be said for your protagonists? 

Is this the end? Do they have any more goals in mind? Is reaching this goal only the first step of an elaborate master plan? 

Create A Flaw 

When creating an antagonist it’s important to remember that they aren’t supposed to win at the end (or are they?) Your antagonist needs to have flaws, just like your protagonist does. Why can’t they already overcome your protagonist? What shortcomings do they have? What can they do to overcome these shortcomings? 

You need to establish a clear flaw for your antagonists to level the playing field. Voldemort had his Horcruxes, the Titans were weakened by Luke’s heart. Even minor antagonists, like Narcissa Malfoy who was swayed by her love for her son, need to have some sort of flaw or shortcoming that could possibly be used to your protagonist’s advantage. 

Similarly, it’s important to establish flaws for your protagonists that can be used by your antagonist. 

Know Their Ending 

It’s important for you to know what your end plan is for your antagonist, this helps you shape your book’s plot and establish both short term and long term goals. You don’t need to know what’s going to happen to every little antagonist in your book, but it’s important to know where you want your main protagonist and antagonist to end up. 

Maybe they die at the end or end up besting the protagonist and taking over their world. It’s also important to know where your antagonist is heading so that you trickle that in from the start. Maybe the antagonist has a wayward brother who betrayed them for the protagonist, returns, and betrays them again. Maybe the antagonist has a special weakness that the protagonist discovers. 

Knowing your antagonist’s ending helps you shape their character traits, backstory and personality accordingly. It also ensures you know where you’re headed with your book. 

I hope this blog on how to write an antagonist will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and marketing tools for authors every Monday and Thursday. 

Want to learn more about me and my writing journey? Visit my social media pages under the handle @hayatheauthor where I post content about my WIP The Traitor’s Throne and life as a teenage author. 

Copyright © 2022 Haya Sameer, you are not allowed to repost, translate, recreate or redistribute my blog posts or content without prior permission

[faerywhimsy]

TD;DR

No one: …

Me: So I know Lestat's the main character of Prince Lestat, but did any of the other beloved characters see the warning signs of the Voice/Amel in the world before it started going around compelling the old ones into killing younglings.

Sorry, killing young ones. And what might those warning signs have looked like?

Prince Lestat is meant to be read as a sequel to Queen of the Damned and, structurally, its many view points succeeds in that goal. However, thematically, there was so much a missed opportunity in actually seeing many of our favourite characters still existing in the aftermath of maybe as little as a decade still scrambling with the grief and loss and so many abruptly silenced minds...

None of them were... doing well... post-Akasha. But then the tension begins to build again.

Slowly, at first. Disconnected fragments across the continents of the world.

Because it's not like these immortals have ever been the best at communicating directly:—

The Coven and the Courtiers - A Guide (QotD 1.5)

Khayman is with Maharet, never straying too far from the jungles of the Amazon, when he picks up the first murmurings of malcontent from the spirit they moved from Akasha into Mekare. It is not happy within its new host. But perhaps it wasn't happy in its previous host either. Akasha sat as a statue under Marius for centuries before ever waking up. Khayman wonders if they're going to have that long again.

Marius is in Brazil with Daniel. He cannot help himself from scanning nearby minds, even as he claims a hope to remain on the sidelines of their world after the disastrous end of his two millennia caring for the Mother and Father. Marius is therefore one of the first who hears word of a very early and isolated Burning that doesn't seem to have any connection back to Akasha. But it would be foolish to ignore them completely, especially when the last Burnings are still so recent.

Pandora's returned to Arjun in India, but he has begun to act strangely. Because of the veil between their minds, she can only ever understand it through the words he offers for explanation. He wishes for the sanctuary of the earth. Inwardly, Pandora wonders if it was her urge to rush to Marius' aid when he was encased in the ice. She doesn't think it was her alliance with Santino, who is now of course dead to them all. She watches Arjun—before he goes into the ground—because he is the love of her life. She watches him because something deep within tells her something's not right.

Mael was filled with a profound sense of purpose during the first Burning. He would look after Maharet and Jesse. Yet, he had failed in that. Since the Burning, Khayman has taken over as Maharet's consort and companion and that's left Mael with... nothing. His maker Avicus has a new coven in Geneva now, with immortals as old as Gregory and as young as Davis. If Avicus thinks of Mael at all, he has no cause to think it. He's had a very long life but, without any sense of purpose calling him, there is no long any care in him. Not for himself, not for any his kind.

Bianca's in Paris with her new fledgling. They never imagine anything could hurt them. Why would they? The first Burning passed them over without so much as coming near them. There's a rumour passed around Europe lately that bringing one into the blood no longer seems to be happening the way it used to. Tales of mute zombies with hearts that won't beat—truly dead things in the place of fledglings—abound. But even that's easy to ignore when Bianca and her own fledgling feel so young, and in love, and immortal.

David is one of three who were mortal during the last interaction with a Queen of Vampires. He and Jesse talk about it sometimes. Jesse has kept up contact with the Great Family in South America, just as David kept some of his contacts within the Talamasca in Britain, younger ones who didn't mind seem to mind when he became a vampire. The same ones Marius' maker Teskhamen has also given his life into the hands of. They're the ones to bring David's attention to Burnings-related incidents as they start making the news on human television stations. They're the ones to ask him if this is something they should be worried about.

Gabrielle alone is able to say that—when the Queen descended on them the last time—she was the one in risk of losing her only remaining son. She knows many think her cold, but they don't know the pain of burying a child born of their womb. Gabrielle has hardened herself because it's the only protection she's found for her heart and her time in Turkey with the ancient handmaid Sevraine has not her changed utterly. Oh, Gabrielle's not blind, she knows her son will not let this world come to an end. Nor is she—first fledgling of Lestat—unaware of the Voice that whispers to him now.

Killer is in Philadelphia and is only just a century in the blood and one of the youngest outside the "Coven of the Articulate" to have survived Akasha's massacre. Killer makes up part of the Fang Gang, the coven that lies closest to Armand in New York City, less than two hours away. He may only be notable for his proximity to Armand, and his prior connection to Davis, but even he senses the change in Armand as word begins to trickle back to Trinity Gate and the Fang Gang are forced to disband.

Armand knows already he will protect his chosen family at all costs, from any future threats or Burnings. Was there a moment he considered taking them all underground where none would find them should anything resurface? Yes, though he'll never admit it. There was always that concern that the Sacred Core residing in Mekare would corrupt her. Is that what they are starting to see now?

Louis can hear nothing for himself, of course. But Lestat's visits to Trinity Gate begin to grow more and more sporadic and Louis can see Armand grows steadily more tightly wound as the world around them changes again. But still Louis counsels his love and companion to pause. Wait. Be vigilant, but if Khayman and Marius have told them they are already watchful of possible threat, they are likely not the only old ones to do so.

Benji's too much like Armand; he will protect the ones he considers his tribe. He never really understood how the old ones isolate themselves, hasn't really had enough interaction with them to recognise it in any real way. For him, immortals live like they do in Trinity Gate. Benji's radio show begins slowly, like a modern analog of Armand's Théâtre des Vampires, in that no human hearing it will believe, but blood drinkers will find what they need.

I was going to suggest Lestat's probably one of the youngest immortal to actually hear Amel's voice. Then I remembered how strong in the blood Daniel's always been depicted for his age. So yeah he's mad, but that's not helped by the fact Amel started yammering at him from the same point as Lestat. "He rages," said Daniel. "When he's gotten into my head, he's raged."

Cause it's a psychic blast, people. Even Lestat acknowledges, "the Voice is working on a number of fronts".

In any case, all of this is more or less the outline of what I've been thinking of as the QotD 1.5 head canon, something that's being played out in How They Get to Trinity Gate as we get to the pointy end of the fic.

[storiesofsung]

Why I like TWST - pt1 (rant)

Slight spoilers for book 7

Twst is the best otome not otome games I’ve played for far and while I haven’t played all in existence, I played a decent amount of them

It solely lies in the fact that while it may be baity at times (Malleus I’m looking at you) it doesn’t need to rely on romance and cheap gags to keep the player (who is probably there for that exact reason) engaged…since it was marketed at just that.

There’s nothing wrong with the game, in fact if you like it go for it. The problem is the game can sometimes get too wrapped up in the fact that it must have pretty men (I’m only speaking for the “fem directed otomes” because those are the ones I’ve played) that it looses the little boldness/any at all that dares to break the norm of what is beautiful or acceptable to make for an interesting game/story.

I’m gonna shit on obeys me’s later writing because as I’ve said before in this post, it has so much potential. But it abandons all else for cheap scenarios where the demons don’t even act like demons.

Anyways maybe that’s just my criticism with obey me or ygs could relate to another otome that the devs ruined for the sake of random fluff.

I like TWST so much because in its essence it’s exactly the opposite of what I described—not an otome. It doesn’t give a shit if the player (or simp, jk) gets butthurt if it’s set up in the narrative for this certain character not to be entirely head over heels for the MC.

Sure the plot isn’t perfect (I’m looking at u book 4) but think of it this way.. most players who are at least up to date use their knowledge of the canon plot to weave the story into their fanart/fanfiction. The plot is integral for the viewer to actually be invested and it is interesting and relevant enough that people actually use it when enjoying the game.

I’m gonna bet you the average player doesn’t know what’s going on in OM! past ch 50. Or maybe you do but I haven’t seen a lot of posts referencing anything plot wise past 20. (Except for the new characters) it’s because it’s simply not interesting enough to be pain attention to. (Maybe I’m being too harsh but this is my experience)

Criticism

I think one of my only criticisms about TWST is about the MC (in game) I like the direction they go in the manga but in game they’re kinda meh. Now I know they do fulfill their purpose and TWST isn’t that kinda game (you need to insert yourself) but I feel that giving the MC a personality or at least a backstory (ish) would be better since that is what they did in the manga

Idk self insert MCs can be fun (don’t get me wrong I love em) but personally I feel that the MC should be given an explanation as to why they are like that. Why are they a beast tamer?, what do they feel in being in a school with otherworldly subjects?, how do they cope with living in a Rickety environment? What are some clues about their backstory /what they remember before coming to TWST that could aid in buildup for when ortho (bless his soul) finds a possible answer to how we ended up here?

Also this is my oc/what I believe to be interesting but I found it interesting as to what living as a girl in a school full of boys can affect the MC. I don’t believe this part should be implemented in the main thing because there are a bunch of wonderful male MCs, but it is something I would want to explore.

—I’ll make a separate post for this

[finely-tuned-line]

RP:

Log 218

FTL: FTLR-3 has taken the form of the cyan lizard that was its host. It remains immobile, but the form it has taken is clearly that of a cyan lizard. One especially similar to the one from which it originated from. I've described my hypothesis as to why it would do such a thing in Log 216, but to summarise, it's for the sake of efficiency. Efficiency of movement, efficiency of existence. It's taking the best of all three sub-types of Rot and combining it.

FTL: I fear that this new form may grant FTLR-3 a much extended range of movement that, especially when combined with its apparent ability to learn, could result in it breaking out of the containment chamber. If all goes well, this will not be the case. I will carry on in my attempts at creating a potent corrosive substance, just in case LIFEGIVER's treatment does not arrive on time.

FTL: As for updates on the progress of my attempts to create such a substance, there aren't many. The progress has been lacking and it all is strikingly reminiscent of my attempts to create organisms without a foundation. I do believe that I am on edge of something, though. I cannot tell you what, only that it will aid me in my quest.

FTL: The time after FTLR-3 is eradicated is eagerly awaited. I cannot allow myself to get distracted from this process at this time, but the thoughts of experiments I could be doing now are alluring to me. For example, Eternal Anomaly (as our conversation has unfortunately not yet ceased) mentioned a slugcat-poleplant hybrid.

FTL: Creating a hybrid with a poleplant is indeed a curious idea. One that I wish I could afford the time to explore at this moment. Perhaps not with a slugcat, that seems to defeat the purpose. Slugcats are insanely adaptable creatures, they can withstand just about any modifications. Though a slugcat-poleplant hybrid would have its benefits, my interest lies in the reactivity of the poleplants leaves. What if a poleplant's genetics that pertain to them were implanted into say, a lizard? Forgive me for the amount of experiments that lizards have been the main subject of.

FTL: The 'leaves' could function as a warning system, though perhaps it wouldn't be that much of an effective one. Append them onto the tail though, and they could perhaps warn the lizard of any vibrations in the ground. The red colouring the lizard would be sure to inherit from the poleplants would also serve as a deterrent to predators, invoking the image of a typical red lizard. It could also potentially employ the poleplant's typical hunting method of ambush. Though it would lack the ability to blend in.

FTL: Perhaps if the lizard that would be modified were a white lizard... its camouflage abilities, if combined with the reactiveness of the poleplant. Truly could make a capable predator, armed with many ways to protect itself from any that may threaten it. Its red leaves would make it stand out, even when camouflaged, but everything needs a weakness, no?

FTL: I'll have to put this idea on hold. After this whole fiasco is over, this will be the project I pick up. Just another incentive to get this over with as quickly as possible. I tire of researching FTLR-3, it has too much urgency to it. But I shall carry on doing so, as though my interest grows weaker as my attention attempts to drift elsewhere, I remain curious about its nature.

[tiredassmage]

7, 8, & 24 for tyr because i am incredibly predictable

skfnlskf but you're loved xD (enabler)

[SWTOR OC Questions]

7. What else about their appearance (e.g. hairstyle, body shape) isn't shown in-game?

Primarily his few implants from service in Imperial Intelligence, but some scarring’s missing as well.

Tyr’s primarily a product of training more than modification and enhancement programs out of Imperial Intelligence, but his implants originally installed by Watcher X on Nar Shadaa during his tenure as Cipher Nine have been maintained and modified by multiple parties over the years, at this point. While initially employed with a more singular purpose, Imperial Intelligence studied and expanded Watcher X’s work during Nine’s routine physical exams to adapt into a more robust vital signs monitoring system primarily, of course, to aid Tyr in his field work, but arguably also to have a better monitor on one of their top agents. Most of this tech isn’t visible, located subdermally, save for a rounded triangular silver outline between his shoulder blades on his back that’s generally a maintenance point. Care, updates, and further modifications to these systems has sinced passed primarily into the care of Doctors Lokin and Oggurobb in the Alliance, particularly in concerns following the Commander’s carbonite poisoning. Lokin is generally who Tyr trusts first and foremost with any details and work on the implants. Some of it is… certainly a bit more experimental - and wasn’t it always? But at least Lokin he has a working history with as his medical officer. He’s not entirely sorry, Oggurobb.

