#its a shame because I went down a rabbit hole of reading up on whats its based on and drafted an idea for the other reference in the song

[dapperrokyuu]

Wanted to try and make translyrics for a song I got into recently, but I couldnt figure out how many syllables was going on in the first verse and thus also its rhythm. Unfortunately must give up... 😔✌️

[beautifulpersonpeach]

I’ve been reading your blog for the better part of the year and it’s helped me rethink many things. This year was weird for me and I’ve been reflecting, I finally got courage to write this confession and I only feel comfortable sending it here. It’s okay if you post it. I think there are other people like me.

My Confession:

I’m an Orbit-Blink shooter who used to fight with an Army shooter daily until she died during the earthquakes in Turkey this year. I didn’t realize how much of my life and fan experience was tied to her until she died BPP. The way I got into shooting was through my Blink friend who introduced me to Loona when they debuted. At first I thought I was defending Loona and then defending Blackpink, but at some point shooting on its own for any reason became addicting. I would jump in on a ratio, throw insults and post gore and graphic images to people’s DMs for any small reason.

There was one Army shooter I hated because she was always there with screenshots or videos to drag Blackpink. Whenever there was a fanwar I knew I would see her there. And times when she wasn’t in the fight, I would use another account pretending to be an Army to tell her what was happening so I could rile her up to join the fight. I didn’t know it at the time but I loved fighting with her. She made me feel alive. The way she was passionate about BTS made me want to get some of that passion directed at me in any form.

Now, after months of reflecting, that’s what I realized. Because when the earthquake happened, I didn’t know she was dead. I kept checking her account for days, sending DMs from my fake Army profile, wondering why she was not replying. I even created a new scandal for Taehyung in our shooter group but she didn’t tweet. Then 2 weeks later her cousin tweeted from her account to say she died in the earthquake. BPP, it was like my whole life stopped. I became extremely depressed and dealt with extreme self loathing. I couldn’t look at any fandom fight without thinking about all the things I did to her. I hated myself and wanted to die. I went through that Armys profile and saw how her love for BTS was genuine. After months of therapy now I understand more why I acted like that, but it’s something I’ll forever be ashamed about.

In the depths of my depression I deleted Twitter, TikTok, and Instagram. After some weeks of missing what’s happening, I got Tumblr and found your blog talking about fandom behavior. In so many ways you’ve saved my life BPP. The way I was shooting was more for other shooters than Loona or Blackpink or even myself. I realize now there’s a whole subculture of kpop shooters and I think what they have is an addiction. I notice the same things with how solo stans behave. They think they’re doing it for the idols but it’s for them and other stans they’re fighting. It creates destruction. Life is short. Why spend it on something destructive?

I’ve changed everything about how I behave online. Through therapy and reading your blog, I realize people use fandom to express themselves, and if that expression is mostly negative, there’s deeper problems with that person that needs solving. Now I curate my space and avoid shooters and fanwars completely. I now focus on what I enjoy which is good lore and good music (I still enjoy a good fight but I now satisfy this need by getting engaged in Munk Debates in my city). Loona’s lore was the reason I was interested in them, so after weeks of stalking that dead Army’s profile, I learned that BTS has lore too. I fell down the BTS rabbit hole and officially became an Army on Jimin’s birthday (after reading your blog I’m now Yoonminkook biased hehe)

I’m a very new Army but an ‘old’ kpop fan and reformed shooter. I’ve committed to live a life that’s critical and compassionate. Because of how I’ve become Army, some things I’m seeing in how fans of diff fandoms act has a different meaning to me. I still struggle with shame and sometimes when I see fanwars or see solos trending hashtags and things, I remember me from what feels like long ago. I remember that Army shooter who feels like someone I owe my life to. I remember how so much is going on in the world and we could do with more kindness but people use fandom to be awful assholes. I was one such person, attimes I still have to bite my tongue. But what I do now is log off, go do something physical and positive that makes me tired, or scroll through your blog archives.

There might be people like me trying to get away from the shooter mindset and struggling because it’s hard. It’s like an addiction. I want those people to know it’s doable. Recognizing the problem is the hardest part for real so if they are at that point, it gets easier from there.

Thank you for having this blog BPP. I hope you stay here in 2024 as well.

***

Happy to hear you’re in a better head space than earlier this year.

Take care of yourself. Really.

[acomposerofdreams-blog]

There is, hopefully, only one conspiracy I ever bought into enough that could have been worrying. I distinctly remember the what, when, and how. The what: That the fluoride in our water supply allows for government mind control at worst, and makes us more docile at best. The when, 14 if I’m being kind to myself. Back when I believed I was significantly smarter and cleverer than I actually am. A CNN article I read on a high school computer because I thought that made me smarter than my fellow students who played games or tried to look up porn. Not much of a reason to feel superior, but I needed that feeling. Back when I was far more afraid about confronting what I actually am. Just average, maybe less so.

The article was fairly simple in its scope, the writer wanted to go into the subject with an open enough mind to listen to some of these conspiracy theorists. Quite respectable actually, I don’t think I have the patience for that. And one thing that the writer admitted… that he, and by extension I, had no idea what went into the process of preparing the water that comes out of our tap.What is the government doing to that water? What are companies doing to that water? And to the writer's credit he or she went into a fair bit of the details of that subject.

How water treatment plants remove pollution from industrial waste run off, how it removes our own excrement and piss before putting that water back into fresh water supplies or the ocean. It's quite an interesting process that is crucial to stopping diseases such as cholera. But again… I was 14 and in desperate need of an ego boost.  So through the little bit of reading I actually paid attention to, a shame or I might have remembered the person’s name or the article title, I discovered a tiny bit of fluoride is added to the water heading into our tap. How much? Well until 2015 it was 1.2 grams per fluid liter of water. According to myself, who is not great at math, there is at most 1.2 parts fluoride for every thousand parts water. Which then went down in 2015 to .7 parts per thousand parts of water.

To illustrate that as best as I can, the average beer bottle is at most 385ml or 13 fluid ounces. So… if you took that beer bottle, filled it with water (I know, to many of you a travesty), you’d have a total of .27 ml of fluoride or .0091 fluid ounces in that bottle. To help you visualize that, half a raindrop of fluoride is in that beer bottle. One half of one raindrop.

Again, I was 14, and too afraid of being seen as common, or average, or worse… less than average . So I ignored the facts. I didn’t care, I felt smart, I was slightly more powerful than my fellow students to know that fluoride was added to the water before it entered my kitchen sink. I didn’t know what it was either, or at least I didn’t think I did. Thankfully I never dug deep enough into that rabbit hole to become completely immune to sense. So when I asked my parents what Fluoride was… they answered me seriously. It was the stuff the dentist used to finish cleaning my teeth, teeth that had no cavities in it because I regularly brushed my teeth with toothpaste that also contained fluoride.

From there the whole thing started to fall apart. If Fluoride was being used to make me more docile, why after regularly dosing myself with far more effective quantities than what was in tap water for my whole life… was I ready to “fight the power” over it? If it was really controlling my mind it wasn’t doing a very good job of it. I did take it a step farther, I went a week without brushing my teeth and for an entire day chose not to drink liquids of any kind. Cause maybe if I got it all out of my system it’d make sense to me, that I’d see behind the curtain and realize that I was right to believe this. I don’t know if my parents noticed that, but what I did notice… was that nothing changed. I was still… me, still myself, not as clever or smart as I thought I was. My eyes were open though, I could see myself as… average, maybe even less at the time.

It wasn’t until four years later that I came across the darker side of conspiracy theories, the abandonment of logic, often by people whom you would think have the intelligence to discern the truth.

My grandfather was a physicist, one with enough knowledge and skill in studying the world that he was part of the team that developed radar technology for America during the Cold War. The systems that are used to guide the missiles that could end the world at any moment was part of his resume. The man had a Marine bodyguard with him whenever he was out of the country, whose sole duty was to kill my grandfather in case the Soviets or Chinese wanted to steal the secrets to America’s radar detection network at the time. He is probably still the second smartest person I have ever met, and that’s of course admitting that I’m more biased towards his daughter, my mother. And he believed with absolute surety that now Former President Barack Obama wasn’t an American citizen and maybe a Muslim plant to destroy the nation. And I was too afraid to ask him why.

I don’t need to go into how that former President Obama is in fact a natural born citizen. Or at least I hope I shouldn’t have to? His father was an American citizen, who married a Keyan woman, who then gave birth to now former President Obama in Hawaii. These are… facts. As factual as the knowledge that your body needs water to live. That’s how deep the discussion had to go and there are still people who think that Obama was a Musilm immigrant who stole the Presidency away from Christianity, dealing a blow against the Christ loving people of America.

And my Grandfather might have been one of them. A man who I have admired for his wisdom and raw intelligence. Whom in spite of his coarse attitude from having a childhood that saw the Depression, World War 2, and had to raise children through the Cold War. Is a kind, and empathetic person that only now do I have the sense to see. Yet when this topic of conversation came up, I couldn’t tell you what my grandfather feared about then presidential candidate Barack Obama.

I could tell you what I was afraid of as an 18 year old fresh out of high school, I had a strong belief that those in the News media need to be brave enough to ask powerful people questions that challenge their points and beliefs of their viewers and those they talk to. I believe that even more so now. So as I watched so many journalists and people get swept up in the charisma, intelligence, and hype of Obama. I was afraid of what might happen if he could keep the level of control over the news during his presidency. An ultimately pointless fear, that was basically blown away after the first hundred or so days in office.

But for my Grandfather. That… wasn’t it, during the whole eight years I think at times he believed that President Obama was a secret Muslim agent, or incompetent, or hated the “American way”, but I don’t know. I know he was frustrated by some of the more absurd “scandals” of the Obama Presidency. Such as the Tan Suit incident, one of several fistbump incidents, the political “travesty” that was the Date Night scandal, and the death of the presidency because of ordering Di-jon mustard for his burger. But… he seemed to believe that all of that was a calculated distraction, to keep people from thinking about how dangerous Obama really was. And I have no idea why?

I’ll never get to know the reason either. He passed away while battling brain cancer a while ago. Leaving that question unanswerable.

That kind of fear I’ve come across again and again. Either in person or through observation. One of the most chilling ones was watching on the news thousands of angry, afraid, men chanting in Charlottesville Virginia “Jews will not replace us.” As of Writing this… that was almost seven years ago. Yet I still feel like I need to state that about .16% of the world population is Jewish. There are actually a million more Mormons in the world than Jews and I don’t see anyone stating the Mormons are going to replace us all. Yet fear would ignore that, fear has ignored that and likely still will. I wish I could sit some with some of these people and talk about why they choose to fear others. What is it that they’re afraid of themselves? That maybe their own feelings of inadequacy have everything to do with themselves and not others? That the failings in their life are in fact their own failings, or failings of people like them?

Fear given an easy out will always become hatred, and to give credit to my Grandfather. His fear never became that. Hatred was not something that came naturally to him. But were his fears about Obama hiding something else? Because my fear of Fluoride in the water was hiding my own insecurities about myself. Because at the end of the day… I, and you, and my Grandfather, are just themselves. I’m just me. Not as smart, not as special, as I think I am. I’m just… average. And isn’t that terrifying?

(Because this one requires some sources. Here’s the link to the google doc I wrote it all on with the sources attached. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1DBiWEkxlCczxnIzXsfhu1txdklJJauMHW0inX17Zpdw/edit?usp=sharing

Enjoy!)

[delta-queerdrant]

big doctor energy (Heroes & Demons, s1 e12)

Yeah, our first holodeck episode + our first Doctor episode! This one is pretty silly but it's a capital-R Romp and I'm here for it.

Once again this is an episode that begins with resource management! One of the things that has been cracking me up during this rewatch is what a hands-on and, perhaps, micromanager Janeway is. She really does love science and is always going on away missions, peeking over people's shoulders, and in this case, beaming aboard samples of "intense photonic activity" to see if they can be used in the ship's power converters. No one seems to mind, but there are presumably some off-screen science officers who are grumpy because they never get to do the fun labwork.

Janeway hair watch - the "bun of steel" has been swapped out for a side-swept French twist kinda thing. It's definitely an improvement, though the twisty parts are slightly fussy and overcomplicated. Damn this woman would look good with an undercut! Anyhoo.

If I were sending the Doctor on a fantastical adventure, would I choose Beowulf? Perhaps not - Hollywood depictions of the "Dark Ages" do little for me - but it's an okay time. I appreciate the inclusion of Freya; shieldmaidens are authentic to early Scandinavian culture if not to Beowulf itself. And I have always enjoyed Unferth as a side villain - he is the ultimate undermining coworker and I love that he has existed in literature for at least the last millennium. We all have our inner Unferth and I think that's fine.

Shame they're not all speaking in alliterative verse, or that the forest looks like no forest that ever appeared in Denmark, or that the Doctor is eating what appears to be a giant turkey(????) leg despite it being pre-Columbian Exchange times, but none of that is the point.

Watching the Doctor laconically roleplay his way through this adventure is, of course, a fun and silly time. He is such a fish out of water and his blunt, uncomplicated responses are all accidental zingers. By the end he has really come into his own and his moment of heroism feels earned, facing down Unferth with the absolute banger line, "The only reason you won't die is that I've taken an oath to do no harm." I wrote big doctor energy in my notes and I think we can all agree with this assessment.

I should probably be mad about Freya getting fridged, but, like, she feels surprisingly three-dimensional for a fictional character? And at the same time, she is an in-universe fictional character and it doesn't matter? It's complicated, since both she and the Doctor are holograms. From where I'm standing, she genuinely had her own character arc and her death felt meaningful on its own terms. I will have things to say later in the series about the Doctor's sexuality, but I don't think I'll say them here.

The Doctor makes peace with the glowing squiggle (sorry, photonic life form) and the captured crew are restored, including Harry Kim in his very cute LARP outfit. I am always here for Harry being the absolute dorkiest of dorks; in this episode he looks like he is cosplaying Bilbo Baggins.

As mentioned in an earlier review, I am an ex-ELCA Lutheran (Lutheranism and I are still pals, we just weren't right for one another) so I was tickled by the Doctor briefly taking on the soubriquet of Schweitzer. I am not culturally Lutheran, but Albert Schweitzer is definitely a big Lutheran hero and gets Lutherans going (other things that get Lutherans going - potlucks, Prairie Home Companion, "A Mighty Fortress is our God").

After watching this episode I went down a Schweitzer rabbit hole and was reminded that, in addition to his humanitarian work, he also wrote one of the important "historical Jesus" books, in which the facts of Jesus's life were reevaluated. It was so interesting reading about his (shockingly recent) rediscovery that early Christianity was basically an apocalypse cult. Schweitzer was down with this, because he thought it was punk rock or something. I find this approach to religion - religion as something that can be analyzed, that is both culturally contingent and, at its nucleus, contains a critique of powerful political and social forces - such a compelling antidote to gray goo evangelism, in which no belief is ever examined. This is not to excuse Lutheranism for its complicity in many shitty things, or to privilege belief over various forms of nonbelief, but the fact is that many of us have a Christian worldview lodged in our brains whether we like it or not, and it helps to spend some time thinking about what Christianity actually is, deciding what we'd like to hold onto and what's better discarded.

Sorry! This isn't a theology blog! I, ah, definitely can't promise I won't do it again.

Hardly gripping television, but a pretty good entry point to a beloved character's journey. 3.5/5 improbably sized turkey(!?!?) legs.

[weaver-z]

Birthmark

A short horror story by B.E.

The women in my family have port-wine birthmarks, but none ever had any as strange as mine. 

Not even my mother, who had one that stretched across her forehead like a bloodshot eye, the pale sclera-white of her skin visible under the glaze of reddish violet. She told me, when I was very young, that my grandmother had one, too, along the back of her head--she, unlike us, had been lucky enough to have one that could be hidden under a bonnet, though her blonde hair still revealed it in the summertime.

“Can I see the ones on the legs?” Thomas asks, chewing the inside of his cheek like a cow chewing its cud. I allow it, even though I am a girl, because Thomas and I are friends, alone in the center of a field of tall summer alfalfa. I can feel his eyes boring into the marks on me in fascination, as he moves around me to see my arms, at the marks on those.

“I like the winter best,” I say, pulling my skirt up. “Pa hates it. But I like it, because I can cover all of ‘em up with my clothes, even the ones on my arms.”

“They’re not so bad,” he says. “They’re not on your face, at least.

“Guess so.”

He sits in front of me in the clear space between the eden-green strands of the grass, looking down at the marks on my legs. They are strange, wobbling lines, not blotches or patches--the lowest two are at my knees, lines that wrap around the joint like the borders of a county. 

There are two more on my upper thighs, though I don’t show Thomas those--he’s still a boy, and even though he looks at my markings with nothing but fascination, I still feel a little kernel of shame rubbing at the walls of my chest. The arms are easier to show to him--there are only two marks, just too low to be covered by my short sleeves, broad and awkward unevenly-stamped lines.

“So you’ve got more? On your back?” Thomas asks, sitting on his haunches, looking at me with intent, dust-brown eyes too large for his face.

“Yes. Almost like a corset,” I say, “like a nice corset, the kind rich ladies wear with their jewels. One on my waist, like a belt. One below my shoulders. Oh, and a line down my back, a kinda wobbly one.”

