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the-littlest-goblin · 4 years ago

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*shows up to @essek-week 6 days late with all the prompts shoved into one fic*

based on this post by @slayerscake

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Essek, for all his magical skill, had very little experience being a fighter. But you pick things up when you travel with a group that gets in as many scrapes per day as the Mighty Nein—you don’t necessarily learn how to fight well, but you certainly learn how to fight alongside the Mighty Nein.

While Jester is a cleric, try to go unconscious near Caduceus.

“It’s not that she refuses to heal,” Fjord explained gently as he inspected the gash across Essek’s sternum for signs of poison. They were all a bit paranoid now since discovering that their previous monster encounter had, unbeknownst to them, injected a slow-acting venom into every bite. “She just prefers to take the enemy out first. It’s a strategy thing, you know. Save the healing for after the fight, once the danger’s gone.”

Essek turned his gaze over to Jester. In their post-battle huddle, while Caduceus hummed a healing prayer for the group and Fjord dressed Essek’s wound, she was several yards away helping Veth saw off one of the beast’s talons as a trophy.

Fjord continued, “Of course, if you’re like, actually dying in front of her, she’ll heal you. I mean…” he trailed off. Sure, Essek hadn’t exactly been dead-dead when he’d collapsed next to Jester during the fight, but he wasn’t far from it. The last, ironic thought he’d registered before consciousness slipped away was how fortunate it was to fall in battle right next to a cleric. As his eyes fell shut, it was with anticipation that he would be up again in a second to rejoin the fray.

When he had finally awoken, it was Caduceus’ face smiling over him, not Jester’s, and the ferocious monster had long since been turned into a carcass.

“Mm-hmm.”

Fjord sighed and sat back on his heels. “Just, maybe next time, if you have to go down, try to go down closer to Caduceus.”

“Noted,” Essek grumbled, watching with nauseated fascination as his skin knit itself back together in time with the melody of Caduceus’ spell.

When in doubt, polymorph.

“I am a bit surprised you don’t already have this in your repertoire. I have found it to be incredibly useful.”

Essek shrugged, shoving off the automatic sting of embarrassment that came with admitting ignorance. He didn’t need to feel that way around Caleb.

“Well, I have rarely found myself in a position to fly over rough terrain or transform a terrifying monster into a sloth. Until now, that is.”

Caleb laughed lightly. “Such is the adventuring life, I suppose.” He smiled, taking a break from flipping through his spellbook to look up at Essek. Even this brief moment of eye-contact felt so charged with energy that Essek had to avert his gaze, the sense-memory of guilt welling up in his throat threatening to choke him. The intensity of Caleb’s undivided attention was still difficult for him to bear. His fingers twitched to rub at the burning spot on his forehead. Instead, he gripped his pen tighter.

“Here.” Caleb flipped his book around to show Essek the page dedicated to the Polymorph spell, covered in transmutation runes. Essek recognized a few of the symbols in passing. “This should be easy for you to copy down. Then we can practice a bit. I think you’ll find casting it on yourself makes for a rather enjoyable pastime.”

Buff the lesbians.

Essek’s eyes darted between Caleb and Caduceus, unsure how to interpret this piece of advice. “Um, can you be more specific?”

Caduceus blinked at him, seeming confused. “Specific how? You mean like, which spells you should use on them?”

“No, I meant specific as in to whom you were referring. I just…” Essek glanced awkwardly around the table. Most of the group was distracted, digging into the enormous feast provided by Caleb’s clowder of feline servants. They were all worn out from a long day of hard travel and enjoying the warm reprieve of the tower.

Essek cleared his throat, trying to discreetly lower his voice without making it obvious that he was being secretive. “I have not exactly been given a briefing on all of your individual sexual preferences.”

“Oh, I can fix that!” Jester cut in. Apparently Essek’s attempts to be clandestine had failed, as they always seemed to with this group. “Caleb is—”

“That is alright, thank you,” Essek swiftly cut her off. His cheeks were already burning red-hot. “Can you please just tell me who ‘the lesbians’ are in this circumstance?”

He could feel Beau’s glare boring through him all the way from the other end of the table as she stared incredulously over her magical flask of whiskey. “You should really be able to figure that out yourself, man.”

Squishy wizards stay away from fights.

“Stay. Here.” Yasha’s growl was twice as terrifying as the insectoid beast screaming over their heads, and Essek was pretty sure the force from her shoving him behind the rocks was going to leave just as big a bruise as getting smacked by the creature’s tail, if not bigger. “Hide.”

“I was trying to help,” Essek muttered, a mixture of shame and indignation pushing him to defend himself to her.

“I know. You can help by staying alive.” A hint of softness entered Yasha’s gruff voice, although its effect was mitigated when she hefted up her massive sword. Essek instinctually slunk away from the arc of the blade. “Fighters get close, wizards hang back. That’s how we do things in this family.” She smiled at him, and another layer of the ice around Essek’s heart melted. “That’s how we keep you and Caleb from snapping like twigs. Save the close-range spells for when things are really desperate.”

Essek nodded his affirmation. Yasha turned and began running back into the melee, letting out an almighty roar. Just before she went out of range, Essek reached out his hands, whispering the incantation and twisting his fingers around the fabric of time that surrounded her large frame. Yasha paused for a moment as the effects of the Haste spell hit her, then turned to flash Essek another smile and a thumbs up.

That’s how we do things in this family.

You have to look sexy when using spells.

“I really do not understand the purpose of this.”

“We’re just trying to help you out!” Veth grinned at him mischievously. Somehow, the ghost of a goblin’s snarl showed through her straight halfling teeth. “Every good adventurer knows aesthetics are crucial to effective spellcasting.”

“That’s not—”

“Plus, we’re not fighting in the cold anymore,” Jester added. “We don’t want you to get overheated in the middle of battle.”

“That… really isn’t an issue.” But he knew resistance was useless when it came to these two. Resigned to his fate, Essek dutifully lifted the mantle over his head and began undoing the fastenings of his cloak.

Outer layer discarded, he lifted his arms up half heartedly to show his self-appointed image consultants the results. “Is this satisfactory?”

“Hmmmm,” Jester tilted her head to the side, considering him. “Can you try rolling up your sleeves?”

“I’m not taking off my shirt!”

“No one asked you to!” Veth hopped off her chair to circle around Essek, studying him with an intensity she usually reserved for things she was about to shoot. “Now, show us your stance.”

“My what?”

“You know, your sexy fighting stance.” Veth stopped in place, whipping out her crossbow and striking a dramatic pose.

“Um…” Essek attempted to mimic her, one hand on the meteorite pendant that served as his arcane focus, the other reaching out as if he were about to cast a spell. “Like this?”

Jester tapped a finger to her lips thoughtfully. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it, that tank top did look really good on you, Essek.”

Essek put his head in his hands.

If you get charmed there is going to be a very high chance of Beau punching you to snap you out of it.

A constellation's worth of stars swam in Essek’s vision, pain bursting through his head like a reverberating drum; he could feel the nasty bruise blooming at his temple where Beauregard had struck him. Blinking away the stars, he turned just in time to see Beau’s fist heading towards him once again, this time making expert contact with his jaw. The force of this second blow sent him hurtling toward the ground, knocking the wind out of him.

Amid the pain, a sense of clarity slowly came over him, cutting through the pleasant, misty haze that had overtaken his faculties. It gave him just enough presence of mind to scream an indignant, accusatory, “Ow!” at Beau.

She flashed him a cocky grin, seemingly amused by his tone. “Look man, this is what happens. Get charmed, get hit. Now square up.”

Essek held up one hand in an attempt to stave her off, gasping for breath. The buzz in his brain was receding; somehow, Beau had punched the spell’s effect right out of him. “No really, I’m fine now, it worked—”

But she was already going in for another punch. Helpless to stop her, Essek braced himself for the hit, thinking that if nothing else, he had to admire her thoroughness.

#critical role #critrole #essek thelyss #essek week #my writing #what is a timeline but a miserable little pile of scenes?

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wither-rose-circus · 3 years ago

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*slides into DMs*

Hello there, I would like to hear about your Listener Jimmy ideas

Disclaimer: this got really long I am So Sorry

So I’m not skimming through Jimmy’s entire series to get his full relationship with either entities it’s 100+ episodes long like Jesus fucking Christ but I did skim through a handful of videos to get a basic understanding

And I noticed they did mention Jimmy in the end credits, but I think what’s noteworthy is that they didn’t specifically praise him for anything like the others, only scolding him.

I assume that’s partially why the Listeners chose him.

For context, though, I wanna clarify my general Listener headcanons

• The Listeners are to the Nether what the Watchers are to the End

That is not to say they are from the Nether, but that it is their domain. Both the Nether and the End are (or were, in the Nether’s case) total wastelands. From what I understand, the series hinted at some sort of war between the two factions. That is what I believe caused these two lands to be destroyed. Prior to 1.16, the residents of the Nether were diseased and undead, hinting that some kind of disaster happened (Even now, the achievement for finding a bastion references some war among the Piglins, the End Cities have airships and are decked out with leftover enchanted diamond armor, etc). Now, what in the Nether has to do with the Listeners?