More than likely, the upkeep over the year has resulted in some minor scarring across primarily the back of his left shoulder. It’s one of the few that Tyr has consented to have scar removal treatments performed on, if only to aid in the ongoing healing and maintainence required.

Other than that, Tyr’s multiple encounters with Force users over the years have left their marks. The run-in with Arcann on Asylum left a particularly noticeable one on his left side that Tyr adamantly refused to have treated beyond its natural process of healing. The feathering of effects from Force Lightning primarily encountered in efforts against Darth Jadus early in his Intelligence career have largely faded over time, but still leave a few barely-evident lightning patterns across tanned skin you’d only really get to know if you spent time with him in private - probably most noticeable along his left collarbone. Given how many years he’s spent fighting at this point, it won’t surprise me if he has way more than I have currently figured out, but these are the two primary things that come to mind.

8. Is their voice different to the character in-game, and if so, how?

Tyr is blessed with being my main and primary agent who came together specifically to be Cipher Nine, so what he’s got in-game is all him, baby! If there is anything to say that doesn’t necessarily reflect in-game, it’s that I imagine part of Tyr’s training is some language studies - probably primarily Huttese is a language he has a functional grasp on without the assistance of translator modules.

24. If they could have a stronghold on any world, where would it be, how large would it be, & what would the architecture be like?

Honestly? Something a fair bit smaller while still maintaining more of a house-feel than an apartment or flat would be his ideal. Practically in gameplay terms, I barely know what to do with all of the space for anything more than like, the fleet strongholds, and in-character, Tyr just… does not have the time or energy to keep up with a particularly large living space and he is not likely to be crashing with enough other people to split the load for something like the Alderaan estate no matter how pretty that planet is, lol.

Probably most ideal would be something on Odessen, tbh. I think that’s ultimately where he’d like to settle, even though he would like to step away from being Alliance Commander… some day. He’s enamored with how the sunsets feel on the planet, the golden hues coloring the trees, how the night sky looks, etc. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, but it’s really… the one physical, unmoving location that he really does call home. And a lot of that is heavily reliant upon what the Alliance’s time there symbolizes for him, but the Odessen climate certainly isn’t docking points, either.

As you may have guessed, architecture and house planning aren’t things I’d consider strong points, personally, lol, but an ideal world might give Tyr a decently sized kitchen with plenty of counter space and enough room to comfortably move maybe two people around. An island might be nice. He’s still nothing of a master chef, exactly, but it’s hard to beat the simple joy of sharing a kitchen with a loved one and he’d like to think he’s at least passable in cooking his fair share. Something maybe a bit more distanced from the strong, sharp structural themes of Imperial architecture, maybe something a bit more inclusive of more natural materials. Something… far less dramatic in scale and more… personal, quiet. The Voss are onto something with their softer lighting. He’d honestly probably still not mind settling somewhere in the Alderaani woods and mountains for the views, but the grand swoop and scale of Alderaaanian architecture is a bit more of a statement than he’d really need or want. The views are just hard to argue with, though.

Oh, outdoor space would be nice though. Tyr would absolutely land the starship on the back lawn [my kingdom for the starship hook]. And considering my recently developed interest in him learning bladesmithing as a "retirement" activity, he needs enough space to build a forge. xD

[thatgreyjedi]

You know what I’ve been thinking about lately? I might be late jumping on this, but it’s related to the Barbie movie.

First off, the movie was a 10/10, I loved it and feel like the different messages throughout the story has something that everyone can relate to, regardless of beliefs. However, one thing, or rather song that I’ve been revisiting and really thinking about is What Was I Made For? by Billie Eilish.

Here are the lyrics for it (courtesy of Google)

I used to float, now I just fall down

I used to know but I'm not sure now

What I was made for

What was I made for?

Takin' a drive, I was an ideal

Looked so alive, turns out I'm not real

Just something you paid for

What was I made for?

'Cause I, I

I don't know how to feel

But I wanna try

I don't know how to feel

But someday, I might

Someday, I might

When did it end? All the enjoyment

I'm sad again, don't tell my boyfriend

It's not what he's made for

What was I made for?

'Cause I, 'cause I

I don't know how to feel

But I wanna try

I don't know how to feel

But someday I might

Someday I might

Think I forgot how to be happy

Something I'm not, but something I can be

Something I wait for

Something I'm made for

Something I'm made for

Sure, the song is related to how Barbie struggles with adjusting to the real world after her and Ken leave Barbieland and she experiences what many of us feel or go through in life. However, since my main content is Star Wars, I put a different meaning behind the song. In that sense, I connected to the clones.

As the Clone Wars goes on, the clones begin to question their purpose after the war is over. They were bred to do one thing and one thing only: Serve and Protect the Republic against the Separatist forces. They were created for war and designed to fight. There wasn’t any plan for them after the war concluded. Also, it wasn’t like they had a say in any laws regarding their citizenship either as they couldn’t hold public office and they had very little say in their rights overall. It wasn’t like life was going to be any easier for them after the war as shown in pieces of Star Wars media over the past couple of years. It wasn’t like anyone wanted them to exist, but they were created anyway for the Republic for the Republic after someone paid for their creation.

There are a multitude of examples of clones coming to this realization. For Commander Mayday (introduced in the Second Season of The Bad Batch), he and his men served the Republic dutifully, yet were completely thrown away as soon as the Empire came through to replace the Republic. The Empire was just hoping the clones under Mayday’s command would just give up and retire, but the clones couldn’t. They had nothing waiting for them after the war. All they knew was fighting. All Mayday and his crew could do was serve the Empire in the best way they could and protect its stability. They had nothing else to fight for except aid the replacement of the Republic so they wouldn’t have to consider life after. To quote Mayday, “After all the clones have done… all we sacrificed. We're good soldiers. We followed orders. And for what?” He came to the realization that the Empire never cared about their lives or how they were lost, but could never leave the fighting for the Empire because nothing awaited him.

This song can be analyzed in many different ways and connected to other characters, but this is how I made a connection between a song from the Barbie movie and Star Wars.

This is why I love music so much, especially pieces that can speak to you on a personal level or help make connections. Music is a powerful way to get across a message to others or leave it up for interpretation.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

Let me know if you like these kinds of analyses because I enjoy making them!

[livesinthebalance]

GENERAL TO SPECIFIC KNOWLEDGE OF THE BACK

IN REFERENCE TO ABIGAIL "ABBY" DEKKER'S IMPLANT FOR HER BACK…

I have done a fair amount of research for myself and for my characters on this topic, but I am by no means an expert on backs or on paralyzing injuries. I know only what I have researched and what I have learned from those who do have working and everyday knowledge. I will try to portray this injury well both prior to the implant and afterwards—as threads demand—as accurately as possible. If I am inaccurate in something, please feel free to let me know and I will make the necessary corrections.

Now, to start, Abby's injury was at the lower part of her lumbar vertabrae, around the L4-L5 section, which largely prevented her from walking without the constant use of tools to aid her, until such time as she received the implant, after which she had to do a great deal of physical therapy to rebuild the muscles and regain her coordination and mobility—insomuch as she could.

This is what the implant looks like internally on her spine.

Most of the implant itself is not visible but part of it is above the skin. This is likely the access point where components would be replaced when it was necessary for general upkeep—short of things that would require major surgery like the sections along the bones themselves and at the spinal cord.

Due to both the way the implant is set and the fact that it was experimental at the time, there are issues with it, among them:

1) It created a limited range of movement with its design, at least where the lowest sections of her spine are concerned. You will not see her twist too much. You'll usually see her completely turn her body instead. She can also only bend forward or backward to a certain point.

2) The purpose of the design was both to reinforce the spine itself after the injury, as well as to convey the signals from the brain past the incomplete spinal cord injury, almost acting as a bridge—which is where the inner section of the device that I didn't draw would come into play.

3) That said, though it accomplished the main goal of allowing her to walk and resume other such functions that were difficult to impossible due to the injury, it did not solve everything. She can walk. She no longer needs a catheter or anything of that nature. Anything else on that list for the lower sections of the spine are functional again because the signals are conveyed. There are flaws with it, however, up to and including how quickly and how precisely the messages travel around the damaged nerves. As a result, she is clumsy and will trip over her own feet, sometimes over air, sometimes misjudged steps/mis-relayed messages. You will not likely see her running [ short of emergency ] or dancing or anything like that [ unless she has simply already resigned herself to the fact that she is going to fall ]. Feeling is also not 100% in her feet/lower legs, almost like someone with neuropathy. She is at least happy that she can [ mostly ] work the pedals on a piano again [ an organ, however, would be very unlikely due to the amount of precise footwork required to do so ] .

4) She does deal with pain/nerve pain. Some days are fairly minor, what would typically just be considered soreness or stiffness. Then, though they are fairly rare, there are days that the pain makes it difficult to impossible to get out of bed, and it leaves her actually holding her breath until whatever spike or spasm passes, until the next one. On those days, her business partner and friend [ I am considering the partner being an omnic ] handles all of the business at their shop—as well as venturing upstairs to check on her occasionally.

5) Random facts: while it is not very obtrusive, she tends not to lay on her back as it is uncomfortable, she often pivots in solid back chairs when possible so her back is not flat against it, and she tends to shy away from anyone touching anywhere below the natural waistline. Again, she is almost never seen NOT in layers to hide both the implant and the lights that show it is functioning properly.

[autumnalwalker]

Empty Names - 10 - Cleanup

Author's Note: Returning to the main story and aftermath of this first mission after the side story interlude last week. Time to check in on Lacuna's POV and see how she's been handling all this. Wordcount: 7,683 Content Warnings: An anxiety attack. Mentions of blood and injuries. An embarrassingly bad attempt at speaking a foreign language. Recounting of trauma from nearly drowning.

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

The past few hours have been a nervous haze for Lacuna.  So much sitting around being useless while other people put themselves in danger.  Throw in Bridgewood’s comments during the first half of the day too and…  

She pauses her pacing and checks her pulse for the third time in the past five minutes.  Still high.  Of course it’s still high, she keeps checking it without waiting and getting more worried by the result.  All she’s accomplishing is making her wrist sore.  It’s a feedback loop and she knows it.

Stop it.  Think about something else.  What?  Anything.

At least Eris and Glassheart are okay.  That’s good.  Those supplies Bridgewood brought along had included alchemically-enhanced first aid kits so they’d been able to stop the bleeding and get them both warmed up safely.  Eris was even awake and cracking jokes again before Bridgewood packed up the communications hub.

Bridgewood.  Communications.  Bridgewood who - when she was scrubbing back through the footage and system logs to figure out what happened with his feed - definitely turned his headset off on purpose before that first big explosion hit.  Bridgewood who’s hiding something.  Bridgewood whose house she’s in right now.  Bridgewood whose floor she almost threw up on.  Bridgewood who confirmed the dragon was dead by eating a small chunk of it.  Bridgewood who moved so fast with those knives once his feed was back on and all the bloodsuckers were fleeing the ship at once and getting in his and Road’s way.  Bridgewood who the video could barely keep up with as he turned the hallway into a blender and smiled while he did it.

She feels her empty stomach heave as those clips from his and Road’s feeds flash back through her mind.  She still has the taste stuck in her mouth and smell in her nose from the first time, hours ago now.  She should really ask for a glass of water or something.  But she would hate to impose.  To be a bother.

Could she even swallow a glass of water right now?  Her throat feels so tight.  Not that again.  That’s a psychosomatic panic reaction, not the contract breach coming closed to choke her to death.  She knows this.  The same for the headache.  Well, that one might be dehydration.  Or it could be the violated geas that’s slowly going to get worse and worse until - 

No, don’t get sucked into that spiral again.  The loophole worked.  It’s such an obvious oversight, it couldn’t have worked.  It obviously did, or else she wouldn’t have been able to do what she did in the first place.

She hadn’t even been thinking of the consequences when she started frantically hunting through her saved (stolen) library for the glyphs to send through Eris's phone and the incantation to play over the communications line.  One image-formatted glyph whose incoming photo thumbnail was enough to get activated by the sped-up ritual incantation synthesized from her own voice.  That activation forced Eris’s phone to unlock and autoplay the more complex video-and-audio-formatted glyph ritual upon reception to make the air pocket.

And it had worked.  It had actually worked!  She lets out a short, nervous, slightly manic laugh thinking through all the technical details that had to go right for that.  The sense of relief and… and… exaltation… when the bubble appeared.

And then she’d tried it again after Road had gotten Eris out of the water, this time with a digitally-accelerated ritual to warm them all up.  It had just overheated Eris’s phone.  Probably fried it inside its waterproof case.  Eris would have to get a new phone now and go through the whole annoying process of trying to recover data and contacts lists and everything and it was all Lacuna’s fault.

She’s pacing again.  When did that start back up?  She touches a hand to her head and yanks it away as soon as she realizes she’s doing it again.  What does she even think she’s checking?  That she still has a headache?  Yes, she does.  She doesn’t need to keep poking her temple until it bruises to verify that.  And if RevaTech has a way of remotely detecting that she broke her nondisclosure and noncompete contracts and doing her in for it then it’s not like touching her head over and over again is going to help or give her warning so why does she keep doing it of all the stupid stupid useless nervous tics and nervous tics isn’t even the right term and why does her body do these things and have these reactions even when she knows there’s nothing wrong she’s just the stu-

She stops.

Takes a deep breath.

Lets it out.

It’s not the first time she’s done this.  It won’t be the last.  She consciously syncs her breathing with that of the laptop.  It’s a nice paratech bio model, all squishy on the inside beneath the metal and plastic shell.  It respirates instead of using a fan.  Respirate.  That’s a nice word, respirate.  Yes, just like that, in and out, slow and even.  Not thinking of much of anything at the moment.

Calmer, Lacuna opens her eyes, only now realizing that she’d closed them.  She’s not dying, and neither is anyone else.  They’d saved all the passengers, she’d saved Eris, Eris had saved Glassheart, and Glassheart had saved Road and Bridgewood.  

She grips the back of one of the chairs that got left behind in the foyer and leans on it, drumming her fingers on it in a rolling motion while she muses.

