#any connections i attempted to make on here have ended in miserable failure.

[true-equal]

it's been fun.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Originally I was gonna leave this in the tags but like, it got long and the tags have been pretty screwy lately so here goes:

As of late I've been thinking a lot about the tragedy that is Seafood Squad (Geoduck, Crayfish, Conch, Jelly and Sponge's batch). More specifically, I keep thinking about Jelly and how he has to die for each of his siblings to reach their own story's conclusion.

To put it simply, Jelly was the best trooper out of all of Seafood Squad. He was an A++ marks student during cadethood. Was always in good health and at peak physical prowess. And above all else he had an amazing memory that he used not only to his own benefit, but also his batch's (since he could use what he learned to help his siblings who were lagging behind, especially Sponge).

By definition, Jelly was the sort of trooper that a clone should strive to be on Kamino. Highly intelligent, capable of adapting to situations without much issue, and more than competent as a squad leader despite not being the "eldest" sibling.

Which is why, in the end, his death is such a slap to the face. He was, after all, the very top of his class. The cream of the crop. A model trooper that everyone should look up as inspiration. How could someone so competent die on his first ever campaign?

The answer is simple: Compassion.

Jelly was the best of the best, but he was also a bleeding heart that cared about his batchmates and fellow troopers more than he cared about the Republic. He spent his entire cadet years doing what he could to keep his siblings safe (concealing Geoduck's TBI and the issues it caused him so he wouldn't get decommissioned, encouraging Crayfish to use his strange interests and lack of impulse control in a more constructive way that would benefit him rather than end with him dead, putting every ounce of his trust in Conch's capabilities instead of coddling him because he knew his twin could succeed of his own merit so long as he stopped being such a glory hound, and putting all his energy into making sure Sponge didn't crumble under the immense pressure they were constantly put under), and then made the choice to ask to be reassigned to the 501st so that Sponge wouldn't end up alone without anyone who truly understood them.

It was his love and devotion for his siblings that inevitably killed him. And it was that very same love and devotion that caused Conch to become such a vindictive, needlessly cruel, and conniving jealous bastard. The exact opposite if Jelly.

Long story short: Conch put a wedge between the rest of the batch and Sponge. Blaming the medic outright for Jelly's death, and forcing them to not only cut contact but also making sure to stalk their movements and try to sabotage any attempts at them finding any kind of happiness or peace. And because Geoduck and Crayfish were in the midst of grieving their little brother, they went along with it and allowed Conch to essentially make Sponge's life as miserable as possible even though they were not in the same battalion.

All because Conch had ALWAYS been jealous of the attention Jelly gave to Sponge, both due to him never being particularly keen on sharing his twin (the brother he obsessively idolized and considered more his brother than any of their batchers) with anyone else, and because suddenly he had an excuse to take his anger and frustrations out on someone he'd always thought was a liability.

Love led to jealousy, jealousy led to hatred, and then hatred led to pain.

Jelly, no matter how kind he was, inevitably became the catalyst of everything horrible that shaped Sponge into such a closed off grouch with trust issues and explosive outbursts, made Geoduck feel like such a failure of an older brother that needed to repent for all the grief and anguish he enabled, left Crayfish perpetually seeking escapism instead of focusing on present issues which makes it hard for him to form meaningful connections with most people, and of course leads Conch on a destructive path that ends with him killed and his body used in a horrific Frankenstein type experiment.

btw guys. guys. can you tell me about your star wars ocs? guys.

[letterstodreams]

A Bottle of Courage

Sometimes I just need to swallow some courage, and swallow down my doubts, fears, worries, distractions. I don't drink anymore, developed an allergy to alcohol, and I'm so grateful. But I just need a bottle of courage, wherever I can find it. I think some of these characters hold the secret. I need the courage to try to do what felt impossible, and might be impossible. What are the things I need courage for, that my characters and God can give me? It's hard to say what I need because I don't know what is or isn't possible, or what will result from any path or step I try to step out onto.

Any goal I try to walk towards might backfire and elude my grasp, no matter how hard I try. It sounds stereotypical to say things like this, but my life isn't a cliche, and I can't begin to express the true weight and entanglement. If I could do so, I wouldn't because to express is not the same as to convince, and I have no need to assert my individual story when it may be judged, misunderstood, and spat back out at me as if it were worthless and empty and nothing and unreal.

Even though it's not as though anyone will do that, here. But just the feeling that they would, if they knew me better, if they felt the privilege to do so, the position and dominance over me that they felt their opinion would count towards me and my life. But just knowing this already makes it seem to echo in my mind, when I place words and feelings in the public sphere. Echoes of opinions, feelings and judgments all unspoken, yet felt, even if imaginary in fact.

So instead of attempting in any way to make this all feel compelling or to add any of the depth or intricacy of my situation, to make it come to life in all its full plight, I will just boil it own to the easily understood ideas instead. I need to find a way to support myself, financially. I need to find a way to live on my own, or to bear a narcissist husband whose narcissism might one day escalate, or whose presence might worsen if the presence of my child is no longer there to bring light to this dark moldering place. Yet with her here, so far, everything is bright, and his narcissism becomes much more tame and bearable and almost a small, harmless joke most of the time. I've seen it grow to monstrous, unbearable proportions, before my child was born.

Anyway, as my child grows older, won't adulthood weight her down, perhaps, if she's like so many, like myself, and will her brightness even e able to dispel these shadows anymore? So I need to find how to live alone. I need to find how to make friends, but be that as it may, I have never been good at making friends. The only friends I had ended up leaving me behind or becoming toxic, and I feel completely out of reach and out of touch with most, too different to connect enough. I feel I need a deep friendship that is dependable, emotionally open vulnerable, close and understanding, and nonjudgmental.

Someone who appreciates similar important topics which I revolve much of my life around, and I have fairly limited and rather unusual, obsessed interests around these few subjects. I have little hope of finding the friends I want, because of all this, and because of previous repeated failures at making friends, or improving my social skills (in case that was the problem I tried to improve in this way). I need to be less alone, though, or I feel I can't make it on my own, without my husband. And then, there are my strange health problems, mysterious chronic illnesses that don't seem to have any particular diagnosis, although they are debilitating at times.

My physical illnesses are severe and easily triggered by a wide variety of environmental and dietary factors, and so I am extremely limited in what kinds of work or housing or diet I can have safely without becoming miserably ill and hardly able to function. Then add in my mental health conditions (often severe depression, or more likely undiagnosed bipolar), and neurodivergence (undiagnosed, but I believe myself to have mild autism spectrum and mild adhd, but maybe it's not so mild, because in some ways these are very debilitating, too).

Then I need to find a way to feel spiritually at peace and have meaning in my life, because without these things I tend to become out of control, addictive, self-destructive, and to lose all my sense of purpose, hope and drive in life. I could see myself spiraling very severely and rapidly if I can't maintain enough sense of purpose and meaning and spirituality, and yet these things have often been the source of extreme grief and confusion for me, no matter how hard I tried to grapple with it, or how lightly too, trying to just let go and go with the flow and follow the good feelings and all that, but to no avail. It just didn't feel like enough and I could never feel content with just that.

Thus my deep obsession with spiritual and religious teachings, as well as psychology, nature, caring for animals, being a mother, art, poetry, fiction, philosophies, social sciences, other cultures, and various places and people among whom I looked for these kinds of answers. Yet I looked for answers in all these and more, and found many answers, but I am not sure I have found enough. Even with a richness of answers and ideas and beautiful blessings and learning that I got from having too much free time to spend searching, even still I feel so often at a loss. It feels like my particular soul is too hungry, a gaping hole, and I feel I need more than what this world can give me, for the most part, unless I'm incredibly lucky and find some rare situation that will finally let me piece together these elaborate answers into something sustainable and let me actually live these ideas. I almost think I've found enough ideas, but it only works if I can live them and find how to apply them to my own life.

Which brings me to the last things on my mind, at the moment. There may be more that I am forgetting, but the last thing I can think of tonight, with my sleepy mind is this: I really have trouble, or find it almost impossible, really, to actually act on my goals and habits and plans in any kind of orderly way, for so much of what I aspire or feel I need to do or even things I feel I have to do. It's hard to explain why this is so, but so it is. It just feels like I can't judge accurately what I need, what I can handle, how much I can accomplish, and so on. I repeatedly run into roadblocks when I try to move ahead in my life, and even though I do make some progress, there are so many ways I get so locked up that I just wish there was some way that someone could help me.

Or that I could help myself. But just some clarity to see what I need, what I need to avoid, what I can handle, and what will work or what will fail. Of course there will be failures and that is inevitable, but I need there to be less failures and more progress, or else I fear that all my elaborate learning and searching and hopes, goals and dreams will look pitiful in the scope of my real life, when it's all said and done. I cherish in my heart so many brilliantly colorful and intricate, meaningful and heart-filled and creative dreams. Yet I feel instead what my life might look like is repeated failures, pain and loneliness, desolation and despair, indignity, psychological misery and decay, losing all heart and hope and even losing my feeling of humanity as my very soul is completely crushed by helplessness and horror. For that is another thing I fear, failing my child, if I can't raise her to be able to function well in life either. And that would crush and destabilize me beyond all else.

There is the heavy long list of things I hope my characters can help me with, but we shall see, for what it's worth. Things have a way of changing shape and becoming much more harmless in retrospect, sometimes, and my life has already changed from a nightmare to a pleasant daydream intermingled with much sorrow and pain, in bearable amounts, in which the light far outweighs the darkness. And for now it's that way, and I never thought it would be, nor knew how I would get here, just stumbled my way to this place. And so who can say what the future will hold. In that way I guess I'm like so many others, for so many do stumble their way along yet find a way to make something decent from it all despite so many outrageous odds stacked against them.

[miracleonice87]

For the evermore prompt list can you do number seven with nathan mackinnon, please 💞💞💞💞

from the evermore prompt list

“And you asked me to dance / But I said, ‘Dancin' is a dangerous game’” - cowboy like me

When you’d pictured yourself at Sidney’s wedding, you always imagined you’d be happily tucked under Nate’s arm, celebrating right along with the bridal party as his date, dreaming of the day when the two of you would be at the center of such excitement.

And why wouldn’t you picture it that way? Years ago, you and Nate had met in California where you grew up and where he trained, and you’d started dating shortly before he got drafted. You’d been together ever since.

That is, until about six months ago.

So now, here you were, dateless, in Cole Harbour, Nova Scotia, wearing a pretty pink dress, watching the happy couple while desperately trying to remind yourself to just keep breathing. No matter how much it ached.

Every summer since Nate entered the league, you and Sid’s girlfriend — later fiancée, and now wife — had spent the long, hot days together in Cole Harbour, bouncing between the boys’ houses when the two of you weren’t traveling for your own respective careers. You cherished the years’ worth of memories you’d made painting the town red with her, shopping and swimming to your hearts’ delight while the boys trained during the day, then getting ready and heading out for date night, all four together more often than each couple separately.

Every summer for the past six was spent in much the same way.

Every summer but this one.

After you broke up with Nate and left Denver, both Sid and his fiancée had called you individually, assuring that the change in your relationship status should not keep you from celebrating their wedding. Of course, being the angels they were, they both repeated over and over that they also completely understood if it was something you felt unprepared to do. But in their voices, you heard the deep sincerity as they each told you what it would mean to them if you did choose to come.

They had both done so much for you, acting as the older siblings you never had, both while you were with Nate and ever since. You eventually came to the conclusion that you couldn’t not go, despite the anxiety that riddled you for weeks leading up to this date.

Despite Nate being Sid’s best man.

Despite the agony you felt as you maneuvered the ceremony, cocktail hour, and reception alone.

Despite the entire ordeal looking nothing like you thought it would.

You were happy to have been seated with the Penguins contingent, though you didn’t know most of them all that well. But, they provided a welcome distraction, one that you were grateful for. Sid’s teammates and their significant others were warm and welcoming and, though they well knew your connection to Nate, didn’t try to pry. Of anyone, they understood the delicate balance, and the oft inevitable failure, of relationships involving hockey players.

So, they all simply chatted and laughed and shared stories of Sid and his now-wife and their adventures with the team through the years — European vacations and charity events and Stanley Cup celebrations. Instead of sharing similar memories of your own, vignettes left behind in your former life, you were content to listen politely and laugh along as you sipped at your chardonnay, all the while fully cognizant of Nate’s eyes practically burning a hole through the side of your face from the head table.

His gaze had hardly left you all day, and you kept pouring drinks down your own throat in an attempt to distract yourself from the sadness in his stare.

But the only thing that that had really done successfully was make your head fuzzy.

After the meal, the DJ asked if the best man and maid of honor would make their way to the microphone for their speeches.

At that moment, you noticed several sets of eyes flash your way from around the table, a few concerned, but most just sympathetic. You offered a small smile — really all the more you could muster — and reached for your glass, breathing a sigh of relief that you had just requested a fresh refill. As you brought it to your lips hastily, Kelsey Rust, whose husband Bryan was also one of Sid’s groomsmen, squeezed your knee reassuringly from the seat beside yours. Though you weren’t close with her, you instinctively held onto her hand to ground yourself, and she gave you a kind, understanding nod.

From all the way across the dancefloor, Nate noticed the desperate way you reached for Kelsey, and his throat tightened. He longed for the time in the not so distant past, when he was the one you reached for. The one you leaned on. The one you turned to instinctively, without giving it another thought.

As he stepped to the mic, he tried his damnedest to push those thoughts aside and focus on giving Sid and his bride the tribute they both deserved.

It had taken him weeks to write this damn speech. For all the memories he wanted to share with the guests about Sid and his fiancée, there were still dozens more that he wanted to speak to, but they were tinged with you. He couldn’t possibly get up in front of Sid’s and his fiancée’s families and friends and wax poetic about the ex-girlfriend who they all knew had left him behind after he’d pushed her away.

So, instead, he started with a simple introduction and the expected niceties about the couple and the evening, followed up with a few funny stories about his own relationship with Sid — their competitiveness and their parallel paths — before wrapping it up with what he hoped would be the bow on top.

“I’ve learned a lot from Sid,” Nate spoke. “More than I’ve probably admitted to him. Not just hockey stuff — everybody knows I grew up obsessively watching him play and copying his every move. I mean, hell, I even went to Shattuck just because he did, for Christ’s sake.”

At his dry delivery, the crowd laughed, especially Sid, whose eyes crinkled at the corners as he lit up the room with his grin. Then, Nate cleared his throat and continued as the room quieted. Try as you might, you couldn’t pull your eyes away from him through the entirety of the speech, even when it wrecked you.

“But, uh, no, Sid’s taught me so much,” he said. “About life, and about love. About how to treat the people around you. About never taking anything for granted because you never know when something is going to end.”

With that, you knew Nate was looking at you once again, and your soul ached with regret. You couldn’t bear to look at him again, instead sitting motionless in your chair, barely even breathing. If you could have slipped under the table and out the door without being noticed, you would have, but leaving now would only draw attention to you, and you couldn’t do that to Sid and his wife. So, you sat there in it, praying for Nate’s speech to end soon.

And then, it must have, because people around you were suddenly raising their champagne flutes and clapping as Sid and his bride embraced Nate in the front of the room.

You took that opportunity, with everyone focused on the joy of the moment, to make your escape, sending Kelsey an apologetic glance which she acknowledged with a whispered, “it’s okay.” You didn’t allow yourself to look at the other faces at the table, Kris’s and Catherine’s and Jake’s and Natalie’s and Brian’s and Kayla’s and more. But you knew that they were offering caring looks — you could feel it. You just... you couldn’t handle it right now. Couldn’t handle any of it.

So, you left the grand ballroom of the elegant lodge and found yourself pushing open the nearest doorway, one that led to a balcony overlooking the golf course. The rolling hills and the sweeping fairways, now overtaken by nightfall, allowed you the space and silence you needed to collect your thoughts.

But before you could begin that futile process, you heard a familiar voice behind you — the most familiar one.

“It was you, you know.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. It had been months since you’d heard him speak without the inhibitions of cell phones and hundreds of miles.

Slowly, you turned to face him, your back pressed against the cool, cement railing behind you as you tried to put as much distance between your bodies as possible, for fear that getting too close might just obliterate any semblance of the strength you’d been trying to hold onto all day.

“What was me?” you asked coolly, feigning composure when in reality, the way he looked in the smart grey suit he wore made you dizzy — well, that, combined with your generous consumption of alcohol throughout the day.

Nate noted your hesitance to come close to him, so he left several yards between him and you as he walked forward and leaned his elbows on the railing. He cleared his throat.

“It was you I was talking about when I said Sid taught me never to take anything for granted. People probably thought I was just talking about hockey, maybe. But I wasn’t,” he spoke, and you felt your hands start to tremble. Nate sighed, standing up straight, and looked you square in the eye for the first time since that day when you kissed him goodbye in his living room in Denver. “I took you for granted,” he continued, his voice strained. “I know I did. I just... I never thought you would actually leave. Looking back I realize how stupid that was. You had every right to go.”

You felt a drop of water on your chest and realized that at some point you must have started crying. You dabbed at your skin, trying to dry the tears, but a sob bubbled through your lips as you admitted, “Well, I’ve been fucking miserable ever since.”

Nate blinked, taken aback.

“Have you really?” he asked softly.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, still trying to control your crying.

“Yes, Nate,” you confirmed. “I know I was the one who left in the end. But that didn’t mean I wanted to. Leaving was the exact opposite of what I wanted.”

Nate ran a hand through his hair and gave it a tug, pacing around the balcony.

“It was the exact opposite of what I wanted,” Nate concurred. “But I know I pushed you to it.”

You gave a half-shrug, preparing to reply.

But just then, you heard the strains of a song you knew well flood the ballroom, spilling out the doors to the balcony.

You shouldn’t have been surprised that Sid and his fiancée chose “In Case You Didn’t Know” as their first dance song. But damn it if you hadn’t all four gone to Brett Young’s concert together a few summers back, when you danced with Nate in your suite to this very song, knowing full well how cheesy it was and not caring a bit.

You knew Nate’s mind had gone back to that night, too, as he stopped in his tracks and looked at you wide-eyed. Neither of you said a word for a few lines of the song.

Finally, Nate stretched out a hand.

“Dance with me?” he requested.

You cocked your head at him, though your feet were already moving toward him, betraying your display of faux indecision.

“Dancing is a dangerous game,” you warned.

Nate gave a sad smile.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t—“

You answered him by snaking one arm around his waist, grasping one of his hands in yours, and resting your head against the lapel of his jacket. It was quick and abrupt and it shouldn’t have felt so goddamn right but it did and you felt whole again, if only for this moment.

You felt Nate tentatively wrap his other arm around you, pulling you in close, his lips resting fixed atop your hairline. Both of you hardly moved your feet as the song played on, content and heartbroken all at once to be intertwined together like this again.

“Maybe you did push me,” you suddenly thought aloud. Nate glanced down at you as you pulled your head from his chest to look up at him. “But maybe I didn’t have to leave. Maybe I should’ve just stayed. Maybe we could’ve worked harder on us.”

Nate’s lips parted in surprise, and you thought he may speak up, but he didn’t, so you pressed on.

“Or maybe that’s just the emotions of the wedding talking,” you suggested, leaning further into him — deeper, deeper, as close as you could get. You’d so missed the way he stood so tall above you — this gentle giant of a man constantly making you feel safe, protected, unafraid, by just his form alone, not even to mention his steadfast nature.

“Is it?” Nate inquired somberly, his hand rising up from your hip to brush your cheek before winding its way into the thick hair behind your ear.

You swallowed, lost again in his gleaming blue eyes — blue like his backyard pool that he used to throw you into mercilessly with a belly laugh, blue like the ocean you walked along together on nights both here and in California, blue like the only hue that came to mind when someone asked your favorite color.

