#Had to look behind me to make sure nobody saw me glitching out of existence

[iamunabletothinkofablogname]

https://pin.it/tYdU010

AFISFHISDFSDIF FISDFHIUISDFH FSDOIFJS FDSKPFSFOPSK THE FUCKING CUTIE SCRIMBLO BIMBLO LOVABLE COOL COMFORTABLE MF IM GONNA ASHDIASD

[occasionalstorytelling]

Summary: A rewrite of the beginning of Age of Ultron. The Avengers were busting Hydra bases looking for Loki's scepter, but they found Bucky first and he joined the team. When they go up against Wanda and Pietro in the castle, Wanda traps everyone (except for Barton) in a shared dream. Bucky, Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Tony, and Thor fight their way through everyone's imagined dreams, one at a time, working together to get out and back to reality. It isn't a problem until they get trapped in Bucky's dream. Everyone worried it might be a nightmare, a memory left over from his time with Hydra...instead, it's something very different, and much more pleasant.

Word count: 2697

Read it here:

The world faded away. Greys and blacks and blood-streaked rocks disappeared from existence, replaced by oranges and yellows and a sleek ballroom floor.

“Is everyone okay?” Tony was practically vibrating with anxious tension.

“All good here,” Steve said. “Stark, do you want to talk about any of that, or—”

“Nope,” Tony shook his head. “You’re alive, I’m alive, we’re all alive, let’s just move on.”

“Barton’s still not with us,” Natasha said. “He must be on the outside.”

“He must find the witch before we endure any more of this,” Thor grumbled.

“Said the person who got to have a party,” Bucky poked him in the arm. “Some of us have actual trauma to work through, buddy. Speaking of which, how come I wasn’t in Tony’s nightmare?”

“Because you being dead would be a relief,” Tony rolled his eyes.

“Wow.” Bucky pressed a fist over his heart and feigned sadness. “That hurts, Tony.”

“All that matters is that we need to figure out who’s dream we’re in now,” Bruce said. “Anyone recognize this?”

“It’s mine,” Steve said. Everyone looked around. It was a beautiful 1940s ballroom, decorated for a party. There was a crowd in the center of the dance floor, and their conversations and laughing were barely audible over the strains of music that lilted through the air.

“Ha!” Thor laughed. “I am not the only Avenger who dreamed up a party.”

“I can take care of this,” Steve said. “We’ll be out of here in just a second.” He stepped forwards, toward the crowd. As he moved, they began to part in front of him, revealing Peggy Carter standing alone in the center.

“Steve.” She smiled. “Is it finally time for our dance?”

“Hi, Peggy,” Steve sighed. He took her hand. “You’re not real. This isn’t real.”

“You don’t really believe that,” Peggy said, brushing a lock of hair away from his face.

“I do,” Steve said. “Even if it was real, even if it was possible, I know what I gave up when I went into the ice. I’d make that choice over and over again if I had to. And I’m happy in the future, and I’m happy with my friends.”

“You know, some of us just call it ‘the present,” Tony said.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “If it were really the future, I’d have the flying car your dad promised me.”

“I hate you,” Tony said. Bucky stuck out his tongue in response.

“Quiet, boys,” Natasha said. “Let Steve finish up.”

“Goodbye, Peggy,” Steve said.

“Bye, Steve,” Peggy blinked away a tear, and the crowd closed back up behind her. Steve returned to the group.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” Tony raised an eyebrow.

“I gave up Peggy 70 years ago,” Steve shrugged. “It hurts to see her, but not enough to make me want to stay.”

“Then I guess we’re on to the next dream,” Bruce said.

“No way,” Bucky said. “We’re done. We did Thor’s party, Natasha’s Red Room, your ‘everything is exactly the same but I’m tall’ dream, Tony’s nightmare, and Steve’s dance partner. That’s everyone.”

“What about you, Buck?” Steve asked.

“Pssh,” Bucky scoffed. “I don’t have dreams.”

The world blinked around them. It was like experiencing a computer glitch from the inside. The ballroom floor shifted beneath them, then reformed as if nothing had happened. They stumbled slightly, but when they looked up, everything seemed exactly the same.

“Huh,” Steve said. “Okay, I was pretty sure I’d worked through it, but I’ll give it another go, I guess.”

“Colors changed,” Tony gestured with a thumb.

“He’s right,” Natasha frowned. “Steve, your ballroom was yellow and orange. Why did it turn green?”

“Shit,” Bucky whispered. “Shit shit shit shit—”

“So much for ‘I don’t have dreams,” Bruce crossed his arms.

“We need to get out of here,” Bucky went pale. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fists against his forehead. “It’s not real, it’s not real, wake up wake up wake up—”

“Whatever it is, we can handle it together,” Steve said. He put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, but Bucky flinched away like he’d been burned. Steve took a step back, worried. “Buck, are you okay?”

“Is it a Winter Soldier dream?” Natasha asked. “Can’t be much worse than the Red Room, and we’ve been there, so…”

“It’s not Hydra,” Bucky shook his head.

“Then what is it?” Thor asked.

There was a stirring in the crowd, like someone was pushing their way through, trying to get out.

“Can everybody just close their eyes?” Bucky said. “Nobody wants to see this.”

“Everybody saw my nightmare,” Tony shrugged. “You can bet your 1940s britches I’m looking at yours.”

“We’re all here for you, Buck,” Steve said. “Whatever it is—”

A little blonde head poked out of the crowd. Two skinny arms shoved their way through, pushing the last few people out of the way. It was a young man in a US military uniform. The guy looked up, saw Bucky, and his face lit up with happiness. “Bucky!” waved the tiny, pre-serum Steve Rogers. “Bucky! Buck!”

“Oh. My god,” Tony’s jaw dropped.

“Wake up wake up wake UP,” Bucky pounded on his forehead with his fists. “This isn’t happening. It’s not real.”

“Is that…Steve?” Natasha stifled a giggle.

“He’s short,” Thor frowned. “And tiny. Tinier than usual, I mean. All mortals are tiny.”

“Bucky!” Imaginary Steve ran across the ballroom, pushed Tony out of the way, and grabbed Bucky’s metal hand. “Come on, you’re missing all the fun. You love this song!”

“No, no…” Bucky stared in horror as the metal plates began to peel away from his skin. From his skin. There was skin underneath. Imaginary Steve ran his hand up the metal arm and it turned real. Bucky’s costume shimmered, turning into a military uniform to match Steve’s.

“Come on,” imaginary Steve laughed, and pulled Bucky, stumbling, away from the other Avengers, towards the laughing, dancing crowd.

“Bucky, stop!” Real Steve called out, but Bucky didn’t hear. He stared at imaginary Steve. Bucky looked like he’d follow him to the ends of the earth.

“Well, we’re doomed,” Tony sighed. “Who’s going to talk the world’s deadliest assassin down from this one?”

They all watched Bucky take imaginary Steve’s hand and lead him in looping, gentle circles around the ballroom floor. Imaginary Steve leaned his head against Bucky’s chest and sighed happily.

“I do not understand,” Thor frowned. “Stark had an imaginary Steve. Why is this one created by the Bucky any different?”

“You really used to look like that, Steve?” Bruce asked. “I saw some files back when I was working on making a new serum, but that’s—"

“I don’t think I ever had that kind of rosy glow in my cheeks,” Steve said, still staring at imaginary Steve, and the way he held Bucky. “And I was neverthat good at dancing.”

“I’ll go talk to him,” Natasha said. “He talked me through the Red Room, I’ll talk him through, uh, this.” She left the Avengers standing in an awkward half-circle and walked up to where Bucky and imaginary Steve danced together.

“Hi there,” Natasha tapped imaginary Steve on the shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?”

Imaginary Steve laughed. “Find your own soldier boy to moon over. This one’s taken.”

“Nat,” Bucky smiled at her sheepishly. “Forgot you guys were still here.”

“Yep. Everyone’s back there,” Natasha tilted her head at the group. “How’s it going?”

“Badly,” Bucky winced. “I can’t—”

“Aw, no, Buck, really?” Imaginary Steve cupped Bucky’s face in both hands. “Just look at me, Buck. It’s just you and me.”

“Quite the fantasy,” Natasha crossed her arms.

“I haven’t thought about it in years,” Bucky said. “After Steve turned into Captain America, it just seemed…impossible.”

“I like the new arm, too,” Natasha said.

“I…” Bucky faltered.

The music changed. “Ooh!” Imaginary Steve squealed. “A slow dance. Buck…hold me close?” He pressed himself up against Bucky’s chest like a starfish, stuck fast.

“Did Steve really act like this?” Natasha asked.

“No,” Bucky sighed, but he held imaginary Steve protectively in his arms. “Especially after the war started, he was always focused on what he could to do help. He wasn’t really into the expo or anything, but he’d come along if I asked him to.”

“I’d go anywhere for you,” imaginary Steve breathed against Bucky’s neck, and Bucky shivered.

“Come on, Bucky,” Natasha put her hand on imaginary Steve’s shoulder. “We need to get back out there. Clint’s alone, fighting a witch and a speedster while we’re all trapped in this shared dream. You need to work through this so we can all get out.”

“I love you,” imaginary Steve kissed Bucky’s left hand.

“I felt that,” Bucky stared down at the spot. “I can feel it. It’s real, it has to be…”

“Bucky,” Natasha started, but imaginary Steve whirled on her angrily.

“Go away!” Imaginary Steve held up two fists on skinny, skinny arms. If not for the military uniform, he’d look like a twig about to snap in two. “Get away from him!”

“Okay, you need snap out of it, pal,” Natasha gently moved imaginary Steve out of the way.

“Owww,” imaginary Steve moaned and collapsed to the ground.

“Steve!” Bucky knelt beside him. “Are you okay?”

“I can do this all day,” imaginary Steve smiled weakly up at Bucky as a purple bruise flowered over his cheek. His lip split and started bleeding.

“I barely touched him,” Natasha blinked.

“Stevie…always getting into fights you can’t handle,” Bucky shook his head, staring down into Steve’s eyes.

“That’s why I have you to save me,” imaginary Steve coughed, and reached up a trembling hand to push Bucky’s hair out of his eyes.

“Bucky, you can’t possibly be falling for that act,” Natasha rolled her eyes.

“You hurt him,” Bucky looked up at her with one of the scariest looks she’d ever seen on him. The Winter Soldier was cold and emotionless—if he attacked you, it wasn’t personal. From the look in Bucky’s eye, this was personal.

“Bucky, he’s not real,” Natasha said, softly.

“You’ll protect me, won’t you, Buck?” Imaginary Steve clung to Bucky’s shoulder.

“You hurt him,” Bucky repeated dully, scowling at Natasha.

“He’s not real,” Natasha said. “You have to snap out of it—”

In one fluid motion, Bucky stood, and delivered a powerful uppercut to the underside of her jaw. It might have looked like skin, but it still felt like metal when it hit. Natasha staggered back and braced herself for a fight, but Bucky had already turned back to Steve, forgetting her entirely.

“My hero!” imaginary Steve giggled. The bruise and the injuries had disappeared, like they were never there. He took Bucky’s collar in both hands and pulled him down into a messy kiss. Bucky closed his eyes and leaned into it, kissing back.

Natasha returned to the Avengers.

“That went well,” Tony raised an eyebrow.

“He won’t listen to me,” Natasha sighed. “This fantasy really has a hold on him.”

“I wonder if the enhanced woman accidentally tapped into the remnants of his Winter Soldier programming,” Bruce frowned. “That might explain why Bucky’s having such a hard time breaking free. Steve, do you want to try talking to him? Steve?”

Everyone looked at real Steve, who was mesmerized, watching Bucky kiss imaginary Steve. Bucky swooped imaginary Steve into a dip. They kissed and it looked like a 40s photograph made real life.

“Steve?” Bruce asked.

“Sorry,” Steve blinked. “What were we talking about?”

“Surely, the Bucky remembers this is only a figment of his imagination,” Thor said. “Even Tony only needed the merest of hints to understand that his recreations of us were not real.”

“Who knows what goes on in that cyborg brain,” Tony grumbled. “Wait, I guess we do, because we’re watching it, and it’s gross.”

“Don’t be homophobic,” Natasha elbowed Tony in the stomach.

“I’m not being homophobic, I’m being the same kind of assassin-who-killed-my-parents-phobic I always am,” Tony grumbled.

“Steve, are you okay with trying to talk to him?” Bruce asked. “You might stand a chance at reminding him the difference between imagination and reality.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to him,” Steve said numbly. He walked forward into the crowd. He’d done this just minutes ago, when he knew Peggy was waiting for him on the other side. Bucky had watched that, and hadn’t even said anything, even when Bucky’s own fantasy was almost the exact same thing, only Peggy wasn’t around, and neither were their parents to tell them they were spending too much time together and they needed to get girlfriends, and neither was that guy Bucky beat up in an alley for calling Steve a fag…

Steve broke through the crowd and got a clear glimpse of Bucky again, still holding imaginary Steve like nothing else mattered to him.

“Buck,” real Steve whispered.

“Buck,” imaginary Steve whispered it close into Bucky’s ear. “I’m never going to leave you behind.”

“I didn’t mean to,” real Steve winced. “If I’d known you’d survived the fall from the train…”

Bucky looked up then and saw real Steve. “Steve,” Bucky flushed bright red and dropped imaginary Steve, taking a few hasty steps away from him. “I…this isn’t what it looks like?”

Imaginary Steve wrapped his hands around Bucky’s no-longer-metal arm and stuck out his tongue at real Steve. “You don’t need all those muscles. I’m good enough for him without them.”

“I…didn’t know?” real Steve tried. “That you—”

“How could you not have known,” Bucky glared at real Steve.

“You were always going out with girls,” real Steve said.

“And I always took you along and said it was a double date,” Bucky said. “I never once left you behind. I didn’t want you to be lonely…I didn’t want to be lonely without you.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” imaginary Steve cuddled close against Bucky and nuzzled against his shoulder. “All you have to do is stay. There’s no Hydra here. There’s no Winter Soldier here. There’s no Avengers that lie about not hating you. It’s just you and me.”

“The Avengers don’t hate you,” real Steve said, desperate.

“I love you,” imaginary Steve said, but Bucky wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at real Steve.

“Wake up,” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. “Wake up wake up wake up wake up wake UP!” The world shifted, and crumbled into pieces around them. The dream dissolved, and the Avengers woke up.

“Barton! We’re out,” Natasha barked into the comms. “Where are you?”

“20 degrees north of you, in the forest,” came Clint’s gasped response. “I could use some help!”

“On my way,” Natasha said, and she bolted out of the room.

“Okay, uh, bye,” Tony summoned his armor pieces and flew out of the room, followed closely by Thor and Bruce on foot.

“Bucky,” Steve started, but Bucky cut him off.

“After the mission,” Bucky said bitterly. “If we need to talk about it. Which we don’t.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Steve said.

“You know how I woke myself up? I remembered that it was an impossible dream, that I wanted something I could never have,” Bucky spat. “Let’s just go back to the mission and forget about it, okay?”

“I don’t want to forget about it,” Steve said quietly.

“Well I do,” Bucky glared. He turned, flexed his metal arm, and followed the Avengers out of the castle and into the forest, leaving Steve alone.

“But…” Steve felt horrible. He remembered those years. He’d spent so much time trying to distance himself from Bucky, once he’d realized he might not be entirely straight. Bucky didn’t need that in his life holding him back, and Steve didn’t need to add another disability to the reasons he couldn’t enlist. Not that being gay was classified as a disability in the future, Steve reminded himself.

He hoped he hadn’t messed everything up. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was over Peggy… But it would be a hell of a lot longer before he could get over Bucky. He raised his shield and followed the team out into the woods.

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

I've finally written something, thank you all for your support, it means a lot.

Basically this little multi chapter story (another one) is loosely based off of the Beetlejuice movie.

Anyway hope you all enjoy

Man in the mirror pt1

(Yandere Illuso X Female Reader)

Warning: implied rape and mentions of rape.

Mentions of drug use

Grotesque living dead postman

Mention of you being slowly poisoned

You looked up in horror at your husband, Cristiano Angelo as he he gave you a crazed smile, you laid helpless beneath him.

"What did you do?" you choked out as you felt your body slowly shutting down.

"I'm sorry dear but I don't think our marriage can last..." He said in a coldly cruel tone.

"Why...?" You croaked as you felt the saliva dripping from your mouth.

"You see... I can't follow my dream with you pulling on my shoulder, I needed money and when I saw you in that little red dress and fancy diamonds I knew you were my ticket to wealth... So now that I have your money it only seems convenient for you to get some mysterious illness" he explained as he circled your body.

"You... You... Poisoned me for all this time?!" You gasped.

"A little rat poison here, a little rat poison there" he hummed.

"You won't get... Away with this" you mumbled as your vision began to double and your sense grew numb.

"I'm afraid I already have, nobody will be surprised when I tell them you passed away, sure they'll be sad but nobody would suspect the grieving Widower" he continued on and on but his voice turned to muffled groans and eventually white noise before you couldn't hear at all. You felt him grab your jeans and pull them down as he got on top of you. You knew what he was going to do, you just hoped you would just die already.

💔💔💔

You woke up lying on your bed, a sigh of relief escaped your lips. It had all been a horrible nightmare, you couldn't understand any reason why your husband would want to kill you.

You sat up from your bed and saw him getting into his work uniform.

"Good morning honey" you said as you got off of you bed and walked up to him but he didn't give you a response.

"You ok dear?" You asked but still not a word left his lips.

"Why are you ignoring?" You asked, no response as he headed to the doorway but you blocked him.

"Don't give me the silent treatment?! I won't let you just ignore me like this!" You yelled at him but he didn't stop, he just walked straight through you.

"What the?!" You exclaimed as you turned behind to see him walking down the stairs. You felt your body and it was solid, you were baffled as to what happened.

"Hey wait!" You yelled as you ran down the stairs and tried to grab his shoulder but your hand phased through him.

At that moment your existence shattered. Your eyes widened and your knees trembled as you felt an unbearable weight fall on top of you. It wasn't a dream... Your husband really had killed you. You were absolutely horrified, falling on your knees as your stomach twisted painfully. You wanted to cry so badly but no tears ever showed.

After minutes or even hours passed you stood up and slowly descended the staircase. In the entrance you saw various flowers and gifts litter the room. You peered through the window and saw your husband walking towards you vintage car before hopping in with a Cheshire grin like it was his property.

You felt you sadness boil into rage as you realised he had played with your heart and taken everything that you owned.

"I hate you... I hate you... I hate you" you muttered through gritting teeth. All of you love for him turned into hate. Your dead heart grew as poisonous as the very poison he had made you drink for months.

Your hate filled thoughts were soon interrupted by the sound of the tv being turned on before static blared at an ear piercing volume. You walked into the lounge room and saw the black and white pixels glitch across the screen before a loud beep erupted. You fell back in shock and covered your ears. Then a black and white count down screen played, like the ones in old  black and white cinema.

One the count down ended several panels were shown with a single letter on each.

I

L

L

U

S

O

Illuso as you could faintly remember from the little Italian you knew meant delude. You were confused yet you couldn't tear your eyes off the screen.

"Just say the name three times and all your afterlife worries will disappear" a calm masculine voice spoke as you saw tall man in a clean striped suit appear on screen. His red eyes glowed against the screen where everything else was displayed in a depressing monochrome. It was almost like he was looking straight at you as he pushed his one of his several ponytails over his shoulder.

"Illuso" you muttered so hopeful that the stranger on the tv could make your problems disappear.

"Illuso" you said again.

"Illus-" you were about to say before you saw a door appear in the wall. The TV quicky turned off as the door opened, to reveal a gruesome figure of buchered human flesh.

You let out a scream in horror in horror as they approached you.

"I told them I wasn't suited to this job..." A male's sigh came from the grotesque man said as he grabbed something from his bag, a large book.

"For you Mrs. Angelo" he said as he held out the book for you.

"I'm not Mrs Angelo anymore, Miss (l/n) would be more appropriate" you hissed as you snatched up the book from his mangled hand.

"Honeymoon phase over?" He asked.

"If you consider being slowly poisoned by the man you knew as your husband counts, then yes... It's more then over" you replied.

"That's harsh, if it makes you feel better I was drugged, raped and murdered by some guy I met at a bar" the ghostly corpse said in a sympathetic tone.

"Agh" you cringed.

"Well I best be going to deliver the rest of these books. Best of wishes, I'll be hoping that a lady such as yourself gets evaluated soon" he said as he made his way back to the door.

"What? What do you mean by evaluated?" You asked but he gave you no response as he left.

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Counterpoint, a Kingdom Hearts fanfiction, chapter 1

Summary:  After being recompleted, Ienzo vows to do everything in his power to atone for the atrocities he committed in the past. But this life hasn't been easy, and he's plagued with memories and nightmares. When Demyx suddenly reappears, the two discover that they have more in common than they thought, though the secrets in their past might tear them apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post kh3. Companion POVquel to Beyond this Existence.

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

Ienzo did not believe in fate.

There was a structure to fate, based heavily in choice and self-fulfilling prophecy. The human will was strong, and to the untrained eye willing things into existence could be interpreted as near to divine. Still. Lately there had been more than enough coincidence to make him uncomfortable. For so long, they had all worked in theory, guessing how the human heart and will and mind all worked, only for their hypotheses to come out right, after all that experimentation. It was a bit boggling. And not necessarily in a good way.

"Lost you in thought again, my boy?" Ansem asked kindly.

Ienzo looked over at his master, who was pecking away at the keys of his computer, refamiliarizing himself with the layout and content. Things were still misplaced from the brush with Sark and the MCP, and they'd been too busy to spend time reorganizing. Now that the worst of the chaos was over, it was time to clean up, take stock, and move on.

He did not know what that entailed. "Apologies, Master."

"No need to apologize. You were always a pensive child. Don't be afraid to think aloud. I should like to get to know you again."

Ienzo sighed. It was… odd… to be near Ansem again, and to spend time with him. It had once felt so natural and comfortable, but now he felt ill at ease. Even though he had apologized, and Ansem not only graciously accepted that apology but then turned it back on him, he still felt… unclean. Since they had all been back together again, there was a need to let life go on like it used to be. But everyone was different. Especially Ienzo. He had changed, and not just physically. There was still so much to come to terms with, least of all his own mind.

As a Nobody, sorting his thoughts and feelings (if you could call them that) had been so easy. With minimal physiological sensation, tracing sources and rationalizing had been simple. Now, even setting aside more time than usual to reflect, his thoughts and yes, emotions, were jumbled, messy, and nearly impossible to deal with. Anxiety, even as a Nobody, was a natural response, but even with limited or no stimuli he would feel it creep into his body anyway. And the reunion with Ansem seemed to have been the point where it all intensified.

"I'm thinking about how my peculiar upbringing may have altered my perception concerning emotion," Ienzo said.

"Yes, I imagine it would. Emotion as a child and emotion as an adult are vastly different, and you woke up with a completely new mind, literally speaking. How are you coping?"