• The Listeners are related to Ghasts

Now I know that sounds weird, but hear me out. The description for the achievement Uneasy Alliance goes as follows: Rescue a ghast from the Nether, bring it safely home to the Overworld... and then kill it. This directly implies that ghasts are not native to the Nether, but to the overworld. Now what are ghasts obviously inspired by? Ghosts. What is the Nether obviously inspired by? Hell. What do you get when you put that together? Ghasts are player souls trapped in the Nether. How does this related to the Listeners? The Listeners had their souls trapped within the Nether in the form of ghasts in an attempt to wipe them out. Only some were eventually able to regain their senses and escape the Nether via players’ portals. But why were they trapped?

• The Listeners oppose the Watchers because they believe the Watchers are taking away players’ autonomy

This is less headcanon and more directly reading into the series. The Listeners tell the evolutionists that they need to take back their freedom, that the Watchers are controlling. My personal interpretation of the Watchers is that they are “Awoken,” which is based on how the credits poem references players awaking from dreams. They are essentially the end goal of that process. When a player passes through the portal in the End, the Watchers judge their soul and decide whether or not to awaken them. This leads to them ascending to the Aether (yes, that Aether), which they believe is the “perfect” version of the game (everyone being in creative and thus unable to fight or be hurt, constantly daytime so no mobs, access to the creative inventory to do whatever they please, etc). Now, how did they know what the Watchers were doing in the first place?

• The Listeners are former Watchers

Due to their similar designs, I believe Listeners are simply rebellious Watchers who believe no one group should have control over a player’s life. After the war, they were subsequently banished to the Nether, which has only recently begun to recover. However, this separation left them stripped of the Watcher’s all seeing eyes. This led them to utilize sound to more discretely convey their messages. They have dedicated themselves to “freeing” players from the Watchers’ grasps and recruiting whatever souls they can still get their hands on. This is where Jimmy finally comes in.

The Evolution server was unique in that the players brought to it were specifically chosen to be tested. It was essentially a recruitment effort. The Watchers state that choosing to take Grian was a difficult decision, likely meaning they assessed each one individually. Due to their dismissal of Jimmy, I take it he was not heavily considered. This negligence is what allowed the Listeners to latch onto Jimmy.

Jimmy arrives in the Evolutionist’s old spawn before any of them arrive. We know it was before because Jimmy placed the enderchests the Listeners gifted the rest of the team and because, upon returning in his next episode, the Listeners’ symbol is replaced with that of the Watchers. However, when the evolutionists show up, he’s nowhere to be found, only making his way back with the signs they left. But Jimmy’s videos imply he never really left the main area, so something happened to him between that cut. This is where I believe Jimmy was “marked” by the Listeners.

So now, tumblr user Harley the Pancake, I am so sorry I’ve rambled for like 3 pages without answering the question, but these are my headcanons for pseudo-Listener Jimmy, specifically in the context of 3rd Life:

• Jimmy has bouts of auditory foresight. They’re not consistent, but tend to happen in relation to bad things. This is why he got so defensive towards the Red Army. He foresaw them, specifically Ren and Martyn, killing Scott. However, these flashes are purely auditory, so he had no context as to how or why they killed Scott. His own paranoid imagination applied the idea of Scott being sacrificed (Ironically, this actually sealed Scott’s fate, as neither of them would’ve been killed the way they were had they joined the Red Army). Jimmy is not fully conscious of this ability and tends to chalk it up to gut feelings.

• Jimmy has Nether traits. This comes from more general evolutionary traits you would expect from having lived in a place like the Nether. Not being very affected by heat, more resilient to lava (yes I know that’s ironic for his first death to be lava but I said resilient, not immune), piglins are less likely to aggro on him, etc.

• Jimmy can understand both Standard Galactic and, to a lesser extent, Piglin. Standard Galactic is something he can read fluently while Piglin is something he can vaguely understand. He can’t speak Piglin because Piglin is a very guttural language and few players have the vocal cords for it. If you asked him how he knows these languages, he wouldn’t have an answer. (I also headcanon Scott to be inhuman in different ways, though, so he also knows Standard Galactic. Jimmy just kinda assumed it must’ve been a normal thing to know.)

• Jimmy vaguely remembers past dreams/lives, most notably sounds. He tends to remember sounds specifically so he gets this intense feeling of deja vu when several server members talk to him.

• Jimmy has incredibly conflicting feelings towards Grian for reasons he can’t explain. On one hand, Jimmy vaguely recognizes Grian as a friend from Evo. On the other, he has this instinctual discomfort due to Grian being a Watcher. He can’t tell Grian is a Watcher, he just gets this strange gut feeling around him. (Grian, on the other hand, is very aware Jimmy is part Listener.)

And that’s all I’ve got for now, sorry for how long this was!

#mcyt #3rd life smp #minecraft evo #minecraft evolution #solidaritygaming #smajor1995 #Grian #the watchers #the listeners #asks #Harley-the-pancake

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dadsbongos · 4 years ago

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Liebeskummer

Movie/Game/Show: Danganronpa: Killing Harmony Dynamic: Korekiyo Shinguji/Reader (and his sister shit but i actually take it seriously, unlike kodaka) Warnings: korekiyo’s backstory/trauma (his sister), sexual/physical/mental abuse implications (and outright said but not described in detail except the emotional and mental), anxiety in both kork and reader and mental breakdown(s?), airhead shit but it’s sad Summary: It’s all her fault. ~~~

Korekiyo suddenly turned to the girl beside him in his quiet research lab, “Have you ever heard of Jack of Fables, (Y/n)?” at her, albeit confused, nod, he continued, “Well, all those myths, fairy tales, and even nursery rhymes in reference to ‘Jack’ are actually about the same man. What this means is that Jack Be Nimble, of the candlestick, Jack the Giant Killer, who sold his cows then murdered and robbed a giant, Stingy Jack, who tricked the devil so relentlessly that he was banned from both afterlives, Jack of Jack and Jill, who cracked open his skull, Jack o’ Lantern, Spirit of Halloween and Headless Horseman, and Jack Frost, Spirit who ends autumn and begins winter are all one in the same. He made so many poor life decisions that he now serves as an immortal representation of winer with a pumpkin serving as head and flashlight. Is that not fascinating?”

“Aw,” (Y/n) grinned, nodding once again, “Like the American ‘Florida man’.”

Korekiyo sighed, disappointment palpable in his tone, “That is… actually much more accurate than I wish to admit.”

“Wait, wait,” she tilted her head, patting the man’s arm despite his attention already being on her, “So… like, was he also Jack the Ripper…?”

His eyes widened at her statement, “(Y/n), I must be grateful you were not born to the life of a woman of the night in Victorian London because I assure you, Jack the Ripper was incredibly real.”

“Oh, that’s so sad…” she pouted before clearing it back into her usual smile almost instantly, “Well, thanks for the folklore fun fact, Kiyo! I didn’t know that Jack was so dumb! God, I’d hate to be like him…”

“You do realize you’re not so bright yourself, yes?”

She shrugged, “I’m fine with that, but at least I’m not tricking the devil!”

So sweet and kind, the Ultimate Composer was. Against all expectations, she wasn’t highbrow or traditionally genius, but she was more than excellent company. And, to top it off, the idea of turning her into one of Sister’s friends was oddly… sickening.

It should’ve been perfectly fine - she was a deeply respectable young woman unlike Miu and Maki, there’s no reason he could have against her.

It just felt wrong.

“Oh! Oh!” she burst out, clapping her hands together, before turning and reaching into a bag slung around her hip. Rooting through scrapped sheet music and notes, once she found what she’d been searching for she held it up excitedly, “Boom!”

Korekiyo took the item, just barely brushing his wrapped fingertips against hers, “Cleopatra’s Pearl Cocktail… much appreciated,” he pressed the small bottle into a pocket on his uniform, “If you enjoy giving gifts, perhaps we can discuss cultural gift-giving practices?”

“Ooh, Kiyo’s gonna teach me?”

“Hmm,” Korekiyo hummed quietly to himself, “Well, perhaps… you would prefer I tell you of a composition piece in relevance to mythology, yes?”

“That’d be nice,” the girl giggled softly, rubbing the back of her neck, “To be honest, I just like when you talk… you sound so smart all the time!”

“My thanks, (Y/n),” he nodded curtly, muttering to himself before coming to speak up, “Alright, I believe that the composition for you would be The Ring of the Nibelung, of Germany.”

“Oh, I know that one!” she knew most ‘ones’, to be fair.

“I had suspected so, but have you heard of the heroic legends behind the pieces?”

“Ah, no… are those what you’re gonna explain?”

