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leiawritesstories · 3 years

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Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

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Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair.

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job.

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth.

As if she knew anything her staff actually did.

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together.

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation.

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself.

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order.

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English.

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple.

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved.

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure.

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved.

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve.

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind.

“You broke both of your hearts”

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart.

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice.

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds.

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city.

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner.

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed.

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction.

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth.

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love. We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath.

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages.

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan.

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof.

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech.

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying.

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan.

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing.

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow.

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything.

She was worthy of him.

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified.

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

Present day.

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked.

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch.

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.”

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

#my writing #rowaelin month #aaaaaangst

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moondonky · 3 years

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No more bullshit

No more war, no more corruption,, no more loopholes of laws and jurisdictions,, no more extortion, no more destroying our planet, no more dehumanization,, no more privatizations of systems of governance, no more ill gains of destruction,, no more control out of created chaos..

People waking up, getting smart, understanding what has been going on, they be looking at the top with telescopes like microscopes,, people have had enough,, people are more than capable of helping themselves,, what those boots on there necks prevents,, all the ill regulations,, the nonsense put in place to benifit and protect only them,, people moving in better directions,, we don't need to fight them, we do not need to risk losing our freedoms,, all we have to do is say no, enough is enough, no more,, fuk em,, we do not wish to buy there product from there buisness of profit, regulated by banksters and lobbyists.. what actual service do they provide us,, and in what world do they think it is that valuable,, taxes within taxes within taxes to fund bullshit,, to go in pockets of people who don't do shit,, wasting the fruits of our own labor, when it should go towards the betterment of everyone, not a 1%.. not towards more dysfunction, and safe haven greyzones of more bullshit.. even prisons are buisnesses filled with kids who where not taught shit, just zoned out for failure..

Its wild, because I am a hard worker, skilled trades, can do alot with my hands, I pride myself on it, but at what point is it meaningless,, I do not have to do it, I could go offgrid very quick, could do it in the middle of a city if I wanted, more than capable of self sustaining myself, and it would be better for the planet,, why would I be a support and service to that system of endless bullshit and destruction, when it comes to money in the bank that is my smallest basket, and its a credit union for a reason, I got more in silver cash coins tools seeds and bullets.. I have no issues paying my fair share,, but its them I don't like giving it to, and I dont, they take it, why I call it extortion, cuz id got to jail if I didn't let them, nothing they do has any effect, last twenty years its only gotten worse, and I stubbornly take nothing from the system that I pay into.. i refuse unemployment, stamps and snap, credit, loans, I do not rely on cops, I drive around potholes,, I do not have an ira, crypto is my retirement plan, I do not have health insurance, I highly doubt theres any social security left, all I see is people being forced to quit and give up pensions, my mailbox is usually filled with ads and spam, waste of paper in my opinion,, I dont drink water from the tap, I even have generators solar panels batteries and power inverters in case I dont want to pay for that,, I could go into a forest and literally build a bigger house than the apartment I live in, Japanese style with no foundation,, but even doing that i would still need to pay a tax, every direction u try to go,, theres sum bullshit u gotta deal with and pay up.. Im glad the financial system is collapsing from its own inflation and corruption,, it wouldn't affect me in the slightest, its what stands in my way from my pursuit of happiness of freedom of independence... it is nothing but a temptation from keeping me from going to heavon,, money is not my security, it is what threatens it.

There will be no revolution, will never repeat that bullshit, that snake eating its tail, only a renaissance,, bringing what is good, and leaving behind everything that is wrong and bad, that is the better future

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blythefm · 4 years

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BLYTHE BEESLEY, DISTRICT 7′S LOOSE CANON

you are angry. be mad. be livid. be righteous. they will tell you that you are too loud, too aggressive, too upsetting; ignore their words. become the voice you’ve always needed to hear. that anger gives you the voice of change. do not tread lightly; change the world. wrath is not sinful, it is a call to make tides to change this state of being.

playlist / pinterest

hewwo, my name is steph w. lerman and this is..... everyone’s fav lesbean, blythe. below u will find her bio but here are some bullet points

very angery because the capitol killed off the her family and loved ones so now she is cold because she doesn’t want to get close to anyone because she knows the capitol will use them against her.

cares A LOT about the kids she mentors. like while she wishes she didnt have to be one since she is basically sending off these kids to die, the capitol us punishing her by forcing her to do something she hates

capitol people love her or love to hate her if they’re more uhhhhh politically aware i guess, it depends on their views. this is because she just loves running her mouth about how much everything sucks. commie queen!

won her games by hunting down everyone. killed the stronger tributes first and then left the weaklings for last because she hoped they’d end up dying without her help.

alcohol is her best friend, but she never gets drunk enough for people to notice because she is hyperaware and doesn’t want to display even one minimal weakness

wants to chop snow’s head off, has a personal vendetta against him and the game makers behind her hunger games

snow’s butt lickers and boring capitol losers think she is unhinged, she doesn’t care. they will get what they deserve soon, even if she has to die for it.

TW: quick mention of transphobia, death

Ever heard of kids born with a silver spoon in their mouth? Well, Blythe was practically born with an axe in her hand. She can’t say she liked it, but it was what was expected that Blythe and the rest of the children living in District 7 would learn how to properly handle such tool as soon as they could stand. And funnily enough, as much as she hated those expectations at first, the district’s need to have children work in the forest was what saved her life years later.

Something else she had been born with was the ability to find creative ways to get in trouble. But, Blythe was lucky. She had been a charming kid that knew her way with words, so it was easy to talk people into letting her have her way. And when that didn’t happen, well, her right hook came quite useful.

As combative as she was, she was nice when needed and good at persuading others. Life wasn’t perfect and she had her own issues to deal with once she decided to transition, but again, her fists came in handy whenever she ran into people that risked having her lose her sanity. They were meaningless, especially compared to the people she had loved and cared about. Still, this did light a fire inside of her, one that drove her to always strive to ensure people like them knew they were below them all while ensuring that those who proved to be loyal and loved her unconditionally would know how much they meant to her.

The one thing Blythe couldn’t talk her way out of was having that horrid woman with the puke-green hair pulling a paper with her name out of that damned bowl she had silently feared for years. Just three months shy of her eighteenth birthday, that was the day Blythe knew that her run had officially started running out.

She was scared. Terrified, even, but she never let it show. Not even as she said her goodbyes did she shed one tear. As exhausting as life could be back at home due to the nearly endless workday that consumed her energy, she would’ve preferred an eternity of chopping down trees if that meant she wouldn’t have to kill other kids all to satiate the Capitol’s thirst for innocent blood.

Still, she played the game well. Her rebellious attitude did nothing to put off the Capitol’s worms with deep pockets. That, combined with her natural ability to handle an axe earned her plenty of sponsors that carried her through the games. Blythe hated every second of it, but that didn’t mean she ignored she was the whole package. The careers she was up against would be the first to go once the games started as she used knowledge acquired during training to use their disadvantages against them.

Being the girl who had single handedly put down the careers within the first week did wonders for her already inflated ego, but more importantly, it made her popularity in the Capital grow. One after one, her fans screamed and shouted as Blythe ended her competition. She knew she had no time to waste now that lady luck was no longer by her side. For a moment, her ego no longer existed. It had been replaced with her will to live, her need to come back home and be able to see those tearful souls she had left behind.

The second she won, an exhausted Blythe passed out inches away from the boy from District Four she had spent days hunting. When she woke up, she found herself in the Capitol, and that’s when her new fame and fans found her. As people showered her with compliments, gifts, love confessions, and proposals, Blythe felt absolutely disgusted and was not afraid to show it.

Of course, the puppet masters were not happy. They let her run her mouth just long enough for her to take care of all of her commitments, but once she returned home for good, lady luck was no longer part of her life.

Her mother was the first to pay for her disrespect. Then her brother, and finally, Azura. A lovely thing with eyes so blue looking into them made her feel like she was in District 4, Blythe had loved her fiercely, yet secretly. She protected her, not wanting for the Capitol to get their hand ons her. And it worked, just not for long. They got about four good years of pure bliss before the Capitol decided Blythe still hadn’t learned her lesson. Refusing to become a mentor earned her love a premature death, and Blythe a lifetime of pure bitterness and absolute hatred towards the Capitol. Even if she was no longer in the arena, she was still very much part of their game.

So, she complied. Badly, but she did it. She didn’t let the ball drop with the kids she mentored. If anything, she protected them as fiercely as she had fought for her loved ones back home. Not wanting them to have her same fate, she taught them well, implored them to not follow her example and let her be the only one to continue being punished due to her big mouth and inability to take anyone’s shit.

With Blythe producing two more victors for her district, the blissfully ignorant crown of the Capitol can’t get enough of her. Yes, she hates their guts and knows they’re the cause of her misery, but she plays them like a fiddle. She barks insults at anyone who hears, rolling her eyes as they clap and tell her how funny she is, how strong and brave she seems, how beautiful she looks. She lets them think they own her, but that’s just an illusion.

Blythe is currently biding her time, waiting for the perfect chance to strike and one by one, make the ones who made her life hell pay. With nothing and no one else left to lose, Blythe is determined to ensure they don’t have a chance to ruin more lives.

#embersintro #abt

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 5 years

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Blue Eyes Part 6

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 6: Ella grieves the loss of what she once had. Tommy tries to burn any remnants of it.

“She won’t eat.” Ada came downstairs and placed the untouched plate of food on the table. It had been three days since Tommy caught Ella and Alfie together. The Shelby girl refused to leave her old bedroom. “She won’t even open the door.”