Ienzo bristled. How could he tell Ansem the truth? What comfort had he earned from him? He still had so much to do to prove himself. "Well enough. I find it fascinating. I'm my own case study."

Ansem chuckled. "That's a good attitude to have. You're young. I'm certain you will adjust well, so long as you take the time you need."

Ienzo nodded. He wasn't so certain what Ansem was saying was true. He felt the now-familiar slickness of anxiety heighten his heart rate and tried to take deep breaths as quietly as he could.

His gummiphone started ringing. It had been a while since anyone had contacted him. There were a few text messages from the Restoration Committee now that they had a line of their own; Chip and Dale also reached out every week or so to say hello. He hadn't heard from any of the guardians in a while, though, so when he saw Riku on the caller ID he smiled a little, and answered.

Riku did not have his video enabled. Ienzo could hear the gentle wash of the waves in the background, and the wind. Riku did not speak, and Ienzo wondered if this was some sort of accidental call. The gummiphones were great, but not without their own glitches and quirks. "Is anyone there?" Ienzo asked.

"I'm here." There was an edge to Riku's voice that Ienzo recognized; he'd heard it in his own when Ansem had come back. Fear. Heartbreak. "I'm… sorry, I didn't know who else to call."

Ansem shot Ienzo a look. Ienzo shrugged. "Is everything all right? You sound distressed."

Riku explained the situation. He masked the pain in his voice well, but to Ienzo it was obvious. Sora still hadn't come back. He'd vanished, without a trace, gone to some place where the gummiphones couldn't reach. But the scariest thing was that Riku could no longer feel a connection to him at all.

"Ever since the Mark of Mastery test, I could feel him, his heart. But for whatever reason that's gone. And I'm not sure if that means he might be… just like Kairi…" His voice broke a little more. He must have held the phone away from his face-the sound of the waves intensified.

The acidic flush of anxiety already boiling within Ienzo worsened. He took a tense breath through his teeth to try and think clearly. His mind was buzzing. He tried to say something of comfort, but the only thing he could think was that it was all-too-likely Sora was dead as well. Especially if he were trying to retrieve Kairi from the clutches of death-

"Is there anything you know?" Riku asked. "You know a lot about hearts."

"I suppose… perhaps…" Breathe, Ienzo. "The connection may have weakened, but there's no reason to think it's still not there." Sora's bright, cheerful face flashed behind his eyes. He felt almost like he was being choked, and absolutely without warning he saw another face, Riku's face, Riku but not Riku, sharp bladed gloves against his throat-

"I'm going to Yen Sid to see what he knows, what this might mean. Is there maybe something in your research that could help us?"

Ienzo's muscles were tight. This is completely irrational. Get yourself under control. "I'll take a look through what I have," he said in a strained voice.

"Thank you. I'll keep you posted."

Ienzo wanted to say something of worth, of comfort, to tell Riku to take care of himself, but he could not speak. With a shaking hand, he hung up.

"Are you quite alright?" Ansem asked.

Feeling like he could not breathe was merely psychological. There was nothing wrong with him. He was not dying. Not being strangled. Not watching Axel's laughing green eyes as the puppet slowly drained away his life-

That had been Zexion. This was Ienzo, and he was fine, he was not being choked, he had received some bad news. Ienzo could deal with bad news. Ienzo worked very well under pressure. Ienzo was-could be-good.

Ansem touched his shoulder. "Ienzo?"

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Master. I don't know what came over me." To his mollification, he felt a tear run down his face, though only on the right side where it was hidden by hair. Before he could properly explain the situation, he heard footsteps on the smooth glass floor of the lab.

"Oh, this is rich," Dilan said, laughing a little. "You'll never guess who the cat dragged in. Turns out there are no more Xehanorts running around, as you have worried. Demyx is here. And he's alive. Technically speaking."

No. Ienzo did not believe in fate.

They'd put him in the spare bedroom, the one that had been reserved for the seventh apprentice Ansem had never fully brought on. (Lea and Isa, he decided, did not count. After all, where were they now?)

Demyx was unconscious. Not unlike Even after Xehanort's death, he'd fallen into a feverish, comatose state after the piece of heart cut through him. It must have been on a delay due to all his travel between worlds with odd time streams. Ienzo regarded him curiously. Their only interaction in all this time had been the day of Ansem's reunion, and Ienzo's emotions had run too high to process his appearance. All Ienzo remembered was that his willingness to help Even and defect against Xehanort was surprising.

He looked poorly. He'd lost some weight, and his body was racked with feverish chills. Even was at his side, tending to him and taking notes.

"...He's not a vessel?" Ienzo asked.

"I don't believe so. I've already checked his eyes. Not gold. Look." Matter-of-factly, he pulled back one of Demyx's eyelids, as if he were also one of the faceless replicas. Ienzo could barely see a sliver of teal.

"Do you think he's trustworthy?" Ienzo asked softly.

"I do not believe he'd cause any harm to us," Even said. "He was rather helpful with the replicas."

"The boy holds no ill will. We did not speak much, admittedly, but he seemed all too happy to get a move in edgewise," Ansem said. "I believe he was merely swayed. And we can sway him back to us, if need be."

"I'll monitor him, but he should be up and about before long." Even shook his head. "Nasty business. At least it's all over now." He picked up Demyx's ragged old coat. "I'll put this filthy thing in the wash with mine. Best to hold onto. Just in case."

They both turned and left. Ienzo tried to follow, with the intent to try and solve the Sora conundrum, but he couldn't help but look back. He decided he would have some tea.

Ienzo sat with his mug and shut his eyes. It was time to figure some things out. Not in a short period at the end of the day, as Zexion had been wont to do, but now. Perhaps he had to do this practice more often, now that he was human.

He was not Zexion. He was Ienzo.

Deep breaths.

He couldn't deny the fact that Demyx's reappearance just worsened his anxiety. Not because of any negative feelings he harbored towards him-Ienzo didn't feel particularly anything towards Demyx at either extreme-but because of what it implied. Radiant Garden was different. The apprentices were different. They couldn't just pick up their lives as if nothing had happened, not that Ienzo would want to. If anything, his appearance symbolized the two lives crashing together. Things would always be off-kilter. As much as Ienzo told himself this, he didn't quite feel it. It was so much harder to internalize fact as a human.

At least, he thought, if both Demyx and Even had lost the pieces of Xehanort's heart that had been thrust upon them, there was no chance of Xehanort returning in any form. He tried to take comfort in this. And Xehanort would never return to be an apprentice.

Ienzo's tea was bitter. As much as he had tried to busy himself, Xehanort's and Braig's absences were quite obvious, though none of them would dare bring it up. They had been a team once, a unit, you could even go so far as to say they were a fa-

He cut off the thought. It did no good to dwell on these things.

Breathe. Deeply.

"I'm not sure if this is a blessing or a curse," Dilan said as he approached in Ienzo's peripheral vision.

"I feel no way particularly. Everyone deserves a second chance. Him too."

Dilan shook his head. "We'll see how humanity fares for him. For all we know his transformation will be as dramatic as yours."

Ienzo frowned despite himself. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You, Zexion… night and day. Down to the way you're dressed." He gestured to the white lab coat that the apprentices wore most of the time.

"Perhaps it's because I've seen the error of my ways, and seek to change," Ienzo said. "You must admit. All that plotting and scheming… is very tiring."

Dilan shrugged.

"Are you not glad for a second chance?"

"I suppose I must be. Especially with Ansem here again. We can do some good for once." He hesitated, and Ienzo wondered if he wanted to sit. Ienzo realized he did not want that. He and Dilan had grown apart in the Organization, and now their relationship was a touch strained. "I feel bad for you. You've missed the majority of your youth in that hellish nightmare."

"As I'm becoming aware," Ienzo said. He felt a heat starting in his cheeks. Was he angry at Dilan? Why? It was true; Ienzo had missed most of his life. Even if he had stayed an apprentice, he still could have gone to normal school, had typical friends, would have developed in a way that would allow him to feel and express emotion properly.

"I do hope you find some way to make up for it," Dilan said.

"There are other matters to attend to first," Ienzo said.

"Yes… I suppose there are." He looked at his wristwatch and sighed. "I'm going to relieve Aeleus. See you later."

For a while after he left Ienzo sat, trying to nurse the absolutely awful tea and find a way to stand and get some work done. Tides of emotion threatened to break over him, each stronger than the last. He breathed. He sipped. He decided that he would go to the library for some light reading on abnormal psychology-surely average, well-adjusted adults didn't feel like this all the time? Firstly, though, he needed to eat. His appetite had been very poor lately, and he had to maintain weight.

He put up oatmeal and let it cook, slowly, sweetening it the way Even had when he was a small boy, with sugar and honey, remembering how he'd tell him that keeping his blood sugar up was important to think clearly. With a gentle pat on the head.

Even was not the same either. He still had the hard edge that he'd gained as Vexen. Or maybe it was just that Ienzo was no longer a child, and had lost the tenderness usually afforded to one.

Before Ienzo could begin to think about why this was important, he heard the soft squeak of floorboards coming from the guest room. Demyx must have woken up. Exactly how much time had passed? Ienzo checked the gummiphone; at least two hours.

I must keep better track of my reflection time.

He sighed, and stood. He did not feel like having this conversation, but if Demyx felt even half as confused as he did, he deserved it. He approached slowly, opened the cracked door. "I thought I heard something," he said. "I think it's time we had that chat."

Demyx's eyes were wide, frightened and, Ienzo noted with a hint of relief, still completely free of gold. He gestured for Demyx to follow him back to the kitchen. He handed him tea. He expected some of the exuberant chattiness that had filled their last meeting, and found none. Demyx kept looking around the room, as though disoriented.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," Ienzo continued. Demyx was staring at him oddly. "Even was worried, but I knew you'd come around."

He was full of tension. Ienzo could see that much. "What happened? Why are my-" He touched near his eye.

He really did know nothing. "I admit we were confused about that at first, but it's really quite simple. When Xehanort was killed, the piece of his heart that had been put inside you must have been purged. Even went through the same thing. So the good news is that you're a vessel no longer."

"I'm not?"

"It seems like you were one of the lucky ones," Ienzo said. He ladled out two bowls and placed one in front of Demyx. "If you had been a true vessel, you probably would have perished." And been recompleted far less messily. Ienzo considered what he himself was going through. Which was harder-being gradually eased into humanity, or thrust into it all at once? Necessary change, but painful.

Demyx said nothing. He bit his lip.

"It'll take time for your heart to grow back and for you to adjust. Thankfully, time is something we have a lot of now." He forced a smile. "Roxas and Naminé send their thanks. It's partially because of you, after all, that they became their own people again." This much was true. The vessel Demyx brought had given them just the information they needed to be able to make new ones. And Ansem had been there to help, after all, brought out of his months of wandering in the darkness.

Demyx continued to be silent. It was, perhaps, the quietest Ienzo had ever heard him be. His emotions flickered across his face clear as day; worry, fear, relief. They lacked the slickness of recreated Nobody emotion.

"You must be overwhelmed," Ienzo said haltingly. "I assume this reticence will pass. You should eat. Get your strength back."

He listened, and for a time they ate in silence. At least the oatmeal wasn't as bitter as the tea. Ienzo really needed to cook a proper meal one of these days. They'd been living off of nonperishable goods, too busy to go to the marketplace daily. "Where are they?" Demyx asked suddenly.

"Roxas and Naminé? I'm not quite sure. I believe they're in Destiny Islands at the moment, with nearly everyone else." Roxas didn't have his own gummiphone, as far as Ienzo was aware, so it wasn't like he could hear from them. To his shock, Demyx was actually tearing up, and trying very poorly not to give in to it. Ienzo had never seen him express anything like this; he had always been so callous and crass in the past, uncaring. Was this empathy? Or simply being overwhelmed? Ienzo wondered if Dilan might be right after all, and offered him a napkin to dry his eyes.

"Your heart might not take that long after all," Ienzo said lightly.

"Did you just crack a joke?" Demyx asked between sobs.

"I do have a sense of humor," he said. "Why don't you come get some rest?"

Ienzo decided to take his own advice. He too was exhausted, reeling from the events of the day and in desperate need of some quiet. He took off his lab coat, put on some less formal clothing, and crawled under the covers of his childhood bed.

Being in this room was still strange. He'd already set aside most of the few toys he'd still had as a little boy, as well as most of the books he used to read. A lot of volumes from his current research or reading sat around in various states of organization. Part of him itched to clean it up, to make it a different space, but his body weighed him down.

Sleeping was… difficult.

Even as Zexion he'd had difficulty sleeping, thoughts swirling and pinging against one another. Adding humanity made this necessary bodily function almost impossible. The anxiety of the day welled under his skin. He'd considered asking Even for a mild sedative, but then he'd have to explain why it was he couldn't get any sleep, and the embarrassment of that alone held him back. They would think even less of him if they knew he couldn't even handle these new emotions. This new body. It did feel new, in a way, even though it was all the same as Zexion's. He touched the scars at the base of his throat where the Riku replica had strangled him.

There were so many thoughts to dwell on. Not enough time to process. Especially now that he had so much work to do. There had to be some way he could help Sora. Ienzo couldn't help but feel this was all his fault somehow. If the darkness hadn't spread the way his experiments had enable it to-

There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight. He sat up. He figured he might as well get some work done.

"Ienzo, my boy, what are you still doing here?"

Ienzo jerked, startled from the complex web of words on the screen.

Ansem, in his casual clothing, approached him. "Ah, there it is," he said. He picked up a book that he had left by the computer. "I finally decided to try and relax, and I leave behind my novel. My memory is not as good as it used to be."

Ienzo set about shutting off the computer. It was so late as to be early. For the first time, he noticed he had a vicious headache, particularly behind his eyes. He must have completely dissociated, which was worrying, to say the least.

"Something weighs heavily on your mind," Ansem said gently. "I can feel it. Speak, Ienzo. You mustn't bear burdens all by yourself."

Ienzo exhaled. "My emotional state today has been… worrying," he said haltingly. "I feel intense, borderline pathological anxiety."

Ansem considered this. "So you lied to me earlier today," he said. "Why is that?"

Ienzo shook his head. "I do not deserve to be comforted. Not when I-" He could feel the harsh tightness in his throat. The soft glint in Ansem's eye did not help this.

"Ienzo, we have discussed this. You were a little boy. You cannot take fault for what happened. You are fixing your mistakes now."

"But it can never make up for what I-" A hot, potent mixture of chagrin and guilt washed over him. He struggled not to cry.

"My dear, dear Ienzo," Ansem said. "You have already accomplished more than I thought possible in the way of good. Tell me what it is you feel. Truthfully."

"I feel…" He could feel the strength leaching from him. "Ashamed, and frightened, and sad, all at once. I constantly feel everything concurrently. Is this what it is to be human?"

"Yes-it is especially more intense when one is young."

"I am not myself," Ienzo said. "I am…"

"A work in progress," Ansem said gently. "As are most people, certainly people your age."

"Things between all of us do not feel right either."

"I agree," Ansem said. "It will take much forgiveness for us all to heal. It is a process."

"I was naive enough to wish these things would be done with."

"Not naive. Hopeful." Ansem squeezed his shoulder. "Let me make you some chamomile tea."

When he finally did sleep, curled on the old loveseat in Ansem's quarters, it was fitfully and vaporously. He could still feel the replica's fingers around his throat, the suit's sharp scales cutting through the soft skin. Nobodies did not feel much but he felt the fear tear through him. And then felt it when he woke up as Ienzo, bleeding and weeping as Aeleus worried over Dilan's motionless, bloodied body. And felt it the third time as he woke up.

Groggily, Ienzo pushed himself off the couch, padded over to Ansem's personal bookshelf, and started searching. He found it, dog-eared and worn, towards the bottom of the case. He blew the dust off it.

Post-traumatic stress, originally known as "shell shock", is a psychological condition in which an individual-

Frustrated, he put the book back. This wasn't helping. If anything, he was shakier and woozier than ever, and his head still pounded.

Of course he couldn't come out of all that without scars, literal and figurative ones. But the fact that he finally had life back and now had to experience this was… a little galling. To say the least.

"Good morning, Ienzo." Ansem was making coffee in the apartment's kitchen. "I figured it was better to let you sleep here rather than make you tramp all the way back to your room. You looked quite exhausted."

"I was. I am," he said.

"Understandably so. I have an errand for you, if you feel up to it. Maybe some fresh air would do you some good."

In all honesty, Ienzo could not remember the last time he'd been outside the castle confines. "Yes. Perhaps."

"I'd like you to get some clothing for Demyx. I do not want to see those coats again if I don't have to. And I suspect you must need some yourself. You've outgrown your old things, no doubt." With a wink.

"You're not incorrect." It had been almost funny, going through his dresser drawers and finding all the small clothing. Funny and also sad. The small lab coat had been handsewn, tenderly, from an adult one. In the hope that he too might grow into their profession.

Ansem crossed over to his desk and took out a small purse of money. "Take your time. I daresay you need it."

The light, even for fall, seemed piercingly bright outside, and he flinched until his eyes adjusted. The violet sky was free of clouds. Ienzo could hear the tolling of bells above that signified a new hour.

This was home.

Still. Despite the ongoing restoration of the town, there was damage lingering from both the initial fall to darkness and the massive Heartless mob that the first Organization had sent. Ienzo couldn't help but be thankful that Zexion had passed by then. Otherwise that plan would have also been added to his heavy conscience.

The town was growing as people returned from Traverse Town. The Heartless population, thanks to Cid's claymores and the end of Xehanort, was low. Life was moving on.

It did not feel that way.

Ienzo shook his head to ward off the thoughts and went to the market.

The clothing seller was kind, and didn't charge him very much. Ienzo picked out a few simple things for himself and Demyx. It should not feel strange to shop. It should not feel strange to share small talk with the vendors. And yet, it did.

While he was here, he picked up some fresh groceries. There was order in food, simplicity, and it grounded him. For the first time in all too long he looked forward to this meal, rather than having it be just another thing to get through.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!"

The voice, feminine and shrill, startled him. Ienzo fought hard to put on a smile. "Hello, Yuffie."

"How you been?" Despite being ex-Organization, the Restoration Committee had been generously welcoming to him. Ienzo looked over at the girl, only slightly younger than he himself was. And yet, throughout all these years, even she as a child was capable of making good choices, threw herself into the resistance-

"I am well. And yourself?"

"I'm great! You know, you should stop by sometime. You don't have to stay holed up in your castle all day. You're home."

"I admit I have to keep reminding myself of that."

She laughed. "It still does feel kinda weird. But you know. I don't really like normal." She shrugged. "What've you got there?"

"Basic supplies. Food. Clothing. One of the old Organization members returned. He's staying with us for now."

"Oh? Which one?"

"You know him as Demyx. He hasn't given his other name to us yet."

She frowned. "I remember him. He was the one who came on the day of the Thousand Heartless."

"I realize this. But I believe, or at least I hope, that he will have changed as much as the rest of us. He did help us with Roxas and Naminé."

Yuffie sighed. "We'll see. Anyway, I gotta go. Patrol. You know how it is."

"I'm sure there's no need to keep up such vigorous rounds."

She rolled her eyes. "I agree, but tell Squall that. He's paranoid even though things have calmed way down. I can't help but humor the guy. It keeps me busy. And hey. Don't be a stranger. You could use some new friends." She saluted, and set off.

Ienzo, somewhat automatically, turned and began heading to the castle. The brightness and density of the marketplace was leaving him feeling frazzled, anxious, and overstimulated. Yuffie was right; he could use friends, friends closer to his own age. The sheer strength of the Guardians of Light was testament to that. And yet… should he find the courage to drop by for a visit, how would he proceed? What would he talk about? Surely they must have known everything he'd done?

He shook his head. He had a lot of reflection to do before he was ready for that.

Ienzo spent the rest of the day cleaning the kitchen in Ansem's quarters. It was much nicer, and better-equipped, than the one the rest of the apprentices shared. But like the rest of the castle, it was dirty and in disrepair, and making it habitable hadn't been high on Ansem's list of priorities. He scrubbed at tile and countertops. Nothing wanted to be all the way clean, and the rust would absolutely not come off the burners on the stove. Ienzo did not stop until he realized his hands were smarting from all the chemicals.

"I should have worn gloves," he muttered. "Careless."

He prepared a roasting chicken and stuffing. Food was easy. Objective. There was nothing bad that could come from making food for others. He watched it all cook, and tried to convince himself things would be alright.

The next day the skies opened up, and it rained.

It had been months since he'd seen a storm like this. From his bed after another sleepless night he observed it fall. Cool air blew under his poorly insulated window.

Ienzo had to come up with a plan. Enough dallying about. Starting today he would do whatever was in his power to help Sora. If they could so much as contact him, it would be worth it. After all of Sora's suffering at Castle Oblivion, it was the least he could do. He dressed in his lab uniform, tightening the ascot at his throat to hide the scars.

He would fix this.

Except the files did not want to agree with him.

He must've spent hours looking through the archives. It was hopelessly disorganized, ripped apart by Sark, and the data from the Organization hadn't yet been uploaded. Rather than do anything of actual help, he had to sort the files, bit by bit, some of it pure guesswork because most of this research was not his.

"Have you a moment?" Even looked irritated; then again, lately he always did.

"Of course. Whatever is the matter?" He kept pulling files this way and that off of the cluttered screen.

"You no longer have any of your Nobody abilities, correct?"

Ienzo looked up. "That is correct." In their first confusing days of humanity, they'd all tried to connect with their powers. Trying to summon his lexicon or perform even the most minute glamor had given him a terrific migraine that put him in bed for the better part of two days. "Why is it you ask? You haven't either, have you?"

"I have tried, and I cannot," Even said. "I wanted to make sure. He found out."

"Who? Demyx?"

Even nodded. "I wonder if my tone might have been too sharp. He did look rather distressed."

Ienzo sighed. They all knew how attached Demyx was to his sitar; going without it must be something akin to withdrawal.

"But what is it I'm to do? I'm not a miracle worker. And if I'm being honest, I'm quite content with how silent things are around here."

"Strictly speaking, there is nothing we can do. Aside from have patience. Oh, that reminds me. I was supposed to have dropped off those clothes. My memory has not been great lately."

"You've had a lot on your mind," Even said. "I suspect we all have. I'll be glad to not see another one of those infernal cloaks. So drab. So… cult-like."

Ienzo looked back to the computer. "Master Ansem said essentially the same thing. I suppose I should take care of it now." He dreaded seeing Demyx's face, of trying to find words of comfort. He understood his distress, but the fact that he was actively grieving part of that Nobody life reviled him.

"I shall walk with you."

They left. The castle was so large, and yet they really lived in such a small part of it. The rest of it sat vacant, unused, and gradually decaying. The carpet at their feet was worn.

"It's a shame," Even said. He scruffed the carpet with the toe of his shoe. "Things here were once so beautiful. If the committee were not so busy we could use their assistance. This place is a shell of what it once was."

"You have to admit it feels rather significant," Ienzo said.

