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glorious-blackout · 4 years ago

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Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part Four

@rock-n-roll-fantasy Still don’t have a working title yet, but the current favourite is ‘Mark Needs a Hug’ 😅 This one is set directly after the teaser. I’ll hopefully be able to post some more tomorrow but that depends entirely on how much the next part fights me during the editing process...

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Any hopes that the warm fuzz clouding over his mind would lift by morning are quickly dashed.

A shrill alarm snaps Mark out of a light doze, sentencing him to the wrath of a crushing headache which cannot be blamed entirely on alcohol. Any thoughts of getting up and facing the day are discarded. Heavy, unblinking eyes remain fixed to the ceiling above, the muted colours swirling as his vision blurs, and a shuddering exhale tears through his chest as fatigue immobilises his limbs, confining him to the mattress. Contrary to what he’d hoped as he drifted into slumber, he retains enough memory of the previous night’s events that he doubts he can ever convincingly slip back into normality.

It takes tortuous effort to direct his gaze towards the bright red phone resting on his bedside table, but the thought of calling his friends is enough to have his throat closing from dread. They wouldn’t understand. Words have a habit of eluding him even at the best of times, and he doubts he has the ability to string together a sufficient explanation for why he feels like his life has been irrevocably altered. Not in the space of a single phone call at any rate.

Eventually he does summon the strength to drag himself out of bed, albeit the specifics as to how he accomplished such a monumental task elude him as he stares blearily at the bathroom mirror. He even succeeds in throwing himself beneath a scalding spray in the shower before locating a shirt and jacket combo which almost matches, but that’s the extent to which his normal routine is preserved. Breakfast is not an option of course; the mere thought of searching through his fridge for something to eat is provocation enough to have bile rising in his throat. No doubt he had clear plans for the day at one point, but those too are mercilessly cast aside. Instead, his focus becomes narrowed to one very specific focal point. Matthew may well have vanished into the night, but his influence stubbornly clings to Mark like a terminal disease.

Countless hours are spent retracing his steps from the previous night. As the thick haze pressing against his skull intensifies, he allows instinct to take over as his feet carry him through the now-deserted ballroom. Seven identical corridors ultimately lead towards this room - the beating heart of the hotel - but it takes Mark no time at all to identify the unassuming door through which Matthew slipped away. Traversing the convoluted maze which lead to that impossible corridor takes significantly longer, but in spite of the many random twists and turns, the route appears to be fused to his brain like a hot brand. His innate familiarity for the hotel’s many secrets has always served him well, though he wonders how long that will last considering the location he seeks shouldn’t exist in the first place.

It’s less surprising than it should be when his memories direct him to a dead-end. Mark had expected little else, though disappointment still hangs heavy in his heart as he draws to a premature halt outside Room 217. The sleek black door stares at him enticingly, daring him to turn back the way he came and try another route, but he knows for a fact that he has not taken a single false step. Last night there hadn’t been a hotel room here at all. Instead, the hallway had stretched onwards to yet another junction, directing him onto the impossible corridor with the impassive statues and the cupboard which played host to a menacing red light, right up until it hosted nothing but a broom and several layers of stacked bedsheets.

Mark must linger a little too long. His funk is shattered when the door opens to reveal an ancient woman with papery white skin and pursed red lips, dressed in elegant black furs with emeralds draped around her neck. She surveys him intently with deep hawk-like eyes, wordlessly demanding an explanation for his presence which he is incapable of offering. When he makes no attempt to break the spell, she simply shoves past him, muttering something about “bloody day-drinkers" as the door slams shut behind her. Mark sways on his feet, wondering if the old bat’s assessment is somewhat correct and if he’s still trapped within the throes of an alcoholic daze, but he discards that thought quickly. In retrospect he barely had anything at all last night, and he suspects that his mind has been poisoned by something far worse.

Undeterred by the corridor’s absence, he spends the rest of the day searching the length and breadth of the hotel for answers. It occurs to him at one point during his mad escapade that he doesn’t even know what he’s searching for. A solid hour is wasted flitting among slot machines and poker tables in the vibrant casino, half-expecting Matthew to appear around every corner. He would certainly blend in here with greater ease than he accomplished in the ballroom, given the neon colour scheme and lurid eighties aesthetic. Many of the guests frequenting this establishment choose to do so in hideously expensive suits which become less and less affordable the longer they stay, but the oddballs are more numerous here than anywhere else in the complex. The specific oddball he seeks does not make a reappearance however, nor do any of the patrons admit to knowing him when Mark lures them into a casual interrogation, and he eventually abandons the gamblers to their vices with an air of dejection.

When he’s not searching for Matthew, he preoccupies himself with trying to convince his brain that he didn’t imagine the strange corridor last night. He does a pretty terrible job of it too. The endless twists and turns of identical hotel corridors with their identical high ceilings and identical oak doors and identical potted plants become dizzying fast. Even when he’s certain he’s covered the guests’ quarters from root to stem, the overwhelming sense of déjà vu with every new hallway he stumbles upon makes him wonder if he’s been trapped within an endless maze.

Christ knows what he must look like when Jamie eventually finds him. Mark leaps out of his skin when he’s dragged back to reality by the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder - frantic and wild-eyed - and not even the sight of his friend is enough to calm his racing heart. Jamie looks equally startled, raising his hands in mock-surrender as a fleeting smile betrays his deep concern, and Mark can only stare blankly when his friend explains that he’s somehow missed three meetings today including a guest pick-up and their band rehearsal and oh, by the way, what the hell is going on?

Whatever sorry excuse leaves his mouth must suffice. He even manages to play a show that night, sans rehearsal and with his mind a million miles away from the stifling overhead lights and the gawping guests. He performs the entire show on autopilot. Lyrics he’s been singing for years escape his lips with the aid of pure instinct and little else, and while he fumbles the words once or twice, the crowd don’t seem to mind. The concerned glances darting between his bandmates aren’t lost on him, but he cannot bring himself to care. Instead, he uses what little mental faculty he has left to scan the faces in the crowd in search of Matthew, or one of Matt’s pursuers at the very least. His efforts ultimately prove to be fruitless, though he can’t say he expected anything else.

The show ends in the usual uproarious applause, despite the fact that Mark’s investment in performing has never been lower. Before the crowd has even begun to disperse, he finds himself galloping towards the stairs. He pointedly ignores the naked concern in Jamie’s eyes and Nick’s questioning “Mark?” in favour of abandoning the stage as quickly as his feet will allow, storming towards his suite without so much as a backwards glance as he swallows down the sting of defeat.

The following two days pass in a similar blur, albeit a far less productive one. This time around he has the foresight to cancel his meetings and rehearsals first thing in the morning, feigning illness as a half-baked excuse. He even manages to convince the orchestra’s conductor to play some additional shows in exchange for a lofty fee. Beyond that, however, he accomplishes very little. The strain of exhaustion confines him to bed for the most part, and any sleep he gets is scattered and restless. More often than not he wakes with his heart in his throat and a dull throb tearing his skull apart, emanating from the spot where the dreamlike apparition of Matt’s pursuer has just planted a bullet.

(On occasion the nightmares will involve him discovering Matthew’s body instead, pale and sightless, though he can’t say those dreams make him feel any better than the ones in which he is the one reduced to a lifeless mass of flesh and bone).

**************************

An insistent, nagging voice tugs at his attention from the periphery, but for once he feels inclined to ignore it. At the present moment, the small poker chip in his hand seems much more fascinating as he flips it between his fingers. Much as he tries, he cannot remember where he found it. Perhaps he acquired it on his wild goose chase through the casino; either that or it was already living on his desk as a souvenir, won during a wild night out many moons ago. Its origins don’t particularly matter in the grand scheme of things. What matters is that its weight provides a pleasant distraction from the lecture he is currently fighting to drown out.

“-ark!”

He clenches his eyes shut and flinches as his peaceful bubble bursts into vapour, leaving his nerves exposed and frayed. The poker chip slips between his fingers, clattering on the hard wood of his desk before slipping to the floor, and he forces himself to take a steadying breath before his resolve can shatter. Breaking apart now will do him no favours. Especially considering that the one who’ll bear witness to his unravelling is the last person he wants to reveal any weakness to.

“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you?” Murphy observes when Mark finally draws his eyes towards the screen. The scathing edge to the man’s tone is not lost on him, but overall his voice is impressively calm. One could be forgiven for believing that he wasn’t seething with liquid rage, but Mark knows better. This call is taking place a whole four days earlier than scheduled, which is a frankly terrible omen as far as he’s concerned.

A particularly startling detail is the fact that Murphy appears...unsettled. He’s clearly trying to conceal that fact with all his might, but Mark knows how to read Murphy’s expressions better than anyone. That same anguish has faced him in the mirror too many times to count. Upon answering the call, he had been struck by the messier appearance of Murphy’s hair – eyes fixated on the stray curl obscuring his forehead – alongside the added lines carved into his brow; had found himself honing in on the tightness of his jaw and every minute twitch that rocked his slender frame. Something is preying on Murphy’s mind – more so than his usual troubles – and Mark doubts he wants to uncover the source of that unease.