She suspects those two hadn’t really needed saving themselves, but Glassheart had definitely made it easier for them to get those last two passengers out unharmed.  And he’d looked amazing doing it, no matter which point of view she watched the feed from.  The fluttering dress, the flowing wand motions, and that conjuration at the end.  Goddess, now that was the sort of working that she’d only ever heard about.  Having gotten to see it, even remotely, is almost enough to take the sting out of wishing that could have been her out there doing that, being even half that useful.  Half that brave.  Half that - dare she even think it? - that beautiful.

She indulges a self-deprecating chuckle.  All this, all her… well her everything and now she finds herself wishing she could be like a guy.  Well, to be fair, it’s one specific guy whom she would still be mistaking for a girl if someone hadn’t said something.  Yeah, no one ever needs to know about that mixup.  Seriously, of all people, she should know better by now than to assume.  At least she’d realized her mistake before she actually said anything.  That would have been mortifying.

She checks the time on her phone and groans.  What’s keeping everyone?

She knows the answer to that of course.  They’ve got one hundred twenty-eight unconscious passengers to transport back to this pocket dimension of an estate and there's a bad storm going on over there.  Even with the main danger behind them, that’s enough to slow anyone down.

Come to think of it, is this a pocket dimension?  It’s got enough weird going on that it would make sense, but at this point she’s afraid to ask, much less investigate for herself.

She stops herself from spiraling down again into why she’s afraid of that and tries to think of something else good from today to focus on.

Everyone almost died today and she was useless and it’s going to be like this every time.

Road.  It was good to see Road again.  And of course her first time seeing them in years is with them once again helping her to her feet after something terrifying.  Maybe she really hadn’t had anything to worry about this whole time with Road there.  Sure, she made the air bubble around Eris, but it was Road who dove into the water and fished her out.  And with how fast they were, Eris is tough enough that she probably would have been fine even without Lacuna’s intervention.  Also, Road’s jacket-cape-thing (that she’s increasingly convinced is alive) turning into a full-body suit with mermaid tail mid-leap was objectively the second coolest thing she’s seen in a long time, next to Glassheart’s spectacle.  And yet another case of vicariously living out a long-held fantasy through the way-cooler-than-her people she’s suddenly surrounded by.

Lacuna glances back at the laptop.  If she can’t measure up to everyone else, she should probably at least be doing more of that research for figuring out their next mission like Bridgewood told her to.  Or maybe fix up the website so the people in need can come to them.  

She cringes at the thought of that abomination of a website.  She didn’t realize it was still even possible to make something that looked that out of date.  The last time she’d seen that many animated gifs and clip art in one place was a class back in middle school on the basics of how to use a computer and the internet almost two decades ago.  And the navigation is practically unusable where it exists at all.  Yeah, on second thought, probably better to burn it down and build it from scratch.

Not that she can concentrate enough to do any of that right now.  Not well anyway.

As she stands there, leaning on the back of a chair in a pose that’s starting to make her hand fall asleep and debating the relative merits of doing a poor job that she’ll need to redo later versus more pacing and fretting, the spidery cleaning golem that’s been attending her all day tugs on the hem of her skirt.  She thinks it’s the same one anyway.  They all look alike except for that one she briefly glimpsed dusting the portrait of the woman she assumes to be Bridgewood’s late wife looming over the foyer.  She could have sworn that one had a tiny maid outfit.

Lacuna follows this current, uncostumed, cleaning golem out through the front door that opens on its own just enough for her to slip through before it gets stuck again.  Outside, the four larger-than-life classical marble statues have left their plinths flanking the gravel path in front of the manor.  Now they stand waiting at the far end of the path, past the outer row of hedges, where they’ve been hitched two apiece to a pair of empty wagons in lieu of horses.  Unlike the carriage she’d watched Eris and the others leave in with its cushioned bench seats, these are little more than flat wooden beds on wheels with some low sideboards to keep hypothetical cargo from rolling off.

Watching the cleaning golem skitter ahead and scurry up the spoked wheels to climb onto the nearer wagon, Lacuna figures this must have been what Bridgewood meant in his final words before turning the communications hub off.  He’d talked past her to the two golems that had been staying at her side this whole time, telling them to make preparations for his return.  After that, one had stayed with her while the other made a chittering noise then disappeared into a shadowy corner.  As much as they all seem to look alike, she suspects that the one now perched upon the further wagon is her other chaperone now returned.

“Do you,” Lacuna hesitates, looking from the cleaning golem on the wagon to the statues pulling it, “want me to get on?”

The orb on legs without an orifice from which to emit sound chitters back at her.

“Yeah, I don’t know what I was expecting there.”

Another pointed squeak from the tiny construct and Lacuna flinches then starts climbing onto the wagon, apologizing all the while.  She manages not to trip over or rip her skirt in the process, which she counts as an achievement.  Not that there was any real danger of that, but it’s the sort of quasi-rational fear that usually flashes through her mind whenever she’s already worked up about something.  Acknowledging that might not stop the thoughts from cropping up, but it does help with letting them pass on by instead of fixating on them like she used to.  Still does, but less often these days.  Maybe one of these days she’ll get the moving on down to enough of a reflex that she won’t get so distract-

The abrupt inertial shift of the wagon lurching into motion knocks Lacuna off balance, nearly sending her to her hands and knees while thoroughly derailing that train of thought.  She carefully lowers herself the rest of the way down into a seated position in the center of the wagon and leans back with her weight on her palms, telling herself to relax and enjoy the ride.  She thinks about splinters, forces herself to keep her hands where they are, and lets the thought go.

Looking around, as far as she can tell the Bridgewood Manor is surrounded on all sides by forest for as far as she can see before the wagon moves into said forest, further blocking her view of the horizon.  She wonders if it’s all spatially-doubled transport trees or just this one well-kept and organized section.  While she can pick out some of the more obvious discrepancies in species Eris was pointing out earlier, for the most part it all just looks like a bunch of brown and green to her.  

The angle of the late afternoon sun filtering down through the leaves tells her that if this place somehow isn’t a pocket dimension then it’s in the same time zone as the initial bridge she took to get here.  Similarly, the comfortable warmth would seem to indicate being at least a little north of that point.  Curiosity finally gets the better of her and she checks the GPS on her phone.  The current location indicator bounces wildly around the globe several times a second and she exits the map app before she gets sick from looking at it.  On second thought, it might be safer not to figure out where exactly this place is.  Bridgewood might not like it.

They’re deeper into the woods now than her arrival point had been this morning.  With all the winding splits and reconnects in the gravel pathway she doubts she could very well find her way back to the manor on her own at this point.  As she takes in the view of the greenery, it occurs to her how quiet and still it is out here.  No birdsong from the branches, nary a squirrel in sight, not even any wind to speak of to rustle the leaves.  Only the creak of wagon wheels and the scrape-thud-crunch of the statues’ footsteps.

For the past several minutes of the ride Lacuna’s been torn between staring in fascination at the constructs pulling the wagons and pointedly looking away in discomfort.  On the one hand, to see stone moving so fluidly without apparent joints speaks to truly impressive craftsmanship, perhaps employing active transmutation as well as animation for the simulation of muscle and other soft tissue.  Or maybe they just look like marble statues and have some other mechanism underneath.  On the other hand, she finds something deeply uncomfortable in riding a vehicle pulled by servants.  Even if the servants are eight feet tall, made of magically animated stone with unchanging neutral expressions, never speak, and probably only look like people without actual sapience.  Or maybe they just look like marble statues and are actually people who offended the Bridgewood family and were turned into stone and bound to service as punishment.

No, that’s ridiculous, she tells herself.  Sure, Bridgewood’s plenty scary and maybe even kind of mean, but there’s no way Road would be friends with someone who would do something outright evil like that.

Still, when the wagons come to a stop in front of a tall pine, she makes a point of nervously thanking the two statues pulling her wagon for the ride when she climbs off.  When they don’t respond she gives a small wave, mumbles a jumbled half-thanks-half-apology and doesn’t-quite-run back around to the rear of the wagons where the two cleaning golems are working together to extend a ramp down to the ground.  She moves to help but raises her hands and backs off at the ensuing noises they make at her.

Back to waiting then.

She finds herself wondering how she should greet the others when they get back.  Should she congratulate them?  That feels a little gauche given how rough things got at the end and the, well, the state of the crew they found on the ship.  Act casual then?  No, she doesn’t want to downplay what they accomplished.  

For a moment she fantasizes about being overcome with emotion at seeing Eris safe and sound, throwing her arms around her friend, and crying on her shoulder.  She snorts a second cousin to a laugh, half smiles, and shakes head.  A nice image, but not one that she could ever be expressive enough for.

“Hey.”

Lacuna turns around from watching the statues unhitch themselves to find Road standing behind her.  They’re looking none the worse for the wear.  Not even wet.

“Is Eris - I mean, are the others - ” Lacuna stammers.  “Is everyone okay?”

Road smiles softly and puts a hand on her shoulder.  Normally she’d flinch at the uninvited touch, but somehow this feels… nice.  Steadying.

“Everyone’s safe,” Road says.  “The storm held us up for a little bit coming back down the coast, but that’s it.  I just went on ahead and popped over to verify the wagons are here while the others prep the passengers to unload through the bridge.”

“Oh, cool.  Good.  Good to hear.”

Road slips their hand off her shoulder and goes to lean on the side of one of the wagons.  On reflex, she follows suit.

“How about you, Lacuna?”

“Huh?” 

“How are you holding up?”

She’s vomited more than once today at the sight of dead bodies over a live video feed, been mocked for it, saw her best friend nearly die, exploited a loophole in a contract with a corporation that will absolutely make her life a living hell if they find out, and spent the past hour fighting to keep herself from descending into what would have been the worst anxiety attack she’s had in years.  She doesn’t belong here.  She’s not capable.

“I’m fine.  It’s not like I was doing anything dangerous today.  Not like all of you.”

“Alright then,” Road says, tone casual.  “Well, if you ever stop being fine, I’ll be there for you - we’ll be there - whenever you say the word.”

“I… Thanks.”

“Of course.  It’s not like I’m going to kick you off the team or something for having a normal human reaction to stress.”

Lacuna laughs nervously.  “Right.  Of course you wouldn’t.”

“Seriously though, it can take a while for the shock from this sort of thing to wear off.  If it starts hitting you hard all at once later, you’ve got my number.  It doesn’t matter what I’m doing, I’ll pick up.”  Road pauses for a moment, then continues when Lacuna doesn’t say anything.  “You might not have been out there in person, but you saw more than enough today to shake anyone who’s not used to it and I know as well as anyone that having to watch people you care about in danger while you can’t do anything to help isn’t easy.  Then again,” Road gives Lacuna a sidelong glance and conspiratorial grin, “you’re not exactly helpless at a distance, are you?”

Can she talk about that?  Literally, can she talk about that?  The glyphs she’d used had been pre-saved files, not the software itself, so that might have happened to be okay after all, but actually saying where they came from and how they were generated?  Aside from the fact that the contract might stop her if she tries to speak, would actually admitting her guilt aloud trigger some form of retaliation?  She’d made a point of reading the fine print before signing, but in retrospect she wouldn’t put it past RevaTech to hide something in there that made you forget a line after reading it or forced your eyes to glance past without processing.

“Oh, uh, yeah.  I.  I guess not,” she stutters and looks away.  “You’ve, you know, kind of been here a while.  Should we be keeping the others waiting?”

“Just between you and me, I was stretching this out so they’d have to rest for a few extra minutes before pushing themselves again. But,” they say as they push off from the wagon and stretch, “you’ve got a point.  You mind hanging tight here for a few more minutes to help with the passenger transport on this end?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.  See you in a bit.”

What was she thinking,changing the subject like that?  If it’s going to be a problem then they deserve to know, the whole team.  And if there’s one person she’d be safe with it’s Road, right?

“Hey, one more thing…” she starts to say as she looks up.

But Road’s already gone.

Some ten minutes later the bark of the nearby tree begins to ripple and two horses made from the same shiny black material as the cleaning golems break through the surface followed by Bridgewood and an almost-human figure riding at the front of a carriage upon the rear portion of which half a dozen chrysalises are stacked.  The whole assemblage - horses, carriage, and riders - all unfolds as it exits from a space too narrow for it to have logically passed through in a way that hurts Lacuna’s head and twists her empty stomach to watch too closely.

Bridgewood brings the carriage to a stop just a few yards away from the tree where it sits dripping puddles of cold arctic rain onto the grass beneath it.  The storm on the other side must have washed away the blood that he was covered in when Lacuna last saw him on camera.  

Almost immediately the statues begin moving once more, this time to transfer the chrysalises to the awaiting wagons.  A moment of hesitation later, Lacuna steps forward to help the figure she recognizes from the video feeds as Dis!ma*s down to the ground.

“Please, let me help you.  You’re safe here,” she says as she takes his hand.  Or at least, she thinks that’s what she says.  She never actually got to practice speaking the language with anyone else before now.

There’s a moment of horrendous silence as Dis!ma*s’s feet touch the ground.  He makes one slow blink with horizontally closing eyelids and then doubles over.  Laughing.  He says something but it's fast enough and interrupted by gasps of laughter that Lacuna can’t follow.

“I’m sorry?” she says on reflex before remembering the language barrier. “I mean, I apologize.”  The latter sentence sends Dis!ma*s into a renewed fit of what Lacuna really hopes is amusement as the rainwater shakes off of him.

“Your pronunciation is so garbage it was half gibberish and half propositioning him,” Bridgewood says from the other side of the carriage.  He’s not literally laughing at her, but he may as well be with the face he’s making.  “And then you -”

“Okay, okay, I think I get it!” Lacuna’s voice cracks as her face grows hot with embarrassment and frustration.  She tries to remember gestures that she’d read up on for some culturally appropriate sign of contrition but draws a blank.

Recovering, Dis!ma*s stands up straight and speaks again, slow and loud this time.  “I apologize,” he starts and Lacuna immediately sees where she went wrong with the pronunciation but has no idea how to make her mouth form the right phoneme.  “You surprised me.  It has been a difficult day.  Thank you for trying.”

Or at least, the parts Lacuna can parse are something along those lines.

“He says getting hit on at the end of the worst couple days of his life was too absurd to deal with, but A for effort on the welcoming attempt,” Bridgewood offers by way of translation.