“I had planned to, yes. Alright, well, the four parts, as you know, are The Rhinegold, The Valkyrie, Siegfried, and Twilight of the Gods. Nowadays, they are most commonly played as individual, separate works despite making one complete story. They were always intended as a sequence - as The Ring cycle, cleverly. Each piece revolves on a loose basis to German heroic tales and Norse legendary sagas, with the overarching tale of the magic ring forged by the Nibelung dwarf, Alberich, which grants the power to rule the world,” he paused at the sight of (Y/n) yawning, his lips pursed and eyes shot down to his shoes before flickering back up to the girl, “Ah, my apologies for taking far longer than necessary. You must find this- “

“Ah, no!” (Y/n) shook her head, waving her hands about as though it would physically prove how far from needed his apology was, “That’s not it! I’m just kinda tired, ya know?” as if to prove her point, another yawn washed over her, “I hadn’t slept well last night after Kirumi…”

“I see,” Korekiyo nodded, closing his eyes to think over his words, “I apologize for making it about myself. If you wish, I could walk you to your dormitory. Now that you mention it, it has been quite the long day.”

“You don’t have to, Kiyo, I’d hate to bother you so much in one day let alone one sitting,” the composer puffed her cheeks out, “That’d be so obnoxious…”

“I don’t find it obnoxious whatsoever, especially if it’s to aid- “ he hesitated, “to aid a friend.”

He hadn’t had friends before. People usually found him creepy and that was the end of the story - nobody approached him and he didn’t branch out. Life went on. The world spun. His loneliness was everlasting and yet nonexistent. He has Sister. Though, deep down, he knows. She’s on another plane of reality with loneliness stronger than his, that’s why he sends her respectable young women.

Just like (Y/n).

But just… not (Y/n). For reasons he personally chooses to not disclose to even himself.

“Aww, Kiyo! You care!” the girl placed a hand over her heart as if to show that the organ itself was squeezing in delight at his offer.

“Of course, I do,” Korekiyo didn’t like how quiet she made him. How jittery and nervous. And he didn’t like how it made him question the way Sister made him feel.

She also made him nervous but it felt different. He liked to pretend it was the nervousness of a love you don’t quite have yet, but he fully knows he’d be lying. She was a mean girl, a bully in school before being hospitalized. Prone to violent and outright frightening outbursts when she had the energy to do more than force him to her side.

But he didn’t like questioning those feelings for Sister. Who he was, was based on her. His uniform. His passion and talent. His hair. His perfect complexion. His life as the universe knows it is an ode to her.

It’s too late for him to go back now… he’s already done so much in her name it’d be cruel to give up now. He might as well continue for Sister.

“If you really don’t mind, then yeah, I’d like it if we could walk together… I get a little nervous going around at night, you never know who’s gonna snap…”

“And you trust me?”

Shit. That’s what gets him in trouble. It’s as Sister always said. ‘Too naive to make his choices, and once he’s free, too inept to make the right ones.’

“Well, yeah,” (Y/n) spoke as if there was hardly any thought to the answer, “All you’ve shown me is somebody worth trusting,” then, she’s quick to remember poor Kaede, “Well, maybe I’m being silly. But hey, if I have to choose between dying trusting my friends and paranoid beyond myself, then maybe I’d- “ she paused, “Ehhh, I don’t like the way that’s coming out.”

“I understand what you’re attempting to say,” Korekiyo reassured, turning towards his research lab’s exit, “Let us start towards the dormitories, yes?”

“Right!” (Y/n) nearly found herself jogging to catch up to Korekiyo’s long-strided head start, she clutched the strap of her bag as she did so, “So… you heard about Angie’s plan, right?”

“To perform a resurrection?”

“Do you think it’ll work?” she seemed antsier than was typical for her, “I mean, you’re into anthropology, so, like, has there ever been a case where that did work? Do you know?”

“No, besides, that would be more akin to history, remember?” she probably didn’t, her memory failed her at an ungodly amalgamation of best and worst of times.

“Oh, yeah,” she murmured and nodded, pretending to recall the difference between the two.

“Who would you desire back into this game, if you could?”

“Rantaro,” her answer was quick, her fingers looping together nervously, “We didn’t really talk much, but uhm, whenever we did - he was really nice. He said I reminded him of a sister of his… so that’s a good thing, right?”

Depends on who you ask, really.

“You grew attached to him so quickly?” there was no jealousy there, he tried to convince himself.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish I’d gotten to know him more. He was always running around, trying to save us, and in the end… it got him killed.”

A lot of things will get you killed.

Korekiyo shook off the thoughts racking his brain, “Your care for him even through his estrangedness and peculiarity is truly beautiful, (Y/n),” he fiddled with the locket piece hanging around his shoulders, “Even your care for myself. I’d be lying if I’d said it wasn’t endearing.”

“You’re not…” her words died out, not wanting to lie to a dear companion of hers, “You’re a little off-putting but you’re not undeserving of love, Kiyo.”

It was a complete 180 from what Sister had told him his entire life. A new lesson coming in far too late. He had to earn love. He should’ve been crawling on his knees and pleading for affection, but now he was supposed to simply receive it? It sounded so incredibly fake. A fictitious tale told alongside gumdrop fairies and candy trees.

No place for someone of realistic standard.

No place for him.

“You’re far too kind, (Y/n).”

“Maybe you just haven’t known nice people,” she suddenly stopped, slapping a palm to her mouth and muffling against it, “I’m so sorry!”

“Worry not,” Korekiyo continued walking, “I’m unphased.”

Because maybe it was true.

Maybe Sister wasn’t so nice.

There was an itch at his skin in the thought and he shook his head.

Sister was kind enough to love someone like him. Who was of rotted soul and rancid heart.

“I shouldn’t have just said that, especially since I don’t really know your life…”

“Would you like to learn it someday?”

(Y/n) was fairly shocked at how quickly he seemed to breeze by her insult to his family and friends - well, if he had any friends - but she wouldn’t refuse. It was extra time with Korekiyo! Who could turn that down?

“I’d love to.”

“Tea and cookies,” (Y/n) pumped a fist in the air, “What could be better than enjoying those with a friend?”

Korekiyo felt his lips twitch up behind his mask at the rhetorical question, he reached out for his teacup, “Perhaps freedom from this killing game?”

“Oh, yeah, huh…” she deflated, “Jeez, I can’t believe I’d say that…”

Oh, great, of course, now he’s gone and made the local ball of sunshine in this school upset.

“Nevermind that, (Y/n), it was a tease…” he gripped the cup a little tighter, cheeks heating up in humiliation at his failed joke, “I apologize if it seemed like anything other than such.”

“No, don’t apologize, it’s fine! It was kind of a dumb thing to say, now that I put some brain into it,” so it made sense she’d said it, (Y/n) frowned at the bitter thought.

“Ah,” the clink of a cup against the table caught the girl’s attention, “I must change my mask in order to properly enjoy this tea and these cookies,” as the anthropologist went to turn, he was stopped by another outburst from the girl.

“No, don’t! Uh, here!” she clenched her eyes shut, papped her palms over her face, and turned her head downwards, “See? Now I can’t!”

“You don’t have to go to such lengths, I could simply turn- “

“No, no, I want you to feel comfortable and I heard once that doing things to make your friends comfortable is, like, a way to make them like you more?” she huffed at the wording, “Just, I don’t know… I want you to know that I care. Ya get it? No need to turn yourself away like that when I can just not look.”

A tuft of air passed through his nostrils at the girl.

Sister would adore a friend like her.

Korekiyo pulled down his mask, brows drawn tight towards his eyes at the new realization. It was no longer a matter of her being respectable, it was now the knowledge that someone as tender-hearted as (Y/n) would be loved beyond comprehension by Sister.

But… no. Sister couldn’t have her. She’d understand, right? Of course. She could have someone else - the other bubbly girl, what’s her name? Angie. She could have Angie.

Korekiyo just… he just needed (Y/n). Something about her was calming and sweet. He picked his mask for eating from a pocket in his uniform and carefully adjusted it over his lips so as to not smudge his lipstick. It wouldn’t anyway, he knew this, but it usually never backfired to be too sure.

The lipstick in itself was quite the hassle. Another homage to Sister that she might not even be seeing. So was the hair. It got tangled and knotted and was hell to dry after a shower.

“Not to rush you at all, but are you done? Cuz my eyes are starting to hurt… I think I’m squeezing them too hard.”

“Right, yes, I am.”

He really shouldn’t think like that… Sister deserved to be honored.

As if she’d been reading his mind, (Y/n) leaned over slightly, pointing at Korekiyo’s hair, “Hey, hey, how do you manage that? It always looks so silky and soft and well-kept.”

“Ah, well, it is quite troublesome most days, but with patience and rather expensive products, I keep it together.”

“I was wondering, too, do you ever put it up?”

“Not usually, though, that would be… nice on occasion,” he sipped at his tea, enjoying the way (Y/n) shyly glanced away to prove she didn’t want to invade his privacy. She was too delightful to be in a place such as this, even if he did enjoy the beauties of law-absence.