“Sorry,” he forces out eventually, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and taking an exaggerated breath to sell his exhausted façade, not that there’s much falsehood to it. “Haven’t been feeling well lately. Zoned out for a bit.”

As excuses go, it’s rather paper-thin and they both know it. Mark reluctantly meets Murphy’s gaze, schooling his expression into one of apologetic sincerity, and he can’t help but wonder if the persistent impassivity on the other man’s face is equally forced.

“Hmm,” Murphy hums dismissively, settling against his high-backed chair and capturing Mark with eyes which appear almost black in the office’s dim light. It must be late wherever he is, which only heightens the impression that Mark is eating into his time like a disruptive child having to be held back after school. “And are you back with us now?”

“Yeah,” Mark says without thinking. Experience has taught him that any other answer will not be tolerated. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Murphy doesn’t appear convinced. Large, piercing eyes continue to bore through Mark via the computer screen, and he cannot help but shift uncomfortably in his seat. The similarities between the pair of them appear starker in this moment than they have in years, albeit Mark imagines he must look like a second-rate version of the put-together businessman facing him. Their resemblance has never felt like a crueller coincidence, especially as any certainty about his own identity is already crumbling to dust in the wake of Matthew’s weighted farewell.

Eventually, Murphy stops trying to dissect Mark with a gaze and merely huffs a sigh, before launching into the topic he seems to have been waiting for all evening.

“I’ve been reliably informed that you had some...interesting company the other night.”

The man’s delivery remains remarkably flat, but the accusatory undertones are clear as day and Mark releases a choked laugh that surprises even himself. Of course this is about Matthew. Mark is honestly stumped as to why that fact even surprises him. Why else would his boss call him out of the blue if not to address the weird fucking circumstances of the other night?

He wonders who the whistleblower was. One of the guests? Andrew? The barman had certainly struggled to keep a straight face when he’d served Matthew the other night; his judgement of Mark’s choice of drinking partner clear as day with every sideways glance. Shame. Mark has always liked Andrew. Not enough to trust him, perhaps, but enough that the possibility of his thoughtless betrayal stings.

“Y’know what, I’m actually impressed!” he admits, a crooked smile lingering on his lips as he shakes his head. “Didn’t expect you to be so upfront about the fact that you’re spying on me.”

“Enough with the games, Mark!” Murphy snaps, his resolve finally shattering. A twinge of satisfaction tugs at Mark’s heart as he watches that impenetrable exterior bend a little; the cracks beginning to show at last. Whatever game is truly afoot is clearly shaking Murphy to his core, despite his valiant attempts to hide it. “Do you mind explaining to me why you were with him?”

Him. No name, no identity of any sort, yet Mark doesn’t need to ask who exactly has Murphy so riled up. Treacherous curiosity sinks its claws into his brain as he wonders what influence Matthew could possibly hold over a man like Murphy, but he doesn’t dare ask. Not yet anyway.

“I wasn’t with him,” he retaliates, with perhaps more bitterness than he intends. The underlying insinuation hardly offends him, but the thought of his every move being observed and speculated upon even in the supposed freedom of his evenings is enough to make his skin crawl. “I wanted to get drunk. So did he. We just happened to do it in the same place and figured we might as well chat for a bit like normal people.”

There’s a minute shift at that, so subtle that Mark doubts anyone else could have picked up on it. The moment is so fleeting that he finds himself second-guessing if what he saw was real or imagined, but the heaviness settling in his chest - coiling around his heart and lungs – is enough to assure him that it was genuine. That Murphy’s eyes had widened, albeit only slightly, and his breath had caught on a sharp inhale. If Mark didn’t know him better, he may even begin to suspect that the man was afraid.

“Did you discuss anything in particular?” Murphy asks eventually, schooling his voice into one of flippant curiosity. His effort to convey only mild interest is admirable, though Mark has to conceal a proud smirk when the man’s eyes dart to the side, betraying his lingering unease. He thinks he can just about handle the suffocating awkwardness of their conversation so long as he gets to watch Murphy squirm as well, like a feeble woodland creature caught in a trap.

“Good scotch and theoretical physics if you must know,” Mark snaps, exerting far less energy on keeping his voice level than Murphy is. He pulls his gaze away from the screen as white-hot rage simmers in his veins, making every breath feel as though they’re being yanked from his ribs. The temptation to plant his fist in the screen is momentarily overwhelming – it would certainly put an end to this infuriating conversation – but he settles for clenching his hands in his lap until the knuckles go white. On any other day, he would be able to control himself where Murphy is concerned, but at this particular moment he finds he cannot even recognise himself. No doubt the fault for that lies more with Matthew than Murphy, but Matt isn’t here to face Mark’s confused wrath. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business.”

Silence washes over them like a towering wave during a storm. Mark’s breathing suddenly feels unbearably rapid and, in the absence of external stimuli, his heartbeat pounds against his eardrums with enough ferocity that he can feel the blood rushing to his head. On the screen, Murphy recoils as though slapped, and his body stiffens as the weight of Mark’s outburst settles in the air. Mark forces himself to look and wishes he hadn’t; feels dread coil in his gut as Murphy’s face goes white and his jaw clenches with the effort of containing his unmistakable loathing.

Such ugly rage is not something Mark ever wanted to see on a face so strikingly similar to his own. The mere sight of it makes him feel like a child. Suddenly he’s five years old again, crouched beside his mother’s shattered vase with the football-shaped culprit cradled in his arms; heart in his mouth as he waits for her to return home with hot shame flaring in his cheeks. Only, Murphy’s temperament is nothing like his mother’s, who had simply laughed off his mistake and urged him to be more careful in future as he hugged her tightly (“Or at least aim for the green one next time love, you know I hate that one...”). No doubt if it were physically possible, Murphy would reach through the screen and throttle him until his eyes rolled back into his skull, and Mark has never been more grateful for the colossal distance between them.

Hours seem to have passed by the time Murphy’s deep scowl morphs into a sardonic smile, the edges of his lips tugging upwards with visible effort, and it occurs to Mark that the man’s undisguised fury may have been preferable.

“Careful now,” Murphy says in a low voice, head tilting to the side as he traps Mark under the weight of his gaze. “Need I remind you that you still answer to me?”

Mark thinks that even if he wanted to speak, he wouldn’t be able to. His throat feels tight, to the point where he wonders if Murphy has figured out how to wrap his fingers around his neck from thousands of miles away. His heart continues to race as though he’s just completed a sprint at the Olympics, and his eyes feel impossibly heavy, seeking recompense for all their hours of lost sleep. In the end he settles for answering Murphy’s question with a minute shake of his head and hopes that it’ll be enough. He’ll be damned if he utters an apology as well.

The gesture seems to suffice. Murphy drops the degrading smirk and draws his lips into a tight line, but his eyes soften and he sits back with a sigh which seems to carry all his pent-up frustration with it. In the ensuing quiet, Mark is left with the distinct impression that he’s just dodged a bullet; not for the first time this week.

That thought, as so many others have over the past three days, bring him back to Matthew. Or rather, to Matthew’s mysterious assailants. They certainly hadn’t been associated with the hotel any more than Matt himself had, and Mark can’t help but wonder if Murphy was the one who sent them. Sending armed individuals into a hotel full of innocent civilians seems extreme even for Murphy, but his apparent hatred for Matthew may have overwhelmed any sense of moral decency he still possesses.

Which of course brings his mind back to Matthew himself. For all his eccentricities, he certainly hadn’t seemed threatening. Nor did he seem to have a particular agenda, and even if he did, he hadn’t been particularly forceful in trying to convert Mark to his cause. All they’d really done was discuss some theoretical possibilities which Mark had no interest in believing. While he cannot deny that Matt’s questions have been looping around his brain endlessly, he still can’t bring himself to question the nature of his reality with too much scrutiny. Whether that’s because he truly believes Matthew to be a madman or because the possibility that he may be right terrifies him more than he’s willing to admit, Mark cannot say. All he knows is that life was much simpler before he met that mysterious traveller, though that doesn’t mean he has any desire to betray him on Murphy’s behalf.

Murphy considers him a threat though. He may not have admitted as much out loud, but his demeanor has been screaming it loud and clear from the moment Matthew was first referenced.

“Who is he?” Mark asks, inwardly scolding himself for doing a terrible job at hiding his desperation for answers. At this point in time, he thinks he may burst if forced to endure any more mysteries.

“Nobody you should concern yourself with,” Murphy offers dismissively, though he must sense Mark’s curiosity strongly enough to throw him a bone. Albeit a paper-thin one that’s been used as a dog’s chew toy a tad too long. “In saying that, I would strongly advise against interacting with him further. He’s dangerous, Mark. If left to his own devices, he will destroy everything you’ve built.”

‘Everything I’ve built or everything you’ve built?’ Mark finds himself pondering as his brows furrow with confusion, though he thinks better of voicing it. ‘Dangerous’ is not an adjective he would have used to describe Matthew, and if he’d sought to harm Mark or damage the hotel in any way then he’d done a piss-poor job of showing it. Contrary to his hopes, Murphy’s response has simply left him further in the dark, and he’s beginning to doubt he’ll ever be able to crawl out of it.