“Like the laced-up part of the corset,” he says, and I nod, happy that he understands. Most boys who live in these parts wouldn’t. He moves around me, and I sit straight, lifting my long frigid-blonde braid so that he can see the very top of the line that travels down my spine, the source of the splotchy red-and-purple river. 

“You ever wish that you could have them wiped off?” He asks. “I heard that God sometimes grants big miracles if you pray for ‘em enough.”

“Maybe,” I say, doubtful. “I’ve tried it. Pa makes me pray each night, but nothing seems to work.”

“Shame about that. Real shame. Maybe God’s busy with somethin’ else--” he says, and suddenly a gunshot rings out in the distance.

He freezes, pupils dilating like a rabbit that hears a hawk, and I scramble for my boots, forcing them on over the crumbles of mud on my feet. We can both hear Pa, coming through the brush, forcing his way through it with snaps and tears and nearly inarticulate grumbling. Thomas is off like a shot, running almost on all fours as he crouches, and by the time my father reaches me, panting and huddled in the grass, my friend is nothing but a mole-trail disturbing distant strands.

Pa is a tall man--though I inherited his height, I’m only 13, and he towers over me, so broad and heavy that I am thin as grass and summer wind below him. I stand, looking up at him with a look that must look shameful, and he lowers the rifle to point at the earth, face still and steely with malice.

“I told you I didn’t want no boys ‘round,” he says, voice thick, like smoke from a bonfire. “Told you I didn’t want you foolin’ round like a little whore.”

“He didn’t do nothin’,” I say, arms wrapped around my chest. “Honest.”

“Who was it, then? And why didn’t he come see me, an’ ask if he could talk to you?” He takes my arm--not tightly, but with such strength that I couldn’t run if I tried. 

“He and I met while I was out with the chickens. He was on the road going up to town.”

“Sure he was.” Pa shoves my arm away and laughs, the sound like metal clattering to a dirt floor. “Sure, the devil ‘e was. I heard him talkin’ bout your legs, girl. Didn’t hear much, but I heard that. You think you’re the pick of the meat at the market, don’t you?”

“Pa--”

“Don’t talk, pretty girl. Don’t talk, and don’t you ever try and do this again. You’re gonna pray as long as you can tonight. I want your damn tongue to fall out before you stop praying,” and he begins to move, and now the pain comes as I stumble half-backward with him, held in a vise by my arm. 

“Pa, I’m sorry--”

“You ain’t sorry yet, Lu,” he says. He looks back at me, from under the shadow cast beneath his brows by the white sun overhead. “You ain’t sorry, yet.”

---

He makes me pray, that night, for hours and hours, for forgiveness, for something I never did. But the praying he makes me do that night is only meager practice for the praying I do during the winter.

Our chickens die when a coyote pack rolls through in the late days of fall, snarling and barking with a sound like mocking laughter. We salvage what corpses we can, and for a while, we eat well, but not well, because while we dine on fresh meat, the knowledge that something terrible to come hangs over us like the fog of their blood. The cattle start to go soon after, the first to a weak cover over a well (it falls in, it screams for hours), the second to a river, the third to disease, the rest tumbling like the articles like a rotting shelf soon after them. 

When winter comes, we have little, so little, and my father tears into his meager dollars to buy us what we can. I am grateful to him, even as the food dries up, even as he becomes silent, frighteningly silent, staring at me above the candle that lights our dinner-table with a face like a haunting.

I am not allowed to leave the house anymore.

I only cook--clean--mend--read the scraps of old newspaper used to patch the walls of the house as best I can. I make what food he finds for dinner, if he finds any, and I give more to his portion, and he says almost nothing to me except to remind me to stay in the home, to keep house and to keep out of the snowstorms and the paths of wild things. He fixes the roof and sharpens the knives--those are the only tasks he does around the house, besides force me onto my knees beside him to beg God for something for our stomachs.

And it is in cleaning that I find the box.

It is a small box, barely as long as my forearm and as shallow as the length of my hand, and it is under his bed, dislodged from a long stay deep in the shadows beneath his cot by a storm that shook the house.

I pull it slowly from beneath--it is unpainted, made of thin wood that leaves little splinters in the flesh of my thumb-joint. I remove its lid and look inside.

My mother is there, first, as I remember her--thin, short, with a look in her eyes like the hollow of a tree, unexplainably empty. The mark is clearly visible in the photograph, as she stands next to my father, mottled and dim. Neither of them are smiling. They are younger in this photograph--it is blurry, hard to make out.

Beneath that is a scrap of newspaper that I have a hard time understanding for a moment. 

Mrs. Mary J. Letts, 68; Wife and Mother

We regret to announce the death of Mrs. Letts, wife of Mr. Roger Letts and mother to Mabelle Letts, which took place last Thursday due to a tragic accident involving an injury sustained to her head while riding. She is survived by her husband and daughter. 

The paper cuts off there. I don’t recognize the name of Letts, and the paper is old; I continue reading as I find another scrap.

Mrs. Mabelle Dawson, 36; Wife and Mother

We regret to announce the death of Mrs. Dawson, who is survived by her husband, Mr. Arnold Dawson, and her young daughter, Lucy Dawson. Their family has our greatest sympathies. She was killed accidentally as she was cleaning a weapon owned by Mr. Arnold Dawson, who claims deepest regret that

I feel my mouth run dry and my pulse hammer against my skin like stone against a drum. That is my mother’s name--that is my name, too, faint against the paper. I don’t understand why these things are in the box, among other pictures and portraits of my mother, and, unmistakably, my mother’s mother, whose mark is just visible in one small portrait of her, clearly done by an amateur hand. I can imagine how it stretched across the back of her head, branching along her skull--I can see my own mother’s mark, clearly, in the center of her forehead.

I feel cold as the wooden floor under my feet as my eyes trace the border of the mark on her forehead for the first time. 

“Lu?” my father calls, from downstairs. “Lucy? Lu-cy?”

The starburst on her forehead is strangely jagged. Unsteady. The shape that a bullet hole would make, if someone were shot close in the head. An accident while cleaning a gun. A trauma to the back of the skull. I hear a footstep on the stairs, almost hesitant, its weight barely masked by the slowness with which my father places it down.

“Lucy?” he says. “I prayed to God for a miracle, and he told me what we ought to do. I need to see you, now.”

I can’t breathe. My throat is choked by a snare as I throw myself back, scrambling across the floor and away from the box. My skirt flies up--my legs are exposed, the lines on them obvious in their purpose.

Summers ago, I went to the village with Pa, and we went to a stall hung with pig carcasses. There, there was a picture of a sow, her legs and sides and ribs marked with uneven lines where the different cuts of meat came from. Here was the thigh--here was the shank--here was the cut you made along the spine and the stomach.

I hear a slow, low rumble of creaking wood as he stops outside the door.

“Lucy?” he says, his voice more paternal than I have ever heard it, and I begin to cry--begin to pray to anything, anyone that will listen, pray that something else kills me before he enters, and nothing does.

And the door opens--slowly, too slowly, as though I’ve had a nightmare and he’s coming to check on me like a good father should--and he sees me with the box, with the tears flowing down my face, with my chest heaving in great stops and starts.

He takes a step forward. In his hands, he holds a sharpened butcher’s knife.

[lesserfandomappreciation]

Ariadne and why the Mycenaeans can fuck right off

Warning: Includes brief mentions of r*pe, cultural destruction, ancient patriarchy reminding us why no woman would ever time-travel more than 5 years into the past if that and a great deal of spite for male historians/public education history/mythology classes. 

Possible side effects may include a sudden intense rage for an ancient society equivalent to the innate rage one has for the Romans burning the library of Alexandria, a distinct hatred for ancient men not being able to let anyone have nice things, and a sudden fascination for Minoa. 

Usually, I stick to writing imagines and being happy with that. It’s fun! I love it! But every now and again, in an attempt to escape the crushing forces known as reality and responsibilities I’ll put on a few cutscenes from games I’m: A) Too lazy to play B) Too broke to play C) Too unskilled to play D) All of the above

because cutscenes are free and why torture yourself with impossible levels when its free on Youtube?* *In all seriousness please support video games and video game creators, but no shame to those of us who prefer cutscenes to gameplay.  A few weeks ago I added the game Hades made by Supergiant to the list because the cutscenes were bomb and the characters are so much fun! Intricate as all hell! Hella cute too but that’s unrelated! Now my pretty little simp patootie is especially a big fan of Dionysus and his gorgeous design so the cutscenes with him are my favorite.

I’m re-watching his cutscenes a few nights ago for fun as background when he has a certain line about Theseus. Don’t quote me on this since my memory is foggy at best but roughly it was: Dionysus: Good job with Theseus. Never cared much for him- what he did to that girl was just horrible.*

*I know that’s not his exact line but this is clearly a rant post fueled by spite and ADD-hyper-focused obsessions with ancient civilizations so let’s not worry too too much about the semantics here. 

Now, I like mythology! Personally, I prefer the Norse mythology due to the general lack of very very gross dynamics that several other ancient mythologies seem to include, but I’m decently familiar with Greek mythos. Enough to go - “Why does the God of Wine give a single fuck about the frat bro of Greek heroes being a dick to a woman? Grossness is embedded into the very DNA of all distant relatives of Zeus, a woman being harassed by Zeus or his bastard army is a typical Tuesday in ancient Greece.” 

Wikipedia confirms that Ariadne is the only woman in the story of Theseus and the Minotaur, which I kinda knew already so unless Theseus did some f’ed up shit to some other princess of Minos, Dionysus could only be referring to her. Disregarding what I know about Wikipedia and how it can suck you down the rabbit hole of rabbit holes through sheer fury I stupidly clicked the link to Ariadne’s article. 

By the time we get to the end of this shitstorm, I will have two separate plotlines for two separate stories based of Ariadne, 2k+ notes (and going) on an ancient civilization prior to a week ago I didn’t know existed and within me there will be a rage towards a different ancient civilization I vaguely recall learning about in high school. 

Here’s how this shit went down. 

First of all, apparently after Theseus abandoned Ariadne on an island to die (yep! He did that! To the one person who is the only reason he defeated the minotaur! Fuck this guy.) there are multiple storylines where Dionysus takes a single look at Ariadne and falls in love. 

“A god falls in love?” you say, aware of how most love stories in Greek mythos can be summed up with Unfortunately, Zeus got horny and Hera is a firm believer in victim blaming. “This poor woman is about to go through hell!” I thought so too! And in one variation of the story, Dionysus does his daddy proud by being an absolute tool to Ariadne. In the majority though? He woos the fuck out of her, and ultimately marries her by consent!

Her consent!

In ancient Greece!

The party dude of the Greek pantheon knows more about consent then his father and modern day frat brothers!

Okay! That’s interesting, so I keep reading. 

Ariadne getting hitched to Dionysus is a big deal in Olympus, to the point of getting a crown made of the Aurora Borealis from Aphrodite who is bro-fisting Dionysus, beyond glad she didn’t have to give him the talk about consent. The rest of the gods are pissy especially Hera who doesn’t like Dionysus much since he is the son of Zeus and Semele but they don’t do much. Ariadne ascends to godhood, becomes the goddess of Labyrinths with the snake and bull as her symbol and that’s that on that. 

Colorin, colorado, este cuento se acabado.  And they lived happily ever after. That’s the end of the post right?

NO! Because curiosity has made me their bitch and there’s more to this calling me. 

Also, I was pissed! Still am! Why the fuck-a-doodle-do did I have to learn about the time Poseidon r*ped a priestess instead of the arguably healthiest relationship in the entirety of the pantheon? Why is Persephone and Hades’ story (which has improved since it was first written and I like more modern versions of it, no hate) the only healthy-ish Greek love story I had to learn when Dionysus and Ariadne were right there? The rage of having endured several grade levels of “Zeus got horny and Hera found out” stories in the nightmare of public education led me to keep looking into this. 

There’s this wonderful Youtube channel called Overly Sarcastic Productions that I highly recommend that delves a lot into mythology, and I have seen their bombass video about Dionysus and how his godhood has changed since he was potentially first written in a language we comprehend. 

Did ya’ll know this man is the heir apparent to Zeus? ‘Cause I didn’t know that!

YEA! Dionysus, man of parties, king of hangovers and inducer of madness, is set to inherit the throne of Olympus! Ariadne didn’t husband up the God of Wine, she husbanded up the Prince of Olympus and heir apparent to the throne! Holy shit! No wonder some of the gods were against her marriage to Dionysus - can you imagine the drama of an ex-mortal woman sitting on the Queen’s throne of Olympus? Hera must have been pissed.

BUT WAIT.

There’s more.

The reason we know Dionysus is a very important god and is possibly even more important than we think is because of a handy-dandy language known as Linear B, otherwise known as the language of the Mycenaeans!

For those of you fortunate enough to have normal hobbies and interests, the Mycenaeans were the beta version of the Greeks. Their written language of Linear B is one of, if not the first recorded instance of a written Indo-European language. This language, having been translated, gives us an interesting look at what the Greek gods were like back in their beta-stages before they fixed the coding and released the pantheon. 

Interesting side facts of the Mycenaean Greek gods include:

Poseidon being the head god with an emphasis on his Earthquake aspect, and being much more of a cthonic god in general. 

Take that Zeus, for being so gross. 

The gods in general being more cthonic, as Mycenaeans were obsessed with cthonic gods (probably due to all the earthquakes and natural disasters in Greece and Crete at that time)

Several of the gods and goddesses that we know being listed, alongside some that we don’t consider as important (Dione)

The first mention of Kore, later Persephone, but no Hades because since a lot of gods were cthonic, there would be no need for one, specific cthonic god to represent the majority of death-related rituals.

That’s not what we’re focusing on though! What we’re focusing on is a specific translated portion of Linear B that we have. One of the translated portions of Linear B that for the life of me I can’t find (someone please help me find it and send the link so I can edit this post) says an interesting phrase. “Honey to the gods. Honey to the Mistress of Labyrinths.”

One more time. “Honey to the gods. Honey to the Mistress of Labyrinths.”

Mistress of Labyrinths. 

Now wait a gosh darn minute. Isn’t there a goddess of labyrinths in the Greek mythos? Why yes! Yes there is! Ariadne!

Here’s a question for you. If Ariadne is but a minor god in the pantheon, a wife to a more predominant god, why is it that while all the other gods and goddesses are bunched together in a sentence of praise, the so-called ex-mortal gets a whole-ass sentence to herself singing praises?

And thus, we have arrived to Minoa!

What is Minoa, you ask? Minoa is to Rome what Rome is to us. An old-ass civilization either older than or younger by a hundred years to ancient Egypt. Egypt, that started in 3200 B.C-ish depending on who you ask. That’s old. Old as balls. They were contemporaries to their trading partner, Egypt until 1450 BC-ish. A 2000 year old civilization.

Minoa was founded on the island of Crete, and was by what artifacts we have found a merchant civilization with its central economy centered on the cultivation of saffron and the development of bronze/iron statues of bulls. Most of what we know about them comes from artifacts and frescoes found on Crete that managed to survive everything else I will mention later, but what matters is that we know a few things about them. 

Obsessed with marine life for some time, given their pottery. 

Had the first palaces in all of Europe, some of them ridiculously big. 

Wrote in Linear A and Cretan Hieroglyphs, both still untranslated languages. 

Had a ritual involving jumping over a bull, for some reason. 

Firm believers in “Suns out, Tits out.”

You’d think I’m kidding on the last one but no! No no no! All the women apparently rocked the tits-out look in Minoa!

^^^^One of many, many Minoan works featuring women giving their titties fresh air. ^^^^

“Wait a second Pinks! What does this have to do with Ariadne being the Mistress of labyrinths?”

Well you see dear wonderful darling, while we know very little about Minoan religion because Mycenaeans (we will get to those bastards in a second), we do know this:

All the religious figures appear to be exclusively women.

The most important figures of their religion seem to be goddesses as there are few artifacts featuring male gods.

Because of the religion, the culture may have been an equal society or even a matriarchy! Historians who are male aren’t sure. 

A frankly ridiculous amount of their temples, including the ones in caves in the middle of fuck-all feature labyrinths. A lot of labyrinths!

Their head god is a goddess! Whose temples have labyrinths and whose main symbols are snakes and bulls. Who do we know is a) the mistress of labyrinths and b) is symbolized a lot by snakes and bulls?

ARI-fucking-ADNE THAT’S WHO!

Ariadne didn’t upgrade by marrying the prince of Olympus! Dionysus wifed up possibly the most important goddess in all of Crete and becoming her boy-toy! 

I’m not even kidding, most Minoan depictions of the goddess’ consort features a boy/man who cycles through the stages of death. Dionysus himself in several myths goes through the same cycle - life, being crushed, death, rebirth, repeat.  Cycles the consort goes through in Minoan legend depictions too!

Okay, that’s great, but what does that have to do with the Mycenaeans? Why do you want to single-handedly go back in time and strangle the beta-Greeks with the nearest belt?

Everything I just said about Ariadne being a Minoan goddess, the Mistress of Labyrinths being hella important on Minoa, is all theoretical. The Mycenaeans are partially to blame for making it theoretical. 

Minoa thrived for 2000 years but it had a lot of issues, mostly caused by natural disasters. Towards the end of their civilization (1500 BC-ish), the nearby island of Thera, today known as Santorini, decided to blow up. The island was a hella-active volcano that when erupted, destroyed a lot. 