"Too on the nose, for my tastes," Even said. He shook his head. "We're not shells of who we once were. We've changed and adapted. You most of all. I miss being so pliable."

"...So I've heard," Ienzo said sourly. "I assure you it is not as easy as it looks."

"My apologies."

A sharp emotion tightened in his throat. Ienzo found himself wanting to confide in Even, wanting to beg him to help, like when he was a child. Wanting to be comforted, coddled, even though he had done nothing to warrant such niceties. "If only times were simpler," he said. "I feel as if I've no time to look after myself-what with Sora's disappearance and Demyx's arrival."

"Sora's disappeared?"

Of course, holed up in his lab all day, Even wouldn't know. Ienzo explained what happened.

"...How curious," Even said, his lips turning down. "I wonder if there's any of his data somewhere?"

"Sora's? I do not know. I'm not sure how his friends would feel if he were a replica, though."

Even sighed. "I've tried to recreate Sora's heart, and we remember know what happened with that," he said. "As proud as I am of Xion's sentience and personhood, unfortunately his heart is so special that it seems to be a moot option. Best not to give them hope."

Ienzo hesitated.

"I thought I'd taught you better," Even said.

"You should have heard Riku's voice."

"I'm surprised you feel so strongly about him, not when you have such poor memories of him."

"That was your replica, might I remind you," Ienzo snapped.

Even raised an eyebrow. "The Riku replica? What about it?"

Ienzo froze. Even didn't know. "Never mind," he said evasively.

"Boy, tell me," Even said thickly.

Automatically, Ienzo's hands fluttered to his throat, and he fought to steady them.

"Ienzo," Even said.

Slick, sparkling, spicy anxiety swept through him. He tried to steady his breath, but the tightness in his chest was was it he could not get himself under control?

"Oh, Ienzo," Even said.

"If you must know," Ienzo forced out between breaths. "Axel had the Riku replica kill Zexion."

"He did?" Even barked out a strange laugh. "Axel killed Vexen."

A wave of dizziness nearly overcame Ienzo. Even placed a hand on Ienzo's shoulder.

"How is it you're feeling?"

"I don't understand," Ienzo said. "I don't understand what it is I'm feeling."

"Intense, paralyzing panic?" Even suggested.

"Yes-perhaps-" His knees were weak and shaking.

"You should sit down and focus on modulating your breathing," Even said. He took Ienzo by the elbow and helped him sit down on the floor. "It's alright. This is a normal reaction to recalling something traumatic-"

"Believe me, I know," Ienzo hissed. "I am perfectly aware of what this is." It didn't help, he thought.

"Count to ten," Even said. "Deep, steady breaths."

He tried. His desire to confide in Even completely gave way to an abject humiliation. "Why is it you do not feel that way?" Ienzo said.

"Perhaps my heart is not quite as developed as yours," Even said. "Perhaps it is that I have not processed it all, yet."

"I do not wish to speak of it at the moment," Ienzo said. His chest still ached terrifically. "I must… I must go." He pulled away from Even. Standing gave him a wave of vertigo. He stumbled down the hallways, nearly getting lost in the familiar twists and turns, until he reached his bedroom. Ienzo lay down on his bed for a moment. He breathed and breathed until he no longer had to think about it. He shook himself. Gathered up the bundle of clothes. Prepared himself for another awkward conversation.

He knocked at the door and waited for a moment. There was no response. Ienzo struggled to put on a neutral face and cracked the door. "Sorry to intrude. Ansem suggested you might like something else to wear, other than… that." Demyx was pale and wan and washed out, especially against the black of the coat. Ienzo realized just how obvious his cheekbones were in his face, how much weight he'd lost. "Doubtful you'll need its protection any time soon."

He was silent. There was an empty, frightened look in his eye, and to Ienzo's surprise when he caught his own reflection in the small dresser mirror, he wore the same expression.

Ienzo swallowed. He put the clothes down and hugged himself tightly. It didn't help much. "I realize this process has not been easy for you-"

Demyx's eyes flitted to meet his, and then he looked away.

He didn't know how to find the words. "I failed to make the connection. I didn't realize that gaining your humanity would result in another type of loss. But of course your connection to your power must have run deeply."

"It's just always been there," he said. "I feel like part of me has died."

Ienzo bristled a little. How could he not see the opportunity he'd been handed? Yet, at the same time, he couldn't help but agree- "Yes. I imagine it would."

"Don't you feel the same way?" Demyx turned towards him. His bright eyes sought Ienzo's. "I mean, in a sick way, becoming Nobodies kind of brought out the best parts of us."

Bile rose in Ienzo's throat. He looked down. The anxiety was back, worse than before, and all he could say was, "I disagree." How could he think that? If anything, being a Nobody had just enabled Zexion's dark nature, and instead he'd just kept committing atrocities in the name of science.

Demyx blushed.

Ienzo was shaking. "I'll let you rest," he said woodenly, and left the room.

He found himself crouched over the toilet, heaving emptily because he'd forgotten to eat that day.

The memories poured behind his eyes. How had he been so cruel? Was it ever possible to make up for it? So many worlds had fallen. So many people had-

That didn't even count the initial spread of darkness. If he had not listened to Xehanort and encouraged all those extra tests on the subjects-

Ienzo spit weakly. He crossed over to the sink, pulled back his hair, washed his face.

He really was not well. The ripples of the old life were clearly not going to settle any time soon. How on earth was he going to learn to manage them?

There was something he could do. He could help Sora. Helping Sora would save people. Maybe he could save himself in the process.

Some hope.

He picked up his gummiphone and dialed Ansem. "Master? Can you help me?"

[sam-lives-story]

#SamLives - Chapter 7

“A Study In Belief”

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Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

“What was it you were saying about belief, on the phone?”

With all the stress of what had happened in the apartment, Mark had suggested he and Jack go out and grab lunch somewhere in Brighton. Jack, of course, had vehemently agreed. So here they were, currently hiding away in the corner of some coffee shop, eating sandwiches and - in Jack’s case - drinking coffee like he might just die if he didn’t. Mark had brought the mesh pet carrier along, so every few minutes he could sneak bits of food in for Tim to munch on while Jack did the same with Sam in his pocket.

“…how the hell does Sam even eat?” Mark had asked, to which Jack had just shrugged.

“Absorbs it, sort of. I dunno. I stopped tryin’ to make sense of him the day I found out he can fly.”

“He can FLY?!”

And, oh, the looks they had received after that outburst…

“Belief?” Mark repeated, slipping another piece of his crust to Tim. He snickered. “You mean when I was trying to draw parallels between life changing events and a videogame?”

“Yeah, that,” Jack chuckled a little himself. “You were talkin’ about Bendy, right? Joey Drew? His whole insane monologue with belief and cheating death an’ stuff?”

“Well it wasn’t that insane…”

“It was a little insane. I’m pretty sure he started a cult.”

“Okay, yes, in that context it was pretty nuts. But – hey, don’t laugh! This is some serious shit!”

Jack tried to stifle his laughter, hiding his grin behind his cup of coffee even as he saw Mark trying to do the same.

“Sorry!” he giggled. “Sorry, continue with your serious shit. I’m listening.”

“Thank you!”

Mark sighed dramatically as a waitress walked past their table, making a big show of gesturing at Jack with both hands.

“This guy! Never lets me get a word in edgewise, always making fun of me! Worst friend ever.”

“Hey, I’m your best friend, you said so yourself,” Jack retorted while the waitress giggled to herself. “Now get on with your “belief” rant. I’m waiting.”

“Okay! Okay!” Mark rolled his eyes and leaned forward across the table, lowering his voice for dramatic effect.

“Belief. It can do amazing, impossible things. It can bring together hoards of people or help a single man reach stardom. With enough belief a lone YouTuber might even be able to reach the highest shelf in the kitchen even though he’s always been too damn short to get to it–”

“Is there a point to all this?” Jack was really fighting laughter now. “By Jaysus…”

“Sorry, serious face. Serious shit.” Mark tried to pass off a laugh as a cough and took a sip from his coffee, smiling all the while. “Actually serious this time. I promise.”

“Thank God.”

“Okay. So.” Mark glanced around to make sure nobody at the nearby tables was listening in before starting. “So in Bendy and the Ink Machine, Joey Drew was talking about how belief can do impossible things. Like, just belief, by itself.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Jack nodded, holding his steaming cup of coffee beneath his face to warm himself up a little. “I’ve played it before. A lot, actually.”

“Just so you could hear your own voice in the game,” Mark scoffed.

“Hey! No! That is not the only reason!” Jack protested, pointing a finger accusingly at Mark. “Serious shit, remember?”

“Yeah, okay, serious shit.” Mark schooled his expression. “Anyway. Tim showed up a few years ago. At the time, it scared the shit out of me, because how the hell do you explain to somebody that your imaginary character from YouTube suddenly came to life in the middle of your recording session and you have no idea how or why he’s there?”

“I feel ya,” Jack muttered knowingly, passing another piece of sandwich into his pocket for Sam.

“Right. So he showed up and I just kind of…accepted it? Because he’s my little biscuit, and he was so scared and nervous, and how could I leave him alone when he needed me? And it wasn’t like he was causing trouble. It was like suddenly having a…well, a pet, kind of. Or a baby, but less needy.”

“A familiar?” Jack murmured into his coffee, taking a sip.

“YES! Yes, exactly!” Mark snapped and pointed at Jack, nodding. “That’s exactly what it’s like! So, ya know, there was nothing bad about it. So I never really got around to figuring out how he came to be. But then…” Mark lowered his voice and ran a hand through his hair, glancing around. Double checking. Jack started bouncing his knee beneath the table, his nerves getting the best of him. “…weird things started happening, more recently. And I mean like - in the past six or seven months, recently. Before I even knew Sam existed.”

“What kinds of weird things?” Jack asked tensely.

Mark opened his mouth, closed it, and stared down into his drink. He didn’t speak for a moment, the brief pause filled only be the sound of dishes clinking and the soft babble of other conversations carrying through the cafe. Sam shifted in Jack’s hoodie pocket, getting more comfortable.

Then Mark cleared his throat and shook his head, his train of thought changing for a moment.

“I’ve…er…been thinking about it a lot more recently. Why Tim even exists, I mean.” Mark swallowed thickly. “With the things I’ve been seeing, I’ve had my suspicions for a few months now, but nothing solid ever came of it on my end. I never had proof. So when you called me about Anti…well I knew I had to be right, or at least thinking in the right direction.”

“What th’ hell are you talkin’ about?” Jack asked. His words came out a little more sharply than he intended, and Mark winced. Brown eyes raised to lock onto blue.

“…the truth is, I don’t think Anti is the only one who exists now,” Mark told him. He sounded hesitant, as though a little scared to even say it.

“Who else do you think exists?” Jack asked. “Besides Sam and Tim and Anti, I mean.”

“Dark.”

“Darkiplier?” Jack hissed, and Mark shushed him quickly, looking around. Jack lowered his voice to a loud whisper and leaned forward across the table. “Darkiplier? Like, wears a suit, red-and-blue, creepy evil-you Darkiplier?”

“What other Darkiplier would I be referring to?” Mark whispered back sharply, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Yes, Darkiplier! Evil-Me!”

“Darkiplier and A...Antisepticeye. Holy fuckin’ hell…” Jack sank back in his chair and dragged a hand over his face, his exhaustion seeping through to the surface. “Christ almighty. Both of ‘em. This…this is ridiculous…”

A little hysterical giggle escaped him. It slowly built into a distressed groan and he let out a few dramatic, fake, whining sobs.

“Maaaark, we’re gonna diiiiie….” He folded his arms on the table and let his head fall onto them with a muffled thump. He whimpered dramatically. “Th’ hell are we supposed to do noooow?” He dragged his head up just enough to look at Mark’s face through his hair. “…you’re sure he’s actually real?”

Mark had been watching the entire display with an expression that fell between tense nervousness and humor-lined disbelief.

“About ninety percent,” he shrugged, still keeping his voice down. “I keep…hearing my own voice when I’m getting a drink in the middle of the night. Or I keep seeing red and blue out of the corner of my eye. Things keep moving from their spot when I’m not looking, and I know it’s not just Amy moving things and not telling me because it happens between glances when nobody else is in the room. It’s weird.”

“You haven’t actually seen him though?” Jack asked, confused, his chin resting on his arms now. “The...er...the glitch has been showin’ face as often as possible, jus’ not when I’m actually looking. The stream last night was the first time he…”

Jack trailed off and looked away, gripping his own arms tightly to keep the memory at bay. Sam sent a little mental hug along through his thoughts and Jack was more than grateful for it.

“Yeah, I know,” Mark said softly. There was understanding in his tone and he quickly tried to move forward in the conversation.

“See that’s the thing,” he said enthusiastically, leaning forward across the table. “Dark and Anti are different. They’re both - well, evil, I guess. But they’re different people, different characters. Anti seems to like a spectacle. He likes being seen, and he wants as many people to see him on screen as possible. He seems to like showing off. Which…I mean, it’s just a theory–”

“A game theory?” Jack muttered automatically, and Mark blew a raspberry at him.

“No. Shut up.” He blinked, glanced away. “…where was I?”

“It’s just a theory?” Jack suggested with a soft smirk.

“…yeeeaaaah,” Mark nodded slowly, then quicker when he found his train of thought again. “Yeah! Okay. So it’s just a theory, but I think that’s why he’s only been showing up in your videos but not anywhere else. Not yet anyway.”

“He’s been in my videos more than I’ve been uploading actually,” Jack told him, shifting in his seat and resting his head sideways on his arms now. He watched the steam rise from his coffee cup on the table. “I think I mentioned before...I kept cuttin’ him out before sending stuff to Robin because I didn’t want people to think I was plannin’ anything. I’ve got stuff coming up next month but…not yet.”

“Oh yeah, Anti mentioned that when he showed up last night,” Mark muttered. It sounded like he was thinking. “He didn’t sound too happy about you taking him out of your videos. That’s probably why he made such a scene on the stream. He had a hell of an audience.”

“What about Dark?” Jack asked, trying to switch gears. He really didn’t want to think about the stream right now, didn’t want to talk about it. His throat was still sore from what Anti had done to him.

“Dark’s more subtle,” Mark said quietly. “He works behind the scenes. He doesn’t deal with face-to-face conflict as much. He mostly sticks to the shadows. I mean, I gave him his backstory, I should know this.” Jack heard him pause. “…honestly, it makes me wonder if ‘Who Killed Markiplier’ wasn’t a horrible, horrible idea.”

“…why?” Jack sat up, frowning, looking up at Mark…and he was a little surprised to see the genuine worry that had set in across Mark’s face. He was dragging a hand over his mouth and staring down at his plate, lost in thought, a worried crease furrowing his brow.

“Mark? You okay man?”

“I was talking about belief before,” Mark said after a long moment, his hand falling into his lap. “It’s the theory I have for why Sam and Tim exist, and it’s the same theory that applies to Anti and Dark.”

“You still haven’t explained what you meant by that.”

“How many subscribers do you have?”

The question threw Jack for a moment and he stared at Mark in baffled silence before answering.

“…what? Uh…I dunno, ‘bout eighteen million.”

“Eighteen million people,” Mark repeated. “And how many of them probably know who Sam is?”

“A lot of ‘em. Almost all of them, most likely.”

“And Anti?”

“Not as many, but…I mean still, the number’s in the millions.”

“That’s a lot of people, all centered around one YouTube channel, all looking for another sign of Anti showing up. All drawing art or making little plushies for Sam. A lot of them probably want to believe it’s real even though logic tells them it isn’t.”

“…what are you saying?” Jack asked slowly, still trying to follow Mark’s explanation. Mark looked up, worry still etched in his gaze.

“I don’t know how, but I think…having that many people thinking about the same thing, believing the same thing? I think it’s powerful enough to make it real.”

An inexplicable chill ran down Jack’s spine.

“…that’s…that’s insane….” he breathed, shaking his head.

“Is it though?” Mark insisted, still trying to keep his voice low. “Think about it! Sam showed up how long ago? A few years ago, right?” Jack nodded mutely. “Same as Tim. Back then, they were the only real characters that had any sort of solidity on our channels! The fan base made Darkiplier and Antisepticeye, but it wasn’t until after we made them real that they started showing up in the real world. Weird stuff started happening around the time my friends and I had the idea for ‘Who Killed Markiplier’. It was after ‘A Date With Markiplier’, and after ‘Darkiplier vs Antisepticeye’. Like, not long after the second one, actually. Which I thought was kind of weird at the time but…I mean I figured it was nothing. Except…I don’t think that’s the case anymore…”

Somebody dropped a plate back in the kitchen and both Jack and Mark jumped, two pairs of wide eyes flying toward the source of the disturbance. Jack let out a shaking breath and sank in his chair, letting out a quiet groan.

“God…the stress an’ fear is gonna kill me long before that glitch manages to do it.”

“Tell me about it,” Mark muttered. He was gripping the table’s edge so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Mark…?”

Tim’s voice sounded quietly from inside his carrier and Mark ducked a little so he could see into it.

“What’s up buddy?”

Jack tossed a glance over his shoulder to make sure nobody was looking their way.

“You okay?” Tim asked softly. “You sound scared.”

“Yeah of course I’m okay,” Mark murmured hurriedly. He rested his hand on the front edge of the carrier’s opening and Jack saw a tiny mitten-shaped hand poke out from the shadows. He smiled softly. “Don’t worry buddy. Ol’ Markimoo just got scared by a plate. Kinda silly, right?”

“Super silly.”

Tim giggled from his hiding spot and Mark shushed him softly, chuckling to himself a bit and looking around. Nobody was paying them any mind. After letting the pair have a few moments of comfort, Jack cleared his throat.

“What were you talking about before?” he asked in an undertone. Mark tore his eyes away from the pet carrier to look at Jack again. His smile slowly fell.

“…oh, right.” He kept one hand at the carrier’s opening as he continued his explanation. “I thought it was a little weird, how strange things started to happen around me after we made that Anti vs Dark video. An entire video dedicated, rather jokingly, to our dark alter egos, and then I start seeing weird things? Hearing things? But looking back it makes a lot of sense.” He jabbed his finger toward his phone, which was sitting on the table. “That’s when the fanbase got a spike in Dark and Anti interest. The amount of hype that video got was ridiculous.”

“It got a lot of attention from Septiplier shippers too,” Jack pointed out, snickering a little. Mark opened his mouth, closed it, and rolled his eyes.

“Okay, yeah, that too,” he agreed. He was trying not to smile. “But regardless. Anti and Dark were getting a lot more attention all of a sudden. Dark only showed up first because he’s been around for longer.”

“Okay, woah, wait,” Jack help up a hand. “I’m stoppin’ you right there. I brought my evil alter-ego into my videos for the entire month of October back in 2016. ‘Say Goodbye’ was his, like, big reveal. You didn’t start usin’ Dark in your videos until ‘A Date With Markiplier’.” He pointed at Mark. “An’ trust me, I know my shit, because I got a ton of messages from people askin’ if I was pissed about you copyin’ me.”

“Copying you?!” Mark spluttered. “What the hell? No! Nonono!” He scooted his chair closer to the table. “Okay. Rewind, back to the beginning of my entire YouTube career. I used to make these random creepy short videos for fun when I first started on YouTube, and that’s where the whole “Darkiplier” thing came from. Those videos were around waaaay before you even got your little boost from Felix.”

Jack laughed.

“Excuse me, are we makin’ jabs about channel popularity now?”

“Well – no, I only meant – Dark was a thing way before Anti was, okay? That’s all I’m saying!”

“But you just had to slip in that little “boost from Felix” comment didn’t ya?”

Jack was fighting off laughter now, snickering to himself, and he could see Mark was doing the same.

“Well sorry! Geez! Just trying to make a point sorry if I hurt your feelings.” Mark scoffed and folded his arms over his chest, being dramatic, tossing his hair in a show of sass. “Whatever, man.”

“God, you’re such a drama queen!” Jack finally let out, laughing openly and leaning back in his chair. He heard a small giggle from Sam in his head too. “Fine, okay, point made. Moving on. Lord above, we’re horrible at staying on topic…”

“We’re the worst,” Mark agreed, chuckling a little. It built into a fuller laugh and he ruffled a hand through his hair, fixing his floof. “Sorry. Serious shit, right?”

“Yeah, heh,” Jack nodded, grinning. “Serious shit. Okay.”

“What I meant,” Mark planted both palms on the table, “was that Darkiplier had more buildup than Anti did by the time Dark started showing up. Because Darkiplier spawned from years of me posting creepy content at random intervals, his creation was a slower progression than what you did with Anti. Dark’s early appearances weren’t planned the way your Halloween event was. But when I uploaded two videos within four months of each other that both features Dark as a main character, then I hinted at having plans for Friday the 13th, it really isn’t any surprise that the fanbase got a little hooked on the idea of him showing up again.”

“Okay, fair point,” Jack nodded. He sipped at his now-chilled coffee and made a face. He’d have to get another fresh cup soon. “So what about the...er...glitch?”

“I thought about that too,” Mark nodded. “That video you made for Halloween, where he killed you? That was his first appearance on your channel. That whole month was about him. So that more than makes up for the fact that he didn’t exist in your videos before then. And then you did nothing with him for a while, no hints or anything. Then we made ‘Darkiplier vs Antisepticeye’, and even though it was a joke it gained a lot of attention. Then….” Mark paused and frowned. “What was it you did next?”

“It was two months between that one and ‘Kill Jacksepticeye’,” Jack muttered. “There weren’t any hints leading up to that either. I just thought it’d be a cool video, so I filmed it as if my doctor persona was trying to save me from A...Anti. Which…didn’t go well, because I died in the game.”

This entire conversation would have been rather hilarious in another context, in a context where Anti wasn’t a very real, very tangible threat. Jack probably would have laughed at the silliness of his own wording.

“Doctor…what’s his name?” Mark asked. “Sheeple?”

“Dr. Henrik Von Schneeplestien,” Jack smirked a little, putting on the accent for show. “Zhe very best surgeon, 100% real doctor. Everybody knows zhat he is vonderful at his job~” He winked.

Mark snorted.

“Oh my god, is that really how he acts?”

“Oh yeah,” Jack nodded, grinning a little, his mood lifting in the moment. “It’s a little ridiculous but, god, he’s fun to play.”

“What happened in the video?”

“Schneep didn’t save me, like I said,” Jack shrugged. “He got corrupted by Anti and…well, he didn’t die. I played it off like he did, but he didn’t, because I’m plannin’ on bringing him back. Then Anti said he’d be back again soon and that’s the last I did with him.”

“Really?” Mark frowned, looking confused. “But there’s all this hype on Tumblr right now, about Anti and Doctor…Sheep-guy.” Jack rolled his eyes at the name. “What’s that about?”

“Just fanbase hype, I guess,” Jack shrugged. “The game I was playing had dates in it – I mean in the actual gameplay – and people keep sayin’ things like… “Ohhh, it’s March 5th, that’s the day Jack died in the game, ohhhh he must be plannin’ something–” …but I didn’t even pay attention to those dates honestly.” He chuckled a little, scratching at the back of his head. “I’ve been messin’ with people though, because of it. There was this whole ‘WHERE IS DOCTOR SCHNEEP’ meme goin’ ‘round, so I kept making references to doctors in my videos. Figured it’d be fun to mess with the community a little.”