It occurs to him that he hasn’t yet addressed the biggest question remaining from that night. The detail which had left him unable to sleep as his mind replayed one specific moment over and over, like a highlights reel condensed down to ten critical seconds.

“He recognised me,” Mark admits, voice small and lifeless as though all traces of energy have been sapped from him. Perhaps he truly has been drained. Murphy’s always had that effect on him even on the best of days.

“Of course he did,” Murphy scoffs, and the bitter amusement in his eyes is enough to make Mark’s blood boil. “You’re rather famous, or so I’m told.”

Oh, he’s well aware of that. Except that isn’t the issue, not the crux of it anyway. Matt had certainly acknowledged his status often enough to make it clear that he knew who he was, but as the night had worn on, his aloof attitude had morphed into something approaching fondness. With his final words, Matthew had bade farewell as though addressing an old friend, despite the fact that Mark could have sworn blind that he’d never laid eyes on him in his life.

Only, as time has passed, that line of thinking has started to feel less and less accurate. Even during their conversation he’d been plagued by a nagging sense of familiarity which had been quickly cast aside, though the fact that Matt acknowledged that same familiarity has reignited his curiosity in the aftermath. And while he cannot pin down a specific memory, he has found himself plagued by occasional... flashes. Tiny details, like remnants of a half-forgotten dream or individual components of a jigsaw puzzle with several missing pieces.

He sees a mass of people sitting at round tables in one flash. The spark of a camera in another. Scattered laughter and a lingering sense of self-consciousness as he takes in the faces of the crowd. A desperate need to be anywhere else coiling in his alcohol-soaked gut. Perhaps the setting was a fancy dinner somewhere, though at one point his brain brings up the possibility of an awards ceremony and something vital clicks into place.

He only catches a glimpse of Matthew in one of those puzzle pieces; the fleeting memory coming to him during a fitful doze in the wee hours of the morning. He looks markedly younger, with tamed flat hair and a suit that somehow appears more awkward on his skinny frame than his ridiculous neon jacket had, but his eyes are bright and his smile is sincere in an environment where so many smiles seem feigned for Mark’s benefit. Any concrete recollection beyond that image remains locked away, though Mark had awoken with the words, “Saw you guys playing the other day, you sounded great!” circling his head like a pack of vultures.

Despite his efforts, he cannot combine those flashes into a coherent whole. They feel too scattered, as though someone has taken a scalpel and carefully removed all the connective tissue from the scene. At times he finds himself doubting that the memories are even his. They feel too detached from his current existence to slot easily within his known lifespan, and surely a fancy dinner or ceremony with that level of grandeur would have stuck in his memory beyond mere snippets of recollection? Surely such a significant event would be memorable enough on its own, rather than concealed behind an impenetrable brick wall?

“That’s not what I meant,” he manages to spit out, and he could swear that some of Murphy’s smugness fades at that utterance. As his next words threaten to spill forth, Mark takes a deep breath and lowers his gaze, feeling his resolve waver with each passing moment. “He called me Alex.”

With his eyes trained on the hardwood floor beneath his feet, Mark misses the way Murphy freezes as his admission is released into the open. At the end of the day, this is the true issue which has been gnawing at his heart since Matthew christened him with that random name; one which he’d mindlessly accepted without argument. The name has spent a considerable amount of time circulating his mind these past three days, bringing with it a persistent ache which grows in severity the longer he dwells on it. It’s the same ache which plagues him whenever his mind strays towards home, or whenever a childhood memory returns to him unbidden, or whenever he considers taking someone back to his room only to be seized by an inescapable sense of guilt. It’s an ache which shouldn’t belong, yet is as much a part of him as his flesh and blood. And much as the prospect disturbs him, the name ‘Alex’ seems to fit him like a glove in a way that ‘Mark’ never has.

Which doesn’t make sense. One of those names was given to him at the moment of his birth, whereas the other has only been used in reference to himself on one occasion. His attitude should be the complete opposite, and yet somehow hearing the name ‘Alex’ felt like he’d been handed an important puzzle piece without knowing what he was supposed to do with it.

Realising that the silence has stretched for far too long, he lifts his eyes to meet Murphy’s once more, unable to mask his surprise when he notes an amused smile creeping across the man’s thin face. It doesn’t go far enough to reach his eyes – Murphy's smiles never do – but it has the desired effect of sending a chill down Mark’s spine as a sudden wave of dread sinks in his gut like a stone. He feels once again like he’s caught in a trap, and that impression only intensifies as Murphy’s voice spills into the room like melted butter.

“Well he was clearly mistaken, wasn’t he?”

As if on cue, an unmistakable fog descends upon Mark’s mind and caresses his scalp like a lover’s touch, attempting to soothe his anxieties and banish them to the lost recesses of his subconsciousness. Only this time he knows it’s coming. This time he knows to anticipate it. The instant a familiar numbing haze slips into his skull, he clenches his eyes shut and curls his hands into tight fists, resisting the mental intrusion with all the strength he can muster.

“His name was Matthew,” he inwardly screams into the void. “He knew me. I think I must have known him too. He called me Alex. His name was Matthew...”

He clings to those truths with a desperation he can’t explain, repeating them like a mantra in his battered mind. The fog doesn’t abate, but his efforts go some way in holding it back; securing his consciousness to the present moment, even as the temptation to drift into a pleasant lie persists.

And then, just when things are beginning to feel a little too easy, he forces out an agonised cry as sharp pain lances through his skull and explodes behind his eyeballs.

The agony is so intense that he curls into himself, body taut and aching. Tears stream down his face and a fine line of sweat trickles from his brow as the pain pulses in time with his heartbeat; a persistent throb which feels like someone has stuck a hot poker through his temple and is now moving it back and forth. Forcing air through clenched teeth, he casts aside any sense of humiliation over his tears or involuntary whimpers, and instead focuses on the task at hand; clinging to his mantra with renewed desperation as he wards off the brutal assault on his senses.

“His name was Matthew. He knew me. I knew him too. He called me Alex... Am I Alex?”

He cannot say how long the pain lasts. The moment seems to stretch on for eternity with no end in sight, and he wonders whether the agony will cause him to pass out or simply kill him outright. Every breath escapes in the form of a choked gasp and long hair clings to his face as a film of cool sweat coats his brow, but he refuses to stop fighting no matter how sweet the thought of release might be. At one point his eyes must have opened again, but it makes no difference at all. His vision whitened out long ago, banishing the relative comfort of his suite to the realm of distant memory.

And then – at the critical point where he begins to consider surrender – the pain stops. A choked sob tears itself from his throat and he has to swallow his own bile before it can spill onto the floor. His breathing remains shaky and uneven, but he no longer feels like he’s suffocating, and with considerable effort he loosens his grip on the armrests before they can snap. For those first few seconds his mind feels so blessedly quiet that he’s tempted to let exhaustion claim him right there and then, but he somehow manages to cling to consciousness. Something still feels wrong. There’s a wave of anxiety creeping beneath his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and it occurs to him far too late that his vision has yet to clear. All-consuming white has morphed into a muted blur, the image before him crackling like television static, and when he lifts his eyes in the general direction of the computer screen, long seconds pass before he realises what’s wrong with the image before him.

Murphy is gone. That much is evident even before his vision starts to clear. The image on the screen is too dark to resemble the light teal shade of the man’s office, and the vaguely humanoid blob in the centre of the frame is clearly not the outline of the man Mark knows all too well. Nothing can truly prepare him for the moment his vision clears though, and he finds the air being sucked from the room as his blood turns to ice.

In Murphy’s place is a creature which looks as though someone has dug up a corpse and bathed its yellowed bones in molten silver. Only the lower portion of its skull is visible; a gaping socket resting where a nose may once have been and a wide jaw braced in a wordless snarl. Obscuring the eye sockets and cradling the upper half of its face is an oversized helmet - not unlike a motorbike helmet on Earth or the VR mask resting in a case by Mark’s feet - with thick grooves embedded in the metal lining and a pair of screws giving off the impression of eyes. The image looks like the monster a child would conjure when asked to describe the creature lurking under their bed, and the mixture of assorted screws and plates embedded in a fading skeletal torso make Mark wonder if the being was once human, before someone set about replacing all organic components with metal.

It occurs to him that he hasn’t dared move a muscle, nor has he so much as breathed since his vision cleared, and he can feel his lungs screaming in protest. He doesn’t dare move, however. Not even to breathe.

“-ark?”

The spell breaks. The image before him shatters in the blink of an eye, though not before Mark sees the creature tilting its head and relaxing its jaw into what might be a smile. Light returns to the room and his lungs sing with relief as he finally provides them with precious oxygen, though his heart is still promising to exhaust itself if it doesn’t slow its pace soon. Frantic brown eyes turn to see Murphy sitting in his usual spot with an unusually relaxed expression, as though nothing untoward has happened in the interim. In comparison, Mark imagines he must look like a frightened deer caught in the headlights; wild-eyed and rigid, with hair clinging to his forehead and sweat soaking through his shirt. The grotesque image of that... thing still lingers in his mind like a horrifying echo, even when he casts a glance over the room to see nothing out of the ordinary. The only plausible explanation he can summon is that the creature was a hallucination, similar to the impossible corridor from the other night.