Her brothers were all sat in the kitchen, Polly putting on the kettle. Tommy was on his third cigarette of the morning and he hadn’t even eaten breakfast yet. “Are you pleased with yourself?” Their aunt put her hands on her hips and glared at Tommy.

“Pol, not now.” He muttered and rubbed his eyes. He was still trying to get the image of Alfie kissing his sister out of his mind. Trying to forget the sound of her crying every night in the room next to his. It made him conflicted, pulling him in two different trains of thought. He wanted to apologize and yet he wanted to scold her for being so careless and lying.

“You could’ve taken her aside and asked her about it.” His aunt ignored his weary request. "You didn't have to have her followed. I'm sure it would've gone better if you just asked about her in private.

“So she could just lie to me again?” Tommy retorted sharply. "Pol, I gave her plenty of opportunities to admit it to me and she just looked me right in the eyes and lied."

“I’m just upset you didn’t fucking shoot him,” Arthur spoke up. "Fucking deserves it didn't he?"

Tommy wanted to say yes, he did deserve it, but there was a matter of policy. “He didn’t know. Was just as surprised as I was when he found out. If he does it again I will shoot him.” He promised.

“What in the fucking world does she see in him?” John asked in disbelief. He’d nearly keeled over when he heard what happened from Arthur. Never in a million years did he expect it, even after what happened at Tommy's wedding. "I mean honestly? He's just a fucking psychopath, ain't he? She's not crazy enough to fall for someone like that."

Ada leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. “Maybe you should all be a bit kinder to her. She was hysterical when she came home.” She scolded her brothers. “Maybe she knows him better than you lot do.”

“Oh, pardon me, Ada, shall I tell you ‘bout the time he shot Billy Kitchen and had me nicked?” Arthur retorted. “’Cause the entire fucking time I was thinking, ‘what a nice bloke he is, yeah, wish he’d kiss me fucking baby sister!’.”

“Don’t speak to me that way!” Ada snapped.

Suddenly, Tommy held a hand out. “Sh, shut up!” He smacked his brother upside the head when he wouldn't hush. “Shut your fucking mouths and listen.” The kitchen went quiet and finally, everyone heard what he did. Footsteps on the roof. John and Arthur withdrew their guns, thinking it was an enemy or some intruder, but Tommy knew better. “She’s making a run for it.” He jumped up and rushed out of the apartment. “Ella!” He came out onto the street and caught his sister traversing across the top of Watery Lane. He cursed himself for teaching her how to escape via the roof. “Get down here now.”

His sister ignored him, instead carefully picking her way over the shingles towards the back of the building. There, she had enough wires, balconies, and window ledges to safely make it down.

Tommy cursed and went back inside, pushing past his family and running through the apartment out to the back alleyway. He caught sight of her disappearing through the narrow alley, hidden by clothes and sheets on laundry lines. “El!” He shouted and chased her.

It was a pretty even match. Both of them knew Watery lane like the back of their hand, Tommy was fit but Ella was petite and could slip easily between the gaps of the cramped buildings. Still, Tommy was always a bit sharper and he took a shorter way to cut her off.

Ella screeched to a halt and faced off with him, breathing heavily from running. “Tommy, I’m going back to London.” She warned in a low voice. “You can’t keep me here against me will.”

“You think I’m trying to punish you?” Tommy made sure he was close enough to grab her if she decided to take off again. “I’m doing this for your own fucking good, El.”

“Really?” She scoffed. “Is that what you call it?”

“You’re playing with fire, you don’t even know.” He cleared his throat to catch his breath. “Do you know what he would’ve done if he found out and I wasn’t there?” He demanded.

Ella’s chest tightened when he even hinted at the idea. “He would never hurt me.”

“You being so naïve tells me that you’re not ready to live alone in London. Now he could have people looking for you. You’re staying here. I'm making sure he doesn't get revenge for what you did to him.”

“He would never hurt me!” She repeated herself louder. “You don’t know him like I do, he cares about me.”

“Didn’t look like it to me!” Tommy raised his voice to meet her volume.

“The only reason he left was because of my family. Because of you! The one thing in my life I can’t choose. But I’m going to make it up to him. I never want to see you again. Not after the shit you pulled.”

“If you go back there, he’ll kill you.” Tommy was so sure of it. Someone who deceived Alfie Solomons didn’t have a good chance of survival. He'd only narrowly avoided such a fate so many times.

“He’s not some monster.” Her hands curled into fists. “He was kind and sweet and for the first time in my fucking life I had someone listen to me.” Tears formed again in her ice-blue eyes. “He listened to me and he cared about me more than you lot ever did. A-And I lied to him, but I know he still cares for me.”

Tommy could see in his sister’s eyes that she truly believed the words she spoke. The pain on her face was undeniable. She truly had fallen for that man. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

“I’m not staying here.” Ella asserted again. “I have a life in London. And if Alfie never wants to see me again, then so be it. But I’m not rotting away in Birmingham. I’d rather be heartbroken in London.”

He couldn’t imagine the weeks of hell he’d have to go through if he attempted to keep her there. Endless amounts of escape attempts crossed his mind. It sounded like a nightmare. His sister was an adult. Ada and Polly wouldn’t let him get away with locking her in her room for the rest of her life no matter how much he might want to. “Stay at Arrow House for a week.” He tried to bargain.

“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Just until I know that you’re safe.”

“No.”

“Ella…” He groaned and raised his head to the small sliver of gray sky poking out between the gaps in the buildings. “Just one week and I’ll pay your rent in London for the rest of your life.”

She pursed her lips. “And I can have the dapple whenever I visit Warwickshire.”

“Fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Tommy was getting used to the stares he got when he walked through Camden Town. But this time, it was as if he’d grown three heads. Everyone stopped to watch him walk towards the bakery. He did his best to ignore it and went straight for Ollie who was by the heavy double doors.

The curly-haired man looked up. A nervous look crossed his face. “Alfie’s not seeing anyone right now.”

To say the Jewish gangster was in a foul mood was an understatement. After his heart was broken, Alfie raged through the bakery. He shouted at anyone who even remotely stepped in his path, threatened anyone slacking off, and knocked out at least five men. No one knew what had set the man off, but it had something to do with the Blinders because he kept mumbling about ‘fucking Shelbys’ under his breath.

“I don’t care,” Tommy replied. He was angry with the man as well. Angry that he’d been so foolish with his sister, traipsing about London with her on his arm. Putting a target on her back for the Italians, the Titanic, anyone who decided Alfie Solomons needed to be knocked down a few pegs.

Ollie chewed on the inside of his cheek and nodded slowly. “Let me ask, wait out here.”

Alfie had barked out a laugh when his assistant said Tommy was waiting outside. A storm formed in his eyes when he allowed him to pass through. Ollie searched the Blinder and let him into the office.

“Morning, Mr. Solomons.” Tommy took a seat across from the man’s desk.

“Cut the shit, Tommy, whatdya want?” Alfie demanded. “M’very fucking busy.”

He calmly took out a cigarette and lit it. “My sister lied to the both of us. I understand you’re upset. But I want to know that her life isn’t in danger.”

“She’s a fucking Shelby innit she? Her life is always in danger.” Alfie didn’t want to even speak her name. He felt so scorned and yet, he couldn’t get the image of her out of his head. To think only her last name kept him away from her.

“I was talking about you.”

He scoffed. “Mate, you don’t hafta worry ‘bout me, right, ‘cause I never want to see her again. She ain’t worth the trouble, already wasted enough of me time on her.” He tried convincing himself that everything they shared was nothing more than a farce. It was meaningless. But he was tormented with the memories of her smiling at him, speaking tenderly to him, making him laugh, and touching him without flinching. How could she appear so genuine when she was keeping such a big lie?

“Then we’re settled.” Tommy stood and took another drag of his cigarette. “As long as you stay away from her, we won’t have an issue.”

Alfie stared off into space, his fingers grazing over his beard. “Just fuck off, Tom, I’ve had fucking enough of your gypsy family.” He snarled.

Tommy lingered just to remind the man that he would return if so much as a finger was laid on Ella. “Don’t make me come back.”

That was enough to make him snap. He rose with such a fury, his hands slamming down on the desk. “You fucking threatening me?” He shouted. “You’re lucky I don’t shoot you right now, mate!”

“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you the other day,” Tommy replied coolly. “You’re lucky me brothers weren’t with me because they wouldn't have even let you get a word in.”

Alfie’s eyes narrowed and he pulled out his gun from his waistband. With a click, he pointed it at the Blinder’s forehead.

Tommy merely flicked his cigarette to the ground and calmly walked back over to the desk. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the barrel of the gun. “Do it.” He prompted casually. “Then she’ll finally see what a fucking monster you are. She’ll never go back to you.”

Fire raged in Alfie. He wanted so desperately to pull the trigger. His shoulders heaved and he glared right at the man. But then Ella’s touch returned to him. The way she clung to him, buried in the crook of his neck. What she said to him when they swayed together in the crowded club.

I want my family to like you.

Alfie’s hand shook as he slowly lowered the gun. No matter how angry he was with her, he could never do that to her. “Get out of me fucking office.” He growled.