The Irishman was grinning all the while, more than just enjoying the fact that he was setting his own community on fire and pouring gasoline over the flames.

“That’s what did it.”

“…hm?” Jack brought his focus back to center and found Mark chewing on his thumb with that same thoughtful look on his face, the one that Jack was beginning to associate with deep, complex problem solving. “What did what?”

“That…that theory hype. The anniversary of your ‘death’,” he made air quotes. Something occurred to him in that moment and his entire expression changed, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open in a gasp. “OH! Ohohoh! And Sam! #SamLives! Oh, my god, how did I not see that before…?”

“What th’ hell are you on about now?” Jack asked flatly, suddenly very aware of the little eyeball who was shifting in his hoodie pocket.

“People were already hyped about Anti before Sam showed up in your video, right?” Mark said, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Right??”

“Right, yes,” Jack stammered out quickly. “What about it?”

“And then Sam’s there, and suddenly Sam exists, and #SamLives goes trending and –”

And suddenly Jack caught on, his own eyes widening almost comically.

“Oh my god.”

“See???”

“Oh my god!” Jack clutched at his hair with both hands, the revelation leaving his mind whirling. “People believed that Sam was real, so they started to wonder–”

“If Anti couldn’t be real too!” Mark finished for him, leaning so far forward in his seat it was a wonder he hadn’t fallen out of it. “People always want the egos - the personas - whatever, our characters to really exist so they can meet them. And despite all logic pointing toward them being fictional–”

“There’s enough belief there and enough people with that belief to make it real and – holy shit, I accidentally used YouTube to bring a demon to life.”

“…okay, yes, that’s probably true, but – but still! Dude! DUDE! This is insanely cool! Horrifying and terrifying and fucking insane but also so fucking cool!”

“Oh Gooood…” Jack dropped his face into his hands and let out a muffle grumble. “…fuck my life. We’re talkin’ about some demon-glitch-bitch who wants ta kill me an’ my best friend thinks it’s cool.”

“Hey, woah, I didn’t say it wasn’t bad,” Mark quickly corrected. “It’s pretty bad! It’s…really, really bad. But–” He glanced around, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “But Jack – Seán – we’re talking about something impossible here. Something that can’t be explained away by science, even with all the logic we’ve managed to attach to it. These characters shouldn’t even exist, but somehow they do. Tell me that doesn’t at least sound a little bit amazing to you?”

Jack didn’t deign to reply, instead letting out another muffle groan and rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. After a long moment of silence he sighed and pushed away from the table, standing up and holding out his hand to Mark.

“...I should call my Ma. I texted her earlier but…I just...I wanna hear her voice.”

Mark watched him for a few seconds before nodding. He dug around in his pockets and brought out Jack’s phone, which he’d been holding onto since they left the apartment. He held it out for Jack to take and there was a brief moment, a very brief and very tense moment, during which neither of them was sure if the Irishman would actually grab the phone. Jack’s hand was shaking a little, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his expression stiff. Then he plucked it from Mark’s hand before he could change his mind.

Technology, it seemed, was becoming a newfound fear of his, and not one he thought would ever exist for him. His life was technology. His livelihood and his income spawned from technology…but so too had his newfound greatest fear. His greatest threat.

Jack swallowed thickly, nodded to Mark with a shaking smile, and stepped just outside the cafe to make the call. His back pressed against the cool brick of the building and he let his head fall back against the wall, eyes closed and phone held to his ear with a still-shaking hand. All the while Sam sat curled up in his pocket and gentle soothing waves of thoughts and comfort crossed through their mental link. Jack took a breath.

“Ma? Hey...y-yeah...yeah, I’m fine. What? No, nothing happened...I just miss you. I love you too…”

[A/N] Back from con! Sorry for the delay in getting this one posted, but Convention Crunch really took its hold! Either way, here’s the pseudo-explanation for why Anti is coming to life. Same with Sam and Tim and…well. You get the idea. :3 Hopefully it makes sense, and hopefully it���s not too long-winded. Critiques welcome!

(*AHEM* At this point I hope you all realize I’m literally copy-pasting all my old Author’s Notes from the old chapter posts into the new updated ones and not even giving a fuck lmao...just pretend I’m “keeping it authentic to the original posts” because that’s probably half the reason I haven’t changed them xD)

Also find the latest chapters of this story on [Archive Of Our Own]

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[violetsystems]

#personal

I had an epiphany last week during the break from writing. Having a space where you can go to where people understand you is paramount in life. Not many people have the luxury of being understood without question. Some people have it harder than others in mainstream society. There are complex reasons for this. But most of my young adulthood was spent finding spaces out on the fringe that just didn't waste time caring about any of it. Nobody likes people telling them what to do or what to be. It's such a simple feeling to fathom. I live in a country where freedom is supposed to be our secret sauce. Where everyone could be free if we just left it at that. And yet we're too busy arguing our little lines in the sand. Some people have more of it. Some people cross the line with it. And some of us are left creating some sort of metaphysical bulwark to seal up the gaps where other people sink into our own rights to be. I'm a bit of a scientist when it comes to the socials I'm adrift in. So I believe in quantitative results. I always think the problem is me. And this Is why as a writer I internalize so much. I am literally thinking aloud about how to socially engineer a situation to be less encroaching. I ask myself from the beginning of when I wake up where the points of failure might lie. If writing on the internet really were the cause of everything then I'd follow my mom's advice she gave me in college. I used to dress weird according to some people. I challenged the social norms because this is what I liked to do particularly with punk fashion at the time. Some jocks at the college called me any number of slurs. She told me simply to face it or change. No matter how rude people were. I dressed that way for some time. And went on to be known for many things that eventually went nowhere. But the knowledge never left me. There are some things worth fighting for and others a Sisyphean task. Last week I stopped going out somewhat altogether. I ordered groceries for the week. I made coffee and cooked chicken in my sunny kitchen. I cleaned dead mice with severed heads off the property before the sun rose and woke my neighbors. I paid my rent electronically for the first time from my bank and not my credit union. Serves them right for that James Webb shit. I focused on the things I couldn't escape. The times I left were to fly a drone out in the park for free with the newly licensed flight license I acquired through the Boy Scouts of America. I finally spoke with my neighbors across the way after intervening as a Good Samaritan in the laundry room we all share. That earned me two donuts and a long John. It also feels the politeness has lowered the defcon ratio of mistrust that exists on my porch. That shadow is more cast by what people expect out of this city. To trust no one. To think everyone is spying on them. To worry about what people say behind your back. That world exists out there every time I step off the property. It's a culture I do not welcome on my doorstep. I live in what they call a sanctuary city that nobody will talk about for fear of going on record. The silence is meant to protect but mostly a large defense that keeps people from healing and growing. And yet another year here locked in my little hut by the train seems different. What could have changed?

I'm not a mind reader. I'm not psychic although my mom's Croatian gypsy and Bohemian German roots claimed they saw the future. Nature is overlaid onto of us at all times just like the internet. The mysteries and the wonders are happening right in front of us as we fixate on a microscopic display. Most people live an encapsulated life in a walled garden of their own data. They're afraid of freedom and so they sacrifice it for a jailed security. I somehow end up the same. Trapped here in some weird prism of questions nobody really wants to ask. They tell you that's the first thing that bothers people. When people ask too many questions? What are we doing here? Are we alone in the universe? Where is this thing we have headed? Will I see you again on Tuesday? Do you remember Kid Entropy? I remember the reverse entropy of working out every day and not looking like I did when I was younger. Just sore. All over my body. The Body by Jake sore and not the I fear I'm dying of Covid sore. Not even the wake up on Monday and have to face your fuckhead boss kind of sore. I remember having a job once. Or at least being on someone's payroll because music wasn't good enough of a career to justify your existence. It still isn't. I make more money mining ethereum than I did on band camp sales. And even then it's not that much. Why are all the people I help shoot videos getting featured on bandcamp daily while I'm invisible to everyone and everything. Maybe it is best to not focus on what isn't being said. Everything is a double edged sword of Damocles in this era. You get what you wish for. Or do you? Nobody but you will ever know. And that's a level of confidence that goes deep into the void if you follow it. Nobody out there is sure of anything. They ask for reassurance. Sometimes they don't ask. They want to control your stage time on this episode of real life. And I live on a backlot where anything is possible. Anything except having a real job and being seen as important. I was never as important as I was when I started writing here. And that's not very important really except to a few dear friends. I always say stick to what's worth it and then stick to what's working. I just said that now. But anything worth it is worth fighting like hell for. And it's pretty clear to see what is working and what isn't. I have a space where I live alone and wonder aimlessly. I try to figure out what I should be doing to be relevant. And then I realize there is a lot I already do. So much so I've done or did that nobody can forget. I've been cancelled without even a word or a poor deed to speak of. Nothing to be remembered and nothing to be gained. Is this why they are so worried about cancel culture? I existed this far in life by sticking to my morals and ethics. Nobody really has ever asked what they are. People want the abridged version. They want to know what God you worship or what your favorite sports team is. They don't want the heavy lifting of understanding what singular identity you represent. They don't want the burden of caring. They're too busy caring about themselves. When you do care nowadays it shows in ways that seem arcane and wizardly. I'm not a mind reader at all. I am considerate enough to go above and beyond your expectations. That is if you are worth it.

Some shit out there is just not worth it. Not worth explaining. Not worth thinking about. Not worth fighting to be heard amongst people who can't even remember your name. Fake names included. There's people out there who still remember every bit of the last twenty to thirty years of my existence. I wish they'd understand why it doesn't mean anything. And yet I'm still alive. I still look out for people. I didn't ask for a medal or a star on a walk of fame. I'm still that guy you try to copy but can never get the swagger right. I still foster the culture even if I felt abandoned by it all. I still think it's worth it to be the impossible version of me. A kind, stern figure that moves deliberately like a shadowy colossus as not to hurt the blades of grass flowing underneath my feet. I walk off my steps onto the concrete and it's a million human eyes perched like grasshoppers. I could endure that for anyone but around here it's more trouble than it's worth. I've been walled off behind an understanding. One that has no guarantees and no goal posts other than how I hold it down. How things can be so fucked up out there but always so safe with me. I wonder sometimes. Why people don't strive to be more like me instead of chasing after some stupid shit. Like everyone writes on the internet that people like me should be more like me. And yet people like me are horribly forgotten. After all this time, it's better off that way. But what kind of a mind fuck would it be to explain that to people. I stopped explaining. I stopped going out and dealing with the constant silent prodding. I resisted by mothballing my entire life and hiding. I wanted people to seek it out. The horrible and bitter truth. Whatever my history is. Because I'm not like anybody after all of this. I'm in a place where I can truly say you deal with me and me alone. If I write about it, you can read it for your own very eyes. I've cultivated that for years. Sometimes it's been used against me. Sometimes it's my own fault for not realizing things sooner. But nobody can grow when they're constantly being uprooted by hazing, gaslighting, intimidation and pack tactics. That's not provoking culture. This isn’t the army. That's being an asshole. If anything delicate plans need deliberate decisions and timing. And we live in an era where everyone thinks they can brute force, glitch or subvert their way to the top in a two week news cycle. I've been casted to the side more times than I can count. And I get back up and reinvent myself. These days I'm through being tested by people who can’t be bothered to look themselves in the mirror. And I'm through watching other good people have their time wasted by useless roasting and disingenuous provocation. If anyone has learned anything about me is that they've tried it all. And it all just sits there on the wall. Other people's failures of vision of what I could excel at. All the failed pranks and dumb attempts at guerrilla warfare. They couldn't see a world where we win by our own standards. Maybe if they rolled the old gypsy bones a couple more times, you'd be able to predict my outcome. I've rolled them for you. Bohemian rhapsody all day. You can unlock the layman's interpretation on Tumblr+. Everything else you should have figured out already. The people I really care about already have. <3 Tim

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

38,39 and 40 for the septic egos☺(sorry I have no ideas what to choose😓)

It’s okay dear! These three prompts go quite well together ^^ (Also Merry Christmas Eve ya’ll ^w^)

(38. “This calls for eggnog.”)(39. “I can’t believe no one has spiked the eggnog yet.”)(40. “Just how much eggnog have you had?”)

���I’m so glad that all of you could make it,” Jack beamed at the group of people gathered in the living room, you included. “This party has been absolutely amazing so far. But..you know what this calls for?”

You and the egos exchanged glances, although deep down you all had a good idea of what he was going to say next. But you silently looked back at the YouTuber, seeing his smile grow wide as he reached into one of the grocery bags.“This calls for eggnog~!” He declared, holding up a glass bottle of the sacred drink triumphantly, before setting it down on the table where there were snacks and other drinks laid out. “So yeah, there it is. Go crazy. It’s Christmas Eve, so as they say.. drink and be merry!”One by one the egos got up to get a glass of eggnog, with the exception of Henrik who ventured to the kitchen to brew some coffee first and have his infamous “Eggnoffee”.However, you stayed on the couch and shot a look at Jack as he sat down next to you, knowing damn well exactly what his intentions were. “You spiked it didn’t you?”“Yep,” he chuckled, “only a little bit, though, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”But oh boy…how wrong he was.……….“I can’t believe no one has spiked zhe eggnog yet..”“Henrik..not even a minute ago you were trying to check my heartbeat by putting that stethoscope to my head….”“Sooooo vhat does zhat mean?”“It means you’re drunk, pal.”“Ohhhhhh.”With a sigh, you shook your head, before glancing back at the group of drunken men in the living room. Jackieboy was telling Chase how the eggnog gave him the ability to “see sounds”, which made the father stare at him in wonder. Meanwhile Marvin and Anti were teleporting around and playing a rather dangerous game of tag as Angus drunkenly narrated the scene. And finally Shawn and Jameson were sitting by the table, having a drinking contest with shot glasses.It seemed those two were the only ones actually able to hold their liquor.Even so, you couldn’t believe that damn Irishman would leave you at the mercy of his lookalikes to get some last minute Christmas gifts. Lord only knows how much longer you could keep your sanity.“I swear I’m gonna kill him….” You muttered so quietly. At first you thought nobody, not even Henrik, heard it…but you were horribly mistaken as a certain glitch popped up in front of you.“Kill?” Anti repeated, swaying slightly with a lopsided grin on his face. “I’d be…..glad to kill somebody for ya~!!” He giggled as in his hands appeared a……plushie of Sam?For quite some time, you, him, and Henrik stared at the plush, confused as to how he was able to summon it. But then the demon shrugged and smiled, sitting down on the other side of you and cuddling with Sam, seemingly forgetting about wanting to kill anybody.You smiled a bit at his childish nature and ruffled his hair. Under normal circumstances that simple gesture would mean certain death for you, but now it just made Anti’s smile widen. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on your shoulder. "Ya mind….. doin’ that again?”“…sure. Why not?” You chuckled softly, running your fingers through his hair once more, which elicited a…purring noise?“Anti? Just how much eggnog have you had? I’m curious.”“Hmm…maybe two….or four…one and a half….eh who fuckin’ cares,” he grumbled. “How….about you?”“I didn’t have any,” you told him. “Somebody’s gotta stay sober and watch you guys.”Anti mumbled something else, but before you could ask him what he said, you heard light snores coming from him as he fell asleep.After a few minutes, though, you had to get up, so you carefully tried to get the demon into an upright position. But instead he fell over into Henrik’s lap as soon as you stood up. Thankfully, though, the doctor had already passed out as well and he didn’t even seem to feel the extra weight on him.As you made your way out of the living room, you came across a rather groggy and agitated Robbie, who had a frown on his face and another Sam plushie tucked under his arm. You had almost forgotten that he went to his room, as the music, lights, and festivities overwhelmed his senses a little bit.The poor guy must have woken up when he heard the shouts and laughter of the others.“What’s..with..all the…noise..?” He mumbled, rubbing his eye, although when he looked past you and saw what was happening, he looked confused. “Why are..they..acting..?”“They’re fine, Rob,” you reassured him. “They just…had some drinks that do..silly stuff to their brains.”The zombie blinked slowly, but nodded in slight understanding. “Do..you wanna…?”“Yeah. I just need a break…I feel like I’ve been babysitting toddlers for the past hour.” You rubbed the side of your head. “I swear Jack owes me big time for-”“Heyyyyyy.”Turning around, you saw Marvin standing there with a slight frown on his face. “Where’s Jack? What did you do with him?” He growled lowly.Taking a step back, you quirked an eyebrow at his behavior. Normally the magician wasn’t an angry person…but then again, though, this was the first time you’ve ever seen him drunk. “Marvin. He went out for a little while and left me in charge of-”“Wh-What..? He..He left us?” His previous angered expression faltered into a sad one, although seconds later he snapped as he threw a bolt of bright blue magic at the wall, leaving burn marks on the surface of it.“H-Holy shit..” You quickly put an arm behind you to shield the zombie, worry forming a knot in your stomach. “Marv..just calm dow-”“HE ABANDONED US!!” He screamed, his eyes glowing blue with rage. “I KNEW HE’D GET SICK OF US! I KNEW THAT HE’D NEVER BRING ME BACK! IF…I-IF IT WASN’T FOR THOSE FANS I WOULDN’T FUCKING E-EXIST! I DIDN’T DO ANYTHIN’ WRONG! SO WHY WOULD HE JUST FORGET ABOUT-?!”“Marvin!” You grabbed both of his wrists, gripping them firmly and looking at him in the eye. “He hasn’t abandoned you. He just went down to the store and he’ll come back. I promise.”Almost immediately, Marvin’s eyes reverted to normal, and he looked back at you with tears welling up in them. But before you knew it, he was weeping in your arms.“I-I-I’m sorry, [y/n]..” He sniffled. “…I should’ve…I-I should’ve known h-he’d never do that t-to us…h-he loves us too much…”With a sigh, you wrapped your arms around him, patting his back. ‘So..he has mood swings when he’s drunk…’ You thought.

Looking over his shoulder you noticed the concerned and confused faces of the others, except for Henrik and Anti who were still asleep somehow. You simply smiled and waved them off, reassuring them you had the situation under control.

“Marv..?” Robbie mumbled behind you, worried about his friend. “What’s…wrong?”The magician’s sobs died down when he heard the zombie speak, and he glanced up to look at him with a big smile. “R-Robbie..my dude..c-come here..” Letting go of you, he went to hug him, ruffling his hair. “Ya know..y-you’re my..my greatest creation. I..I couldn’t be a more proud father.” He chuckled. “I love ya so much, Robbie..y-you’ve been a good boy…the best boy! You’re at the…the top of the Nice list! Don’t ever forget that okay?”Robbie blinked in confusion, although he hugged Marvin back and smiled, appreciating the affection he was giving him.You simply chuckled, shaking your head.Maybe Jack’s idea wasn’t so bad after all…although you weren’t sure how you were going to explain the burn mark on the wall to him…

[snarkyowl]

Choose One [2]

Bing Wakes Red

Worried, Isaac gently nudged Red; the quiet whirr of machinery a dull noise. Red only swayed with the small nudge, his eyes locked onto nothing.

“Red?” Bing asked.

There was concern in his voice, despite how Red had treated him previously. The first thing that Dark had done when the Googles came into his possession was five them some emotion drives- expensive and inanely complex programs meant to give androids and other machines emotions. He even let them choose what they got. Blue got disgust, Claude got basic fear, Yellow compassion. Red got anger, a simple concept yet so sophisticated it took him three days to fully download. They were far from human, but they looked so much like it.

At least Bing came with emotions.

Red whipped around, nearly knocking Isaac off his feet, his eyes flashing bright blood red.

“What is it?” Bing scuttled backwards, raising his hands in a way to shield himself.

Red wasn't going to hit him, he knew that, but it was a reflex.

“I… I thought you were glitching so-” Red scoffed, cutting Isaac off.

“Me? Glitch? How? I'm one of the most well-programmed androids in current existence. Why would I be glitching? I'm reviewing the bill Sir Iplier told me to overview. Now leave me alone.” Isaac lowered his arms, trying to calm himself.

Red wasn't going to hit him. He wasn't going to hit him. He was fine. Red wouldn't want Dark on his ass. He's fine. Sucking in a breath, he tugged at his jacket.

“I was worried,” he mumbled, “I'm sorry.”

Red sighed, running his hands over his face before going blank again, staring into nothing. Bing cracked his knuckles, Green flinching at the sounds. He ignored it, walking through the halls and trying to calm himself down.

Red didn't hit him. Nobody was going to hit him. He's fine. Breathing deeply, he picked up his pace. He probably was late already. Dark was going to be pissed. Isaac suddenly came to a stop as he ran into Dark, who was almost invisible due to his sunglasses.

Obstacle detected Great. Now they tell him.

Isaac stood, brushing off his clothes before locking eyes with his boss. He even crouched down a little. Dark was in a suit and tie, as per usual, the pin on his tie symbolizing his social status. Dark looked up at him, his face blank.

“Sorry, sir.” Isaac quickly apologized, “these fucking things don't do their job.”

Dark scoffed, wringing his hands before looking at his watch, the touchscreen alight.

“I could say the same about you. Come on, Isaac. We're going to be late.” Dark turned on his heel, briskly marching off.

Stumbling, Bing followed him, the sounds of their shoes clicking on the tile the loudest sound in the house. His boss certainly did like his peace and quiet. He reminded Isaac of his dad, stern, intimidating, cold with a short temper.

They stepped outside. Despite seeming to have no free time at all, Dark still had an impressive garden that he kept up all by himself. Hydrangeas grew in pink and blue, the rose bushes adjacent to them blooming in blood red. Bing followed close behind him, making sure to get a good look at each of the flowers.

Most of his work was done inside, so he barely got to see them. This day was special, to say the least. A Market Day. The farmers from the dome adjacent would be coming, bringing food and other supplies. Dark didn't care about that, though. He had his eyes set on the prize.

Market days brought jumps in the stock market- a game Dark was all too good at playing. With a wave of his hand, Dark opened the garage, the car idly floating out of the room. He slipped into the back seat, Bing following suit.

The car began to drive, gliding along the path Dark already had set out for it. Bing saw a small, dark bruise on his neck. Looking out the window, he couldn't help but remember the first day he had gone to the market.

1-Bing remembers his first time at a Market Day 2- Bing asks Dark about the bruise

[redditnosleep]

I’m Listening

by Cymoril_Melnibone 

“A good listener” was the most enduring phrase on my school report cards. I was quiet, punctual and obedient. Many of the teachers largely forgot about my presence in the classroom, since I caused no trouble. It’s ironic, that this recurring summation of my character missed something. Certainly I was a good listener, but only because that allowed me to be a much better observer; specifically of other people, and mostly without them even noticing. If anyone had bothered to ask, I could have listed every habit of Kari Pearson, the girl who sat two desks away, or provided a comprehensive psychological profile of my teacher, Mrs Rawlins – although that would have been very much from a child’s perspective. After I left highschool, I started studying to become a psychologist. I must confess, my choice of study was an exercise in academic curiosity right from the start, rather than being born of any great desire to help people. You can’t observe humankind as keenly as I already had without realising how nasty and self-absorbed most of us are. I wasn’t sure that any amount of analysis was going to solve that problem. But as I honed my skills of observation to a wicked edge, I noticed him.