And yet, somehow, that explanation doesn’t sit right with him. No matter how impossible it may seem, his instinct screams at him that the vision was real and not simply the product of pain-induced delirium. He cannot explain where this certainty comes from, other than this; when presented with the most horrific sight his brain could possibly conjure, the main impression which lingers in the quiet aftermath is a vague sense of recognition.

“Earth to Mark?” Murphy says, forcing Mark’s attention back to him once more. To his surprise, there’s a sense of enjoyment lurking beneath the man’s tone rather than anger, and the crooked smile combined with a single raised eyebrow betrays a pervading sense of amusement. “I was merely suggesting that if you should run into dear old Matthew in future, I want you to report him to me immediately. Do I have your word?”

He isn’t sure what to say to that. The words make sense individually, but in combination they make a jumbled soup which refuse to coalesce into anything solid in Mark’s mind. In light of everything that has transpired in the last ten minutes, Matthew seems like an insignificant memory, though Mark imagines that couldn’t be further from the truth. Every inch of his body hurts and his brain can’t focus on anything without being rocked by aftershocks of pain and terror. He wishes he could wipe the smug smile off Murphy’s face. God only knows what spectacle that man must have borne witness to as Mark fought off wave after wave of agony, but his clear enjoyment of Mark’s discomfort is setting his teeth on edge. It almost feels like Murphy knows what Mark has just experienced; as if he knows what he saw and is now basking in the satisfaction of watching his plaything’s torment. Almost as if...

As if he’d orchestrated it. As if he’d planned every second of Mark’s anguish and set it into motion from the safety of Earth, like a bully holding a magnifying glass between the sun’s rays and an unsuspecting ant and watching it burn.

“Mark?”

That assumption can’t be right. Matthew’s theory can’t be right. And yet, all other explanations are currently in the process of eluding him. Even when he turns away from the screen, he cannot get the image of Murphy’s smug satisfaction out of his head.

“You have my word,” he utters, almost as an afterthought, too tired and defeated to argue further.

Not that it matters in the end. They both know the promise is a lie.

#Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino #Simulation Theory #Arctic Monkeys #Muse #my fic #writing

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goodvibesatpeace · 6 years ago

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Dealing with energy vampires

Energy. It’s the very strength and vitality we require to live a dynamic, driven and determined life. We all have it and we all need it, yet many of us find ourselves lifeless and lethargic by the end (and sometimes at the beginning), of the day.Life is precious and unpredictably short-lived.

It’s no wonder then, that many of us drag ourselves through each day miserable and melancholic with the thought that we could be living much better lives.Throughout the ages, high-energy has been associated with happy, vivacious people, and low-energy with depressed and apathetic people.

Unfortunately, psychosomatic medicine has shown a strong link between the mind and body, meaning that the less energy we possess, the more prone we’ll be to suffer from illnesses such as depression, anxiety and other mood disorders.

It’s true that the healthy and happy person is one filled with energy. Without energy, how can we fulfill our dreams, pursue our goals and overcome our obstacles? Without energy, how can we hope to truly achieve anything of meaning or significance in life? It’s true that some people naturally possess more energy than others, but have you ever considered why? Certainly, genetics play a role, but more importantly the environment around us does as well.

EVERYTHING IS ENERGY

If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration. ~ Nikola Tesla

At a sub-atomic level, all that exists in life is composed of vibrating atoms, or pure energy. Even incorporeal things such as our thoughts, emotions, instincts and sexual drives can be said to be composed of energy. So essentially, we live in an ocean of motion, and like in the ocean – or any environment on earth for that matter – there are both predators and prey.

ENERGY VAMPIRES

In life, there are just some people who tend to drain us of energy very quickly. If you’re a Highly Sensitive Person, or an Empath, you will be very aware of who sucks your energy and when.

However, not all of us are as sensitive or in-tune with our bodies, and this can be difficult and confusing to deal with. While some people argue that Energy Vampires are people who can’t sustain their own life force in a positive manner, others speculate that Energy Vampires are well-meaning and normal, yet naturally overbearing people. The point of this article, however, is not to delve into the psychology of the Energy Vampire, but to identify and explore ways to strengthen and energize our lives in light of them.

There are two types of Energy Vampires:

Physical Energy Vampires

Some people are not able to continue on in this life without taking energy from those around them whether they know it or not.

They often have emotional or mental issues that drain them causing them to feed off of the energy of others.

An energetic part inside of this person attaches itself to you, and sets up the whole thing. This could be any person in your life a coworker, friend, family member, ETC.

Non-Physical Energy Vampires

These types of vampires often go undetected and enter our lives with ease. They are opportunists who will attach to energy siphons that another human is using.

They hit the hardest when you deal with something like trauma, injuries, addiction, and even extreme fear

HOW TO IDENTIFY THE ENERGY VAMPIRE

You will experience the following symptoms of being:

Overwhelmed

Stressed

Physically ill (e.g. headaches, body aches, etc.)

Mentally or physically exhausted

Irritable and/or anxious

You may notice that the Energy Vampire displays many of the following characteristics:

Big ego, e.g. loves to debate, argue and pick fights.

Aggressive or passive-aggressive tendencies.

Paranoia.

Resentment and anger issues.

Narcissism

Melodramatic behavior.

Whining and complaining.

Bitching and gossiping.

Insecurity, e.g. the constant need for reassurance and acceptance.

Manipulative behaviors, e.g. guilt tripping, emotional blackmail etc.

Jealousy.

Energy Vampires are, in most cases, takers rather than givers who gain free therapy sessions with their family, friends, lovers, colleagues and even children and strangers who are on the receiving end.

It’s also good to realize that Energy Vampires are not always necessarily human beings. They can also be situations or even physical objects in your life. Examples include:

The internet

The TV.

Other electronic devices (e.g. the radio, mobile phone, etc.)

Public situations (e.g. crowds, parties, train stations, shopping centers etc.)

Animals (e.g. neurotic pets)

The hardest thing about suffering at the hands of an Energy Vampire is when they are part of your family or friends circle. How can we regain our vitality in such energy-sucking relationships?

Sure you may be the prey, but there’s no use in playing the role of the victim. To better your life you need to do something. Here are some suggestions:

1. STOP MAKING PROLONGED EYE-CONTACT.

I’ve personally found that this is one of the biggest energy absorbers. The more eye-contact you make, the more you engage with the other person and what they have to say. Only occasional eye-contact is necessary in this instance.

2. SET A TIME LIMIT.

Your time is precious as well, and it’s not necessary for you to sit around for 1 or 2 hours having your energy zapped and brain numbed. According to your energy level, set a limit of 5, 10, 15, 20 minutes where you can give your focus to the person, and no more.

3. LEARN NOT TO REACT.

This is very important. The Energy Vampire feeds off the reactions of others, fueling them to continue on interacting with you. It’s important for you to learn how to be neutral in your interactions with others, meaning that the display of overly positive or negative emotions should be monitored carefully.

4. LEARN NOT TO ARGUE OR CONTRADICT.

Yes it’s tempting, but in the long run you can’t change other people unless they change themselves first – the more you resist them, the more they will resist (and drain) you.

5. GO WITH OTHER PEOPLE.

Approaching the Energy Vampire with 1, 2 or 3 other people will help decrease the level of effort expended, and attention received. For this to work you need to ensure that the additional people aren’t psychic leeches either.

6. LISTEN MORE THAN TALK.

A lot of the time Energy Vampires simply want and need a listening ear. The more you talk, the more energy you tend to lose (especially if you’re introverted). Using words such as “why”, “when” and “how” will encourage the psychic sucker to do most of the talking, which in turn will help preserve your energy.

7. TRY STICKING TO LIGHT-HEARTED TOPICS.

Your conversations don’t need to be depressive and oppressive. Take control when necessary and change the topic of conversation to something more light and simple.

8. VISUALIZE.

Many people claim that visualizing protective light/energy shields around them helps to deflect psychic fatigue, and maintain a neutral and calm state of mind. Try it some time.

9. AVOID WHEN POSSIBLE.

This is not always possible, but is a simple and straight-forward technique to assist in your self-preservation. I don’t recommend this as a consistent resolution, as the less you come in contact with the Vampire/s the less opportunity you’ll have to develop, and put into practice, a useful and necessary life skill.

10. CUT OFF CONTACT.

This is the last resort. Sometimes for your own health and happiness, you need to make difficult decisions regarding who you choose to surround yourself with. In the end, if you continue to suffer, the best option may be to simply cut ties and move on.

11. MEDITATE

Sometimes meditation really can solve this issue. Give yourself some time to break away from the chaos and recenter yourself. It works wonders for keeping negative energy and stress away!

12. STOP TRYING TO FIT IN

When you shrink yourself to fit into a group you are allowing yourself to be walked on. You never need to be less than what you truly are for sake of being accepted.

13. STOP TALKING TO PEOPLE THAT TALK AT YOU INSTEAD OF TO YOU

People who leave you feeling drained after phone calls or in person visits should not be apart of your life.