Tommy waited for a breath before turning and leaving without another word.

~~~~~~~~

Ella returned to London after a week of staying at Warwickshire. She didn’t enjoy the little break from the city air. She was still thinking about how she’d hurt Alfie. How there was little to nothing she could do to make it up to him. She attempted calling him late at night when no one was awake in the large estate. But he never answered.

When she returned to her apartment, she felt lost. The established life she had made for herself in the city was suddenly lacking the appeal it once had. She realized she didn’t have a place anywhere anymore. Not in Birmingham, not in Warwickshire, not in London. Alfie had made her feel so at home and so assured in herself as a person. But she had lied. Now she felt fake and undeserving of anything. Certainly, she didn’t deserve Alfie’s affection. He had trusted her and she had taken that trust and tossed it aside.

It kept her up at night, her conscience admonishing her for being so cruel to a man that had treated her so well. But her heart still longed for him. She couldn’t stop thinking about him even if there was little to no chance that they would ever be together again.

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

Alcohol was a vital medication for Shelbys. The cure for anything. Everything from general pain, headache, insomnia, to heartaches. Ella told herself she would never turn out to be the drunkard her father was. The angry man who she only had memories of how he always stunk of gin and whiskey. She never drank like her brothers did. Usually only accepting a glass or two when they were celebrating. The rest of them seemed to turn to liquor at every viable opportunity.

Now, she knew why. It alleviated so many of her pain. So every night after work, she kept a bottle of wine close. Every weekend she went out to the club with friends. Every morning, she woke up with a massive hangover that she was slowly growing used to. Every morning, she wanted to cry when she saw herself in the mirror. The face of a woman who had shattered the only man she loved.

To cope, she simply found comfort at the bottom of a bottle.

Ada became worried and called every night and every morning to check in with her, making sure she arrived safely home and hadn’t drunk herself to death. She voiced her concerns to her brothers but they couldn’t get close enough to talk with Ella. Polly tried showing up multiple times but her niece was always out.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It all came to a head one Saturday night, but no Shelby was there to save her from herself and the world around her.

“El, think you’ve had enough.” Even Amelia, who was used to partying, was growing uneasy from her friend’s reckless behavior.

Ella ignored her and took the glass of gin from the bartender. “Nonsense,” she giggled and shrugged her friend off. “It’s still so early, we've got the entire night ahead of us!”

Amelia’s forehead wrinkled. “El…”

She threw back the drink, hardly affected by the bitter taste anymore. “I’m going to go dance, don’t wait up.”

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

To cope, she simply found comfort at the bottom of a bottle.

~~~~~~~~~~~`

It all came to a head one Saturday night, but no Shelby was there to save her.

“El, think you’ve had enough.” Even Amelia, who was used to partying, was growing uneasy from her friend’s reckless behavior.

Ella ignored her and took the glass of gin from the bartender. “Nonsense,” she giggled and shrugged her friend off. “It’s still so early!”

Amelia’s forehead wrinkled. “El…”

She threw back the drink. “I’m going to go dance, don’t wait up.”

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

Alfie did not like going to clubs anymore. He’d gone back to despising the loud, crowded spaces. It reminded him of the times he would take Ella dancing. How they would have intimate conversations on the dance floor, the way she clung to him while they swayed.

He grumpily shoved his way through the crowds to get to the bar. He had debts that were owed by the owner. Now he was in a terrible mood that he had to be there himself instead of sending one of his men. The last time he’d done that, the owner threatened them. So Alfie had to go himself.

Ella was oblivious to the Jewish gangster’s entrance. She was dancing with a man who was a complete stranger to her, but simply the first open arms. She was having the time of her life, buzzed on the gin she’d consumed, and so happy to be distracted by her heartache.

But she wasn’t too keen on the man letting his hands wander. She was just clear-headed enough to push him away.

“Fuck off.” She slurred and tried to pull away from the man.

“C’mon, love.” He kept an iron grip on her and grabbed at her.

“Ow, stop!” She shouted and stomped down on his foot with her heel. “I said fuck off!”

He cursed and raised a hand to backhand her across the face.

Unfortunately, his wrist was caught by Alfie Solomons. The gangster looked livid with the seedy man trying to assault the woman.

Ella froze and for a moment thought she had drunkenly conjured up an image of Alfie.

“Mate, I suggest you fucking step away from the lady.”

The man went a little pale at the sight of the notorious baker. “Mr. Solomons…I weren’t…she started it.” He stammered.

Not looking amused, Alfie laughed. “Oh fucking hell, you should be thanking me for stepping in when I did, mate. That girl right there was ‘bout to fucking gut you like a pig. Yeah, keeps a blade on her. Then, ‘course, I couldn’t help you after that, wouldn’t be Kosher, would it?”

“I-” The man backed away with wide eyes. “I’m sorry…” He spluttered before disappearing into the crowd of dancers.

Alfie and Ella stood face to face on the dance floor. She was swaying slightly from the alcohol.

“You need to be careful, love.”

“Oh fuck off.” She spat back at him. “Don’ pretend like you’re some knight in fuckin’ shinin’ armor.” Her accent became thicker and she was only another drink from being completely incomprehensible or reverting back to Shelta.

“You’ve been drinking too much.” He grabbed her by the upper arm but she fought him off.

“So what? Can do whatever I want.” She retorted and nearly fell backward when she tried to rip away from him. “M’just a fuckin’ Shelby to you anyway. You never cared ‘bout me.”

Alfie rolled his eyes. “C’mere, I’m taking you home.” He’d deal with the club owner and the bartender who had over-served Ella, later.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere with you!” She ripped her arm away from him. “You stand there, thinkin’ you can boss me ‘round?”

“Not arguing with you here.” He asserted firmly and continued ushering her to the door, ignoring her attempts to shove him off. Eventually, he got her out of the club and onto the street. She scratched his hand a few times but he felt like she was going very easy on him.

Still, she got one more shove in, but it backfired. Ella leaned forward too far and toppled over. She caught herself before she face-planted into the curb but scraped up her hands. A drunken mess, she sat on the ground for a moment, holding her scratched up palms in front of her.

Alfie sighed and held out a hand to help her up. Yes, he was still upset but decided he’d feel worse if he left her there.

Tears sprung from Ella’s blue eyes as she slapped his hand away. “G’off.” She snapped and tried to get up by herself. “Don’t need you…don’t need my bloody family…don’t need any man.” She staggered to her feet and pointed at Alfie. “You. You just turned away from me like I weren’t worth anythin’ to you.”

His brow wrinkled at the accusation. “S’cuse me, but did you or did you not lie to me?” He retorted.

“What’d you want me to tell you, aye?” She held out her arms wide. “I’m a fuckin’ Shelby? I’m a gypsy girl? What difference does it make? Thought you liked me for me!”

Her words were like thin blades of ice, stabbing through Alfie’s chest and piercing right through the armor he’d formed over his heart. He stared at her and merely listened, taking on the verbal abuse without so much as flinching. But deep down he felt like he was being brought to his knees.

Ella wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Her makeup smudged and she looked to be in some state. Her dress was dirty from her tumble and a trickle of blood began to travel down the lines in her palms and drip from the tips of her fingers. She emulated the wild girl she once was. The Shelby girl who always was quick to roughhouse with her brothers to prove herself. Now she was proving her worth to Alfie. She was proving how hurt she was.

“Amelia told me all ‘bout you ‘fore we even spoke.” She continued on. Her voice thick with tears and words slurring from the gin. “But still I talked to you because I saw somethin’ different. I saw the man behind that fuckin’ reputation. Because I know people think me brothers are monsters. But I know that they aren’t. You’re the same fuckin’ way. You want people to fear you but deep down, you’re just as fuckin’ scared as the rest of us.” She approached him, invading his space, and getting right up to his face. Her blue eyes narrowed as she glared at him dead on. “You’re afraid of dying just like everyone. ‘N you’re afraid of people forgettin’ the name, Alfie Fuckin’ Solomons.”

Alfie wondered if he’d forgotten how to breathe or Ella had somehow stolen the air right out of his lungs. For a split second, he wasn’t sure whether to be angry or to apologize. Apologize for being lied to? He scoffed at his own thoughts and shook his head. “Your brothers are monsters, love.” He sealed himself off from any feelings. Numbed himself up like an anesthetic and shoved away all the desperate thoughts he had for her. “And you’re their kin, ain’t ya? You lie just like them.”

Ella’s jaw clenched and she gritted her teeth. The alcohol in her system wasn’t doing her any favors and shut off any rational thoughts. She slapped him hard.

He should’ve been expecting it. After all, she’d been denied hitting the man in the club and Alfie was winding her up. But it was still another sharp blow to his ego and his heart. He couldn’t even react.

She spat at his feet and cursed at him in Shelta before storming away.

So he watched. Watched the only woman he ever loved walking away from him. Just like he had walked away from her. Her slap still stinging his cheek as she disappeared into the night.

Disgruntled, angry at the world, and possibly under some gypsy curse, Alfie decided it was a good time to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ada had the only spare key to Ella’s apartment. After the run-in with Alfie and Tommy, the Shelby woman had to use it much more often. She received a frantic call the next morning from Amelia saying she had no clue where Ella went the night before.

So, Ada walked over at the break of dawn and used the key to let herself in. She found a few dishes shattered across the kitchen floor and it caused her stomach to drop in fear. Had her sister been robbed?

She ran upstairs shouting for Ella. Down the hall, the door creaked open. Her younger sister stood in the doorway in a complete mess.

The rough night lingered on Ella like bad perfume. Her hair was still tangled in some pins, her hands were stained with dried blood that she hadn’t cared to tend to, and her entire face was blotchy from crying. Dark circles lingered under her bloodshot eyes and she still stunk of gin.