“Yeah I… got… that…” Lacuna replies, beginning to sharpen her voice in irritation then trailing off to a mumble, unable to look straight at him, as she remembers who she’s talking to.

She and Dis!ma*s stand there in silence, unsure of what to do with themselves while the statues finish unloading the carriage.  A sudden series of thumping sounds gets their attention and they turn around to see the black supply boxes have suddenly appeared in a pile on the ground next to Bridgewood.  He digs one in particular out of the pile, drags it to the side across the grass and flips the top of it open to reveal neatly-packed white towels.

“Hey, techie, if you would so kindly make yourself useful and dry the passengers off while I get the next batch,” Bridgewood says, already walking back to the carriage.  “I’ll not have anyone saying a guest in my house caught a cold.”

And just like that, without even giving her a chance to say yes or no to the order phrased like a request, he vaults back into the driver’s seat, takes the reins, and wheels the vehicle back around to pass through the tree once more.  The leaving is just as disconcerting to watch as the arrival.

The next couple of hours pass with Lacuna and Dis!ma*s drying off the rain-drenched chrysalises and working towels and winter coats under and between them for comfort and protection.  Lacuna tries to tell Dis!ma*s at first that he doesn’t need to help, but it seems that he’d rather be doing anything right now to keep his mind busy.  Lacuna can sympathize with that well enough.  The two of them mostly work together in silence with nodding and pointing.  Lacuna’s more confident in understanding his language than speaking it, but she still misses a lot of it and she’s terrified of opening her mouth again after that abysmal first impression.

The chrysalises themselves are both softer and smoother than she expected and, as inert as they appear to be, if she leaves a hand on one for long enough she can feel a pulse and a subtle expansion and contraction of breathing.  Amazing to think that there are people inside, no, that they are people.  People from a place where doing something like this to yourself is a standard way to make a commute pass by faster is normal.  People from a place that regularly and dramatically reshaping your body to a form that best suits you is not only accepted but expected.  People from a place she’d fantasized about going to off and on ever since she first heard about it.

And then she’ll suddenly remember that they’re people whose bare skin she’s technically touching and abruptly pull her hand back and be more ginger about the toweling off of the icy water.  At least until she starts daydreaming again twenty minutes later and repeats the whole process over again.

The two of them get a good pace going, finishing drying off and repositioning one set of passengers just as Bridgewood returns with the carriage for the statues to transfer the next set.  When Lacuna asks about it, she’s told the others are on the other side handling the unloading from boat to bridge point.  Apparently the security on the transit makes it a bad idea for anyone other than Bridgewood to make lots of rapid back and forth trips.  Thinking back to her own frightening trip this morning, she’s more than inclined to believe that claim.

Eventually though, Bridgewood returns with the carriage for a final time, now carrying Road, Glassheart, and Eris rather than further chrysalises.  All of them but Road are soaked head to toe from the rain on the other side of the bridge tree.  

Stepping away from drying off the last chrysalis and walking toward the carriage, it occurs to Lacuna that her limbs are shaking.  Why is she nervous about seeing them again?  She shouldn’t be nervous she - oh wait, when did she eat last?  Not since before leaving her apartment this morning.  That’s probably it.  Just when she thought she was getting better about accidentally skipping meals too.  It’s alright, she had a good excuse this time.  That excuse being that she was sitting around doing nothing in the safety of a mansion while watching everyone else throw themselves into danger to rescue one hundred twenty nine people.

“You need a ride?” Eris asks jovially, leaning over the side of the carriage.

The question jolts Lacuna’s attention back to her surroundings with a twinge of shame that she’d been staring off into space again instead of giving them a proper welcome.  She glances back at the now-full wagons where the statues are hitching themselves into pulling positions again and the cleaning golems have resumed their chittering places at the front.

She nods, mumbles a thanks, catches herself, and says a louder “That sounds good,” before climbing in the back.  Once aboard, she doesn’t so much sit down on the wet bench next to Eris as stumble into it, dizzy.  She must be hungrier than she’d realized.

Eris reaches into the pocket of her third orange coat of the day and pulls out an oblong foil-wrapped object that she holds out in front of Lacuna who takes it automatically.

“I pocketed a few extra for later out of one of the boxes earlier,” Eris says.  “Doesn’t taste like much of anything but it’s filling.  Honestly I ate more of them than I probably should have earlier.”

“Thanks,” Lacuna says as she unwraps the food bar to find what looks like nothing so much as an unusually firm rectangular block of tofu.  Feels like it too, as she bites into it and it slides down surprisingly easily, leaving behind the faintest taste of sugar and salt.

She looks back at Eris to tell her she was right about the lack of taste when she notices the bandages around her leg and peaking out from under the winter coat.  There’s a pink tinge to them in spots and a red rim around the hem of her shorts.  Lacuna averts her gaze, appetite lost.

Trying to find a middle ground between staring and obviously looking away, Lacuna finally turns her attention to everyone else around her.  Road’s jumped back off the wagon and is examining the chrysalises with Dis!ma*s while Bridgewood watches from the driver’s seat.  Glassheart is sitting across from her and Eris, wearing a composed expression under his now less-than-perfect makeup but visibly trying to suppress shivering.

“Would you… like a towel?” Lacuna asks, proffering the one she’d brought with her from the wagon.

“That will not,” Glassheart begins then changes direction, “go amiss.  Thank you.”

“Here, sorry if it’s damp already.”

“It is less so than I am.  It will do.”

Glassheart is still in the process of trying to squeeze the water out of his long hair when Road and Dis!ma*s climb back into the carriage, taking their seats on either side of him.  Just after, Bridgewood gives a flick of the reins and the horse golems spring into motion.  The two statue-drawn wagons follow close behind.

The ride back to Bridgewood Manor is hung with the intermittent silence of people that feel they should be talking but are too exhausted by a long day to say much.  It was before noon when Lacuna and Eris first walked up to the old elm tree on Emmett Street and now as the carriage and wagons pulled by beings of stone round the back of the old mansion into a sprawling garden overlooking a expansive hedge maze the sky is edging into dusk.  The subject of what Lacuna did with Eris’s phone almost comes up a couple of times along the way, but each time Road changes the topic for her.  She’s equal parts relieved to not have to explain that right now and stung by the obvious show of protecting her, or rather the implication that she can’t handle it herself.  It’s not an entirely wrong implication, but that just makes it worse, really.

“End of the line,” Bridgewood says, irritatingly chipper as he pulls the carriage to a stop and hops down.  “The staff will see to it from here that all of our guests are provided suitable accommodations for the night and until we can get them home.”

“That includes all of you, if you want it,” Road adds.  “It’s getting late, we’ve all had a long day, and there’s no shortage of spare rooms here.  Food too.”

Lacuna almost jumps at the offer of a proper meal and not having to walk all the way home.  And then she goes stiff, remembering the sight of the master of the house’s blood-spattered grin and whatever secrets that he turned off his camera to hide.  Out of the corner of her eye she catches Eris glancing at her.

“If it’s all the same to you, I already ate my fill on the ration bars and I’d prefer my own bed,” the larger woman says.  “Lacuna, you wanna come with?”

“Yeah, same.”

Bridgewood rolls his eyes and climbs back onto the carriage.  “Fine, you two stay seated, everyone else out.”

“I will not further impose on your hospitality either,” Glassheart says while Road and Dis!ma*s disembark.  “I can make my own arrangements for the night as I always do.”

“Nice try wizard boy,” Bridgwood says, “but I know an overchanneled mage when I see one.  You couldn’t even do a self-cleaning spell right now even with the Estate to draw from, much less conjure yourself a cloaked shelter in the middle of some random park.  Yes, I’m aware of your usual ‘arrangements for the night,’ now out.” 

His usual cool ruffled into chastened surprise, Glassheart obliges without further comment.

“Kids…” Lacuna just barely hears Bridgewood sigh.

“Before you go,” Road speaks up, “I want to say you all did great today.  I mean that.  I’ll admit things got dicier than expected there at the end, but the way we all pulled through just goes to show that we can take anything.”  They pause for a moment, looking at each of them in turn.  When their gaze falls on Lacuna, they give that same warm smile as ever and, for a moment, she feels like maybe she actually did do something worth contributing today. 

“Now,” they continue, “I wanted to do something a little more formal to celebrate our first successful quest -”

“Mission,” Bridgewood coughs.

“But I get the feeling that no one’s going to object right now if we put that off for another day.  In the meantime, you three take it easy for a few days to rest and recover while Sullivan and I reach out to some old friends about getting these people home.  You’ve all earned it and should be proud of yourselves.  We did a good thing today and I know I’m proud of this party and I look forward to our future adventures together.”

Not sure what else to do in response to that, Lacuna hesitantly starts clapping.  She makes it four claps before she realizes no one else is joining in, stops, and looks around with an apologetic grimace.

“Go team!” Eris whoops and pumps her fist, killing the impending awkward silence before it can settle.

“Go team,” Glassheart echoes more calmly with a nod.

“Go team it is then,” Road laughs.

“Idiots,” Bridgewood mutters as he rolls his eyes and flicks the reins to get the carriage moving.  It lacks his usual bite though.

*******

The walk back to their apartment complex from the elm tree is a long one, dipping in and out of Crossherd for shortcuts twice along the way, although not the longest that Lacuna’s made escorting an exhausted Eris.  Only, there’s less punch-drunk banter from Eris than usual this time to keep Lacuna’s mind off of the reality of why her friend’s so tired.  A joke or two about it being “a literal Hell of a first day on the job” what with all the fire and explosions and some bemused speculation on what sort of flawed translation charm kept changing captain Cabetha’s accent, but not much more than that.

It is well and truly night by the time the two of them ascend the stairwell of their building.  Neither of them break the heavy silence as they pass Lacuna’s floor on by up to Eris’s together.  Lacuna strains to keep from grunting as Eris leans on her more heavily than she had been for the last ten minutes - ever since she started limping - while she fishes out her keys and opens the door to her apartment.  It’s Lacuna who quietly flips the lightswitch as they step inside and then gently shuts and locks the door behind them.

It’s not the first time Lacuna’s helped her friend to bed.  That had been about three months after meeting her, and had thoroughly killed the crush she’d had on her at the time but thankfully been too scared to confess.  The fact that Eris took to calling her “sis” not long after had nailed said crush’s coffin shut tight.  But in all honesty, she prefers their relationship this way.

It is however the first time Lacuna’s seen what got her friend into this state for herself.  Sure, even that first time Eris had regaled her with the dramatic tale of the monster hunt that left her tired enough and badly cut enough to ask for help getting home (that one had been something called a “hodag”), but she’d always found her friend already some distance away from wherever the battle had taken place, even on the night when she took Eris to Doc’s instead of home.  And even on that worst night, sitting in the waiting room of the clinic they met at, the reality of what her best and only friend does for fun never truly sunk in until now.

At least going through the familiar motions of it all helps.  Glancing behind them as they cross through the neatly kept living room (far more clean and organized than hers) to check for any mud or blood to clean on her way out.  Checking the bedroom’s blackout curtains to be sure the morning sun won’t interrupt a well earned rest.  Half-dancing through the cumbersome maneuver as they turn around together at the edge of the bed.  Sitting down herself as she lowers Eris down next to her.  Reaching over and turning on the dim orange light of the lamp on the bedside table.

“You good?” Lacuna asks, the next step in the ritual.

“I’m…” Eris sighs, trailing off.

That’s not right.  She’s supposed to say “I’m good.”  Then Lacuna’s supposed to ask if she needs anything and she’ll respond with some outrageous, impossible request.  Then Lacuna will laugh and say she’ll see what she can do.  She’ll wait around to make sure Eris at least gets her boots off before getting into bed and then she’ll promise to be back in the morning, get up, close the bedroom door, clean up any footprints, then go back to her own apartment for the night.

That’s how this is supposed to go.  It’s supposed to be quiet and comforting for the both of them.  It’s not supposed to be this quiet.  This isn’t comforting for either of them.

Why isn’t she saying anything?  Why isn’t either of them?

“That’s the second time I’ve almost drowned,” Eris says.

This isn’t right.  It’s supposed to be Lacuna that doesn’t look at people when talking to them, not Eris.

“It was seven years ago, on my third time fighting that lake monster I’ve told you about.  The one that comes back to life every year.  I got cocky.  I’d killed it twice already after all, and the autogenesis was just starting to really kick in and bulk me up.  I felt damn near invincible.”  She shakes her head.  “I was a dumbass kid who couldn’t even drink legally for a few months yet.”

This isn’t right.  Eris isn’t the one whose voice shakes.

“When the thing retreated into the water I figured it was scared and I had it on the ropes.  So I dove in after it like an idiot, just like it wanted.  I won eventually, I mean, obviously, but only because it was enough of an idiot to toy with me instead of finishing me off.  And even then it was still dumb luck.  It… it let me go and brought me back down… three, four times?  Or was it five?  I lost… lost count.  Don’t even remember how I got away.  Found something sharp… at the bottom, I think.  It’s a blur.  Closest I ever came to… to d- to dying.”

This isn’t right.  Lacuna’s the one who stutters.

Eris breathes in, sharp and strained.  An elongated gasp attempting to be something else.  She barely sounds calmer after letting it out.

“Until today.  Truth is, I’d been on edge ever since Road mentioned a shipwreck in the briefing.  I tried to convince myself I wasn’t, but it was like, on some level I just knew it was going to happen again.  I know that’s just paranoia and trauma and hindsight talking, but…  It’s embarrassing.  I can handle pools and the beach just fine.  Hell, I even got over facing that slimy bastard at the lake after killing him a couple more times.  Started looking forward to paying him back on the regular, even.  But you get the conditions just right… deep water, unknown variables, high stakes, something lurking… and it just sends me… sends me right back down there.  I always brush it off.  Though.  That’s what I do.  Put my head down, power on through to the other side.  Maybe let myself go a bit, having fun in the vio- in the hunt, along the way to take my mind off it.  And then today happens and I can’t even be scared as I’m going down because I’m fucking hypnotized by the damn sky like the dumb beast everyone thinks I am!”

This isn’t right.  Eris isn’t the one who cries.  Eris is the strong one.

That isn’t right.  E isn’t…

Lacuna leans in closer, wrapping her arms around her friend.