“Uh, I don’t want to come off pushy or like you have to let me, but if you want, I’d love to put your hair up! To be honest, I’ve been wanting to for a while,” her eyes widened at her own statement, “Oh, that sounded creepy. I’m so sorry.”

“I am hardly one to judge,” he reached over for a cookie, “But, if you’re so inclined, I won’t protest.”

“Yay!” she bounced slightly in her chair, “Oh, that’s great, Kiyo, thanks.”

“Shall we go to your dorm after finishing our refreshments?”

“I’d like that,” (Y/n) grinned.

And to think she almost didn’t approach Korekiyo on that first day in the school. How ridiculous could she have been to judge based on looks? Sure, he was a little strange and the way he spoke was unlike any teenager she’d ever met, but he was still a person. He deserved to be given companionship.

Besides, he’d only ever shown her kindness and support.

He didn’t even make fun of her when she said something stupid in front of everyone.

She cringed at the memory of every time Kokichi or Miu or Maki prodded at her. Even Ryoma and Kaito had picked on her when she misspoke during the first trial and just brought up a point the class had already proven. It made her heart wrinkle and shrink at the mere thought. Kokichi still made fun of her for questioning Tsumugi’s whereabouts during Rantaro’s murder.

“You’re staring into your tea, it will grow cold if you only look at it.”

“Oh, yeah,” shaking her head, (Y/n) silently cursed herself for spacing out. What an awful habit of hers, it was, “Sorry for taking so long.”

“You shouldn’t apologize, I’m not upset in the slightest,” he felt his heart lighten at the tiny smile that illuminated her face, “I simply enjoy spending this time together.”

“You’re too nice sometimes, Kiyo,” she giggled, but they both recognized the tingle of nervousness jumbling within it, “If you’re not careful, I might fall for you or something…”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing?”

I wouldn’t mind, she wanted to say.

If you’ll have me, he wished to murmur.

Then he felt his chest tighten.

“Can I…” he tapped a finger to the table, “ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Uhm,” she bit her lip as she thought back, “No… why?”

“How do you think it feels?”

“Like, you could be free and yourself around the person? I’m not too sure, but I think if you and someone else are in love then you’ll accept each other completely, you know? Sure, there’s flaws in every person, but I think you accept those, too.”

“I see…”

“Kiyo, why do you ask?”

“I…” his brows furrowed, “A lot has been on my mind as of late.”

“Alright, I won’t pry,” standing from the dining table, (Y/n) clapped her hands together, “Now, if you’re still down, I’d love to put your hair up!”

“As it stands, I am still, as you put it, ‘down’,” Korekiyo nodded before joining the girl and starting towards her dorm room.

“Nice!” she pointed directly ahead, “Now, onward!”

A total airhead at her truest, Korekiyo thought. He didn’t usually partake in the type, but something about (Y/n) just pulled him in tighter every time he tried turning away.

So, what’s the harm in giving in? Swimming against the tide only ever led to drowning anyway, so why fight it?

Sister… Sister was dead. Is dead. Resurrection isn’t possible and hasn’t been in human history. And she had changed so much of him. (Y/n) would never force him to bend to her ideal.

The more he thought about Sister in comparison to (Y/n), the more he realized that Sister felt like a ball and chain - and (Y/n) felt like a breath of fresh air.

Just her name inside his own head sounded as sweet as the best form of heaven.

“Here we are!” (Y/n) cheered upon their arrival to her room, “There’s probably a bunch-load of unfinished works in here so just… don’t judge them too harshly, okay?”

“I could hardly judge an unfinished masterpiece.”

“I don’t know about masterpieces…”

“If you create them with heart and soul, there’s nobody who can effectively say they aren’t except for yourself,” Korekiyo enters the room after her, legs carrying him towards her desk as she roots around her bathroom for a hairbrush and hair tie, “Sadly, this is also applicable to disasters with effort put into them. However, just from skimming these, I can tell you they are not such disasters.”

“Aw, thanks, Kiyo, you know - I know I’m the Ultimate Composer and junk, but jeez it gets so nerve-wracking when people hear my stuff. I like what I write, but who’s to say other people will?”

“I understand that. Showing others your work is extremely unsettling at times,” he followed the girl to her bed and sat between her knees on the floor, “I recall feeling that way when I would dabble in artistry.”

“You can draw?”

“I would when I was much younger,” he felt her fingers run over his scalp and through his hair and the weight looming over his shoulders practically melted off, “I haven’t held onto any of them, and they’ve likely aged poorly, but I know how I felt showing them around.”

“Why’d you stop? If you don’t mind my asking,” reaching around, (Y/n) threaded her fingers through Korekiyo’s bangs and, as gently as humanly possible, pulled the hair hanging over and around his face back into a slicked style.

“My… sister, she always rathered that I participate in anthropology with her. I wasn’t all that good anyways.”

“Aw, that’s kinda sad. Even if you weren’t good, you could’ve improved over time.”

“Do you truly believe that, (Y/n)?”

“Of course, I mean, talents are just developed over time, right? Angie didn’t pop out of the womb an art genius and I didn’t start off great at writing music, you just keep at it and eventually your skill level is way better than when you started.”

Sister always said he’d be garbage at drawing. Somebody like him could never learn.

She tied off and twisted until the bun was perfect - well, not perfect. It was presentable enough, and it was just a bun anyway! Not like they had anywhere to be.

“Sorry it’s messy,” she scratched at her cheek, feeling anxious that he’d be upset with her work.

“I…” he felt another little smile peek over him, it was indeed messy with stray hairs sticking out here and there and a few tiny bumps running over his head, but even so, “I love it.”

“You do?”

“It’s a gesture from you, why wouldn’t I?”

Standing beside Korekiyo at the mirror, (Y/n) twiddled her thumbs before spewing out her question, “It’s totally cool if not, but can I hug you? Sorry if that’s weird!”

“No… it’s…” Sister never asked to touch him, and now that he thought about it, she never seemed to care when he told her to stop, “That would be wonderful.”

As her arms slowly came around him, he felt truly at ease. With Sister, there was always this fear of never being what she wanted. That she hated him deep down. With (Y/n), it felt like finally being attached to someone you were meant to. Returning to a place of deep affection.

“You truly do care about me, don’t you, (Y/n)?”

“What kind of question is that?” she back-pedals, “I mean, of course, I do. You’re very dear to me, Kiyo.”

Maybe even a little too dear, considering the current climate of the killing game.

But even so, neither of them pulls away. Neither cares enough to wrangle themselves from indulging in the other’s touch. It feels too good against their skin.

It’s then that Korekiyo’s brain strikes the flint to create the burning thought - maybe Sister wasn’t all that great. Maybe Sister didn’t love him.

She’s only ever made him miserable, now that he recalls it all.

(Y/n) doesn’t. She makes him feel human and alive and adored. He likes the way she makes him feel. And between the two, he much rather would be praised than berated.

Oh God, what did this mean again?

Where do the creation myths go?

Who’s Princess Kaguya?

Her head throbs at the thoughts rumbling through her. She tried to get Korekiyo to get someone, anyone, but her to organize his notes.

Shuichi would love this stuff! You two should bond!

Gonta could learn about being gentlemanly from you! It’d be a great learning experience!

I know you don’t like Miu that much, but maybe spending more time together could make you understand each other more?

Anyone.

And yet, Korekiyo denied. He liked spending time with her. He wouldn’t mind answering every question she had - no matter how many times she asked it. He was a patient person, he could handle it.

(Y/n) looked at all the books and stray papers surrounding her alike, bottom lip tugged between her teeth in focus and face beating hot in vivid embarrassment. He wasn’t even looking at her, thank God, but still… it was so mortifying that she’d already lost track of what she was doing.

She tried so hard to pay attention, she really, really did!

She wanted to help so bad. She wanted to be useful so bad.

But she knew… she’s not a smart person, per se. It was beaten over her head repeatedly her entire life by her family, schooling, peers, and even her friends. She was an idiot who couldn’t do anything right.

It’s why she wanted Korekiyo to ask someone else.

But how could she say no to him? He was always so nice, it’d be downright mean to refuse him. Right?

She felt her eyes burn, vision growing blurry through tears. Setting down the papers in her hands - (Y/n) covered her eyes to keep any wetness from splotching the notes below. It was the least a fucking moron could do.

“(Y/n)? Are you feeling okay?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

She nodded shakily, just wanting Korekiyo to ignore her and continue his work. Better yet, he’d kick her out and she could dodge the incoming humiliation altogether.

“Yeah,” her voice cracked, lips trembling.

Goddammit.

She heard papers rustling before she could feel the presence at her side. Fingertips just barely grazing her body before hesitating back, “You’re lying.”

Understatement of the year.