“No,” you whispered, and instead of wanting to take it back in the next instant like you feared you might, you wanted to repeat it again and again and again. Scream it from this balcony overlooking his hometown and from the dock behind his house and from center ice at Ball Arena.

No, Nathan. No, it’s not just because of the wedding. No, it’s not just from the alcohol. No, it’s not temporary or fake or fleeting.

“You mean it?” Nate whispered back pleadingly.

You nodded furiously, your chest flush against his as your fingers gripped the dress shirt beneath his jacket.

“I mean it,” you replied. “I miss you. I need you.”

A gleeful, tearful, incredulous chuckle escaped Nate, and he cupped your cheeks in his large hands, bringing his face nearer to yours.

“I miss you so much,” he breathed before his lips found yours. “I never stopped needing you.”

[deltaengineering]

Spring Anime 2021: Embarrassment of Riches

So this current anime season absolutely stinks, which just makes the last one look even more impressive. Well, maybe not all of it...

Zombieland Saga Revenge

First off, you don't need to tell me that the following is a severe outlier opinion. We good? Ok. ZLSR is, in a word, subpar. I liked S1 back in the day, but it was already in the process of getting lazy towards the end. S2 continues this trend and is basically just another idol show. And as someone who actually does watch other idol shows I have to say that it's not a particularly good one of those either. The zombie gimmick has mostly stopped mattering and we're just doing what every idol show does, only with the odd occasional sight gag. The alleged subversive qualities mostly amount to a flashback for Yuugiri, which is admittedly the best part of the show but feels like it barely has anything to do with anything. Apart from that, it's a bunch of generic idol plots, rehashed character beats, shoddy attempts at twists (while not connecting to any setups from S1), and the obligatory "idols give us hope" ending, which is terribly hackneyed and flat out bad. Tae gets further memed into the ground, because of course she does. And there's stuff that was simply never good to begin with, like Kotarou and his comedy schtick, which gets truly insufferable now that there's no qualities to distract from it. It really makes me think that S1 wasn't even all that good to begin with and seems like an attempt to turn this surprise success into an easy money longrunner with no edge and no ambitions. "The idol show for people who don't watch idol shows" indeed, but not the way you mean it. 4/10

Bakuten

But not to dwell on the failures, with the second show we're already above the cut — barely. This one got my attention with its really impressive performance scenes early on and it totally sticks to that, which is even more impressive. But besides that? Well, this is by far the most predictable show in a season where I watched an unambitious Kiraralike and put ZLS on blast for having no ideas. The characters are a mixed bag, some are cool (Shida, Asawo), some are very annoying (Mashiro), but those are the supports. The main cast is extremely one-dimensional, which is fine until they try to heap a ton of pathos on their lead, which doesn't go well. But I guess execution matters, and Bakuten is slick enough to get by. Writing this down in stark daylight I feel like I overrated this show somewhat (I actually put it over the next one originally, which definitely doesn't hold up when thinking about it), but I was indeed mostly entertained. 6/10

Yakunara Mug Cup mo

Yeah. Of course Mug Cup definitely doesn't invent or subvert anything either, but it's a pretty good Kiraralike that's always entertaining to watch. Explaining the qualities of such a nothing genre is as difficult as ever, but it mostly comes down to me liking the characters and it having nothing to annoy me. It's shorter than normal, which is a plus for slim shows like this. And yeah, you can make an excessive amount of dick jokes with the clay fondling. That helps too. Looks are just fine, pleasant but nothing out of the ordinary. Comfy low-effort anime. 6/10

Vivy: Fluorite Eye's Song

This one is decent, but sadly still a major letdown. Because the first few episodes of Vivy were excellent and kicked ass, but then it became increasingly clear that the writing can't cash the checks the ideas wrote while the action starts running into severely diminishing returns. Vivy just keeps slowly getting worse and worse as it goes on, not by a huge amount each episode but by the end there's a pretty sizeable gulf between potential and result. Going into detail would probably be a little much for this venue because there's a lot, but from the top level view the issue is that while Vivy has good fundamental ideas and steals at the right places, it just isn't a smart show — it's schlock, and by the end, poorly thought out schlock that tries to smooth out every problem with liberal application of the big feels hammer and le epic twist at that. Yeah, couldn't tell that the Re:Zero dude was aboard here, for sure. That said, it still works pretty well as entertaining schlock that is not to be taken too seriously, and the characters are generally just very fun to watch even when they're doing stupid things. Still, I can't in good conscience rate this higher than Beatless, a show that looks like butt but properly executes on its ideas. 6/10

Super Cub

So this is 100% a Honda commercial, and I got really mad a Yuru Camp last season for being a blatant shill. Yet I'm feeling this, what gives? I think the main difference is that Super Cub is specifically a commercial for one product (and a very iconic product at that), while Yuru Camp is so all over the place that it ends up mostly a commercial for consumerism in general. And when Super Cub goes too hard on the product (which it does), it's at least pretty entertaining. That's something about Super Cub in general: It goes hard. Your regular Kiraralike this is not, because it's uncommonly slow, focused and moody - yes, it almost measures up to Yuru Camp at its best and demolishes it at its worst. Also, it's just extremely amusing to see sadblob Koguma grow a huge grizzly biker beard and become a badass outlaw dad to her goofy wife and cute daughter, all thanks to the power of afforable personal transportation. Needless to say, that can get unintentionally silly, but Super Cub has so much charm that it doesn't matter — it's great when it's good and still funny when it's not. 7/10

Shadows House

Shadows House turned up with a lot of potential, and I have to say it at least delivered on most of it. It has some problems; notably I'm not a fan of how the entire middle turned out to be a tournament arc of sorts that seems curiously inspired by Resident Evil memes, crest-shaped intentations and boulder punching included. I also think that this is a show that would be perfectly fine without explaining much, but I guess it is a shounen manga after all so we got dumped on eventually anyway. At least that came late - close relative Promised Neverland didn't show that much restraint. Shadows House is generally well written though, with great characters, interesting interactions and a great hook. But what really makes it memorable is that it's exceptionally good at the cute/creepy contrast, something that is often tried but rarely works as well as here, with great character designs and very appropriate production. I hope this gets a sequel, because it seems like it's just getting started. 7/10

SSSS.Dynazenon

Coming in with a fondness for Gridman, Dynazenon didn't have to do much to convince me. The surprise though is that it's not a rehash even if it's basically the same show, a character drama where occasionally huge and goofy fights break out. Dynazenon is Gridman done better, and the interesting part is how it accomplishes this - mainly by being far more conventional. I do appreciate that Gridman went for something weird and almost experimental, but that only really paid off towards the end while most of the show was a distraction/holding pattern. It just didn't feel like there was enough material for a full series there, more like a movie maybe, if even that. Dynazenon fixes this by just being a TV show, with an actual cast of characters that each have their own arc. And by spreading the material this way, Dynazenon ends up having a lot more nuance than its intensely focused predecessor, while having the same themes and not actually being any deeper. In a way, Gridman ends up looking like the spinoff in retrospect, while Dynazenon is the full package. 8/10

Thunderbolt Fantasy S3

So how good was this season? So good that Thunderbolt Fantasy doesn't end up at the top, that's how. And all the elements that made Tbolt such a sure thing are still there, big hammy puppets doing stunts and scheming never gets old. However, I do have to note that at this point, the writing appears to have gotten too comfortable. I don't expect it to ever top the amazing S1 ending, but at this point it's like Tbolt has stopped trying to deliver on endings at all and seems in the process of retooling itself into a longrunner instead. Barely anything gets resolved in S3 (the climax is that the climax of S2 is resolved again, for good this time... maybe), and everything else is just setting up plotpoints for the next season. Tbolt is truly lucky that it doesn't actually need to resolve anything to be a great time, but at this point I have to say that I'd appreciate it if they wrapped it up with S4. 8/10

Nomad: Megalobox 2

Speaking of sequels to shows I liked, Nomad doesn't so much improve upon its predecessor but steamrolls right over it. This is a tall order, since Megalobox was surprisingly good for a sports shounen and had a real nice, heartwarming ending that Nomad instantly negates for purposes of drama and everyone being extremely miserable. That sounds like a pretty terrible idea - and it would be, if Nomad wasn't as excellent as it is. To call it not the same show would be an understatement, because it's a true sequel, not just the same characters doing their thing some more, or new characters doing the same thing as the old ones did. Indeed my biggest problem with Megalobox was that it still closely adhered to its genre template and was very predictable; Nomad fixes this issue thoroughly. Nomad is about questioning what being a hotblooded shounen protagonist eventually leads you to, and how to fix everything you screwed up by being one. You could call it a deconstruction, but that term has been so abused for cynical, edgy "thing you like actually sucks" takes that I feel like it doesn't really fit here. Nomad isn't cynical at all, it's just a character drama about some boxers past their prime, and it being a sequel to a show that is indeed rather formulaic just enhances the experience. My biggest issue with it was that I really like what they did with Joe in this story, so the big focus on Mac's backstory felt like a distraction for a long time. But in the end that turned out to be absolutely necessary to make the ending work. The ending's just great, by the way, and I shall say not more about it. 9/10

Odd Taxi

Yeah boy, here's the show that has apparently become somewhat of a "greatest show you didn't watch" meme, which I can feel smug about because I don't need YouTubers to tell me what's good and followed this from day one. Anyway, Odd Taxi is indeed great, the greatest show in a few years even. What starts out as seemingly a relaxed hangout show in the vein of Midnight Diners quickly turns into a psychological murder mystery while never losing its quirky humor. The character writing is outstanding, with even small bit players being on a level that the average anime wishes it could have for leads. And the rollout of the mystery is exemplary, with answers given and new questions raised every episode with a satisfying and logical payoff in the end. This is also the rare anime that has rock solid production from the first to the last second; it's never really flashy but excellently done and highly consistent nonetheless. And the music just owns. I have a few complaints, mainly that there's a few logical weaknesses in the story (which wouldn't even register in a lesser show, but sticks out here since the rest is so immaculately constructed) and that the ending overextends on the emotions when the rest of the show is so reserved and dry in comparison. But those are only the reasons why I didn't give it perfect marks, and I almost did that anyway. 9/10

[scorpionyx9621]

I Hope Hopeless Changes Over Time: A Red Hood and Batman Fic

*Source of the image I found off of Pintrest. I tried to find the original artist but the link on Pintrest led to a dead Tumblr account. If anyone wants to find/point out the account to me so I can give proper credit to the artist please please do.*

I wanted to make a fic based on an ask I did from the lovely @dilfbatman about Jason and Bruce. I hope people enjoy this mini-fic that I've expanded upon.

TW: Blood, Physical Assault, Suicide Ideation, Swearing. Bruce being a shitty father but trying. Jason having demons 

3.75K words. 

Bruce was uneasy about Jason staying over at the Wayne Mansion. Even with other members of the family around. Jason has done so much wrong and has hurt so many people. However, at the end of the day, Jason still is his son. So when he gets a call from Jason in a hushed voice asking Bruce to stay the night. He hesitated for a second, but acquiesced, Jason was nothing if not independent, so to be asking Bruce outright to stay at the Wayne Manor meant something was wrong.

"Master Jason wouldn't reach out to any of us unless something was gravely wrong, Master Wayne." Alfred had reassured Bruce, who was staring absentmindedly at the glass case which housed Jason's old Robin costume. The costume that Jason had died in. Bruce always tried to repress the memory of holding his son's cold, lifeless body. The pain he felt from losing his parents burned in his heart as an everlasting stab wound. But the pain from losing Jason, his son, it was too much to bare.

"I'd be welcoming to Master Jason, but keep your distance. Master Damian is spending the night at Jon Kent's house, Master Richard is in Blüdhaven, and Master Timothy is with the Teen Titans tonight. I'll rest assured Jason doesn't try anything to harm you. But don't try to encourage a confrontation." Alfred explained. He always seemed to understand Jason to a tee after he came back to life.

"I don't know how you do it Alfred, you can read the boy like a book." Bruce had retorted. Cocking a half-smile to the man who raised him since his parents died.

"Master Wayne, Master Jason wears his heart on his sleeve. He always has. And one of the reasons why you two fight constantly is because, for as terrific as a detective you are, you are horrifically inept in reading the emotions of your children." Alfred had stated, those words bit Bruce. He wasn't expecting such sharp words from Alfred. "We failed Master Jason. And he's hurt, he's been hurt for years because of it. However he keeps choosing to come back and try and trust again. We needn't come at him with accusations of ulterior motives, but we should be supportive." Alfred stated.

"But cognizant of what Jason is capable of." Bruce added back. Jason may need help, but he's still dangerous. He has tried to kill Bruce and the rest of the Robins multiple times. He wants to trust Jason and warm up to him again. But the man who wears the Red Hood and stalks the streets of Gotham killing those he deems criminals is not his son anymore.

Alfred and Bruce greeted Jason as he walked in the large double doors of the Wayne Manor. The first thing Bruce noticed was the dark circles under Jason's eyes. It seemed as if the man hadn't slept in days. Jason was wearing sweatpants and a fitted black wife beater, accentuating his muscles. Jason would have looked more intimidating had his body language not suggested he was as disheveled as he was, physically and mentally.

"Thanks Alfred." Jason had said meekly towards the butler. He took one step into the mansion and looked at Bruce. Bruce noticed as soon as Jason's eyes met his, his tired irises contorted into anger. His lips pursed downwards but Jason chose not to say anything. Instead just walking past Bruce pretending not to acknowledge him.

"Master Jason, you will be staying in the guest suite on the main floor. I've already prepped everything for your arrival. Please make yourself at home." Alfred had said. Jason just shook is head as he headed towards the hallway leading the guest suite. Bruce didn't notice it immediately but the stench Jason had emitted stung in the air. It smelled like stale liqour and body oder. It seems Jason hadn't bathed in days. Bruce had wanted to say something but chose not to.

The evening went by quietly enough. Jason had taken a shower and changed into another fitted wife beater but still sported a tired energy about him. Alfred had put together a beef pot roast for dinner with red potatoes, carrots, onions, and celery over garlic mashed potatoes. A favorite dish of Jason's. The three of them ate quietly as Bruce continued to size up his son. He was conflicted. At one point he saw the man who blew up the head of a Gotham security force member with a torture decide he had created. On the other hand, he saw the boy who would beg for Bruce to buy him more books after he finished the maximum amount a library card would allow for a week in the span of 3 days. The son who told him being Robin gave him magic.

The dinner ended as it began. With awkward silence and the father-son duo eyeing each other. One with cautious trepidation and the other with abject hate. Bruce had decided not to go on patrol tonight as he felt he needed to be at the manor should anything happen while Jason was here. An uneasy sense of dread built over Bruce as he had said good night to Jason as the two passed by each other in the halls. Jason simply spat 'Bitch' at Bruce and walked into the bedroom. Bruce had been bad with other people's emotions, but something didn't sit right with the way Jason was carrying himself. He had decided to stay up tonight regardless. A sense came over him after being sworn at by Jason. A sense he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt as though his son needed help.

————————————————————

"You're a monster"

"Jason is a murderer"

"Stay away from Jason, he'll kill you."

"No one wants you around, Todd"

"You're just a good guy trying to be bad"

"This is the kid you had to replace me with as Robin? Bruce he's pathetic."

"I can't believe my daughter wasted the Lazarus Pit on a miserable failure like you."

"Maybe I'd be better off dead"

Jason tossed and turned. It's been days. He couldn't get the voices out of his head. Those whispery, moany voices that taunted and tormented him. He knew it was a result of the Lazarus Pit. Ever since Roy died and everyone left him the voices started taunting him again. He tried everything he could to get the voices to stop. He drank, he read, he worked out, he did everything he could. The only way the voices became quiet were when he was beating the ever-loving shit out of some criminals. This was not the mindset Jason had wanted. He wanted to go back to being supported by Bruce, the man who betrayed him. He knew that Bruce was weak. He couldn’t kill the Joker because of his weakness. 

Jason got up and walked over to the connecting bathroom to the suite that he was staying in. He went to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face. Against his better judgement, Jason looked up to the figure he saw in the mirror. He took note of his jawline, his face, his green eyes, his muscles.. but one thing that caught his eye was the fucking skunk streak of hair at the top of his head. The physical reminder of his dip in the Lazarus Pit. He had just re-dyed the spot not two days ago and it already came back. He did everything he could to try to hide the streak. It’s what he hated most about his new body. The pit wiped away all of the scars he had on his body. And any new fresh scar or wound would just fade in a matter of moments due to the effects of the pit. The only thing that ever stayed was that damned streak. 

Jason had nothing but disgust and contempt for the man he saw in the mirror, which, ironically, was himself. 

“You’re just using the sarcasm to hide your hatred.” 

“It’s your fault that everyone hates you.” 

“Killing the sick of the masses to save those who are weak is your calling” 

“Those reptiles deserve to die” 

“I don’t want to kill unless I don’t have to.. I don’t want people to hate me..” Jason tried reassuring himself. The voices in his head kept getting louder and louder. “I want Bruce and everyone to love me again....” He continued to try to re-assure himself. It was a false sense of hope as always. His mind soon wandered to a moment where he was on top of Dick in a fight. Confronting his older sibling and reciting a quote he had heard from a Japanese philosopher and optimist as he had the barrel of a gun placed against his older brother’s temple. 

“Do you know what the most convenient phrase in the world is, Dickie? It’s ‘I’m sorry.’ Anyone who hears that is obligated to forgive, no matter how hurt or angry they might be... There's no more disgusting phrase in all the world. It's used to displace your suffering unto others so you can escape your sins... The moment you employ it, your suffering becomes the other person's. A thing can be unforgivable, but oh, if they apologize... I say there's no reason to accept that suffering. You don't have to forgive them. Cast aside the mask of your conscience.“ 

“Stop this. Please stop this.” Jason had begged aimlessly into the air. He didn’t want to live like this anymore. He didn’t want to live, period. He just wanted all of this to end. He had caused so much pain and so much suffering to the people of Gotham all so he could attempt to hurt Bruce. But those words kept repeating in his head. He knew he had to stop this. He needed help, he wanted to go to Bruce and explain what was going on but Bruce would just have him institutionalized. His murderer of a son starts hearing voices in his head? A one way ticket to a padded room. 

Jason suddenly stared back into the mirror and saw something he detested. The green eyes that stared into his soul. The one he hated more than anything else. Was himself. This thing was staring him in the face mocking him, and he wanted it gone. 

“Do it Jason.” the voice had beckoned from the mirror. “Kill them all. Slit Damian’s throat and watch the fucker bleed. Bash Tim’s stupid face into the concrete until there’s nothing but mush. Rip Dick limb from fucking limb. Watch Bruce as you choke the last bit of life from his eyes. I promise all the pain will go away once all of this is done.” the voice sounded almost sweet as it promised to do all of this. Jason just retched as he saw the green eyed monster promising poison to him. He felt his vision fade to black. 

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

STOP IT. SHUT. UP. 

*CRASH* 

Bruce had jumped up from the chair he was sitting on in the library, the voice came from the suite that Jason was staying in. Bruce didn’t have time to think. He just ran towards the noise. He threw the door to the suite open and ran to the bathroom. There he saw Jason in front of a heavily cracked mirror. Jason was hyperventilating and he saw blood oozing from Jason’s fist which was pressed against the mirror. Bruce saw from the reflection that Jason had split open the left side of his lip seemingly from a shard of glass. It wasn’t long before Jason glanced up at the imposing shadow in the mirror and noticed Bruce’s presence. 

“YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME BRUCE.” Jason had shouted at his reflection. Jason was shaking. Bruce had wanted to assess the injury that Jason gave himself. But he knew he was cornering a scared animal if he pressed any farther forward. Bruce stood their frozen. Pondering between trying to press forward upon a killer, or to check up on his son. 

“Jason, I just...” Bruce was cut off by another scream as Jason turned around. 