14. STOP LETTING PEOPLE MAKE YOU FEEL GUILTY FOR NOT LIVING UP TO THEIR EXPECTATIONS

JUST BE YOURSELF, YOU ARE ENOUGH!

15. STOP LETTING OTHER PEOPLE WALK ALL OVER YOU

Doing the things other people want you to, even when you don’t want to is not right. You should never let people manipulate you into doing things for the wrong reasons.

16. STOP HAVING MEANINGLESS SEX

You should be sleeping with someone who loves you as you do them, not someone who you know is using you. Meaningful sex is the best sex.

17. STOP STAYING IN TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS BECAUSE THEY ARE FAMILIAR

18. STOP STAYING IN ABUSIVE SITUATIONS

Remember that in all of this you could also be stealing someone’s energy to combat the loss of your own.

If you want to make sure you are not stealing the energy of others maintain a good sense of self-love and do not let your inner strength die off.

You are Worthy... You are Enough

Much love to all... go in peace my beautiful friends 💕💕💕

Protect your energy!

#empath #energy #vampire #energy vampire #protect #meditation

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benisolo · 7 years ago

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𝕀𝕥'𝕤 𝕐𝕠𝕦

by benisolo/anniesscribbles (Ao3)

Ben Solo sensed it everywhere- a benevolent, warmth that reached out to him through the Force. It was kind and comforting and... oddly familiar. Even when Ben ignored the soul's nudges- when his mind was too clouded with thoughts about his and Rey's growing child- the sweet spirit stood beside him.

Warning: pregnancy, children

He first felt it in the night- a small warmth in the force. The presence was close, but soft. To Ben, it felt like a whisper- a whisper that was only barely perceptible over the fiery, overwhelming signature of his wife, who lay right beside him.

Ben was at a loss for sleep. Rey had been ill for days and it was weighing on him heavily. Everyday he would hold her hair and stroke her back as she wretched with tears in her eyes. Ben tried desperately to heal her, to send her comfort through the force, but he was still out of practice in the ways of the light. All he could do was lie awake and worry about her, the one he loved more than himself.

As the night crawled on, the anxieties worsened. Just when he was about to weep with worry, that the warmth nudged at him.

Normally, Ben would have been alarmed at the unfamiliar presence. And yet, somehow he was... comforted?

“It must be some native creature.” Ben wrote off the notion immediately. He and Rey had only recently settled into their new home on Chandrila, so he was not yet used to all the new creatures and their signatures. He hadn’t been on his home-world since he was a child, before his powers awoke, so the benevolent presence must have been a native being he had forgotten in the past two-decades. That the most logical answer at least.

He didn’t feel it again for 2 standard weeks, but this time, he did not take notice. Ben was a little... distracted.

Rey had been doing better than a couple weeks before- she was able to keep her food down at least every other day. She had lost weight, which worried Ben more than anything else; his wife was already lithe of build, there wasn’t much left to lose. He had to help her get her strength back.

Ben cooked her a full, sprawling breakfast with Iktotch toast and vakiir eggs. He was finishing up on the roseberry jam when Rey entered the room. She didn’t look physically unwell but her expression was pained.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” Ben questioned, instantly going through all the treatment methods in his head.

Rey paused for a moment that felt like a lifetime. “Nothing,” she considered the statement, “at least I hope not?”

“What do you mean?” Ben asked in bewilderment. He padded slowly over to his wife, in a way one would approach a spooked animal, as she gathered her thoughts.

“Well, nothing is wrong. In fact, everything is absolutely amazing. I’m just overwhelmed and worried and I don’t know...” Rey spewed without taking a breath.

“Hey, hey,” Ben cut her off gently, taking her small hands in his. “Just breathe love.” He brushed a stray hair out of Rey’s eyes then led her to the sofa.

“Now,” Ben said softly, “tell me slowly.” He kept his composure outwardly, for her sake, but inside, Ben was falling apart with worry.

Rey took a deep sigh. “Ben I...” she sucked in more air. She couldn’t meet his gaze. “I have wanted this a long time but now it’s here and I’m terrified.” Ben gave her (and himself, if he was being honest) an encouraging nod.

“I’m pregnant.”

Ben’s first instinct was to exclaim “What?!” Had he heard correctly? Was Rey messing with him? Was it a prank?

His second instinct was the usual: dread and self-loathing. How could he, the ex-Supreme Leader of a destructive regime, the fool who demolished the Jedi temple, the man with so much blood on his hands, including his father’s, call himself a father? Ben still felt like he didn’t deserve to call Rey his wife, so how could he call the pure being she carried his child?

These thoughts and infinitely more raced through Ben’s mind. Once he had processed meaning of the statement, Ben had just enough brain capacity to close his hanging jaw.

Rey stared back at Ben with eyes colored in anxiety. He barely noticed it, but behind the anxiety, Rey’s hazel eyes gleamed with anticipation.

“Well?” Rey’s voice rang like a bell, arousing him from his stupor. How long had he been staring at her in silence?

Ben knew Rey needed him to speak, to reassure her, but try as he might, Ben could not utter a word. His vocal cords were just as petrified as he was.

Emotions continued to churn within Ben. If his heart was the sea, this would be high tide.

Without thought, Ben tugged the oven-mitt off his hand. As if by its own accord, that hand crept towards Rey.

With the most tender of touches, Ben’s placed his hand on his wife’s abdomen. Her stomach was still toned and flat- there was no indication that she was with child. But Ben knew better. The instant his fingertips brushed Rey’s skin, he felt it.

The whole scene glimmered with deja vu, not just the gentle touch of his fingertips against skin, but the future he saw. That same future he had seen on Ahch-To. The energy pulsing through the force was unmistakable. Ben had held his wife many times and never had he felt an energy such as this. Rey’s melody and the little one’s rang in perfect harmony.

“Ben, love?” Again, Rey brought him back to reality. “Are you upset?” Her bottom lip quivered like a porglet.

Ben just couldn’t help it- warm laughter rolled up his throat and his face split into the biggest smile he had ever had. He was giggling like a Hapan handmaid. Ben’s joy shone from every inch of his soul, overwhelming the still, small presence that still reached out toward his hand, until it was imperceptible.

His arms gently enveloped Rey’s lovely form as he continued to shake with glee. Ben showered every inch of her face and shoulders and neck with fluttering kisses.

“Oh my darling girl,” he kissed her cheek, “my beautiful Rey,” he pecked her forehead then look straight into her warm hazel gaze, “I have never been happier in my entire life.”

Over the next few months, the presence of the little soul grew, but as did Ben’s distractions.

“Love, you’ve been at it for hours, take a break.” Rey pleaded with her husband, though she knew it would be in vain.

Tools and parts were sprawled across the floor of the young couple’s spare room. Much to Rey’s annoyance, Ben had taken on the ridiculous, overly-complicated task of assembling the baby’s cot. Rey was now little more than four standard months along. Due to her athletic build, she hadn’t even started showing yet. And yet, her husband’s nesting instincts had already started running rampant.

“Ben, honey, we have at least 4 months until we even have to start worrying about the nursery.” Then again, it may take four months to figure out these assembly directions, Rey added bitterly to herself.

“It’s better to get it done now- in the later months we have to worry about birthing classes and decorating and names and parenting techniques...” His list drawled on.

“I could help you?” She suggested.

Ben immediately retorted, “No! You’re carrying precious cargo.” He sounded much too similar to Han in that moment. Rey rolled her eyes at his remark- perhaps reasoning was out of the question- but there was one thing that Rey knew would shut him up.

“We still haven’t told your mother.”

“Kriff.” Ben grumbled. How could he have forgotten to tell his mother? “She’s gonna kill me.” He exclaimed like a whiney adolescent.

Rey skillfully covered her chortles and knelt down beside her spouse. “Leia won’t kill you,” she placed a soft hand on his shoulder, “she’ll be overjoyed.”

Neither lover noticed the presence in that moment- the little hand that desperately wanted to mirror the woman to comfort the gentle man.

It wasn’t long before the presence reached out again.

Ben and Rey had invited his mother over for dinner just 2 standard days after the cot-incident. Luckily, (or unluckily, depending on how you look at it) the newly re-elected Senator was only one jump away from her son and daughter-in-law.

Ben was mortified. How was he supposed to elegantly serve his mother a plate of homemade meatlump, (he had no time to go to the market to get more elegant ingredients) then proceed to casually bring up that his wife was almost halfway through her pregnancy? Princess Leia Organa did not raise him to neglect sharing news such as this, and she certainly didn’t raise him to offer his guests such provincial meals as meatlump.

“Ben, you’re in a tizzy,” Rey began, “It’ll be fine!” Despite her reassurances, Ben continued to shrivel up like a leaf on Jakku.

At that moment, there was a gentle wrap at the door. Please preserve me through this agony, Ben pleaded with his Maker. Rey danced over to the door and clicked the lock open.

“My gorgeous daughter,” “General!” “You look well,” “Not nearly as well as yourself!” The two women tittered loudly in the hall. Ben hung back, awkward as ever, until he was summoned.

“Come here stranger!” His mother bellowed in her warm, raspy tone as she opened her arms for an embrace. Reluctantly, Ben obliged.

The next couple hours were a blur to Ben. His mind was consumed with plans of what he would say. In the blink of an eye, dessert was being served.