“I just… I’m so sorry, Kiyo. I’m such an idiot, I knew I couldn’t do this,” she whimpered, desperately trying to grab and suffocate down her bubbling sobs before they wracked her throat, “I’m too fucking dumb to do anything right… I’m sorry…”

“No, no, don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong and you’re no idiot,” he’s immediately slammed with every memory of every time he’s called her such a thing. No matter how nice he tried to be about it, he still aided her insecurity, “I’m sorry for ever saying you were. Intellect is not measured by how well you can do a task nor should everyone’s mind be measured the same. Intelligence is fickle and is spread over a vast variety of subjects. You’re not an idiot for not being able to do something you’re not accustomed to.”

“I just… I- I wanted to help you but then I forgot everything you said about organizing them and then which regions are which and what even is a gorgon?”

He chuckled quietly at her question, “A creature in Greek mythology most commonly in reference to three sisters - Medusa, Euryale, and Sthenno - with hair made of living, venomous snakes that turned those who so much as looked upon them to stone,” he glanced around at what (Y/n) had gotten done, “I see that the filing in relation to music is nearly completed for your half.”

“That’s about all I’m good for.”

“And I would not have managed that so easily, music was never an incredible strength of mine - though I do admire it.”

“Don’t lie to me, Kiyo…”

“I would never,” he moved his notes away to sit more comfortably next to the girl, “In fact, if you’d be willing to listen…” his throat tightened and heart thumped in his chest, “I would like to tell you of something that’s been troubling me for quite some time.”

“Yeah,” she wiped away her tears, sniffling, “of course.”

“I told you of my sister, correct?” he waited for her nod of confirmation to continue, “Well, it’s my belief that…” his fists clenched.

What if she didn’t believe him? What if she blamed him? How do you tell someone your older sister raped and abused you when you’re barely even coming to terms with the fact yourself?

“(Y/n), I…” he stopped, gut bunching in knots before he suddenly ripped down his mask and turned to face her, “I think I need help…”

“What? You’re just wearing lipstick, Kiyo, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, no, no, no,” he shook his head, hands shaking wildly as he pulled out the ponytail (Y/n) had done up earlier and yanked through his hair, “E-everything I am is because of her! She consumes me even in death! She- she- she hurt me…”

“Oh,” the girl moved to sit up on her knees, hands reaching out but not yet touching him, “What happened, Kiyo? You can tell me, I’m listening.”

“She told me I was an awful boy, nobody but her could love someone so foul and creepy… she- “ he moved to grip his sleeves, “She touched me,” he looked into the girl’s eyes, “Is it my fault? Am I so disgusting? Why would she do this?”

“Do you want me to hold you or no?” at his shaky nod, she instantly took Korekiyo into a hug, cradling his head and shoulders to her body and stroking through his hair, “You’re more than what she made you. You’re bigger and better than her manipulation. And it’s not your fault she did what she did. It’s completely and totally on her. She took advantage of you, Kiyo, that’s not your fault.”

He grabbed her arm and pressed his face into her shirt as she held him, “Am I rotten? Am I lovable?”

“You’re the best person I’ve ever met. You’re worthy of love and care.”

His lipstick smeared over her shirt and across his cheek and neither of them minded. It would wash off eventually. Her stain on his life would come out.

“When we get out,” (Y/n) began again, “do you want to seek professional help? You can get it, Kiyo.”

He was slow to nod, beginning to grow tired from dosing out tears and trauma at once, “I do… thank you, (Y/n)...”

“No need to thank me.”

“(Y/n)?” she hummed quietly in acknowledgement, “Even if it isn’t for field work… I wish to travel the country with you. I want to show you the beauty of humanity as I know it… for our sakes.”

Looking down, (Y/n) caught the gentleness in his eyes, tender and soft and awaiting her response, she smiled softly, brushing back his hair, “I would love to, Kiyo. If it’s truly something you want to do, I would be happy to go anywhere with you.”

Nighttime was quickly approaching and with the atmosphere and turmoil of the class, (Y/n) didn’t feel very safe being out so late.

“You’re certain you don’t wish for me to walk you to your room?”

“No, you finish up here,” (Y/n) waved off Korekiyo’s offer, “Don’t be such a worry-wart, yeah? I’ll be fine! You better take care of yourself while I’m gone, though.”

He nodded, a small smile stretching over him, “I will, dear (Y/n), don’t worry.”

The girl’s eyes widened slightly before she returned his beam, “You have a cute smile, Kiyo.”

“Oh,” right, he didn’t have his mask on at the moment. It was refreshing to wake up and not trouble himself with makeup for a woman he wasn’t sure even cared - dare he say it, it was nice, even.

He’d only taken his mask off around (Y/n), it felt intimate. Sweet. Something passed only between them.

“Thank you.”

She nodded before turning back and pressing outward from his research lab, “I’ll see ya tomorrow, Kiyo! You better have the sweetest dreams, ya hear me?”

“You as well.”

He returned to cleaning up his lab, occasionally stumbling over a floorboard looser than the others. How troublesome.

That’s when her voice picked up from within his brain.

“You never loved me.”

He looked around despite knowing exactly where the voice was coming from.

“You let her do this to you. You let her take you from me.”

Pushing past them, he persisted in rooting through his notes and organizing his papers.

“She hates you. She’s scared of you. She’s just trying to be nice. You scare her. You scare all of them. You rotten, rotten boy. You’ve been ruined - only I could love a face so hideous and broken. A horrible, horrible boy lucky enough to be given the love I did.”

His hands shook, fingers twitching and heart thrumming heavy, “No. (Y/n) likes me. She enjoys my company.”

“Why would she enjoy the company of someone so lonely and depressing? So gross and foul? She probably hates you for partaking in your own sister’s touch.”

“No, she- she doesn’t… she knows it’s not… it’s not my fault…”

“Are you inside her head? How do you know? How are you certain? I’m the only one who ever loved you - and you’ve abandoned me. Left me all alone.”

“No, I- I haven’t abandoned you, Sister! Please, believe me, I never abandoned you.”

“So, you know what you must do to prove yourself to me.”

“(Y/n) wouldn’t like that…”

“(Y/n) wouldn’t like you anyway.”

She’s right, right? She’s right. Someone as wonderful and beautiful as (Y/n) could never adore him the way he does her. He loves her and she must find him repulsive. Staying out of fear.

Out of pity for the boy abused by his sister. And so, who better to return to than the more predictable of the two?

(Y/n) may have felt more like coming home than Sister - but Sister was home. (Y/n) was comfort. Sister was familiarity.

He found his foot planted against the loose floorboard once again. He knew how he had to make up for his misdeeds and abandonment.

“I’m truly relieved to see that you got to your room safely,” Korekiyo murmured to (Y/n).

“Huh? Oh yeah,” she pointed over to their local gentle giant, “Gonta and I crossed paths on my way and he wanted to walk me to my room and I just couldn’t say no to him. It’s nice to have someone you trust in this ‘game’. Well, other than you,” the elevator jumbled slightly as it dove down into Monokuma’s makeshift courtroom, “I trust you, obviously.”

She shouldn’t. And he wants to tell her that.

But as Kokichi and Shuichi take glances at him from across the elevator, he knows that she’ll figure things out soon enough.

And, during the trial, when Shuichi’s convicting Korekiyo of the murder of Angie Yonaga and Tenko Chabashira - she does. And she cries and screams and throws a fit. Demanding Korekiyo to fight back harder. Demanding Shuichi to stop lying and get serious. Because Korekiyo would never kill somebody.

He was nice. He was a gentleman. He cared about people. He had stolen her heart - and a man who managed that wouldn’t kill anybody. So, of course, Shuichi was lying.

“Do I have to remind you of what’ll happen if you don’t vote?” Monokuma bit out.

(Y/n) clutched at her hair - she knew what she had to do. But every time she went to vote for Korekiyo, her body wouldn’t let her.

Reaching over, the boy himself took her hand in his, “Allow me,” as he guided her hand over her voting panel. No matter how she swatted at his hand or tried to wrench herself from Korekiyo’s grip, he pressed her vote into his name.

She was forced to watch as he was strung up and spun. Made dizzy and sickly. She was made to watch as he fell into the melting pot. Fires eating at his body until he was no more than spirit.

As Monokuma and the sister who had harmed him so horrifically worked as one to rid the world of his soul.

Eyes went to (Y/n) as the execution subsided. Her sobs and hiccups drawing everyone’s attention.

Gonta was the first to approach, a large hand settling on the girl’s back as she cried, silently taking her into a hug.

Her heart wrenched, fingers squeezing at Gonta’s suit and throat rubbing raw with her wild wails.

He could’ve gotten help. He could’ve gotten out with everyone. If she’d just stayed with him then she could’ve done something. Angie and Tenko would be here. Korekiyo would be here.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Kaito’s voice peeked through, “Don’t cry because he’s gone, (Y/n). Move forward - for both of you.”

“I…” she shook her head, choking on a sob, “I don’t think I can…”

Shuichi placed a hand on Kaito’s shoulder, “Just give her a little time.”

As the group moved out of the courtroom, Gonta stayed by (Y/n)’s side up until she clumsily made her way into her dorm room.