“IF YOU COME ANY CLOSER I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL KILL YOU WHERE YOU FUCKING STAND YOU PIECE OF SHIT.” Bruce finally got the cue. The hitch in Jason’s voice. This is the same hitch his voice made when he was a kid and was angry at Bruce. Alfred was right. This is his son. And right now Bruce needed not to be the Batman approaching the Red Hood. He needed to be Bruce, to help his son. 

Bruce walked forward to Jason, still shaking as blood oozed from the gashes of glass on his fist. Bruce decided against everything in his gut telling him to stop this criminal. This monster who killed for sport and to prove a point. He needed to help Jason, his son. 

Bruce was knocked back by a fist to his chest. Glass imbedded itself into Bruce as he felt the sting of their shards. Jason was right, he was going to hurt Bruce if he approached. Oracle was right, Jason had been abusing venom. The quick gain in muscle mass was proof enough but the stinging pain in Bruce’s chest also proved that hypothesis. Jason barred his teeth as his eyes displayed a seething hatred. Bruce would have been frightened on any other day. Today, Bruce felt a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. Bruce collected himself and got up to approach Jason again. 

“I TOLD YOU I’M GOING TO KILL YOU BRUCE. I FUCKING HATE YOUR GUTS. I WANT YOU TO DIE. I WANT ALL OF US TO JUST FUCKING DIE.” Jason screamed even louder this time. A hot stream of tears worked their way down Jason’s cheeks. Bruce no longer saw a rage-induced monster but the boy who took a tire iron to his gut on the streets of Gotham. The boy who would was thrilled at every opportunity he got to show Bruce the A’s on every test he got in school. This was his baby boy who needed his help. 

“Jason Peter Todd that’s enough.” Bruce said firmly, but not harshly. Jason stared directly into his eyes. “Jason. I want you to listen to me.” 

“Go to hell you motherfucker.” those words which escaped Jason were laced with poison. Bruce didn’t waver. 

“You can punch me as much as you want Jason and I’ll deserve all of it.” Bruce came closer to Jason. Jason proceeded to physically make himself smaller. Like a scared animal. Bruce remember what he did to Jason after he had seemingly killed The Penguin. How he beat Jason to within an inch of his life. His heart plummeted to his stomach as he saw Jason cower like a scared dog over his approach. 

“What are you going to do Bruce, beat me to a fucking pulp again? You hate me more than you hate the fucking Joker, don’t you?” Jason asked. Bruce truly saw the fear in those green eyes. He had to take a moment and realized just what he was doing. He unclenched his jaw and relaxed his shoulders as he approached Jason. This time he was back within striking range of his son. 

“Jason. I failed you. I have been failing you for the past 10 years since your death. I have failed this city and this family in providing the protection it needs. I couldn’t kill The Joker because I’m weak.” Bruce sucked at emotions and emoting. But Bruce hadn’t felt this shaky and wavering since the day he lost Jason. His son needed to know the truth. He deserved to know the truth. “Jason I never hated you. I hated the actions you have taken against the people of this city. But I’ve come to realize that the hatred and contempt I’ve held is because you do what I can’t do.” 

“Oh so now you’re coming over to apologize? I don’t owe you shit after what you’ve done to me.” Jason had stated. He may have been acting like a pinned animal. But his mouth will never not cut like knives. 

“Jason, when we had fought in the abandoned apartment. And you had the Joker with you. You had tried to shoot me after I had turned away from you.” Bruce said. Inching ever closer to Jason while trying not to be imposing. “In that moment, I threw the batarang because I knew you were going to retaliate against me. But I need you to know in that moment I turned away. I turned away because I decided I wasn’t to be the one to decide the Joker’s fate. He had taken your life and it wasn’t up to me to decide. I want nothing more than for the Joker to pay for the countless lives hes taken and ruined.” Bruce swallowed hard as he felt tears beginning to well in his eyes. “I failed you because I couldn’t kill the Joker. But in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to have my baby boy back. I wanted you back in my life. I still want you back in my life.” 

“Bullshit. Fucking BULLSHIT.” Jason spat at Bruce. The emotions were flooding out of his face. Anger, hatred, fear, but most of all sadness. Jason’s voice began wavering as he began to cry. “If you loved me why in the fuck have you never realized I’ve been trying to help the people of Gotham. Instead every time I take matters into my own hands all I meet are your fucking fists. I hate your guts Bruce. We’d all just be better off fucking dead. It’s all Hopeless. I’m hopeless.” 

Bruce took a deep breath. He tried to find his resolve. He wanted nothing more than to be able to reach out to his son again. “You’re absolutely right Jason. I’ll bet Gotham would be a whole lot better without me. Without the pain I have caused. And no amount of apologies will fix the pain that I have caused you. No words will ever take back the transgressions I have taken against you.” Bruce was crying this time. “But know this. You always have been my son. And I love you so much. The day I lost my parents was agony. The day I lost you, I felt like I had lost myself I felt I had died a bit inside.” Bruce choked out. “We both have done so much we regret. If I could take back all the times I hit you I would do it in a heartbeat. But no amount of sorry will take back that pain. I shouldn’t be in the position to be asking this. But I just want my son back.” Bruce swallowed. “You have every right to hate me, but I will never stop loving you. You aren’t hopeless and you never have been. You never have been a burden. You are valued by so many people. I. I love you my son. I love you Jason."

Jason’s face relaxed from a position of contempt and hatred and soon was overcome with years of pent up tears. Jason let out a hearty scream as he proceeded to weep and sob. As if a dam had broke and was threatening to engulf a town in an apocalypse. Bruce went against everything he had known and was screaming from the inside of his body and wrapped Jason in a hug. He was almost as large as Bruce himself and barely fit around his arms. But Bruce held his son and hugged him tight. Jason was crying uncontrollably. 

“I’m hearing these voices. They’re telling me I’m a monster and a killer and that I should kill all of you.” Jason shouted between sobs. “But I don’t want to. I’m so afraid Bruce. I don’t want to hurt anyone unless I have to.” 

“Just breath Jason. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Let it all out.” Bruce had solidified his resolve and worked on being there for Jason. He couldn’t run away this time. His son needed him more than ever. And Gotham be damned. He’s not making this mistake twice. He’s staying here. For Jason. 

It felt like hours before Jason had run out of tears and sobs. Jason was fading and seemed like he was about to fall asleep. The shards of glass that were imbedded in his hand seemingly prevented Jason from bleeding out. Bruce had saw Jason’s eyes glaze over as his breathing calmed. 

“Jason, I’m going to pick you up and take you to bed.” Bruce had said, asking for permission from his second son. Jason simply nodded as he starred off. He was numb now. The pain seemingly gone for the moment. Bruce lifted Jason up and was taken aback by just how heavy his son was. He truly was 225lbs just like his records showed. This wasn’t the son who hid under the cabinets when Bruce first brought Jason home. But Bruce still saw the boy as his son nonetheless. As Bruce laid Jason on the bed Alfred had approached with a first aid kit. Proceeding to begin to clean up Jason’s hand. Jason was so exhausted he barely felt any of the picking and pulling or the iodine going into his wounds. He kept his eyes fast forward on Bruce. 

“Bruce. I. I’m sorry.” Jason had said meekly. 

“Don’t apologize Jason.” Bruce had stated. He ran his hand through Jason’s hair, giving a soft massage to his scalp. “You get some sleep now. I don’t think you’ve rested in days.” 

Bruce had remembered the time he had read Jason to sleep. This time he had thought back to a poem that struck him from his phone. It was from a famous lyricist and singer. As Bruce pulled up his phone he had found the poem and recited it as Jason fell asleep. Things are far from perfect or even better. But tomorrow was going to be the first day of the rest of his and Jason’s lives. 

“They told me once, ‘there's a place where love conquers all’

A city with the streets full of milk and honey

I haven't found it yet, but I'm still searching

All I know is a hopeless place that flows with the blood of my kin

Perhaps hopeless isn't a place

Nothing but a state of mind” 

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

pHEW GOD THAT WAS LONG. I hope you all enjoyed the fic! This was my first published attempt at angst and whump and while I feel some parts are cringe. I am proud of what I made. 

Big thanks again to @dilfbatman for inspiring this fic. The inspiration of the title is the song Hopeless: by Halsey. The quote about I’m Sorry is from the character Shadow Maya Amano from Persona 2: Innocent Sin. And the poem at the end is the first part of the lyrics to the song Good Mourning by Halsey. 

[lady-eny]

The rise of Skywalker Review

"The rise of Skywalker" wants to do many things and fails miserably in, sadly, most of them.

The negative reaction to "The Last Jedi" seems to have reached JJ Abrams, who, instead of trying to make a film with a good plot, full of resonance and coherence, wanted to give fans what they had asked without worrying about the story, getting this: a disaster with very beautiful shots, but a disaster after all.

We know that time has passed since the last movie, but it was never specified how much. Many things happen off screen and in the first scenes we are already immersed in a new plot. Palpatine is alive, the mission? To find him and defeat him.

When it was mentioned that Palpatine would return from the grave for this film many were enthusiastic and others were suspicious of such a decision. It was not for less, because bringing back such an important villain, the corrupter of the Skywalkers from the beginning, was a difficult task, especially if you add the expectations of the fans in the equation.

The film has moments that must have felt important, transcendental. Moments that, perhaps due to failures in the shots or the music, couldn’t generate the response they should.

This movie feels empty; there is no passion or energy in the star scenes. It never compromises itself with anything. No feelings, no action.

It does not cause emotion, it’s as if it had been done to accomplish something. Complaint one: Rey did not have adequate training. Check, she already did. Complaint two: Rose. Check, she no longer appears. Complaint three: Rey's parents. Check, they now matter ... and so on in the whole film.

Scene after scene, not even the most anticipated appearances such as Lando or Luke, thrill. There is no soul present.

The rhythm remains in the monotony. Oh, one death. Ah! forget it, it's alive. Nothing matters too much until the end, because there is no solid argument supporting this movie.

Too much fan service, and too much nostalgia, although it was expected, it seems that the excess dulls the picture.

Certain scenes turn out to be too exaggerated, dramatic, or, so coming from nowhere, that cause laughter. And really, it didn't seem to be the intention.

The use of force stands out. Forget everything seen above, that here the users took steroids and are super powerful and capable of, well, everything.

Healing through the force was introduced in the first scenes so that, in the end, no one would argue about the unexpected inclusion. But without this ability, much of the plot would fall. In pieces.

Despite all this, the effects are enjoyable, although not as special and innovative. The music is good, but it doesn't generate the right atmosphere. It is not used correctly.

The connection between Rey and Kylo Ren has been one of the central axes of this trilogy. Although it stands out in the film, it’s given great importance and is even baptized as a powerful dyad, it is only to be discarded and forgotten moments later. Great waste.

The screenwriters totally forgot the essence of Star Wars. Hope, compassion, family. It is a fairy tale for children. Said by George Lucas himself long ago.

Complementary novels and comics have spent hundreds of words establishing the story of Kylo Ren. In canon, Ben Solo was influenced by the dark side since before he was born. Described as full of conflict, he is a character who became the favorite of many and the most hated by others. He belongs to the most remarkable area here. His lines are scarce, certainly, but in them, perhaps because of the incredible performance of Adam Driver, a change of energy is felt.

That's why when there is an important turn in him, we all feel it. And in the end, we all get sad. We will not discuss the angle of the scenes or something, but the ideology behind. The end of this character is practically a copy of the end of his grandfather, reaffirming that not a single risk was taken here.

Was necessary? We do not find hopeful that the message behind redemption is always death. It would be hopeful that a character who has always been in crisis because of his nature and power has the opportunity to do things well, and live to do it, fixing his mistakes. The sacrifice is romanticized in a painful way.

Equally important is our protagonist. The trilogy begins is a desert, expressing how much she hates it, her loneliness and need for a family. She ends the trilogy alone, in a desert, and without an own family (not alive, at least). That is, secrets revealed there, friends over there, but in the end, everything remains the same. What a progress.

Repeatedly, cultural products have followed a trend: by representing a strong and powerful female main character, they necessarily leave her without any romantic ties, because apparently love makes women weak. Let's remove prejudices, people. A female character with a partner or family, with feelings, does not make her less strong or important. Jesus.

There is no melee duel worth remembering. An attempt is made to emphasize Rey, Finn and Poe as a strong rebel trio. Although their interactions are enjoyable, it seems that there was too much effort to project them as close friends, with a very important connection, when it’s in this film where we see them interact for the first time. Despite the attempt, no, they don't quite achieve the essence of a golden trio (Harry, Ron and Hermione continue to lead).

Despite being described as "the epic conclusion" so many times, it is inevitable to capture certain story arcs with pending closures, as if they were waiting to be retaken at some point. I clarify, it is unlikely that another film is coming in the near future, but with how prolific the comics and books have been in this sequel trilogy, there would not be surprise if it’s in LucasFilm and Disney's plans to exploit these characters a little more .

Upon leaving the theater, one can genuinely come to wonder what JJ was referring to when he described his film as "hopeful."

"Nostalgic"... yes, "excessive"... perhaps, to be generous. But hopeful... we are not that optimistic.

[anhed-nia]

10/18/2020: STREET TRASH

I just caught myself trying to avoid writing about this movie. I was looking right at my Blogtober setlist, and I still managed to convince myself that I was all caught up, and I had earned my right to move on to the comparative luxury and ease of CATHY'S CURSE. I was well into that project before I realized that I was just subconsciously trying to shirk my 10/18 responsibilities. So, now I'm on punishment, but luckily, just trying to deal with this film is enough punishment in and of itself, if you are not one of this movie’s many passionate fans. I always feel like I'm making a big confession, even to myself, when I admit that I just don't like STREET TRASH.

For some reason, my failure to get down with this movie always makes me feel like a prude and a poseur. It's such a Thing for so many people, and such a grandiose act of rebellion against decency that I feel like I should like it. And I mean, I'm no prude; I'm a fan of a lot of movies that are fairly described as a bunch of sleazy, nihilistic, rage-fueled nonsense. When I try to say what I don't like about STREET TRASH, I find myself delivering a list of problems that is almost identical to the list of reasons I do like a lot of other movies: it's ugly, mean, tacky, offensive, depressingly cheap, grim, anti-social bordering on evil, and on top of everything else, it doesn't really make any sense. It's a little hard for me to explain where and why I draw the line between STREET TRASH and beloved favorites like LAST HOUSE ON DEAD END STREET, ISLAND OF DEATH, BEYOND THE DARKNESS, or EBOLA SYNDROME (ok so EBOLA SYNDROME isn't actually one of my favorite movies, but I definitely admire its...er, guts). My aversion to Troma movies--another thing that makes me feel like a stranger in a strange land--might help inform some of what I don't like about STREET TRASH. There's a way in which a willfully offensive movie can seem to cross over from being contemptuous of society, to contemptuous of its own audience, and that's what bothers me: Troma's insistence on its own laziness and prurience, accusing the viewer of getting off on failure and inferiority, and garnishing its pridefully crappy production with shitty jokes about smearing queers and killing whores. But, while STREET TRASH has a similar brand of extremely shallow nihilism, much of it is meticulously put-together, which is usually a movie's saving grace--not that it's expensive and beautiful, but that it is made with evident passion. Which is exactly why this movie is such a confusing experience for me.

Maybe I can find some further clarity by attempting to describe what the plot consists of. A Brooklyn liquor store owner finds a case of ancient malt liquor called Tenafly Viper in his basement that, for some reason, causes anyone who drinks it to melt down into human sewage and/or explode. Just when it seems like the mysterious action and origin of Viper will be at the center of the plot--after all, it is STREET TRASH's main claim to fame--we drift into the dour drama between a pair of young homeless brothers, Freddie and Kevin, living in a shack in the back of a junkyard. These guys are relatively wholesome compared to the surrounding encampment, where the absolute dregs of humanity exist in a HILLS HAVE EYES-like fiefdom under a deranged Vietnam vet. Their collective troubles begin when Freddy brings home a blind-drunk mafia moll, who is subsequently raped to death by the other hobos. This brings the heat down on the whole camp, as a violent cop tries to find the connection between the derelicts, the mob, and the melting corpses sloshing around in the streets. The results are, needless to say, a mess.

STREET TRASH is relentlessly hostile to all forms of life, salting its own festering wounds with a dash of brutally unfunny comedy. Writer and producer Roy Frumkes has said of his script, "I wrote it to democratically offend every group on the planet, and as a result the youth market embraced it as a renegade work, and it played midnight shows."  It’s hard for me to imagine what form of pleasure people derive from this film, but as Frumkes correctly notes, it does exist. The utterly debased narrative and its many scatological set pieces go so far above and beyond the call of flipping the bird to society, seething with bitterness and loathing in every frame, that one could wonder if the filmmakers weren't clinically depressed. The noxious brew of rape jokes, casual racism, miserable 'Nam flashbacks, and full-body incontinence foments such entirely bad vibes that you might feel like flushing yourself down the toilet by the end, just like the first victim does in the movie's admittedly spectacular opening salvo. 

But th brings me to my point: STREET TRASH is not just a bad movie made poorly. The execution of its signature scene, an elaborate splatterpunk version of the once-popular Goodbye Cruel World novelty knickknacks, is a genuine labor of love, monstrously creative, and one of the most indelible images in horror. If that's my favorite thing in the movie (besides an all too short appearance of the wonderful James Lorinz), my least favorite thing might be its second-most notorious scene, in which the junkyard’s demented denizens play football with a guy's severed cock--but as I just read, even this sequence is rendered with some amount of thoughtfulness. Apparently three separate dildos were used to pull off the gag, including an extra large version that was required for the shots of the dick hurtling through the air in slow motion, warping and wobbling as it soars towards its next receiver. I am strangely beguiled by the idea of director Jim Muro experimenting with how to shoot this scrimmage for maximum effect, choosing dongs that were the right size and weight for the type of motion that he wanted to capture on camera. This shows a decided lack of the kind of laziness that I have come to expect from movies that are this grimy and dejected-feeling. A too-long genital mutilation joke is the last thing I want to give anyone credit for, but here, I feel kind of forced to.

A hot bondage scene with Doctor Jersey Boy!

Why did I put myself through this, you might ask, clearly knowing what I was in for? STREET TRASH is in a small group of movies that make me feel like I'm missing something. They're so well-loved, and they do so little for me--without my being able to completely denounce them as worthless--that I feel this nagging obligation to check in on them now and again. Maybe this is the year that my horizons have expanded to the right degree; maybe I've finally seen a vast enough number and variety of movies that my whole context for something like this will have changed. For the most part, it seems like the days of that kind of radical change are behind me, as a grownass woman with many thousands of hours of viewing under my belt. I still don't feel whatever specialized joy people seem to get from STREET TRASH, and I expect I never will. I really don’t know what else to say at this point, except that in my brief research for this piece, I discovered that the director went on to a substantial career as a cinematographer whose work includes CRASH. No, not the Cronenberg one. The incredibly sappy, pretentious, and witlessly tasteless social justice one from 2004. And there is something I find perversely satisfying about that fact. I guess Muro is really fucking things up from the inside now.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Finding Home

a fic about @asocial-nebula‘s demons and angels AU!!!!

i’m sorry it’s kinda short. i had to use my mom’s Adderall today and that’s only, like, 20mg, so it doesn’t last as long. plus it’s the evening so it’s mainly worn off, but i really wanted to write something for this AU!!!

also, Nikola, i am so sorry if things are inaccurate. is Hell an underground cave system? does it have animals? running water? blankets???? i don’t know. i am very, very sorry if it’s inaccurate. i tried. but still!! i hope you enjoy!!!

Word count: 2281

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Joan remembered the first time she disappointed the House of Pride. And everyone else around her.

It was still morning and Hell’s caverns were as hot as always. Joan had wiggled out of her cave and glided down to the craggy pavilion where a female demon with cold eyes and large cinnamon colored wings stood. She hissed for attention and Joan, along with the others around her, straightened up. 