How big was the eruption? Well when Pompeii was wasted by Mt. Vesuvius, the blast was heard from roughly 120 miles away, 200 km. 

The blast on Thera was heard from 3000 miles away. 4800 km away.

Fuck me, the environmental effects of the explosion were felt in imperialistic CHINA.

Holy shit that would waste anybody! And it did! Minoa went from being a powerhouse in the Mediterranean to scrambling to recover from losing 40,000 citizens and who knows how many cities. Tsunamis may have followed the blast, further destroying ports which for a navy-powerhouse of an island nation is a bad thing and the theorized temperature drops caused by a cloud of ash lingering for a while would have destroyed crops for the year.

Minoa was fucked. 

The Mycenaeans and all their bullshit made it worse.

Up until a few hundred years prior to Thera’s explosion, Minoan artifacts don’t depict much in terms of military power. Why would it? Crete is a natural defense post. Sheer cliffs, high mountains and a few semi-fortified areas would make it pointless to invade. It’s only when the Mycenaeans in all their bullshit decided to attack/compete that Minoa really needed any army to speak of.

Guess who decided to invade while Minoa was reeling from an incredibly shitty year? Mycenaea!

Guess who won?

Also Mycenaea!

Nobody knows how this shit went down though because wouldn’t you know it, the Mycenaeans in all their superiority-complex glory decided to destroy most written accounts about Minoa, a good junk of the temples and culturally eliminated most of Minoan beliefs. 

Minoa isn’t even the real name of the civilization! It’s just the name Arthur Evans, the guy who re-motivate interest in Minoan archaeology, gave to the civilization because the writings that would have included the name of the civilization were destroyed.

“That sucks!” Fuck yes that sucks! “What does that have to do with Ariadne though?”

Oh ho ho. Strap in because you’re about to be pissed. 

Those of us unfortunate enough to be aware of all the bullshit the Christians pulled on the European pagan belief system are familiar with the concept of cultural, religious destruction. There’s a special name for it I don’t know but if I did I would curse it to be absorbed by the horrendous will of fungi. 

An example: Christianity was not the most popular of religions amongst the Vikings. A monotheistic religion that is heavily controlled did not strongly appeal to anyone with a pantheon as rad as the Norse one. 

In order to appeal to the Vikings, what monks would do is they would write down traditionally Viking stories which up until that point were orally passed down. Beowulf, the story of the most Viking Viking to have every Vikinged, was one of these first stories. 

However! Did these monks write Beowulf as closely to the original oral transcript as possible? Of course not! They took liberties! While Norse features such as trolls and dragons and all sorts of Norse magic occur, there is a lot of Christian features added in. 

This happened across all Pagan religions that Christianity came into contact with in Europe. Stories would be altered when written down to be more Christian (this happened to the Greek Pantheon too btw), holidays that were Pagan magically lined up with ones the Vatican just happened to suddenly have. Even names of mythological figures were taken and added onto Christian figure names. Consequently, a lot of pagan religions they did this to got erased over time, with many of their traditions and details being lost forever, and the details we do know being tinted by Christianity.

The Mycenaeans were likely no different. 

Minoa and Mycenaea were as culturally opposite as can be. Minoa is theorized to be a matriarchal or equal society*. Mycenaea and most of early Greece absolutely was not. In fact, during early stages of their religion where they believed in reincarnation, the Mycenaeans believed the worst thing to come back as was a woman. 

Did you get that? With your options ranging from man to ever single animal on Earth, a woman was ranked as beneath literal animals in Mycenaean society.

Fuck the Mycenaeans.

* This is not to say Minoa was without fault, as a society that is matriarchal or equal can still have rampant issues such as privilege, classism, racism, sexism and more, but when history has a shortage of civilizations that didn’t treat women like shit, you find yourself rooting for them more. 

 What do you do then, when you take over a society that is very much the opposite of a nightmare of a patriarchy? You fold their beliefs into your own to bait them into yours. Going back to the Linear B line about “Mistress of Labyrinths” that line would/could have been an early tactic of incorporating Minoan belief into Mycenaean belief. Other goddesses and gods were made into aspects of Mycenaean gods. Bristomartis, the Minoan goddess of the hunt, would become Artmeis. Velchanos, a god of the sky, would become Zeus. 

With more time, the religion shifted more into Mycenaean and eventually into ancient Greece as we know it. Through trade other gods and goddesses would continue to shift and change, some being straight up imported (Aphrodite for example). Dionysus himself changed a lot too, going from a God representing freedom and attracting slaves, women and those with limited power into his cult, to a God of parties for the wealthy. 

Theseus and the Minotaur was a myth likely based on a Mycenaean myth based on a Minoan myth that changes Ariadne from an important, possibly the important goddess of an ancient religion and relegates her to a side character in a pantheon so vast that she would be lost within it. 

All of this brings us to today. Today, where as soon as work ended I spent most of the day, as well as the past two days, looking up everything I can on Minoan civilization and added it to my notes. Spite is fueling me to write two possible different stories for two different fandoms where Minoa dunks of Mycenaea and it is giving me life. Expect an update within the next two weeks folks as I lose control of my writing life once more. 

In summary: Ariadne deserves more respect, fuck the public education system for skipping over the good parts of Greek mythology instead of the r*pey as shit parts, the Mycenaeans can eat my shorts, and a world were Minoa became the predominant power instead of Greece would be an amazing world to live in.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk. Pink out. 

[fairytsuk1]

trainwreck | part one.

pairing: katsuki bakugou x reader

genre: fluff <3

warning: none! swearing lmao 

words: 1,670

summary: your train is late and your eye just wont drift away from a certain explosive blond

a/n: cute shit for my baby <3

    His body language is the first telling sign that this handsome stranger must be pissed. It was only a glance at first, which delved into two. Then about five minutes later you were peeking above your book to really see this person making you chuckle under your breath.

     His sagging pants made a laugh bubble in your chest and the disheveled dress shirt just made him look...droopy. He was droopy and just looked weird. Sort of like he tumbled out of a tornado and randomly decided to go to school. You looked back down at your book and skimmed over the neglected words, a fantasy novel that was definitely a copy of a copy of witches and magic and the same stereotypical tropes. Who needed fantasy books anyways? At this day and age, everyone having quirks made everyday life like a superhero fantasy movie.

     His arms cross again and he rolls his neck around. Oh, you were staring again. You dog-eared your page and shut your book, you were way more interested in this “character” standing right in front of you! A ringing noise sounds through the station and a sharp head turn makes you very aware of why this man was so troubled.

     The train to Kokoshi Prefecture was late. Very late. So late in fact, you’d have to be a track star to make it to your class on time. Had you really missed the delay announcement? What had even happened? Hell, you wouldn’t have minded a thirty minute delay, school isn’t too terribly interesting. But an hour? That’s absolutely ridiculous! Who’s manning this station?!

     “...Are you fucking kidding me?” A snapping sound similar to the cracking of knuckles with a mixture of popping balloons was barely heard over the rickety station ambience. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

     You and this stranger shared the same sentiment. You didn’t even realize you were mean-mugging the digital sign until you turned and saw your reflection in the coffee-colored glass of a work booth. The man inside said booth raised an eyebrow at you and a hot flush of shame washed over you. The angel on you shoulder prays he didn’t take it personally. The devil wants you to strangle the man. The station was nearly empty at this hour, most of the people here were students as well. Either texting or napping, everyone had the same displeased expression. Now you wished you had just gotten a coffee like you had wanted to twenty minutes ago, the boost of energy would’ve been nice as a yawn overtakes you. Staying up late was definitely taking its toll on your body, knees weakening during the yawn.

     “You going to Kokoshi too?”

“Huh?”

     Closing your mouth, you stupidly looked up at the boy and let the first word you thought of run out your mouth. Huh. He tilted his head and the gritty train tiles could have swallowed you whole without complaints.

     “I asked if you were going to Kokoshi Prefecture. You know, on the train that’s one hour late?,” he casted a mean look at the station worker, the man through the glass turning in his chair to disguise the fact he was most definitely not working, “I was just asking ‘cause you’re...y’know, wearing a uniform and everything. Nevermind.”

     Rejection. He looked like he was mad and a little embarrassed too. He thought your silence meant rejection. Shit!!

“No, ah, I’m taking the Kokoshi train too! But I was just confused because you didn’t seem like the type to strike up conversation…,” he looked at you plainly. Did you just offend him? “Oh! Well I didn’t mean it like that!! I just meant ‘cause you seemed so wrapped up in your uh...energy that I didn’t think you were gonna come over or at the very least…”

     Rather than hearing a scoff or even a swear shouted your way, he barked out a laugh and turned his head sideways. He laughed. He laughed!

     “So you were watching me? Stalker. Yeah I’m pissed off! U.A.’s gonna have my ass but how else can I get to school, I thought the train’d be faster. Turns out it’s the exact fucking opposite…”

     Popping sounds came from the ground and you became distinctly aware of the burnt caramel smell. You took a quick look down and instinctively took a step back, explosions?! From. His. Hands. Wow, whatta quirk! And did he say U.A.?! Wow, he was basically a pro hero in the making!

“I know what you mean! I mean, I don’t go to your big fancy school or anything but my campus is huge! Now, I might as well not even go...So are you like a hero yet? Well what about your year? How old are you?”

     Please don’t be a third year and about to graduate!

     He almost looked flustered, the tinge of pink in his cheeks could’ve been from anything on his smooth cheeks, but the deep redness at the tops of his ears told you all you needed to know. His eyes flitted down, you had definitely gotten closer from the excitement of talking to a cute boy, if you used your quirk a bit more, you might have even noticed if he focused on your assets or not!

     “I-Uh-A first year. And don’t you know how being a hero works? You gotta get a provisional license first! Then you can blow up as many villains as you want!...What’s your quirk anyways? You’re way too excited this early in the morning.”

     Katsuki felt weird, his chest felt warm and he could distinctly feel the moisture on his palms and fingertips. You were a pretty girl, sure. Maybe it was the fact that you went to a different school, it was new for him! That’s it! He wasn’t nervous, what the hell would he have to be nervous about? You’re just some girl anyways.

“I’m Y/N L/N! Don’t forget it future hero, shout me out when you get famous. I’m a first year too and my quirk is called analyze! If I have a certain amount of caffeine, I can read people’s body language like I've known them for years! It’s actually awesome. It’s not as cool as your explosions though. Those are something else.”

     Oh. That was it. Now he knew what it was, he scrunched up his face and looked away from your overwhelming presence. He didn’t like you, you were just cute and you’d complimented him and...you smelled like honey. Maybe if he just ignored you, you’d go away.

     “Oh yeah? What am I projecting right now, nerd?”

“You’re feeling like you might be...well I don’t know! You’re complex, a couple minutes ago you were shy and now you’re a little nervous and something else. I haven’t had any coffee today, so I can’t read you. I’m sorry about that!”

     It was humiliating, this cool (and attractive) guy asks you to show him your quirk and you can’t even do that?

     “I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“What? Really? I don’t even know your name…”

     “Shut up and take the offer! I’ll buy you a coffee so I can see how actually strong you are. And didn’t you watch the sports festival?,” a boyish grin rose on his face and the sight made your heart melt, “It’s Bakugou Katsuki!”

     Humming, you repeated his name and watched him nod before facing forward once more. It rolled off the tongue in an odd way. Bakugou had such sharp consonants and seemed fiery, it sort of suit him. But Katsuki...that suit him for sure. The starters of each syllable were gentle and reminded you of other words like whipped cream or honey.

“I like your name. It’s a strong one, I’ll be sure to remember it!”

     “No one’s ever said that before. You’re kinda weird you know? I mean, how marks their book pages like that?”

“Hey wait a minute! I just didn’t have a bookmark on hand! Plus I bought it so there’s no harm really! Well maybe a little but nothing long-lasting.”

     “Sure. You heathen,” he carried an amused smile on his face and took a step forward, “here it comes.”

“What?”

T .    he train burst out of the entrance like a rocket, lights shining into your eyes yet also casting a dim yellow glow over the whole station. The wind from the sheer speed of it whipped you in the face and for a split second it’s realized that if you had stood any closer, you might have been blown backwards. You jacket bristles at the contact and a frown dons your features when you realize that this was the end. Well, maybe the beginning of the end of your love story adventure. 

     Bakugou stood proudly, legs in a proud wide stance and his arms crossed as he quickly stepped up to the platform and then onto the train. He turned and jerked his head back, motioning you to be his accompaniment. Hoisting your backpack up even farther, you squeezed through those small sliding door with the rest of the people in the station.

     He said nothing and sat in the closest seat, conveniently leaving the two next of him empty as he looked as you expectantly. Even if it wasn’t meant to be friendly, you couldn’t deny the fact that his sharp glare made you feel a little weak at the knees. Clutching your bag to your chest, you sat so close your knees were touching and your heartbeat thumped like a rabbit’s foot in your chest.

“I actually don’t like riding the train. But…”

     “Don’t get started. I don’t wanna hear your mushy shit.”

     You deflated a bit.

“But yeah, it’s not so bad if you’re around, loser.”

     You smiled and played with the ripped hole in your bag. Who could read who again? You couldn’t even tell anymore as the universe made itself known in the piece of gum he handed you that, indeed, this would not be your last meeting.

[heartbreak-of-a-marauder]

Through the Rabbit Hole (2)

Part Two: The Trickster

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Summary: You give Loki a piece of your mind for New York and its fall out, but things aren’t as you thought.

Word: 2,335

Notes: Angst +++ Weirdly had a lot of fun writing this part... y/n = your name, y/h/c = your hair colour, y/e/c = your eye colour, b/f/n = best friends name. If you haven’t read part one STOP NOW and go do that:

<- 2 ->

~*~*~*~*~

New York, 2012

It was the penultimate day of your week-long holiday in New York and after days of sightseeing and shopping, you were glad to finally have a rest day. The restaurant you and your best friend picked today had a fresh but quirky vibe and your window seat gave you a fantastic view of the New York skyline. You chatted happily with b/f/n as you waited for your food to be served.

“Will you take a picture of me y/n?” b/f/n asked, both of you had saved for this trip for so long, at every opportunity you were taking pictures to remember these moments forever.

“Sure,” you pull out your phone and aim the lens at b/f/n. “Move slightly to the left, you’ll have Stark Tower in the back then.”

B/F/N followed your instruction and scooted over slightly. You grin as the camera focuses on your friend, you just knew they’d be bragging about for weeks. You snap a couple of shots before repositioning the phone for a different view, your thumb hovers over the button as you see a beam of blue light shoot into the sky from Stark Tower.

“What the heck?” you say absently, lowering the phone to stare out of the window, your friend turns as well to see what you’re looking at.

Other patrons in the restaurant also begin to notice just as an ink-black cloud begins to brew, expanding with supernatural speed; distorting the sky. Your frown deepens as when dark specks begin to fly out of it at speed. Some break off, heading in different directions in small arrow-shaped formations. Some specks explode as the descend, others are firing purple beams of light, you rise out of your seat not 100% sure that what your seeing is real.

You are so close to the window that your breath frosts the. One of the purple beams makes contact with a space a few floors above you. The glass shudders violently while the building moans in protest.

“What the fuck is that!” b/f/n shouts. Your stagger back thinking the same thing.

“Get away from the window!” you shout, panic rising in your chest as more shots connect with the building.

A woman behind you screams as a serpent-like creature descends from the cloud, its shrill shriek makes you cringe.

“We need to get out now,” b/f/n turns back to look at you, their face frozen in fear. You nod robotically, your eyes never leaving the window.

The world around you seemed to slow as the specks got closer, firing shots at random. You look back at b/f/n, screaming their name, reaching out for them just as the glass behind them shatters spraying the room with shards. The force of the blast throws you backwards. You crash onto your back hitting your head against the concrete, the force of the impact knocks the breath from your lungs as your vision swims. Dizziness and nausea assault you as you try to move, looking desperately for b/f/n. Dark spots dance across your vision when you finally locate their face. Their eyes are wide, and unblinking, a red puddle slowly expanding around their head.

“B/F/N?” you whisper just as everything goes black.

Today

You had woken up in the hospital a day or so later to learn that not only was your best friend dead but that Loki had led the attack. You had always wondered why he had attacked. What had happened to the gentleman you had known to become so twisted and spiteful that he was prepared to rain hellfire down on humanity.

But now, here you were, six years later, stood in the same courtyard you had first met Loki all those years ago. It hadn’t changed in the slightest, except this time there was no one waiting for you. The quiet made you feel out of place and unsure of yourself.

Now you were here you didn’t know what to do. Loki was probably incarcerated deep in the heart of the palace.

‘Good. Lock him up and throw away the key.’ You thought

It had taken a lot of courage to go back through that portal but now you were here you knew it was somewhat of a wasted journey. If you were discovered you knew you would likely end up in the dungeons too, after all, no mortal was supposed to be able to travel to Asgard.

Determination settled deep in your bones, you knew it was unlikely that you could give Loki a piece of your mind but that didn’t mean you couldn’t give it to someone else. Someone higher. His father perhaps.

You made your way out of the courtyard retracing your steps from memory, everything you passed looked the same as when you had last seen it. Loki had only taken you to certain parts of the castle, always making sure to keep you out of sight of other Asgardians. You stopped in the middle of a crossroads of hallways with no idea where you were supposed to be going.