If you’ve ever tried not to be noticed, you’ll know how difficult it is. You try to quiet your breathing, stop fidgeting, and keep your eyes down, so that nobody around you has that prickly feeling of being watched. But where most people go wrong is by trying to hide, rather than simply staying unnoticed – and these are very different things. Hiding is active, not passive, and best done behind or beneath something, where only sound or movement will really give you away. The key to not being noticed is to be so ordinary that other people’s minds skip right over you. I describe my jacket as not quite grey. Perhaps it’s faintly brown, or perhaps it’s vaguely blue; in different lights, it seems to shift, to reflect the surroundings. The cut is somewhere between blazer and business, but truly neither. With it goes a blouse that is a lighter grey, with a hint of cream – but not pale enough to draw the eye. My knee-length skirt is the same colour as the jacket, and my shoes are flat and serviceable. This nondescript ensemble, combined with shoulder-length brown hair, glasses with gunmetal frames and a naturally forgettable face, allowed me to feel that I had mastered the art of blending in. I bought coffee every day at the same café, and the barista always asked for my name. My doctor had to remind himself who I was whenever I visited, flipping through my short file. Other students barely registered my presence, and I didn’t have any friends – but that suited me fine. I knew everything about my peers already, picking up the nuances of their personalities when they thought they were unobserved. And that left me with little desire to become closer to any of them. In an odd way, I felt I was more connected to humanity than anyone else around me, almost overloaded with the sheer amount of social and emotional information that saturated the air. I wondered sometimes if this was how a telepath would feel – except instead of social cues, it would be direct thoughts, constantly bombarding you, with no ability to shut them out. Indeed, if I observed someone long enough, I could even begin to predict their behaviour, even their speech patterns to a point where I could mouth their responses to myself, with enough accuracy that it would probably scare people. So I kept that to myself. Sometimes I sought out more isolated places, but there are few of those within the churn of an overcrowded city. Mostly I found solace in my invisibility.

As I said, not being noticed is an artform of carefully curated banality, of doing things so predictably ordinary that other people simply don’t register you. People are bad at remaining unobserved because at the most primitive level they want to be noticed. The ego, whether large or small, needs attention from fellow primates – it’s so instinctive that you’re not even aware of it. You want to make a mark on the world. You want to leave it changed for everyone else, simply because you exist. Our monkey brains are constantly screaming ‘I was here’ into the void. When you sit in a café, nursing your chai-spiced-whatever or your double-cream something, you hope that you’re drinking it in a way that makes you look cool to the redhead near the counter. You chose that particular beverage only because you think it’s a little bit unique. And that might make you special somehow; maybe just a little bit better than the other people around you. Your shoes are red – you’ve forgotten you’re wearing them – but you didn’t choose them because they are comfortable or durable. You chose them because you think they look good, that they make a statement, they complement and/or enhance some other feature or item of clothing. I digress, but my point is this: everyone wants to be noticed a little bit. Everyone wants to be remembered. So when I noticed the man, it was during one of those very rare moments when his absorbed humanity betrayed him. It must have only been for an instant, and not really long enough to register anywhere but in my subconscious. I left the café, still processing everything I had seen, mentally making notes as I always did. When I got home I liked to catalogue things digitally, to type up my thoughts about people, to assist me in my analysis of humankind. My fingers faltered on the keyboard as I almost remembered something, then instantly lost the thread. Reading back, I followed the chain, then my mind stumbled for an instant, as though there was a tiny gap in the train of thought – like a half-remembered smell or colour from childhood. Concentrating, I forced a more detailed replay; remembering the chatter as I observed the café – two teenage boys talking excitedly about a computer game, one clearly lying about his exploits, the other doubting him but not wanting to challenge his friend, and then… In my mind’s eye, I saw it. It was the silhouette of a man, sitting at one of the tables, but colourless and two dimensional. He wore a hat and a suit jacket, but I could discern no other details. A flat man, so non-existent, so unnoticeable that even my carefully trained senses couldn’t register him completely. A frisson of excitement tinged with fear thrilled up my spine. I had to find out who he was. What he was.

I watched and I waited, surreptitiously scanning the café while remaining as banal and uninteresting as I could. I went back day after day, hoping to see him again, to catch a glimpse of the flat man. As weeks rolled past and I couldn’t find him, I began to doubt myself. Perhaps it was an anomalous memory, some minor glitch in my brain? No, I knew I had seen something. Other possibilities presented themselves as I aimlessly scanned a newspaper, turning the pages at just the right speed and volume to draw neither positive nor negative attention. What if he had noticed me noticing him? After all, he was clearly much, much better at this than I was. Perhaps he had simply stopped coming to the café – had decided to move on rather than risk discovery. And if he was gone, if he had moved on, I would probably never see him again in my life. Nobody that good at hiding in plain sight could be chanced upon randomly. Or was he so good at being socially invisible that he was here, right now, but even I couldn’t detect him? And then it hit me, with such obviousness and clarity that I almost laughed. No matter how good he was at hiding from human eyes, surely the man couldn’t escape cameras. My phone was on the table, an essential tool for blending in. Neither a new model nor an old one, it had the default sounds, the default screens and the default apps. I didn’t take photos often and I fumbled with the settings until I found the panorama shot. Lifting the phone, I dragged it through the air, getting as much of the café in the shot as possible. Predictably, a couple of people felt the gaze of lens pass over them; postures changed, faces subconsciously rearranged themselves. But they were not noticing me. They were noticing themselves being noticed, immortalised. I closed the camera app and left the café. If the flat man was there, surely I would have caught him. Back at home, I pulled the image up on my laptop. The details of the café were crisp and bright, humans caught like statues mid-mouthful or halfway through the bathroom door, those few faces turned towards the camera. It was a large, metropolitan café, often boasting fifty customers at a time, so looking through the image was like trying to solve one of those ‘Where’s Wally’ posters on the roof of your dentist’s office. But this Wally was one you had never seen before. I knew all the regulars, so I quickly discounted them, moving on to the people who were new or infrequent customers. Each was ordinary in their specialness, none of them betraying any hint they might be my flat man. As I pored over every pixel, growing increasingly frustrated, I realised that this was less a Wally picture than one of those Magic Eye images that were so popular in the 90s. Scrolling around, I let my mind unfocus, not seeing the individual shapes as people and faces, but rather perceiving them as just colours and edges, a generalised mass disconnected from their humanity. And there he was. It wasn’t like those sci-fi movies with poorly done CGI, where the person is ‘invisible’ but the digital distortion betrays them. It was more like very skilled body-art, the subject painted to so perfectly resemble a tree or a supermarket shelf that’s it’s invisible unless you know what you’re looking at. He blended so perfectly, so unobtrusively, that it defied nature. My nape prickled. Worst of all, he had been sitting right behind me. And I hadn’t had the faintest idea he was there.

“I know you’re behind me,” I said quietly, my voice pitched within that range that’s hard to hear in a busy place unless you’re right next to someone, “And I want to talk to you.” I didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary, but when I next blinked, he was there, sitting across from me in the booth. Even knowing he was there, my eyes still slid right off him, as though he were made of perceptual Teflon. His hat and suit might have been grey, or they might have been tan – even the memories seem slippery, elusive. His features were a nothing; two eyes, a nose and a mouth, and a suggestion of stubble, but all so ordinary that they refused to imprint as a definitive face in my mind. He didn’t speak at first, he just smiled, his teeth neither straight nor crooked. “Come with me,” he said, his voice barely crossing the space between us, unheard by anyone else. He didn’t seem to walk so much as slide. It was so hard to keep track of him, even when aware of his presence. There was an impression that he walked, but I couldn’t tell you if his legs actually moved, how fast or slow, how tall he was, his build, nothing. My eyes began to water as I followed him out into the street; if I blinked, I’d lose him. As people closed around us, he wavered and slipped out of existence, only reappearing when I focused so hard it made my temples ache. My headache grew as I followed him down one street, then another. I would swear his clothing changed several times, merging seamlessly with the feel of each suburb; always so perfectly ordinary for the particular surroundings that he was practically a piece of the architecture. With every ounce of my keen powers of observation concentrated on tracking him, I realised I was suddenly lost, in an utterly unfamiliar part of the city. Which was impossible, because we’d walked less than two blocks from the café. The man still moved ahead, between two buildings. I hurried to catch him, stepping around the corner. And in an instant, I was no longer in the bustling, overcrowded city. I stood in a forest of towering trees, echoing with eerie birdsong not heard for a hundred years or more.

He did not blend here. Unnatural in the green paradise, the man stood out starkly, his pale features, city coat and hat completely wrong in the rustling woodland. “Where are we?” I asked, spinning to see only gargantuan tree trunks in every direction, a distant glimpse of bright sky through the dense canopy of leaves far above us. “A sanctuary. One I created.” “How did we get here? How far did we travel?” “We didn’t. This place has been here for fifty years, right inside the city.” I stared at him, bemused. “How?” He smiled that ordinary smile again, bowing his head slightly, “People simply don’t notice it, just as they don’t notice me. It bends their thoughts away, makes their feet take them in another direction. Somewhere that is less boring, where they will be seen and remembered. Somewhere that will cater to their ego and their desires.” “It’s beautiful – breathtaking even – but why is it here?” “To preserve the best of your world.” And as he spoke those words, the mantle of his carefully practised humanity slipped away. The being in front of me had skin as as grey as its previous persona, so matte and uniform that the light didn’t bounce off it quite right. There were too many forelimbs, with too many joints. Where there should have been legs, a mass of red, fungus-like fronds undulated obscenely, churning the leaf-mould. I smelled the ancient and the new, all at once. “There are many worlds like yours,” it warbled, as I stumbled blindly away, through the trees, “too many to count.” A red mouth followed me, massive as a sea-cave and bristling scarlet, coral-like structures, as the thing flowed effortlessly over the forest floor. “Most of them we don’t reach in time. An indigenous species can destroy so much in such a short span of ages. Once consciousness develops, it seems to be only a matter of time.” I vaulted a stream, the water so clear it was almost invisible. Stumbling and scrambling desperately up the opposite bank, my grey skirt was splattered with moss and mud. Those oblivion-grey arms reached for me, their star-shaped fingers filled with tiny red suckers. “And your species is especially bad.” As the alien hands closed around my wrists and ankles, lifting me effortlessly into the air, I whimpered – a pathetic, selfish sound. “I’m not going to kill you,” the nightmarish mouth said. “Then what do you want from me?” “I want to offer you a job.”

The café is quiet, and a man sits across from me in a neat grey suit, not quite fashionable, but not quite out of date. He can’t see me; he doesn’t even register I’m there. He’s too caught up in the feedback loop his cellphone has trapped him in, yearning for little red or orange icons to scratch the constant itch in the reward centre of his brain. As the world shrinks, humanity slowly caged by the growing ecological sanctuaries until only a single city is left, nobody will notice. Like flies caught in an elaborately spun web of alien technology and psychological trickery, insects don’t realise when they’ve been ensnared until it’s far too late. Your selfish egos will remain completely fulfilled, and the walls of the zoo will be invisible. But there are other places that need our services when we are done here – too many, in fact. Most of you won’t even notice the title of this story, caught up in your scrolling and need for self-fulfilment. Fewer still will read it, and of those that do, most will forget about it in a day, or a week. But a handful of people – maybe only one or two, will remember it forever. And to you few; when you feel your eyes slide off something when you’re sitting in a café, paying attention not to yourself, but to the others around you, say something. I’ll be listening.

[krakenator]

Chapter 17 aka “Dune”

SPOILERS are sprinkled around extremely liberally for The Property of Hate

Masterpost here

RGB: oh fuck

That’s… that’s actually really neat. We get confirmation soon that everything in this world has color as blood, not just RGB. So, you can actually see it in this tree stump- idk if that’s how sap actually works but it’s a cool as hell visual

That’s a neat way to highlight how FUCKING UNNERVED AND AFRAID RGB IS SEEING THIS BULLSHIT

Oh fuck. Oh that is really not good. Oh no. oh god it’s a domino effect. No trees means nothing is holding up the sea which means the darkness can’t do anything on its own. This is gonna ripple back to the market isn’t it. Oh god

With the sea collapsing like this, Click may get released from his watery grave quicker than imagined…

YIKES

Ok, at least it stopped and stabilized. For now. buuuut that particular exit is completely unusable now

HEY WAIT A MINUTE *rewinds a few pages* YEAH REMEMBER THAT HUGE SCHISM CRACK FROM REALIZING RGB’S MURDERED MANY HEROES AND BEING TOLD TO SHOOT HIM? Yeah that shits GONE now

How the fuck? That hasn’t happened before. Hero’s had to sleep to heal her schism in the past.

AND ITS COMING BACK? One page after they’re out of the darkness and that schism is starting to think about making a reappearance. WHY THO

CONSIDER THIS: darkness ALSO has healing properties? Whereas total Light will burn, scorch, and white you out from existence, total Dark will hide, conceal, and heal you.

Then again, Hero’s schism didn’t heal on her first journey through darkness to get to the Market

So... more likely it was something to do with their bonding in the last chapter, or- or even though the Nightmare gave her a bad scare, it is still technically a DREAM, and dreams whether they are nice or scary will still heal you up a bit? Interesting if true. Alternatively, the sheer proximity to that literal blockade of dreams was just so, many and potent that Hero didnt even need to be asleep for them to work a little magic on her

I still think I’m onto something about Darkness also having healing effects, however! Consider the evidence:

RGB was fucking WRECKED right before Negative come out to play way back in chapter 6. Just utterly destroyed. He was COVERED IN BURNS from being PUNCHED ACROSS A FIELD and then his circuits got ELECTROCUTED. But Negative doesn’t have any of those injuries, and neither does RGB once Negative has finished his job. Negative, confirmed to be Made of Darkness, heals RGB from whatever dumb-fuck nonsense he’s gotten into to make Negative have to step in

EVIDENCE #2: that black residue Hero leaves from being impaled on the sick tree. Just because RGB believes nothing they did contributed to the tree’s revival doesn’t mean that’s entirely true. If Hero somehow left behind a lil bit o’ Darkness in the tree, then maybe it might have thawed a little/slower on its own even without the Butterfly also melting away the [—–]

One last, slightly off-topic thing before we get back to continuing the actual chapter, people produce soft lights and flowers when they sleep, right? and those flowers fade away once they wake up. RGB’s never done that, but Negative spawns blue roses that break apart when he’s done his business. My point being... RGB doesn’t dream. If he only ever actually asleep when Negative is awake?

RGB’s overabundance of color comes into play once again

“this sand is stained by the blood of dead trees” wow I did not remember this section of comic being as metal as it is

Wait the fuck a minute. Hold on. Hold- hold on

RGB IS A FUCKING COLOR BLEED PUN

RGB’s explanation is great for why this place is littered with husks of vehicles, but let’s think about what else probably ends up here, all those objects of sentimental affection and names- laptops, favorite pens. stuffed animals! The Sands are like a junk yard. and things occasionally get washed into the Sea, or the Sea washes them up here... just a cool cycle overall

SPECTACULAR TEAMWORK LOVELIES KEEP IT UP

back on the schism- its definitely much better than when they left the Market, but worse for having exited the Darkness. its more of an impression of a dip that a gaping wound right now

OH. So, yeah the sun piece will probably run into its brother whilst in the ocean, but RGB’s right- it probably went there in order to be hidden over other reasons

BUSTED

RGB: you did WHAT? You SOLD your FINGERS? Without TELLING ME? What made you think you could go and do that, I would’ve handled it!!

Hero, remembering that time she saw RGB rip his whole hand off and give it to an owl he met 2 seconds ago: I mean…

Yo can we… talk about RGB’s entire train of thought (LMAO) here? That he’s upset about Hero trading away parts of herself but doesn’t really give a fig about doing the same to himself? He’ll sell off buttons or an entire hand, but Hero gives away two fingers for a friend and he’s upset that she didn’t let him know, because he’d have handled it? On one hand it’s very “adults being horrified at children having to take on responsibilities and experiences they shouldn’t have to” which I am always about, yet on the other hand I’m getting a “RGB really doesn’t value himself much at all does he” vibe and yikes my heart

Like, between the self-worth issues touched on here and “maintain illusion of control and confidence by saying big words smartly”- same fucking hat. RGB needs to stop being relatable

“saying HUGE words, just INCOMPREHENSIBLE LETTERS when angry” is also. Yup. That’s uh. That’s me. goddammit

...... for me, this is what i would personally call the Nightmare Scenario

YOWCH that looks like it hurt. At least the good news is RGB will be able to recolor himself over a bit of time. Not sure if he’s also able to regenerate indelible lineart, so… better just not have to find out

also; that’s literally a train of thought. Why’s it colored like Negative, though? Is this a train made of Darkness?

YUP it’s a Darkness-cloaked train- how fucking weird must this look on Hate’s side?

Fdhafjk I forgot, they have NO IDEA what happened to Click. Amazing

what.... in the fresh hell is going on in this panel

BUT, super interesting implication that Hate can’t LEAVE this place, and that without Dial to get audio, or him/the Butterfly to go out and interact with things, Hate is very hands-off

but honestly wtf is the slanted speechbox? “this side of the script”??? i love it but what does this mean

RGB points out that charging through the sands like this should be destroying it, yet it remains perfectly intact throughout all of this, even when BURROWING INTO THE LITERAL ERASING SANDS. Interesting implication that Darkness can’t be erased. Interesting implication that Negative would be entirely unaffected by sand as well

IS DIAL EATING POPCORN? HOW

Who wants to bet this is gonna be an inkwell

AND DIAL IS LET OUT OF HIS CAGE!

Who the fuck would be the third party that’s sent this hell-train out to scoop up and deliver our heroes to them? 

The idea that the kidnapper has at least once before been a kidnapee is just so funny to me. HOW DOES IT FEEL RGB??

(war flashbacks to THIS MORNING when RGB: broke into song, rocketed himself across the market via explosion and a slingshot, and wouldn’t stop making puns the entire time) my man is a ball of stress but damn if he isn’t able to react in the moment

The good news is RGB’s color regen process is pretty slick- his back’s already back to normal

Your humansona’s a real Jackie Chan madman isn’t he RGB. a real Tom Cruise motherfucker. Some Buster Keaton level shit.

I SHOULD SINCERELY HOPE SO, you’re wearing like TWO lucky objects on your person currently. If that can’t give you even a smidgen of stat-boosting...

now CHECK THIS OUT: it seems like RGB starts running into weirdness BEFORE he charges directly into the dream-infested car. A film-reel overlay effect, and lookit his hat-  negative stripes of shadow

Chiaroscuro: “the effect of contrasted light and shadow” created by light shining in weird ways and directions. interesting chapter title to use, uncle mod, on a chapter which has got the pure whites of the erased desert/Hate’s realm directly contrasted with tree stumps and this weird, darkness train

Don’t you hate it when you run directly into a gas cloud of dreams

So we got a jewel (a box?), white and black hands, the iron again, a teardrop shape, what might be RGB’s Mystery Button, all with film reels

And speaking of that iron, we also get the fiery sharp shapes again… which morph into S’s. it’s a sound. a SSSSSSSSSSS

I just had to go look up what an iron actually sounds like and… yeah. It makes an SSSS sound

Human RGB is… unfairly handsome. Of course he is. AND I SEE THAT TV IN ON THE LEFT MOD

Hey wait a minute

That’s not my bastard man

NOBODY in this comic has spoken in ANYTHING other than black or white colored text. and now here is this ancient MEMORY MAN speaking in ORANGE?

well actually the ‘co-worker’ is speaking in like really dark maroon? BUT STILL

“we split” has returned, 15 chapters later

The duality of these two title pages is really something- past and present getting whacked awake, the similar position present RGB has fallen to mirror past-human-guy, going from the Light of the memory to the Darkness of the train

ACTUALLY, RGB didn’t even LAND like that. he fall on the floor like THIS. he’s SHIFTED to reflect the decayed, old, deteriotated and fragile memory currently playing out in his head

AND CHECK OUT THOSE NEGATIVE-STRIPE GLITCHES! WOWIE! Lots and lots of foreshadowing to the upcoming Neggy appearance coming very soon to a screen near you!

[lovetale-redemption]

LOVEtale Chapter 2 (Part 11): The red flowers.

Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kGwRFBlD6qI This scene happened sooner in the conflict of Sans and Ankell, while they were fighting... Red: We are losing time ! How long it will take ? Sans is already fighting and he is getting weaker with the seconds. At this rate, it will be too late. Gaster: There is something blocking the system, and I can’t go by it. Where does it come from ? All the power is blocked and I can’t redirect the determination, what is going on ?! Alphys: We can’t reach it... what are we going to do ? Valye: Stay calm. If you’re all panicked it won’t do any more good.  I stayed near Red, our lollipops in our hands holding them tightly, we needed to be brave. We grabbed each other hand and tried to stay focused. But our minds were always thinking of the worst, we were restless. Alphys: There is kind of a glitch, it couldn’t get in here by itself unless... Gaster: ...That unconscious son of mine .... he knew what we were going to do...  Suddenly the machine started to glow red, yelling “ERROR”  endlessly. Toriel: We have to do something ! Gaster: It’s no use ! Get away from the machine ! It’s going to burst !   Sans knew we were going to try to use the determination left in the system, he blocked every way of using it and ultimately erase what was left. There is no solution left. As everybody was getting away from the machine quickly, I noticed too late that Red stayed there and walked slowly in the direction of the determination machine. Her eyes wide open, she raised her arm, pointing with her hand her last hope to save Sans that was about to blow up. She stay silent, watching with despair her last chance fade away...