  “This hunt is for the head of the House himself.” The demon had said. “The first one to bring back a Magma Pig will get a spot next to him at dinner this evening.”

Joan perked up. That was exactly what her poor reputation needed, so she had been one of the first to shoot off from the pavilion after the word was given.

She wasn’t the best flier, especially because of searing back pain from the strain of her big wings on her little body, but she pushed through the screaming of her aching muscles this one time. 

She flapped through the tunnels, barely dodging pillars of rocks and pointy stalagmites that seemed to be doing everything in their power to knock her out of the air. She spun through two reaching rock shelves and broke out into a large cave where a glowing pink waterfall flowed from a crevice in the wall, drifting into a winding river. Steam rose from the surface; everything down in the caverns seemed to be boiling hot. The sultry heat made her wingbeats sluggish and her scales feel like they were melting off, but she shook them out and scanned the cave.

There!

A Magma Pig was drinking by the river. She was huge, with fiery red pelt and streaks of gold that glowed like active lava. Her tucks were long and wickedly sharp, and she would definitely put up a fight, but Joan would win.

Joan flexed her claws, flashing her fangs in a smirk. She could already hear all the praise she would get when she brought back such a big swine. Her tail began to wag excitedly. She spread her wings and swooped--

But something stopped her mid-dive.

Piglets. Baby Magma Pigs.

There were three in total, and they frolicked out of a crack in the wall, grunting and squealing blissfully. Two began to playfight, while the other hobbled over to its mother and headbutted her leg affectionately. The mom made a loving noise, nuzzling the baby’s cheek, then submerged her snout back into the water for another drink.

Joan’s claws lost their slack. She hovered in the air, unable to bring herself to kill the family. What would the babies do without their mama? They would die!

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” A voice suddenly boomed across the cavern. A large demon with orange-gold wings came zipping out of one of the tunnels, followed by two others. “Are you a demon or an angel? Kill that pig!”

Joan floundered, nearly falling right out of the air. The orange-winged demon sneered in disgust and shoved past her roughly. She spun down to the cave floor and hit a rock roughly.

  “Wait--” She shouted, but one of the other demons already dove down and snatched the pig up, slicing her throat. The other one managed to grab two piglets and snap their necks, while the last one got away through a hole in the wall.

The baby was alone. It was going to die.

  “Why didn’t you kill it?” The orange-winged demon asked. “No kill could be easier! Are you really that stunted and useless?”

  “I-I--” Joan pulled her wings around her like she thought they would protect her.

  “I bet she was worried about the little baby pigs.” The demon that had killed the mother said, landing with a thump and a splattering of pig blood. “She didn’t want to leave them all alone with no mommy to take care of them. The poor wittle furballs.” Her voice was mocking and cruel.

  “No!” Joan cried. “That isn’t it! I-I was going to kill it! I-I just--”

  “Save it.” The orange-winged demon hissed. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You’re pathetic.”

Joan had stared miserably at her feet. That day, she knew her treatment would only worsen, especially when the news of her failure got to the rest of the House of Pride. And it did.

For as long as she could remember, she was not like the other demons that prowled around Hell. They were all strong and big and powerful and knew what they were doing at all times. She was the exact opposite, it seemed, with her too big wings and too small body and too bright eyes. She wasn’t enough, ever. No matter how much she sharpened her claws on rocks or filed her teeth to points with bones or perfected her magic, her attempts always blew up in her face--literally, sometimes.

She was just--messed up. And she didn’t know how to fix herself.

The other demons saw her a mockery to their race. A waste of magic and scales. Their harassment became a ritual of sorts, a daily cycle of let’s stomp on Joan’s tail and let’s leave Joan stranded up on the tallest cliff because her wings were too weak and too big for her to properly fly and let’s dunk Joan into the scalding pools until she starts to drown and let’s rake our claws down Joan’s stomach again and again and again until she squeals like a stuck pig beneath our talons. It never ended.

And then, Cathy entered her life.

Cathy was like a rope ladder dropped from heaven--and in a way, she was. She was a fallen angel, banished from the ethereal world for reasons Joan didn’t know. But even with her new horns and darkened scleras and black wings, she was still an angel in Joan’s eyes.

Cathy had saved her from a particularly painful beating from a trio of demons. She thought they would have ripped her tail right out of her back if Cathy hadn’t come along and scared them off with very rude threats and mighty wingbeats and slashing claws. They didn’t speak to each other, rather just exchanged looks before Cathy walked away silently, but Joan felt a connecting between the two of them.

So she started following Cathy around. She was like a duckling of sorts, always somewhere near Cathy, whether the fallen angel liked it or not. A silent bond was created--at least on Joan’s part. She felt safe and happy around Cathy, even if they barely interacted. Being near her was enough.

But of course, like every good thing in her life, Cathy was taken away.

One day, Cathy just--disappeared. Joan looked everywhere, searching every nook and cranny in Hell, but couldn’t find a trace of the fallen angel. All that she had left of her were the things in her cave, which she started staying in to retain a shred of that connection they had. Cathy’s scent on ragged blue blankets were the only thing that kept her calm during anxiety attacks. She liked to pretend the covers were actually Cathy’s wings swaddling her and holding her close, protecting her from everything, no matter how different she was. And Cathy would be there when she looked up, smiling lovingly down at her, telling her how wonderful she was and how much she cared about her. Sure, Cathy never said that before or made any indications that she thought that way, but it was her fantasies that kept her going.

The abuse from other demons started back up shortly after that. Shoving, biting, scratching, vicious maiming that left her bloody and bruised--it all seemed so much worse than it did before. Perhaps because of what her attackers would say, telling her that Cathy left because of her, that she couldn’t stand being around such a pathetic waste of space, that she would rather die than be around her for one more second, that she ran off into the human world because facing the dangers there would be better than having to be with her.

The last comment sparked something in Joan’s head mid-beating. If Cathy wasn’t in Hell, then she was somewhere else.

After a year of Cathy being missing, Joan set off to the portal to the mortal realm.

Everyone said not to go in there. Everyone said they wouldn’t make it out alive, but Joan still went anyway. All she brought with her was Cathy’s blue blanket, as the fallen angel’s scent would keep her going when she wanted to lay down and die.

And she did.

A lot.

The pits leading to the portal were worse than everyone said. They were dark, for one, and so tight in some places that Joan got stuck for several terrifying moments. There were also.../things/ down there. Awful things with sharp claws and hundreds of eyes and gnashing teeth. One that Joan encountered was pale white and wrinkly. It crawled across the cave walls and ceiling, only jumping down to cling to Joan’s back and shred her wings. She just barely managed to shake it off right as it was going to pull out her spine.

There was also something very big and very red and very scary. It broke Joan’s ribs to pieces when its tail swung into her chest. For a few moments, she stopped breathing, then splayed her claws and stuck them into the monster’s eyes. It screeched and left her alone. For now.

By the time Joan finally got to the portal, she could only crawl, much too weak to stand up. Her chest was so bruised it looked black, she was bleeding all over, one of her horns was broken, her tail was bent at an abnormal position, and she couldn’t even feel her wings anymore. In fact, she wasn’t feeling a lot of things...the pain was starting to go away…

Joan collapsed into a pool of her own blood and began to weep. Everything hurt so badly. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if she just laid here for a little while… She didn’t even have to go through the portal because when she looked up, Cathy was there, smiling at her and saying sweet things to her. Her ears were too clogged with blood to actually hear her, but she was sure they were the nicest, most loving comments ever.

Joan reached out to Cathy, and Cathy disappeared.

Only her blanket was there, so stained with blood there was only a single splotch of blue left. But Cathy’s scent still lingered.

Joan had to get up.

She crawled the rest of the way to the portal, clutching Cathy’s blanket to her chest. She leaned against the onyx mantle, breathing harshly. She stared into the swirling white mass before her, so bright it made her eyes prickle in discomfort.

  “Cathy…” She mumbled, feeling very dizzy. She wanted to rest. She was so tired… “Wait...for me...Cathy… I’m...I’m coming…”

Then, she reached out and touched the portal.

There were flashes of bright white and blinding silver. Joan screamed into the light, feeling like she was being burned alive. Her little body shook with violent tremors, then began to tingle intensely. 

Was she dying? Was the portal really a trap to fry demons? Was this all a trick?

Would she never see Cathy again?

Joan opened her eyes to a clear blue sky. She was laying half in green grass that wasn’t completely charred and half in water that didn’t feel like it was going to boil her. Noises sounded all around her- distant talking, far away laughing children, croaking frogs, chirping birds. 

She was here.

The mortal world.

She made it.

And when she looked up, she saw her.

Cathy.

She didn’t have her wings and horns and tail, and her eyes looked normal, but it was Cathy. 

  “Cathy--” Joan staggered to her feet. She nearly blacked out, but clung to consciousness, which felt much weaker than it did in Hell, and began dragging her agony-infected body forward.

  “Cathy, Cathy, Cathy, Cathy…” Joan mumbled over and over again. She clutched the bloody blanket close to her chest. What if Cathy got mad that she got it messy? Maybe she should go back to the pond and wash it really quickly… No, she had to see Cathy first.

Weird. Cathy seemed so happy with those humans around her. Weren’t humans disgusting and weak and useless? Why did that one in the green shirt kiss her cheek like that? And was that Jane? She remembered that she had gone missing, too. She looked different as well. Did the humans do something to them? They must have cut off their wings and tail. She had to save Cathy!!

Joan tried to run, but her knees buckled and white hot agony rocketed through her entire being. She whimpered sharply.

  “Cathy, please-- I need--you--”

One of the humans, one with short brown hair, turned its head in her direction and shouted something in shock. The others all looked over and had the same reaction. But Joan was only looking at Cathy.

She dropped the blanket and reached out her shaking hands.

  “Cathy…”

And then, the ground rushed up to meet her; she was back in the grass. Everything was starting to fade into darkness. She began to cry. She didn’t want to die. Not without Cathy holding her.

But the blackness was closing in. She was so weak and everything hurt so much and she was just so tired…

The last thing she remembers was someone yelling her name, then everything cut out.

She hoped Cathy wouldn’t be mad about the blanket.

[wepreeshjohnegbert]

The Fiendish Friend Firmament

Okay, so, here are all the Evil BFFs that have joined Lord Egbert’s posse. Also some headcanons with them.

Dark Dave

This Dave comes from a timeline where all the other Beta kids died during the final battle against Lord English. This results in him not bonding with Dirk as he did in our timeline, as he shut himself off from everyone to mourn for awhile. Dave tries to move on by happily marrying Karkat and he becomes much closer to Kanaya thanks to both mourning Rose. The problem is, they’re both mortal. Dave insists on trying to de-age them forever with his time powers, but Karkat shuts him down. His last wish is for Dave to try to move on from everyone’s deaths and keep living a happy life.

Dave tries to do just that. The problem is that he avoids making any sort of connection to the Alpha Kids. Jake looks uncomfortably like John, and Dirk exists, which shuts down any interest Dave has in getting to know them and their social group. Combine that with him not even being able to find the Troll God Tiers after all these years, and he has no fellow immortals to relate too. Because of that, Dave gets himself caught in an unending cycle of finding a new mortal love, spending their life with them, outliving them and feeling that pain and heartbreak all over again. He ends up going into each relationship increasingly aware of just how mortal his new beloved is, but he keeps throwing himself into these relationships in an effort to move on like Karkat would’ve wanted him too.

It finally escalates to the point where he tries using his time powers to keep his latest loved one alive forever against their will, causing them to abandoned him in shock and disgust once they find out. After that, he finds himself tearfully spilling his heart out to Karkat’s grave. Then Lord Egbert shows up and Dave nearly bowls him over with a hug. Lord Egbert tells him about his idea to give everyone a happy ending by taking over the narrative, and Dave buys into it wholesale.  He’s just a heartbroken mess who wants to see his friends and loved ones again at this point.

Headcanons

The name “Dark Dave” was given to him by Lord Egbert. Dave thinks it’s cheesy and stupid, but he refuses to change it because it sounds like a name his universe’s John would give him.

The other members of the Fiendish Friend Firmament always call him Dork Dave when they want to tease him.

Kinda unintentionally serves as the heart of the group. If the team ever gets morally hung up about their actions, they just remember a story Dave told them about one of his past lovers and decide to keep going. 

Lady Lalonde

This Rose comes from a universe where she never went grimdark, as she ended up losing the crystal ball early on. As such, she has no reason to distrust the Horrorterrors. So, when Kanaya dies of old age after the game, the Horrorterrors offer to resurrect her, in exchange for Rose summoning them into her universe. Rose does so, and the Horrorterrors hold true to their word. They then proceed to devour all life in the universe, leaving only Rose and Kanaya alive.

Rose is completely devastated with guilt and she quickly sets too work with Kanaya to undo her mistake. Their attempts to recreate life fall flat, as without a matriorb, that’s simply outside their realm of expertise. Nevermind how the presence of the horrorterrors has warped the laws of nature, making new life potentially impossible regardless. Their attempts to destroy the horrorterrors directly are similarly met with failure. They’re simply too powerful for a single Seer of Light to vanquish on her own.

After decades of failed attempts and false starts, Lord Egbert shows up with Dark Dave. Working together, the four of them manage to wipe out the Horrorterrors. John makes his offer afterwards, stating that he can undo her mistake once he gains narrative control. Kanaya is hesitant, as it was Rose bargaining with powerful forces to revive a loved one that got them into this mess to begin with, but the two eventually agree. After a group hug. 

Headcanons

Rose chose her villain name herself, after finding out that Dave and John were doing it. She was originally going to go with something more meaningful, like Complacency or Lovecraft, but Kanaya talked her down. Kanaya does not have a villain name, as she finds the concept rather silly. (“Why Are We Calling Ourselves Villains At All? We’re Trying To Fix The Multiverse.” “Acting like supervillains helps us get the angst out of our system. Also, it’s fun and sounds cool.”)

Kanaya still totally calls her Lady Lalonde though. And Lord Egbert never stops trying to get her to accept the name Mad Madame Maryam or something. She’s not about to accept a nickname from someone called Lord Egbert.

Rose is the recruiter whenever John can’t step up to task. She knows exactly what buttons to push to get people on their side. 

She tries to dissect John and Dave’s psyche past their “dramatic supervillain” act, but finds imagining her friends having their lives slowly fall apart to be too difficult to think about. So she joins them in their tongue in cheek supervillain act. It makes it easier to disassociate with their actions.

Harleyquinn

This Jade is from a timeline pretty similar to ours, with one key difference. The fight against Lord English was going terribly. The trolls had already been completely wiped out and the humans weren’t fairing much better. In an act of desperation, Jade combines her powers with that of a dying Calliope to trap herself in a black hole with Lord English. Jade has the ring of life on to keep English from simply killing her, and Calliope’s last act is too give Jade her powers in order to keep English contained forever.

Lord English kills Jade repeatedly, slaughtering her in every creative way he can imagine. But Jade refuses to budge, heroically meeting him with a smile each time, knowing her friends are now safe. So, LE switches tactics. He begins attacking her mentally, telling her in detail how her sacrifice has effected her friends. 

He brutally describes how miserable her friends are in the new world, how badly they miss her and how their grief tears them apart. He describes John’s isolation and downfall into depression. He describes how Rose and Dave tinker with the dark arts in an attempt to get her back, despite knowing the dangers of it. Sure, part of that has to do with the deaths of the trolls, but English puts it all on her. He gloats how it’s her fault Rose summons the horrorterrors and their friends get butchered because of it.

Just as Jade is about to give up, Lord Egbert and his posse arrive. They kick English’s ass and John absorbs his powers. John makes the same offer to Jade and Jade accepts. Yet again, cue group hug.

Headcanons 

Jade is the one too suggest the name Fiendish Friend Firmament to the group. John loves it, Dave thinks it’s lame and “ironically” votes in it’s favor, and Rose and Kanaya think it’s silly but still choose to support it.

Jade is a Stepford Smiler, full stop. She masks her guilt complex by acting extra helpful and nice and is actually the most ruthless of the team. She’s desperate to undo “her” mistakes, despite never being able to stop those tragedies from happening. And, sense John will just fix everything in the end anyway, she thinks any actions she takes to that  point are justified. Prepare to witness a lot of atrocities done on the face of a barely upheld cherry facade.

She also made costumes for everyone. Luckily, Kanaya revised them to look less garish. 

General Headcanons

As the leader, John makes it his responsibility to try to help everyone cope with their trauma in the interim between world domination plans. So, he has everyone dive wholesale into the supervillain act to try to keep their minds off of everything. He writes everyone villain songs and even gets them to all sing one together at one point. I can totally see them singing Ways To Be Wicked by the Descendants or I’m The Boss by Big Bad Bosses. 

There are times where these four just… stop to play video games. They drop all the world domination talk, crash on the couch, and pop in a movie or a game. Kanaya snuggles with Rose when she joins them, while joining Rose in criticizing the plot of whatever they’re watching or playing. Dave keeps a running, ironic commentary going, Jade joking chastises them for ruining the fun, and John sushes everyone because he’s unironically into it and loves whatever they’re watching. Then everyone falls asleep on the couch after a few hours of just… being normal kids.

…Well, this got way more angsty than expected. 

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  Breaking the Curse

Chapter 23: On the Outside

As of this morning, there were still no answers to the dozens of questions that he had for the strange sight he'd encountered last night. But he had even fewer answers to the questions that had arisen after he'd arrived home, and Dove had sent him a message that stated Emma and Sidney had broken into the Mayor's office and left together shortly after Regina arrived. He didn't know why they'd done it, he didn't know why they were working together, he didn't know what Regina was up to, but he felt certain it was more than a secret playground that looked an awful lot like a castle Regina had once inhabited. But the scariest thing of all, he had no idea why Emma and Sidney were present at the Town Council Meeting.

There they were. Before he even arrived, it appeared they'd gotten in and taken some seats. They had a file folder or binder of some sort with them, and though they did occasionally turn to whisper to one another, they were mostly quiet. Still, for him, the most disturbing detail was the look in their eyes. They had a sort of fire in their gaze, a determination that he didn't like because he hadn't a clue what it meant. This was driving him mad. For centuries nothing had ever happened in this town or the Enchanted Forest that he didn't know about. He didn't like not being on the inside. He didn't like not having any control. He didn't like being less powerful than Regina Mills.

At precisely one, the moment the clock was done chiming, Regina, who sat at the table in front of the room, banged her gavel. "This session of the Storybrooke City Council will come to order," she stated, just like she did every time the council met. She seemed unphased by Miss Swan's presence. That was a sure sign she expected it. Now how would she have known she'd be here, he pondered, glancing over at Sidney. "We will begin by reading the minutes from our last meeting."

"Uh, excuse me, um, Madam Mayor!"

And just like that, everyone was staring at Sidney. The quiet and meek reporter, Regina's puppet, rose to his feet just as he raised his voice. The folder he'd seen earlier was in his hand.

He stayed seated and tried to plaster the right expression of cool uncertainty on his face but what he felt inside was annoyance. These meetings were dull at best and hell at worst, but add Sidney and Emma into the equation, and suddenly he felt anger begin to boil. What the hell was going on? Sidney had reported on these meetings for years, he knew how they went as well as the appropriate time to talk. Now wasn't it. Which meant he was going for dramatics. Why? To rile up Emma? Now, why would he want to do that?

He glanced suspiciously at Regina as Sidney went on.

"I have something I'd like to bring to the council's attention.?"

"This is not an open forum, Sidney. And no one on this council's interested in hearing the boozy complaints of a disgraced reporter. Now sit down."

"He's not the only one who has something to say!"

Now Emma was out of her seat, grabbing ahold of the files that Sidney had been holding a second ago. If he'd been trying to rile her up, he'd succeeded. The question of "why" remained. Could this get any worse?