“You’re not a dumb beast,” she whispers.  “You’re kind and funny and smart and gentle and laugh at my lame references and explain why romcoms are great actually and listen to me when I ramble and do volunteer work and get me to go out in public and show me how to do makeup even if neither of us ever actually bothers with it usually and your smarter than me and know like a hundred different trees and are quadlingual or something and are good with directions and… and… and…”

Eris puts her own arms around her friend.

Lacuna remembers what those hands did to the bloodsucker on the ship, flinches, then hugs her tighter.

“Shhh…. Shhh…” Eris whispers.  “Can’t have both of us crying.  Where would we be then?”

“Crying on your bed together like a couple of losers.”

“Well, that can’t be right, because, I don’t know about me, but you’re definitely not a loser.”

“If I’m not then you couldn’t possibly be.”

“It’d be pretty weird then if there were a couple of losers crying on my bed then, huh?”

“Yeah, it sure would be.”

This is right.  This is a comforting silence.

Even after being rained on, Eris still smells like the ocean, still has a salty feel to her shirt.  But she’s warm now.  Warm and alive.

The moment lasts until a full minute after Lacuna’s back gets sore from twisting around at an odd angle.  She loosens her grip and sits back up straight.  Straight as her usual slouch anyway.  Eris does the same, but without the slouch.

“That’s the second time you’ve saved me today,” Eris says.

“Please, it was nothing that dramatic.”

“You’re right, having a good heart to heart and telling me something I really needed to hear isn’t exactly in the same league as literally saving my life from drowning.”

“I didn’t really, I mean, Road was there.  They were the one who got you out.  You would have been fine without me.”

“You sent a spell through a phone, a quarter of the way around the world, and made an air bubble to get the water out of my lungs before Road even dove in.”

“It was only a couple of seconds difference.  You would have been…”  she trials off.  “You would have been, right?”

Eris sighs.  “Take the win sis.  You did something cool.  Something that I’m guessing has to do with your old project, right?  You don’t have to answer, I’m sure there’s some evil corporate magic keeping you from talking about it.”

Lacuna nods.  “Something like that, yeah.  I’m not sure if it’s actually stopping me from saying anything or not but…”

“But tonight’s not the night to find out.”

“Right.”

“I’ll be there for you when it is.”

“Thanks.”

Lacuna leans against her friend again.  A more comfortable position this time.  She’ll still be going back to her own bedroom before the night’s over, but for now… for now she’s fine with stretching this out a little bit longer.

*******

“E.”

“Yeah sis?”

“I’m sorry I broke your phone.”

“Heh, it’s fine.  I’ll make Sully buy me a new one.”

*******

“Sis.”

“Yeah E?”

“Santa Claus is real.”

“Yeah, I know.  I considered becoming an elf for a while.”

*******

“E?”

“Yeah sis?”

“Is it going to be like this every time?”

“No, this was just a rough start.  But we can keep the parts you like.”

*******

“Sis.”

“Yeah E?”

“You can crash here tonight if you want.”

“Thanks, but it’s not far.  I’ll be fine.”

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

[fear-and-loathing-in-leeds]

Dating Misadventure Story 01: XLL - 21.10.2022

Name: Xanthe Lily Lowrie  

Age: 20 

Instagram (for viewing only): xanthe.lily.lowrie 

Date: 21.10.2022 

Original Post Date: 24.10.2022 

Location: Leeds/York 

Purpose of Post: 

 This personal account is shared on several private forums: one focusing on the Yorkshire dating community (particularly Harrogate, Leeds and York) of potentially unpleasant individuals who use physical, psychological and administrative violence in the context of dating/relationships. Another forum provides general information on domestic abuse and violence inviting a huge number of people to share their stories: serving as an aid to notice and confront the early signs of a potential offender, and escaping/extricating from said offender. Owing to their success, I have decided to share my experience publicly with those who like a sensational read or find their own experiences have parallels with my own but did not have the luck I did, or to avoid being ensnared in psychological manipulations designed to undermine one’s mental welfare and personal volition under the guise of love/romance.

   Understand this, toxic people are very predictable because their MO are self centric, depending on the level of intelligence their strategies will be short or long term, and they involve some need to be in control at the expense of their victim, either totally or in specific interpersonal situations usually with attachment, amorousness and the relationship dynamic being at the root. Don’t be overwhelmed by the degree of convolution – it is a smokescreen for this very basic intent despite how elaborate it tries to showcase itself dating sites, social media and in person. 

First Date in a Near Year: 

   The following account is based on my first date in 11 months – a rather unpleasant experience but incredibly useful in ways beyond the scope of the initial experience, not only to myself but hopefully for others too who take the time to read these posts. I all of my 17 years of dating I have never quite had a date whose character and demeanor I found to be intensely offputting based on their superficial attempts to create situations that flatter her own self image and the persona they wished to deceive others with. It was a very strange thing to witness, this weaving of a deception whilst it was so obvious and awkward: if I could sum it up in two words they would be “mosiac" and "disjointed”.

Just for this reason alone, I would reconsider my pursuit of said person but there are many other reasons and causes for concern which I will elaborate on which the majority of you would regard as "red flags" whereas I concluded "hell to the nah" - not what I went on Bumble for.

Throughout, I explore my initial impression of her character and reactive behaviour to forecast their likely choices (as well what motivates them) and how I compare the types of situations that they would attempt to create combined with my basic axioms that constitute the situations I wish to maintain and the importance of protecting the sanctity of one's mental health. 

Bumble Dating Experience with Xanthe Lily Lowrie (F20): 

   For clarity, I (GN33) do not normally write an account of my experiences but this was my first date in a near year furthermore the distaste it created and my personal intense dislike towards this person on a intuitive level was something I wanted to explore for personal insight: not one I am going to forget due to both its content and its implications – in hindsight I dodged a bullet for sure. I had hoped they were more emotional mature alas not the case. Personal standards are there for a reason and I am not here to play "daddy" or be a therapist to someone who has not even begun to accept that they embody a lot of delusions, issues and pain derivative of a harmful toxic parental style. 

   It has to be emphasised, the main threat for all (but in particular men) are subversive and psychological in nature: hard to identify unless you know what you're looking for and mostly rooted in shame/devaluation (repressed or denied aspects of self): by the time we protest our distress we have already reached our breaking point as a result of the accumulation of micro-aggressions and compromises imposed upon us by an abusive partner who created, with intention, for this blow out and probably has a counter measure, justification and gaslighting narrative prepared.

This is, by no means, gender/sex specific. It is very a common phenomena I have had to address with law-enforcement officers and the judiciary in the past. Especially when dealing with men who are domestic abuse offenders to tease apart the truth of the greater dynamic shared in their relationship (mediating circumstances). Not so much in my personal life, as I tend to instantaneously accurately identify those who are propositioned towards this modality: there have been near misses. 

   Based on my own academic training and practical experience, I have learned to rapidly assess people quickly on a number of attributes and traits in accordance with the situations I wish to create and also the likelihood of them being a diminishing or detracting factor in terms of personal industry, investments and long term goals. Furthermore, I have my own private journals which explore the sum total of my knowledge as I apply it to my act of self creation and the path I wish to forge in the future on my own terms: and any person who wishes to be included on that mutually shared journey is held under the same scrutiny. This means a lot of people are “seen through” and become, in a greater sense, irrelevant – but attention and time are precious irreversible commodities. 

   In this account, you will notice that my intuition detects “clues” that predict the nature of a potential relationship with Xanthe: I believe fundamentally she would try to attempt initiate a one-sided trauma bond with herself on the reigns of control masquerading it as some dysfunctional brand of romanticism: she would be the psychological tyrant whereas I would just want to have company and fun. In response to identifying these toxic behaviours I would attempt a dialogue which she would try to use a DARVO approach (Deny Responsibility, Attack, Reverse Roles of Victim and Offender) to gaslight myself into having the problem because dealing with her issues would mean sacrificing both personal control of the situation and the collapse of the person she is trying to convince herself and others that she is without doing the actual shadow work or integration of one's darker selfish nature. I know such a dynamic is a futile approach as she wants someone to affirm the delusions of herself and validate the haphazard nature of her strategy to convince herself through others. 

   At it's source, in hindsight - Xanthe has some profound identity dysphoria and it comes across as aggressive overly affirming posts on her social media in attempt to control the narrative of herself which she secretly feels the opposite about. With the behaviour predicted, I would try to appeal to the source of it but it would be a futile endeavour for myself as there are things I simply won’t submit or bow to in order to try to get other people to understand: self respect, sense of pride and integral absolutism nor will I violate/compromise my own being. 

   My time and energy are precious commodities, unless I am being paid to do so or the benefits/likelihood of results is high then I have no interest in investing them - it was way beyond what my initial casual date with Xanthe called for and as such it was a situation I would willingly invite: I have better more fruitful and meaningful things and people in my life to be getting on with. As I detail my account, note Xanthe's gaslighting of the date in the form of a de-evaluative dismissal. It affirmed my suspicions the level of emotional maturity and regard she had for others - it enabled me a glimpse of the hidden tyrant combined her desired self grandiosity. 

   I have 7 years experience which simultaneously focused on education, domestic abuse, autism, mental health and relationships (the list is not exhaustive) – I did not look for these traits: they appeared through the virtue of Xanthe’s behaviour and statements. My intention was to just relax and not think about my work as opposed to apply it. With the other date I had the following night (update - I am still seeing this person), there was no stress or worry – I had a great time and it served as a comparative reference with my experience with Xanthe from the preceding night. 

 What I detail are subjective matter of facts which I observed combined with how my subconscious responded to being around her: signs of incompatibility of values, manipulation of would be emotions, and a person’s general sense of authenticity. I prioritize my time, attention and effort as I have a lot of work and future preparation to be getting on with – the nature of my work calls upon a vast cerebral demand and its optimum state is very receptive in general so I do not want to be inviting unnecessary suffering or people who create situations of unnecessary conflict/pain disguised as love/romance like some digitally based Ouija board that presents itself as a dating app. Life is full of unexpected issues and problems without other people inventing them due to unresolved trauma, issues and undiagnosed mental health problems/diagnosis. A majority of people usually want easy answers and comfortable sugar laden half truths so they can resume their capitalist grind without any deep change) and to have their desired ego narrative relatively unchanged: such a person is not my type and be yeeted back into the digital abyss as though we never met. As you can tell, I am not seeking a partner wherein I fulfil the part time therapist role which will probably end up in failure and efforts futile regardless. 

Pre-Emptive Safeguards: 

    I did not go into this date not protecting my identity, the organizations I work for and the people who I am affiliated with: past experience has revealed some people, in the face of rejection are very retaliative and will justify it. Nor did I pry into the background of Xanthe – I would form my judgments based on how I responded to her in moment to avoid preconceptions. I protected my identity by: 

 1. My first safeguard was a fake surname on my socials – owing to the socially sensitive nature of my work and the conditions of my contract combined with my past experiences of stalkers: it protects me, my employer and those I am affiliated with from any possible interference or sabotage.

 2. An additional safeguard, my initial birth name is used for any professional or academic qualifications, jobs and profiles I have amassed over the years until 2022: doing a google search will yield no critical professional information. 

 3. I did not mention any specifics about what I do: that information was deftly avoided. 

Pre-Date: 

   We spoke for over a week on Bumble and then Instagram, and my intention to meet was to have some drinks and a dance then disappear into the night (not unlike the Batman). Nothing heavy, nothing serious with no expectations except to relax from the few intense weeks of work I had. I had no long term interest or expectations nor wanted to regard the situation as anything more until I had ascertained the trustworthiness of the person concerned. She was young, but it could have been a wholesome night. Basically, no unwanted drama or some consequence later down the line: a nice clean wholesome fun. 

It seemed Xanthe had other ideas. 

The Date: 

   So there I was, chilling in my “safe space” bar – chosen because I have membership, I know the staff, the protocols and fellow punters: if I feel uncomfortable I can leave quickly. However I felt this would be a cool spot to share with her as she seems to exhibit some bisexuality and queerness although not overtly affirmed: at this point I was open to share some of my world with her to help her affirm and explore what she expressed an interest in the future. However, due to what has happened I will probably avoid the bar for a good six months until summer to reduce the instance of our paths crossing. Agreed to meet at nine, she arrives 20 minutes late after I told her that there was a lot of traffic and the city was heaving. This oversight made me wonder how much she valued my own time as a person, the thought flitted… she does not know Leeds so that might explain but her tardiness conveyed some lack of respect of my time. 

Initial Encounter: 

  She texts her arrival and I promptly greet her. We meet at the front entrance – it is busy so I suggest getting some drinks and then moving outside. I buy the first round because she does not want to use her card as she thinks she has forgotten her pin, so why not use contactless? Close to her limit? Immediately, I called bullshit but dismissed it but it struck me as irresponsible. All drinks were out of my pocket for the evening – I did not mind however her reasons prickled the beginnings of my mistrust. 

   On appearance, I was slightly underwhelmed - she was not as attractive as she presented herself online (I felt I had been slightly catfished) and seemed far less confident in person: very awkward in her movements - bordering clumsy. Overall very average and unremarkable. At the same time, she tired to make an effort for the occasion but didn't rise to the standard expected. "Looks aren't everything let's see what she has to say for herself." I thought. 

   We move outside, sitting at a table with a toupee overhead to shield from the rain… 90 seconds pass in our conversation, I feel this weird cold tug in my chest and my intuition flares: my adrenal system has been activated. I dismiss it: "Maybe I am getting ill?" As we are talking, a vague memory with similar parallels flits in the back of my mind – a deeply unpleasant feeling. I evaluate this slight tightness in my chest as “hmmm… maybe I’m cold?” and I affix the re-routing of my blood to my limbs to that as my body prepares for fight/flight.

   Recently, one of my ex’s from 14 years ago made some unsolicited contact after I told her three years ago to leave me alone, when rejected she will retaliate in some socially controlling fashion or try to interfere with my personal affairs (that is a story for another time). However, she is quite the threat as she was a contributing factor to some C-PTSD however I handle the major symptoms quite fine but it takes a longer time (a period of a few weeks) for the deeper neuro-physiological triggers to subside which also impacts how I perceive other people: it augments my hyper-vigilance. 