If you were to be caught by Palace guards they might take you to the Allfather.

Turning around you went back the way you came until you found yourself with your nose nearly touching the doors to one of Loki's favourite places; the library. You tentatively place your palms on the ornate doors, there was bound to be some decrepit old librarian lurking about in there. But you made no effort to open them.

You struggled against the memories that began to seep into your mind, happy memories of the hours you and Loki spent in this room as he read to you.

"Y/n?" A voice whispers incredulously from behind, making you jump out of your skin.

You stand frozen for a moment, the sound of his velvety voice bringing back long-buried feelings. Remembering why you came you let your anger and grief swallow them up.

Turning slowly you face Loki. His hair had grown but he looked the same as last time you saw him. His porcelain skin and chiselled features hadn’t changed, but his chest seemed broader and his carefree demeanour was gone.

‘Of course, it’s gone, he’s a megalomaniac’

He wasn’t the same man you had fallen in love with, you had wondered if he had ever been that man or if it was just one of his tricks.

“Loki.” Your voice is cold and distant.

“You came back,” disbelief echoed in his voice. “I never thought you- it’s been years, I thought I would never see you again.” He admitted shyly, sounding almost hopeful.

You kept the anger and upset you felt in the forefront of your mind and let it bloom hotly in your chest. It would help with what would come next, you couldn’t allow yourself to feel anything different, you owed it to b/f/n not to forget.

“Yes, well, New York nearly made sure that I would never see anyone again.”

He baulked at you. Guilt and shame gnawed at his insides and a slight sadness took over his once optimistic expression. He had endured anger from Odin and disappointment from his mother with relative ease, but seeing the hurt he had caused in you very nearly broke his heart. The venom in your voice began to poison the hopes and daydreams he had conjured of you during your absence.

“You were in New York?” he asked quietly avoiding your eyes.

“Along with someone I loved very dearly.” You snap, emphasising every word.

“I had no way of knowing-“

“Bullshit!” you hiss.

“You never came back. I had no idea where you had gone.” His expression was stoic as he defended himself.

“You led an invasion party against us! Conquering New York would’ve just been the beginning and you know it!” You shout incredulously and watch Loki cringe as he understands your original meaning.

“The attack was a mistake I shall never stop paying for…” He admits quietly after a while. The sincerity in his voice was unprecedented. “… Forgive me Y/N, never in my wildest dreams had I imagined you would be hurt because of my foolishness.” He had taken a careful step towards you.

Hot tears burned your eyes and blurred your vision. You blinked quickly willing them away, he did not get to make you feel guilty for your words. You had come back to Asgard with a plan. You didn’t have time to be overcome by silly teenage emotions.

Yet there you were feeling overwhelmed by the man stood in front of you, the speech you had prepared was being forgotten with each passing moment.

“Keep your lies and excuses for someone who actually cares Loki.”

“Silver-tongued I may be, but I have never lied to you Y/N.” His stance shifted to one of defence, he had been stung by your words.

“How can I believe you? Why would I believe you! You set out to destroy my world, you murdered hundreds of innocents in the process.” Your breath comes out harder as you go on. “You should be rotting away in a cell for what you did, not walking around like some dandy, but I suppose because you’re royalty it's okay because daddy’s there to defend you.” You say spitefully.

“Why did you do it? You’re a fucking Prince, you had the world on a silver platter! What? Did you get bored, is that it?” you ask rhetorically. “Did mummy and daddy not pay you enough attention?” your intentions are cruel as you aim to hit a nerve.

Your thoughtless comments and accusations raise Loki’s hackles and in two long strides, he was toe to toe with you. So close you could smell him.

“I had my orders.” His voice was harsh but strained, your brows knit together as you process what he had just said.

Orders? Someone had sent him to attack earth? Why?

“So what! If someone tells you to stick your hand in a fire pit, you do it?” You try to regain the upper hand in the conversation knowing that if you let him speak, you would listen. “What backwards fucking logic is that?!”

“The kind that keeps you alive.” He hisses down at you.

There it was; the crack in his beautiful façade. He sighs heavily and just like a deflated balloon his shoulders sag and he drops his head. His forehead just a hairsbreadth away from yours.

“They threatened to kill you if you didn’t go through with it?” Your previous vehemence was gone, an unknown expression flashes across his face

“I have paid for my treachery.”

“Loki, who-“ Your press.

“‘Who’ does not matter anymore little one” he diverts.

“Of course it does, what if they try again, we-we need to be prepared.” You speak hurriedly, remembering the terror you felt in New York, you drive your hands through your hair, pulling it at the root.

“No.” There’s a tone of finality in his voice.

“What do you mean ‘no’? Loki, who sent that army? If you’re here you can’t know that they won’t try again!” the muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Your precious avengers have proved themselves ready and worthy of dealing with him, you do not need to worry little one.”

“Stop changing the subject!” you cry exasperated. “I was there Loki! I saw those things and what they did.” You place your hands on his chest willing him to pay attention to what you were saying.

“You don’t need to worry-“

“Loki,” you start, preparing to launch into another rant but he cuts you off.

“Enough y/n! Please…” his voice sounds broken as he begs.

“What did they do to you?” You ask softly.

When he doesn’t reply you begin to remove your hands from his person when he reaches up and captures your wrist, holding it against his chest. His grasp sends heat through your veins inviting your teenage fantasies in. You knew that deep down you still harboured feelings for the God, and all of these revelations had your defences crumbling.

“You don’t need to know little one.” His tone is as soft as yours had been and his smile sad.

The sound of footsteps and metallic clinking bursts your little bubble as you both remember where you are stood. Keeping a hold on your wrist he begins to drag you through the Palace, you glance around and realise you’ve never seen these parts before. You have to jog a little to keep up with his pace.

“Loki, where are we going?” you ask breathlessly, pulling against him trying to slow his pace.

“Somewhere a little more private little one,” for the first time you frown at his old pet name for you.

“No.” you state resolutely, pulling your arm out of his grasp.

“y/n now is not the time nor place for this.”

“Either you start talking or I start shouting again.” He glowers silently at you. “I came here for answers Loki, not for a friendly little visit for old times sake. I’m not some hormonal little girl that’ll eat up everything you say.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“There was a time you would’ve done anything I asked y/n.” You feel heat begin to creep up your neck and settle in your cheeks.

“Yes, well, you made your feelings about that quite clear though, didn’t you.” You deflect, desperate for him to not see how his comments affected you.

This time he took hold of your hand, linking his fingers with your own. When he pulled you into motion it was slower this time, allowing you to walk beside him and not have to fight to keep up.

“I always thought you were going to come back.” He admitted after a while.

You shrug in response.

“I missed you.” He adds quietly like he’s afraid the words will make you disappear.

You had come back, he didn’t much care for why anymore. He simply knew he would do anything to make this moment last.

~*~*~*~*~

TAGLIST: @jessiejunebug @seventieshead-modernlover @kinghiddlestonanddixon @danielle101370

[songsofacagedbird]

Self Para 002:  I'm Feeling Helpless; the Damsels Are Depressed

Note: Okay so my version of self care is hurting my muses’, so I wrote this during all my kidney stuff as a way to like kinda get my mind off of it I debated  if I should post this because it really was just self indulgent but since it’s set in Luxor AU and one thing mentioned it is gonna come up later on, I’ll share. (Although this isn’t required reading to understand Balo (or Ches’s) character arcs in the slightest so please don’t feel any pressure, when the thing comes up you don’t need this context).

Word Count:  2,498

TWs: Abuse (referenced), HIV, Mental Health Struggles, Disownment, Ches’s horrible sense of humor

Sunlight poured through the windows of the study hall as Balo quietly sketched. She’d given up trying to get actual work done an hour ago; learning wasn’t happening - she was thinking way too much. While she knew it was important to stay focused - if her grades slipped, she’d no longer be allowed to participate in the sports she’d worked so hard to be allowed back into - it was hard sometimes. How could she pretend everything was okay a little over a month after her world fell apart? She knew she was expected to have it together, but things kept slipping through the cracks.

Sometimes Balo questioned what would have happened if she hadn’t synced her medications with Ches. By the time she’d whispered her diagnosis to her, the puzzle pieces had already been in place. The unspoken knowledge hanging the air until she had simply cleared it out. What would have happened if she hadn’t gone to the college freshman in hopes it’d help her to remember her medications back during the initial testing phase? Would she have even figured it out?

The longer she thought about it, the more she leaned towards yes.

How long would it be until everyone else caught on to exactly what was wrong with her? Her ability to pretend like everything was sunshine and rainbows had needed to be put on hold. Her insecurities shined through even more than usual in its place. How long would it be until Caitriona tired of her, or till Jack remembered he’d had better friends and phased her out? Would it be weeks or months until her siblings followed their parents’ lead and disassociated themselves from her too? And what would the rest of the Hundred Acre Woods chat say as they finally figured out that even her own parents didn’t even want her anymore? That she’d been so bad they needed to turn their backs on her. Had her mother found out about the fact she’d swore? Was it her karma for feeling the one emotion she’d been taught would make her a horrible person?

It only took one thought to get thrown back in the spiral, currents of fear dragging her under. She’d known she’d never be enough for her father, of course. She was too soft, too artistic, too dumb, or shamed for her knowledge, and she messed up consistently. Everything he despised, with the list of reasons growing ever longer as the days went on.

As the tears start to roll down her cheeks, Balo rapidly shuts her sketchbook so she can stuff it into her bag. Had anyone in the study hall noticed the shape she was in? She wasn’t sticking around to find out. The sooner she left, the better. She barely keeps herself from running through the study hall, and she only picks up her pace once she enters the crowded halls. The faces blur together as she rushes towards her room, any attempts to slow her down easily ignored as she focuses on just getting to her destination.

Once she’s in the common room, she tries her best to muffle her sniffles, unlocking her door as quietly as she can manage without disturbing her roommate. The last thing she needed was Jenevieve to see her like this. They weren’t close, and she couldn’t put on an act, not today, when she was back in the rabbit hole.

She shuts her door quietly, not even bothering to lock it as she drops her bag on her floor next to her desk. The tears are in full force by the time she sits down, and she pulls out her sketchbook again. She doesn’t have to wait long before an idea pops in her head, and she’s grabbing her charcoals from the drawer to get started. She doesn’t look up as she pours her emotions into the page; even as the sun begins to set, her blue eyes are fixated on the page as her charcoal moves across it.

It isn’t until her bedroom door creaks open does she glance away, her head whipping around to see who was disturbing her. She only starts to relax when she sees it’s Ches, although her relief is short-lived as her friend turns on her bedroom light and settles down on her bed. “You skipped dinner again. Are you feeling okay?”

“I wasn’t hungry.” Balo responds immediately, “I appreciate you checking on me, of course, but I’m okay! Perfect, actually! I’ve never ever been better, ever. I’m just working on a project. It’s just taking up a lot of time, I’m great!” It’s a lie, one she knows her friend will pick up on as soon as it leaves her mouth. Maybe she needed better lines, prettier words to distract from just how awful she felt. She doesn’t even have to watch Ches’s expression to know she knew better, and as the guilt creeps up on her for lying, the truth bursts out. “I can’t stop trying to figure out where I went wrong and how long it’ll be until things get worse. I had to do something to deserve everything going on, right? And what if whatever it was was so bad that everyone hates me?”

“B, if you did something that horrible, you’d know what it was. I promise you, fuck ups that big can’t be missed.”

“My parents thought...”

“Your father is a waste of oxygen, and your mother is... well, sometimes things are complicated.” The look on Ches’s face when she discusses Balo’s parents is one of disdain, but she still seemingly makes an effort to censor her opinion of her mother. Undoubtedly another attempt to keep herself from hurting Balo.

The blonde goes back to working on her sketch, not quite sure what to say. Most of her friends had some sort of parental figure to go to if they needed to. Who did she have? Zander, who she didn’t feel like she should go to with her problems because he’d find some way to twist it into Jack’s fault, and Ivan, who had more than enough stuff on his plate without his little sister being added to it. She knew her friends were only trying to help, of course, but hearing she was better off didn’t ease just how much it hurt every time she tried to call her mother, and she didn’t pick up.

For a few minutes, silence settles in. But, just as Balo is finding the lack of discussion comfortable, Ches shatters it. “I know it’s hard to believe that you’re going to be okay, but things are going to get better. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay in the mean-”

The words cause something to snap in her, and she whips around to look at her friend again. “If I don’t pretend I’m okay, everyone will leave. It’s already been a month. Nobody wants to hear me whine, Ches.” She winces at just how loud her voice is, but the girl she shouted at doesn’t seem surprised by the outburst.

“That’s not true; I want to hear it.”

“You want to hear about how tired I am of hearing everyone saying they know how I feel when they can only sympathize? None of you know what it’s like to have HIV and be terrified all the time that you’ll somehow hurt everyone you love because of it. And every time you try to paint it as a good thing, my parents disowned me, it hurts. I can’t call Ivan because he needs to focus on his studies, and Zander is so stressed lately I don’t want to add more to his plate either.” Balo can’t stop the tears of frustration that fall as she talks to Ches. “Do you really want to hear me sulk?”

“Yes, and I think your brothers would also want you to come to them. Zander’s really worried about you, and from what you’ve told me about Ivan, I’m sure it’s killing him he’s not here. It’d kill me if I wasn’t.” The redhead opens her arms, and the gesture is all it takes for her to get up and steal a hug. “I’m sorry I’ve been making things worse, Balo.”

“It’s fine.” Despite her frustration, she knew she was only trying to help. It wasn’t her fault Balo didn’t want to hear it.

“It’s not fine, but now I’m aware, I can keep it in mind.” Ches squeezes her tightly, reaching up to try to smooth out Balo’s hair as she talks. “As for making us sick too, you have nothing to worry about. You’re being careful, right? Haven’t been sharing needles with anyone? Not supplying your blood to bathe virgins in or anything?”

“That’s not funny.” Balo knew she was trying to lighten the mood, but she didn’t find it amusing. She was seriously concerned. What if she messed up and she didn’t catch it? She still had no idea how she got HIV, even when she ran through the possibilities in her head. It still didn’t make sense. “I feel like I should tell the rest of the Hundred Acre Woods at least, but I can’t shake the feeling everyone will turn their backs on me too.”

“If you decide to tell the rest of our friends - nobody will go anywhere, not even Avery. We care about you, and frankly, it doesn’t fucking matter as long it’s managed and you’re okay. You being healthy and happy is all that matters. You’re not a walking biohazard or whatever the intrusive thoughts are saying. And if you get hurt, and you’re concerned about it - I’ll handle it. Okay? I’m on PReP, I’ll be fine. But none of us are going anywhere; that’d be like turning your back on someone with cancer - nobody in our friend group is that horrible of a person.”

The lack of sugarcoating in Ches’s words threw her off for a moment. There was no dancing around the point. She’d just said what she was thinking, without hesitation or pause. Finally, after a moment, she starts to protest; “you say that but family is supposed to be unconditional love, and my parents-”

“Your parents aren’t the only family you have. You have your brothers and Fettuccine, you have Caitriona and Jack, and you have us. What happened with your parents is gonna sting like a bitch, but they’re not all you have. You still have a family. Plus, when winter break comes up, we’re going to be fighting over who brings you and Zander home. I was about ready to off Jack when you said you thought you’d be staying with him this summer. I thought I’m supposed to be your parabatai.”

This time there’s no urge to tell Ches she’s not funny, perhaps because this time it’s obvious she’s serious about the fact that no matter what, she still had a place to go. If not with Ivan or Cait, she had one with Ches or Jack. None of them were going to leave her alone, although she hoped they wouldn’t fight over her. That’d be excessive. “You are my parabatai; we just have to wait a year to get tattoos.” Balo can even hear the first hints of a smile in her words as the tears start to slow down.

“Or, if your doctor says you’re good to go, we can do it before we leave France. You’re above the age of 16, it’s legal. I could ask my cousins who they’d recommend. Maybe we could drag your brother along to get that second tattoo he keeps salivating over too?” Ches seems serious about the idea, but before Balo can tell her yes, she’s continuing. “We can discuss that later, though.”

But she didn’t need to wait until later to know she’d be checking to make sure there weren’t any concerns about her getting a tattoo. They’d been discussing it for years, a parabatai rune on one of their pinkies. “I’ll ask at my next appointment.” Balo decides without hesitation, “hopefully, the answer is yes.”

“If it’s not, we’ll get them when the time comes. There’s no rush, we have forever, but you’re not throwing me off that easily. I’m really sorry about your mom, sunshine.” Of course, Ches had to bring it back to the problem at hand; there was no brushing it under the rug and skipping off into the sunset with her. Not with stuff like this, at least.

“I just wish she’d tell me herself she doesn’t want anything to do with me. I knew dad was mad about Caitriona, but I didn’t ever think she’d just... why can’t she just answer the phone?” The words are little more than a sob as she brings herself down to her knees and clings to her friend tighter. “Why doesn’t she want me anymore?”

“I’m sorry.” For the first time in years, Ches seems at a loss for words as she runs her fingers through her blonde hair. There are no attempts at a joke, no moment of insight to follow up with, and at the realization, she can’t help but cry harder again.