"Miss Swan, this meeting is to discuss issues facing Storybrooke."

"Like the Mayor stealing thousands of dollars from the city to build herself a second home?"

There were gasps from the audience as everyone turned to their neighbor for gossip. The gentleman next to him attempted to do the same but stopped when he realized who he was sitting beside. It was a good thing too, the only thing keeping his temper under control right now was the grip he had on his cane. Regina stealing money for a secret home…shit. He had a feeling he was beginning to connect the dots, and for once, he hoped he was wrong. Because if he was right, Emma was about to find herself in a lot of trouble not only with Regina but with the entire town.

Regina banged her gavel once more, silencing the crowd poorly but enough to raise her voice. "Miss Swan, you will sit down immediately or so help me-"

"What? You'll punish me? You'll bully me like everyone else in this town? No. Not today…" Emma turned and looked out over the small crowd before her as she held up a piece of paper. It was difficult to see details from a distance, but he recognized enough of what he saw to identify what it was. The playground she'd shown him the night before. Shit. "In my hand, I am holding documents proving that this woman, your mayor, stole funds from the city to build herself a lavish home in the woods. And this disgraced reporter, you want to know why he was really fired? Because he stood up to her. Because he questioned her. We all know what happens to people who question the Mayor." Emma turned again, looked back in Regina's direction.

Regina was glaring, but she wasn't threatened. No, he knew what it looked like when Regina felt threatened, and that face wasn't it. In fact, she was a little too calm considering what was happening. He had theories galore at the moment, but none that solved this problem or could help Emma.

"You claim that you act in the best interest of all of us, but that isn't the truth, is it? The truth is, you are a thug that doesn't care about anyone or anything but yourself. That is who you really are. And it is time for the people of Storybrooke to know that."

There was a pause, a brief period of silence in which every single eye in the room was fixed on Regina Mills. Those were all very serious accusations to make against the Mayor, and she would have found herself in a lot of trouble…if they were true. But he knew, and Regina knew…they weren't true at all. But still, upset as she looked, he could see through its façade. She'd wanted this. She'd planned for this and was prepared for it. But how? He glanced across the way to Sidney…

Regina's puppet indeed. She'd played him, and in turn, he'd played Emma. They'd set her up for failure. They'd set her up for this very moment…so she could publicly crash and burn. Regina was going to win this particular battle. Fuck.

"You are right, Miss Swan," Regina commented, calling his attention forward. "I am building a house…a playhouse."

Regina rose from her seat and pulled a small remote from her pocket, the remote to the projector. With one click, the playground that he'd shown her appeared on the screen in front of them all, and this time the gasps of disgraced were replaced with sounds of awe and wonder. Regina…smelling like roses while the Savior stunk like last week's trash. How convenient.

"The accusations are true. I did take city funds. I wanted to build a playground so my son, Henry, and all the children of Storybrooke, could have a special place to play. Safely. As for the sketch in your hands, it was inspired by a drawing I found in one of my son's books. So…there you have it, Miss Swan. You've exposed me for who I really am. I hope you're satisfied." Looking utterly baffled and confused, Emma looked back at Sidney, who was making a good show looking upset. Emma took her seat as Regina did, and the pair lowered their stunned gazes, whispered one more thing to one another, and then remained quiet. After a satisfactory amount of time for awkward, punishing silence, Regina banged her gavel once more.

"Now…shall we continue without the theatrics…the minutes…" She continued with the meeting as though nothing had happened, and somehow he managed to as well. But it was a struggle.

Theatrics…theatrics, indeed. Theatrics that had no doubt been planned by Regina herself. No wonder Dove hadn't found anything. There was nothing to find! Regina had been secretly working with Sidney, and she knew enough not to include anyone else in her scheme. The only way he'd have found out was if Regina or Sidney had given the plan to someone else, and Regina was too smart for that while Sidney…Sidney was naught but her faithful puppy dog. A plaything in a way that Graham wasn't. The problem was that he knew Sidney would have loved to take Graham's place in Regina's heart and her bed. No doubt that was how she used him, just as she'd used him to kill her first husband. In manipulating those around her, treating them like chess pieces on a board, his student had taken a page out of his own fucking book. Damn him for not seeing it sooner!

Emma and Sidney had the good sense to wait for the end of the meeting to leave. They were humiliated enough they didn't need to walk out angry and make it worse. But the second the meeting was adjourned…they took off like bats out of hell. He'd expected that. It was the reason he'd dismissed himself early to use the restroom and waited outside…all to see this view: Emma and Sidney practically running away from the scene of the crime. Not that he could blame them. Once upon a time, he'd have wanted to do the same thing. And this situation in particular…Emma had tried to take down Regina, but she'd gone about it the wrong way. He knew that the consequences would be bad he just had no idea how bad they would be or how long they would last, or the effect it would ultimately have on the Curse being broken.

But suddenly, as he stood there waiting for an opportune time to inform her of her mistrust in Sidney Glass, Emma stopped walking and turned. She looked back at Regina, and he had the distinct feeling that she was about to turn and go talk to her, but he wasn't sure if that would be a good idea or a bad idea given her mental standing. He needed her to beat Regina, but not in this way. She'd just failed miserably, and he had a suspicion of why, but no actual proof. He needed to take his power back.

"Look at her," he stated, sidling up to the pair of them. "Queen of the castle. You know, what you did in there was commendable, Miss Swan. But if you really want to bring her down, you're going to need a strong ally."

"Like yourself?" she practically spat out at him. "Thanks, but I'm still not interested."

He smiled. She had no idea just how long he'd been planning all this, the things he'd seen in his head, the things he'd done to put himself in the perfect spot to be exactly what she didn't want but needed so desperately. The Seer was never wrong. One day she'd need him, one day she'd take him up on his offer, and when that day came, he needed to be prepared.

Across the way, he saw Regina glance at the three of them, say good-bye to the man she was talking to, and set her sights on Emma. He knew that gaze. He felt a lecture coming on. He'd be damned if he was going to sit through it from a former student.

"Oh…one can wish," he grinned before turning away and leaving Miss Swan and her new best friend to stare down their enemy. Or was she really "their" enemy.

Back in his car, he watched them chat. He idled nearly as long as his own thoughts did. He wanted so badly to put someone on Regina, to watch her just as he was watching David and Emma, on the off chance she kept trying this, but he knew he couldn't do it. Regina was too smart and might catch on. If she caught on, then he was close to his secret being revealed, and he wasn't ready to play that particular card just yet. However, he was smart enough to know that he didn't need to have Regina followed to keep an eye on her, just a new friend Emma seemed to have made. He didn't have proof, but he'd bet his last good ankle that the one who had arranged all of this was none other than that magic mirror of hers…still a genie at heart he was, determined to make all her wishes come true.

It was a good thing Regina had just made him a rich man. He was going to need another of Dove's cousins to follow Sidney around until he could confirm his suspicions. For his own sake, he couldn't wait for the day that Emma accepted she needed him as her ally and he could get his magic back. Magic was power, and power was information. Until he had his magic back, money was the best substitute and information…it didn't come cheap.

[kasdeyathebitterwoman]

A Ninja Warrior Love Story - Part 6

Whew, we are on part 6 already! In this installment, we learn even more about Lily’s past, specifically her dad. We’re starting to get into some more challenging, difficult topics so, bear with me! 

Word Count: 2,672

CW: talk of alcoholism, rehab, dysfunctional families

taglist: 

@maeleeme @andyrazzledazzle

The days following Lily and Henry’s conversation were easy. There was a natural rhythm that developed between the two. Lily helped him navigate the obstacles and Henry did everything he could to make her laugh. She found herself enjoying his sense of humor. The following Monday, both he and Tom weren’t coming in because of an early morning meeting for their movie in Dallas. Lily, surprisingly, found herself missing Henry a little. He texted her a little while he was away.

Be honest, how do I look? Attached to his message was an image of Henry with extreme bed head. His curls were fashioned in a haphazard manner, going every which way around his face and forehead. Lily cackled a little at the sight and replied.

I think you’ve found your new look, Merida! Smiling, she hit send and got back to her workout. It felt good to be able to actually work out for a change without having to worry about someone else. While she was working out, her phone started to vibrate in her pocket. Confused she pulled it out to find Henry was attempting to FaceTime her. Though it was later in the morning and other people were at the gym, she answered anyway since she had headphones in.

“Hey,” she said, her brow furrowed slightly. Henry smiled at her. She couldn’t see where he was, but it looked like a hotel room.

“Hello, Lily,” he said, a smile lingering on his full lips. Lily gently smiled back.

“And to what do I owe this video chat?” she asked, a fair amount of playfulness in her tone. Henry’s smile turned sheepish at the question.

“To be honest,” he started. “I wanted to see you,” Lily felt herself blush and she dropped her gaze. Henry cleared his throat. “So how is it at the gym without me?” Lily chuckled a little.

“Miserable. Absolutely horrible,” she replied over Henry’s laughter. “I’ve got nothing to do and no one to please,” she cracked a smile and laughed with Henry.

“Well, I’ll be back tomorrow to end your suffering,” Henry replied, still chuckling a little. Lily laughed then sighed.

“Unfortunately, you won’t,” Lily replied and watched as Henry’s face changed. “I won’t be here tomorrow. Since you’re gone, I decided there’s nothing left for me here. I’m leaving and never coming back. You’ll have to work with Celeste from now on for your training,” she smiled wide at Henry who immediately caught on and started laughing again. Lily smiled, enjoying the sound.

“Okay, okay,” he said, his eyes flicking off camera. “My assistant is here, telling me I need to start getting ready for these meetings. Have a good day, beautiful,” Henry hung up the call before Lily could say goodbye or process the fact that he called her beautiful. It set off a fire in her cheeks and a thunder of butterflies in her stomach.

—

Tuesday morning, Lily got up with her alarm but didn’t get dressed for the gym. Instead, she put on normal street clothes, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door. Before leaving town, she stopped in at a coffee shop a few blocks from the Hilton hotel for a cup of coffee. On the way back to her truck, she didn’t notice Henry who was walking Kal a few yards away. As she was driving off, her phone rang. She saw it was Henry so she answered.

“Hey Henry,” Lily said, sleep clouding her voice.

“Good morning beautiful,” he replied, sending that thunder of butterflies off again. “You’re off to an early start,” Lily paused.

“What?” she asked. Henry chuckled.

“I saw you leaving the coffee shop. Kal and I pass by there most mornings for our walk,” he replied.

“Oh, so you’re stalking me now,” Lily said sardonically making Henry laugh.

“Complete and thoroughly stalking you, yes. Your nightgown last night was lovely by the way,” he replied, causing Lily to burst out laughing. “Okay, well, I don’t want you to crash, so I’ll hang up. Drive safe, love,” Lily chuckled and said goodbye. After hanging up the phone, she channel surfed the radio for a while before finally deciding to play a podcast on her phone.

The four and a half hours it took to get to Wichita Springs were filled with the sound of her podcast and her own thoughts. Last week she decided not to go see her dad, not wanting to deal with all of that on top of everything with Henry. Once things seemed to level out, she decided to take the time and see him.

Lily’s dad, Thomas, was once a good man. He was always a good man, but he had a problem with alcohol - he liked it but it didn’t like him. After her mom died, Thomas grew fonder and fonder of the drink. Lily was eight when her mother died, which meant she had over ten years of dealing with a shadow of a man that was supposed to be her father. This was the first time he’d had a real chance at getting clean and sober, but based on her interactions with him, it seemed like he didn’t care. Without Carla, his life had no meaning. Lily wondered if he even cared that she showed up.

Hours later, she pulled into the visitor parking for the Wichita Springs Rehab Hospital. She was a few minutes early for the visitor hours, so she sat in her truck scrolling through her phone. She decided to text Henry.

So how’s training going without me? she hit send and checked her time. She still had over 20 minutes before she could go inside. Wanting to stretch her legs, Lily got out of the car and began walking around the facility. Her phone chimed in her pocket, so she pulled it out to read the message.

It’s a spectacular failure. Tom has decided we simply can’t make this movie without you. Lily laughed a little at the idea, then replied.

I had a feeling. I have a sixth sense about these things :) hitting send, she felt the overwhelming urge to see him again. Impulsively, she opened FaceTime on her phone, found Henry and hit send. The connection took a moment to establish, but a few seconds later, Henry’s sweaty, tired face appeared on her screen.

“Well this is a change,” he said, smiling at her. His blue eyes seemed so much more blue than Lily last remembered. Maybe it was the shirt he was wearing.

“Yeah, I have some time to kill before visiting hours,” she said, instantly regretting it. She’d had no intention of giving away any information, but she always felt her guard down when she was talking with Henry.

“Visiting hours?” he asked. Lily swallowed hard, panic setting in.

“Uh, yeah, um,” she started, stumbling over her words. Her eyes darted to anything other than her screen where Henry’s stunning blue eyes watched her. “I’m meeting my dad,” she finally got out. Every word and breath was caught on the roof of her mouth which was now as dry as cotton. She sniffled. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Henry bobbing his head.

“Oh,” he simply said. Suddenly his face contorted a little and he exclaimed, “Ow!” a black and white flash crossed her screen as Lily realized Kal was attempting to get in on the conversation. Lily laughed at the sight as Henry readjusted himself in frame. “I think Kal is jealous that I’m hogging the conversation with a beautiful woman,” Lily blushed a little at his comment. “Alright, Lucky Lily, I have got a wager for you,” Henry said, suddenly getting serious. Lily’s brow furrowed slightly.

“Okay,” she said, confused.

“If I can make it up the warped wall in one attempt, I get to take you out on a proper date,” Henry said. Lily chuckled.

“And what do I get if you don’t make it up?” she asked. Henry looked a little perplexed when suddenly, Lily had a thought. Her eyes lit up and she got excited. “If you don’t make it up the wall, I get to give you a shave.” Panic flashed across Henry’s face.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked, a little dumbfounded. Lily cackled.

“Henry,” she started. “I’m a licensed barber. I’m one of four people in the area that can give you the closest shave of your life,” as she spoke, she realized she was giddy at the idea of being that close to Henry. It actually gave her goosebumps. Henry shook his head.

“I had better get up that wall,” she heard him mutter. She watched with amusement as he set the phone down facing the warped wall. And as he attempted a few times to get Kal out of the frame before finally settling on moving the phone. Finally, it was time to see who would get their reward. Lily watched as Henry placed himself at the start, got ready, then ran full-speed at the wall. Instantly, she knew he wouldn’t be able to make it up. Though Henry was clearly strong, he wasn’t built for speed. She watched as he gave his best effort though. His hands missed the top by inches and he slid down the wall in shame.

With his tail between his knees, metaphorically speaking, Henry walked back to his phone. Lily tried hard to keep her expression clear, but she knew her smile was ruining everything. Henry was breathing heavy and when he finally saw her smile, he squinted his eyes.

“You are so lucky you’re cute,” he said. Though embarrassed, Lily smiled wide at the camera. Henry laughed at her and even through the tiny camera, Lily could see that twinkle in his eyes again. She chuckled. Seeing the time, though, Lily realized she had to go.

“Well, times up,” she said. “I have to go,” Henry nodded and looked at her with those intense blue eyes.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later,” he said. “Goodbye, beautiful.” they hung up and Lily felt a conflict of emotions. She was somehow very happy after talking with Henry, but she remembered where she was and why she was there.

—

Inside the rehab facility, Lily met the head nurse at the counter. She was a nice enough woman who clearly was exhausted by her job. Shelia, her name was, handed Lily a clipboard to sign in on. Then she asked for her ID and any personal belongings that could potentially be used as weapons. Lily handed everything over then was escorted by an orderly to the visiting room. It was a simple room with two tables, several chairs, and two windows looking out into hallways. She never liked this room.

After several minutes, the door opened and a younger nurse escorted her dad in. He was thinner than she last remembered. He had a serious amount of stubble on his chin and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Look who it is, Mr. Halliwell,” the young nurse said. “Your daughter has come to see you today.” Thomas’s eyes searched the room and when they finally fell on Lily, there was no recognition. It stopped being painful a long time ago. She stayed silent in her seat until the nurse had walked out and closed the door behind her.

“Hey dad,” she finally said, quietly. The man across from her didn’t acknowledge that she’d said anything. “How have you been?” she asked, knowing he wouldn’t respond. Thomas, however, was a man full of surprises, because he looked up from the table where he had been staring and replied to Lily.

“I’m tired, Lil,” he said, his voice shaky from lack of use. “I’m tired and I miss her,” suddenly Lily heard tears in his voice and she cringed. Her dad began to openly weep while Lily sat stoically on the other side of the table.

“I miss her too, dad,” Lily said. They sat like this for a little while, before Lily finally spoke again to do something to change the awkwardness. “I’ve been working at this gym in town, dad. I’m actually training actors for a big movie right now.” her dad had calmed down at this point. He wasn’t sobbing, but he was crying and sniffling. He looked up at her through his tears.

“You look so much like her, it hurts, Lil,” he whimpered before the sobs came flooding back. Lily sat there, uncomfortable, for several more minutes before finally telling her dad she’d leave him be. As she got up to leave the room, his crying and whimpering faded. Suddenly, he was angry in his seat. “That’s right, do what you always do. Leave me, just like your mother did,” his words dripped with venom and hate. Lily stood at the door, agony and anger holding her in place. She took in a breath, opened the door, and walked out without another word to the man. Back at the nurses’ station, she picked up her belongings. another nurse was there now and asking her questions.

“Is that your dad that you always come to see?” she asked. Her name tag said, Rachel. Lily nodded. “That’s so sweet that you come to check on him. Some of these folks don’t have anyone. Isn’t that sad?” Rachel the nurse asked. Lily wanted to tell her what’s sad was having a father less than 2 feet in front of you but he never actually saw you. Instead, she pushed her lips together and nodded stiffly.

Walking out of the hospital, Lily checked her phone to find three missed messages from Henry and one from her best friend, Mar. From Henry, it was two pictures of Kal looking at the camera with a very unimpressed expression. Henry sent the message,

He’s very concerned about this shave I have to undergo. A small smile escaped Lily’s lips as she read it, then went back to the images of Kal. They were in Henry’s hotel room which looked massive and spectacular. Lily was positive it was bigger and nicer than her own apartment. Going back to his message, Lily responded,

Tell Kal not to worry, I’m a master of my craft. She hit send, then went to read Mar’s message.

Hola chica! Don told me you were going to see your dad today, so I’m checking in to make sure you’re good. I’m about to go into class, so call me when you get home. I’ll probably be out of class “studying” by then. Love you!

Sighing, Lily climbed into her truck and drove home.

—

Hours later, back in her cramped apartment, Lily sat on her couch as the light dimmed from bright to sunset, to darkness. Finally, she decided to call Mar. After two rings, the line picked up.

“About damn time, Lily pad, I was getting worried!” Mar said in place of a regular hello. Lily smiled.

“Hey Mar’s bar,” she replied. Everything must have been in her voice because right away, Mar knew something was up.

“Hey, what’s going on?” she asked, her tone turning serious. Lily took a deep breath before finally spilling everything. She told Mar about Henry and Tom, the evening of betrayal, her sort of reconciliation with Henry, and finally the visit with her dad. She cried hard for the first time in a while and Mar let her get it all out.

“Oh Lily pad,” Mar said when she was finally done. Lily sniffled, the tears flowing freely at this point. “Babe, you gotta get out of there,” Mar said. Lily heavily sighed.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” she asked, even though it was more of a whine.

“Because you’re going to die in that middle of nowhere town!” Mar exclaimed. “You stay there because you have some twisted obligation to a man that didn’t raise you and a family that isn’t really yours,” Mar stopped. “I know I’m being harsh, but you’ve been there way too long. Get on a plane, get out, and don’t look back.”

[ask-de-writer]

DARING DO and the ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 10 of 21

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

Daring Do

and the Adventure of the X'ibian Vase!