   I convey this fact to Xanthe that some of my ex’s have tried to communicate/stalk with me recently so I touch on the subject but she does not seem to handle the topic well and is dismissive. My intention was to forearm her against said resentful individuals, at this point not knowing that she would probably be another one of these individuals if I did date her. She does not seem to understand the potential harm she could be subject to. I can tell from her inexperience that she has not had anyone obsessively try to stalk or interfere with her life post-relationship – otherwise she would have known I was warning her to be careful (yet she herself is a potential offender). She asks, whether I should ask about her ex’s and I respond “If you wish to share that information then you can when you feel it is relevant”. I am not too fussed about her past as I was more preoccupied with seeing her in the present – I wanted to see what kind of person Xanthe was without her creating stories occupying different roles that flatter the persona she wished to create. 

Vibe Check: 

    This was not a first date to me – it was more a mental handshake to determine whether I should even begin to acknowledge her as a potential suitor amongst others. It would be the second date that would be the first one in practice. All that mattered was my lasting impression towards the end of the date as to whether I would continue. Would my suspicions be quelled or would they remain unresolved? So far, I was not convinced – I suggest we go inside to warm up. We do. 

Inside: 

   As we sit, we finish our drinks and I pay for the next round – determined to enjoy the company despite the gnawing dis-ease that was growing in my core. She protests that she will pay me back through a bank transfer or when we meet up again (assuming there would be a next time). The token gesture of her paying me back for around a measly £10 would be nice but I did not really care: t’was a drop in the ocean. Note her eagerness here to meet up again, and the assumption we would. My thoughts were that I was more than happy to pay for the next round but I did not desire repayment if there is some substance to the thoughts I had so fair regarding her nature. 

   I return to the bar thinking “Awfully bold to assume I would meet up with you again” – where does this audacious assumption come from? Has she never had a man say no to her? I think she has this idea that she was entitled to be the person who does the rejection and won't be able to handle it if she did get rejected. The statement, assuming there would be a next time… As though only her opinion and feelings mattered on situation. That one-sided conceited of her calling the shots – that subtle arrogance surfacing. She had assumed she was the dominant one and was in charge of the situation - yet she did not demonstrate any real power, intellect, charm or even virtue of character: it felt like I was dating a cardboard cut out of a person: maybe I would have had a more enjoyable time looking back if I had took out a sex doll? 

   I suspect I would have had better company for sure. 

  A way at the bar, it gave me a moment to think, without speaking to her. In response to how she was behaving and her overestimation of herself and the impression she was making, I decided to draw in any genuine interest and not be so engaging, charming or flattering – but just zen out when I returned with the second lot of drinks, to take a backseat and just vibe with the ambience of the bar. I intended to give the bare minimal level of personal engagement in our conversation as I looked over to the venue whilst I listened to her. Over the next hour, in front of the bars window, I focused on my dis-ease and what it was pointing it’s attention to: my intuition flaring up with every brazen, assuming and inconsistent thing she said.

   For the sake of simplification, I’ve extracted the more significant things I observed: 

 •We briefly discussed her mother and her partner: what was of particular concern was her attitude towards her partner/step-dad about how her mother could do so much better than him and did not really seem to respect her step dad yet he sounded like the main provider for the whole family unit. There was some old fashioned toxic masculinity values she had expressed mainly about the man being the carrier of the family and passively implied what a man should be whilst conveying a general disrepect towards men: there was this entitlement that appeared as this subliminal misandry: the dark face of feminism. From this, I figured a lot of her regard and opinions around men were derivative from her mother's toxic relations and behaviours. Other things she said about her mother suggested some deeper personality and dysregulation issues which Xanthe herself could also embody - with later behavioural responses: this increased the likelihood of what I suspected. 

 •On the topic of men, Xanthe exhibited a strong distaste to her biological father and her step dad. There was no appreciation of her current step dad but largely a lot of her benefits and life probably were in part owed to 60% of her step father's contribution. With this disdain towards men, it made me consider to what extent this disdain would surface with respect to myself and I would find myself the subject of it after her initial love bombing phase was over (not that I bothered to find out - she was not an attractive enough person to find out). 

 • She did not take well to being corrected – I pointed out that mycelium was not a plant but a species of fungus. Her response was “yeah, well same thing.” No, they aren’t but onwards: I am not going to give you a biology lesson on how different those two kingdoms are. I do not argue with people who cannot take a factual correction, yet their ego makes them ignorant – the amount of effort to refute a statement of bullshit combined with an adamant ego is a magnitude far more than the effort it took to say initial bullshit. At this point, I just resigned myself to just not argue or point out mistakes. If anything was a RED FLAG for later conversations we could had if we dated long term. I asked myself “If she was being this adamant about an inconsequential fact what would she be like when there were actual things at stake?” It was not the only example but it was the one that was the most obvious. 

 • An important assessment tool to determine a person’s humility arises from the proof of virtue regarding “truth” is how they respond to uncomfortable realities and their response to being corrected. I ascertained that how she felt was more important than universal realities suggesting her emotional fitness and her appearance of being right was more important than actually being correct. In greater context, it also indicates that Xanthe was likely to be a person of dual standards and would use a half truth to criticize and shame others for the sake of her own sense of satisfaction. At this point, I had decided not to be so open and withdraw my efforts – an inkling of disappointment as I beginning to realize that I was wasting my time. I did not want to encourage any amorous sentiments or accidentally make someone infatuated with me by being jovial and inclusive: a lot of people mistake this as flirting but I just like people – an accidental extrovert.

• I noticed that every time I started talking about a subject in depth she would scattily change the subject. Was this conscious or unconscious? It seemed like she wanted to exhibit some superficial impression of being more informed/intelligent than what she was – but when questioned the subject was changed suggesting that she did not really have an in-depth grasp of what she said she identified with. This was demonstrated when she stated she was into “Paganism” and I was excited so I seized the moment of potential mutual interest thus started talking about magic and spirituality for the subject to be changed once more. It was not the only example, she said she was invited to some Yule thing – and I responded “yeah, the winter solstice.” Overall, it seemed like some bad superficial attempt of appearing more diverse and interested in things than what she genuinely was. It seemed very inauthentic – a person who does not like being corrected and yet tries to exude some sense of intellectualism: struck me as very pretentious and superficial whilst also conveying her vast underestimation of myself that I would not instantly notice it. 

 • About 5 times during this date I got called “very pretty”  - it got old real quick. I had made little effort for our date. Smart casual: as though I was off to the University for a meeting with a colleague or doing some physical experimental therapy. I returned the compliment but I dismissed it as soon as I received it: I get told I am pretty all the time but I really don’t care for the evaluation: it has no real value to me. Want to flatter me - attempt to engage me on my deeper level. 

 • When she had her second drink, she is starting to get tipsy: her inhibitions and mask drop – her arrogance surfaces again. She proclaimed that she needed control of the relationship – my ears pricked up at that – my intuition and rational mind synchronized. With that, I listened carefully as she gleefully told me that she had to be the one in control and that in sex is the only time she is submissive. Her drink had made her intoxicated on the power of the possible romantic prospects she thought she had secured – blind to my discomfort and increasing disinterest. 

   It was at this moment, I understood that she had little trust of other people and very little self belief in who she was as a person despite saying “she was happy as the person she was”. It sounded so hollow. Again, I internally sigh. Slightly irritated with this phatic statement and the lack of substance underneath it. I rhetorically thought “if you were so happy with who you are you wouldn’t externalize control of others in a relationship to make yourself feel secure.” flitted into my mind’s eye. 

   So far, my impression was that she was misandrist who secretly was afraid of her own ordinary nature and lack of general talent whilst also semi aware but in denial of her own issues. I noticed that she tried very hard to be appear more charming and intelligent than she actually was: when tested she did not even demonstrate rudimentary levels of knowledge and skill. 

   I openly tell her that such a general need for control is based on a personality trait called “Social Dominance Index/Orientation” and that it links to ambition and linear fixed ways of regarding life and the self that have been internalized without much critical thought. I did not mention that those who have a high SDO combined with a lack of interpersonal awareness, empathy and consideration turn out to be people who gaslight. I was beginning to become vexed combined with the apprehension, disappointment and dislike. People with SDO who do not value or respect worldly and the personal truths of others will try to create situations and act in ways superficially that flatter their self image: they gain validation from the reception and affirmation of others which respects to their own self image and will not hesitate to act to get what they want but ultimately it is façade based on inauthenticity, externalization and profound inner insecurity. Their priority is to control events and narrative that their ego can accept, and if control is lost, they will lie or twist events to suit it then seek others to convince of this narrative (Hoovering - presentation of Narcissistic type behaviours). However, I did predict this after my rejection message. 

   If I was to choose to go beyond this initial meet up, then I would desire someone who does not seek control but rather equilibrium – an externalisation of control of others reveals poor internal emotional dysregulation and aridity within their own inner universe: a lack of firm solid foundation of self. The fact she had not picked up on my distaste was another example of her inability to read other people’s emotions and behaviours: I was masking but in the past some people have been able to pick up on it. She, on the otherhand, did not. 

   So she sways back from the toilet after going there a few times. After a few bouts of conversation and she went way to the toilet for the last time, I sighed. My general impression about this encounter was that I optimistically voted for a Green Party/Labour candidate and ended up debating with a Conservative/UKIP MP about situations and issues they have never directly seen or experienced themselves. They try to bluster through topics they knew very little about whilst having this unearned confidence that “they did really well.”. Instead of Caroline Lucas or Jeremy Corbyn I got the unpleasant frog neck of Nigel Farage or abhorrent real life Walter otherwise known as Jacob Reese-Mogg. Owing to my mounting dissatisfaction, I had organized to meet my friend shortly and I decided I was going to cut the date short. 

   When she returned, I chanced a glimpse of her phone and there was a snapchat suggesting that she would go to meet her friends. Phew, she is going to go soon. Based on her behaviour so far, the level of mistrust had reached an alarming level so in order to protect myself from future slander or liable. I recorded our conversation and when I left on my phone just in case. If she lied about what happened between us, I would simply share with her video of when I left with its metadata. Her pull away strategy (leaving early), was later revealed as a strategy to initiate control: short and sweet. She said, and I quote, “to keep you [me] wanting more.” – everything clicked when she said that – I realized what I was dealing with (aside from a spoilt white girl who’s never been told no or experienced rejection). I was eerily reminded of a drunk Arnold J Rimmer (from the cult TV show Red Dwarf) combining uncharismatic advances and fumbling lack of self-aware overconfidence with no read on their intended target’s increasing apprehension and dislike. In response, I decided to pull away and leave the venue but there was no signal to my friend which meant I had to wait a little while until I got one. 

Swapping Gender Roles: 

 Now pause for a second. If she was the man and I was the woman – if I had a guy who was adamant and dismissive of being incorrect, spoke of leaving with the intention “to make me want more” and then lied for free drinks as a courtesy: I would be (and was) severely creeped/insulted out. It was the same as a man, this psychological subtext was there. As mentioned about the psychological violence being subversive and invisible: the dark side of feminism. Yet, Xanthe felt it was perfectly acceptable conduct to behave in this manner. As the self appointed champion of feminist energy and values I am pretty sure she would be out spoken and love to occupy the victim and judgement role of this situation if it was reversed. Naturally, she was a feminist only when it was convenient to her I suspected. The general lack of self awareness was also a massive turn off.

Foul Stench:

   The strategy became apparent – it’s distaste fully realized and the gnawing in my gut was borderline physically uncomfortable. There was this impression she had deployed this before or vividly imagined some kind of script with someone else and was falsely sure it would succeed. However she did not know who or what I was at all nor could see into my inner universe: her arrogance was becoming more astoundingly obvious. After this statement, I decided to leave: put up a mask of neutral interest and engagement saying “I would like her to stay and so on” to be polite whilst biting back my tongue. I was hoping she would not invite me to where they were going, I did not want to summon up some feigned interest in a bunch of drunk 18 to 21 year old students at some cheap ass Wetherspoons bar and then have to lie: I had enough of feigning interest at this point to spare her feelings and simply wanted to leave at the earliest opportunity. 

 "Leaving you wanting more" : 

   Throughout, I had had been masking my ever increasing distaste until I could make sense of the person that was presented before me, as she was organizing an Uber, I received a text message from from my friend of her location. After her statement of “leaving you wanting more”, it was over for her – the realization of what I had encountered had occurred: it was a little freaky regardless of gender. Realizing she used romance as a subtext for her trying to tease and gain psychological control over their date (victim) - she drunkenly exposed this with her aforementioned statement – obviously not in tune with my distaste becoming more visible. When she thought she “had me”, she was like a shark who smelt blood in the water – the “leave me wanting more” remark was so funny, I laugh now in hindsight but at this point I was intent on removing myself away from her. 

 Internally, I conclusively thought "No thanks, I have had my fill of the very little you had to offer - I'll let someone else who deserves the bad karma partake of what it is you think you bring to the table." whilst putting on a mask of general polite proclivity to convince her that I was eager to hang out and "it was a shame that she was leaving early". I did not want to provoke a negative response as it was some drama I did not want to engage with. 

I'd Rather Just Go 

  After this statement was made, I decided that I was not going to hang around much longer – it was too uncomfortable to mask my revile and distaste. I stood up and said “Thanks for the night, I might see you soon.” 

  Immediately she yelled, blurting out “Are we not going to do a round of tequila?”.  

  I sardonically scoffed “Nope, I rather just be off, thanks.” whilst grinning like a Cheshire cat – it could not be helped. 

   I had become tired of masking and tolerating her poor behaviour, dual standards and overcompensation of her own insecurity. I barely contained my sassiness - with every step I made towards the back door a grim glee surfaced as I committed to leave. As I excited, I knew I had made the right choice as relief shivered down my spine and the feeling of disease quickly evaporated: I couldn’t help but smile. It was her, the source of my ever increasing discomfort and dislike: the moment I had left the adrenal system stopped activating and there was not this invading pressure in my proximity. 

   I was confident that I would never see her again after that night, and I was intent in wrapping up any online communication alluding to as such. Throughout, I did not want to quickly judge or jump to conclusions but here was all the evidence I needed from the experience. A lot of my hesitation was that I did not want to judge someone so negatively but I cannot ignore what I know to be true. 