It’s not surprising when her friend opens her mouth again, You Are My Sunshine comes out instead of words. As she sings, Balo tries to focus on it instead of the thoughts swirling around in her head again. The further into the song she gets, the more she starts to relax.

Finally, when the song is done, she says the first thing on her mind. “Can I sleepover at yours tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course. Come on, I’ll make you dinner, and we can watch Disney movies. I’ll even let you make me watch Snow White if you’d like. I just lost my roommate, so there’s nobody to mind.”

At Ches’s words, she pulls away, nodding at the reassurance that she wouldn’t be disturbing anyone. After she stands up, she packs her sketchbook, her toothbrush, and a change of clothes into her bag. For a moment, she hesitates before she grabs the stuffed animals, her droid, and the doll on her dresser - hoping Ches wouldn’t mind her bringing them along. “I heard someone had all their stuff destroyed by the circle once, and I’d feel better if I didn’t leave them alone overnight just in case.”

“They can sleep on my dresser tonight, I don’t mind.” Ches shrugs as she offers Balo her hand. She reaches out to grasp it quickly, following her friend when she leads her out of the room and locking the door on her way out.

Maybe things weren’t okay yet, and it’d probably be a while until they were, but the more she leaned on her friends - the more she realized maybe she didn’t have to have it all together yet. She’d get there eventually, but, until then, they weren’t going anywhere. Maybe her parents didn’t want her, but they did.

And at that moment, that was enough.

[nekojitachan]

Hmm, got a new story idea the other day (actually, have had a couple in the past couple of weeks, but this one requires world building). I might be playing around with this a little - I never do too close a retelling of canon because... well, I like to shake things up a bit and make them interesting, but it’ll probably start out a little similar to TFC and then the changes will snowball from there.

I think this gives an idea of some of the world building, though.

*******

I Am Fire

******

Nathaniel stood near the old sedan while it burned, while the acrid stench of burnt plastic and rubber didn't quite mask the sickening odor of his mother's body slowly breaking down beneath the flames under his command. For a moment he almost made them burn even hotter, made them reduce her thin, worn body to nothing but ash (like he should, like she'd always told him to do if the worst ever happened... like it had happened) but the thought of losing her so completely made him banish the flames before they finished their job. Some still licked at the metal frame of the car as he reached into its ruined shell to fetch his mother's remains, the heat inconsequential to a Fire as powerful as him (not powerful enough, never powerful enough when it came to his father), to gather her charred remains.

He used a broken piece of metal from the car to help dig a hole in the sand as the waves washed onto the shore, then buried what was left of Mary Jamilyn Wesninski (nee Hartford) in the shallow grave, smoke rising from the remains. Once the sand was hastily smoothed back in place, the cold Pacific water lapping at his heels, Nathaniel used his power to turn it to glass, to seal the unmarked grave and give his mother as peaceful a resting place as possible. He bowed his head for several heartbeats, not so much in memorial as an impromptu breakdown, as despair and bone-deep weariness bore down on him.

Then he forced himself onto his feet and to take a step forward, to take another one and another, to keep moving because that's what his mother had told him to do - to keep running and to never stop. He only paused to gather the backpack he'd assembled from both their supplies before he'd set fire to everything else, which contained what he needed to survive for the foreseeable future (except a phone, which had been reduced to melted parts in the car), should help keep him alive long enough to buy a new ID in Reno. Then he unleashed the flames on the car once more, let them feed until the damn thing would be nothing more than a twisted hunk of metal and walked toward the nearest leyline without another glance.

*******

Andrew hummed in boredom as he rolled the handle of the striker’s racquet (Josten’s) he’d picked up to play with between his hands – bored and hyped-up and oh so done with everything already.

“Put it down before you break it,” Kevin ordered, perched on top of an entertainment center and busy reading through Josten’s stats yet again, as if he hadn’t memorized them in the last few days.

“Oh, what a shame if that happened,” Andrew drawled while he grinned, while he swung the racquet through the air just to annoy the bastard. When Kevin’s green eyes took on a golden cast, his grin widened and ice began to form on the racquet; two could play that game. Mindful of the reason they were in this shithole of a town and their ‘beloved’ coach’s instructions to ‘behave’ while he went off to talk to their quarry, Kevin quickly stifled his power and shook his head.

“Don’t do anything to scare Josten away, Hernandez warned Coach that he’s a bit… squirrely.”

“I’m not the one who started it,” Andrew reminded the arrogant bastard as he resumed spinning the glorified stick between his hands. “And so what? Just find another rookie,” he needled with a faint shrug.

As expected, Kevin took the bait. “Another roo- we were lucky to get Josten’s tape, dammit!” he hissed, mindful to keep his voice pitched low. “You think we’re going to find another striker who’s a fire elemental, any fire elemental out there at this point who’s unsigned, let alone with half his potential?”

“What potential?”

Kevin shook his head at Andrew’s unimpressed scoff.

“No, it’s there, it is,” he swore. “Hernandez said the Dingoes haven’t gotten this far in years, not until Josten showed up. That he hasn’t seen a Fire with his potential in all his time coaching, even if he’s still rough on the court.” Something hungry flashed across Kevin’s face for a moment as he set the papers aside to rub his scarred left hand. “He’s right, too. The way he plays, the way the team comes together whenever he’s out on court… it’s there, that promise. The Foxes need it, while Coach and I will make him better. You’ll see.”

So boring – Andrew had already heard this over a dozen times before, back when Kevin had argued for Wymack to chose Josten to replace poor, poor Smalls (maybe not so ‘poor’ since she didn’t have to suffer the Foxes now) and then as they flew to shithole Millport, Arizona. He already knew that his life was one big joke, but the past week had been a never-ending punchline of ‘oh wait, let’s really rub it in, shall we?’

Oh well, at least he could sit back and watch Gordon’s reaction when the asshole realized that Wymack had recruited a fire elemental more powerful than the homophobic druggie. The senior should have been replaced ages ago, except Fires weren’t easy to find, so any of real talent were scooped up by the many, many better teams out there.

Which made one wonder, why was such a diamond in the rough like Josten just waiting for Kevin to find him like this?

Just a little suspicious, yes?

Mistrust merrily bubbled along with the drug-fueled euphoria and boredom inside of Andrew’s head, which didn’t help with the whole ‘must not start smashing’ things. Oh, Wymack and Kevin owed him for this, yes they did.

He was swinging closer and closer to the racquet stand when there was the pitter patter of swift feet – was the little squirrel pulling a runner? Oh, clever boy, to want to get as far away from Wymack and his do-gooder self as possible, but Andrew had suffered on this fool’s errand for a reason, so that meant squirrelly-boy (or perhaps ‘rabbit’) would suffer, too.

Now things were getting fun.

Andrew braced himself in front of the nearest exit, the door leading out to the parking lot, with the ‘borrowed’ racquet held in both hands ready to lash out, but he literally felt rabbit-boy near – felt a rush of fire from the panicking kid (rabbit indeed). The tingling sense of pulsing heat laced with a simmering anger/threat made his own water magic rise, made the surrounding chill as it prepared to protect him.

A vague, shimmery shape propelled itself forward, toward the door, only to slid to a halt as fire and water slammed into each other; Andrew lashed out with the racquet but their elements, their magic, created enough of a buffer between them that the end of the stupid stick barely brushed against the kid’s chest.

Huh, maybe Kevin was right about Josten being a powerful Fire.

Andrew wavered on his feet from the backlash of their elements smashing together, somewhat inured to it after a year of collegiate Exy, of dealing with Kevin, of being somewhat prepared for the rabbiting Fire rabbit, while Josten ended up falling down hard onto his ass. He stared up at Andrew with dark eyes wide as his power receded, the shimmering effect around him fading away to reveal the lean, underfed kid with overgrown black hair and baggy, worn clothes and too-attractive features in the one picture which Hernandez had sent.

“Water,” Josten choked out as he gazed up at Andrew, as Andrew felt a traitorous flicker of interest overtake the boredom, both over that too-pretty face and the lingering feeling of intoxicating warmth from Josten’s element.

Uh-oh.

“Goddammit, Minyard, this is why we can’t have nice things!” Wymack bellowed as he and Hernandez finally caught up to the little rabbit, his dulcet voice echoing through the lounge as he took in Josten sprawled out on the floor and Andrew leaning against the racquet. “Are you all right, kid?” he asked and held out a hand to help Josten off the floor, which of course was ignored.

“Oh Coach, if he was nice then he wouldn’t be of any use to us.” Andrew ‘grinned’ at Josten, who managed to stand up on his own, his attention focused on Andrew with a wariness which made it clear that he’d an idea of just how powerful Andrew was, even though Andrew had only used a fraction of his talent. Huh, someone wasn’t adding up, not if he sensed Andrew so easily, not if he’d recovered so quickly, not if he made Andrew want to lean forward to soak in that odd, tingling sense of warmth….

“Besides, he looks good as new. Or, well, second-hand new,” Andrew said with an exaggerated grimace as he motioned to the kid’s outfit, as he leaned away instead of closer.

“Fuck off,” Josten muttered as he clutched at the handles of the battered duffel bag slung over his left shoulder. “And what’s with the racquet?” His wary look morphed into a glare after a brief flare of recognition. “Hey, that’s mine!”

“So grouchy,” Andrew complained then once more grinned. “Here you go!” He iced the racquet before he threw it at the kid, and felt a rare spark of amusement over the way that Josten cursed beneath his breath as he fumbled to hold on to the slippery object.

He also noticed how quickly the Fire negated the ice without blasting everyone with steam, which required skill along with power.

“What the hell?” Hernandez demanded as he approached Josten (who skittered out of reach, which was also interesting). “You okay, kid?”

“Andrew’s a bit raw on manners,” Wymack said in an attempt to smooth things over as he got between Josten and Andrew in a clear sign for Andrew to back off and stop with the ‘fun’ tricks. “But he’ll behave from now on. So what about it, Neil?” Over on the entertainment center, Kevin, who had been oddly quiet the entire time, leaned forward in interest.

Josten shook his head and once more clutched at his duffel bag (hmm, security blanket or something more?) while he shoved the racquet at Hernandez. “I’m fine. Just let me go,” he insisted as he shook his head again.

“We’re not done.”

“Coach Wymack.” Hernandez seemed rather protective of a certain rabbit – how odd, especially since he’d ratted him out in the first place.

“Give us a second?” Wymack somehow summoned a measure of charm (and a good dose of his earth magic) to put Hernandez at ease (Andrew sensed a weak amount of air magic in the man) which made the Dingoes coach grumble and agree to leave after giving his precious striker one more look and a promise to be back soon.

As soon as he was gone, the rabbit found his voice again (could a powerful Fire be a rabbit? Something to ponder). “I already gave you my answer, I won’t sign with you,” Josten insisted as he gazed at the door as if desperate to go through it, too.

Sighing as if tired already (Andrew knew that he was, and eager to hit up the pathetic minibar in the hotel), Wymack rubbed along the back of his neck "You didn't listen to my whole offer," he said slowly as if in hopes that the words would sink in that time. "If I paid to fly three people out here to see you then the least you could do is give me five minutes, don't you think?"

There was another flare of fire magic as Josten must have finally realized that it wasn’t just the three of them in the room, as his face paled and ugly dark eyes widened yet again while he searched around the room as he stepped away from Wymack (oh, yet another fascinating and suspicious reaction). “You didn’t bring him here.”

"Is that a problem?" Wymack’s earth magic pulsed out in an obvious attempt to calm the panicked kid (to keep them all from being flambéed – well, Andrew could protect himself, and he supposed Kevin).

"I'm not good enough to play on the same court as a champion." The kid sounded as if he believed that – and about two seconds away from the flambé thing.

"True, but irrelevant.”

Ah, finally, Number Two had spoken, and as usual, didn’t appear impressed with what he saw. Yet he added his earth magic to Wymack’s, though it didn’t appear to calm down Josten at all.

"What are you doing here?" Josten asked while he continued to edge toward the door, which Andrew moved to block once again.

"Why were you leaving?" Kevin countered as he leaned forward, his attention focused on the Fire with an intensity reserved only for Exy.

Josten didn’t seem to care for that intensity – that or for Kevin. "I asked you first." Oh, wasn’t that mature?

"Coach already answered that question.” Kevin sounded a bit testy over having to point that fact out, while Andrew was almost amused over the exchange – almost. He’d need another dose of his medicinal chains soon, judging from the way his skin itched and stomach churned. "We’re waiting for you to sign the contract. Stop wasting our time."

"No.” Both Kevin and Wymack appeared stunned over that flat denial, especially Kevin, Exy’s precious Number Two. "There are a thousand strikers who'd jump at the chance to play with you. Why don't you bother them?" Oh, Andrew might have an iota of respect for the pain in the ass, but he just wanted to go back to the hotel and start drinking instead of suffer through this scintillating wordplay.

“None of them are fire elementals,” Wymack said as he folded his tattooed arms over his chest. “We want you.”

"I won't play with Kevin,” Josten declared as he once more eyed the door. “And you already have a Fire.”

"He’s not good enough, and you will," Kevin shot back without pause, which earned him a brief glare from Wymack.

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but we're not leaving here until you say yes,” Wymack warned Josten once he finished giving Kevin a dirty look for insulting Gordon. “Kevin says we have to have you, and he's right." The kid didn’t look happy about that.

Kevin opened his mouth again, definitely to argue more with the kid, most likely to insult him a good bit (the true Kevin Day way), maybe, just maybe to mention that the rookie striker did have some potential beneath the roughness, had one hell of a drive while out on the court (there was a reason for them to come out after him, after all, and not just because of his element), but Andrew was tired and bored and needed to get away from a certain too-attractive Fire enigma right then.

“Coach is right, he’s not going to let this go, so why don’t you, someone who supposedly plays as if he has everything to lose, save us all a lot of time and jump on the chance to get out of this boring hellhole, hmm?” Agree to sign, and then Andrew could spend the summer figuring out just what Josten was hiding, why a Fire with so much potential was hiding in Millport, of all places, and appeared freaked out by Kevin.

Was this a Moriyama trick? Planted bait?

“But… but I’m not good enough,” the kid tried to lie even as his distasteful magic kept making Andrew’s insides tingle in a disturbing counterpart to the damn drug’s withdrawal.

Kevin jumped onto his feet but one look from Andrew kept him from approaching Josten. “Not yet, but we’ll get you there. Give us some time to train you and your talent, and you will get there.”

When Josten stopped eyeing the door to focus on him, Wymack piled it on as well. "It actually works in our favor that you're all the way out here," he argued. "No one outside of our team and school board even knows we're here. We don't want your face all over the news this summer. We've got too much to deal with right now and we don't want to drag you, some unknown Fire, into the mess until you're safe and settled at campus. There's a confidentiality clause in your contract, says you can't tell anyone you're ours until the season starts in August."

Josten was quiet for a few seconds before his shoulders slumped forward, a sign that his defenses were weakening. "It's not a good idea,” he announced after he looked away from Kevin.

"Your opinion has been duly noted and dismissed," Wymack said while Kevin grinned in victory. "Anything else, or are you going to start signing stuff?" Just in case, Wymack ‘pushed’ a little with his talent, gave off soothing waves as if to calm Josten.

The kid was quiet for a few more seconds before he mumbled some bullshit about needing his mother’s permission, even though Hernandez had warned Wymack out how Josten’s parents were never around and might be abusing the striker. When he kept going on about them, Wymack glanced over at Andrew, who gave a quick shake of his head.

The kid was lying – he was interested in the contract, but it was pure bullshit about him needing his parents’ permission, from what Andrew’s magic could sense.

Wymack’s lips thinned before he told Andrew and Kevin to go wait in Hernandez’s SUV, which would take them back to the hotel. Kevin wasn’t happy about the command, but as (almost) always, obeyed their benevolent tyrant which meant that Andrew followed.

“Is he going to sign?” Kevin asked once they were outside.

Andrew cocked his head to the side and ‘thought’ about it for a moment; water elementals weren’t exactly precogs (or the majority of them weren’t), at least not beyond a vague impression of the future and people. His ability lay in knowing if someone was telling him the truth or not, if they were ‘safe’ or not – and the impression he got from one Neil Josten?

LIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIAR…..

Yet he’d felt something toward the end there which led him to believe that the young man would show up at PSU, after all.

Now that he thought about it… it was probably an impending sense of doom.

“He’ll sign,” Andrew sighed as he went to the back door of the SUV to fetch the bottle of water he’d left with his backpack while motioning for Kevin to throw him his bottle of pills, all the while ignoring Hernandez. Josten would show up just to annoy the fuck out of him, he was certain.

He used his talent to chill the water, which was warm from sitting in the vehicle for the past half an hour, then forced himself to take the pill, biological clock all fucked up (ha, more than just that) because of the time difference. After a few minutes and a cigarette, Josten finally left the building with Wymack and Hernandez at his heels, and when Josten made to walk past the SUV, Andrew opened the back door with a wide grin and a slight, mocking bow. "Too good to play with us, too good to ride with us?"

The Fire gave him a cool look (ha!) before breaking into a run; Andrew had to admit he made just as pretty a picture fading off into the distance with that lean form and long legs. Hmm, as much as Exy annoyed Andrew most days, he had to appreciate its effects on the human physique.

“Well?” Kevin snapped at Wymack once they were in the SUV, in what probably was meant to be a demanding tone but contained too much anxiety, considering that they had to sign a new striker or else.