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

And

Carmen Pondiego

Cover Art by

Doctor Dimension

52630 words

© 2015 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 08/26/15

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge.  I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images provided that I receive a copy of each image for my archive.  

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Robber was getting upset.  The fool Lock Keeper was not paying any attention to the importance of getting these five motor trucks across the canal!  

“SIR!  I must speak to you!” he demanded imperiously.

Signaling the line of peasants to halt, the Lock Keeper stepped around his counter and glared at Robber.  He gave the slight inclination of the head of one of great importance to one of little value and snapped, “We HAVE SPOKEN! You are rude.  Your trucks cannot use this bridge in ANY CASE.  They will not fit.  You must find better courtesy and a different way to cross the canal!”

A watching pegasus in the same cotton robes and flat conical hat as the other watching peasants stepped out of the line for the bridge, courteously yielding his place to the mare behind him.  He stepped behind some bushes nearer to the Dunn See and a poor young beggar came out.  He had dark blue fur with an orange mane and tail.  His robe, though clean, was much worn.  His flat conical straw hat had straws fraying away from one side.

He approached Robber imperiously, and offered only the slightest of nods.  Robber might be a slow learner, and he was, but he had sorted out that he needed to fix whatever it was that had gone wrong.  He returned a bow of equals to the beggar.

“What do you want, umm … Sir?”

The beggar gave back another bow of superiority, though not quite so great.  “It is rather what YOU want.  Also, what you need.  Your greatest need is courtesy, especially your bow.  Being foreigners here gives you no special privilege.  The importance of the one you face is not in his social station, but in whether he can aid you or not.  Recognize that in your bow to him or suffer the consequence.

“All the ponies here know Shun Yu.  As the Master of the Lock, he is vital to all who wish to cross the canal, bring cargoes to the canal, unload cargoes from canal boats, ship or receive goods from the rail line.  You treated him worse than a beggar like myself.  He will not even accept a bribe from you, so badly have you done this.”

Robber nearly ground his teeth at the rebuke from so lowly a pony.  The only reason that he did not was his already spectacular failure.  As a prominent lawyer, he was used to listening only for the purpose of gaining information to use in a case.

“What of bribes?  We have heard that this whole place runs on bribes but if they do take ours they act as if insulted!”

“They were.  You do not understand the bribe at all.  For that I will not help you.  All that is needed is to look, think deeply of what you see and learn from it.”

The blue and orange beggar held out a hoof.  “For an alms reasonable to the importance of the information, I can help you to pass this canal.”

Robber was about to offer a few of the odd copper cash used in the Empire.  Thinking like a lawyer, he reviewed what he had just been told and instead offered the same twelve golden cash, with their funny square holes, that he had tried to offer to Shun Yu, the Lock Keeper.

The beggar smiled as he made the coins disappear.  “Come back up the road a little.  It is not marked but this side path down to the river’s edge is your answer. It leads to a tether barge for large equipment and other awkward objects.”

Robber turned to inform the others of the development.  The beggar passed behind some bushes.  An old earth pony, also blue and orange, trotted down to the empty barge toll house.

It took some serious effort but Robber did negotiate their passage.  One at a time, the first three of ROT’s motor trucks was loaded, chocked, strapped and hauled upstream to the other side of the canal.  It took over an hour each.

Overthrow grew impatient at the slow pace.  “It is just past noon already!  We have not got all day to do this trifling chore!  Here!  Put both of our remaining trucks on the barge!  There is plenty of deck space!”

He thrust five more cash into the blue pony’s hoof.  The coin vanished.  “This is most unwise. You must load, place them, and secure them.  I will see to the pulling as I have already.  The consequence of your action is upon you alone.”

The old pony stood by while both vehicles were placed on the barge and tied by Overthrow, with Robber’s help.  None of their hired ponies would go near the task.

The old pony, staying on the downriver side, managed the pulling gear for the tether barge from his toll house.

ROT’s team cheered as the barge settled into its dock.  Now that the barge was across, ROT’s hirelings swarmed aboard and untied both trucks.  With the roar of its mage/tech engine, the first truck inched forward to the barge’s exit ramp.  It was about half on the dock when the barge began to tip away from the dock.  The untended truck, free of its ties, was rolling slowly toward the river side of the barge.

With a loud gurgling hiss of escaping air, the tipping barge started to take water!  The roll of the barge pulled the ramp free of the dock.  Both truck and ramp fell into the gap with a huge splash and more burbling.  Free of the nearly balancing weight, the barge flipped up almost on edge, dropping the second truck into the muddy water.  Free of the pesky, mismanaged loads, the barge flopped back to upright, neatly covering both trucks!

The horrified hirelings managed to rescue the pony driver of the first truck by throwing ropes and dragging him to a maintenance ladder.

In the toll house, the blue pony neatly set the controls and left.  Passing behind some  bushes he seemed to vanish.

By nightfall, the barge had been pumped out and removed.  The salvage cranes meant to handle river wrecks had hold of the first truck and lines secured to the second one.

All was being managed by a furious Shun Yu, whose lock facilities had been seriously damaged by these bungling foreign amateurs!

He was not buying any tale of mysterious blue and orange ponies, either.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

As word of amusing disasters will, the tale of ROT’s trucks falling from the barge and the ghastly salvage situation that the idiot foreigners caused, ran up the river Dunn See like a wind driven wild fire.

Daring Do and her two students were sitting at an outdoor restaurant enjoying noodles, stir fried veggies and tea when the table next to them erupted in gales of laughter.

Soree, who was better at understanding Chineighese than Jeremy, got it first!  Holding her sides, she told Jeremy, “ROT really fouled up!  They were trying to bypass the end of the canal back there with a barge.  They miss loaded it and dropped two of their five trucks right into the river! They were still lifting them out by salvage crane this morning!”

Jeremy, giggling like mad, turned to Daring Do and suggested, “Remind me not to get on your bad pony list!  Did you know that they would run into something like that if they tried to use trucks?”

Failing miserably at looking innocent, Daring Do replied around a mouth full of excellent stir fry, “Not in detail, no.  I did know that they would not do bribes correctly and I was sure that the bows of courtesy would not be done right.

“That is certain to anger anypony important to them.  Especially officials like Canal Lock supervisors.  That pretty well guarantees that they will have trouble at such places.

“I am wondering about something else.  The mysterious blue barge keeper with the orange mane.”

“Why?” asked Jeremy.

“Because that color pattern is extremely rare in the Empire.  It is believed to be the worst sort of bad luck.  There is a long history of the worst pony caused disasters in the Empire being caused or connected to ponies of those colors.”

Soree said thoughtfully, “That sounds like a superstition.  Is there any reason to think otherwise?”

Daring Do nodded.  “The most recent of them was Admiral Wong Weigh.  He led over 90% of the Empire’s Naval forces in the attack against Qushi Han Le’s Formasa Archipelago headquarters base.”

Suddenly Jeremy remembered a thing that he had been told about the Pirate Queen.  “Qushi had a major in Naval Architecture, Strategy and Weaponry, right?”

Daring Do nodded as she sucked in more noodles.

“How bad was it?”

“The Admiral ordered no surrender to all ships before the attack.  They followed orders.  All Imperial Navy ships in the attack were sunk.  Qushi lost about ten of her fleet.  They rescued almost 45% of the Imperial Navy sailors.”

Jeremy winced.  “How did she wind up owning the Imperial Navy?”

Daring Do returned to her narrative.  “There is a big difference between being an outlaw and being disloyal to your nation.  The attempted Nippony invasion brought home to her the magnitude of the disaster to the Navy.

“She hit the Nippony fleet from behind and, working together with the Imperial Army on land, crushed them.  She used that victory to arrange a truce to speak to the Emperor and his advisors.  She offered to BE the Navy to make amends for the loss to the Empire.

“She remains based in the Formasa Archipelago and PAYS the Empire a percentage of her travel duties and other incomes.  The Empire has REFUSED offers by other nations to replace the fleet because the Navy was a huge drain on the Imperial coffers.  The present arrangement gives better defense and PAYS the Empire to boot.”

Jeremy and Soree grinned. Suddenly, Jeremy got it.  “It was a blue pony with an orange mane and tail that lost the Empire’s navy!  Any other examples?”

Daring Do nodded as she mopped up the last of her luncheon with a steamed bun.  “Lots of them, going all the way back to the gate keeper who let the Mong barbarians through the Great Northern Wall.  Blue ponies with orange mane and tail are all through the Empire’s history.  Connected to disasters.”

Soree gave Daring Do a sort of admiring gaze as she asked, “Is there anything in history that you DON’T know about?”

Daring Do looked up soberly and replied, “Far too much.  This whole expedition would have been unnecessary if I knew enough.”  She sighed, “Eris was so unhappy about having to open her love’s tomb.”

Jeremy’s brows pulled down in puzzlement as he asked, “What does Eris have to do with Im Farst’s tomb?  Her love?  Are you serious?”

Daring Do looked about to be sure that no pony was listening in before answering, “She has EVERYTHING to do with it.”

Soree sucked in a breath of surprise.  She said softly, “The Dragon Queen.  That was Eris? That was way back before the Nightmare Wars.”

Daring Do nodded slowly.  “It was.  Never forget how OLD Eris, Discord, is.  The Dragonequis was made in the earliest days of the world’s creation.  She is older than Celestia and Luna.  I know from both experience and being told by Luna herself that Eris prefers her female form and is only male when that is needed to accomplish her mysterious purposes.”

Jeremy sort of snorted, “And SHE loved Im Farst?  How could an Immortal being like her love anypony?”

Daring Do gave him a bleak stare that sent shivers down Jeremy’s spine.  “I don’t know, Jeremy.  I do know this.  Eris spends time in Memorial Meditation to this day. She has a shrine with the ORIGINAL Weeping Dragon painting that you have a copy of in your materials and offers incense and tea.  And still weeps for him.”

Jeremy suddenly sat up and looked about in puzzlement.  “Where is Guardian?  Come to think, I have not seen him since Singapone.”

Daring Do smiled.  “You are the observant one, aren’t you?  This is his land.  The Guardians have more work than keeping an eye on us.  Though I do believe that his replacement is not far away.”

Jeremy paused. “Would it be impolite to try to see who he is?”

Daring Do grinned at his suddenly found caution.  She replied, “It would be REALLY HARD to see HIM.  She is here, though.  And yes, it would be rude.”

Soree was happily filling her notebook with details of the Inn that they were rooming at.  She looked up from her task and commented, “Since we are going to Hong Wa, and this is where you met the Dromedaries that were such good support on the Darkling Expedition, I guess that is why we are waiting here, now?”

Daring Do nodded affirmatively. ”That is correct, Soree.  We are specifically waiting for Sang He and her herd.  I am really anxious to see her reaction to the new rifles that I had made for her and her followers.”

It was just then that there was a slight commotion at the front of the Inn.  A big Dromedary mare was seeking entry.  The top of the door only reached as high as her shoulder.  There were six more mares out in the Inn’s courtyard. They had bared swords that were only slightly curved, maintaining a uniform width almost their full length and clipped to sharp, angled chisel point.  There were fullers running most of the length of each blade.  These were sometimes called “blood gutters” by those whose imaginations ran wild.  Their real purpose was to both lighten and stiffen the blade.

Daring Do called out in delight, “Sang He!”  She ran out, bowing the bow of equals to the enormous dromedary.

As Sang He bowed back, Jeremy got a rough idea of just how gigantic a dromedary was.  Suddenly, thinking back to the pirate attack on the Sea Sage, Jeremy appreciated the design of the huge rifle that Daring Do had used.

Soree was in an utter transport as she sketched the scene of Sang He, hugging Daring Do, and in the process, lifting her hooves over a meter above the ground.

Daring Do bowed as one seeking a favor to the Inn keeper.  “An open tab for my friends, please, good Inn keep.”  She bowed a second time, offering three of the Empire’s square holed golden cash.  With a pleased smile, the coins vanished into the Inn Keeper’s big sleeves.  

A Wok big enough for a pony bathtub was set out in the courtyard.  It had its own fire box with a big fire of charcoal lit in it.  Oil was poured in by the gallon. From the kitchen came the near machine like hammering of cleavers chopping vegetables.  They were brought out by the basket load and stirred into the oil to fry swiftly.  The stir/strainers were the size of shovels.  And needed.  Cooked vegetables were lifted up to draining racks, ready to serve.

Using platters, instead of plates, the Sang He’s herd lined up, getting huge rice beds first, loading up on the vegetables and then pouring sauces over the whole thing.

As they sat to eat, the Inn’s wait staff became even busier filling four-liter sized mugs with water and tea.

Jeremy was about to comment that this did not look like the kind of help needed for a desert journey, when Soree pointed out, “It was in the Adventure of the Darkling’s Tomb.  They will fill up now and won’t need food or water for a week or more.”

Jeremy nodded,  “That was a part that I found hard to believe.  I think that I understand it better now.”

“Listen, Jeremy!  They aren’t speaking Chineighese at all!   We are hearing our first X'ibian!”

It was obvious from his reaction that Jeremy had not been paying attention.  Again.  He was looking at the fact that all seven of the dromedaries’ swords had been sheathed and the Inn had set out the huge seeming feast.

He growled, “So much for the courtesy of bows and bribes!  They just walk in here brandishing swords and get treated like royalty.  Nobody mentioned Threats!”

Soree and Daring Do stared at him in shock.  Soree shook her head sadly, “Doctor Do, is it too late to leave him in one of Qushi Han Le’s prison cells?”

Picking at batter fried broccoli with her chopsticks, Daring Do nodded glumly, “I am afraid so.”

Turning to Jeremy, she demanded, “HOW could you not know that the X'ibian dromedary herds declare peaceful intent by displaying their weapons in a non threatening stance?  It is mentioned many times in the Darkling’s Tomb, which you told me that you have now read, after the Qushi Han Le debacle.”

Sullenly, Jeremy muttered, “X'ibia is part of the Chineighese Empire.  I read the part about the Chineighese bowing and bribes carefully.  Since it is all the same country, I sort of skimmed the rest.”

Daring Do put a hoof over her eyes.  “Jeremy, do you even understand what an Empire IS?”

“It is a big country built on conquest of smaller ones, obviously.”

Daring Do said bluntly, “If you gave me that answer in the RU’s class on Ethnological Geography I would flunk you.

“An Empire is built mostly by conquest but it is a conglomerate of states held together by common political and economic interests as well as force.

“The Chineighese Empire has existed for 1500 years.  It has fifty two individual states, each with a unique spoken language and dialects.  Each one has been allowed great cultural autonomy as well.  They share a common written language.  Chineighese Ideographic representation.

“A poet in X'ibia can be read in any state of the Empire.  Likewise, anything written anywhere else can be read in X'ibia.”

Jeremy was looking sick.  “I did get a D in that class.  I never dreamed that it could be important.  I mean, why waste time studying inferior cultures?  We have Celestia and Luna.  We are the oldest culture on the planet.”

Soree’s eyes flew wide.  “That is insane!  Equestrian culture and society were so shattered by the Nightmare Wars that even the official dating places the year zero at 250 PNW.

“The Empire is roughly equally old.  Saddle Arabia is older, though not much.  The Nippony Isles are the oldest culture that I know of from my studies in that same class.”

Daring Do pointed out, “We are seeking a tomb that dates to only 224 years after the founding of Fortress Canterlot.  That makes its date roughly 1000 years BEFORE the Nightmare Wars.

“The X'ibian Empire lasted about 2000 years.  A thousand years ago, it was taken by the Chineighese Empire.  Following the successful practices of 1500 years of conquest, they allowed much autonomy, local language and culture to flourish.  We are going to a place where the local culture is nearly 3000 years old.”

Feeling cornered, Jeremy snapped, “And still nomads!”

Soree sweetly pointed out, “Just like the Rom?  You know, the nomads of the Equestrian Roads that Celestia and Luna both join whenever they can?  The ones who invented the first Mage/Tech engine?  The same who made the first successful heavier than air aircraft?  Who invented the Magic Net that we all use?  Those nomads?”

The discussion was ended by Sang He putting her head under the door frame, bowing as an equal, and saying in perfect Equestrian, “As fascinating as your discussion is, Doctor Do, we do have your expedition to get under way.   We have been examining your bills of lading to divide up our loads.

“We found listed rifles and ammunition that we wondered about, since there appears to be seven of them.”

Daring Do returned the bow and grinned.  “Seven rifles and seven in your herd.  It seemed to be about the right number of weapons for you!”

Sang He called back over her shoulder in X'ibian and her words were greeted by cheers.  The other six of her herd made an orderly stampede for the warehouse where the expedition’s equipment was stored.

Soon a very impressed Jeremy was looking at the loaded dromedaries.  It had taken little time at all. They all knew which boxes of supplies that they wanted.  Most of their time was spent examining the rifles and ammunition.  The literally small books of care and specifications.  They were happily pointing out the features and field stripping the weapons.  It was obvious that this was something that they knew how to do well.

Sang He gave some orders and the whole expedition put up the rifles and assumed their loads.  Sang He knelt and said, “Friend Daring Do, and lady Soree, it would be my pleasure to carry you.  Sadly, we will not make good time across the desert.  

“We are limited by the pace that your Jeremy can set.  After his offensive remarks and demonstrated willful ignorance, none of us will carry him.”

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[mars-barssss]

Medication - request

//okay I lost the ask for this one because Tumblr lost connection twice and lost all of my progress the first time, which I wrote a lot about. Thanks Tumblr! Anyways, I hope you see this, whoever asked for bedside with moxiety. I'm sorry this isn't as fleshed out as my first attempt, but I’ll try my best!

//Sorry it’s long, I got carried away-

//AlsO- I am still doing the whump requests! The post with the words you can send me is here! I really do like doing these, just Tumblr was being dumb with this one. Send me any of the words with a pairing and I’ll write it out to my heart’s content!

___

Medication

TW: Medication, Paralysis, Self-Doubt, One mention of Deceit

Pairing: Moxiety!

Type: Angst with Hurt/Comfort

___

Thomas had once tried anxiety medication.

It was back when Virgil, no, Anxiety was a problem for them. Back when he didn’t have a name to tell them.

Back when they didn’t tolerate him. When he was the bad guy.

And back then, Anxiety was used to it, really. He learned and perfected his attitude to become enough of a threat to get his voice heard to the light sides, and Thomas.

If that’s what it took for Thomas to be safe, he’d knew he’d have to take up that task.

Even if it wasn’t him, exactly.

And even if he wasn’t cared for like the other sides. It didn’t matter, really. Everyone needed to do their best for Thomas, and it didn’t matter that Anxiety had to do this. If he had to be yelled at, insulted, or even torn apart piece by piece by the ones he was protecting.

But even then, he didn’t know that Thomas would go this far.

It was Logan who finally convinced Thomas to go through with taking the medication. In reality, it was Thomas’s friend who mentioned it and got the idea stuck in the logical side’s head. And what probably hurt Anxiety the most, even considering what came after this, was that even though Anxiety wasn’t in the room, he still heard them.

Anxiety is never gone all of the way, even if he wasn’t in the room with them. Not unless he revoked all control on Thomas.

“-Thomas, you must consider this! Imagine our confidence, our pride! How wonderful it would be to not worry for a day~!”

“Roman, I have already handled Anxiety, I think I have this covered.”

“But Thomas! Have you ever imagined how it might feel?”

A sudden monotone voice broke through, as Anxiety recognized Logan’s voice. “Thomas, May I bring up a point?”

“Uh, sure Logan!”

“While Roman’s explanation is a bit, excitable... There could be many benefits to at least having a short term of taking the medicine. Right now, you are always having a high amount of anxiety, which isn’t good for work, but if you manage to lower it, just a little, you might get a higher yield of work completed, with a more comfortable mood. That can allow for better morale and-”

“You’d be able to confidently destroy any auditions and any challenges that may face you-!”