Post Date: 

   From a subjective point of view, post date she behaved in a way I expected she would. Usually, after a date, it becomes clear in hindsight what your thoughts were or you learn, through reflection, what it meant and making sense of the patterns or specific nuances. After I see my friend, talking about the weird nature of what I experienced I thought of messaging her “that I had a nice night”. However, I felt that it was disingenuous for me to say such a thing so I deleted the message I sent. I walked home processing what I had experienced: there was some intrinsic sense of trust lost that went below the baseline I have for strangers – it was quite startling to see this within myself and I queried way as it could be useful in the future to understand this subconscious response that turned out to be eerily accurate. I go to sleep and I wake around 6 am. She has posted a new photo in the early hours of the morning on her Instagram and I noticed she had been looking at my stories – I decided to put her profile on restrict until I sent my departing message. I had a feeling she would try to get me to chase her or be the first to reply. I got on with my day, did some written work, then wrote this for my own journalist records for future reference and entertainment. I am of the opinion shared with one the greatest classic writer’s of all time:

  “I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.” (Oscar Wilde by the way). 

I did not interact with the profile but my mid afternoon I noticed her attempt of trying to be sexy photo was deleted. Maybe she wanted the attention but since I did not interact or respond with her she took it down. I carried on with my Saturday as usual, went to York, came back. Napped and got ready for another date with someone else for the following night which was far more natural grace and flow: it was very useful to have this immediate contrast to draw a comparison between Xanthe on Friday and my other date on Saturday. Such is the life of a 30 something bachelor. 

The Final Rejection Message: 

   Sunday comes, and I notice she has been orbiting my Instagram stories every few hours (nothing worth mentioning – just basic humour and cats) but not interacting. My Instagram meta data revealed she had been visiting my profile quite a few times as well so she was waiting for a response yet too adamant/stubborn to initiate a conversation. The whole “I am ignoring you ignoring me” type deal surfaced – silly game to play. I smiled to myself, thinking "Are we really behaving like a 13 year old? That afraid of rejection?"

   From this, I anticipated that she won’t take rejection at all that well based on arrogance during the date and her mind game of ignorance. She will not take kindly to having her vulnerabilities or her self belief/assumptions questioned – I would say that she will deny that I rejected her and create a story to herself and to her friends: if she lies to her friends about her genuine thoughts and feelings combined with how events really played out then she has betrayed their trust for the sake of her own ego: this person has no integrity and is willing to throw a stranger under a bus for the sake of their own narrow world view and to avoid dealing with inevitable social and personal truths. 

Why the Delay? 

   My initial lack of interaction was born from a lack of certainty of how to approach the situation up until the Sunday afternoon. Based on what I observed I do not think she would take to positive enquiry too well and that it would provoke an argument, her conceit would also make it difficult to address any pathologies that I thought could be there as well and I was not really willing to pretend to date her in order to play therapist or gain sexual access neither: the latter would lower oneself. 

   I concluded, in a more general sense, that me trying to help or prevent her was futile owing to the resistance at being proven wrong. I shared online my predictions with a handful of friends on Saturday evening to see what their opinions were and to gain insight to my experiences with my meeting with Xanthe: the vasty majority agreed with my insight and were later in awe to the degree of accuracy to which I predicted Xanthe's behaviour after the fact. What I intended to convey in my message were some conclusions I made about her, these are as follows: 

 • That I was masking my true thoughts and feelings during our meet-up – if Xanthe was benign or trust worthy I would not have intuitively chose this course of action. 

 • It was going to be an awkward conversation if I delved too much into it and not one she is emotionally/spiritually mature enough for. 

 • I anticipated her to be dishonest with me and herself, to treat me as an object in response to being rejected: there’s a reason for this relating to her desire to write romantic stories through her degree – to not see other people as people capable of free will and choices – some of these which she will not like: and she will retaliate if a person behaves outside of this limited sphere of what she wants of them just like characters in the story of the desires and egocentricity. 

 • I have a clear set of immediate life goals and personal academic objectives, I know precisely the types of situations that maintain and augment it: and I know what detracts from it: what Xanthe was offering was not in alignment and would be very disruptive. In order to entertain her I would have to diverge significantly and not be my authentic/ideal self to which my intellectual rigour would be reduced. 

 • Considering how she was it would be a futile waste of time trying to get her to reflect and turn inward: to actually begin the path of awakening instead of this persona of pseudo-spirituality. 

 • Xanthe knew there was something in her psychology that was amiss but has not done anything about it, it was alluded to a few times and she even admitted to not being “emotionally stable” after her second drink. I found this to be problematic, as she was involving other people into her problems without herself owning her own issues to which she suspected herself of. 

 • A message of farewell: to paid heed and caution: I do not prophetize good outcomes as the person she currently revealed herself to be. 

 • The last line was to warn her that she will re-create harm and suffering in her future relationships due to the aforementioned issues and more. My message to her conveyed the aforementioned as follows: 

  “Ahoj there, As you can tell, the date did not go that great for you. Sorry, but I don't really feel comfortable around you as a person - I picked up on a few things that weren't conducive to what I'm about and the kind of situation I would like to develop. 

 There were a few other things as well, but I considered and weighed my options and decided that not really expressing them and taking a position of inaction is best. 

 I hope you find what you're looking for on Bumble and other saying websites, and I hope you can integrate your obstacles and pathology in a way that doesn't harm too many people. 

 A lot of my friends suggested I ghost you but it is not my style.” 

 I did not really see too much of an issue with my message – it was blunt and to the point: but after what I observed and concluded I figured it was best to not invite further involvement. 

Now, there was four options to this: the most likely I predicted with be deflection combined with demeaning which would confirm my evaluation and the type of person she was. The other three were, genuine concern (would have been astounded by this – as she was very self centric about her own needs and did not offer anything through the entire duration of our interaction), ignorance completely or an argument about “how she felt the same way too” or some outright attack on my person and character directly. In essence, it was a test of both empathy and maturity to which she failed. 

 She blocked after saying: “Lol you're wierd” 

 The misspelling of weird suggested there was some haste in that message but I did not think too much about it – the fact she blocked amused me though: did my rejection of her hurt her that much? I was going to say to her to have a natter from time to time because I foresaw her having a hard time due to her issues in future relationships to the point it will interfere with her life: primarily her studies. I believe the way she reacted had two purposes – to set the stage of the idea that if I pursue her that I was the one that would be interested and that she was the one in control in the way she dismissed: I had no interest in doing so - when I sent the message I had already accepted this was the likely outcome, if she responded more maturely we might have been decent acquaintances. I had other more interesting romantic candidates to focus on.

   Her reaction conveyed her disappointment and hurt - she wanted to lower my vibration in the same way I did her: it was a last futile attempt at controlling the situation through an out of demeaning dismissal that was not hers to decide. Instead, of addressing my discomfort or the fact that our encounter might have caused suffering she chose her own ego over through genuine compassion. If there was anything that cemented the fact my decision was correct it was this choice she made which was exclusive to her alone, rather than querying her own behaviour as what made me feel so uncomfortable. I expected it – it closed down the possibility of me wanting to help her as I knew the choice she at that point was to lie and try to convince herself that she was in control: I do not think anyone has ever rejected her before judging by the behaviour. There was some hint to rejection sensitivity dysphoria from this response but also an intolerance to being bested or outsmarted in interpersonal domains: I knew the game she was going to try to play and executed the winning move "to not play" . 

   She had humiliated herself on her date and here on social media when she chose this as her method of (not) dealing with the situation authentically or truthfully. Again, I saw through it. I knew where I was coming from and certain in my assessment of who she was and who she chose to be in respect to oneself: I don’t have any problem as I had other people who I dated over the weekend and others who I would date in the future who had far more to say about themselves and their lives. 

   In her head, she has tried to cheat the situation by pretending that she just ghosted after her date but she was obsessively viewing my profile and Instagram stories periodically up until I sent my last message: her record of her being in control or being the rejected party has been destroyed up to this point. I had hoped to give her the option to have a “natter every now and again” to maybe mediate her experiences but she was too proud and hurt to entertain it: too bitter and resentful. The “If I can’t have you, then I will hurt you” mentality – subconsciously seeing me as a commodity that rebelled so trying to punish me in response: I have to humorously point out... 

...that the date itself was the punishment. 

 I had a hard time masking my amusement at this point, on one hand I accurately saw someone who they truly are and my superficial assessment was on the money (thanks to the “tool” I designed) whilst on the other I found it funny yet pathetic at how audacious and inconsistent her attention seeking, orbiting and then deflect/denial dismiss response was. Her behaviour did not match up with her account nor the impression she tried to create. She did not have anything of substance to say in response so chose to try to call me “wierd”. Feeble! 

Never been told "No" - Spoilt White Girl Complex: 

   It is almost like she has never met a man before that knows their own mind, standards and what they want to maintain/create in their lives. Given the “wierd” (weird) aforementioned account and experience I concluded that I should share my account for others – however I am not interested in a response to it. I know what I observed and what the implications of the behaviour – she would drag other people into her own toxic abuse patterns whilst gaslighting it as romantic thus furthering her own confusion to the point it will globally impact her life. She believes she is fine as the way she is, but usually people who think that tend to not develop themselves earnestly nor see the ramifications of their own behaviour until it stops them getting what they want – not because they developed empathy or some moral fibre. She does not honour truth from something as mere as single date – she does not honour nor seek truth in all areas of life preferring a comfortable lie and convince herself. 

   Imagine if I had dated her for a while (weeks to months) and developed some emotional bond with her – and discovered this? How harrowing an idea! She will be punished by her own lack of integrity as she becomes full circle to the same place without growth. This is the crux of her karma. Due to knowing myself, what I wished to maintain and achieve and contrasting it with the behaviours/situations she offered. She believed herself deserving of me but she was not worthy – she has not even begun to have the ideological collapse associated with having her world view changed and being held accountable to her own behaviour. I hope, one day, that she does – for her own sake but it will not come at my expense but at the expense of some other more deserving shmuck. 

Closing Personal Thoughts: 

    Xanthe Lily Lowrie went into that situation mistaking my general sense of inclusion and curious nature as something far more than what it was and got her expectations up whilst also mistaking it as being invested in the idea of her. From a personal perspective, it is absurd to even begin to invest or regard someone in a romantic or infatuation until some sense of trust is established which can only be obtained through factual acts of respect, worthiness and honouring the place within each of us which lies in the other. With the abundance of opportunities and time I have created for myself there is no reason for me to tolerate someone who falls short of the standards I have established for myself and the criteria underpinning the future to which I create. If a person wishes to be a part of this story then they need to be worthy – and I am beholden to that statement as much as its enunciator. 

   I theorize that she saw me as a gateway to a number of opportunities with respect to her own writing prospects and would try to exercise some leverage to get what she wanted until she could be independent – as such I would summarise her as a person who facilitates opportunity and material resource based usury until she obtains what she selfishly wants. I do not see her being a person who gives much of herself nor has much to offer others but will demand or attempt to deceive her way to what she wants. Her superficial positive hippy vibe is based on an intolerance and dysregulation of her own emotions and she will only accept/entertain things that she deems as positive or make her feel good whether they are true or not. 

   Some of what I base my conjecture regarding Xanthe is actually derived from what she holds to do with her “Creative Writing Degree” at Leeds Arts University (initially she said Leeds University but lied) is that she wants to write Romance novels filled with secrets, betrayals and lies. In a weird way, this is quite a charming unique individual quirk but based on her interactions with me a couple of thoughts sprang into mind. Does she know the true extent of the emotions, turmoil and despair that comes with the territory of such hardships? Would she trivialize or even romanticize such relationship crises that result in the profound dilemmas of the self to point they can almost (and sometimes) take the very soul from oneself? She did not behave nor act in way that would suggest any direct experiences to such scenarios but then wishes to write about them? How out of touch is this person? I found it borderline offensive since I have worked with both domestic abuse offenders and victims – to have their experiences reduced to some novella from some out of touch 20 year old girl? Sounds like the female feminist wannabe equivalent of Jim Theis’ The Eye of Argon. 

The Standard of Friendship serves as the Bare Minimum: 

   Any friends I have, are devoted to a level of personal and moral development – there is an honesty and general sense of humility that appears when one comes to term with failure, mistakes, loss and bereavement. From a personal point of view, it is inconceivable for me to lie or twist events to myself – accept the facts and change the future, that is all I ever do. As such, Xanthe demonstrated a lack of courage to face awkward situations and the courage to accept negative events: and as such has not gained my respect. Her approach is to twist events and facts with herself in controlling the narrative, such is her ego. I am constantly astounded at the degree people will deny and lie about what is actually happening even to themselves – such people I have little respect of and generally avoid having anything more than a superficial interaction with based on necessity. 

"Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate." - C. G. Jung:  

    She behaves in away that will draw abuse and trauma to herself because she creates it in the dynamics of the situations she wants and how she forces them into being. A lot of the time, I think she will think "this is opportunity to make myself look good and like an aspirational leader." but really she is just a opportunity hog for shameless narcissistic self promotion so she can control the narrative about oneself. The fact she struggled with the rejection and tried to behave in way that hedged her bets was evidential and was not fooling anyone. She was ill-prepared for who I was and seemed to have completely underestimated me – the truth be told that she was only thinking of herself as she did not predict the nature of my reaction or response. And she will view any interaction I would try to have with her as stalking or so on as that is the only narrative she could accept when in fact: she would flip the situation and roles protect her fragile ego however such self deceit comes full circle. She will end up back where she started with worse far reaching consequences. Whether it is a good or bad thing, but I doubt she will meet another fellow like myself – with zero return and zero consequence. I got what I wanted, I went on a date – fucked around – found out what I wanted to know and made an informed decision to not continue dating said person. Life will continue as I directed whereas hers? Who knows. 