Immediately, she collapsed into her bed sheets. Dreading tomorrow. And the next day. And the one after that. And the one after that. And so on. And so forth. Maybe she should’ve known better than to go around falling for a guy in the killing game. Maybe she should’ve held herself up in her room all alone.

There was no escape from this feeling. No hiding. It may get better over time - but Korekiyo would always be gone.

A buzz at the door caught her attention. Her movements were sluggish, honestly just hoping that whoever was there had given up and left by the time she finally answered.

Shuichi stood there, classically uneven, anxious smile and all, “I think there’s something you might be interested in? If you’ll follow me.”

No verbal response was given, only (Y/n) stepping out of her room and shutting the door behind her to give him her confirmation.

He began towards the casino. With a sigh, (Y/n) was about to tell Shuichi off - she didn’t need to start gambling to get over Korekiyo’s death - until he stopped in front of the building.

“I mostly just wanted you to get some fresh air,” he says earnestly before digging in his pocket and pulling out a key with a heart-shaped handle, “I got this from here. You can get your own or keep this one, I think you need it more than I do,” at her confusion he continues to explain, “It can take you into this weird dream-like state where you can see what ‘ideal’ you play in our classmates’ minds… I think you know who I gave this to you for.”

“Kiyo…”

“Yeah. You can see him again, if you want.”

She wanted to be strong and push the key back into Shuichi’s hand - instead, she just looked between him and the key in her hold and nodded slowly, “Thank you, Shuichi…”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, “Sleep well, (Y/n). I know you can grow past this.”

Because he did.

“I’ll try.”

But he wasn’t her. And Kaede was gone far before Korekiyo. And their grief was not the same.

“Thanks again, Shuichi.”

“Just take your time, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Her knees felt like collapsing under the weight of her nerves, hand falling to the doorknob of the hotel room.

She pushed through her anxiety and found herself in a red-tinted room, a large heart-shaped bed in the center with a merry-go-round circling it. Then, she found Korekiyo standing to the side.

What would his ‘ideal’ version of her be? A friend? An out-of-touch acquaintance? A lover?

Her heart throbbed at the last possibility.

“Ah, my dear, back so soon?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry…”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I’m, uhm, not sure?”

I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.

“Then don’t,” he seemed to glide across the room, taking the girl’s cheeks in his hands, “You’ve always had a problem with that, my love.”

My love? My love.

“Ah, yeah, sorry,” she huffed at her own word selection, “Oh…”

Korekiyo chuckled quietly, pulling down his mask to kiss her forehead, “I already took my medication while you were out.”

“Your medication?”

“Yes, from the doctor. You were the one who pushed me to go, have you forgotten?”

“Right! No, no, I just blanked,” she quickly lied, giving the boy a broad grin, “I’m glad, though.”

“It’s only medication, dear.”

“Still,” (Y/n) reached up to cup Korekiyo’s cheek, “it’s good that you’re following through with your meds.”

“Your support always helps,” he pressed another kiss to the girl’s forehead, “We’ll be leaving early in the morning tomorrow, I should warn you,” at her furrowed brows he explained, “In order for us to catch the first train to Iwate prefecture. Did you forget, darling?”

“Wait, wait, let me guess…” she waited for his nod before tossing out her suggestion, “We’re traveling for field work!” she was then quick to tag on, “As a couple that’s, like, super in love?”

“You didn’t forget at all, my love,” Korekiyo pulled away slightly, and sat on the bed, removing his shoes, “You play that memory of yours down too much. You’re far more intelligent than you think.”

“You think that?”

“Of course, I do. It’s not just because I love you dearly, either. You mustn’t let the words and actions of others control your opinion on yourself - you’re better than they say.”

This is his ultimate fantasy. He’s her lover. They travel and see the beauty of humanity together, just like what he said he wanted. He loves her. He thinks she’s so great.

He’s wrong.

She should’ve stayed with him that night.

He’s wrong.

She could’ve done so much to keep him with her.

He’s dead.

Because she should’ve stayed.

“Kiyo,” her eyes burned and began to soak, “I’m sorry!” her lungs rapidly expanded and contracted with her sporadic breaths, her hands clutching at her shirt. Her knees finally buckled and she collapsed to the ground, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry for being a stupid, stupid, stupid failure! Please… forgive me…!”

Korekiyo immediately stood up and rushed to (Y/n)’s side, bringing her into a tight hug as she fell to the floor, his fingers running through her hair. He kisses at her temple and cheeks, waiting until her cries settle enough for him to be audible in the room, “It’s interesting, dear, I first realized I’d fallen in love with you in a situation similar as this. I desired to comfort and reassure you just as I do now. You’re not stupid nor a failure, and I adore you above all else.”

Shaking her head, (Y/n) only began to cry harder into Korekiyo’s chest. This could’ve been their future. This could’ve been what they had to share and hold between only each other. If she’d only stayed. If she’d been with him that night.

“Oh, my dear, I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

“It wasn’t you,” she clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to keep back her cries, “I- I- it’s all my fault… it’s all my fault…”

“You haven’t done anything wrong, darling,” Korekiyo held her tighter, “I love you, my dearest (Y/n). No matter what you’ve done, I will always forgive you.”

And once again, her tears only came out harder. Her head pounding ruthlessly at the ache and consciousness fading out in her exhaustion. Korekiyo was dead. And no amount of her tears could ever bring him back.

#korekiyo shinguji x reader #korekiyo x reader #shinguji x reader #drv3 x reader #he deserved so much better :(( i wuv him #let me know if i miss anything with the warnings

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thecaffeinebookwarrior · 4 years ago

Text

The Importance of Antiheroes

By Brooksie C. Fontaine (me) and Sara R. McKearney

Few tropes are as ubiquitous as that of the hero. He takes the form of Superman, ethically and non-lethally thwarting Lex Luthor. Of Luke Skywalker, gazing wistfully at twin suns and waiting for his adventure to begin. In pre-Eastwood era films, a white Stetson made the law-abiding hero easily distinguishable from his black-hatted antagonists. He is Harry Potter, Jon Snow, T’Challa, Simba. He is of many incarnations, he is virtually inescapable, and he serves a necessary function: he reminds us of what we can achieve, and that regardless of circumstance, we can choose to be good. We need our heroes, and always will.

But equally vital to the life-blood of any culture is his more nebulous and difficult to define counterpart: the antihero. Whereas the hero is defined, more or less, by his morality and exceptionalism, the antihero doesn’t cleanly meet these criteria. Where the hero tends to be confident and self-assured, the antihero may have justifiable insecurities. While the hero has faith in the goodness of humanity, the anthero knows from experience how vile humans can be. While the hero typically respects and adheres to authority figures and social norms, the antihero may rail against them for any number of reasons. While the hero always embraces good and rejects evil, the antihero may do either. And though the hero might always be buff, physically capable, and mentally astute, the antihero may be average or below. The antihero scoffs at the obligation to be perfect, and our culture's demand for martyrdom. And somehow, he is at least as timeless and enduring as his sparklingly heroic peers.

Which begs the question: where did the antihero come from, and why do we need him?

The Birth of the Anti-Hero:

It is worth noting that many of the oldest and most enduring heroes would now be considered antiheroes. The Greek Heracles was driven to madness, murdered his family, and upon recovering had to complete a series of tasks to atone for his actions. Theseus, son of Poseidon and slayer of the Minotaur, straight-up abandoned the woman who helped him do it. And we all know what happened to Oedipus, whose life was so messed up he got a complex named after him.

And this isn’t just limited to Ancient Greece: before he became a god, the Mesoamerican Quetzalcoatl committed suicide after drunkenly sleeping with his sister. The Mesopotamian Gilgamesh – arguably the first hero in literature – began his journey as a slovenly, hedonistic tyrant. Shakespearian heroes were denoted with an equal number of gifts and flaws – the cunning but paranoid Hamlet, the honorable but gullible Othello, the humble but power-hungry MacBeth – which were just as likely to lead to their downfall as to their apotheosis.

There’s probably a definitive cause for our current definition of hero as someone who’s squeaky clean: censorship. With the birth of television and film as we know it, it was, for a time, illegal to depict criminals as protagonists, and law enforcement as antagonists. The perceived morality of mainstream cinema was also strictly monitored, limiting what could be portrayed. Bonnie and Clyde, The Good the Bad and the Ugly, Scarface, The Godfather, Goodfellas, and countless other cinematic staples prove that such policies did not endure, but these censorship laws divorced us, culturally, from the moral complexity of our most resonant heroes.

Perhaps because of the nature of the medium, literature arguably has never been as infatuated with moral purity as its early cinematic and T.V. counterparts. From the Byronic male love interests of the Bronte sisters, to “Doctor” Frankenstein (that little college dropout never got a PhD), to Dorian Grey, to Anna Karenina, to Scarlett O’Hara, to Holden Caulfield, literature seems to thrive on morally and emotionally complex individuals and situations. Superman punching a villain and saving Lois Lane is compelling television, but doesn’t make for a particularly thought-provoking read.