  The explosion was brutal, but Red stood there at the same place, a little dirty from the burst but she looked unarmed physically. In the other hand, her spirit was broken, she fell on her knees and looked directly of the ruins of the installation, the same that could  have given her the way to save her brother. She started shimmering from every inch of her body, holding her arms together, like trying to calm herself, but it was no use.      I came as quickly as I could to help her. She couldn’t look away from the machine, she just said one thing, her voice trembling with sadness: Red: I... couldn’t... protect them...  I stayed close to her, trying to comfort her but everybody in the room knew. Nothing coming from the underground could help Sans and Frisk. We were powerless. ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aksTXH78iQ0 (put it on endless mode) Since I was a child, I didn’t have any friends. My grandpa was the only friend and family I had. The times we spent together were rare as he was a famous doctor and always working hard but I enjoyed everyone of them. At school, I was always left behind, alone, because of my eye... They used to call me  monster or demon. I was too shy to say anything, I didn’t even knew myself what was it. With the years, the people were getting more and more distant as the infection was getting worse. Some people were scared to catch something like a dangerous disease or even to be cursed... Even if the teachers were supporting me, the classes never were. At some point I was trying to avoid contact, and avoid their reactions, but it was hard to live everyday feared by everyone ...   When I was 12 years old, my Grandpa became really sick and ultimately past away... The disease was well known by the other doctors, it was something unfortunate, that could happen to anybody. But when the classes learned about this, they linked my Grandpa’s demise with the “curse” of my eye... It all got worse... I was alone in that appartment, and studied with persons who despised me even more than before. Their hate was getting more intense, when something bad happened it was always my eye. I didn’t have the strenght to fight back, I just wanted to be done with the day and cry in my bed.    The only comfort I had was reading, the books brought me away from my problems, but even if it helped me feel better, in a way they were also hiding me from my issues.      When I was 14, some student started to bully me regularly, stealing my lunch and getting away with insults. “You’re a demon”, “You don’t deserve to exist”... At some point, I was even going to... give up... but something was always trying to keep my alive, like someone else was in my heart, keeping me company without me even knowing. And so I struggled everyday, what I could. At first I thought being feared by anyone was really annoying, but I reached a point where I feared everyone and it was far worse...   My life changed forever, at my 16 years old. We were in class, in the middle of the year, a new student came to our high school. Apparently his family came from another city. He was a boy, 17 years old, with semi long black hair and always looking away. Like me, he was always alone strangely, he didn’t wanted to be friends with anyone even when people asked him, he was ignoring them, not even looking at them. Apparently he was expelled from his previous school because he was violent and he injured some other students. But he didn’t seem to look violent at all, just very reclusive. So one day, I finally got the courage to try to talk to him, and ask him to be friend: Araelle: Greetings.  He looked at me for a second, then replied: Boy: You are that girl with the freaky eye I’ve heard, aren’t you ? Just go away, I don’t want to talk... Araelle: Are you ok ? You don’t look so good. He looked away and started walking without answering.   The same day, while I was going home, I ran into some bullies from high school again, the same one... their chief was called Adrix, he was the worst person I ever met. He was the most violent and agressive bully, always yelling at me that one day he’ll kill me himself... During the beating, one of them grabbed me by the hair, I was in so much pain, I just wanted to go home...   But something unusual happened, someone came and helped me, it was the first time in two years that happened... The person who came beat down the three bullies one by one, he was the new student. Alix: What are you doing, you dumb dunkey ?! Can’t you see that she is evil ! She must be destroyed at all cost ! Boy:  I’ve ran into some punks in my life, but you definitely win the cake and the cherry. Unless you want another lesson I suggest you and your goons to go away and never touch her again. Alix: Grrr, you’ll regret this. you helped that demon, you are as corrupted as her.  He then went off with the other two. The boy came and carried me. Boy: Don’t move I’ll bring you to your home. Do you live far from here ?   It was the first time, someone helped me, despite being hurt I never felt so good in my life, he put me on his back and I held him tightly, blushing I answered: Araelle: Just two streets... on the right... Thank you...   During the travel we talked a little. Araelle: Why, did you helped me ? Boy: Why do I need a reason to help someone ? Araelle: I mean, nobody never helps me... you’re the first ... Boy: You are telling me that this happens frequently ?  With the emotion I just closed my mouth, moaned and said yes with the head. Boy: Why this guy called you a demon ? Araelle:  My eye...  Boy: I saw it, but I don’t get all the hype about it, I mean it just looks like a birth anomaly nothing more, people are really stupid sometimes seriously...  It didn’t looked much by itself but those words filled me with so much happiness and joy. i smiled at him and replied. Araelle: Thank you.   We went on the apartment and he healed me. He was surprised that I was alone in here. We continued our talk together. Araelle: I’m sorry but I don’t even know you name ? My name is Araelle by the way. Boy: Oh right where are my manners ? I’m Eone. Araelle: That’s a nice name. Eone: Meh I don’t think so... but if you like it that’s good right ? Anyway you are lucky that my house is on the same way, or else you could have been really injured. Araelle: I want to thank you again. You’re so kind, that’s the first time someone does something for me. I heard you came from another school because you injured people, but I’m sure it’s just rumors. Eone: Actually there are not. I did beat some guys down. Araelle: That doesn’t seem real for me. Eone: Well, those bastards threatened a friend I had, and well you know the rest. Don’t want to bore you with the details but the guys all went to the hospital and teachers decided it was my fault and bla bla bla rejected and finally came here. Araelle: What happened to your friend ? Eone: Well, he was the one who sold me out, after all I did for him... That’s why I tried to avoid the others when I came here. I changed of city because my mother got a mutation, I was about to leave the school anyway without them expelling me.I know I shouldn’t talk bad about my parents but I really think they don’t care about me, it feels lonely at home even with them around.  Araelle: Eone, I know you didn’t answer to anybody but... Can we be friends ?   He looked and smiled at me. Eone: Sure. You look always so lonely. Oh and sorry for calling your eye huh “freaky” I tried to make you go away, but I guess it’s not easy to live alone around here.  Araelle: Th... thank you !  I was crying of joy, the first friend I made, I felt so warm inside my chest.  Eone: Oh no no no no ! Please don’t cry... Araelle: Sorry...    After that day, we became best friends, and since he was always near me, the bullies started to calm down. They noticed Eone was really strong. Like this we spent three months until something happened.  Eone: Hey, Araelle do you know about the park city. Araelle: I used to go there often to read some books. Why ?  He was blushing. Eone: Well, for now I have to go, but I have something really important to tell you so, can we meet at the park this night at 9 pm ? Araelle: Sure, so I’ll meet you there.  Eone: Yeah, later.   He looked really uncomfortable, I wandered what he wanted to tell me, I never saw him blush before. At night I went in the park like he asked me. The park was filled with golden flowers, beautiful trees and a lake in the center.  He was already here when I came.  Eone: Hi, Araelle ! Araelle: Hi, Eone how are you doing ? Eone: I’m fine thank you, how about we walk a little ? Araelle: Okay.  We grabbed each other hands and walked around the lake, after several minutes of silence, he tried talk. Eone: Well, the thing I wanted to tell you...   We suddenly heard some noise, we looked behind us. Adrix was here with his goons.  Alix: We meet again, remember me ?   Eone put himself in front of me, blocking me with his arm. Eone: It won’t be long Araelle. I’ll be back right away. Now run.    Scared by Adrix I ran away, and hid myself behind one of the trees. Looking at the scene in the distance. Eone fought how he could but got trapped by the two bullies who were holding each of his arms, he was defenseless but I was so frightened I couldn’t move. After getting beaten  down, they pulled him up again, the scene was unbearable.  Alix: Those corrupted by the devil will perish like the devil. He pulled out a pocket knife. Alix: After I’m done with you, I’ll go for that demon.  Eone didn’t said anything, the last thing I remember of that scene was the scream of Eone. My heart stopped beating, they threw him in golden flowers, the blood from his wound made the flowers around him red, and I finally passed out with the shock.

I woke up in the morning in a hospital without injuries, a nurse came and I asked her instantly what happened....    Eone died from bleeding, he was deep wounded in the torso... But strangely enough, Adrix and his troups were also dead but the weapon wasn’t found, apparently they were pierced with an unknown large object, I didn’t cared. This day I lost my only friend, I never cried so hard in my life...    The scene traumatised me, I got a lot of trouble getting outside, in every person I was looking, I saw Adrix and his goons, to walk normally on the street became an almost impossible task. The news about the park spread really fastly in the class, for them I was the one who killed them all, including Eone... I tried to see Eone’s parents but for them it’s also my fault if their son died, I can’t blame them, they were right. I stood there watching him die in front of me, instead of saving the only friend I had... The nightmares soon started with the crisis, I was a sick girl in a old appartment, alone, with nobody to talk or rely on.    The “curse” of my eye at least granted me some calm for a change, with Adrix gone, I never was bullied again. Until that day, when Sans appeared. With the robber, the way he said to him to go away, he reminded me a lot of him. I only know Sans for a day but he is my friend, and I don’t want to lose someone else like Eone. This time I will do something for him. /////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////   I finally woke up from Sans attack, the little angel was watching the fight. Sans looked exhausted, he was in a very bad state, at this rate, he won’t last long. Sans: It all comes down to this… old man. One last strike to decide everything… Give it your best shot. Ankell: Alright, mah boy, I hope you are ready. I’ll show you my most powerful attack, I once cut through steel with this, so you better be prepared. Sans: Fine, in that case… I’ll show you… my special attack. Ankell: You finally decided to attack me, huh. It’s not too soon, mah boy.   Ankell was about to attack Sans, he won’t be able to dodge his attack, they were so far from here, but I couldn’t let Sans die like this. What could I do ? I felt suddenly something warm, overwhelm me. I remembered something. (Araelle: Sorry to ask, but your soul is made of magic, right ? What kind of magic can you use ? Sans: I can summon bones to attack, use shortcuts to go in a place very fast, or even levitate the soul of someone else. Araelle: Really ? That’s incredible , mister Sans. How is it work ? Sans: I concentrate my magic, let the imagination shape it like I want and then release it. ). //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////  I had only one DT left but Sans told me, I’ll need it for later. Ankell was rushing towards us, and Sans was about to pass out. The situation was very tricky, and I couldn’t think of any solution. Suddenly something unrealistic happened. Araelle:  I’m not letting you die here, Sans ! Frisk & Sans:  ARAELLE !   Araelle just appeared in front of us, how did she did that ?! What happened to her, Sans felt a very powerful magic, did it came from her ? HE told us that humans couldn’t use magic ? How was that possible ? She looked different too, her hair was a little longer and had a very shiny white color, her body was glowing magic around her. And her soul became white. We were so confused... Sans told me Araelle just did a shortcut, the same magic we can use, without understanding how it was possible. 

  Sans was about to fall unconscious before Araelle came out but the sudden worry he felt woke him up, even if he was still almost paralysed. But what did Araelle had in mind ? She can’t beat Ankell, even with this magic... Sans opened wide his eyes, he understood what she was doing... Sans: ARAELLE, GET AWAY ! YOU WON’T RESIST HIS ATTACK !   Araelle just smiled, as she raised up her arms, she was positionned to receive Ankell’s final strike before it reaches Sans... even if it meant to sacrifice her own life... The king had too much momentum, he couldn’t stop his own attack. Araelle was crying and smiling, looking directly at the one who was about to execute her and said with a shimmering voice: Araelle: You will have a second chance to save your friends...Sans.   I was near Sans all the time and something really scared me at that point. At first he was nervous of the situation, then calmed himself, before looking at me with a sad smile. Frisk: Sans ? What ... are...you .... Sans: Thank you, kiddo...    He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the fight, where nothing could have hurten me. He then concentrated every portion of magic he had left in his left eye including the bone attack, despite the pain and without the determination. The concentration was unstable and finally burst out his left eye and a big part of the left part of his skull... With the left of the magic, he used one last spell...   It was like the time stopped in the world. The wind stopped howling, the flowers were lifeless, only the silence was floating as the fight was finally over. Araelle had her eyes wide open, shocked and horrified by what she was watching... Sans had the skull cracked opened, the magic was flowing out of it, some of it were making little sparks of light blue lights, floating in the air like fireflies... Sans: That... was too close... for comfort... Are ... you... okay....?    Hands in his pockets, he was aimlessly watching the sky above the man who  just cut through him. Sans used the last bit of life and magic he had to use one last shortcut and block the attack before it reaches Araelle. The blade cut straight through the magic part of our soul in the center, only this part was hit, he pushed me away before the impact got into my soul... The sword of Torano, the one that was supposed to not be soiled by blood or dust, was covered by the blood of Sans, it was heavily dripping on the golden flowers, making them red like poppies of suffering... The HP he had.... was down to 0. I watched the scene, lost and confused... it took me several seconds to realize what was happening, the surprise was soon enough replaced by despair, as I understood that Sans sacrificed his life to save a human, a human he just met. I fell on the knees, watching my friend’s life, going away with the seconds...     As for Araelle... The scene completely overwhelmed her as the moonlight was showing her only friend, dying in front of her. After several seconds, she fell on the floor, screaming without an end. The tears started to drop from my eyes as her screams reminded me that this scene was a nightmare that became true....

[brentrogers]

Imposter Syndrome: Why You Have It & How to Stop It

“I have written eleven books, but each time I think, ‘Uh oh, they’re going to find out now. I’ve run a game on everybody and they’re going to find me out.” – Maya Angelou

Any minute now they would find out.

I scanned the large conference room. The twenty-six project team members around the table discussed data analysis. Their voices were muffled by the thick fog of my anxiety.

My own throat tried to choke me, and my chest refused to expand. Sweat trickled down my side.

Breathe, just breathe. It’s going to be okay.

My eyes met my boss’s and he smiled at me across the room. I quickly looked down at my notes. My cheeks were burning.

I knew what was coming.

It would be my turn next to showcase my part of the project. I had been working on it for months. Starting early, staying late, slaving away every waking hour, perfecting every detail.

But I couldn’t hide any longer. Couldn’t pretend any more. I would be exposed.

In a few minutes they would discover that my efforts weren’t up to scratch. That I wasn’t good enough.

They would listen to my presentation and their faces would darken with disappointment. They would whisper to each other in dismay and ask me questions I couldn’t answer.

And then, someone would stand up, point at me and say, “You have no clue what you are talking about, do you? You are nothing but a fraud. A pathetic excuse for a scientist. You know nothing.”

Any minute now.

I clutched the edge of the table. Tears stung in my eyes and I swallowed hard. My intestines were churning.

I had to get away.

Leaping to my feet, I mumbled an excuse. I stumbled out of the room, heart racing, and made it to the bathroom.

And then I cried.

Why I Was an Imposter by Name but Not by Nature

I eventually managed to pull myself together. I washed my face, blew my nose, took several deep breaths.

And I returned to the fateful meeting, red-eyed and swollen. Feigning an allergic reaction to conceal my mortifying episode.

I presented my work.

And nothing happened. Nobody objected, interrogated, exposed. No fingers were pointed at me.

All I saw was friendly faces and approving nods. Some people even praised the huge amount of work I put in and the high quality of my results.

And yet, as I shuffled home that night, drained and numb, I didn’t feel like celebrating a success. Because all I could think was, “You were lucky this time. Next time they will realize that you are a fraud for sure. Then game over.”

And right there, on a gloomy November evening of 2007, it hit me. I had a problem. It was ruining my life, destroying my confidence, and sabotaging my career.

I had to do something about it.

As I arrived home, I googled “feeling like a fraud at work” and discovered that I wasn’t alone. The problem seemed to be so common, there was even a name for it: imposter syndrome.

And I displayed all the symptoms.

I doubted myself and my abilities, believing my skills and expertise always fell short of expectations. No matter how hard I tried, my successes seemed negligible, laughable compared to others. And I could never believe anybody who told me I did a good job.

Imposter syndrome was clearly the problem I faced. But the word “imposter” didn’t match up with what I experienced every day at the office.

I wasn’t maliciously trying to deceive other people, tricking them into believing I was more knowledgeable, competent, and successful than I was for my own fraudulent gain.

In fact, the opposite was true.

I didn’t pretend to be more than I was to further my career and take advantage of innocent people. No, I was hiding my weaknesses and shortcomings as well as I could. So others wouldn’t discover my devastating secret.

I just didn’t know it yet.

The Reveal of the True Reason Behind My Imposter Syndrome

For the next couple of years, I searched for a way to eradicate my imposter syndrome. I read self-help books, took personal growth courses, meditated, visualised.

And things improved.

After a while, the all-consuming panic of being exposed as a fraud receded. I managed to better compose myself in meetings and presentations. And I even started to accept praise here and there with an awkward smile and only a slight cringe.

But still, the stubborn, anxious voiceover kept playing in the background of my mind, every day of my life: “You are a fraud. And, one day soon, they will find you out.”

Frustration about being stuck in an endless self-degrading loop turned to anger about my inability to overcome my imposter syndrome. Why was I so horrified of being exposed?

My conscious mind knew that I was doing quite well. That I was good at my work. And that, even if my failings were to be uncovered, it wouldn’t be the end of my career.

Or my life.

Yet, I remained terrified of that one question that would hit my blind-spot. And I anticipated the accusing finger whenever my work came under scrutiny. Because my subconscious mind believed that being exposed as my flawed self was, in fact, the end.

I just didn’t know why.

Until, some months later in May 2010, I participated in a group hypnotherapy session. We were asked to retrieve memories of a scene in our past where our most damaging belief originated. And while I couldn’t conjure up the past, a limiting belief shot into my brain and made me gasp.

Because it explained all of my struggles with imposter syndrome.

The Heartbreaking Belief That Destroyed My Life and Sabotaged My Career

“I don’t have the right to exist.”

The brutality of the thought broke my heart and filled my eyes with tears. Why would I believe something like this?

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it made sense. I constantly felt the necessity to work harder, be better, achieve more to justify my existence. To prove to myself and others that it was okay for me to stick around as long as I was useful.

Even though I was an illegal immigrant to life.

As long as I showed no weakness, made no mistake, and contributed more than my fair share to society, I would be tolerated. Others would overlook the fact that I shouldn’t actually exist. That I was some kind of accident, a glitch in the universal plan.

But being exposed as anything less than perfect would result in my temporary residency in life to be revoked.

And I knew, deep in my heart, that I wasn’t faultless, that I struggled. I only faked the perfect version of myself that fulfilled all the qualifying criteria stipulated in my provisional residence permit.

I didn’t have the required knowledge, expertise or success to permanently occupy a space in this life.

I was a fraud. Pretending to belong in this life when I did not. Every day, I desperately clung to the hope that I could blind everyone around me just one more day. But I lived with the constant terror that my devastating secret would be exposed.

Sure, my conscious mind understood that my fear was irrational.

What did I think would happen if I was exposed as a fraud with no permission to exist? Would I just cease to be? Vanish in a purple puff of smoke?

I knew it made no sense. Yet, the believe was lodged deep inside of me. And I was about to find out why.

The Disastrous Reason I Believed I Didn’t Have the Right to Exist

In September 2010, I consulted an energy healer to help with my, at the time, severe anxiety. I mentioned that I struggled with imposter syndrome and the belief that I didn’t have the right to exist.

And she looked at me and said, “Of course you do. Because you have no self-worth.”

It was the piece of the puzzle I needed. Suddenly, it all made sense.

I believed that I was inherently worthless. And that I didn’t have the right to exist as long as I had no worth.

So, my entire life was a relentless pursuit of more worth. All the long hours, the hard work, all the perfecting happened in the name of worth generation. To earn the right to exist.

But I was stuck in a vicious cycle.

I needed to gain wealth, love, abundance to have enough worth to receive a permanent right to exist. But I wasn’t worthy enough to deserve them.

I had to be a success, but I was terrified that achieving greatness would draw too much attention on myself. And the fact that I was alive without the proper permissions.

So, my inherent worthlessness made it impossible to claim the right to exist. And without the right to exist, I could never achieve what I needed to earn enough worth.

It was a hopeless, futile quest. Without prospect of a solution. And it left me only one option: to pretend, to be a fraud.

And hope nobody would ever find out.

The Impossible Conundrum of a Worthless Existence

I had no clue how to dig myself out of this rut. How could I accumulate enough worth to earn the right to exist so I wouldn’t have to feel like a fraud ever again?

I had hit a wall in my quest. There seemed to be no solution, only pointless rumination that spiralled in endless circles. Was I doomed to hide in the shadows, unable to ever rightfully claim my place in life?

I was about to surrender to my fate as an unwanted pretender, a slave to my imposter syndrome and worthlessness. But then my daughter was born.

And one realization changed everything.

The Key to Unlocking Your Worth

About three weeks after her birth, I looked at my little girl sleeping peacefully. Her chest moved in a healthy rhythm and a tiny smile played around her lips.

My heart filled with adoration for this wonderful creation, and I knew that she was valuable. That she had every right to exist in this world and deserved all the love, happiness, and abundance this life has to offer.

Yet, she had no achievements, no wealth or success to pay for her right to exist. She had never earned any worth. And she didn’t have to.

Because worth was the essence of her being, the core of her true Self. She was worth personified.

And so was I, and everybody else. Because true, inner worth cannot be destroyed. It is as constant as our cell structure, it doesn’t change when we fail, are criticized or make a mistake.

The realization was life-changing. The sudden relief felt as if I medium-sized mountain range fell of my chest. I didn’t have to prove my worth!

Society had taught me all my life that I needed high-flying achievements, perfection, wealth to deserve the right to exist. But they were wrong. My entire belief system that caused my struggles was flawed.

Because the truth was that, like my little daughter, I was worth.

As such I could never be worthless. I had the right to exist, to claim my rightful place in life and my happiness right here and now. Simply because I was alive.

And I finally had the cure for my imposter syndrome.

How to Stop Feeling Like a Fraud Once and for All

So, I started to affirm: “I have the right to exist. I am worth” several times a day. Every time I felt insecure, worthless, or like a fraud, I reminded myself of my infinite, inherent worth.

At first, my mind resisted the change. Worthlessness thinking had become a disastrous habit that my mind wasn’t willing to abandon without a fight. But I persevered.

And eventually, over a few months, I retrained my mind. I created a new, healthier habit.

I noticed that I didn’t feel inferior so often, that my confidence in meetings improved. I no longer felt apologetic for taking up space or bothering people. And I became less demanding of myself, lovingly accepting and respecting my limits because I knew perfection, or its absence, wouldn’t change my worth.

And one day, I realized that the fear of being exposed if I drew too much attention to myself was gone. And without that fear, I found it easier to stand up to others and defend my opinions. I even started to acknowledge and celebrate my successes.

Now, I am no longer terrified of the accusing finger pointing me out as an imposter. I no longer need to pretend to be more than I am. Because I know I am not a fraud.

I am enough. From the day I was born to the day I will die, and beyond, I will have the right to exist.

Because I am worth.

Just like you.

This post courtesy of Tiny Buddha.

Photo by John Noonan on Unsplash.

The post Imposter Syndrome: Why You Have It & How to Stop It first appeared on World of Psychology.

Imposter Syndrome: Why You Have It & How to Stop It syndicated from

[crystalninjaphoenix]

The Start of the Nightmare

A Stitched Story

JSE Fanfic

So, Stitched Together sequel thing. This is sorta dealing with how all the boys fit into this AU, so it’s gonna be longer than Stitched, and possibly not as interesting character development wise, but what can you do

tagging @septic-dr-schneep​ for the original idea

“You are lucky to not be dead.”

Jack couldn’t help but poke at the wound on his neck. He winced. “I’m lucky I know the best doctor in the world,” he said quietly. He didn’t want to tear the stitches.

Schneep huffed, but couldn’t hold back a smile. “Well, yes, I am a qualified doctor. But that is no reason for you to play with knives.”

“It was Halloween, bro.” Chase piped up for the first time since his arrival. He was leaning against the doorway of the hospital room, trying his best to look casual when he’d just been hovering nervously by Jack seconds before. “Pumpkin carving is a tradition, you know. How was he supposed to know he’d cut himself?”