Wymack picked up on it, too, considering how he pushed more of the ‘soothing’ bullshit while he shook out a cigarette. “He’ll be spending the summer with us, as soon as he graduates.” He twisted around in the front passenger seat to glare at Andrew. “No rough shit with the new kid, do you hear me?” Next to him, Hernandez radiated displeasure while he drove. “He’s a Fox now.”

Mindful of the non-Fox in the car, Andrew merely bared his teeth and gave his coach a two-fingered salute before he slumped back into the seat as the drug began to take effect. He hummed a little and closed his eyes while he thought about the alcohol awaiting him in his hotel room, and tuned out Kevin and Wymack arguing about the best way to go about training a rookie Fire.

Wymack could bitch and moan all he liked, but the more Andrew reflected back on his encounter with Neil Josten… oh yes, too many pieces which didn’t fit together. Someone was a too-attractive, too-powerful liar, which meant that Andrew had a new toy to play with that summer. A toy he would poke and prod and twist about until either all the pieces fit, or it was broken badly enough that any danger to him and his was all gone.

As he thought about that sharp-boned face and addicting tingle of magic… he hoped it was the latter.

*******

[ironcaptainnataliabarnes]

Red Roses (A Harry Hook x Reader/OC)

A/N: I am so glad there are people reading and enjoying this! As long as there's someone out there who wants more of this story, I'm here to happily comply. Please let me know if there are any errors and I will fix them. I will try to update as much as possible, phew story writing is hard guys lmao. Thank you all again and I hope you stay for this journey!

Summary: Ruby Hearts, daughter of the infamous Queen of Hearts, was abandoned by her mother when she was young and forced to live with her father, the King of Hearts, in Auradon.  Harry Hook himself may be the only one who finds her madness enchanting. Will Ruby find her self falling for the rugged pirate, or will the roses bleed red?

 Prologue / Chapter 1: Down the Rabbit Hole / Chapter 2

Ruby's paintbrush glided over the wallpaper, leaving red strokes in its path. A small music system played softly in the background. Even after already attending Auradon Prep for a year, her room always needed something to hide the pretty-pink-princess-ness of it underneath, and merely changing the horrendously colored bed covers were not enough. She had taken to painting over the single colored wallpaper, her first time being a large pocket-watch with elaborate patterns that no one else ever heard tick-tocking the days away.

Prince Ben himself had given Ruby the paints after having noticed her in Art 101; the mindless mutterings and frantic look in her eyes seemed to fade when a paintbrush was in her hand. She was thankful for him showing up to her dorm room that day, bottles upon bottles of paint in haul, a kind smile on his face.

However, nothing ever fully quenched the illusions she had. Some days the walls were frozen, so close to shattering, others she was drowning in red, red blood. Of course, there were good days as well: being outfitted by Evie, playing catch with Dude and Carlos, watching Mal trip over her own two feet.

The tiny King of Hearts, Ruby's father, had decided to send her to Auradon the same time the VK's arrived. He assumed that the terrible villain kids would mask the aura of 'mad' surrounding his daughter just by being from the Isle themselves. It had worked, for a time. While Jay and Carlos were kind enough to her, Evie took Ruby under her wing, making sure she was always included. Mal was a different story though; Ruby had no idea why, but one of the voices in her head told her that the daughter of Maleficent was the wrong sort for her.

Fitting in became the wrong choice halfway through her first year; no one wanted to share a dorm with the 'crazy girl'. No one dared bother her while she was attending the roses in Auradon Prep's garden in fear of having their heads offed. No one even deemed her worthy of a friend, seeing her crazy ramblings as a sort of disease, even thought most times she was perfectly sane at having conversation.

But now was the beginning of a new year, things will be different she mused to herself as she dipped her paintbrush back into the blood red paint. She hummed to herself as she did so, completely blissful in the peace of the dorm, trying oh-so hard to not remember the memories that haunted her everyday. To not realize how this red paint almost matched perfectly with the blood that dripped onto a dead lawn all those years ago.

Ruby's focus was dropped by her door suddenly slamming open and she hissed in anger when her paintbrush slipped from its course. Her hand found a pen that was among her art materials around her, and promptly turned and flung it towards the open door. She missed of course, she always does, as could be told from the multiple shallow holes in the wall near her dorm room door.

"Whoa! Calm down there, Red!" Jay exclaimed from her doorway, Carlos was there with him and he seemed unfazed as he pulled the pen out of the wall and tossed it back to Ruby.

She caught it and placed it on the floor before grabbing her small towel to dab off the smear of imperfection before it dried forever on her wall.

"Thank you for ruining my lovely painting. If paintings could cry, this one would be because you nearly destroyed it," she huffed at the boys, who still stood out of breath in her doorway.

"You're supposed to be with us and the Welcome Committee, Ruby. The new VK's are showing up today," Carlos reminded her, matter of factually.

She cursed under her breath. She totally forgot about the new kids arriving today. I wonder, are their heads too big? Or perhaps too small? What a shame if they don't have heads at all. Ruby shook her head, clearing the voices as she stood and brushed off her outfit, a simple thigh-length black dress matched with heart stockings, and stumbled to put on a pair of red heels.

"Right, yes, the new VK's. Welcoming to the committee...erm, I wasn't supposed to do anything, was I?" She asked while trying to make her hair look somewhat decent. Even though it was lovely, the tips of her deep black hair being a rosy red, it was a mess nearly everyday of the week.

"Nope, just show up and smile," Jay quipped at her as she closed the door, viewing the bleeding rose on her wall one last time before hurrying with the two boys outside.

The trio made it too the entrance of the school right as a black limousine pulled up. The boys led Ruby to where Evie was standing before running to find other friends.

"Hey, Ruby," Evie greeted her, ever present smile on her face.

"Hey, Evie," Ruby responded, cautiously looking around to see if her somewhat dunce of a father came to see the new kids.

Evie looked at the girl and gestured to her face. "You've got a bit of paint there," the blue haired girl said, just as the doors to the limo opened.

"Oh, um...thanks," Ruby replied and used the back of her hand to wipe the paint away, only to succeed in smearing it over her cheek.

"Welcome to Auradon!" Fairy Godmother's voice carried over the cheering crowd, effectively ending the fanfare as well. "Allow me to introduce you to King Ben and his girlfriend Mal!"

Ruby glanced and caught sight of said couple, glaring when she noticed Mal looking at her. Too small head. No hat would ever fit her, one of the voices in Ruby's head commented. She shook out her thoughts and gasped in surprise when Evie pulled her forward. She missed nearly the entire conversation that was happening and had zero idea why Evie decided to announce her presence.

"Fairy Godmother," Evie said to the overly cheerful woman, "Even though I would absolutely adore showing our newest guests around, I think it would be an even BETTER idea to let Ruby do it!" She exclaimed, nearly bouncing with happiness at her grand scheme.

"What- no, Evie it's fine I gotta-" Before Ruby could finish her sentence Fairy Godmother cut her off.

"OH what a wonderful idea!! Ruby, these are our new students, Uma, Gil, and Harry! I do hope you all make great friends! Now, if you'll excuse us, class is waiting! The doors of wisdom are never shut!"

And with that Fairy Godmother gestured for everyone back to the school, but of course Audrey would never leave without having a few words first. As the brunette passed by Ruby she sneered "Of course, let the mad girl give the villains a tour, what a perfect match!"

Ruby paid her no mind, instead wondering what it would be like if she offed with her-

Ben gave Ruby a pat on the shoulder, silencing her vicious thoughts and gave her a good luck smile before walking with Mal back into the school. Ruby huffed and prepared herself and turned around to greet her newest friends.

She stared for only a second, muttering under her breath about their seemingly normal sized heads before she gave a smile and spread out her arms.

"Well, welcome to Boradon, where the princes are far from charming and the only color the people know of is 'pretty princess pink.'"

A dark skinned girl with light blue hair snorted at Ruby's introduction, while the boys laughed, giving a nod to the girl. "Amazing, someone who lives here who hates this place as much as we do. I'm Uma, daughter of Ursula," she gave her hand out for a shake (which Ruby accepted) and gestured to the two boys next to her. "This is Gil, and Harry."

Ruby smiled at the two boys, some forlorn memory tugging at the back of her mind, telling her she knew this girl, her thoughts turning at the name 'Harry'.

Harry's eyes raked over her before taking a few steps towards her, "Well well well," he said, his accent pulling memories out from Ruby's head. "It seems ye may have made a bit of a mess, lass," he said, licking his thumb and wiping off the smeared paint from Ruby's cheek. One of her eyebrows raised in question, though she definitely felt the heat rising to her face.

"Um..."

Uma rolled her eyes and gave a smack to the back of Harry's head, earning a shout of protest from the boy. Still, Ruby couldn't help but feel she stared into those same blue eyes before...

"Let's get this tour thing started!" Gil exclaimed, oblivious to the somewhat awkward/intimate moment

"Right, uh, this way," Ruby once again shook away her confusion, ignoring the way the sun reflected off her red heels and making it seem as though they were bleeding. She turned and led them into the school.

"Now, normally I'd have to tell you the history of our esteemed school, but honestly it's just of bunch of nonsense. Some king went 'wow I would be super cool if I made a school for royalty' and so he did a got a commemorative statue because of it." Ruby talked as she led the group into the main foyer.

"Sounds about right," Uma commented, spinning in a slow circle as she took in the school.

"Woah!" Ruby turned and saw Gil gently petting a potted plant, "What is this? It's so green!"

"That's, uh, that's a plant," Ruby answered him, slightly amused by his reaction to said plant. "There's a whole garden out the back way. It's a lot more interesting than showing you the useless classrooms in here."

Uma and Harry didn't get a chance to respond as Gil took off, a smile on his face. Ruby stayed where she was and called out to him, "Wrong way!"

Once outside, Gil ran off into the bushes of flowers, Harry running to catch up to the boy. Uma stayed behind, walking the pathway with Ruby.

"I never got to thank you," the dark-skinned girl spoke.

"Thank...me?" Ruby questioned, before her mind flooded with memories of a small crying girl that she never got to console. "Oh, um."

Uma looked at her, her face sincere, "No really, thank you. No one ever...No one's ever tried to be there for me when I'm not feeling myself. And that day was, uh, particularly bad," she confessed.

"Oh...well, you're welcome. I never...had friends when I was little, and I just wanted to be nice I guess. The flowers never wanted me to have friends, they were not so nice," Ruby told her.

"Right," Uma nodded, slightly confused but thankful nonetheless. "I'm glad to see you out of that hellhole, too. I mean, the Isle was bad but your mother..I can't even imagine."

Ruby let her fingers dance across the daisy's as the two girls walked. She tried to not dwell on memories of the past, of that house, that woman. "Thanks. Things are better here, I guess. The walls may freeze, and the momwraths outgrabe, but if you know where you're going then it doesn't really matter at all."

Uma was spared a response when the two caught up with Harry and Gil, ironically where the rosebushes were. Ruby's body froze when she noticed Harry gripping a rose, almost as if he were about to pluck it off the bush.

"Don't!" She yelled, running and pushing the pirate away from her beloved roses. After checking the rose was okay, she turned to Harry, her finger pointing at him in accusation. "Don't you make the roses angry, you make them angry and broken and then they bicker nonstop and I'm the only one that has to deal with it."

"Whoa there, lass, 's just a wee flower,"Harry's hands went up into the air with a slight smirk on his face, one hand gripping a metal hook. A hook, how had Ruby not noticed it before. Her eyes widened at the glinting metal, the face of a younger boy clouding her mind.

"Just, don't touch my roses," She glared at him once more, Uma giving him an 'I told you so' look, before turning and leading them away from the gardens and to the tourney field.

The team was outside at practice when the small group arrived, and Ruby noticed Jay and Carlos waving to get her attention. The two boys ran to her, smelling like wet dog yet smiling like idiots.

"Hey, Red," They both greeted, out of breath.

Harry behind her scoffed. "This it? Tourney is a wee lad's game, with their little pointy sticks."

"That's because their lads are a bit wee," Ruby responded, smiling at Harry.

A weird look was shared among the others when suddenly Gil freaked out. He bent down as Dude strolled up, patting the dog happily. "What is this!!!!"

Jay and Carlos chuckled. "That's Dude, my dog," Carlos said.

"Wow," Gil said, amazed. "Dogs are cool."

"Wait 'till you see a zoo," Jay told him.

"A zoo?"

"Okay," Uma cut in, "As much as I enjoy..." she gestured to the group, "I think I'd like a bed a hell of a lot more."

"Right, well, we gotta get back to practice," Carlos nodded, running back to the team.

"See ya around," Jay said to Ruby (but mostly to Gil) as he followed suit.

"Back inside we go then," Ruby announced and led the trio indoors.

"Funny thing is," she said as they made it to the dorm quarters. "No one tells me a thing, so I have zero idea where your rooms are."

"'S alright," Harry answered, seemingly trying to break into one of the rooms. "We'll just pillage some for our own selves," his eyes glinted mischievously.

"That won't be necessary."

The four turned towards the voice, and Ruby was relieved to see it was only Ben.

"We already have rooms chosen out for you," he said, smiling and giving a quick wink to Ruby. "This way."

The group followed, and Ruby almost missed the way Harry's eyes glared into the back of Ben's head. Ben stopped right in front of Ruby's dorm, and opened a door right across from hers. "This will be for Harry and Gil," he stated, "And Uma, you're the next door down the hall. As much as I'd love to stay and chat, I've got a meeting to attend. It was nice to meet you all."

And with that he turned and marched back down from where they had came, leaving Ruby speechless and dumbfounded.

"Well, see ya, girl. I'm going take a well deserved nap," Uma said, smiling at Ruby before walking to her room.

Ruby opened the door to her room as Harry and Gil turned into their own. She quite literally kicked off her heels and walked to where she painting earlier that day. She let her hands gently glide over the bleeding rose, checking the paints dryness. She missed Harry sneaking in behind her, leaning on the door frame.

"Ye paint," he stated abruptly, making Ruby jump and spin towards the voice, wishing she had a pen to throw.

"Thank you, captain obvious. I do paint, what about it?" she told him, crossing her arms over her chest.

He tutted her, shaking his finger as he stepped closer to her. "Uma's the cap'n, lass. I'm 'er first mate. And, ye paint well."

Ruby became flustered and uncrossed her arms to scratch the back of her head. "Um, thanks." She suddenly pointed to the pocket watch painting, "Do you hear it, too?"

Instead of answering, Harry's hand whipped out and grabbed onto Ruby's wrist, causing her to stumble closer to him. The tip of his hook gently ran over the line of her scar, the one she tried every day to ignore.

"I know ye," he whispered, blue eyes boring into her own.

"I know you too," she whispered back, visions of the unspoken day prodding her brain

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but a knock at Ruby's open door made the two jump away from each other.

"Hey!" It was Evie, eyes sparkling with another scheme. "I'm throwing a dinner party for our newest VK's. Ruby,  you're invited too, of course!" She exclaimed.

Harry and Ruby went into the hallway where Gil and Uma were already waiting. Uma gave a questioning look to the two. Harry's eyes cleared, his regular mischievous demeanor returning.

"Finally, food! I am famished!" he announced.

Gil bounced on his heels. "Is it like a food party? I've never been to a party. And with food! This place is amazing!"

Uma rolled her eyes at the boys and Ruby let out a small giggle.

"This way!" Evie said, guiding the group down the hall. They met up with Mal and Ben, Jay and Carlos, as well as Doug and Jane. Ruby couldn't help but feel that this was going to be a very uncomfortable tea party.

[chattegeorgiana]

I agree on all counts lol. (Also yes you do rock.Thank you for taking the time to answer all my asks 😭) the only reason I watched the anime is because my mom also wanted to see the storyline and she doesn't read manga like I would.. but at this point knowing the ending doesn't make me even want to pick it up haha. It's funny you bring up the differences between the two since the person used "evidence" from the anime but never brought up canon manga

Hehe, don’t mention it dear. 

Well to be honest, although I was a first anime person myself, as I said, after coming in contact with the manga the anime left me quite meh. I didn’t even watch it after Pein Arc, to be honest. I may have viewed an episode here and there, like when Sakura gets her seal to see the animated version of it, but seeing how nicely drawn the manga is vs how badly drawn the anime was, I couldn’t keep up to it, so I preferred to stay a manga person only.  As for the anime, like I said, they put a lot of extras. On many sides though. They added some to NaruSaku as well, like that episode of Naruto saying about how he likes Sakura and all that. But oh the other hand, there was also lots put up in favor of NH, so yeah, you could see the playout. Difference was that whenever NH was involved, the animation did change though. Tad bit more beautifully drawn and all that. And I, for one, am not fan of such biases. 

Naruto as a story started really nice, especially in Part 2 up to Pein Arc, things wrapped up really nice. But after that, sadly it all went downhill. Also, in Pein Arc I remember how I read at some point that Kishi wanted to have Tsunade fight Pein until Naruto returned. But the editors adviced against it. Which is a shame, really. I wonder how many cool fights like these were we ripped off?

Alas, it’s quite one sided all of it, you know? Like I said, especially now since they are retconning 15 years worth of development. So like I said, don’t waste your energy, cuz it isn’t worth it. 