It is also worth noting, however, that what we now consider to be universal moral standards were once met with controversy: Superman’s story and real name – Kal El – are distinctly Jewish, in which his doomed parents were forced to send him to an uncertain future in a foreign culture. Captain America punching Nazis now seems like a no-brainer, but at the time it was not a popular opinion, and earned his Jewish creators a great deal of controversy. So in a manner of speaking, some of the most morally upstanding heroes are also antiheroes, in that they defied society’s rules.

This brings us to our concluding point: that anti-heroes can be morally good. The complex and sometimes tragic heroes of old, and today’s antiheroes, are not necessarily immoral, but must often make difficult choices, compromises, and sacrifices. They are flawed, fallible, and can sometimes lead to their own downfall. But sometimes, they triumph, and we can cheer them for it. This is what makes their stories so powerful, so relatable, and so necessary to the fabric of our culture. So without further ado, let’s have a look at some of pop-culture’s most interesting antiheroes, and what makes them so damn compelling.

Note: For the purposes of this essay, we will only be looking at male antiheroes. Because the hero’s journey is traditionally so male-oriented, different standards of subversiveness, morality, and heroism apply to female protagonists, and the antiheroine deserves an article all her own.

Antiheroes show us the negative effects of systematic inequalities (and what they can do to gifted people.)

As demonstrated by: Tommy Shelby from Peaky Blinders.

Why he could be a hero: He’s incredibly charismatic, intelligent, and courageous. He deeply cares for his loved ones, has a strict code of honor, reacts violently to the mistreatment of innocents, and demonstrates surprisingly high levels of empathy.

Why he’s an antihero: He also happens to be a ruthless, incredibly violent crime lord who regularly slashes out his enemies’ eyes.

What he can teach us: From the moment Tommy Shelby makes his entrance, it becomes apparent that Peaky Blinders will not unfold like the archetypical crime drama. Evocative of the outlaw mythos of the Old West, Tommy rides across a smoky, industrialized landscape. He is immaculately dressed, bareback, on a magnificent black horse. A rogue element, his presence carries immediate power, causing pedestrians to hurriedly clear a path. You get the sense that he does not conform to this time or era, nor does he abide by the rules of society.

The ONLY acceptable way to introduce a protagonist.

Set in the decades between World War I and II, Peaky Blinders differentiates itself from its peers, not just because of its distinctive, almost Shakespearian style of storytelling, powerful visual style, and use of contemporary music, but also in the manner in which it shows that society provokes the very criminality it attempts to vanquish. Moreover, it dedicates time to demonstrating why this form of criminality is sometimes the only option for success in an unfair system. When the law wants to keep you relegated to the station in which you were born, success almost inevitably means breaking the rules. Tommy is considered one of the most influential characters of the decade because of the manner in which he embodies this phenomenon, and the reason why antiheroes pervade folklore across the decades.

Peaky Blinders engenders a unique level of empathy within its first episodes, in which we are not just immersed in the glamour of the gangster lifestyle, but we understand the background that provoked it. Tommy, who grew up impoverished and discriminated against due to his “didicoy” Romany background, volunteered to fight for his country, and went to war as a highly intelligent, empathetic young man. He returned with the knowledge that the country he had served had essentially used him and others like him as canon fodder, with no regard for their lives, well-being, or future. Such veterans were often looked down upon or disregarded by a society eager to forget the war. Having served as a tunneler – regarded to be the worst possible position in a war already beset by unprecedented brutality – Tommy’s constant proximity to death not only destroyed his faith in authority, but also his fear of mortality. This absence of fear and deference, coupled with his incredible intelligence, ambition, ruthlessness, and strategic abilities, makes him a dangerous weapon, now pointed at the very society that constructed him to begin with.

It is also difficult to critique Tommy’s criminality, when we take into account that society would have completely stifled him if he had abided by its rules. As someone of Romany heritage, he was raised in abject poverty, and never would have been admitted into situations of higher social class. Even at his most powerful, we see the disdain his colleagues have at being obligated to treat him as an equal. In one particularly powerful scene, he begins shoveling horse manure, explaining that, “I’m reminding myself of what I’d be if I wasn’t who I am.” If he hadn’t left behind society’s rules, his brilliant mind would be occupied only with cleaning stables.

However, the necessity of criminality isn’t depicted as positive: it is one of the greatest tragedies of the narrative that society does not naturally reward the most intelligent or gifted, but instead rewards those born into positions of unjust privilege, and those who are willing to break the rules with intelligence and ruthlessness. Each year, the trauma of killing, nearly being killed, and losing loved ones makes Tommy’s PTSD increasingly worse, to the point at which he regularly contemplates suicide. Cillian Murphy has remarked that Tommy gets little enjoyment out of his wealth and power, doing what he does only for his family and “because he can.” Steven Knight cites the philosophy of Francis Bacon as a driving force behind Tommy’s psychology: “Since it’s all so meaningless, we might as well be extraordinary.”

This is further complicated when it becomes apparent that the upper class he’s worked so arduously to join is not only ruthlessly exclusionary, but also more corrupt than he’s ever been. There are no easy answers, no easy to pinpoint sources of societal or personal issues, no easy divisibility of positive and negative. This duality is something embraced by the narrative, and embodied by its protagonist. An intriguingly androgynous figure, Tommy emulated the strength and tenacity of the women in his life, particularly his mother; however, he also internalized her application of violence, even laughing about how she used to beat him with a frying pan. His family is his greatest source of strength and his greatest weakness, often exploited by his enemies who realize they cannot fall back on his fear of mortality. He feels emotions more strongly than the other characters, and ironically must numb himself to the world around him in order to cope with it.

However, all hope is not lost. Creator Steven Knight has stated that his hope is ultimately to redeem Tommy, so by the show’s end he is “a good man doing good things.” There are already whispers of what this may look like: as an MP, Tommy cares for Birmingham and its citizens far more than any “legitimate” politicians, meeting with them personally to ensure their needs are met; as of last season, he attempted a Sinatra-style assassination of a rising fascist simply because it was the right thing to do. “Goodness” is an option in the world of Peaky Blinders; the only question is what form it will take on a landscape plagued by corruption at every turn.

Regardless of what form his “redemption” might take, it’s negligible that Tommy will ever meet all the criteria of an archetypal hero as we understand it today. He is far more evocative of the heroes of Ancient Greece, of the Old West, of the Golden Age of Piracy, of Feudal Japan – ferocious, magnitudinous figures who move and make the earth turn with them, who navigate the ever-changing landscapes of society and refuse to abide by its rules, simultaneously destructive and life-affirming. And that’s what makes him so damn compelling.

Who needs traditional morality, when you look this damn good?

Other examples:

Alfie Solomons from Peaky Blinders. Tommy’s friend and sometimes mortal enemy, the two develop an intriguing, almost romantic connection due to their shared experiences of oppression and powerful intellects. Steven Knight has referred to Alfie as “the only person Tommy can really talk to,” possibly because he is Tommy’s only intellectual equal, resulting in a strange form of spiritual matrimony between the two.

Omar Little from The Wire, an oftentimes tender and compassionate man who cares deeply for his loved ones, and does his best to promote morality and idealism in a society which offers him few viable methods of doing so. He may rob drug dealers at gunpoint, but he also refuses to harm innocents, dislikes swearing, and views his actions as a method of decreasing crime in the area.

Chiron from Moonlight, a sensitive and empathetic young man who became a drug dealer because society had provided him with virtually no other options for self-sustenance. The same could be said for Chiron’s mentor and father figure, Juan, a kind and nurturing man who is also a drug dealer.

To a lesser extent, Tony from The Sopranos, and other fictional Italian American gangsters. The Sopranos often negotiates the roots of mob culture as a response to inequalities, while also holding its characters accountable for their actions by pointing out that Tony and his ilk are now rich and privileged and face little systematic discrimination.

Walter White from Breaking Bad – an underpaid, chronically disrespected teacher who has to work two jobs and still can’t afford to pay for medical treatment. More on him on the next page.

Antiheroes show us how we can be the villains.

As demonstrated by: Walter White from Breaking Bad.

Why he could be a hero: He’s a brilliant, underappreciated chemist whose work contributed to the winning of a Nobel Prize. He’s also forging his own path in the face of incredible adversity, and attempting to provide for his family in the event of his death.

Why he’s an antihero: In his pre-meth days, Walt failed to meet the exceptionalism associated with heroes, as a moral but socially passive underachiever living an unremarkable life. At the end of his transformation, he is exceptional at what he does, but has completely lost his moral standards.

What he can teach us: G.K. Chesterton wrote, “Fairy tales do not tell children that the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.” Following this analogy, it is equally important that our stories show us we, ourselves, can be the dragon. Or the villain, to be more specific, because being a dragon sounds strangely awesome.