Ben... you’re running out of chances. Rey called out through their bond as Leia ranted about the reorganization of the Galactic Senate.

I know. He grumbled.

Do you want me to bring it up? Rey inquired.

I can handle it. Could he?

Back in the land of the living, Leia’s elaborate tale continued. “So I have to tell the Coruscanti representative, ‘This is the Senate floor, not a cantina and if you keep doing that...’” They never heard the end of the story.

“Mother.” Ben interrupted in a voice much louder and more robotic than he intended. His chagrin burned, but he continued. “I have a very important announcement to make.” Should he sound this monotone and rehearsed?

“She’s pregnant.” Leia quipped as she skewered her last bit of cake.

“Um... uh... how?” The couple sputtered in bemusement.

“Mother’s instinct?” Leia threw out. What the older woman failed to mention was that, in reality, she knew the instant the door opened that her little family had grown. When Leia greeted Rey, she knew she was greeting two. Leia didn’t try to explain to herself why she knew this, she just knew it. She knew there was a soul in the house who desperately wanted to meet her, a soul that wanted to meet their grandmother.

For years, Leia had supposed that when this day came that she would cry and laugh and exclaim, but she surprised herself. In her heart, Leia did not feel the need for chaotic celebrations. All Leia felt was contentment; contentment that the final puzzle piece to her less than peaceful life was preparing to be placed.

That evening, Leia’s heart hummed with peace because of the little soul. The little soul hummed in unison.

The days flew by like star-lines. Ben and Rey lived their life in milestones, months, and medical check-ups. The soul simply counted down the days.

Rey had now been pregnant for 6 standard months. In some ways these months seemed to fly by for Ben, (who knew it would take so long to assemble a cot?) and in other ways, they dragged on infinitely (fragile, attractive wives can be simply torturous to passionate men like Ben Solo).

Yet, these busy months were all worth it because of days like these. Today, they were going in to see the baby. Sort of.

“You have to promise me you’re not going to look Ben!” Rey nagged in her little proper accent as the couple took their seats in the waiting room. It took all of Ben’s self control not to roll his eyes. Even though she was being a drama-queen, Ben couldn’t help finding her every move endearing, even her anxious toe tapping.

He placed a large hand on his wife’s knee, “You’re annoying her,” Her being their child. Both he and Rey used this excuse frequently, in fact, Rey had used the same one this morning (“Stop eating all of the sweets Ben, you’re annoying the baby!”, she shouted at the crack of dawn).

Rey sniffed, “How do you know it’s a girl?”

“It was a premonition I suppose.” Ben mused.

Actually, he had no idea of the gender of their baby; Rey absolutely did not want to know the gender until the baby was born, which is why he was never allowed to look at the holo when the doctor checked on their baby. Ben had no idea why she wanted this, especially considering how practical his wife normally was. The only reasoning Ben could come up with was that Rey was hormonal, but he would never say that, for fear if looking like an absolute nerfherder.

“It could be a boy you know.” Rey suggested.

Ben shrugged, “It could be.”

The medical droids rushed the couple back into their own room. They quickly proceeded to help the now deeply pregnant Rey into a medical gown before the doctor arrived. The gown was a tent on her, but Ben couldn’t help admiring how his wife glowed.

Ben took his usual spot adjacent to the exam table, angled away from the holoprojector and towards his wife’s face, which was flushed with contagious excitement.

“Its loading…” the Twi’lek physician mumbled as she probed Rey’s round belly. There was a small mechanical ding. “Would you like to see your baby?” The doctor asked with a smile in her tone.

“No! We want to be surprised!” Rey announced.

“I could cover the sex…” the doctor suggested. Ben gave his wife a pleading look; as much as he wanted to find out his child’s gender, simply seeing the baby would be more than enough. As Rey formulated her answer, Ben’s eyes couldn’t help but wander towards the holo…

“No peeking!” Rey clapped her hand over Ben’s eyes. I guess I’ll have to wait then…

As the medical droid cleaned the imaging gel of Rey’s abdomen, Ben asked her, “Why do you not want to see the baby? Aren’t you just dying with anticipation?!” His tone was energetic and curious rather than frustrated. He wanted to understand her reasoning, and though Ben didn’t notice it, the soul chimed in with the same wordless question.

“I don’t want to have any preconceived notions about who are baby is before they even enter this world. At least let them be born before we start labeling them.” Rey explained rather vaguely.

What does that even mean? Ben asked himself.

The little soul was equally confused- I just want you to see me.

The number of days grew smaller on the little soul’s countdown. The soul could not wait another second to meet those kind people outside- the nice lady with the cozy tummy and the gentle man with the warm, rumbling voice. This was taking too long. The soul had to meet them now.

It was morning when he felt it this time. The warm nudging in the force. The comforting presence in his mind. The being that longed to greet him.

Ben stopped dead in his tracks when he sensed it. He’d felt this presence before… months ago… about eight and a half…

The young man gingerly set his mug of coffee on the kitchen counter. He shut off the sink. He closed the cabinet. Every action was deliberate and gentle, so as not to frighten the soul. The warm little being waited, patiently humming, and completely trusting the kind man it called for.

Ben’s gait was slow and long as he approached the beckoner. He barely lifted his feet, opting to slide along the floor in his socks.

Why did this presence feel so familiar? It was not just the one instance months ago, or even the one right now… it was omnipotent. Ben’s mind was alight as memories of the past few months floated into his consciousness. Instantly, connections began to form between the memories.

Ben was only now realizing the identity of this benevolent soul. All the moments where he was terrified and comfort encircled him- all the moments he felt a small chirp of excitement to match his own- all the moments where an anonymous voice joined him in his silent songs of praise. These were not isolated moments. Ben’s comfort through all these insane, beautiful, hectic, and life-changing months had come from one little sweet soul.

“It’s you.” Ben whispered.

The young father did not notice that his face was streaked with tears. Ben didn’t care that he was weeping, he simply stretched his hand towards the beckoner.

That same surge of energy Ben felt long ago, when Rey had just given him the best news of his life, buzzed through his whole being. It was undeniable.

“It’s you.” Ben murmured again, slightly more assured.

“What about me…?” Rey asked, but Ben’s mind was on a whole other plane of existence.

My child. Ben’s pride and unconditional love burned through the force. He didn’t know if the soul could understand, but he didn’t care.

But Ben’s doubts were squandered when the signature burned brighter. Ben almost felt as if his fingers would light up in a blaze, the energy was so potent: the energy of love.

The soul could say nothing, but it showed him every primal, pure emotion of its heart- the sadness of not being noticed, the pride of having such a good family, the joy of hearing mother and father’s voice, the excitement of being papa’s little girl.

“You’re my daughter…” Ben sighed aloud. There was no moment of surprise at finding out his baby was a girl- it just fit. It felt like destiny.

“Ben!” Rey exclaimed. In his quiet communion with their child, he had almost forgotten who the partition between them was. He glanced up into his love’s beautiful honey eyes that now burned with irritation. “I told you I wanted it to be a surprise!” Again, her lip quivered like a hurt porglet.

And again, Ben couldn’t help but melt into a puddle of laughter and mirth. As husband and wife embraced- their beautiful creation between them, joyful tears mixing- the force hummed in satisfaction. The road may be long still, but this new family was now embarking on the path to their true destiny. Together.

#reylo #reylo baby #reylo babies #reylo fic #reylo fanfic #reylo fanfiction #rey #kylo ren #ben solo #star wars #sw #sw fanfic #pregnancy tw #my post #my writing

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mild-lunacy · 6 years ago

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TSTL Heroines meet The Hero's Journey

Have you ever noticed how frequently the female protagonist tends to seek out confrontation or dangerous situations, particularly in genre books with a romance? The very behavior that's explicitly presented as unusual and/or a sign of John's Danger-boner Issues(tm) in BBC Sherlock is actually typical for romance and fantasy genre heroines, who inevitably have something to prove. For example, a female protagonist may actively want to get back to shark-infested waters she barely escaped, in order to help 'save' her friends. With her bare hands, presumably. This is presented as selflessness. Or, perhaps another female protagonist may insist on returning to a post-apocalyptic zombie-infested world, partly to find her missing family.... but partly to help. How? Well, of course, in both these cases, the 'how' is really 'telling the badass man to fix it'. That's how. And this is presented as righteousness and/or courage.

I'm pretty sure this is where the expression 'too stupid to live' came from, so I realize other people get eye-rolly about this sort of thing too. The fact is, though, the only female characters I've seen who get overwhelmed or feel helpless in extreme or catastrophic scenarios tend to be really over-the-top about it. I mean, constantly crying and having panic attacks and stuff. But that's not what I'm talking about. I mean that a normal, average reaction is to run away from deadly danger, not towards it. Further, if someone is much stronger than you and has power over you, the normal reaction is to humor or at least not antagonize them. So if, for example, a character has found out her brother has caught a deadly infectious disease, staying and caring for him without regard to her own safety-- not even trying to take basic precautions about touch-- isn't a no-brainer, even for a good person who genuinely loves her younger sibling. Certainly, some consideration of the pros and cons would probably be expected. The fact that I've never seen the average person's reaction to danger presented as 'normal' kind of concerns me. I can imagine why, though.