“El…” Ada sighed partly in relief. At least she knew her sister was somewhat okay, albeit a little worse for the wear. “What happened to you? Amelia called me in such a fright.”

“Sh, don’t talk so loud.” Ella closed her eyes and ushered her sister into the darker bedroom. She collapsed on her bed and moaned. “Ada, I feel like me whole life is falling apart.”

Ada frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “What happened last night?”

“Alfie was at the club.” There was no use in lying anymore. She was too tired and didn’t care what her family knew anymore. It didn’t matter as far as she was concerned.

The mention of the Jewish gangster’s name was enough for Ada to need a seat. “Good God…”

“I got so angry.” Her younger sister continued, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling. “I just-I want to hate him but I can’t. I cared so much ‘bout him and I thought he felt the same way.” Fresh tears began to flow and she hiccupped helplessly. “Ada, it hurts so much.” She wailed.

Ada’s shoulders fell and she stood up to comfort her sister. “Sh, c’mon.” She sat on the bed and let Ella rest her head in her lap. “I know you’re hurting. I wish I could make it better for you.”

“I want him back.” It was a harsh realization to arrive at.

Her older sister gently stroked back Ella’s dark hair. She had said the exact same words when she lost Freddie. The world was falling apart around her as she gripped onto Polly for support. The fierce denial had driven her into a manic state. ‘I want him back! I want him back! Bring him back!’ She had screamed and cried for hours.

Heartbreak was the most painful emotion. Ada knew her sister was naïve when it came to love, but there was so much hurt in her eyes. What she was feeling wasn’t a little crush. Whatever she had with Alfie was something she hadn’t experienced before.

“I never asked to be born into this fucking family.” Ella closed her eyes. Her entire body was aching and exhausted from the night before.

“I know, none of us did.” Ada bit her lip. “Let’s get your hands cleaned up.” She suggested and prompted her to sit up. “I’ll put the kettle on too.”

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

“Ada called this morning.” Polly walked into her nephew’s office with some documents to sign.

“About Ella?” Tommy knew about Ella’s downward spiral. But she wouldn’t speak to him about anything but day-to-day things.

How’s Charlie, Tom?

How’s the missus, Tom?

Get that new filly in, Tom?

Her words were detached over the phone, so much so that the pleasant conversation made him worry more. He would much rather her scream and rant at him about what he’d done. That way he’d know that it was still his sister on the other end of the telephone line.

Tommy wasn’t about to apologize for stepping in. He could forgive Ella for lying to him, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to go hopping on back to Alfie.

“She’s hurting,” Polly replied when she set down the papers in front of him. “But I think you know that.”

Tommy studied the contracts but the words didn’t register. “Not sure there’s anything I can do ‘bout that, Pol.” He reached for a cigarette, tossing the papers to the side to sign later. “She’s facing the consequences of her actions.”

His aunt raised an eyebrow and looked disappointed. “Do you think you would’ve reacted better if she came to you and told you the truth? Because I’m fairly certain you’d’ve done the same damn thing.”

His icy eyes flicked up to her. “Are you going to tell me I should allow her to see that man?” His voice was steady but challenging.

“That’s not what I said.” Polly was very good at squaring off with her nephews. They often liked to go toe to toe with her, stupidly forgetting how strong-willed she was. Out of all of them, Tommy probably pressed her the most. “But you can’t blame her for trying to find someone. I’m sure she feels lonely.”

Tommy cringed at the idea of Alfie keeping his sister company. “I’ve spoken to him and he doesn’t want to see her again. That’s the end of that.” He insisted firmly. “I’m done speaking about it.”

But Polly wasn’t done. “I’m well aware you think you know everything but I was put on this planet to remind you that you don’t. What has Alfie Solomons done that you haven’t?”

“Polly,” Tommy spoke in a warning tone and eyed her with a cold look. “I said I’m done speaking about it.”

She sighed in exasperation. “One of these days, you’re going to push that girl so far that she’ll never want to come back to this family. And I hope you’re happy when you’ve finally done it. This family needs to stay together, otherwise, we have nothing.” She jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t forget that you’re nothing without your family.”

Tommy allowed her to walk out with the last word. He knew she was right; he would never be where he was now without his family by his side. But that didn’t excuse Ella’s behavior. He just hoped she would get over Alfie soon and he would forget about it ever happening.

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marvelcinematicmultiverse · 5 years

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Avengers: Endgame Backlash

Ok, I don’t normally get involved in fandom discourse because I don’t like arguing with people on the internet, but I’ve seen so much negativity going around about Endgame’s ending as well as negativity towards the directors and writers and I refuse to hold my tongue any longer. I know I’m going to get absolutely shit on by Tony stans for this, but I’m irritated.

Yes, it’s tragic that Tony Stark died, and yes, it’s heartbreaking that he only got a short moment with Peter before he died. I’m absolutely heartbroken over Tony’s death, as well as heartbroken for Peter. They’re two of my favourite characters.

That being said, saying that The Russo Brothers, as well as Markus and McFeely have no right to even be in the entertainment business because of the way they chose to end Tony’s arc is excessive. Saying they need to lose their jobs and be kicked out of the movie making industry for the way they chose to kill a fictional character is not only childish, but it’s rude to say about four people that have given us four fantastic marvel movies that they spent years of their lives on, and put their blood, sweat and tears into.

They are comic book fans and have been their whole lives. They love these characters as much as we do. All they’re doing is their best to create a story that satifies as many people as they possibly can. And yes, that means that there are going to be some people that will not like the ending they chose. That does not mean that we’re allowed to attack them online, call them horrible names, and demand they fix what they’ve done.

Tony Stark has had 3 solo films, and 5 team up movies (6 if you count homecoming) worth of character development. Do you really think the decision to kill Tony Stark was one they took lightly? He’s the most beloved character of the MCU. Not only that, but The Russo Brothers and Markus and McFeely didn’t call all of the shots here. Kevin Feige is the head of Marvel Studios, and he’s the one who gets the final say on who dies, who lives & what happens in the movie. Kevin Feige is the one who tells them ‘okay, this is what I’m thinking we do’ and then they have a discussion about it and make the decisions TOGETHER. This is not all on the Russos and the writers.

As for the complaints about Thor’s character, I’m just going to say one thing, because I do not want to interject my opinion on how Thor was handled in the movie. But like I’ve said above, this entire movie and how the characters were handled is not all on the Russos and the writers. Feige was involved, as were Taika and Hemsworth. So to everyone out there that’s saying Taika needs to take the character back and fix it, Taika was heavily involved in where Thor’s character went in this movie. Hemsworth has said in multiple interviews that he and Taika sat down with the Russo’s and Feige and came up with the plan for where Thor was going to go in this movie TOGETHER. They wanted to make sure that the Russos version of Thor was something they all wanted, and they wanted to see how far he could be pushed. That was something Hemsworth himself said that he AND TAIKA both wanted. And again, saying a character needs to be handed back to a different director because you didn’t like the way something was handled is rude and disrespectful. There are millions of people who love these movies. Not everyone is going to be satisfied.

As for the two petitions that are going around, I’m sorry, but no, I will not sign them. Tony died for a reason. They wouldn’t just kill off the most important character in the MCU for no reason. He died sacrificing his life for the rest of the entire world. Reversing his death and bringing him back not only cheapens the way that he died, but it makes the sacrifice kind of meaningless. Creating a petition for them to refilm the ending to arguably the biggest movie of our generation, is rude and it’s disrespectful to the film makers and the story they told.

As for the other petition about a Peter/Tony show, I will say a few things. 1) The Disney streaming shows are being created to allow them to shed some light on the characters that have been pushed to the side for the last ten years. To finally allow the characters that have been ignored for years a chance to get some actual character development. Tony has had 9 movies worth of character development. Peter is in the middle of his own trilogy, and will likely be sticking around for team up movies in the future. Let the side characters have their day in the sun instead of demanding a TV show based around two characters that are already/have already been given their own arcs in the movies.

2) All of the people that are saying ‘well Loki got his own show because people weren’t happy about his ending, so why can’t we get one with Tony because we’re not happy’. No. Loki did not get his own show because people were angry about the way he died. Loki got his own show because he’s never been a titular character in a movie, he’s been a fan favourite character since 2011, and ALL of his character development has directly revolved around Thor since the first Thor movie. People have been asking for a Loki solo movie since his first appearance in Thor 1, instead, he got a show.

3) I’m about 95% sure that Tom Holland’s contract between Marvel and Sony wouldn’t even allow for a show anyways. The deal is that all Spidey content where he’s a titular character is paid for, distributed by, and that Sony gets all earnings from the content. A Disney streaming show would not only be paid for by Disney, but it would be distributed by them, and the people who are watching it will have paid Disney for that content, not Sony.

4) Let Peter be his own person without his story revolving around Tony Stark!!!! Yes, Tony was like a father to him, and of course that relationship is important. But as of right now, almost all of Peter’s character development has either been a result of, or directly related to Tony Stark. Let Peter learn what it’s like to be his own person. Let Peter figure out who he is without the help of Tony Stark. Yes, I’m heartbroken about Tony’s death for Peter. But I’m also extremely excited to see Peter without Tony. A fully developed character’s entire story arc should not revolve entirely around another character. Peter should be more than just his relationship with Tony.