In my almost 10 years, I think, in this fandom, I’ve rarely seen fans agreeing at least with each other’s point of views, despite their differences. There were here and there, but overall? No, it was all fights and fights and fights. And for a manga that supposedly preached about fighting together, its fans surely did not. This whole fiasco divided people like crazy. Beyond imagination and reason, if you ask me. Some of them would better cut a limb, so to speak, then admit to some differences of opinion of the other person in front of them. Some people were too attached to their opinion, and still are. I was at some point that way too, because I trusted the author’s narrative so much. But the difference was that I could see the other people’s opinions and what they were based on. I still do. I just don’t agree with them, that’s all. But I can transcend my opinion and see past them on the other side. I’d place it in the category of being part of a person’s integrity. However, most people refuse to do that, though. To see past their own opinion.

But alas, we’re going further down the rabbit hole of philosophy right now and it’s a long one, so I am going to stop here. 

Nice chatting with ya, though, anon! ^_^

[kyluxtrashpit]

2019 Fic Recap

So I’ve done this for the past few years and I started doing it at the end of 2019 but never managed to finish it. I think between TROS and IRL and then I got really, really sick, I just haven’t had the chance to do so. But fuck it, I decided to finish it anyway even though it’s now 3 months late lmao. So anyway, a recap of my 2019 fics

Total wordcount: 96 419 words. Which is less than last year, but still not too shabby. I wish I could’ve banged something out to get it over 100k but eh, it just didn’t happen. I definitely have enough wip words and whatnot to get me over that bump, though

Tough Love, 6572 words, posted Jan 17

So this was an experimental one. As you all know, I’m pretty hard on the sub!Kylo/dom!Hux train. But I had a conversation with a friend and it turned into one of those ‘okay, I don’t like x dynamic because of a, b, and c. But is it possible to write x without those and make it into something I like?’ and as it turns out, yes, yes it was. Thus this fic happened and here we are. I still really like it and I have a lot of Feelings on this dynamic vs the one I usually write, but that’s an essay in and of itself lmao. It got some great feedback too, which was cool

Take My Breath Away, 1230 words, posted Feb 7

Ah yes, this one, which was based off a throwaway KOTOR ability but was an excuse for me to write Kylo getting stuffed from both ends with some asphyxiation thrown in. And also extremely rough sex + softer aftercare is a weakness of mine haha, so I just had to do it

Fix You, 1994 words, posted Feb 10

So this was my first piece for Bad Things Happen Bingo, which is an event I’m still planning to finish at some point lmao, and that I’ve had a lot of fun with so far. This fic was another that I tried for a more ‘classic’ feel with, though it’s a lot softer. The uncomfortable intimacy. The ‘feelings are happening but we won’t talk about them’. The shaky trust. All of that good stuff. I had fun with it

Keep Your Enemies Closer, 1657 words, posted Feb 24

Another for BTHB! I just love when Hux wins, okay. And I think this was one of those time periods where Kylo was doing all the winning in fics and I just. Needed something different lmao. Emperor Hux remains one my all time fave ideas and it’s still a shame canon never gave it to us. But I have the power to make it happen, so I did. Plus Kylo in a shock collar is always fun >:)

Indulgence, 17 357 works, completed Apr 19, first posted Mar 28

So! This was a continuation to my experiment from above and really it was just an excuse for lots of smut and pampering lmao. Much as I had thought I had said everything I wanted to say with Tough Love, apparently I had not, and this monstrosity formed. There may be a third, more serious piece to finish off the series this year, but I haven’t decided yet. Although, I have to admit, I’m still surprised how poorly this fic did feedback-wise, especially compared to its predecessor and considering it’s the more popular dynamic these days. Tbh some of my best smut is in this fic imo, but ah well, sometimes people just don’t like things and I suppose I have to accept that, even if I’m really, really proud of that thing

(Okay and the rest are behind a cut for length)

Best Served Bloody, 2666 words, posted Apr 29

Another BTHB and, again, not much deeper to it. Beating up Brendol is always fun though lmao. And when I was writing this, I really wanted Hux to be the one to strike at his father. A lot of pieces have Kylo doing it, which is great, but I wanted to do something a little different. I wanted Hux to have the power to save himself. It was fun to write in that way, as a powerful revenge fantasy

The Best, 6450 words, posted May 12

Ah, now this was a fun one lmao. It was born of a horny crack idea but I can’t do real crack, so it ended up as crack treated seriously. And really, I just wanted an excuse to have Kylo sucking dick. A lot of dick. All the dicks he can find lmao. Slutty Kylo fic remains my favourite pwp, so I gotta contribute to the cause, you know. It was a delight to write, though challenging cause it kept turning me on LMAO. Totally worth it though. It was one of the most fun this year for sure

Be My Outlet, 1003 words, posted May 23

There’s not really much of a story behind this one haha. I was horny and I wanted some classic, Not Nice Hux and hatefucking, thus this exists. Plus I miss Kylo getting choked and it’s rare these days to see stuff quite this rough. I also have a bit of a somnophilia thing, which this sort of fits in to. And I’m always a fan of messy, masochist Kylo. So yeah. Idk it’s smut lmao what else could we want? It’s just a short little pwp, but I had a lot of fun with it and it was nice to revisit the classic kylux days

Safe Harbour, 1616 words, posted Jun 13

This one was for kyluxomegaverse week and it was very fun. A/b/o is one of those tropes where I really, really like a lot of it, but there’s also some stuff that’s much less my cup of tea. So I don’t write a lot of it, even though there are aspects of it that I adore. Which this one includes a lot of lmao. I think the nesting is fucking adorable and I wanted to write something soft, so here we are. Plus omega!Kylo is just delightful. Also looking back on it now, this one did really well? Holy shit, I had no idea it was that popular!

With Dignity, 4475 words, posted Jul 1

This was the last for BTHB that I managed last year (and I still intend to finish my card eventually, it’s just been a rough go so far this year lmao). I’m actually very proud of this one because this is the exact sort of angst I love to write. I didn’t intend for it to be as heavy as it ended up being, but when I started looking up the mechanics of force-feeding and reading about the experience of it, the plan changed drastically because holy fuck. I had never thought of it as that much of a torture before. I also enjoy with Hux like, making the reader feel bad for him while also actively reminding them he’s awful and getting that perfect cognitive dissonance. So this was a great excuse to do exactly that. And I love how tough he is even in such circumstances. Despite the heavy subject matter, I had a blast with this one

Greener Grass, 3389 words, posted Jul 14

This one was originally a twitter thread that really got away from me lmao, so I edited it and put it on ao3 because I really liked it. I’ve always liked self-cest as a concept and I thought it’d be interesting for Kylo to interact with a version of himself that made some different choices. One that was happier. And then we see Kylo through Ben’s eyes, see what the dark side has wrought for him. And then, of course, some smut to pull it all together lmao. It was a really fun character study and I had a grand time with it

Subliminal, 5719 words, posted Aug 23

This one! Okay so I’m pretty sure I sent in a couple of khk prompts over the years that were basically this, but no one ever wrote them so I finally did it. I’m honestly surprised hypno kink isn’t actually used more in kylux, considering Hux is canonically in charge of the brainwashing program. So much potential. So I had to write it. I also went down quite a few rabbit holes in researching this (with mixed success lmao) and learned a whole lot about hypno kink in the process. I may have even acquired it as a fetish lmao. But anyway, this one’s a bit darker and it’s fun to write those every once in a while. I think I pulled it off well too

Ashes Among the Stars, 36634 words, posted Dec 1

Ah and my big bang this year! I had a blast with this one although it was quite the challenge. My first fandom was gundam so when I saw this prompt I was very intrigued and ended up getting it. This fic had a lot more world-building than I usually do, which was the primary challenge as I basically had to take aspects from both franchises and sew them together into a new world of its own. I think I did that rather successfully tbh. The plot gave me trouble too but also gave me some of my best eureka moments haha. My partner was also wonderful and made the experience that much better. I know crossovers don’t tend to perform as well, so I was expecting that, though I do wish some more people had given it a chance since I wrote it specifically so that no prior knowledge was needed. But alas, I’m still incredibly proud of it. It’s also my second longest fic ever!

Filthy, 5657 words, posted Dec 9

And here it is, the gangbang fic I’ve always wanted to exist lmao. I had wanted to write this one for a long time, but I could never figure out how to end it, what circumstances would lead to the gangbang. Then a convo with friends gave me the idea and boom, I could finally write it. This fic is just straight up smut and I fucking love it lmao. There needs to be more Kylo gangbang fics tbh

What have I learned?

Last year wasn’t as successful for writing as I’d hoped, given that I wrote less in 2019 than I did in 2018. But also a lot of things happened to me last year. I got a new role at work. My dad had a heart attack (he’s okay though). I had a pretty rough time with my mental health. And then there was the lead up to TROS and the frankly unnecessary amount of stress that caused me. So there was a lot going on and working against me, which is a large part of why I didn’t manage to write as much as I’d hoped I would, and there’s a lot in my folder that I started but just wasn’t able to finish before the end of the year. I worried for a while I was losing interest, but looking back, no, it was definitely the IRL shit lmao. That said, I’m also extremely happy with all of the pieces I did finish, regardless of how well they did. I’m proud of them and I loved writing them, even when it was difficult

One of my goals from last year was to write more, which I didn’t manage, and to get better at answering comments, which I think I did well on for the most part up until post-TROS lmao. I also wanted to do the big bang again (and I was hoping for a reverse, which it was!) and I did. And I also wanted to have fun and keep my confidence with my writing, which I think I was the most successful at. I feel really good about everything I made and I really enjoyed writing them, even if I didn’t manage to finish everything

Goals for 2020?

I think part of the reason I didn’t finish this post in 2019 is because of my TROS breakdown and subsequent stresses associated with it. Because I wasn’t sure what I wanted or what I was going to do. Sometimes I wanted to give up and find a new fandom/ship, other times I was sure I was over it and going to just do whatever the fuck I wanted, and then there was every emotion in between

Now, though, I’m sure I’m going to keep writing here. I haven’t managed much this year yet, but I can feel it coming back to me. I have a post-TROS fic I managed to solve a major problem with the other day. I also have renben as a new ship to excite me. And I still have a lot of wips and BTHB and various others I desperately want to do. Right now, I feel good about my writing and my interest in it is back to normal, which is great. So this year? I’m not going to set a hard goal. I’d love to write more than last year and maybe I will, but it’s okay if I don’t. I’d love to do another big bang this year, but I’m not going to kick myself if I can’t handle it when that time comes. I’d love to finish BTHB, but if it stretches into another year, who cares? My only goal is to just keep writing and keep enjoying it. I want to have fun with it. I want to be happy with whatever pieces I do manage to put out. I want to set aside time to read more fics from others, if I can. And I think all of those will really help with my mental health, which is starting to recover right now, and that’s what’s most important of all

Also thank you all for your patience with me. I know I’ve not been responsive, here or on twitter or to comments, but I am trying my best. It’s been a rough go and I don’t like to whine too much in my fandom spaces. I don’t know when or even if I’ll get back to normal, but I’m trying, and that’s what matters. I love every one of you on here <3

[mindseyeinkarnate]

Portraits of a Serial Killer - “The Cell” turns 20

I've often reflected how the influence of Art is a key component missing from Modern Horror. The Xenomorph we all know and fear came from the painted nightmares of Swedish surrealist H.R. Giger, the Screamer is said to have influenced the Ghostface Killer mask.  For a further rundown of art's musings over the genre, I would highly recommend 2017's Tableaux Vivants for a look at 60 such portraits and the films they inspired.

In the summer of 2020, The Medium video game appears to correct that oversight with the recent trailer dropping, adapting Polish painter, Zdzislaw Beksinski's frightening paintings.  In the same season of the same year is when The Cell celebrates 20 years (8/17/2020).  This film appeared to feature as many artistic influences as possible into its near two hour runtime.

The sight of chains freaked me out upon watching my first Hellraiser movie, so the sexual perversion of their use in this film did little to alleviate such apprehension, especially as they pulled so tightly to suspend human flesh in the air. Despite a previous scene showing the villain having drowned his victim, this was the true introduction to his villainy - the former showed what he did, that latter why he did it.  Even re-watching this film so many years later, I had to look away from the screen, recoiling from such a grisly display.

Typically, in Horror or any film that assumes a particular aesthetic, it is color that makes the impression to set mood.  Instead, the use of white in this film, from the K9 to the bleached state of the victims is used to ghoulishly haunting effect.

I remember critics remarking that because of Vince Vaughn's comedic history they couldn't take him seriously in this role and relegated his involvement to stunt casting. I take the opposite stance since, for me, every role after this film simply serves as a reminder that he starred in The Cell.  I've always felt that comedy actors do well in dramas - see Robin Williams in "Good Will Hunting" - and I thought that Vaughn did a serviceable job in this film, never distracting from either tone or plot.

I was happy that they just dove into the mechanics behind entering one's mind as an accepted reality, that they didn't get bogged down in techno babble or exposition of the technology.  There is a time and place for the virtual journey into the cerebral frontier, such as The Matrix or a good adaptation of the Lawnmower Man, but for the Cell, I'm happy that they focused more on the story and not so much the science.  The suits do look like Twizzlers, but it was made by Eioka Ishioka (who passed away in 2012), the same costume designer as Vlad Tepes' suit from Bram Stoker's Dracula.  I do like that the two participators are suspended in the air while their minds are linked.  It's an eerie callback to the killer's suspension from chains for sexual release. Also, it does give the technology that space age feel as though they are in a weightless environment.

Since the 90's, special effects have been criticized as dominating films to the point Stephen King is quoted as remarking that "story supports effects instead of effects supporting story". Similarly, an argument can be made that at times The Cell becomes too indulgent with its usage of famous art that serve no plot function, e.g. the Horse Split, the Three Women of Odd Nerdrum's Dawn painting, Mother Theresa and her Hallmark card, etc.  As the director is quoted as saying "The thing about this film is it’s an opera, and there is no such thing as a subtle opera.”  I don't believe that the script was penned as an excuse to pack in as much gallery portraits as possible or is an hour and fifty minutes of a music video.  I just wish the director would've used each art piece he seeks influence from to develop the story or the character.  The imagery doesn't always portray the killer's psychology or the psychologist's therapeutic technique.  If he wasn't going to utilize subtlety, he should have implored restraint.  He later added "Anyway, I missed the whole plot, just been talking visual all along, ah, where are we?”

Once in the killer's mind, his depiction as the master of his domain is a hauntingly accurate depiction considering the previous scenes of suspension rings in the back of his body, which unwittingly foreshadowed to the audience his royal appearance to come.  Even the name, King Stargher, is a daunting title for a movie monster.  When rising and descending from his throne, the violet robes receding from the walls and tracing along the room is hypnotically unnerving.

As tiresome as the "we're still in the dreamworld" trope can become (The Matrix, DS9 Season 7 episode 23 "Extreme Measures"), this film not only flips it when the psychologist realizes that she's "already in", but does so in a cleverly visual way.

King Stargher

Horned Stargher

Court Jester/Vatican Clown  

Serpent Stargher

It is interesting to think that a single actor would assume many distinct monstrous characters.  Unlike a Freddy Kreuger or a Pennywise that turn into manifestations of their victims' fears, the figures that Stargher assumes are all avatars of his own warped psyche, his own inner turmoil.  Vincent D'Onofrio really does put in his all with this role.  He's soft spoken and understated when he needs to be and malicious and heartless when the scene demands it.  Along with the visuals of the film, D'Onofrio's performance is worth the price of admission.  It's a shame that his acting as well as the movie's stunning artistry are what have gone overlooked all these years.  Speaking of...

One invalid criticism that has been levied against the film is its attempts to persuade the audience to sympathize with the killer.  My intention with the following statement is neither to flaunt my Horror insight nor to divide the lines between fans within Horror and those without.  Having said that, even as an adolescent seeing this movie in theaters, I at no point felt remorse for the serial murderer and I chalk up this long-held misconception to a bad read on the film.

So off-base is this "critical analysis" that it can't even be regarded as a Jekyll & Hyde dynamic.  The villain is not split down the middle between binary good and evil, where both halves are at war over his soul, or the repressed impulses of his Dark Passenger are manifesting in a heartless butcher.  If there is any distinction, it is between who the antagonist was when a victim as a boy and what the man became as an adult victimizer.  If anything it is the good that is repressed, not the evil.  Furthermore, along with using the film's plot to force Alice down the rabbit hole of the Mad Hatter's mind, this film does address the nature of evil.  When referring to Stargher, even Jennifer Lopez's character remarks "The Dominant side is still this horrible thing".  The Vince Vaughn detective states "I believe a child can experience 100 times worse the abuse than what Gish (a different killer) went through, and still grow up to be somebody that would never, ever, ever hurt another living being."  Thus, these serve as acknowledgement that the abducted criminal is firmly in the driver's seat to the point of its reference as a "thing" and a condemnation of what the killer has become, respectively.

Along with exploring the psychology of the killer, the film does not qualify the villain's innocence, it questions it.

The critics probably missed that pesky detail that would've debunked their headline before they pressed a single word of their denunciation.

These same professional critics wouldn't give a second's hesitation towards throwing Horror under the bus and condemning Scary Movies for inspiring violence if it meant their jobs were only the line, yet they would balk at the notion that continued mental trauma and physical abuse can cause psychopathic behavior.