“... Yeah that.”

“I could give it a shot, right? What’s the worst that could happen?”

With those last words, Anxiety felt two stray tears slipping down his face. The words of the others faded out, as someone else made a quip and laughter ensued. In the moment, Anxiety didn’t take the time to realize Patton wasn’t in the conversation, or any hesitation. Immediately, Anxiety began to spiral, as he backed away from the door to his room. Falling to his knees, he felt sobs wrack his body silently, a small hiccup or two leaving him.

Terror burst from inside him. What would happen to him?! Did they know, Anxiety himself didn’t know-! What- why, what if it hurts, did they really, did no one care about-

Betrayal sunk in, as more distant laughter burst through his door. His body curled in on itself, scared, panicked-

Laughing, they’re laughing, why? Are they laughing at him, laughing at their success over him?

The betrayal hurt so much inside of him. While he knew they still saw him as a bad guy, he thought they had been tolerating him a bit more recently. The debate with Logan, the whole Disney thing with Roman, and Patton had always tried to be nice to him-!

They were lying.

The realization hurt inside, as a sudden headache seemed to strike him. Darkness swirled around him, as he lost control of his body, his arms, his everything. He fell to the floor immediately, tears draining out of his eyes as he laid there, before darkness swallowed him whole.

-

Eventually, Anxiety could see again. The darkness let go of his vision, and he could see the ceiling from where he laid. He tried to sit up, but his body felt almost like a boulder under an ocean.

His mind, panicking in its haze, tried to open and use his voice. To call out for help, as he couldn’t remember why he was on the ground, or what happened. But he couldn’t even move his jaw-!

His fingers, arms, legs, nothing would move. And it terrified him.

His eyes couldn’t even move, they were stuck forward, almost in a way that signified death.

His breathing was there, but it was barely a movement that existed. But if you squinted, you could see it rise slowly.

All he could do was hear and think, though however hazy it may be. And surprisingly the fear he felt for the few moments that he woke up with melted away, sinking into the floor he couldn’t feel.

He could hear muffled voiced in the commons, one sounding like it was cooking lunch, and laughing with the others. A movie was playing somewhere too, and it was on a song right now. Some hazy thought tried to give him a strange thought. One that the anxious side would never think of usually.

They’ll check on me, they’ll find me-!

The thought was surprisingly filled with hope, something Anxiety thought he couldn’t make anymore. It was a dream that Roman could make, a confident blurt-out from Patton, or a tantalizingly optimistic thought from Logan.

Nothing that a dark-sided anxiety trait would ever dream to form.

But nonetheless it burned in his heart, the one that he could barely feel beating, as he couldn’t even feel his hands. But something didn’t scare him at the moment. Like the medicine afflicted him.

All he would have to do is wait.

-

It’s been a while.

Anxiety wasn’t quite sure, since there wasn’t a clock where he was stuck staring.

The muffled voices had stopped a while ago. There was music playing from somewhere else in the mindscape, and something akin to fighting something in another room. But it was quieter.

Anxiety wondered why they weren’t here yet, slowly seeing through the dumb hope that was slowly glowing less in his chest.

“aaaAAaghh... ghh...” A strangled sound, not really anything, could barely be heard. It was all he could manage out of his hoarse throat.

Why was I so sure they’d come here?

Maybe it was a vain hope that Patton would come in as he sometimes did, baring cookies.

Maybe it was a vain hope that Roman would find another point to argue with him with Disney.

Maybe it was a vain hope that Logan was researching more about those pills.

Pills?

His mind became slightly more clearer, remembering how he ended up on the floor. Remembering how Logan mentioned about it and convinced Thomas.

Remembering how no one opposed.

Anxiety still didn’t feel scared, as now he assumed his lack of fear was because of such medication, but he felt something else.

Resentment? He wasn’t sure. Maybe disappointment.

Part of him was mad, he knew that. But part of it re-experienced everything he had thought through as he listened to them talk. His mind didn’t panic this time, but it made him feel heavy, feel worthless.

Like they could remove him without consequence. 

But that hope still flickered in his chest, and he began to resent it.

This time it hurt a bit more than the last.

-

It’s been a really long time now.

Anxiety guessed maybe 9 hours in total?

... He found he still couldn’t move a thing.

And he was tired of laying there. Laying here alone. Because that’s what he was. No one loved him, obviously.

It seemed like even Deceit didn’t anymore. Not even he did, and that hurt. He didn’t even try to lie to him saying he did. And, god, it hurt.

He felt his hope barely flickering, losing the battle of emotions.

He still couldn’t do anything as he sat there, listening to every insult to him and every small interaction that hurt him on repeat. He was tired. All he could feel in his arms were exhaustion and soreness, despite not moving.

It was sad. He was pathetic. Really, those moments that the others talked to him and seemed to be tolerating him a bit more, were inconsequential. They probably didn’t even know those moments themselves. Why did Anxiety hold onto them so strongly to prove and reason why he ever protected them and Thomas.

It was sad that Anxiety really thought Patton loved him when he said it.

Because he did protect them. Not that they knew. They were dense.

He protects them from fear. As much as he can, anyways. He still fails, he is still such a failure. Such a waste, worthless and all.

But he protects them from the other sides, and protects them mentally from their insecurities and fears. Some still slip through, but without him, they’d be miserable.

And this is what Anxiety got for caring. This is what he got for protecting, for talking, for doing his job.

This is what he got for leaving the dark sides.

Without his own anxieties, he could care less if he was mad. It made sense, right?! He didn’t want to be bad guy, but they didn’t give him the time of day-!

He wanted to escape his own bad section of the mindscape, only to be punished for being scared!

It’s not like he asked to be bad! It’s not like Anxiety had to be bad! But all they saw him as such was that! And he had to conform into it to even get a passing glance. And it hurt!

Anxiety wanted to be a part of them, he wanted Thomas to notice him. He wanted to be good, but no one ever spoke to him like another.

And then they took a darn pill, and forgot about anything related to him.

Was it so wrong to be mad?!

Anxiety finally found out he could do something like this. He could cry.

-

It had been a day, probably now.

Anxiety didn’t know much, but he had heard them wake up and someone was making breakfast. The sizzling of the pans and conversations. The coffee maker.

He heard it all.

He didn’t feel mad anymore. Honestly, he felt nothing.

Still not with his hands or legs, but now inside.

Whoever cared, right?

The tear tracks from probably a few hours earlier dried uncomfortably on his cheeks. His eyes were dry, and red, probably.

If he was assuming things about how he looked, he looked awful. He could guess at how his hair was sprawled out onto the ground. He could see the hint of his probably dirty hoodie. His awful hoodie, honestly, he hated it.

But it was the only thing from back when he was with the dark sides. He couldn’t seem to get rid of it, besides, it calmed him down sometimes.

Not now, apparently though.

He thought about how the others were probably doing. Their happiness about their anxiety being removed for a day. How excited they were.

Roman, he probably was celebrating the whole time. Blasting Disney music, probably convinced Thomas to belt out a Disney song at an audition. As confident as usual, probably better. Proud, probably, that he’s a hero.

Free of insecurities.

Logan? Probably getting some scheduling done, with no hesitance or anything about his plans. Clear-minded, probably. He was most likely happy that he could get his work done in peace. Logically, everything would be in place for him.

Free of worries.

Patton?

...

Probably asked Thomas to hang with friends. They would have had a great time. Thomas would have had a great time. Thomas would be happy. Patton would be too. He probably was genuinely happy. Anxiety knew he wasn’t always genuinely happy. Patton had told him once.

Free of facades.

There was really no point to Anxiety, was there? He ruined everything, and most things he worries about has no repercussions. His panic attacks were at most distractions.

If he removed control from Thomas, what was there to lose? If he ducked out?...

They wouldn’t even have to take pills to stop him.

-

Anxiety couldn’t guess how long it’s been, but eventually, every part of his body went from being stiff and stretched out, suddenly to his torso, curled up.

“Guh-!” Anxiety’s mouth moved with the sharp sound and intake of breath. He felt himself turn to normal. Somewhere inside of him, he knew he should have being relieved? Excited?

He wasn’t.

He was so, so tired. His body felt so sore, so exhausted. Just the simple movement of bending his arms had his muscles scream at him. Small hiccups formed into sobs, as his arms shook, struggling with his weight.

Slowly, and painfully, he rose to his knees, and soon his feet. His legs remained slightly bent, as they too struggled. It was an up-hill battle to keep himself up.

Two tear tracks from earlier in the day still remained on his cheeks, but he himself couldn’t cry anymore. No more tears to shed, and inside of him was just numb.

He didn’t even bother washing his face. Anxiety stumbled and fought for his own balance all of the way over to his bed. His legs gave away right at the end, leaving him to strain himself to get onto it.

The hiccups and small sobs unevenly rushed out of him, shaking his body. His breathing was there now, although erratic. His heartbeat was happening too much and too little at the same time.

He was out cold before hitting the pillow on his bed.

-

Thomas had tried anxiety medicine multiple times.

That time wasn’t the only time either. Every so often, the whole thing would repeat again. His hazy mind giving him hope, realization, resentment, numbness, exhaustion. Sleep for about two days continuously, repeat.

Each one still had the same impact, especially with the haze of his mind making him temporarily forget it. Although, as Thomas got used to the medicine slowly, the haze became less, until eventually Anxiety could remember things correctly the first time he awoke since falling.

Which in general only made Anxiety spiral further, but still have a sense of calm because of the medicine. Which was a strange feeling for the trait.

One thing that stayed the same every time, was that Anxiety always thought of releasing his control of Thomas and ducking out at the end. And every time he did, it got stronger. The others obviously wouldn’t resent it.

Anxiety once wondered if this would be called torture.

He’d say so.

But to the others, it was the best time of their lives.

Maybe ducking out wasn’t the worst idea. Without anxiety, Thomas wouldn’t have to deal with him in the first place. It’d be easy for the host.

And Anxiety said he’d protect Thomas at all costs. He’d protect Thomas from himself. This would even benefit the light sides, wouldn’t it? He hurt them too, to the point that this was their solution. None of them particularly liked him. Well... maybe Patton, but Anxiety still didn’t know if it was pity. If Patton liked him he would have stopped the others from using the medicine-

If he had to protect Thomas and the other sides by defending them from himself, he could do that.

To Anxiety, it seemed like he had to.

As he fell to the ground for what was the second time this week, Anxiety knew what he would do once he was able to again.

It would be a shame that he would disappear nameless.

But who cares about the villain, right?

-

Thomas, one day, stopped taking anxiety medication.

Anxiety, no... Virgil. Virgil was his name, and now they knew it. The final time that Virgil went under the haze of the anxiety medication was a week after his name was revealed.

A week into his new life as a light side.

Thomas still didn’t know what happened to him with the medication. Roman didn’t either, Logan had no clue, and Patton was never told.

No one was told.

It wasn’t like Virgil wanted to keep experiencing it, it was just after that whole problem, he forgot all about it and was distracted by the sides trying to include him all of the time.

Thomas didn’t know.

It wasn’t his fault.

But one Saturday night, after a stressful day, Virgil had the courage to go to the commons, since Roman invited everyone for a movie marathon. And honestly, it sounded incredible to the anxious side. Although a bit, unnerving. He still wanted to impress them, as if to earn their trust.

Patton said he didn’t have to impress them, since he should have been here the whole time.

Virgil didn’t believe him, but smiled anyways. It earned a squeal from the paternal side.

Patton rushed over to the kitchen, saying, “I forgot the popcorn-! Pause the movie!”

“Padre, how could you ever forget popcorn~! That’s the best part of this movie marathon, besides me of course-!”

That comment earned two eye rolls at the same time. Logan glanced up from his book, looking fondly but also irritated at the creative side, before resuming his book. Roman did however, pause the movie, which was Moana. While they waited for Patton, Virgil crouched on the top of the couch. Roman didn’t know how he could be comfortable doing that.

“Virge, why are you doing that, exactly?”

“What. Can a side not just sit how he likes on this couch?” Virgil dryly joked, feigning offence at the dramatic side.

“N-No, just you are most definitely tarnishing that couch-!”

“Princey, we’re not physical. Besides if I do, you can like, uh...” Virgil raises his hand and snaps his fingers. “Just snap your fingers and it’s fixed.”

“Why isn’t it fixed right now then?”

“Do I look like creativity, creativity?”

Roman shook his head, before proceeding to pull Virgil off of his place on the couch, landing on the supposedly more 'correct’ seat of the couch. His face was panicked at first, before his mind caught up, and tossed a pillow at the royal’s face.

A small laugh didn’t escape as Virgil and Roman noticed Logan desperately trying to hide his snickering behind his book. But just as Virgil moved to toss the pillow at the logical side-

Thomas had been getting worried about something earlier in the day, and had just swallowed the medicine.

Virgil went from standing and aiming a pillow, to suddenly curling in on himself for a moment. His arms tightly wrapped around his stomach, his back arched. A mere second passed before his knees buckled and gave out beneath him. The familiar darkness swirled around him, as he landed on the carpet, sprawled out.

Briefly, he heard a muffled shout, as if he was deep underwater from the voice. He head some panicked footsteps, felt two arms lift his upper body up, and a book fall.

And he didn’t think anything of it.

-

When his eyes first opened, he already had the thought that this would be a long few hours and soon days he’d be asleep after this. His mind had reached the point he could recall things easily.

Anxiety was already numb to the feelings, assuming it was another one of those times. That he’d be in his room, on the hard floor, alone, and-

It took Virgil a moment to realize his name wasn’t just Anxiety anymore.

It took Virgil several more moments before he realized there was something new.

This time around, his paralyzed stupor wasn’t deathly silent around him. Voices were surrounding him, coming from every side and blurring around him. All of them were... panicked?

Suddenly, he realized a heavy weight pressing against his chest and body. His slowly breathing barely hitched as he felt arms around him, and oh god what was happening?!

Briefly, in the corner of his frozen eyes, he could recognize a soft, gray cardigan. It was tightly wrapped around the shoulders of whoever was holding him.

It took a moment, but a name arrived. Patton...?

He strained with all he could to hear the voices that echoed around his still body.

“-VIRGE! VIRGIL, OH GOD-!”

“-man, please calm down, I-I need to focus on-”

His hearing deteriorated again. Everything was so hard to focus on from what happened to him. He struggled again, missing some of the words.

“I-Is he dead?! Can sides even die? Logan-!”

“Roman-! I’d rather explain this later, this is not a good time-”

He felt movement moving his body back and forth. Slowly, Virgil realized Patton was rocking back and forth, cradling his still body with dead eyes.

Oh god.

They must think I’m dead. Please, just wait a bit longer, I’ll-

“-L-Logan! L-Logan, I-I... Virgil?! Virgil-? W-Wake up, it’s n-not funny.”

“Patton, please. Let go of him, I need to-”

“N-No-! H-He’d be alone then, he can wake up! He’s alright!”

“Patton.”

Virgil could feel the rocking halt for a moment, and Patton’s head collide with his shoulder. If he could feel his hoodie, he assumed there would be tear stains, as he felt Patton sob and hiccup into him.

Patt, I’m okay... I’m alright! Don’t be scared! I’m not dead, I-

“L-Logan- I-”

Just wait a bit longer! I’ll be awake, Don’t- Don’t cry, why are you-

Why are they crying?! They didn’t care before, why...?

He saw and felt himself being lifted away from Patton, the brief movement showed Virgil that Roman was pacing on the ground, with his hands on his mouth.

He was soon met with the couch, as he was laid on it. He could feel Logan moving his arm, checking pulse, breathing, everything. But he also noticed the slight hesitation and shake of his hand.

Deathly silence was covering the group as he was being looked over. Sobs could still be heard to his left, and every so often Roman came into view, his cheeks alight with tears.

Patton was still so close to him as he laid there. He felt his hand be lifted into Patton’s and tightly held. Eventually, he didn’t manage to hear Logan’s diagnostics, but eventually he was covered in a blanket and his head was placed on a pillow on the couch.

“-we can’t have him in any of our rooms, it’d heighten our traits onto him. He needs something neutral, like the commons.”

Eventually, he started to fade out during their next conversation, but he watched them with his dead eyes as he saw Roman touch his shoulder and Logan mention a few things to Patton, who ended up being the closest to Virgil at the moment.

Then, he watched as they all looked at the clock, Patton waved them goodbye, and as they left, Patton walked towards Virgil.

Virgil strained as much as he can, as the haze beckoned him to fall into darkness for a bit longer.

“-rgil. I’m scared-” Patton took a moment, covered his mouth and wiped at his eyes. “-I don’t know w-at to do. P-Please... up soon, kidd-” It was slowly dawning on Virgil that he was losing this battle against the darkness. His mind struggled and struggled, but he didn’t hear the last thing that Patton said.

He did feel his hand move when Patton picked it up into his hands and squeezed it.

Patton didn’t feel how much he tried to squeeze back.

-

The next time he awoke, he was alone. The haziness returned, draining him.

His body personally tried to cry out, an involuntary sound arose from the body. “n... no... pah...” It was barely akin to a word. A familiar tear slid down his cheek.

What did he expect?! That they suddenly cared? It was all pity, back in your room! Thomas probably was told, the whole marathon was a trick. Probably?! Either way, why would they love a disease, a problem, like him? Why did he believe such foolery, that he was loved by them! That he made them better?! How was he not taught to keep his walls up, and-

By this point, Virgil has reached the most he had ever been able to emote through his face in his state. His mind spiraled, fighting the numbing effects of the medicine. It was pathetic, he was pathetic.

A pathetic, little disease that-

“V-Virgil?! Oh no, kiddo don’t-” 

Suddenly, his limp form was pulled up and into who he assumed was Patton.

“D-Don’t cry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left, oh no-”

His mind was jumping all over the place as the arms tightened around him.

“I won’t disappear again, I’m sorry.”

They stayed like that for a long time, Virgil tightly wrapped in Patton’s arms, hoping that for some lucky reason, he could move right now and hug him back. And did it frustrate him.

Virgil knew he acted foolish. They didn’t leave. He wished he could silence his loud doubts.

But that would take much longer than a night of healing. It would take time, and if that’s what he had to do, he would do it without hesitation. Love flowed back through him as his doubts broke away again, gazing lifelessly at the ceiling.

“You’re okay... I promise Virge.”

-

After what was probably a few days, Virgil finally managed to move.His body flinched back into it’s curled up state, slightly. He didn’t manage to disturb the sleeping side with his hand locked in his. Patton hadn’t left his side since the incident, probably making the other sides nervous.

Slightly flexing his hand, he manages to slowly wake the other side, in which a familiar squeal filled the commons. Patton tumbled right into Virgil, holding him close. He could feel the tears falling onto his hoodie.

It was a wonderful feeling, and a new one too. He vaguely recalled every time he managed out of the medicine and was alone. Was afraid, and so, so tired, even after his two day sleep after gaining control.

Virgil felt just how tired he was, but through his own determination, he managed his shaky, unused and sore arms around Patton.

The shaking of Patton against him as he muttered and sobbed apologies and comforting words was just such a wonderful feeling. Something so foreign and so sweet. And it felt great. Honestly, Patton wasn’t even sure if the comforting words were for him or Virgil.

Patton would keep talking, silent only for Virgil’s hoarse, quiet answers. He would tell him how scared he was that Virgil would disappear, that he wouldn’t be there and that he didn’t know how to save him. He’d learn about all of the other times, and crumble under the guilt of it. And Virgil said it was okay, and besides, he’d say that Patton was the first one to welcome him in, and he was always thankful that happened. That all of it was worth it.

But either way, they stayed like that for a long, long time. And eventually the other two would come in and join, more tears to shed.

Eventually, Virgil will tell them what happened. Eventually, they would tell Thomas to never touch any of the medication again. Eventually, they would each apologize and stumble over how sorry they were for doing it and not even checking. Eventually, they would all be a mess.