Moving Forward: 

   My resulting thoughts on the situation were that this person needs to seek a diagnosis for their current state (due to the nature of it – they adamantly will not) and will blame or find fault with the intention to demean/invalidate the choices and views of other people for being rejected, their problems and interpersonal hardships. I think, due to how she is as a person (from my direct experience, social media and general conversations) that she will only be forced to reconcile her issues when it stops her from completing university tasks and it impacts both the quality of the men she is interested in combined with the poor quality, lack of sincerity and constant instability in her relationship dynamics. As her relationships fail, I imagine she will attempt more overt and promiscuous means to secure what she wants but it will only attract people who will end up exploiting her. Any man who tolerates these types of behaviours and disrespect will not have discovered self respect, have high self esteem, come from a place of self perceived scarcity and will not be who they say they are. The irony being that only a low value individual will tolerate it or a person who knows to how to exploit it with very little personal investment for sex or someother misleading end at her expense. I am sure she will do a form of hoovering (convince others of her story for reassurance), I suspect that she will go so far to deny my academic and professional accreditations/achievements, if she does this then her level of intolerance to what I did and said would be bordering on the pathological and point to a Borderline Personality Disorder with narcissistic presentations of self aggrandization through the denial of expertise/substance that I embodied in my decision making. Her goal here would be to reassure herself that my perspective, the facts and opinions I based my judgment on were invalid: it is more projection of what she wants to believe to be true as opposed to actually being true. Any message I could send her potentially will be interpreted as stalking (even though I said in my main message that was it for me) because she wishes that was the case that I desired her and she rejected me. This would be an allusion to rejection sensitivity dysphoria which is endemic to those with BPD, PTSD and ADHD but I am not making any statements regarding this: the issue is more complex than that. She would be too proud to ever admit that I hurt her and defied her expectations – she will demonize and pretend that I had no significance and what I do is weird/stalkerish: but she plays herself because she will recreate this situation with someone else and the core issues remain undiscovered until they have already damaged her efforts of what she wanted to create for herself. 

Xanthe's Persona - Overestimation of Self: 

   Xanthe went into that situation mistaking my general sense of inclusion and my default curious nature as something far more than what it was and got her expectations up whilst also mistaking it as being invested in the idea of her. From a personal perspective, it is absurd to even begin to invest or regard someone in a romantic or infatuation until some sense of trust is established which can only be obtained through factual acts of respect, worthiness and honouring the place within each of us which lies in the other. Her intention was to establish a one-sided power dynamic as the status quo in the relationship, assuming her self as the dominant one already without really understanding or comprehending myself as being a dominant personality that operates in a more subtle and self assured way. The need to control the relationship comes from both a fear of rejection, some form of past abuse that took advantage of her attachment in the past and inability to emotionally regulate: based on this I suspect there is rejection sensitivity dysphoria especially after what occurred post date (see aforementioned). Just because she got a date and I was engaging with her she thought she it was secure but the fact this was the case revealed to me her naivety, conceit and foretold the kind of dynamics/situations she intended to create with me. 

   Throughout our interaction, every action she did lacked spontaneity and appeared to obey some framework. She did not respond well to spontaneity of actions or anything I did: a lot of her approach seemed pre-planned or scripted with a specific result. As a result, the whole thing seemed very controlled orientated from her especially towards the end and on my final impression of her on social media. This control of both others, the situation and the narrative seemed to be an attempt to externalize her emotions and expectations through the manipulation of others hence the lopsided need for control – but this was based on a lack of personal self emotional regulation and expectations so she tried to do as much as she could to “subtly” gain my interest which was also a tactic which she deployed online (overtly sexual photos but I told her that I was not that into that but I still found her pretty). It only really became apparent towards our actual date this was the case and she had a clear rigid agenda that would have come at my expense: I think she would throw me under a bus (metaphorically) if I did not do what she wanted and tried to control myself. I think this comes a lack of a concrete sense of being and self, being able to accept and be oneself and as such she attempted to control others to mediate her own desires and avoid sadness/disappointment. There was a fear of me in her actions that she communicated through this approach: rejection and freewill – when she thought she had my interest (due to drink) it was most apparent that she did not regard me as a freethinking person capable of acting out of her projected scenario. I was not really thinking so in depth about my behaviour or actions but rather just resuming my current life path uninterrupted and removing a distraction. You can’t manipulate or strategise people into liking you – you have to trust they see the beauty and value of who you are as person. 

Inauthentic Love - the Violation of Personal Volition:

    There is this culture amongst many young people and Xanthe demonstrates it in a very discrete way, that they think they can emotionally and strategically create situations within a relationship that attempt to psychologically string and ensnare the people they intend to date. What they fail to realize is that if a victim has been manipulated to like them or dote upon them, their emotions and the way they perceives things are not authentically or freely chosen: they don’t like you because they chose to but because they has been psychologically deceived and hijacked based on their own self esteem and insecurities (most men have them, deal with it). It is not real, and towards the end of relationship or after it – they realizes the deception and the regret stings. It is why there are so many tales of an attractive figures seduce people (excluding Gaunt) into situations of self compromise (Garden of Eden, Siren’s, Mermaids and even in Harry Potter regarding Tom Marvolo’s Mother Merope Gaunt) – the seduction and deception go hand in hand: the sorceress or enchantress intention haunts the more ambitious and controlling of women and the trait that connects these women is desperation and social dominance orientation wherein they imagine themselves in control of most if not all things in their lives. Without realizing it, such women do not realize that they have played their partner but more importantly that they played themselves (men do this too). Seduction, the most part, carries with it a degree of deception and the conceit of its enactor in how "attractive/crafty" they like to imagine themselves. 

   Love is a sacred emotion, whatever forms it takes. To abuse of it for personal gain or to remedy personal insecurities is really a coward’s game. In order to get what you want without it being freely given requires coercion and psychic violation. Considering the aforementioned, this is what I saw Xanthe attempting to do, to create trauma bonds, and my intuition instantly saw it for what it was having encountered it before. My self agency was not respected and she tried to violate it for her own selfish gain underneath the guise of romance: it was this which I base my prediction of my involvement with her as a negative diminishing person to my projective goals and objectives so she had to go. This is further supported in both how she tired to deflect my rejection message combined with her trying to find holes in who I was and attempted to professional discredit me in her own story to invalid the rejection and what I implied towards her. What I can conclude over this weekend was that Xanthe never saw me as a human being but rather an instrument to manipulate for her own finer feelings of amorousness, romance and validation but in her attempt to play me she ended up playing herself. 

 "Anyone who tries to play around with and disrespect love will be the one who ends up crying." 

   I despise anyone who tries to pervert love for their own selfish reasons and will thwart their attempts to do so. This motivation was overtly expressed with Xanthe who thought there was nothing wrong with the way she engaged and the one sided situation she wished to develop and it wasn’t my job to explain something so straight forward and simple: that should have been her mother or father’s role. I do not believe she will get in contact or show genuine remorse for her action nor her intentions. I have made it so that the idea of contacting me or reaching out will be discouraged severely. But she will be forced to develop accountability through the instrumentality of the relationships she creates in the future but with people who are far less self aware or will exploit her psychological weaknesses. In the end, it seems to be Xanthe who is the weird one – and secretly she knew it all along. I believe the only time she will get back in contact with me is if she selfishly wanted something, even "forgiveness" will be laden with an operand cost. 

Summary: 

 I hate to coin a stereotype to summarise this but really I just dated a spoilt white girl drunk on her parents enabling lack of accountability who got too used to having her own way and not being held accountable to her own narrow world view of toxic positivity: a potential narcissist in the making. 

  My above account, although factual in many ways in what I observed, experienced and thought are just my perception and are not alluding to a professional diagnosis. They are not to be taken as such and not stated as absolute matters of fact. To paraphrase or forward an excerpt without the whole body of text to others (including her) is not my intention nor would it be in my or her best interests. I am grateful for the experience I had as it better prepared me to what I need to avoid and enabled me to better select worthier candidates more efficiently. 

   I wish Xanthe what she both deserves and needs in order to become a whole integrated self realized woman and identify the toxic enablement and deceit of her own mother's pathology and how it has been implanted in her - harming her future relationships with people generally and stunted her development of a stable identity that is not dependent on those around her but comes from an intrinsic and authentic self belief.

[gabagoogus]

Moi stoopid magic system

Magic, power systems, techniques, I personally find it the best part of an anime or book. Seeing all of the complex interactions is crazy. My magic system is called 

DIVINUM AUXILIUM

Of course, in universe, it goes by many names, such as Blessings, Divine Intervention, or simply, a Divine fortune or any other synonym. At its core, it is the act of a being from a higher plane granting boons or power to a being from a lower plane. This could be a god giving powers to a human, or even a vengeful spirit assisting a being with a similar goal. By definition, all power users in the verse fall under the classification of a “Warlock”, but it's not just guys in robes spamming eldritch blast, as it can vary greatly depending on the blesser and the user. The main granters of boons are as followed

- what would be considered a “god”. Most gods in the verse are more so personifications of a concept or universal law, apart from the original one, known simply as Yggdrasil, who upon spontaneous existence through fluctuating virtual particles, proceeded to personify the core concepts of physics and the world. Some notable gods include Aevum, goddess of time, and Vis, god of entropy and energy. This duo were the first beings created after Yggdrasil.

-Spirits. Anything from vengeful spirits not ready to rest, to spirits of powerful people persisting after death, to long lost guardians who have lost all trace of their time as a mortal. Any being with enough willpower can come back as a spirit to aid- or hinder- those still bound to the mortal coil.

- Fae. Fae are mysterious beings that travel between the branches of Yggdrasil and hop between planes. Most who know of them think they are all annoying and mischievous, but wise ones know that only the assholes actually show themselves to common folk. They give them a bad name. While not as powerful as gods, Fae give the most unique abilities to their hosts.

While there are some exceptions, these are the main granters of power. 

Inorder to obtain these powers from above, one must first die- or almost die. Being on the edge of death is like balancing a lightswitch. One slight nudge and you either live or lights out. This time is perfect for a deity to grant boons as you are as far into the higher realms as possible without passing through, so the connection is at its strongest. Keep in mind that only those with the highest “fate weight” are chosen. This value is either from what you're destined to do to the world as of now, or what you can possibly do if granted powers. This is like a betting game for the deities as they can only have one avatar at a time, so they must consider who to bless.

 If you are lucky, instead of dying, you will have a hazy and blurry dream of a silhouette of the deity coming up to you bringing you back to life. Once awakened, the avatar will have nothing but a vague memory of the situation, the basics on how to use their new powers, and an undying and deadly sense of motivation for something. That thing? Well, it's different for everyone. Some have a clear understanding of purpose, while others just get on with an “it is what it is” and the vague knowledge of whatever they do, they will achieve something.

Now you may ask, how do these powers work? Well it's simple… I'm just kidding, it's not simple at all. Divine aid is different for everyone, as every deity is different. You'll almost never get powers directly associated with your deity, but instead something adjacent to it, which you will soon learn was actually your deities power all along, just manifested in a different way. Example: Aevum’s avatar didn’t get time powers right away, instead he got ice powers, which was secretly just him slowing down time on atoms to subtract heat (as an atoms speed=heat), creating ice.

In Order to use any of your granted boons, you need what's known as primordial soup. After a blessing, an avatar starts to naturally collect primordial soup, and it is stored within the brain. Primordial soup is produced by beings known as sprites. Tiny spirits the size of a hamster that sit at the roots of Yggdrasil and feed off of it. They sit on the same plane as human souls, which is why it's easy for humans to gather it, although only avatars can actually gather enough for it to be useful. This is thanks to a strange region of the brain that grows after becoming an avatar known as the Phasma. This chunk of brain actually sits within the soul plane and attracts sprites. Primordial soup is this bright blue neon sludge that is full of universal energy. Even the gods need it to survive. It allows an avatar to have a clear connection to their deity, and henceforth draw from their power. It basically makes you have better spirit internet to facetime your deity, with your Phasma being the router.

 The two types of sprite are Magiums and Phages. Magiums are fat and round and give a decent and long stream of soup to the gatherer, letting them use their powers for a long time, but Phages are long and jagged. They quickly inject a ton of soup into the avatar and allow for quick and powerful bursts of power to come forth. Most users of divine fortune tend to stick to gathering one or the other, but you can choose what you want more of by changing hormone levels in the Phasma. It's good to have a mix of both.

Human souls are separate from bodies. They sit on the soul plane, which is one level above the mortal plane. They are still one being, but souls are slightly separate from the body, which is why some things only affect the soul. The only part of the physical body on the soul plane is the Phasma.

The following are two examples of Divinum avatars.

Omega is a strange and somewhat insane plague doctor who is the avatar of Aevum, goddess of time. Instead of getting time powers, he instead got the ability to manifest ice from the moisture in and around him (which is just him subconsciously slowing down time on the subatomic level) This pairs well with his alchemy, which is a completely different system in the universe that i will not be talking about right now. For other avatars, the only time they get to at least see their deity is in hazy visions and dreams, but Aevum instead shows up as a figment of Omegas imagination. She randomly shows up as a transparent veiled woman, and sometimes offers advice, although most of the time she just criticises him and asks way too many questions. Omega finds her really annoying and sometimes thinks she should've just left him to die. Only Omega can see Aevum, which makes him look extremely schizophrenic. After another death, the deity either cuts off their divine power, leaving the avatar to die, or gives more power. This phenomenon is known as a Deus Ex Machina, and allows them to use their “Magnum Opus”. Now at a direct connection with their deity, the avatar can now finally use the root power granted. Omega gained the power to slow down time by 99% and to use many new alchemical techniques, and most notably a technique known as “absolute zero”. This allows him to completely stop time and rapidly mess with time and age on an atomic scale, breaking down atoms and age things until they are naught but dust.

Hellflame is another avatar who instead gets his powers from Vis, god of entropy and energy. Omega and Hellflame are both part of a small squad of mercenaries, and are great friends. Hellflame, as you would imagine, has the ability to start and control fire, as well as go into a demon state, where he gets much better durability, and absorbs kinetic energy.

He utilises his powers well, by using the force of explosions to accelerate his limbs to speeds of mach 2. He also specialises in firearms, and replaces regular bullets with bullets made of superheated plasma, which he generates by chucking any random bit of metal into his guns and heating it up. He may not look like it, but he is just as smart as omega, and has a degree in engineering, (apparently). Upon receiving a Deus Ex Machina, Hellflame gains the ability to store kinetic energy. Upon storing enough kinetic energy, he goes into a state called

Kugelblitz, and becomes effectively indestructive for a few minutes, basically like Hakari’s jackpot from JJK. The aura around him is enough to vaporise glass, and he reaches speeds up to mach 3, enough to contend with the speeds of Omega while slowing down time. His magnum opus is called Oroboros, where he summons a giant snake made of pure universal energy and unbalanced nearby creatures and objects entropy, draining the life out of living things and causing inanimate things to be exploded to dust and even erased. (kinda like malevolent shrine)

Uhhhh yeah that's a bit about my magic system. It still has a few flaws. I'll go more in depth about characters and Alchemy in a separate post I guess, if people care.

I also need help coming up with the name of the mercenary gang Omega and Hellflame are in, but ill talk about that later.

Thanks for reading.