5) Let RDJ fucking rest please????????? He’s been the central character of the MCU for ELEVEN YEARS. He’s played Tony Stark in at least a cameo in ten marvel movies. That’s almost half. He last played Sherlock Holmes in 2011, and they’ve been trying to film a another for like seven years and haven’t been able to because of Marvel. Let him branch out and play other characters than just Tony Stark. Let him do nothing if he goddamn wants to!!!! He sure as hell has earned it if that’s what he wants to do. He has young kids under the age of 8, and he spent a literal year in Atlanta filming A3 & A4. Let him move on from Tony Stark and do other things with his life.

Yes, you’re absolutely allowed to be angry about the ending. You’re allowed to hate infinity war, or endgame, or the entire mcu if you very well want to. But spreading nothing but negativity towards the Russos and the writers, and demanding that they refilm a movie, or change the ending to a movie that they’ve been planning for like, SEVEN YEARS, is not only rude, but it’s disrespectful and I’m sure it’s not making anyone who worked on the film feel very good when there’s this kind of backlash.

I know I’m going to get shit on for this opinion, if anyone even bothered to read this entire behemoth of a post. But I’m tired of seeing nothing but hate towards the creators of this film that was made for the fans. Regardless of whether you disliked the ending, this movie absolutely was made for the fans. It was filled with endless amounts of fanservice moments, and every single callback to a previous moment was done for us. And I for one am grateful that we so much as got this movie made, not to mention had such wonderful moments.

#mcu #discourse #avengers endgame

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warden-commander-aeducan · 5 years

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TWD Comic 192 RANT

let me preface this post by saying, I have always known that Rick Grimes was going to die. Kirkman has ALWAYS made it clear no one was safe and most likely none of the characters were ever going to make it to the actual end. FINE. I accepted this. I have weathered TERRBILE deaths over the past ten years. *sob* Glenn..... Andrea.....Ezekiel, the list is obviously endless at this point, its been 16 years after all.

I always had the belief that in order for Rick to die in the comics, there would, a) be a time skip and b) Carl would have to be older and ready. It was always obvious Carl was going to take up the mantle at some point. HOWEVER. What I never expected was Rick’s death to be so MEANINGLESS. SO DISRESPECTFUL to his character!!! Kirkman ACTUALLY wants me to believe that Rick motherfucking Grimes who SURVIVED his best friend almost killing him, losing his WIFE and NEWBORN, fighting and winning against the governor, surviving cannibals, surviving and making Alexandria THRIVE, Rick taking down NEGAN, Rick surviving the Whisperers and fighting through over a thousand zombies with his BARE HANDS gets fucking killed by a fucking punkass teenager when he is in his bed. I literally refused in issue 191 to believe Rick was going to die because it’s Rick, he’s been shot before, he’ll be fine. Kirkman wouldn’t kill him like this. AND THEN HE DID. AND THEN CARL HAD TO BE THE ONE TO FIND HIM TURNED. KIRKMAN WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

RICK MOTHERFUCKING GRIMES DID NOT FIGHT THE ENTIRE WORLD TO REBUILD CIVILIZATION TO DIE BY SOME PRIVILEGED PUNK’S HANDS. RICK DESERVED AN EPIC DEATH WORTHY OF HIS CHARACTER. Kirkman I have weathered your shit writing for years and you come into MY house, disrespect ME and RICK, shit on my bed and then punch me in the mouth. Fuck you.

#i literally wish Rick and Negan had died fighting in the thick of those zombies in Alexandria #twd 192 #twd comic #twd spoilers #twd comic spoilers #twd comic 192 spoilers #the walking dead #twd

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better-every-day · 3 years

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Empty Space and Goodbyes

We are all just trying to fill the empty space in ourselves. Whether its caused from heartbreak, loneliness, your parents, poor upbringings, meaningless jobs, lack of passion, anything, we are all jus trying to feel whole. Some people go their whole lives without feeling whole, or loved, or not knowing what their true passion, dreams or goals really are. Ive been surrounding myself with a lot of those people these last few years and I'm fucking done. Here is a tribute to one of of my friends that I need to vent.

Dear ___,

I don't know why we are friends. Well I do, its time. Being little and growing up together creates a strong bond between people, or so we think. But what happens when that bond is continually broken? Do you learn to forgive because you know there is something stronger beyond the surface? Maybe. But maybe we also just really grew apart, especially in recent years. And, fuck you. You don't treat me like a friend, you treat me like a punching bag. Always the one to be blamed and you always playing the victim. You always try to make me look stupid in front of people to make you look better. Trust me, trying to dim my light won't make yours any brighter. And I’m done letting you turn mine down and I'm done letting MYSELF turn it down to make you feel better. This move to LA is going to be the best thing that ever happened to me. I only relate to a few of my friends nowadays and I know those ones will keep in touch regardless. But the others are fucking trash. I refuse to be friends with anyone who tries to make others feel small just for them to feel better about their shitty lives. And its not just you, don't worry. You aren't alone there. I don't plan on speaking to a few of you once I move down to LA. You don't need to take it personally but you probably will anyway. I need to be surrounded by loving, motivating, inspiring people and you just don't do that for me. This weekend really showed that. I can't be surrounded by people who don't love who they are or the lives they’ve created for themselves. You are stuck in an endless cycle of self pity and blaming everyone else for where you are in the world when there is really only one reason you’re there. Karma isn't a bitch, its a mirror. You get what you give and when you give to the wrong people, you get the wrong things in return. But hey, whatever makes you feel better right? I am at the point where I don't want to help people like that. I’ve tried and realized that people will only change if THEY truly want to. So its really not my problem anymore. I’ve made peace with that and i’ve accepted that we will no longer be friends. That's MY choice and I fully stand behind the one I'm making. You’ve never truly treated me like your best friend. I was sad and insecure and anxious and you took full advantage of that. Treating me like shit, fucking my boyfriend, I should have dropped your ass so fucking long ago. But I was naive and hopeful. But not anymore. I’m sorry you're still sad about your life but I'm not about mine and I need to find people who are like me. This is the end and I don't regret a single thing about it. I want to say its been real, but it hasn't. I don't have the empty spaces that you do and I hope one day you can fill them, but I can't help you anymore. I’m done, and I'm doing it for me.

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sparkesink · 4 years

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Chapter 8:

Figuring All The Shit Out: Part 2

I Wish So Dearly,

For Soft Simplicity.

I Am Not Sure I Can Tolerate This Cursed Intellectual Complexity.

Breaking,

Consistently.

Beauty And Intellect Are Doomed Things.

Mastered By Those With The Deepest Demons.

Constant,

Contemplation.

Alone Within A Piece Of Paper:

Seeking, Begging, Pleading…

Someone, Anyone, Please Comfort Me.

Screaming For Unconditional Affection,

Left Cold, Silence, Tears Within A Grey Tee.

Why Won’t He Recognize Me?

Why Can’t He See?

When My Fire Dims At Such Dangerous Light,

When Contemplation Is To Vigorous To Fight.

Like, I Don’t Exist In Much More Than A Pawn In His Game,

Just A Stupid, Foolish Woman, Given Love An Undesirable Fame.

Two, Three, Four In The Morn,

Passed Out On The Bathroom Floor.

Who Cares If Your Breaking,

He Only Desires More.

I’m A Monster,

Psychotic,

A Fucking Lunatic.

Such A Selfish Bitch,

Neediness,

(Her Favorite Niche.)

How Dare She Ruin My Good Time?

She Cannot Even Communicate Without Rhyme.

Who Gives A Fuck If She Happens To Leave?

Why Would Anyone Donate Even Three Seconds To Grieve?

A Love So Deep,

Forgiveness,

(I’m Such A Fucking Creep.)

Insanity: A Crazy Thing,

Inventing Situations,

A Child’s Attention, Crazed To Cling.

His Passion Flows As Heroine Through My Veins.

So Sweet, My Darling:

(My Twin Flame.)

This Part Has Been Especially Difficult For Me.

I Have Found Myself Fighting Demons I Had,

(Thought,)

We Defeated Years Past.

The Unfaltering Self Doubt Returned,

(Ringing Throughout My Psyche,)

Attempting To Draw Me Back.

Much As The Depths Of A Tide,

(Ripping All Forward Movement,)

Extracting Into It’s Daring,

(Dark,)

Endless Mystery.

I Find Myself Using Any,

(All,)

Possible Strength I Can Muster,

Just To Continue Publishing,

(And Writing.)

Upon Giving Life To My Beautiful Daughter,

My Body Took Detrimental Toll Under The Weight,

(That Is “Motherhood”.)

I Spent Eleven Years Self Harming My Digestive Track.

(Starting In Year Twelve,

Continuing Throughout My Adolescence,

Into Young Adulthood,)

Finally Gathering The Strength To End,

This Hardwired Self Hate,

(In Year Twenty-Three.)

Looking Back Through This,

(Decade,)

Of My Life,

I Cannot Help But Feel Exponentially Somber.

Not,

(Necessarily,)

For The Extended Mental Illness I Had Wrapped Myself Into,

Or The Detrimental Long Term Consequences,

(Now Faced As A Daily Reminder,)

However,

For The Loss Of Time.

Time I Could Have Spent,

Manicuring Talents,

Inventing An Answer,

(“Who Am I?”)

I Feel As Though,

Starting Now:

(The Twenty-Sixth Year,)

I Have Only Begun To Live MY Life.

A Quarter Of A Century,

Forfeited.

(Bequeathed.)

Things Of Such Silly Nature.

You Don’t Realize,

(Amongst A Reality Clouded,)

The Absurd Nature Of Your Infected Sensibility.

These Alternative Personalities,

(Alter-Egos,)

Merely Exist,

(Created,)

In Detrimental Loneliness.