There are classics and icons worth praising for their plot and performances, respectively, and then there are some Scary Films that Horror Fans view with the understanding of their heavy material and without your typical fanfare because they're a hard watch.  I can see where people would be fans of Hannibal Lecter not because they or the film glamorizes cannibalism, but because of Anthony Hopkins' acting chops (excuse the pun).  Conversely, John Doe, the serial killer of Se7en, has and will likely never enjoy such admiration because of the cold purity of his calculated evil.  The 2 decade critique of The Cell's villain portrayal is a dark cloud that has unjustly hung over its head.

The motif of "the eyes of a killer" was something applauded in Rob Zombie's Halloween 2, yet ridiculed in The Cell 9 years prior?

This film's premise and the fact that it wasn't fully effectively executed makes it primed for a remake.  Hollywood needs to be issued a Cease and Desist order of such wholesale dependence on Remakes in general, let alone in the Horror genre.  When you consider that so many remakes can't outdo the original and even tarnish the films they attempt to emulate, why not fix the problems of a film that went wrong and take the credit when you get it right?

[tjp5]

Week 4 Weekend

First and foremost, I am sorry I didn’t write at all this weekend. I was pretty busy to be honest with you. When I sat down on Saturday to write, I put on Arrow and fell right back down that rabbit hole. It is kind of annoying but, I enjoyed watching it. Aaaand I am back in.  Its okay though. I am someone who gets on show kicks, it can be problematic at times, but last time I did that, it was Peaky Blinders, and I kept things in check pretty good. I guess I am kind of in on another show right now too. I can literally put it on, and enjoy it, whether I am intimately watching or just have it on for noise, and it is called Meat Eater. I love it, its calming, and kind of shows you what it would take to live off of hunting and fishing, which is something I would like to do some day. I think it would be better for my future family. We’ll see though.

                Anyway, Friday was pretty good. I took a mental health day while I was at work. I only did a few things that I need to do, because I knew about what was looming. It is a week and a half of burning the candle from both sides, and the middle. When someone doesn’t even know what your brand of accounting is, and they decide to just move the due date up by a month and a half. Its great, exactly what we needed.  I had a burger and chicken for lunch, I had stuff that I brought to work, but when I went down to grab something to go with it, I saw my work friends and said fuck it. It was a great waste of time. The weather here in the great city of Pittsburgh was a shit show. We finally got snow, and honestly, our drivers here are horrid when the roads are dry, so that tells you how that went. I will tell you something though, I was enraged on the ride to work, so my inner angry Italian came out, and it was just as good as a cup of coffee, almost better. I also learned that Prius’ go into limp mode very very easily. I don’t want anything to do with one of those, ever. I went to the gym after work, it was great workout. I didn’t get the same normal mental relief that I had been getting by deadlifting in the morning, but it was good none the less. Then I got to crush some sushi and a good ol’ Bud Diesel with some friends. Sushi is great, I really wish I would have waited until I was sixteen to jump on the sushi wagon. If It weren’t for the threat of mercury poisoning, I would probably eat it multiple times per week.

               Saturday was an off day, it was good, I needed it. But it was not nearly off in the sense that I finally decided to do laundry. I had been doing necessities, and letting the other stuff just pile up. Pretty stupid, but it turned out to be a good thing. An older lady said something to me about it looking like I had the amount of laundry that she did when she was raising her four boys. I ended up donating three bags of clothes. It needed to happen, and I probably need to donate more, but hopefully those clothes go to someone who really needs them. Like I said I watched some arrow, turned into three episodes. I got some TB, only because I hadn’t had it for a while and I fucking love taco bell. No shame. This really ended up being a weekend of food that I hadn’t had in a while that I really needed to have. I didn’t over do it at TB, which was a good thing, because I fuckin wanted to. Saturday night, went to Texas Roadhouse, had a big ass steak and a potato. So good, I love steak, it is probably my favorite food, I mean maybe second. The family Sunday sauce is too fucking good to pass up. I need to make it more.  I think some people that will read this will agree with this.

               Sunday was also good. I had a busy day. I took over the managerial duties for my Adult league baseball team. Playing ball is pretty important to me, and a good friend of mine, who used to run the team, had decided to give up the reigns for the team. I don’t mind it. It is not something that I wanted to do per say, but it is something that I am willing to do. We had the first meeting of the year, and it was interesting, and kind of eye opening. I am going to get to hit baseballs again soon.  While I was there I grabbed a burger, a jalapeno burger, I love peppers. Delicious shit, except they used a frozen, unseasoned patty. So what the shit, if you have a good idea for a burger, please don’t ruin it my using a frozen and unseasoned burger, do one or the other. Not both you asshats. The gym was pretty good yesterday, I live tweeted it a bit. Only because the XFL and Rugby were on, I got a little distracted. Its cool though. My shoulders were tired, so a little bit of a distraction was needed. I had to do these things called Pistols, my legs were unhappy with that, but I think it is a good thing for me to get into. Honestly, that is one of the most subtle great things about this workout plan, I am learning new things. My workouts were getting a little monotonous, and that is no longer a problem. For dinner I got to crush eggs, peppers and onions, and a little bit of shrimp. A pretty good supper. I had a snickers yesterday, before the workout, mainly because I needed something in my stomach before that workout, and because I had wanted a snickers for going on three weeks. It is better to get those cravings out of the way. I also had some ice cream yesterday evening. It was a little bit of a mistake, but I am glad that I got it out of the way. We’ll see how this week goes, thanks for reading.

God Speed.

[robalchemy]

Coming Out Of The Empath Closet

Like most of these posts, I’m never really sure where to begin or how to lead in...But the title says it all; I’m an empath. So why write a blog post about this? Why make it public? Why make it a big deal? why even share it at all? Well, that last question is the biggest one I’ve been faced with most of my life. Why WOULD I share this about myself in such a close minded world? Why would anyone dare to allow the deepest parts of them out for all the world to see? It’s absolute insanity in our self-centered, closed minded, drive-through, fearful, dogmatic culture we call the western world in 2019. And I’m JUST bringing this out at the age of 35, so could you imagine trying to explain this to the school psychologists in the early 90′s? That would surely have been a one-way ticket to ALL the anti-psychotic drugs! Okay, so there’s a LOT to unpack here, so let’s just take it one spoonful at a time, yes? My biggest reason for bringing this aspect of myself out into the open is primarily for anyone else who’s in the same boat as me, but for a multitude of reasons, is perhaps conflicted by it. And believe me, I’ve been through ALL of these barriers time and time again. You never know what anyone will think. And this concept of normality and fitting in has been just pounded into us so hard for so long. Maybe you’re worried that your friends or family will think you’re crazy. Maybe you’re beginning to question your own sanity. Maybe people have TOLD you you’re crazy. Maybe people have put you down for it. Maybe people have made you feel like the absolute dumbest piece of shit that the face of the earth has ever seen for being so fake and ridiculous. Maybe religious people in your life want you to believe you’re all up in the devil. Maybe people have said it’s just a phase. Or that you’re fishing for attention. I’ve been to all of these places more times than I could recall.

And I WANT to tell you that this is all somehow not true, not real. I WANT to tell you that. But unfortunately, people’s judgments are VERY real, whether we like it or not. And so many of us can FEEL these judgments in so many ways. For me, I feel the intention other people have in conversation. I (more often than not) already know what their point is going to be before they’ve even finished the first sentence. I know when someone is lying to me. I know when someone’s trying to manipulate me. I even physically feel when someone is THINKING about me. (It feels like an extreme hot flash running up and down my spine and in my head.) So yes, judgement has, does and will happen. We can’t change that, nor is it our duty or right to change ANYONE. That’s not what any of us are here to do. So what should we do about both negative reactions or even just FEAR of negative reactions? Not a damn. Freaking. Thing. Which brings me to my second point of why I’m bringing this up: If we can’t be honest and true to ourselves, what CAN we be honest and true to? The truth here is that we all have the things and characteristics that make us US in this life. Would you be ashamed that maybe you have brown eyes? Would you shame someone else for liking ice cream? Of course not, it’s absolutely absurd! And these abilities that in truth, EVERYONE has - Are no different. These are just other characteristics of the way we are that are immutable. We can’t change them. We can’t delete them. So why not embrace them? That’s a question that would have made me VERY nervous even just months ago. In short, this is who I am. It’s who I’ve always been, since childhood. And it’s been a major factor in leading a VERY misunderstood life. Personally, I was VERY lucky to grow up in a family that was very open minded to these things. It’s not like I was identified as an empath and knew I was empathic when I was a kid. Back in the 90′s, that term was akin to ‘Witchcraft’ and late night infomercials for “JoJo’s Psychic Alliance Hotline for $5 a minute”. My Mom was strongly empathic, my sister is probably the strongest empath of any of us, and my Dad even developed some of his abilities later on in life, as well. (Although I’m probably closest with my Brother, but I really have no idea where he stands with any of this, and that’s completely okay too.) Growing up, my Mom always just described me as being very sensitive. And that really IS a very apt description. But she knew what I had from day one, whether she shared it with anyone or not. I’m not sure what my sister recognized in me at that time, but still, in some ways she could read me better than anyone. I also grew up OBSESSIVELY creative. And I haven’t changed even a little bit. This is a very common trait among empaths of all varieties - I don’t yet fully understand why, but somehow it also seems very fitting. As a creative soul, I can see possibilities that nobody else can. I can process certain kinds of abstract concepts intuitively and instantly. I can visualize almost to the level of hallucination, that’s how I always knew where to put the lines when I’m drawing. So even aside from all this empathic stuff, my brain was never wired “normally” to begin with. And growing up - The schools, psychologists and so many teachers saw this and insisted to my parents that something was wrong with me. I had to be “fixed” because back in those days, not fitting into the same box as everyone else was BAD. This was just the tip of the iceberg for a central theme in this life for me. So just for fun, I’d like to get into the specifics of some of the things I experience that maybe not EVERYONE else does. Since childhood, my main “odd” experience is that I feel the emotions and intentions of either those immediately around me, those I observe or those I interact with. This is actually the trickiest part of it all for me, because for decades, I had no idea that many of the things I was feeling weren’t mine. Can you imagine how screwed up that makes a person feel? The thing that made me aware and able to discern which emotions were and weren’t mine was...Well, it was freaking OBVIOUS once I began opening up to new perspectives. I knew I wasn’t perceiving the world incorrectly, yet my emotional reactions often did not remotely suit the circumstances I was in. I was just so used to it that it was just a part of life for me, and second guessing my own thoughts became normal. This caused me to repress it for so many years, but it never went away. It just kept getting more and more pushed down and compact over my lifetime until it reached critical mass and EVERYTHING I’d built up over this life began exploding out of me since it had nowhere else to go. I experienced this as chronic, severe long term depression and anxiety in recent years. That’s a long story unto itself that I’d rather not go too deep into, but the point is: Being THAT unhealthy and repressed nearly cost me my life. I became a borderline alcoholic, because that was the only way I knew to feel better. I also became obese. (Fun fact, in the last year, I’ve dropped ALL that weight!) And many times, I was borderline suicidal. I even went through several psychologists who were at a complete loss and fired me as a client because they couldn’t help me. Friends, THIS is what happens when we fall out of alignment with ourselves. This is why being true to ourselves goes FAR beyond a warm fuzzy sentiment. Now imagine being able to feel the intentions and emotions of anyone you direct your attention toward or interact with. Even through a screen. Now take a look around at the world we’re living in right now. It’s so disturbing and unspeakable to me that I don’t even want to go into examples, because even just tuning into the very concept of these negative emotions hits me so hard that I can feel it physically. And as much as I hate to say it, I live in Canada’s Arkansas. The part of the country I live in is Canada’s undisputed capital of bigotry, racism, xenophobia, selfishness and just fear driven hate in general. And I’ve lived here for 35 years. Just do the math on that and maybe you can begin to see how challenging it can really be just EXISTING as a person with empathic abilities. Now, the root word of ‘empathy’ is - You guessed it! So for me, this also goes the other way. When I see the VICTIMS of all this hate, I feel it exactly as they do. En masse. I can’t even begin to emphasize how strongly I feel it, and how much it hurts beyond what physical pain can offer. Because you can relieve physical pain sometimes, yes? This has created for me the challenge of even HAVING any faith or good will towards humanity when I can FEEL what we do to each other every minute of every day. Yet, in spite of all this - I’ve lived my life with an inexplicable and very deep sense of compassion and wanting to HELP this world, in spite of knowing what it’s capable of and the things we do to each other without so much as a second thought. I can’t even stomach how anyone can exist that way. On the flip side, I don’t come across genuinely highly positive people very often, but when I do - OMG WHAT A FREAKING RUSH!!!! I’ve never done cocaine, but that’s what I imagine it must feel like. Occasionally, I come across people who truly have the highest of intentions and hearts full of love and good humor. I feel it as soon as they approach me. When this happens, I get a very light headed rush, the world starts to look REALLY bright or “bleached” and the internal feeling is like a combination of excited butterflies in the stomach, an absolutely ELECTRIC surge throughout my entire body, very warm pins & needles that give me goosebumps, and I just instantly want to take this person, clone them 30 or 40 times and go to a party with only them. It is the starkest contrast I could imagine. So that’s the basic version. If we want to go even DEEPER into this rabbit hole, I would only tell you about the most recent MONTHS of my life. I can’t even begin to describe the work I’ve been doing on myself and where its taken me. (I will in the near future...) But in short, I’ve begun to accept, embrace and develop these parts of me. Well actually, they’ve kind of been developing themselves. So before, I was basically limited to the definition of a physical and emotional empath. In recent months however, I’ve been cracked so wide open that I’ve been experiencing things that I had no idea my mind was even CAPABLE of perceiving. To name just a couple - The degree of the sensitivities I’ve always had have increased ten fold. If I’m chatting with someone online, I can feel them to the point of their pulse. This is not an exaggeration. I’m willing to bet that some of my friends who are reading this right now are friends that I’ve been chatting with on messenger, and I’ve said something like “Okay, let’s change the topic because I just felt your heart rate spike and your adrenaline kick in”. (I actually feel much more than that, but I still want my friends to TALK to me, so I’ll leave it there for now!) I can feel the intentions and intensity of the energy of people around me in traffic. This tends to be not so much emotional, but rather I feel a spectrum of the quality of people’s energy from SHARP to GENTLE. Those are honestly the best words I can find. Not strong and weak, intense and mellow, but sharp and gentle. Another interesting thing I’ve noticed of late, is people will just randomly start pouring their hearts out to me. Perfect strangers, it can be just helping a customer at work or paying for gas at 7-11; And 2 sentences in, they begin rattling off their entire freaking life story. People give me EVERYTHING. Constantly. This used to happen occasionally, but in recent months, it’s been almost every day that I’m in public, often multiple times a day. This goes beyond just chatty people, it’s flat out rigorous. For me, this is kind of a trap, because once it starts - I can’t get people to stop even if I shout at them to shut up. (Not that I do, that one’s just an allusion.) I don’t understand exactly why this happens, but I have a faint idea that some part of people, probably subconsciously - Feel my receptivity and take it as an invitation to pour out everything they’re holding in. I’ve always been uncomfortable in large crowds. Hell, you don’t have to be even remotely empathic for this! Needless to say, this has also been taken to the extreme. But on the flip side, I can also feel nature every bit as strongly. Being in nature has become my drug in recent months. It takes absolutely everything in me that’s heavy, and replaces it with the most merciful rejuvenation and love that I think I’ve ever felt in this plane of existence. It’s like being beaten up at school by bullies all day, then going home and just crying in your Mom’s arms - It’s something I can’t even come close to putting into words. It’s sentient, and it feels me as I feel it. It’s beyond catharsis, it’s beyond being understood. That’s truly as close as I can get to describing it, I literally don’t have words for it. When I go walking in the ravine by my house, it feels like the trees are my oldest friends who know me better than I know myself. And they know exactly what I need and how I need it. 20 minutes among the trees does more for me than anything any human has ever been able to make me feel, with the sole exception of my wife. It’s unconditional mercy. And to think, I used to think this kind of stuff was for tree huggers...Well, maybe try actually hugging a tree, and see where that takes you! Like I said, there’s a LOT to unpack here, and I’ve only started to scratch the surface. But I can only type so much in one sitting, so I’m going to leave this post as it is here, save for a couple closing words for anyone who resonates with this... Again, the point here isn’t to show off these things or claim that I have something others don’t - We ALL have the exact same abilities to the exact same potential extent. Some of us are simply at different points along our own journey and evolution, there’s no rank to this or any sort of being above, below, ahead of or behind anyone else. We’re just all at different points of our own unique path, and no two among the approximately 8 billion people currently on this planet are the same. So truly, there’s no pissing contest here, so please don’t interpret it that way. The point is to simply SHARE for a couple purposes: To give anyone out there going through similar experiences validation and hopefully a bit of courage to embrace this aspect of their path rather than fear it, be ashamed of it or resent it. The second point is that in sharing this, I’m simply taking my own step towards being as authentic as I can be. This is simply who I am, it’s who I’ve always been. We can’t deny our truest nature and we should never be ashamed of it, and in putting this out there, I’m being true to myself so that hopefully others can be inspired to be true to themselves. Thankyou for helping me realize more of my own personal truth in sharing this with you!