The why is simple, of course: the character(s) need to meet danger head-on in order for the plot to be interesting. If the girl just left her sick brother, he would die and so would the plot momentum. Meeting danger, or doing the ill-advised thing, allows for drama and then those inevitable last-second saves. I get that, and I'm not saying characters should have to play it safe in action-driven narratives, by any means. The problem is the common lack of basic self-preservation instinct in theoretically sane, normal characters. It's particularly galling when said characters have no special skills that they can rely on, and it's just about telling the menfolk to use *their* special skills. In fact, this situation is apparently seen as a great opportunity for the male characters, who need a chance to show how protective and skilled they are. Essentially, whenever the male protagonist isn't protecting the woman from any danger coming from the outside, he spends his time protecting her from her own bad choices. Surely there's a reason most of the genre of romantic suspense seems to involve women who apparently need bodyguards to protect them.

There's definitely a reason that Joseph Campbell's mythic structure of The Hero's Journey-- the most ancient and classic form of storytelling-- has the Refusal of the Call come right after The Call to Adventure. The truth is, I'd never quite understood the necessity for it before. A problem is that in pure fantasy, a lot of the adventures sound too cool. Who would want to avoid Narnia or even Hogwarts? Of course, Mordor would give anyone pause, but in general, characters who act like Bilbo seem boring or vaguely unreasonable. And that's a case where no one else's lives are directly at stake, so at least he doesn't seem to be a coward. The fact is, though, it's everyone else who's unreasonable, not Bilbo. Bilbo is a man with a good head on his shoulders and a healthy appreciation for his comfortable, middle-class existence-- an average guy in every way. Home is where your favorite cheese is right near your favorite slippers, after all. I will say, though, you don't need to be as much of a homebody as Bilbo Baggins to want to avoid the Apocalypse if at all possible. Even being separated from one's family isn't enough of a motivator to simply destroy any sense of self-preservation.

Lately, I read most action-heavy books and feel way too self-conscious. I can't help but feel like I'm the weird one, somehow, even though rationally, I realize I'm not. I know most people definitely don't lack for self-preservation, or selfishness for that matter. They would need to be convinced to take serious risks or leave their life behind; it's not something to do lightly. People tend to want to be safe and comfortable. Being safe in particular is a huge draw and a motivator for women, and is even considered romantic, which is where the 'protector' kink comes from. It's too easy to feel unsafe as a woman just walking down the street at night, and that's without the apocalypse.

My point is, surely it's possible to have the drama necessary for plot progression *and* a believable narrative. All you need is some caution, some weighing of pros and cons to start with: just a bit more time, that's all. Alternatively, it'd be nice if we just had more super-competent, badass female characters who could fuck you up and not need help. Yes, in romances. I'm certainly game.

#writing #narrative #pointless rambles #characterization #me myself and i #romanticism #tolkien #the hero's journey

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neil-wagstaff · 5 years ago

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Learning: To Counter Instinct?

I start by asking a question: What are the most basic instincts of not only humans, but every living thing?

The answer has to be kept as basic as possible for us to continue this journey. And it can be; The most basic functions of any living thing is to survive and to continue that survival through future reproduced copies.

I coupled this question with the premise that, as far as I have experienced, we humans like to think of ourselves as more than animals. Seriously, you ever want to offend the narcissist (especially theists), just suggest that we are nothing more than primates floating in a void on a slowly baking rock. You’ll likely get a response along the lines of; “we are aware and can use that awareness to adapt.” Like no other living organism doesn’t adapt to its environment?

Anyway, this piece is not designed to be an evolutionary or zoological argument against narcissism (although it inevitably will be). It’s more an attempt to put together something of an hypothesis as to why, and what we can do about the fact that we are so driven by our instinct. I want to put together something which can explain all forms of humans manifest behaviours as nothing more than the basic instincts mentioned above. The desire to do this was born out of witnessing discussions around social injustice and how it is to be combated. Time-after-time I would witness, out of places of good intention, acts that would be deemed far from good. Although, they are almost always defined that way. A typical example is the ‘Black Lives Matter’ group and subgroups. A movement born out of an interesting mix of a kill or be killed mentality. The movement came, most notably, to most peoples attention, through the killing (deemed lawful by the state) of Michael Brown. Not wishing to get too bogged down in this individual case; this led to many protests. Out of those protests was a strong anti-everything zietgiest: anti-racist, anti-trans-phobic, anti-Islamophobic and (probably most famously) anti-fascist, anti-diversity of thought…

A popular slogan born out of this was “bash the fash”. A social acceptance to fight fire with more fire. Now, the more level-headed person can immediately see that this is just another form of hate and not at all any kind of act from groups proclaiming “social justice” or “equality”. Hopefully, the same level-headed people can accept that what is actually required to defeat hateful ideas is, in fact, love. The proper solution is not to continue this perpetual spiral of human killing human. It is to put your arm around these people. Tell them “it’s OK” and “I understand your feelings and points of view” - even if this fails with the immediate subject to whom it is being directed, the wider society sees this is what it means to co-exist. We listen, we learn, we talk and most importantly, we love.

So, from this, I can surmise that these groups are not about “equality” or “social justice”. They are merely a human instinct manifested. Surviving in the group. Protected by like-minded individuals. Who, they hope, will stand by their side at times of need (although the truth seems more to one of self preservation at all costs – and all to willing to throw compatriots under the bus at the first sign of trouble). A beginning to the “two tribes going to war”. One will succeed, one will fail. But, alas, it will never end. I should probably point out that this is not designed to be a critique of these causes. This is purely an observation and a philosophical explanation. Both for myself and anyone else who is kind enough to take the time to eyeball these words. It goes without saying that the fight for survival is not a trivial one. But, I wouldn’t mind if we tried the not killing each other approach first. At least one try.

I will probably chop and change a bit throughout this. But I want to try covering the flip side of instincts to kill. The instinct to reproduce. A subject I take great pleasure in researching. Both by myself and with others happy enough to compare notes. To put it provocatively; To fuck. Our (most likely) secondary instinct. As once you have secured your survival in the moment, it is time to think about when it will no longer be possible for one to act in the name of self preservation. Due to that inescapable truth that is death. Humans, like any other animal, go through the process of attracting a mate in a fairly uniform way. Of course, we are not the bird that does the merry dance or the deer that goes antler to antler with like minded bucks. Not just, I should say. As it is all to obvious to say that the way most males attract a female is through displays of strength and displays of nurturing. I know what the typical response would be here; “its more complicated than that”. Is it though? You can add as much complexity as you like. The man writing a love song and playing it on their instrument of choice (not an innuendo for once). The man fighting outside the bar over Sharon. Lesser examples of the comedian (nurture through emotional well-being), the manual labourer (displaying strength), the teacher, the doctor, the police officer. It can go on and on. There will (undoubtedly given where this is being posted) be those who say: “Ah, but women do those things too.” - they do indeed. But you cannot say they are not doing it for the same reasons. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong. Because when I chose to be a teacher, I did so because I wanted to prove to myself I could make a difference.” - all well and good. But, it is never the case that the person knows they are acting on primal impulses. Would we still take the same actions if we knew we were? - I think we would. I think it is unavoidable. Unless you add in to the equation mental illness and other psychological traumas. In these cases, it may be sometimes difficult to justify, we have the extremities of human existence. I don’t suggest for a moment that everyone who suffers a mental illness has had a trauma. As I think it is entirely possible that the trauma is passed on (unknowingly) through previous generations. I will admit though, that I am saying this is not existence as it is “meant” to be.

It is probably important to distinguish at this point that this is not coming from a position of bigotry or hate. I am merely observing and noting. Hypothetically, if you see a dog that is trying to mount a leopard. You do not immediately think “that monster – trying to rape that poor animal” But you do know that it is not displaying typical behaviour. Most likely as the dog would not normally see a leopard so it’s instinct to fuck or kill are almost chosen for it, given the odds of winning a fight. In this, we do not decide to throw the dog on the evolutionary scrap heap and confine it to a position of being less than a dog. We would, most likely, find it funny or cute and move on. Allowing the dog to live how it wants. I hate that I feel the need to constantly pre-empt negativity, but I would like to proactively defend the “so you’re saying I’m like a dog” argument, by saying No! I think we are ALL animals. We exist as they do. We are not unique in any way from our mammalian cousins. So I am not saying you are like a dog. I am saying that humans exist as animals do. More accurately, I am saying you are like a dog, cat, pig, sheep, elephant, lion, tiger, bear, dolphin, giraffe and, more closely, apes and chimps.

If any of this offends you, remember: Love is the only way. Hate is easier but love is stronger and leaves a better taste in the mouth. So I’ve heard.