In My Nineteenth Year,

I Made The Executive Decision,

(The Purpose Of My Soul,)

I Was An Author,

(Though,)

Dyslexic,

(Struggling With Language In General,)

I Was Born To Write.

I Was Asked Many Times Since This Moment Of My Life,

“What Is Your Book About?”

Replying,

“My Life.”

Always Receiving The Same Reaction,

Too Young To Accurately,

(Deserve,)

An Autobiography.

(A Fair Reaction To This Adolescent Goal.)

This Is,

(Never Was,)

An Autobiography.

“Is It Fiction? Or Non-Fiction?”

It Is Neither,

(And Both.)

This Is The Reality My Mind Lives Within,

This Is My Life,

And It Cannot Be Defined,

(By Titles Established Centuries Before My Time.)

An Organic Evolution Of Written Thought,

(OEOWT.)

How Do We Categorize A Human Mind?

Giving It Stereotypical Structural Confines,

(Another Cage Imposed Through Societal Structure.)

What Would Happen,

(If All The Bullshit Dissipated,)

Society Ceased To Cage Wild Mammals?

(Precious, Intelligent, Humans.)

What If,

The Purview Our Governments,

(Captors,)

And Media,

(Propaganda,)

(Fed Into Our Minds,)

Dissolved Into A Nothingness.

What If We Woke Up?

(Wake Up.)

What If We Could Control Our Lives?

What If We Didn’t Have To Feed THEIR Machine?

Working,

Day In,

And Day Out,

For Employers Who’s Greed Feed Only Themselves.

Lawmakers,

(Millionaires,)

Stealing Our Money To Line Their Pockets.

Taxation,

(Without Representation.)

America Was Founded On Rebels.

People Willing To Die,

As A Means Of Creating Lives They Worked Hard To Deserve.

Look At Us!

JUST FUCKING LOOK.

(We Need To Wake Up.)

Look Around.

Observe The Crumbling,

(Greed Invested,)

Corporation That Is Our Current Governmental Structure.

Using Our Tax Money To Fund Luxurious Lifestyle,

(While Our Citizens Die In The Streets.)

Our Citizens,

Dying,

(Self Inflicted Harm,)

A Sphere Unable To Fit Within The Cog Space Provided.

You Should Be Ashamed Of Yourself,

(And So Should We.)

We Can Be The Change.

We Can Reject Structures That Do Not Define Us.

We Are Not Required To Be “Fiction” Or “Non-Fiction”,

We Are Not Structured To Run Nine To Five,

(While Our Family Grow, Absent Of Us.)

We Should Not Have To Settle For Medieval, (Royal Trickery.)

What Would You Do?

If A Significant Portion Of Our Country’s Population,

(As A Whole,)

Refused To Pay You Our Hard Earned Currency?

What If…

Communities Chose Where Their Money Belonged,

(Within Their Own Society.)

Would a Young Family Get The Financial Chance To Succeed In Their Lives?

Would They Get The Chance,

To Start Their Family,

(Without Jeopardizing Their Ability To Pay For It?)

REQUIRED BY LAW.

(Laws Written Directly From The Rapacious Medical Industry, Itself,)

More Concerned With Profit Margin,

Than The Margin Between Life And Death.

(The Doctor, Crow Mask Pointed, Ferrari Freshly Polished,)

Simultaneous,

Patient’s Debt,

(Unmanageable,)

In A Wage War Society.

Ripping The Family Home Away,

A Child’s Life,

Affected Upon Birth.

My Baby Took My Knees,

My Digestive Tract,

My Hair…

You Took My Liberty.

My Human Right To The Pursuit Of Happiness.

You Are Responsible,

(For All Those Relatable Stories, Too Common.)

What Would You Do,

If We Refused To Pay You?

How Would You Function?

(Within The System You’ve Created For Us.)

You Are Responsible For The Death,

Claimed By Poverty.

You Are Responsible For The Death,

Claimed By Mental Illness.

You Are Responsible For The Death,

Of Those Who Cannot Afford To Live.

You Are Responsible For The Death,

Derived Through The Poison You Feed Your Needy.

How Fucking Dare You.

Fulfill Your Capitalistic Addiction,

Upon The Corpses You Buried,

(Piled, Naked, Stripped Of Humanity.)

A Modern, Wealth Holocaust.

How Did We Get Here?

Lost Within Our Time,

Guided By Misconstrued Commands,

Our Parents Demanded Upon Us,

(I Suppose.)

Media Propaganda,

Misguiding Our Attention,

Eleven Years Of Wasted Focus.

Pick Your Flavor,

They Have A Magician For Each And Every Little Boy And Girl.

An Impractical,

(Unhealthy,)

Standard To Take and Twirl.

Brainwash The Kids,

OBEY YOUR AUTHORITY!

Separate Them With Judgement and Scrutiny.

Tell Them That “Love” Is Found Within Beauty, Strength.

Laugh At The Ones Who Are Too Intelligent For Your Face.

Tear Them Down!

(Their Too Dangerous To Keep.)

Drive Them To Madness!

(Will Make Millions Off The Story Next Week.)

They Think Too Much!

They Are Imperfect!

(In Compliance,)

Though,

Adolescently Meek.

Steal Their Fucking Future!

Take The Crosses They Bare!

Crosses,

Let’s Not Go There,

(Just Yet.)

We Are Coming For You Too,

You Greedy Mother-fucking Threat.

Your Day Will Come,

When The Millennial Revolution Begin,

We Will Be Coming For You All,

Determined Through Chelsea Grin.

When I First Began This Project,

(Recently, Not The Beginning,)

My Husband Advised Me To Be Cautious.

“Don’t Get Lost In It.”

I Didn’t Understand What He Meant,

(Brushed Off, “It’s Just A Bit.”)

The Further I Work,

The More I Realize,

It’s Equivalently Trying With Clean Eyes.

Pursuit To Relinquish,

(Angst Of Failure.)

Though,

What Is To Fail?

With Nothing To Lose?

Excuses,

I’ve Told Every One.

Attempting To Bruise,

My Purpose In Life,

A Battle Permanently Won.

(At Times,)

The Greatest Journey Is Not That Of Which,

You Have Guided By Your Own Hand,

(Rather,)

The Distance In Which You Are Guided,

Amongst The Benefit Of Something Greater,

(As A Whole.)

A Paradox,

(Guided Toward An Unprecedented Stride For Ultimate Freedom.)

A Sea Of Voices,

(Holding You Down,)

Drowning Within Other’s Desires,

Directing A Life,

(Designed, Un-inhabitable For A Bird.)

A Bird Has No Business Within The Sea,

Parallel,

We Have No Business Bowing Down To Thee.

A Haze Of Words Suffocating My Soul:

I Can Barely Breathe,

Trapped Within A Cage Of Societal Things

(Meaningless When One Cannot Be Seen.)

Spiritual Beings With Human Experiences.

(Most Unaware Of Which This Means.)

To The Man Which Sits Behind Closed Bars,

(The One Who Thrives For Play And Fun.)

To The Girl Who Dreams Of Living In The Stars,

(The One, Simply, Desperate To Find The Sun.)

An Idea Of Fulfillment:

Their Beautiful Souls Urning,

(Unacceptable At Best.)

“To Lead A Life,”

(Rather Than Some Joke,)

Running Through Toke;

Finally, Please God, Put Their Tired Souls To Rest.

Free The Sore Feathers From My Back,

(Caked In Tar,)

Dripping Black.

Release The Ropes,

(Holding Her Here,)

Open The Galaxy,

(Allure And Near.)

Show Him Clarity,

(Silence The Voices Logging The Mind.)

An Unwavering So Deeply Filled,

(From Places Most Choose Not To Find.)

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blitherandblather · 6 years

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Get Out There and Don’t Vote

Democracy... what a load of shit.

I hate democracy and the whole democratic process. Democracy is built on the presupposition that we're all born equal and, maybe we are. We're sure as fuck not equal by the time we're old enough to vote, though. I'm not equal to, say, Tim Peake. That fucker's been to outer space. He's literally left the planet. He's seen the Earth in its entirety, with no imaginary borders or divisions between religions or beliefs. My vote isn't worth as much as his. Neither is yours. If I get to vote purely on the basis that I'm alive, then he should get five votes, because he knows more than I do. And he's been to space and he's a nice guy who genuinely seems to want to make the world a better place. I'm also not equal to Christopher Langan. Never heard of him, huh? He's the smartest man in the world. Let that sink in. He's the smartest man in the world. We're not equals. This guy taught himself how to read when he was four years old. Do you understand that? Not only was he reading at four, he taught himself how to do it. When I was four years old, I discovered that I would collapse on the floor if I spent ten minutes spinning around in circles. The only thing I've got in common with the Christopher Langan is my first name. And, yet, we both get one vote apiece.

It goes the other way, too. There exists in there world people who have deliberately never read a book. Ever. Not even at school, where you have to read books or they don't let you leave. There are people who are in their eighties and still have to go to school every day because they refuse to read a single book. They're going to die in detention. How stubborn do you have to be to never read a book? It doesn't even have to be a good book. Just read something, anything. You can't form opinions on anything if you don't read; the only thing you can do is appropriate other people's opinions and pass them off as your own, with nothing to back them up with should you be questioned on them. Don't be proud that you've never read a book, it's not an achievement, it's a fucking embarrassment. If you've never read a book, you don't get to vote, okay? You don't understand anything. You can't understand anything and you refuse to learn how anything works, so you don't get to vote on how anything works. Thankfully, this isn't a rule that has to be enforced; it's surprisingly self-policing, that one.