Jack shifted uncomfortably on the hospital bed. For a moment, he wondered if he should just stay silent. But honesty was always the best policy. If what happened was real, then they had a serious threat to deal with. If it wasn’t, then they could figure out why the hell he was seeing things. “Well, actually, guys...I didn’t exactly do it myself.”

Immediately, Schneep and Chase jumped to attention. “Why? What happened?”  “Should we call the police?”

“No, I...you guys are gonna think I’m crazy,” Jack sighed.

“No way, dude.” Chase shook his head. “We’d never think that.”

“I—you haven’t even heard what it is.” Jack muttered. “Okay, here goes...so, like, for a couple weeks now, I’ve had a feeling like something is watching me. But not at times when that would make sense, I mean all the time. And sometimes I’d see things out of the corner of my eye, or hear whispers that aren’t there.”

“Jack, I do not think I am the right kind of doctor for these problems,” Schneep said, half-joking.

“No, no, let me finish. So, sometimes I’d get nosebleeds out of nowhere, and sometimes I started, like, walking down to the shop or something but then a split second later I’d be back home, like there was a—a glitch in the fabric of reality. And I’d start laughing or hearing laughter for no reason.”

“Okay...so what does that have to do with this business?” Chase asked.

“So, I was doing the video, just like normal, and I’d keep hearing noises. When I went to check them out, nothing. I got another nosebleed, heard more laughing, and just...it just seemed like everything that was happening that month got dialed up to eleven. And then, after I got the pumpkin all finished and was about to do some fine cleaning...I just—I fucking have no idea how to describe it. My arm was moving on its own and it was like—it was like there was someone else in my head, like...squeezing it. And this thing was controlling my arm and it—it did the thing.”

Silence. Jack tried not to squirm as his two friends exchanged glances. They looked worried. “Jack...what I said before was joke, but I really think you should talk to a different doctor,” Schneep suggested haltingly.

“You haven’t even heard the weirdest part.” Jack shook his head. “It—he talked to me. He called me weak...and...” He swallowed nervously. He didn’t really want to talk about the things he said after he cut his throat and used his body like a puppet. So he skipped to the most important part. “Anyway, after he left, or retreated, or whatever, I saw him. And he looked a lot like me, but...wearing different clothes. He looked like a living computer glitch.”

“You sure you weren’t just...hallucinating?” Chase asked. “I mean, you’d lost a lot of blood by the time I came to check on you.”

“I know, I know, it’s a real possibility. But the weirdest thing was his neck. It was—was also cut open, but it was stitched close. With green string. But it wasn’t doing a very good job at keeping the wound closed, and the stitches were pulling apart...and I got the strangest feeling I knew him.”

Schneep walked over to the counter nearby and grabbed a pen and pad of paper. He wrote down something real quick, then came back and handed it to Jack. “I think you should check out Dr. Laurens. She is very good. Not to say you have to, but I think it would help.”

“Wait, doc, hang on a second.” Chase frowned thoughtfully. “I think...maybe...”

Schneep glared at him. “Chase, do not encourage him,” he said through gritted teeth, trying to keep Jack from hearing. “I know you are wanting to help but it will not to do this.”

“All I’m saying is—I mean—I’m wondering—” Chase stopped, gathering his thoughts. “So, I know you remember what happened a little under a year ago. I do too.”

The doctor’s expression immediately darkened. Nobody needed a reminder of what happened to Marvin and Jackie. It was bad enough that the double murder—or possibly murder-suicide, nobody could agree—got an unholy amount of media attention, given that no one could figure out what actually happened. One had a slit throat, the other held the knife, both were dead but only one was injured, and they were inside a circle drawn on the floor like some sort of ritual. How and why did they even die? And then the police found Jackie’s super suit hidden in the closet and all sorts of shady websites on Marvin’s computer. That only made things more complicated.

“Well, it can’t be a coincidence that the same kind of cut appeared on Jack nearly a year later,” Chase pointed out. “And they were probably doing some kind of magic, right? Maybe black magic? Doesn’t what Jack said sound like he got attacked by a black magic demon or something?”

Jack smiled. He hadn’t really thought of the possibility that what happened to Marvin and Jackie could be connected to the thing that attacked him, but it was nice to know that Chase thought there was an explanation besides him being crazy. Schneep, on the other hand, looked doubtful. “I do not mean to speak ill of the dead, but Marvin believed in things that could not exist. If he dragged Jackie into his shit, then that was between them. But it had nothing to do with their deaths.”

“You don’t know that,” Chase snapped. “Maybe there was some sort of sacrifice or something, and things went wrong.”

“For god’s sake, do you really think Jackie would be part of black magic?” Schneep threw his hands up in the air. “Have you ever heard anyone speak out against evil more than him?”

“I mean...the dark side can be tempting, bro,” Chase mumbled.

“I am not being part of this. I am leaving, I have other patients to check on. Jack, please at least try to visit Dr. Laurens. She can help more that mindless speculation.” Schneep stuck around long enough to see Jack nod in agreement, then quickly left.

“Jack...you think that...” Chase hesitated, then said the next few words in a rush. “D’you think that if we find out more about what attacked you we could find out what happened to them?”

Jack hesitated. There was a bit of desperation shining in Chase’s eyes. No, actually, there was a lot. Jack couldn’t blame him. A lot of terrible shit had hit Chase at that moment in time, shit that led to...well, it made sense that he wanted his friends back.  Jack did too. But also, he just really wanted to know what the deal with this thing was. Why was he targeting them? “I mean, maybe,” Jack shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. And if there’s really a demon out there, we need to protect ourselves. But how do we do that?”

The next day, Chase and Jack found themselves standing outside a little shop on the edge of town. The window showed a display made of books, amulets, and hanging talismans. The sign identified the shop as “Jackson Magick Emporium.”

“So, this place is, like, legit, right?” Chase asked.

Jack pulled on the bandages around his neck. “I mean, as much as one of these places can be. The website seemed to know what they were talking about, and there were good reviews from people who weren’t nutters. So...let’s go in.”

A bell ding-a-linged to announce their arrival into the shop. Chase blinked.  “Good god, did we just step back in time or something?” The front room of the shop looked a lot like a living room from the early twentieth century, but with the addition of a counter with a cash register and price tags on the various knickknacks scattered on the tables. It was a pleasant place, pastel blue in color and well-lit with yellow lamps. But nobody was there.

“They head the bell, right?” Jack wondered, glancing over at the little silver instrument hanging by the door.

“Don’t see how they could’nt’ve.” Chase wandered over to one of the tables and picked up the leather-bound book on its surface. He turned it over in his hands. It did look like something Marvin would’ve had. This must be the right sort of place.

“I’d advise you to put that down.”

Chase jumped, looking around for the source of the voice. A well-dressed man in a blue vest and black hat was coming out of a door behind the counter. He...weirdly enough, he looked pretty similar to Jack and Chase, just with a mustache. Did Jack have some sort of doppelganger magnet attached to him?

“Sorry,” Chase mumbled, putting the book back.

“Quite alright. You had no idea. But I must warn you that it’s very old and fragile.” The man walked around the counter and approached the two. He gave a friendly smile and stuck out his hand. “My name is Jameson Jackson, but you may call me JJ if you like. Welcome to my shop. How may I help you?”

Jack shook his hand. “Hello. I’m Jack and this is my friend Chase. We, uh...” He looked over to Chase for support, but he just shrugged. “So I went onto your website and saw that you did a thing where you could get rid of, like...evil spirits and shit.”

“Well, I wouldn’t use that type of language,” JJ frowned. “But yes, that is correct.”

“Okay, so, you see...I mean it’s been happening for a while, but last night it really...really, um...” Jack fidgeted with the bandages again. “So, I’m not wearing these for fun. You see what I’m talking about?”

JJ’s brows furrowed. “Yes, I think I’m getting the gist of it. Why don’t we go into the other room? I can make us some tea and you can tell me everything, at your own pace of course.”

The other room looked pretty much the same, but red instead of blue and no items for sale. The main piece of furniture was a table and chairs in the center, but there were a few drawers and chests along the edge for holding things, along with a small stove. Jack and Chase sat down and spilled out the whole story, starting with Marvin and Jackie’s mysterious incident last year, and ending with Jack’s account of this thing taking control of his body and seeing it afterward. By the time their tale had ended, the tea was long finished. JJ set a cup in front of each of them, then joined them at the table. He leaned forward and rested his head on his hands.

“So, do you have any idea what your friends were actually messing about with?” he asked in a quiet voice, as if afraid someone would overhear.

Jack shook his head. “No, sorry.”

“They were in a circle?”

“Yeah, with candles around the edges. Is that...is that helpful?”

“Not very, unfortunately. Most spells—or at least, most heavy-duty spells—take place in a protective circle. It’s meant to protect the casters from outside dangers and keep any misfires contained inside. Do you remember anything else? Did they discover any spellbooks or charms?”

“I don’t remem—”

Chase interrupted. “Wait, I think...I think there was some weird things. A bunch of burned paper, and...and there were two weird necklaces, but...I dunno about those ones.”

“Explain.”

“Well, Schneep—he’s a friend of ours, a doctor—showed me the police report of the crime scene. They were both wearing them, and they were when he saw the bodies, but later, when he asked the cops about where those necklaces went, they swore there weren’t any.”

“Hmm...” JJ took a sip of the tea, thoughtful. “Disappearing amulets...that is unusual. Depending on their purpose, we could guess at the spell they were trying. Hang on.” He stood up, walked over to a chest and rummaged it, then came back with a book with a red cover. He opened it, revealing that the book had been patched together with pages tied into the lining, like an old-fashioned kind of binder. They were covered with ink drawings of various amulets, with explanations of what each did. “Did your friend happen to describe them?”

“Uhhh...” Chase cast a line back into the waters of memory. “This is a recall of a recall of a glance, so don’t take this too seriously. But they were white...a bit teardrop-shaped.”

“Wait wait wait I saw those!” Jack nearly knocked over his teacup in excitement.  “He was wearing them! They had these weird designs on them, and they were glowing green.”

JJ slid the book toward him. “Do you think you could identify them?”

“Maybe...I didn’t really see them that good.” Jack started flipping through the pages, then suddenly stopped. He looked around. “It’s happening again...” he muttered. “I feel like someone’s watching us...”

Chase, confused, said “What?” But JJ didn’t hesitate, shooting to his feet and dashing to the drawers, pulling them open and glancing at the contents before slamming them shut again.

“What are you looking for?” Jack asked, nervous.

“Either protection or the source of that feeling,” Jameson explained. “If you can, help me look.”

“We don’t know—oh, alright.” Jack didn’t want a repeat of Halloween night. He stood up, pulled Chase upward too, and ran toward the drawers. He figured he’d know if something was important. The drawers were filled with books and loose papers with strange writing, crude dolls with paint on them, amulets and other magickal jewelry, and so many other talismans that Jack couldn’t identify. Nothing stood out.

Until Jack heard a sudden shriek.

His head whipped around, and he saw Chase standing in front of an open drawer with a look of absolute shock and horror on his face. He held something in his hand, a pair of teardrop-shaped amulets dangling from strings. They glowed green, but the glow couldn’t mask the cracks that marred their surfaces.

“Chase! Drop it!” Jameson yelled.

Startled, Chase did exactly that. The amulets clattered to the surface. There was a sound, a sound in the back of their minds that seemed to be coming from the broken talismans. It was a high whine, punctuated with electronic-sounding crackling. Or was it laughing?

“How’d they get there?” Chase asked, breathless.

“They came with him,” Jack muttered.

It was definitely laughter. Then Jack heard, directly in his ear, “I'm so p̶ro̡u̡d, J̷ąck͝ie̴bo̢y.”

With a yelp, Jack whirled around, but nobody was there. Chase and Jameson, who’d apparently also heard something similar, were looking around wildly as well. The room seemed darker. The whine was growing louder.

“Where are you?” Jameson asked. “Show yourself!”

A giggle. “You’d lik̵e̵ that, wou̡l͞dn̕'͢t͝ yo͢u҉? A neat little ta͡r̴g̨et to throw your s͠p̛e͞l̡ls̶ at? Oh wait, Ì f͝ór͠g̕o��t, you don’t a̦̝̤̱̥c̗̭͝t̮̤̭̝u͈̭͓̰͈a̦ḻl̩̦͈y̠͟ have any m̀͏ag̢ic̢..” The voice bounced around the room, seeming to come from the corner one moment and the center the next.

“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” Jameson said.

“Oh, I̢̕ ̨͏k͏ǹ̸̕o͠w̸͠.” He sounded amused now.

“What are you?” Jack cried.

“Can’t you t̶e͟ll? I’m y̕͢o̢͞͠u̷̶ , of course, J̮̪̘̯͝à̵̟̣̻́ͅc̨̘̬͓͖̭̞̳̲̟k̛̼̣̝̞̹̹͍̬i̖̞̭͝e͏͓͢b̷̨̫̗̗̕o̤͔̝͖y̖͕̣.”

“N-no...” Jack whispered. “No, you’re not. If anything, you’re the anti-me.”

“ Ą̴̀n͢͠t͞í̶..oh, I l͟i̸̛ḱè̵ that. V͠e̡r̵y̛ m҉uch͝.”

“Great, you just named it,” Chase grumbled. Jack noticed his hands were shaking, and his eyes were darting everywhere.

He—Anti—laughed again, and the lights flickered at the same time. Jack felt the feeling of being watched lighten up, and the white noise seemed to shift...to Chase. “ Y̕o͞u’re putting on sųćh͢ a b̷͝r̴͞av̧̀e fa͏͝c̶͢e, but I can taste the f̛e̵̷a҉̨ŕ̶͝ i͝n͡ y̢o̕uŕ m͏̕͟i͟͠ǹ͞d̷̸̶. It’s dȩ̴l̛ic̶i͠o͡u̡s̸͢.”

The flickering intensified. Jack’s eyes widened as Chase’s shadow shifted, contorted, then stepped away from the wall. “Chase, watch out!” Jack yelled. He started to run toward him, and Chase himself tried to turn around, but it was too late. Anti was real, and he was holding a knife to Chase’s throat.

Jack froze in place.

“ G̨ood i̢ḑeà, J̷̶a̧ck͏̷i̛e̕.” Anti bared his teeth in what would’ve been a smile on anyone else, but on him it could only be seen as a threat. He did indeed look a lot like Jack, but his form was spazzing out and glitching at every moment, coming apart in pixels. The upper half of his face was hidden in shadows that twisted and writhed, strands of green light trying to form a symbol on the center of his forehead. The wound on his neck wasn’t just a cut, but a wide gash weeping blood. Green stitches were trying to keep it closed.

“What do you want?” Jack whispered.

“What do I w̶̡a͡n̵̴t̸̸?” Anti repeated the question, tilting his head like a predator sizing up its prey. “First, I want to see if y͡ou̴r f̢r҉ieńd he͠r̶e̡ b̵̶lè̷e̢d̴̡s͟͠ like you, if your faces are t͢hè ͝s̶a̡m̡e. Then...well, you͠'̀l̷l ͡soon fin͢d̀ ͢o̧u̢t̵. I wouldn’t want to s̴po͠į͟l e̦̼v̖̫̱̰͇e͏̰r̤̜͝y̪̼͖̙̙̕t̥h̪͎̙̱i̖n̦̻̭̹͈̼̮͝g͢ for you.”

Chase’s eyes were wide, and he held perfectly still. The knife was glitching ever so slightly. As Jack watched, it nicked Chase’s neck and a single drop of blood trickled down his throat. Jack sucked in an panicked breath. What could he do? Was there anything he could do?

Suddenly, Anti’s smile dropped. His head snapped—quite literally, the sound accompanied by a shattering of pixels—toward Jameson. Jack realized that he’d been awfully quiet during the whole confrontation. And it was because he was preparing. Several drawers were hanging open. There was a tall blue candle burning on the table, surrounded by strange symbols written in red chalk. Jameson held a golden amulet out in front of him, a golden square with a purple gem in the center. It was emitting a faint white light. He grinned triumphantly.  “What were you saying about magic?”

Anti growled. “ F̵̮͎̠̭̮̯͇̀͟i̛͓̦̠͖͈̥̹̞̕n͎̰̠̙̻͟e͖̱̼̬. I’ll l̶͟e͠t ̛͝yǫ͝u win t͞͠͡hiş ̀t̀i̷͞m̶̧̢e. But this i̛sn'͏̶t ̧̕o̢v̵̡e͞r̛.” Reality flickered, and shattered. When everything was set back to normal, the room was light again, Chase was gasping for air, and Anti and the amulets were gone. “S͏҉e̵̡e̶ ̸́ýo̸͡u͟ ̧̀s͏o̶̡o̸͢n͢͞.” One last whisper around their minds, and they felt his presence disappear.

Silence.

After a long while, Jack turned to JJ and said, “You have to teach us how to do that.”

JJ smiled shakily. “A strong and more specific variant of the banishing. I wasn’t sure it would work. But it was better than the alternative.”

“You can say that again.” Chase almost reached up to prod the small cut on his neck, but stopped himself. “We need to tell Schneep about this. Let’s see him deny it in the face of three eyewitnesses.”

“He’ll find a way to.” Jack sighed. “But we gotta convince him. He could be in trouble too.”

And still, Jack couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew who Anti was, and not just because he shared his face. There was something eerily familiar...like a favorite song that had been twisted and distorted into a different tune entirely.

[whorchataaa]

Imposter Syndrome: Why You Have It & How to Stop It

“I have written eleven books, but each time I think, ‘Uh oh, they’re going to find out now. I’ve run a game on everybody and they’re going to find me out.” – Maya Angelou

Any minute now they would find out.

I scanned the large conference room. The twenty-six project team members around the table discussed data analysis. Their voices were muffled by the thick fog of my anxiety.

My own throat tried to choke me, and my chest refused to expand. Sweat trickled down my side.

Breathe, just breathe. It’s going to be okay.

My eyes met my boss’s and he smiled at me across the room. I quickly looked down at my notes. My cheeks were burning.

I knew what was coming.

It would be my turn next to showcase my part of the project. I had been working on it for months. Starting early, staying late, slaving away every waking hour, perfecting every detail.

But I couldn’t hide any longer. Couldn’t pretend any more. I would be exposed.

In a few minutes they would discover that my efforts weren’t up to scratch. That I wasn’t good enough.

They would listen to my presentation and their faces would darken with disappointment. They would whisper to each other in dismay and ask me questions I couldn’t answer.

And then, someone would stand up, point at me and say, “You have no clue what you are talking about, do you? You are nothing but a fraud. A pathetic excuse for a scientist. You know nothing.”

Any minute now.

I clutched the edge of the table. Tears stung in my eyes and I swallowed hard. My intestines were churning.

I had to get away.

Leaping to my feet, I mumbled an excuse. I stumbled out of the room, heart racing, and made it to the bathroom.

And then I cried.

Why I Was an Imposter by Name but Not by Nature

I eventually managed to pull myself together. I washed my face, blew my nose, took several deep breaths.

And I returned to the fateful meeting, red-eyed and swollen. Feigning an allergic reaction to conceal my mortifying episode.

I presented my work.

And nothing happened. Nobody objected, interrogated, exposed. No fingers were pointed at me.

All I saw was friendly faces and approving nods. Some people even praised the huge amount of work I put in and the high quality of my results.

And yet, as I shuffled home that night, drained and numb, I didn’t feel like celebrating a success. Because all I could think was, “You were lucky this time. Next time they will realize that you are a fraud for sure. Then game over.”

And right there, on a gloomy November evening of 2007, it hit me. I had a problem. It was ruining my life, destroying my confidence, and sabotaging my career.

I had to do something about it.

As I arrived home, I googled “feeling like a fraud at work” and discovered that I wasn’t alone. The problem seemed to be so common, there was even a name for it: imposter syndrome.

And I displayed all the symptoms.

I doubted myself and my abilities, believing my skills and expertise always fell short of expectations. No matter how hard I tried, my successes seemed negligible, laughable compared to others. And I could never believe anybody who told me I did a good job.

Imposter syndrome was clearly the problem I faced. But the word “imposter” didn’t match up with what I experienced every day at the office.

I wasn’t maliciously trying to deceive other people, tricking them into believing I was more knowledgeable, competent, and successful than I was for my own fraudulent gain.

In fact, the opposite was true.

I didn’t pretend to be more than I was to further my career and take advantage of innocent people. No, I was hiding my weaknesses and shortcomings as well as I could. So others wouldn’t discover my devastating secret.

I just didn’t know it yet.

The Reveal of the True Reason Behind My Imposter Syndrome

For the next couple of years, I searched for a way to eradicate my imposter syndrome. I read self-help books, took personal growth courses, meditated, visualised.

And things improved.

After a while, the all-consuming panic of being exposed as a fraud receded. I managed to better compose myself in meetings and presentations. And I even started to accept praise here and there with an awkward smile and only a slight cringe.

But still, the stubborn, anxious voiceover kept playing in the background of my mind, every day of my life: “You are a fraud. And, one day soon, they will find you out.”

Frustration about being stuck in an endless self-degrading loop turned to anger about my inability to overcome my imposter syndrome. Why was I so horrified of being exposed?

My conscious mind knew that I was doing quite well. That I was good at my work. And that, even if my failings were to be uncovered, it wouldn’t be the end of my career.

Or my life.

Yet, I remained terrified of that one question that would hit my blind-spot. And I anticipated the accusing finger whenever my work came under scrutiny. Because my subconscious mind believed that being exposed as my flawed self was, in fact, the end.

I just didn’t know why.

Until, some months later in May 2010, I participated in a group hypnotherapy session. We were asked to retrieve memories of a scene in our past where our most damaging belief originated. And while I couldn’t conjure up the past, a limiting belief shot into my brain and made me gasp.

Because it explained all of my struggles with imposter syndrome.

The Heartbreaking Belief That Destroyed My Life and Sabotaged My Career

“I don’t have the right to exist.”

The brutality of the thought broke my heart and filled my eyes with tears. Why would I believe something like this?

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it made sense. I constantly felt the necessity to work harder, be better, achieve more to justify my existence. To prove to myself and others that it was okay for me to stick around as long as I was useful.

Even though I was an illegal immigrant to life.

As long as I showed no weakness, made no mistake, and contributed more than my fair share to society, I would be tolerated. Others would overlook the fact that I shouldn’t actually exist. That I was some kind of accident, a glitch in the universal plan.

But being exposed as anything less than perfect would result in my temporary residency in life to be revoked.

And I knew, deep in my heart, that I wasn’t faultless, that I struggled. I only faked the perfect version of myself that fulfilled all the qualifying criteria stipulated in my provisional residence permit.

I didn’t have the required knowledge, expertise or success to permanently occupy a space in this life.

I was a fraud. Pretending to belong in this life when I did not. Every day, I desperately clung to the hope that I could blind everyone around me just one more day. But I lived with the constant terror that my devastating secret would be exposed.

Sure, my conscious mind understood that my fear was irrational.