Eventually, everyone would be a crying, but happy, tired mess.

But for now, Virgil reveled in a moment that was so incredible and warm and human- And in a moment that he could finally move and tighten his own grip on Patton. Finally.

[scotianostra]

Today in Scottish history, 13th August 1888, John Logie Baird, inventor of the first television, was born in Helensburgh.

On a day that looks quiet for anniversaries, thank god for John Logie Baird, a post I could get my teeth into!

We all know what he is famous for so I thought I would give more details about his life and other inventions from this very influential Scot. I will delve into his memoirs as he describes his ventures himself.......

When World War I began in 1914 Baird tried to join the Army, but was unfit. So he worked in a factory. He did not like it, and felt sorry for factory workers. He went into business on his own, hoping to get rich.Baird sold medicines. He invented a shaving razor made of glass (so it would not rust).

He also knew that the trenches of WW1 meant soldiers were constantly in muddy and wet conditions. They could not change their socks as often as they would like and this led to an infection known as "trench foot". If it was left untreated it could result in amputation. So he "invented" the Baird Undersock, which promised to keep the feet of soldiers in perfect health.

His marketing of the product contained what he claimed to be "testimonials" from soldiers serving on the western front. One from Corporal H.G. Roberts said: "I find the Baird Undersocks keep my feet in splendid condition out here in France. Foot trouble is one of our worst enemies, but, thanks to the Baird Undersock, mine are in the 'pink', and I think they should be supplied to all soldiers." The product was so successful that it allowed him to give up his job as assistant mains engineer, supervising the repair of electrical breakdowns for the Clyde Valley Electric Power Company.

It was a job he described in his memoirs as "sordid miserable work, punctuated by repeated colds and influenza". He was also dabbling in electronics, he once  he attempted to produce artificial diamonds by passing an enormous current through a stick of graphite!

In his memoirs he wrote

"Diamonds are created in nature by subjecting carbon to a very high pressure and a very high temperature. I thought I might get these conditions artificially by electrically exploding a rod of carbon embedded in concrete. I got a thick carbon bar and filed it down into a thin rod in the centre, then I attached a wire to each end and embedded the whole thing in a large iron pot. I connected the wires to a switch which, when closed, put them straight across the power station bus bars. My idea was to pass a stupendous sudden current through the carbon so as to generate enormous heat and pressure. I chose a good time and then, when no-one was about, closed the switch. There was a dull thud from the pot, a cloud of smoke, and then the main current breaker tripped and the whole of the power supply went off. I had anticipated this and soon got it going again, but I did not get my wires away quickly enough and unpleasant explanations followed. Thereafter I was regarded as a dangerous character and, in the general unpleasantness, I forgot about the pot and it disappeared. Perhaps it is today lying in some forgotten rubbish heap, a pot of cement with priceless diamonds embedded in it."

His sock business was doing very well. It was booming but it was a one-man business and when he disappeared for six weeks the business disappeared too. The reason was he was once again hit with one of his very bad colds so he just closed it down at that point and discovered that at the end of the day he had got something like £1,600 in the bank.

He was not a fit man and his doctor told him he needed sunshine. So Baird went to the island of Trinidad in the Caribbean. He started a factory making jam and pickles! People passing Baird’s house were puzzled. What were those strange flashing lights? Baird was busy with experiments. He was trying to send pictures through the air!

In 1923, he moved back to the UK, he still had all these ideas in his head and a work ethic that made him want to succeed in business, his next venture was making soap, I say soap, but it was a very cheap version of it and wasn't very good, with the soap came other cleaning solutions for around the home, again I delve into his memoirs where he write.....

"One day a very vulgar and ferociously angry woman banged her way into the office. She carried a small infant, pulled its clothes over its head and thrust a raw and inflamed posterior into my face. The poor child looked like a boiled lobster. The wretched woman had washed the infant in a strong solution of "Baird's Speedy Cleaner". I calmed her down and pointed out that the Speedy Cleaner was a powerful scouring soap for floors and ship decks, and not a toilet soap for infants."

Again came  ill-health, he sold businesses and moved to Hastings coughing, choking and spluttering, and so thin as to be almost transparent [Ref 2, page 44]. He concluded that he needed to invent something. Glass razor blades were a possibility, but his experiments resulted in a badly cut face. He also considered pneumatic-soled shoes.

"I got a pair of very large boots, and put inside them two partially inflated balloons, and then very carefully inserted my feet, laced up the boots and set off on a short trial run. I walked a hundred yards in a succession of drunken and uncontrollable lurches followed by a few delighted urchins, till the demonstration was brought to an end by one of my tyres bursting"

One day he wrote to a friend, ‘I have invented a means of seeing by wireless [radio]’. His friend said, 'stick to soap’! But Baird had always dreamed of creating a television, this was no easy feat as he didn't have any sponsors and so had little cash to try and invent one. So, he scrounged whatever material he could find. Everything from glue to string to cardboard to even a bicycle lamp to create the very first TV. It wasn't without its failures though, as you would expect, to succeed with television he realised that more light was essential. He tried to produce this by wiring up a network of batteries. This led to a 2000 volt electrocution and explosion, which could have cost him his life, he wrote......

"The next day I bought several hundred flash lamp batteries and began to realise my dream of a 2000 volt power supply, by joining sufficient dry batteries end to end - a formidable task. Some days later I had finished this and was connecting the supply to some part of the cobweb of wiring when my attention wandered and I received the full force of the 2000 volts through my hands. It was amply sufficient to cause death, but I was lucky, for a few seconds I was twisted into a knot in helpless agony and then fortunately fell over backwards, breaking the circuit and saving my life. But I shall never forget the agony of those few seconds. Electrocution must be a terrible death."

Not surprisingly, this led to eviction by his landlord and a return to London to 22 Frith Street, Soho in November that year he tried to drum up some publicity for his idea of the Television, he managed to get a meeting with the Daily Express newspaper.......

"After a short delay I was ushered into a small room and the editor (at least I thought it was the editor) came hurrying to see me. "Are you interested in a machine for television - seeing by wireless?" I said. "Seeing by wireless?" said the "editor", a little taken aback. "Oh yes," said I, "an apparatus that will let you see the people who are being broadcast by the BBC or speaking on the telephone." "Astounding," said the gentleman, "I am very busy at a meeting, but I'll get one of my colleagues to take the story, very interesting," and he vanished out of the door.

In a few minutes a large brawny individual came in, listened sympathetically and with great interest to my tale, assured me that it was a first call story and advised me to be sure to get a copy of next day's Express, where I would get a first class show on the front page. And so with a cordial handshake he saw me off the premises.

Nothing whatever appeared in the Express and it was only some years after that I got the inside story from the brawny individual himself. The day I called he was sitting in the press room when one of the assistant editors came running in. "For God's sake, Jackson, go down to the reception room and get rid of a lunatic who is there. He says he's got a machine for seeing by wireless. Watch him carefully, he may have a razor hidden."

In 1924, Baird successfully transmitted flickering images of a Maltese cross for a distance of about 10 feet. He now knew his idea would work and on 2nd October, 1925 - success!

"Funds were going down, the situation was becoming desperate and we were down to our last £30 when at last, one Friday in the first week of October 1925, everything functioned properly. The image of the dummy's head [Stooky Bill] formed itself on the screen with what appeared to me almost unbelievable clarity. I had got it! I could scarcely believe my eyes and felt myself shaking with excitement.

I ran down the little flight of stairs to Mr Cross's office and seized by the arm his office boy William Taynton, hauled him upstairs and put him in front of the transmitter. I then went to the receiver only to find the screen a blank. William did not like the lights and the whirring discs and had withdrawn out of range. I gave him half a crown and pushed his head into position. This time he came through and on the screen I saw the flickering but clearly recognisable image of William's face - the first face seen by television - and he had to be bribed with half a crown for the privilege of achieving this distinction"

The world's first television broadcast!

The next year, Baird transmitted sound and images over 400 miles, from Glasgow to London, a remarkable feat! In 1928 the pictures were sent all the way to the USA, a feat many believe only became possible when satellites started being sent above the Earth 30 years later, the same year Baird gave us the world's first colour television pictures, again, many think this was a more modern innovation.

He looked west and in 1931 sailed to the USA, writing as the ship neared its destination...

"As the boat approached New York harbour I was surprised to see on the Pier a body of Highland pipers marching up and down with great elan to the skirl of the pipes. These wretched men proved to be a gang of comic opera pipers from the Ziegfield Follies. A misguided but enthusiastic American publicity agent had arranged to give me a real Scottish reception."

His many other inventions were in fields such as radar, fibre optics, and infrared night viewing.

Today Australian TV awards are called Logies in his honour.  

He was, simply,  one of Scotland’s greatest engineers.

You can read the whole timeline on this PDF with more snippets from Bairds own memoirs http://www.helensburgh-heritage.co.uk/pdfs/John_Logie_Baird_A_Life.pdf

[jchall110]

So ordinarily I would put something like this on my Twitter, as that’s kind of turned into my personal vent/diary platform as of recent, but this is going to be much longer than Twitter can allow, and I need to write this all out without losing my train of thought. It’s gonna go behind a Read More, and I’d like to request that you only read it if we’ve been mutuals for a while, and only if you really want to. I’m not expecting any response, hell I don’t want any responses, I just need to put my thoughts down somewhere, and if I put it in a Google doc or something I’m gonna come back to it later and dwell on it, but if I just put it somewhere and immediately delete it, I’m not going to be able to talk to my therapist about it on Monday. Anyway, content warnings abound, as I’m gonna be talking about depression, anxiety, self-harm, suicide, covid-19, stalking, emotional abuse, and a pretty negative experience I had in a partial hospitalization program at a local mental institute. You’ve been warned. (Also for those of you who are new here, “ignore me” is my personal rant/vent tag, feel free to blacklist it to avoid seeing future posts like this)

So. Here’s a brief recap of the past year and a half in my life. Back in October of 2018, my best friend went through a very bad breakup with her emotionally abusive ex, while another of my friends was struggling very much with his mental health and attempted suicide. I was miserable working at Target and was gearing up to return to school in the Spring. I had also had feelings for the friend who went through the breakup, and she sort of had feelings for me, but she also had feelings for the other friend, and I had some vague kind-of feelings for the other friend as well, so in December we all decided “fuck it, let’s all date.” I won’t recap the full details of the relationship but it was a goddamn shitshow. His mental heath continued to deteriorate and he wasn’t seeking treatment for any of it, her mental health was extremely poor as well as a result of two years of emotional abuse and extreme codependency issues, and my mental health suffered greatly because of the expectations placed on me, as well as his frequent mood shifts where he would go from wanting to spend the rest of our lives together to, at one point, telling me things in an effort to get me to hurt or kill myself. Not a good situation by any measure. School was good, though, and the two classes I took last Spring were excellent, and I was ready to go back to school full-time in the Fall. Flash forward to September of 2019. My mental health is terrible, though my academics are very strong. I decide, after a few specific incidents, that I can’t be in the relationship with the both of them anymore and break up with him. A lot of bad things happened. She ended up leaving him as well. Then, about a month later, she left me as well and moved out of the state with someone she had met on OKCupid only a few weeks prior. At this point I need to take a medical leave of absence from school and move back in with my parents because I’m so depressed and traumatized that I can barely function. You see, since breaking up with him, he had been harassing me, even after I had attempted to get the police involved. He would call me, text me, make new Facebook accounts to send me message requests, anything to try to get in touch with me. So with all of this happening, and with me basically unable to do anything, I decide to look into a partial hospitalization program at a mental institution not far from where I live. Insurance covered most of it, my parents said they’d pay for the rest, so I started the program in early November. Ordinarily it’s only a three or four week program. I was there for at least 5. It was essentially a day program, so I would be there from 9 to 3 every day Monday to Friday. It was a really great program, except for a few things. Firstly, because it was a program both for mental health and addiction, a lot of the programming wasn’t really applicable to me, as the only thing that I’m addicted to is sugar, and I have no plans to break that habit. There’s a history of temporary psychosis caused by mind-altering substances in my family, and I don’t want to even find out if it applies to me as well. I barely even drink. So anyway, I was one of maybe three people who was there exclusively for mental health, so my options for programming were a bit limited, until a bunch of us complained about the repetitiveness of that aspect of the program and they switched things up a bit. Unfortunately it was at the tail end of my time in the program, so I didn’t exactly get much benefit from that. Secondly, and more importantly, close to the end of my time in the program, one of the mental health workers, a pre-doctoral intern who was running most of the “classes” that I was in, said a few things to me that were really frustrating and upsetting. Firstly she said that “ADHD doesn’t exist, it’s just a reaction to trauma. Too many kids are getting diagnosed with it when they just have regular attention issues, and in adults a diagnosis is almost always accompanied with trauma. And of course people are going to perform better when they’re on a stimulant.” Which. Is wrong on so many accounts. First of all, it’s overdiagnosed in the wrong people and massively underdiagnosed in the people who actually have it, especially young girls. And secondly, of course it’s paired with trauma when adults are diagnosed with it. They’ve had to deal with it for their entire lives up until then without knowing why they couldn’t do things the same way as everyone else, and there’s also a lot of trauma in general that comes with having ADHD considering how many people say “Oh, you’re just not trying hard enough” or “You’re just making excuses,” not to mention the self esteem issues that come with it. And thirdly, yeah people will perform better when on stimulants, but does taking a stimulant make everyone else tired? Cuz it does for me because it lets me slow down my brain enough to actually sleep. So yeah, that was fucked up. But the second thing she said was probably worse, and it didn’t actually occur to me how much this impacted me until earlier today when I realized something, but I’ll get to that realization soon. So it’s my second-to-last day in the program. I had gotten almost no sleep the previous night because I had a massive panic attack right before bed because my asswipe ex messaged me some really fucked up stuff. So I’m way out of it, and my ability to concentrate is pretty shit. I’m doing my best, though, and I’m paying attention to the discussion. We were talking about the parts of the brain and how they’re impacted by trauma. There were a few times during that day where I had forgotten words but still knew what I was talking about, and at least one of them had happened in front of this woman. So she asks “Does anybody know what the part of the brain is that connects the two hemispheres?” I say “Oh, I do” cuz I do know what it is, but for the life of me I can’t remember what the name is. (It’s the corpus callosum.) So she looks at me and says, out loud, in front of the entire group, “You know, it’s okay if we don’t know everything.” So I get all flustered and embarrassed and mad at myself because, in my ADHD people-pleaser brain, the teacher just failed me in front of the whole class and now they all hate me. So I don’t say a goddamn word for the rest of the day, and the next day I leave without saying goodbye to that one woman, after leaving a glowing review in the exit survey. So the thing about this that’s really fucked up is that like two days before, I sat down with her and told her how I have a lot of specific trauma around rejection and failure, especially relating to my dad and how he constantly asserts that I don’t try hard enough or that I need to do better, shit like that. Like, that was a major theme with me the whole time I was in the program. It was like, getting over the intense rejection of my best friend/girlfriend running away with a guy she just met, and my relationship with my dad. That was it. (Of the two, the one there that’s still a major thing in my life is my relationship with my dad. At this point, she can fuck off with whoever she wants. I’m more pissed at her than anything else now.) So for her to turn around and embarrass me in front of the entire group like that, when there was solid evidence that a) I did know what I was talking about and b) I was having a very off day was really messed up. In thinking about it, there was quite a few messed up things that she did in the last week or so that I was there. Probably more during the rest of my time there but I don’t actually remember most of it because working on your trauma can be traumatizing itself, go figure. Anyway, I had almost completely forgotten about that until earlier today when I was thinking about how I was getting much more sensitive to rejection and perceived failure recently than I was before all this had happened. Part of it is probably my increased estrogen dose fucking with my mood, but the majority of it, I think, stems from that one incident of her pretty much violating my trust and invalidating me in front of like twelve people that I really trusted and felt close with. Fucked me up, yo. Anyway, so I leave the program and start working for my dad at his machine shop. Things are going super well, I’m making a fair bit of money, keeping in touch with my friends as best I can, and doing my best to avoid my ex harassing me further. About midway through December I change my phone number so that he’ll stop calling me (he had several ways to get around me blocking his number), and in the middle of February I change my name on Facebook so he won’t be able to find me and send me more message requests, cuz there’s no way to stop that from happening either, and the police were useless because “I wasn’t in any physical danger.” At this point he had moved away from my town, presumably back with his parents but I don’t really know, and I really don’t care. So he messages my siblings on Facebook trying to get my phone number, and then somehow finds my Facebook again and sends me a picture of him cutting his wrist. So I get fed up, go to a local domestic violence prevention nonprofit, talk with one of their advocates, and file a restraining order against him. It gets approved, and the messages stop. A court date is set for us both to meet with a judge to discuss everything and see if it needs to stay in place or not or whatever, and for about 2 weeks everything is great. Then covid-19 starts hitting. I get what was probably just the flu or a cold or whatever a few days before the court date. Then the state that I live in announces that most court hearings are postponed until mid-April. I check on the website and find that stalking and domestic violence, among a few others, are exempt from this and will be going on as scheduled. Because I was recently sick, I call the courts the day before and ask if I can appear over the phone. They say yes, it’s all good, great. So the next morning I call in and things get moving. It turns out that my ex didn’t show up to the hearing, even though he definitely knew about it. So I talk with the judge for a few minutes and we decide that I don’t need the restraining order anymore because he’s not likely to start harassing me again, and if he does I can always get a new one or get the police involved. And so far I haven’t heard a peep from him so I’m assuming that chapter of my life is closed for good, which is excellent. But then more things start to close down, and my dad basically tells me that he doesn’t really need me at work and it’s best if I stay home. So since then I’ve been staying at home. It’s been 15 days total that I’ve been home, with only minimal trips to work for an hour here and there. And I really don’t do well with isolation. It’s not all bad, because I live with my parents, so I have some social contact, but as was mentioned above I don’t exactly get along with my dad, I don’t have a lot in common with my stepmom, and my grandmother is a grumpy old lady who isn’t very good for conversations about much else than knitting and Jeopardy. I’ve been doing my best to stay in touch with folks online, and it’s been decent, but it’s still pretty rough. And when Animal Crossing came out and all of my friends started playing it, I started feeling even worse because I’m poor as shit and don’t even have a Switch, and they’re fucking $400, which is a whole student loan payment for me. So I’ve been pretty miserable the past two weeks. To top it all off, I have to register for Fall classes next week, and I don’t think I can even imagine that far into the future right now. The world is supremely fucked, and there’s almost no way that I’ll even be able to afford to go back to school. I’ll probably have to drop out entirely. For at least a few years. And I’m really not ready to give up on school right now. Like I said above, I’m really sensitive to failure, and this is the third time I’ve tried, and failed, at college. And I’m getting real frustrated about it. The first time it was my ADHD, which at the time was undiagnosed. The second time it was mental health and my asshole ex harassing me. Now, when I finally have my ducks in a row, it’s money. The one thing that no amount of treatment or medication or court hearings will change. Plus there’s all the political bullshit going on still, and the impending collapse of society as we know it, and any number of other global crises (yes, that is the proper plural of crisis) going on. Oh, did I mention I’m an empath and the moods and emotions of the people around me, and of the world in general, pretty heavily impact me? I’ve been able to tell when some massive tragedy occurred even before the news story breaks. So yeah, all in all I’m doing about the worst I’ve been doing since high school before I was on antidepressants, and it’s really hard to see any end to this tunnel. I know I’m one in several hundred million people who are struggling right now, and I’m lucky that I’m at least moderately healthy with a steady place to stay and things to eat, but goddamn if things aren’t shit for me right now. Like I said, I’m not looking for any kind of response, and if you even read all of this I’m legitimately surprised. I just needed to put this all down somewhere because keeping it in is getting to be almost too much.

Don’t worry, friends. I promise you I’m safe. I’m just scared, lonely, and really lost right now.

I love you all.