Also, you one get one vote, and that's it. So, if you vote on I'm A Celebrity..., that's it. You've used your vote for the year. If you took the time to call in to a TV show and let them know you'd prefer it if (Interns: Check which D-Lister couldn't get a pantomime gig this year) got voted out of the jungle instead of (Interns: Check which 80's supermodel has an autobiography coming out this Christmas), then you're done voting for the year. You don't get to decide who runs the country.

Another rule in my version of utopia, the voting age should be lowered to six. Six-year-olds are the most open minded and caring people in the world. They can tell just by looking at a person if they're good or bad. They also care. They're bothered what happens to the world because they're going to be stuck there for a long time. The want people to be happy and, as long as they themselves are fed and have a bed and a few toys and a family unit that cares for them, they don't really want much else. They want everyone to have that. Happiness, to a child, is a universal human right. The voting age then cuts off again at sixteen, when kids turn in to assholes, angry at the world and selfish. They have sponge-minds that suck up any information presented to them as though it's the absolute truth and the only truth that exists. Tell them something else two hours later and their entire philosophy changes. You can't trust teenagers. They're too malleable. Their minds are like plasticine. One day, homosexuality is faggy and the next they discover they quite enjoy a finger in the ass during foreplay. Their brains are bombarded by new ideas and philosophies, which is great, but their brains are also working at full capacity, capable of seeing all points of view simultaneously. There's no consistency in a youngster's mind. If they could, they'd tick every box on a ballot sheet, then set fire to it, because of the inherent corruption that comes with any form of government. You can vote again between the ages of thirty and sixty, when you actually know a thing or two about a thing or two, but you're still young enough for it to matter. If you're ninety years old, voting doesn't apply to you because you don't do anything all day and you're going to die tomorrow, anyway.

Either way, it's all fucking pointless. Who gives a shit who's in charge? What difference does it make? Here in the UK, we have two political parties and a bunch of time-wasters. Can't vote for the Tories, because they put money ahead of humanitarianism. Can't vote for Labour, because they're too soft on the hard issues. We tried voting for the Lib Dems once, but they panicked we'd called their bluff and realised they were in way over their heads, forming a coalition, in which fuck all got done for four years. It was terrible, in as much as nobody noticed anyway.

What, exactly, does the government do? There's an old, unfunny adage that proclaims “If voting changed anything, they'd make it illegal” and it's true, to a point. It doesn't matter who's in charge because nobody is. Any time there's an actual decision to make, a decision that is genuinely going to affect the people of a country – and I should point out here, I mean the people of this country – they throw the decision right back to us, the dumb shits who voted them in to power in the first place. The EU referendum was decided by ordinary schmucks like you and I, many of whom had no idea we were in the EU in the first place. Why the fuck are we paying these people to govern the country if they're just going to make us do their job for them?

In 1948, Britain entered Malaya to battle the Chinese Communist Party. This conflict when on to 1960. Between 1950 and 1953, Britain was involved in the Korean War. 1951, the Canal Zone Emergency in Egypt saw us involved in guerilla warfare. 1952-1960, Kenya. 1955-1959, Cyprus. 1956, the Suez Canal. 1962-1975, Oman and Dhofar. '62-'66, Borneo. '63-'67, Yemen. '69-the end of time, our good friends in Northern Ireland; the “troubles”. 1982, the Falklands. 1990-91, Gulf War One. '92-2001, Balkans. 2000, happy millennium, Sierra Leone! 2001-2014, for fuck's sake, Afghanistan. 2003, Gulf War II: The Gulfening. And so on. Since WW2 which, admittedly, wasn't our fault, there has been one day where a British Serviceman hasn't been killed in action. That's what the government does. It sticks a pin in a map to decide who we're going to fight with today.

There are one hundred and twenty four thousand members of the Tory party and five hundred and fifty two thousand in the Labour party. That's a total of seventy billion politicians in the country. That's fifty politicians for every civilian. Do we really need that many people to pick a fight? Could we not just have one guy clicking “random article” on Wikipedia until a country comes up on his screen and, so long as they're not as well armed as us, we go to war with them? That would leave us with the question of what to do with all those suddenly out-of-work politicians, but I'm sure we could figure something out. Using them as fuel or hardcore or something. They're fuck all use for anything else.

Because they react, and that's it. They're supposed to be the leaders of our country, but they don't actually lead us anywhere, do they, the cunts? They see what the rest of us are doing and the react to it, retroactively pretending it was their idea all along. And we, for our part, ignore everything they say (apart from who we're currently at war with) and just plod on with our meaningless lives, moaning that the price of fags has gone up 15p but beer's gone down six, so that's all right, isn't it? If the whole lot of them just fucked off on holiday, would any of us even notice? Would our lives be any different if every single politician in the world boarded a spaceship and flew off in to the sun? Depends on the propellant, I suppose, but that's more a chemical consideration rather than a political one.

Point is, I vote in every election that comes along. I vote in the big one every four years and I vote for the little local ones whenever the slip comes through my door. In between elections, I tend to ignore everything that goes on in Parliament. I'm like one of those arseholes – exactly like them, in fact – who becomes an expert in the louge every four years during the Winter Olympics, but forgets even the existence of the word “louge” in-between. The only thing I really understand about politics is that it's always wrong. The politicians in power are never the ones I voted for, even when they are. When someone I vote for gets in to power, they instantly pull of the masks are reveal themselves to be Mr. Wickles the caretaker. Ha ha, you fools! It was me, all along!

So, what's the point of voting? We never win. Doesn't matter who you vote for, the government gets in either way. They carry on doing whatever the fuck it is they do, and we carry on trudging through our daily lives, pretending that we had a say in things. It's huge lie we've all agreed to play along with and it's miserable and depressing and pointless and endless.

Except that, they play along too. They play along knowing that we're playing along. They do whatever it is politicians do because they know, every four years, that we won't let them play anymore if they don't follow the rules. We don't know what the rules are, but we know what they aren't, and we can tell when they're not playing fair. We don't kick them out of the game; we just put them on the naughty step for four years, after which they can try again. We all do this, and we all have to do this because, Jesus Christ, imagine what they'd do if they thought we weren't paying any attention at all.

#vote voting politics government Tories Labour Blather LibDems

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theupwardmind-blog · 7 years

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Note: As of this posting, I’m doing swell, which is just a testament to how quickly a mood can change. Still, I’m going to post it in its entirety because when I wrote it, I really needed to.

…

Guess what? The last few days have been, by and large, not great.

I work my ass off to not feel like total garbage: Daily meditation, a pretty rad diet, a lot of running, sobriety, journaling, baths… and of course I’ve done my rounds in therapy and with medication. In spite of these efforts, the thought that has dominated my mind lately has been along the lines of: “I’m going to blow my brains out.” (Please know that I wouldn’t be putting this on my blog if it was really a concern.)

I keep wanting to drink (I haven’t) and sometimes I get devastatingly lonely. I know I have created my current circumstances—and we all have, whether we like it or not—but of course I don’t know why. I recently texted a loved one that my “5-year plan” involves getting back into binge drinking and shooting myself in the head off of a cliff. I was kidding, but there really are times when I feel, sincerely, that I am Not Okay, like at all, and I don’t think there is anything that will help. At night I ask the universe to just make me normal and good, but I never wake up normal and good. I wake up the same me who falls short in every regard, who doesn’t love correctly, who isn’t open enough, patient enough, consistent enough, un-thinky enough, kind enough, calm enough, or safe enough. I do not always act like who I am, and I haven’t yet figured out how to fix that permanently.

Why am I posting this even though I try to be all about light and the possibility of well-being? First, it’s real. We are supposed to share our experiences with one another, and I know that the feelings I have are shared by millions of others. The second we fall into the trap of believing our isolation, depression, grief, and self-loathing are any different than those felt by the rest of humanity, we become doubly lost.

Positivity and spirituality are sometimes treated as synonyms, and that’s just not genuine. The path embraces all feelings and states of mind, and it is generally understood that (for a while anyway) waking up hurts. And, even when it’s really horrible, I know that all of my feelings and thoughts are teaching me something. For whatever reason, I haven’t gotten the lesson. If I’d gotten it, this shit would cease. Maybe the lesson is simply in impermanence itself: Never, ever expect to feel All Good, because you will never, ever be static.

Mainly I’m posting this because hiding brings its own kind of pain. When we do this, we deny our true selves to the people who want to love us. It feels worse to hide, even though it definitely feels super uncool to write about my feelings, too. I also know I’m running the risk of sounding dramatic, and at some point—maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, probably right after I hit “Publish”—I’ll regret posting it. Soon, I’ll file away this time period away into that which I psychologically label “a tantrum.”

The point is: I’m better than I’ve ever been, and still, I am This.

…

In spite of the intensity of these emotions, I remain unwilling to consider myself ill. I will not accept the bipolar story and I will not label myself “disordered.” This narrative doesn’t serve me, and if anything it damns me to believing I am fixed being. Part of that fixed narrative comes with the notion that I’ll never be fully healed, and I don’t buy that. The only reason I’m even here and in an overall healthier place than I’ve ever been in is because I’ve refused to buy it.

Of course I don’t deny the existence of mental disorders, but rather consider all life experiences as variations in consciousness. This way of thinking makes the difference between the chance at deep healing and perpetual, cyclical illness. One promotes a false “normal/abnormal, neurotypical/neurodiverse” dichotomy; the other promotes a much more realistic spectrum. Training oneself in higher consciousness (by way of self-care, meditation, journaling, etc.) can lead to the cessation of suffering, or at the very least, the dampening of it.