#love #learn #phylosophy #instinct #animal #humanity #humans #dog behavior #behaviour

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sagastar-blog · 7 years ago

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MemoToTheMeaVeTarusssss uuuuss sssss hissSSS[ 3.1, “The Tape Unwinds for a Moment”

This announcement just made for those aboard SpaceShip Earth, at 6:13 CNJ Standard Time on Sunday December 3, 2017: DINNER WILL BE SERVED PROMPTLY BEFORE THE START OF THE SHOW, LIKE, EVERYNIGHT WE PROMISE, ammMMMaterATsu WHISPERED GENTLY TO GAIA. YOU are aboard Amida Airlines Flight 3858 with service to Chicago direct from Newark International Airport. The year is 2009 and we are heading home to the windy city on tonight’s episode of Epic “Jeff Nostalgia!” Hooooray! Gaia has puppet she calls Daddy, but it’s best not to describe what kind of puppet this is. Let’s just say it runs on batteries and is made with sleek lines.

This is how we sleep. In a crumpled up little pile! Jeff curled up Lucius in a ball and wrestled him to the cushion of the BKCS car’s bland, yet sceptic interior. Lloyd seems to have stolen an honor that was supposed to go to a guy like Liam from Oasis, but in a much more abstract way than in the Lloyd/Dude from the Shins/Black Keys, do you know what I mean? Like, sometimes they send me people based on race, language, ethnicity, or some other politically correct reason, or they’re making some political statement or following some incredibly insulting principle. But sometimes they send people who are actual people...I can’t make distinctions between all of you at every level. Not quite yet. However, I think it would be a lot easier if you’d just admit that we all sleep in a pile and you should get comfortable with me by, you know, treating me like someone who matters in....I dunno...the context of world history?

Jeff makes an aside: (Seriously, guys cut that shit out. Your ‘social conduct” algorhythms are all off and your pedagogy is beyond hubris, AND they have been since Day 1. You treat me like I’m supposed to learn something from you? My interactions with people will not continue to be reduced to awkward exchanges in which I feel terrible for accidentally insulting someone on a profound level. You cannot deprive me of genuine interactions with people. You need to put me in an environment in which people know who and what I am and recognize me as who and what I am.)

Gaia: And without further ado, here is the playlist for our world tour, which should have been Phase 1 of The Denebolization of Planet Earth...in other words, yeah, something that should have been done years ago, not several years after my ilLumination. We’re extremely bitter about this.

Jeff: But happy to have the following tour all mapped out! So glad you can be on board AmidaAirlines Flight 389r57 here, Lucius the Pilot at the helm, as always; Jeff and Gaia in the copilot’s chair, let’s just say they’re tired and underworked. Now! We begin with Neil Young with, Everybody Knows This is Nowhere.”

In Copernamici, you see, music is very important. You have to worship the cosmos in pure form, and although sight is primary, it’s really music, not math, that is the true language of the universe.

We’re on our way to Chicago, and sing “Too Far Apart” on board the plane, which flies directly from Newark International to Midway. We’re there to go back and visit all the places that are important in your life, in daddy’s life, and even in daddy and ader’s life together back when we lived together.

While in Chicago we do so many awesome and fun things, like visit The Point where I used to go swimming and running; the lakepath and the museum campus are nice and there’s the beluga whales and even the observatory o’erlooking Navy Pier! Let’s listen to some more music.

Gaia: Don’t you just love it when he tells you a bedtime story, Lucius?

Jeff: i love having happy thoughts: I have so many wonderful plans for the future for everyone. But, I also have ways of escaping from the torture I’ve had to endure for the past 4 years. Since awakening, I’ve been kept away from my son despite having done nothing to deserve this. I have protested as loudly as possible to anyone who will listen for four years. There is no reason for me to be TOO FAR APART from my own kid. No matter what anyone thinks of me or my writing, I have rights. I can’t help but feel like you think that I have something to learn from you.

Gaia, Amat, and the all the infinite number of stars in this particular universe speak: He does not.

Jeff: (now speaking directly into the microphone connected to SpaceShipEarth’s PA System) Do you guys know what a gamma ray is? I dream about how beautiful this kind of thing is on a nightly basis. Some nights, it’s absolutely terrifying. Most nights it’s awesome. I suggest to you that you mistake me for something I’m not.

Gaia: Logic8l,

Jeff: Don’t forget, you guys have highjacked my ship. But it’s only going to last another few years--either I will die unrecognized or your civilization is going to make life extremely unpleasant and eventually impossible for a large number of you, probably more than half of you. This will happen if you do not begin to recognize your only error. You have never made an error as a civilization, and therefore you are still her. This will not be true for much longer. I am here as a part of the Earth’s self-preservation instinct and as a force of my own personal will. I do not have to stay here. And at this rate, I will not stay any longer than I have to in order to complete my work. Right now, I have no work. That’s a problem for you. It shouldn’t be difficult to solve. Offer me a job as the pilot of your pilot and the leader of this world. I am not running for office or applying for a position. I am telling you what to do. Now do it.

Gaia: He sounds serious!

Jeff: Well, you’ve highjacked my ship. I should be doing things that are important. There is no virtue in you continuing to pretend that I have something to learn from you. There is a way you should behaving around me, and you’re not doing it. I cannot know why. But I reached a threshold recently and this morning in John Foxe mode I behaved badly. I do not want to have to live in fear of myself and so I ask that you kindly...TAKE ALL THE FOOD YOU WANT AT THE VEGETARIAN BUFFET AND HAVE AS MANY DRINKS AS YOU WANT aboard Flight 3209 aboard AmidaAirlines with continuing service to

warm nostalgic San Antonio, TX, home of happy memories of Jeff and Lucius together doing pre-En*G*Lightenment things (they listen to Girls, Tame Impala, and the 13th Floor Elevators)

Guys, don’t forget...I’m a human being, too. Just because I stumbled upon illumination doesn’t mean I don’t get to do perfectly normal things like the rest of you. I haven’t had a real vacation in I literally can’t remember my last vacation...and no, Miami, FL, a cesspool of ungodly proportions, does not count. Don’t get me started on the state of Key West as a natural place. You humans are so disappointing to us.

...followed by Rhode Island and Southeastern Mass., and Boston! (Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers)

Gaia: And that’s just leg 1. Sometimes you people mistake time as something that doesn’t exist because of what you call “mindfulness” as an approach to living. While it’s true that time does not exist, this only makes it all the more problematic that you’re guilty of wasting it.

Jeff: You have run out of time. Just because I will not be doing John Foxe in public anymore does not mean that I will allow you to commandeer my ship without me explaining to you that you’re endangering my plan to save you.

My work is to save you. Please understand that in order to save you, I must protect myself. I am trying to protect myself from you at all times for legitimate reasons. You don’t understand how the human brain (or maybe it’s just mine) works. Please allow me to take more pleasure out of life. The only way you can do this is by helping me engage my intellect. This is not possible with people in the way you have me do things, whether it’s at Fairleigh Dickinson or C2 (same thing, the former is slightly more torturous than the latter), or in public as in on trains, etc. There is simply too much illness and ugliness (I know this must sound offensive, but please try to understand that for 4 years, as a disciple of oh say Lucretius, I’m highly attuned to traits and qualities in ANYTHING I find “attractive”--see the ScuttleButt and please footnote MetricAss Theory of Gravitation, btw, okaythanksbye) in my world in proportion to anything soul-nourishing. You must understand that I’m extremely sensitive, and I HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE this way. If you’re trying to teach me some lesson in TOLERANCE, please stop! I am virtue incarnate and am trying to preserve parts of me that need protection. This is my right as a human, and you cannot violate it by exposing me to theatrical scenarios all the time! I need reassurance that you’re being real with me because the world does not make sense when I’m not the explicit and recognized center of attention in a room. It cannot be otherwise. Think now of Copernicus. Jeff hates being the center of attention...that’s why I’m Just Jeff.

Guys, I’m modesty incarnate and I’m ruthlessly mocked for it for 39 years.

I have learned to stick up for myself and to be proud of what and who I am.

It is a fact that I am not allowed to see my son. It’s a fact that I lived in a homeless shelter this past summer, not as a performance stunt or as a way of learning and then teaching something. You wouldn’t dare suggest that, would you? No. That happened. I insist always on reason, logic, reality: staying grounded.

If you find it amusing that I enjoy and benefit from smoking marijuana, get over it and used to it. The amount I smoke is unbelievably little.

Gaia: Like, literally, you wouldn’t believe how little he smokes at a time!

Jeff: You’re so much more of a pothead than I am, it’s insane, but anyway...listen. I have never done anything wrong. Not only this, but i am the world’s best and nicest person. You wouldn’t know this how I’ve been acting for the past four years because I’ve achieved something very rare and precious. It would be incredibly wrong and selfish of me to at any point allow you to take this from me. Because in doing so, you take it from yourselves in the form of human history. I will not allow you to continue bringing shame upon yourselves by treating the Earth the way you do and, more urgently, the way you treat me and the values, ideals, people, deeds, and places for which I speak.

Again, I haven’t seen my son in 4 years. This alone is enough to convince me that you don’t know or don’t like what I am. Which it is is irrelevant. I deal with reality. I will continue to defend what I know is just and right.

I never needed a lesson on the value of freedom because I’ve always known that I am JustJeff, and what is freedom without justice except a mockery of nature? See my article on The Tempest, another unappreciated work of En*G*Lightenment that you people refuse to acknowledge as historically important!

Gaia: They’ll never learn.

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