What did I think would happen if I was exposed as a fraud with no permission to exist? Would I just cease to be? Vanish in a purple puff of smoke?

I knew it made no sense. Yet, the believe was lodged deep inside of me. And I was about to find out why.

The Disastrous Reason I Believed I Didn’t Have the Right to Exist

In September 2010, I consulted an energy healer to help with my, at the time, severe anxiety. I mentioned that I struggled with imposter syndrome and the belief that I didn’t have the right to exist.

And she looked at me and said, “Of course you do. Because you have no self-worth.”

It was the piece of the puzzle I needed. Suddenly, it all made sense.

I believed that I was inherently worthless. And that I didn’t have the right to exist as long as I had no worth.

So, my entire life was a relentless pursuit of more worth. All the long hours, the hard work, all the perfecting happened in the name of worth generation. To earn the right to exist.

But I was stuck in a vicious cycle.

I needed to gain wealth, love, abundance to have enough worth to receive a permanent right to exist. But I wasn’t worthy enough to deserve them.

I had to be a success, but I was terrified that achieving greatness would draw too much attention on myself. And the fact that I was alive without the proper permissions.

So, my inherent worthlessness made it impossible to claim the right to exist. And without the right to exist, I could never achieve what I needed to earn enough worth.

It was a hopeless, futile quest. Without prospect of a solution. And it left me only one option: to pretend, to be a fraud.

And hope nobody would ever find out.

The Impossible Conundrum of a Worthless Existence

I had no clue how to dig myself out of this rut. How could I accumulate enough worth to earn the right to exist so I wouldn’t have to feel like a fraud ever again?

I had hit a wall in my quest. There seemed to be no solution, only pointless rumination that spiralled in endless circles. Was I doomed to hide in the shadows, unable to ever rightfully claim my place in life?

I was about to surrender to my fate as an unwanted pretender, a slave to my imposter syndrome and worthlessness. But then my daughter was born.

And one realization changed everything.

The Key to Unlocking Your Worth

About three weeks after her birth, I looked at my little girl sleeping peacefully. Her chest moved in a healthy rhythm and a tiny smile played around her lips.

My heart filled with adoration for this wonderful creation, and I knew that she was valuable. That she had every right to exist in this world and deserved all the love, happiness, and abundance this life has to offer.

Yet, she had no achievements, no wealth or success to pay for her right to exist. She had never earned any worth. And she didn’t have to.

Because worth was the essence of her being, the core of her true Self. She was worth personified.

And so was I, and everybody else. Because true, inner worth cannot be destroyed. It is as constant as our cell structure, it doesn’t change when we fail, are criticized or make a mistake.

The realization was life-changing. The sudden relief felt as if I medium-sized mountain range fell of my chest. I didn’t have to prove my worth!

Society had taught me all my life that I needed high-flying achievements, perfection, wealth to deserve the right to exist. But they were wrong. My entire belief system that caused my struggles was flawed.

Because the truth was that, like my little daughter, I was worth.

As such I could never be worthless. I had the right to exist, to claim my rightful place in life and my happiness right here and now. Simply because I was alive.

And I finally had the cure for my imposter syndrome.

How to Stop Feeling Like a Fraud Once and for All

So, I started to affirm: “I have the right to exist. I am worth” several times a day. Every time I felt insecure, worthless, or like a fraud, I reminded myself of my infinite, inherent worth.

At first, my mind resisted the change. Worthlessness thinking had become a disastrous habit that my mind wasn’t willing to abandon without a fight. But I persevered.

And eventually, over a few months, I retrained my mind. I created a new, healthier habit.

I noticed that I didn’t feel inferior so often, that my confidence in meetings improved. I no longer felt apologetic for taking up space or bothering people. And I became less demanding of myself, lovingly accepting and respecting my limits because I knew perfection, or its absence, wouldn’t change my worth.

And one day, I realized that the fear of being exposed if I drew too much attention to myself was gone. And without that fear, I found it easier to stand up to others and defend my opinions. I even started to acknowledge and celebrate my successes.

Now, I am no longer terrified of the accusing finger pointing me out as an imposter. I no longer need to pretend to be more than I am. Because I know I am not a fraud.

I am enough. From the day I was born to the day I will die, and beyond, I will have the right to exist.

Because I am worth.

Just like you.

This post courtesy of Tiny Buddha.

Photo by John Noonan on Unsplash.

The post Imposter Syndrome: Why You Have It & How to Stop It first appeared on World of Psychology.

from https://ift.tt/34NTuFJ Check out https://peterlegyel.wordpress.com/

[ashley-unicorn]

Imposter Syndrome: Why You Have It & How to Stop It

“I have written eleven books, but each time I think, ‘Uh oh, they’re going to find out now. I’ve run a game on everybody and they’re going to find me out.” – Maya Angelou

Any minute now they would find out.

I scanned the large conference room. The twenty-six project team members around the table discussed data analysis. Their voices were muffled by the thick fog of my anxiety.

My own throat tried to choke me, and my chest refused to expand. Sweat trickled down my side.

Breathe, just breathe. It’s going to be okay.

My eyes met my boss’s and he smiled at me across the room. I quickly looked down at my notes. My cheeks were burning.

I knew what was coming.

It would be my turn next to showcase my part of the project. I had been working on it for months. Starting early, staying late, slaving away every waking hour, perfecting every detail.

But I couldn’t hide any longer. Couldn’t pretend any more. I would be exposed.

In a few minutes they would discover that my efforts weren’t up to scratch. That I wasn’t good enough.

They would listen to my presentation and their faces would darken with disappointment. They would whisper to each other in dismay and ask me questions I couldn’t answer.

And then, someone would stand up, point at me and say, “You have no clue what you are talking about, do you? You are nothing but a fraud. A pathetic excuse for a scientist. You know nothing.”

Any minute now.

I clutched the edge of the table. Tears stung in my eyes and I swallowed hard. My intestines were churning.

I had to get away.

Leaping to my feet, I mumbled an excuse. I stumbled out of the room, heart racing, and made it to the bathroom.

And then I cried.

Why I Was an Imposter by Name but Not by Nature

I eventually managed to pull myself together. I washed my face, blew my nose, took several deep breaths.

And I returned to the fateful meeting, red-eyed and swollen. Feigning an allergic reaction to conceal my mortifying episode.

I presented my work.

And nothing happened. Nobody objected, interrogated, exposed. No fingers were pointed at me.

All I saw was friendly faces and approving nods. Some people even praised the huge amount of work I put in and the high quality of my results.

And yet, as I shuffled home that night, drained and numb, I didn’t feel like celebrating a success. Because all I could think was, “You were lucky this time. Next time they will realize that you are a fraud for sure. Then game over.”

And right there, on a gloomy November evening of 2007, it hit me. I had a problem. It was ruining my life, destroying my confidence, and sabotaging my career.

I had to do something about it.

As I arrived home, I googled “feeling like a fraud at work” and discovered that I wasn’t alone. The problem seemed to be so common, there was even a name for it: imposter syndrome.

And I displayed all the symptoms.

I doubted myself and my abilities, believing my skills and expertise always fell short of expectations. No matter how hard I tried, my successes seemed negligible, laughable compared to others. And I could never believe anybody who told me I did a good job.

Imposter syndrome was clearly the problem I faced. But the word “imposter” didn’t match up with what I experienced every day at the office.

I wasn’t maliciously trying to deceive other people, tricking them into believing I was more knowledgeable, competent, and successful than I was for my own fraudulent gain.

In fact, the opposite was true.

I didn’t pretend to be more than I was to further my career and take advantage of innocent people. No, I was hiding my weaknesses and shortcomings as well as I could. So others wouldn’t discover my devastating secret.

I just didn’t know it yet.

The Reveal of the True Reason Behind My Imposter Syndrome

For the next couple of years, I searched for a way to eradicate my imposter syndrome. I read self-help books, took personal growth courses, meditated, visualised.

And things improved.

After a while, the all-consuming panic of being exposed as a fraud receded. I managed to better compose myself in meetings and presentations. And I even started to accept praise here and there with an awkward smile and only a slight cringe.

But still, the stubborn, anxious voiceover kept playing in the background of my mind, every day of my life: “You are a fraud. And, one day soon, they will find you out.”

Frustration about being stuck in an endless self-degrading loop turned to anger about my inability to overcome my imposter syndrome. Why was I so horrified of being exposed?

My conscious mind knew that I was doing quite well. That I was good at my work. And that, even if my failings were to be uncovered, it wouldn’t be the end of my career.

Or my life.

Yet, I remained terrified of that one question that would hit my blind-spot. And I anticipated the accusing finger whenever my work came under scrutiny. Because my subconscious mind believed that being exposed as my flawed self was, in fact, the end.

I just didn’t know why.

Until, some months later in May 2010, I participated in a group hypnotherapy session. We were asked to retrieve memories of a scene in our past where our most damaging belief originated. And while I couldn’t conjure up the past, a limiting belief shot into my brain and made me gasp.

Because it explained all of my struggles with imposter syndrome.

The Heartbreaking Belief That Destroyed My Life and Sabotaged My Career

“I don’t have the right to exist.”

The brutality of the thought broke my heart and filled my eyes with tears. Why would I believe something like this?

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it made sense. I constantly felt the necessity to work harder, be better, achieve more to justify my existence. To prove to myself and others that it was okay for me to stick around as long as I was useful.

Even though I was an illegal immigrant to life.

As long as I showed no weakness, made no mistake, and contributed more than my fair share to society, I would be tolerated. Others would overlook the fact that I shouldn’t actually exist. That I was some kind of accident, a glitch in the universal plan.

But being exposed as anything less than perfect would result in my temporary residency in life to be revoked.

And I knew, deep in my heart, that I wasn’t faultless, that I struggled. I only faked the perfect version of myself that fulfilled all the qualifying criteria stipulated in my provisional residence permit.

I didn’t have the required knowledge, expertise or success to permanently occupy a space in this life.

I was a fraud. Pretending to belong in this life when I did not. Every day, I desperately clung to the hope that I could blind everyone around me just one more day. But I lived with the constant terror that my devastating secret would be exposed.

Sure, my conscious mind understood that my fear was irrational.

What did I think would happen if I was exposed as a fraud with no permission to exist? Would I just cease to be? Vanish in a purple puff of smoke?

I knew it made no sense. Yet, the believe was lodged deep inside of me. And I was about to find out why.

The Disastrous Reason I Believed I Didn’t Have the Right to Exist

In September 2010, I consulted an energy healer to help with my, at the time, severe anxiety. I mentioned that I struggled with imposter syndrome and the belief that I didn’t have the right to exist.

And she looked at me and said, “Of course you do. Because you have no self-worth.”

It was the piece of the puzzle I needed. Suddenly, it all made sense.

I believed that I was inherently worthless. And that I didn’t have the right to exist as long as I had no worth.

So, my entire life was a relentless pursuit of more worth. All the long hours, the hard work, all the perfecting happened in the name of worth generation. To earn the right to exist.

But I was stuck in a vicious cycle.

I needed to gain wealth, love, abundance to have enough worth to receive a permanent right to exist. But I wasn’t worthy enough to deserve them.

I had to be a success, but I was terrified that achieving greatness would draw too much attention on myself. And the fact that I was alive without the proper permissions.

So, my inherent worthlessness made it impossible to claim the right to exist. And without the right to exist, I could never achieve what I needed to earn enough worth.

It was a hopeless, futile quest. Without prospect of a solution. And it left me only one option: to pretend, to be a fraud.

And hope nobody would ever find out.

The Impossible Conundrum of a Worthless Existence

I had no clue how to dig myself out of this rut. How could I accumulate enough worth to earn the right to exist so I wouldn’t have to feel like a fraud ever again?

I had hit a wall in my quest. There seemed to be no solution, only pointless rumination that spiralled in endless circles. Was I doomed to hide in the shadows, unable to ever rightfully claim my place in life?

I was about to surrender to my fate as an unwanted pretender, a slave to my imposter syndrome and worthlessness. But then my daughter was born.

And one realization changed everything.

The Key to Unlocking Your Worth

About three weeks after her birth, I looked at my little girl sleeping peacefully. Her chest moved in a healthy rhythm and a tiny smile played around her lips.

My heart filled with adoration for this wonderful creation, and I knew that she was valuable. That she had every right to exist in this world and deserved all the love, happiness, and abundance this life has to offer.

Yet, she had no achievements, no wealth or success to pay for her right to exist. She had never earned any worth. And she didn’t have to.

Because worth was the essence of her being, the core of her true Self. She was worth personified.

And so was I, and everybody else. Because true, inner worth cannot be destroyed. It is as constant as our cell structure, it doesn’t change when we fail, are criticized or make a mistake.

The realization was life-changing. The sudden relief felt as if I medium-sized mountain range fell of my chest. I didn’t have to prove my worth!

Society had taught me all my life that I needed high-flying achievements, perfection, wealth to deserve the right to exist. But they were wrong. My entire belief system that caused my struggles was flawed.

Because the truth was that, like my little daughter, I was worth.

As such I could never be worthless. I had the right to exist, to claim my rightful place in life and my happiness right here and now. Simply because I was alive.

And I finally had the cure for my imposter syndrome.

How to Stop Feeling Like a Fraud Once and for All

So, I started to affirm: “I have the right to exist. I am worth” several times a day. Every time I felt insecure, worthless, or like a fraud, I reminded myself of my infinite, inherent worth.

At first, my mind resisted the change. Worthlessness thinking had become a disastrous habit that my mind wasn’t willing to abandon without a fight. But I persevered.

And eventually, over a few months, I retrained my mind. I created a new, healthier habit.

I noticed that I didn’t feel inferior so often, that my confidence in meetings improved. I no longer felt apologetic for taking up space or bothering people. And I became less demanding of myself, lovingly accepting and respecting my limits because I knew perfection, or its absence, wouldn’t change my worth.

And one day, I realized that the fear of being exposed if I drew too much attention to myself was gone. And without that fear, I found it easier to stand up to others and defend my opinions. I even started to acknowledge and celebrate my successes.

Now, I am no longer terrified of the accusing finger pointing me out as an imposter. I no longer need to pretend to be more than I am. Because I know I am not a fraud.

I am enough. From the day I was born to the day I will die, and beyond, I will have the right to exist.

Because I am worth.

Just like you.

This post courtesy of Tiny Buddha.

Photo by John Noonan on Unsplash.

The post Imposter Syndrome: Why You Have It & How to Stop It first appeared on World of Psychology.

from https://ift.tt/34NTuFJ Check out https://daniejadkins.wordpress.com/

[blaperile]

Homestuck Candy Epilogue - Reactions Pages 13 - 16

Page 13:

Holy SHIT. I totally agree with Dave, this feels like straight out of a horror movie.

What the FUCK is Gamzee doing over there? Does Calliope have anything to do with this, seeing as he was sticking by her side all the time, earlier?

I mean, jesus, didn't Dave come straight from John to here? He couldn't have been far behind Gamzee, who was only just there at John and Roxy's date.

And man, what the hell happened to Dirk? From what Gamzee's saying it seems like he might have left this reality behind somehow. Did he go to the same place wherever Meat Dirk is also headed to?

It seems like Gamzee is on some deep shit again, somehow. How does he know about the stuff with the black hole and what's behind it? Did Dirk tell him about all that? Or did Calliope? Or does Gamzee know it from somewhere else?

Welp, so there's the robot Dirk had been building for Rose.

And of COURSE it ends with a note to Dave. When is Dirk/Bro ever NOT about notes?

The question is... what's in it? Does he explain something? Or... is he asking Dave to also come to where he's gone?

You know, I was almost expecting Dave to find Dirk's dead body in here, but apparently not.

This page just goes to show much of an impact Dirk/Bro keeps on having on Dave. It's like he's left a splinter behind in Dave's mind, like he has his own Brain Ghost Dirk just like Jake or something.

Page 14:

..........WELP.

THAT....SURE JUST HAPPENED.

Looks like he went for the suicide after all. :(

And of course, no way for him to go out but with a decapitation...

I just wonder... what is this last act of relevance he meant? Is he "transferring" his soul to his Meat version, or something?

Or is he trying to set someone (Dave?) in this reality on a path of relevance due to his suicide and/or the note he left behind?

I wonder what even is in the note... did he explain why he'd commit suicide? Or is it about something else?

abundantChewtoys has a good point about the similarity to where Meat Dirk ascended the tower, and Alternate Calliope was trying to slow him down. And where it seemed like he was going to shoot Karkat... but instead he shot Jade.

A pivotal moment where it seemed like a murder was going to take place but it wasn't. And now it was a suicide.

What intrigues me the most here is that Dirk became "you" in here... the first character in the Candy Epilogue to become that.

Is someone (Calliope???) pulling strings on Dirk here or is this really entirely his choice?

Man, I wonder what the rest of this Epilogue is even going to be like... everyone's going to be totally shook by his suicide, right?

Especially Dave... this won't be good on him at all. He's going through such difficult times right now, and felt he needed Dirk to get out of it, and now Dirk's gone...

I wonder what Dave's first reaction is going to be... is he going to try to use his Time powers to undo Dirk's death? Is he going to be STOPPED from doing that, through narration?

You know... what with how Candy Dirk considering his existence in an unessential timeline completely pointless and committing suicide provides a very interesting perspective on what this means for other versions of Dirk...

First of all, pre-retcon Dirk. He knew he lost, and then just let himself be taken in by the glitches, and was seemingly killed by that. Kinda in that regard.

Next... let's talk about Bro. More specifically... the Bro from DAVESPRITE'S timeline.

Remember how Davesprite mentioned that he never saw Bro again during the 4 months that doomed timeline lasted? What if Bro realized he was in a doomed timeline and also committed suicide over there?

Heck, even Brobot counts. He killed himself to take out his uranium heart, to help Jake out.

Dirk's really got suicide down to a science. He had no problem to kill his real self to awaken his dream self to save his friends.

And when they were on the God Tier crypts, I believe Dirk mentioned something about how he had no problems to commit suicide, but simply didn't want to kill Roxy.

Jesus christ, this guy...

Page 15:

Wow.... WOW.... That was a rollercoaster of emtions.

First of all, I wasn't expecting that we'd be skipping straight to the funeral, but now on second thought I guess it made sense.

It's still left unclear now what exactly was in Dirk's note. From the little they mentioned, it seemed like it was a bunch of words that didn't seem to make sense.

But I guess he DID try telling them about what was going on in his mind, and why he did it?

Secondly, it seems like Gamzee also attempted to tell them... but Gamzee being Gamzee, probably nobody actually understood anything of what he was trying to say.

Still, it seems like Gamzee's been set on some kind of path by Dirk.... The path to the future, where he'd find Calliope/Caliborn? Which I find curious, seeing as at first it almost seemed like Calliope was setting him upon some kind of path!

Speaking of the devil... where in the dickens is Calliope? Pretty much everyone of the characters had dialogue, or was at least mentioned as being at the funeral, in this page, except for Calliope.

Yeah, there's literally no way Calliope isn't up to something, right?

I'd honestly be surprised at this point if she ISN'T the narrator here.

But if she is... why does she seem to be pushing John and Roxy towards each other, and away from her? Is she also planning on doing something drastic? Like, leave this place in the same way Meat Dirk did (not Candy Dirk)?

And if she is, did she actively push Dirk into committing suicide here? Why the heck would she do that???

Or is she just going ALL the way into her "fanfic" persona, writing stories about these characters she loves without involving herself for some reason?

I bet we're going to get some insight into that soon.

Anyway, let's go back a little. I'm happy to see Dave's doing relatively fine, despite everything that's happened, and that he seems to have found his footing with Jade and Karkat. He held Jade's hand in the church, and he was seemingly about to kiss Karkat outside the church.

That's a relief, I feared he was going to be totally derailed by this event.

Also, I actually wasn't expecting John to offer to retcon this event. I had really only been thinking about Dave's powers.

But it makes sense Dave took this decision. It was Dirk's choice and Dave wants to respect it, and that's very noble of him.

It's curious that John is now failing to use his retcon powers. I mean, he did manage to do it earlier in the Candy path, to retrieve Gamzee!

Is it that he's losing the power because of the fact that weeks have gone by since the timeline split from the Meat path? Or... is the narrator simply preventing him from retconning this event?

By the way, this page is an interesting parallel for page 15 of the Meat path. That was also an incredibly long page, in that case it was for the fight against Lord English.

Page 16:

...Oh man, this page is giving me a weird feeling. TIMESKIPS. TIMESKIPS EVERYWHERE. MIXED FEELINGS ALSO EVERYWHERE.

Let's start with the straight-forward part. John and Terezi continue being amazing in their conversations. And I love how Terezi's almost spelling it out for John that she feels like John is her kismesis and it's still going way over his head. xD

She continues being out there... alone. Or so we would think!

It's hinting that Terezi is alone out there, still looking for Vriska in an alternate version of the Furthest Ring compared to what we saw in the Meat timeline... but is it???

We've never seen MULTIPLE versions of the Furthest Ring, only just one. And it's not like Meat and Candy seem to represent two different possible ways for the single timeline to go, it's being hinted that these do co-exist. Meat Dirk and Meat Rose had a look right into the Candy timeline, and Candy Dirk's hinted at John picking the other choice as well.

So what's the deal? IS there both a Meat Terezi and Candy Terezi or is there just one? Is there something this Terezi isn't telling us?

Is this the same Terezi as in the Meat timeline, further down her path where she's already lost John and gone with Meat Dirk? Or what is going on?

ARE we ever going to see more of Terezi here in the Candy path, or is it going to be limited to her interactions with John? That we can only take her word and won't find out what she's actually experiencing, that she isn't hiding something?

So that it's left up to us to decide if this there is only one Terezi, or actually a separate Meat Terezi and Candy Terezi?

Anyway, so John and Roxy are having a baby!!! :O

I already had a feeling that was going down as soon as the timeskip was mentioned, the fact the wedding already happened, and that John truly felt like an adult now.

On one hand I'm so happy about that... on the other hand it still feels a bit wrong. I'm not going to repeat everything I said about the previous page, but it's almost like Calliope is kind of pushing John and Roxy towards each other and completely ruling herself out.

Especially with what Terezi mentioned on this very page, how it seems that things are going so fast between John and Roxy. That makes me even more suspicious that she's explicitly saying it.

I mean, especially with Calliope ruling herself out of the equation, this probably would have happened in a natural way between John and Roxy, but maybe not this fast.

Same thing actually with Dave and Karkat! Like John mentions here, they still seem to be figuring things out, whereas in the Meat timeline Dirk basically forced them together sooner.

It's heartwarming to see that Terezi's gotten back somewhat in touch with Dave and Karkat. After everything they've been through together, they deserve that.

On the other hand... the situation with Jade. That's pretty sad to see that things aren't working out that well with Dave and Karkat there. :(

Also, do I even want to acknowledge what the FUCK that was about Jane and Jake with Gamzee? xD

Let's... let's just assume Jane wanted to try a threesome or something for kicks... Okay I'm going to completely stop thinking about this now. xD