Because really, that’s what it’s all about: Suffering. Whether you call it depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, or a personality disorder, the main concern of the human experience is suffering. The harsher felt aspects of life that are pervasive and repetitive—the ones that get called “disorders” in our culture—persist because we are, on the whole, in a very low place. Greed rules the day. “Every man for himself” is the prevailing ethos. “Us and them” is a mentality that very few people ever escape. When our overall level as a people reaches something higher, we will see mental illness fall away. I’ve said this before and I’m going to keep saying it.

I doubt that this will happen in my lifetime, since our system still seems hell-bent on letting individuals know that they’re the ones with “problems.” In our haste to diagnose—to codify, to limit, to “explain”—we tend to just not bring up the ugly truth of the situation, which is that the world is burning to the ground and our paradigm is truly fucked up. Sick societies create sick individuals, and vice versa. Healthy people depend on a healthy planet, and our planet is really not healthy.

When healing occurs, it does so on an individual and collective level at the same time: We heal ourselves and—brick by brick, mind by mind—build healthier societies that make wellness a possibility for future generations. Until we do this work, we can only expect to see rising rates of suicide, depression, addiction, and everything else we claim to be against. I for one am getting a bit tired of the short-lived outpour of concern that follows celebrity suicides. I am also tired of the idea that a person simply not killing themselves is a great victory: If all we’re doing is constantly pulling each other back from the brink, we’re still failing miserably.

…

Not a single professional I’ve worked with has really broached the fact that I suffer because A. Suffering is inherent in human existence (and so I have no reason to expect not to suffer), and B. Our culture basically breeds people to suffer for the machine. It was always about “my condition,” “my problems,” “my depression,” “my story of why I hurt.” We all have stories about why we hurt, and to some extent, these stories need to be explored. Some stories are more harrowing than others, but even the most well-off, well-loved people suffer.

Finally, meditation and yoga are being regarded as helpful treatment modalities for mental illnesses. I want to address that here: The science behind psychiatric medication is based on the theory that your brain makes the wrong chemicals and these other chemicals will kinda fix it. The science behind yoga is based on the theory that you are a universal being and ultimately, you are pure consciousness. Get in touch with the part of you that is pure consciousness—through systematic postures and meditation—and suffering begins to transform. This is true for all forms of suffering, be they given medical labels or are simply the “normal” malaise of routine adult life.

These theories/sciences are not mutually exclusive. I will always advocate doing all the things to help yourself. However, through my (largely unintentional and also explosive) exploration of inner space, I’ve found that the latter theory is a whole lot more complete.

…

There is tremendous power in stepping into the realization that it’s not you. You are not an addict or a depressed person or anything else because something is wrong with you. Instead, we have tendencies to harm ourselves because…

Our overall culture is unconscious of the way it thinks and acts.

We do not understand and/or accept the depths of the ways we all affect one another. Even people who fancy themselves hella woke tend to carry some amount of hatred and derision in their hearts. This doesn’t work, and it still hurts everyone.

We literally carry legacies of pain in bodily memory.

Fear is the default mode of living.

We have forgotten the truth of what we are.

It’s not that you’re a defective model, and you do have the power to rise above all of these things.

When it comes to mental health and overall wellness, that’s what it’s all about: The cessation of suffering through the exploration of higher consciousness. Not endless treatment, not an illness-oriented model, and certainly not a narrative that you will always be one thing or another.

…

Let’s end this on a high note, shall we?

Before I sat down to write this post, I went for a run. Even when I’m in the depths of it, meditating and running tend to lift my spirits. Near the end, I found this rosebush in someone’s yard, and it was too beautiful not to take pictures:

Being a good millennial, I put these on the Instagram where a friend commented, “Peace roses.” Again, being a good millennial, I Googled it. Lo and behold, this is what’s called the Peace Rose. And although I regard the entirety of my life experience as equally meaningful and meaningless, I’ll gladly take signs like this in times of need.

If you’re reading this, the message is meant for you as well.

– Lish

When It Gets Bad Note: As of this posting, I’m doing swell, which is just a testament to how quickly a mood can change.

#Consciousness #Depression #Mental Health #Spirituality #Yoga

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i-hope-youre-hopeful · 8 years

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Literally my longest rant ever I think. Don't read this it's gross and negative

Pappaw is dead. Pappaw is literally dead and I can never see him again. I'll never speak to him unless he made it to Heaven, or is going to make it to Heaven, or whatever. I'll never speak to him again in this lifetime, and I may never speak to him in the next. That terrifies me, but I wish it made me sadder than it does. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about him being gone. I can't quite comprehend it. I thought maybe when he died it would entirely overshadow grandpa's death, but it only brought back memories and made grandpa's death even more real. It just compounded the grief and that sucks. It really pisses me off that no one knows for sure what comes after death. Why can't things ever be simple? Why is everything such an endless mystery? I'm terrified that the complexity and indefiniteness of life means it's meaningless. I'm terrified of the void of doubt that swallows me more and more every day and I feel guilty not fighting back but I don't even know where to begin. I'm sick of doubt. I'm so full of anger and fear and hurt and sadness and doubt that I can't even do anything tonight but lay on the floor and feel all the emotions melt together and rot inside my chest. Tomorrow I'll be better. I'm full of so much anger that I don't know how to express. I've grown so bitter towards my parents it's getting hard to hide. I worry this is just teenage rebellion but it feels a lot like years of cuts and bruises that I could never find bandaids for. I can't even fathom how childish they act sometimes - how after years of telling me there's two sides to every story, no one is ever innocent in an argument, etc., they're both still refusing to accept blame. They're both awfully proud for people who hate themselves. The way they've acted is abismal, and I'm expected just to walk it off like I always do. Moreover I'm expected to help them feel better after they tear me down, but that's all I want to do anyway. I honestly can't even tell if I'm so worried about protecting them because I love them or because I know that as long as they're healthy they won't turn into human hurricanes. I just want everything to be okay. It could also be because I'm genuinely worried now that they'll die if someone doesn't take care of them, and I know they've far surpassed caring enough about themselves or anyone else to take care of themselves. I hate how little I enjoy being with them these days, because I genuinely do love them, but I'm so tired of negativity. Let's talk about my mom. My mom is so obsessed with the approval that her pathetic excuse for parents never gave her that she's constantly neck deep in social media and when she isn't she's shaking me down for more info on my life. I love to talk to her and I trust her deeply but she's become so needy and she's so distressed every time she thinks there's something about me she doesn't know. I love talking to her but that's all she ever does or wants to do and I'm not like that! I'm trying to be more like her and I'm trying to be more open but it's never good enough for her, we're never close enough and she can't understand why. She's hurt and I can't fix it. I can't be anything more than myself, hard as I try. I don't feel like I'm ever quite good enough honestly. The main thing that I can't stand lately is how much of a damn child she is every time she gets angry. I'm angry too, you don't see me waking you up in the middle of the night slamming doors and screaming. I'm hurting too, but that doesn't matter, and I don't try to make it matter because I can acknowledge that it's not about me and other people are hurting too so taking it out on them is a really shitty thing to do. I'm so sick of the temper tantrums and I want to scream at her and tell her to shut up and sit down and be an adult but I'm not the adult and I have no authority and I would incur the dreaded wrath of a thousand suns if I told her any of the things I filter. That's why I've gotten the way I am, I can't express my hurt and anger so it just comes out constantly in small ways like heavy sighs or little eye rolls - which by the way have been entirely exaggerated from sighing and eye rolling to back-stabbing and hailing Hitler himself. I've essentially become my father. I can't stand her rants anymore. I'm still so deeply hurt by last November, which I don't talk about because it was never about me. Forgetting about the fact that I still worry regularly that I'm going to lose my mother at any moment, it's just been really nice to know since then that my mother loves me *almost* enough not to abandon me when things get tough. It feels really great knowing that when it really all came down to it she was okay passing her pain down to me so she didn't have to deal with it anymore. Everyone tells me suicide isn't selfish and I know that in my head but you try almost losing your mother forever by her own choice and see how you feel afterward. This whole rant feels so self pitying and passive aggressive and it is!! I'm angry at myself too I don't like myself either don't get me wrong here friendo!! My dad is no picture of perfection either, but at least he's trying not to be a dick to me when life is tough for him. The hypocrisy in his words is exhausting though, and the mood swings are a blast to ride along on. And seriously? What kind of a man deals with his problems by drugging himself into a coma? I get that it's hard to deal with - I'm hating every second of this too - but I'm facing it like a man and you're leaving me here to do it alone. It's so ridiculous that once things are finally calming down THEN oh THEN The Avenger decides to start shit with his Super Passive Aggression Powers™. How impressive!! Look at him go! Watch as he completely ignores everyone and mopes around the house until he can go back to sleep! That'll teach them to mess with him! And for goodness sakes, both of you, wipe that stupid superiority complex off your face. You both think you're right, I can see it in your eyes. You're both dead wrong. All the time. Just like everyone else. Be adults and apologize. It isn't that hard. I do it to constantly. I hate my habits but I don't even have time to touch on that. I'm terrified I wont graduate because I'm too screwed up to ever get anything done and I don't know what I'm doing for school this semester and I'm terrified?? I'm stuck in this stupid dead-end relationship that I can't find a way out of and I'm so unhappy but he's such a good person and he cares about me and I don't even know why I'm just a shitty coward!!

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