Walter White of Breaking Bad is a paragon of antiheroism for a reason: he subverts almost every traditional aspect of heroism. From the opening shots of Walt careening along in an RV, clad in tighty whities and a gas mask, we recognize that he is neither physically capable, nor competent in the manner we’ve come to expect from our heroes. He is not especially conventionally attractive, nor are women particularly drawn to him. He does not excel at his career or garner respect. As the series progresses, Walt does develop the competence, confidence, courage, and resilience we expect of heroes, but he is no longer the moral protagonist: he is self-motivated, vindictive, and callous. And somehow, he still remains identifiable, which is integral to his efficacy.

But let us return to the beginning of the series, and talk about how, exactly, Walt subverts our expectations from the get-go. Walt is the epitome of an everyman: he’s fifty years old, middle class, passive, and worried about identifiable problems – his health, his bills, his physically disabled son, and his unborn baby. Whereas Tommy Shelby’s angelic looks, courage, and intellect subvert our preconceptions about what a criminal can be, Walt’s initial unremarkability subverts our preconceptions about who can be a criminal. The hook of the series is the idea that a man so chronically average could make and distribute meth.

Just because an audience is hooked by a concept, however, does not mean that they’ll necessarily continue watching. Breaking Bad could have easily veered into ludicrosity, if it weren’t for another important factor: character. Walt is immediately and intensely relatable, and he somehow retains our empathy for the entirety of the series, even at his least forgivable.

When we first meet Walt, his talents are underappreciated, he’s overqualified for his menial jobs, chronically disrespected by everyone around him, underpaid, and trapped in a joyless, passionless life in which the highlight of his day is a halfhearted handjob from his distracted wife. And to top it all off? He has terminal lung cancer. Happy birthday, Walt.

We root for him for the same reason we root for Dumbo, Rudolph, Harry Potter: he’s an underdog. The odds are stacked against him, and we want to see him triumph. Which is why it’s cathartic, for us and for Walt, when he finally finds a profession in which he can excel – even if that profession is the ability to manufacture incredibly high-quality meth. His former student Jesse Pinkman – a character so interesting that there’s a genuine risk he’ll hijack this essay – appreciates his skill, and this early appreciation is what makes his relationship with Jesse feel so much more genuine than Walt’s relationship with his family, even as their dynamic becomes increasingly unhealthy and Walt uses Jesse to bolster his meth business and his ego. This deeply dysfunctional but heartfelt father-son connection is Walt’s tether to humanity as he becomes increasingly inhumane, while also demonstrating his descent from morality. It has been pointed out that one can gauge how far-gone Walt is from his moral ideals by how much Jesse is suffering.

But to return to the initial point, it is imperative that we first empathize with Walt in order to adequately understand his descent. Aside from the fact that almost all characters are more interesting if the audience can or wants to empathize with them, Walt’s relatability makes it easy to understand our own potential for toxic and destructive behaviors. We are the protagonist of our own story, but we aren’t necessarily its hero.

Similarly, we understand how easily we can justify destructive actions, and how quickly reasonable feelings of anger and injustice swerve into self-indulgent vindication and entitlement. Walt claims to be cooking meth to provide for his family, and this may be partially true; but he also denies financial help from his rich friends out of spite, and admits later to his wife Skylar that he primarily did it for himself because he was good at it and “it made (him) feel alive.”

This also forces us to examine our preconceptions, and essentially do Walt’s introspections for him: whereas Peaky Blinders emphasize the fact that Tommy and his family would never have been able to achieve prosperity by obeying society’s laws, Walt feels jilted out of success he was promised by a meritocratic system that doesn’t currently exist. He has essentially achieved our current understanding of the American dream – a house with a pool, a beautiful wife and family, an honest job – but it left him unable to provide for his wife and children or even pay for his cancer treatment. He’s also unhappy and alienated from his passions and fellow human beings. With this in mind, it’s understandable – if absurd – that the only way he can attain genuine happiness and excel is through becoming a meth cook. In this way, Breaking Bad is both a scathing critique of our current society, and a haunting reminder that there’s not as much standing between ourselves and villainy as we might like to believe.

So are we all slaves to this system of entitlement and resentment, of shattered and unfulfilling dreams? No, because Breaking Bad provides us with an intriguing and vital counterpoint: Jesse Pinkman. Whereas Walt was bolstered with promises that he was gifted and had a bright future ahead of him, Jesse was assured by every authority figure in his life that he would never amount to anything. However, Jesse proves himself skilled at what he’s passionate about: art, carpentry, and of course, cooking meth. Whereas Walt perpetually rationalizes and shirks responsibility, Jesse compulsively takes responsibility, even for things that weren’t his fault. Whereas Walt found it increasingly acceptable to endanger or harm bystanders, Jesse continuously worked to protect innocents – especially children – from getting hurt. Though Jesse suffered immensely throughout the course of the show – and the subsequent movie, El Camino – the creators say that he successfully made it to Alaska and started a carpentry business. Some theorists have supposed that Jesse might be a Jesus allegory – a carpenter who suffers for the sins of others. Regardless of whether this is true, it is interesting, and amusing to imagine Jesus using the word “bitch” so often. Though he didn’t get the instant gratification of immediate success that Walt got, he was able to carve (no pun intended – carpentry, you know) a place for himself in the world.

Jesse isn’t a perfect person, but he reminds us that improving ourselves and creating a better life is an option, even if Walt’s rise to power was more initially thrilling. So take heart: there’s a bit of Heisenberg in all of us, but there’s also a bit of Jesse Pinkman.

The savior we all need, but don’t deserve.

Other examples:

Bojack from Bojack Horseman. Like Walt, the audience can’t help but empathize with Bojack, understand his decision-making, and even see ourselves in him. However, the narrative ruthlessly demonstrates the consequences of his actions, and shows us how negatively his selfishness and self-destructive qualities impact others.

Again, Tony Soprano. Tony, even at his very worst, is easy to like and empathize with. Despite his position as a mafia Godfather, he’s unfailingly human. Which makes the destruction caused by his actions all the more resonant.

Antiheroes emphasize the absurdity of contemporary culture (and how we must operate in it.)

As demonstrated by: Marty Byrde from Ozark.

Why he could be a hero: He’s a loving father who ultimately just wants to provide for and ensure the safety of his family. He’s also fiercely intelligent, with excellent negotiative, interpersonal, and strategic skills that allows him to talk his way out of almost any situation without the use of violence.

Why he’s an antihero: He launders money for a ruthless drug cartel, and has no issue dipping his toes into various illegal activities.

Why he’s compelling: Marty is an antihero of the modern era. He has a remarkable ability to talk his way into or out of any situation, and he’s also a master of using a pre-constructed system of rules and privileges to his benefit.

In the very first episode, he goes from literally selling the American Dream, to avoiding murder at the hands of a ruthless drug cartel by planning to launder money for them in the titular Ozarks. Despite his long history of dabbling in illegality, Marty has no firearms – a questionable choice for someone on the run from violent drug kingpins, but a testament to his ability to rely on his oratory skills and nothing else. He doesn’t hesitate to engage an apparently violent group of hillbillies to request the return of his stolen cash, because he knows he can talk them into giving it back to him. The only time he engages other characters in physical violence, he immediately gets pummeled, because physical altercation has never been his form of currency. Not that he’s subjected to physical violence particularly often, either: Marty is a master of the corporate landscape, which makes him a master of the criminal landscape. He is brilliant at avoiding the consequences of his actions.

It’s easy to like and admire Marty for his cleverness, for being able to escape from apparently impermeable situations with words as his only weapon. He’s got a reassuring, dad-ly sort of charisma that immediately endears the viewer, and offers respite from the seemingly endless threats coming from every direction. He unquestionably loves his family, including his adulterous wife. As such, it’s easy to forget that Marty is being exploited by the same system that exploits all of us: crony capitalism. The polar opposite of meritocratic capitalism – in which success is based on hard work, ingenuity, and, hence the name, merit – crony capitalism benefits only the conglomerates that plague the global landscape like cancerous warts, siphoning money off of workers and natural capital, keeping them indentured with basic necessities and the idle promise of success.

Marty isn’t benefiting from his hard work in the Ozarks. Everything he makes goes right back to the drug cartel who continuously threatens the life of him and his family. He is rewarded for his efforts with a picturesque house, a boat, and the appearance of success, but he is not allowed to keep the fruits of his labor. Marty may be an expert at navigating the corporate and criminal landscape, but it still exploits him. In this manner, Marty embodies both the American business, the American worker, and a sort of inversion of the American dream.

In this same manner, Marty, the other characters, and even the Ozarks themselves embody the modern dissonance between appearance and reality. Marty’s family looks like something you’d respect to see on a Christmas card from your DILF-y, successful coworker, but it’s bubbling with dysfunctionality. His wife is cheating on him with a much-older man, and instead of confronting her about it, he first hired a private investigator and then spent weeks rewatching the footage, paralyzed with options and debating what to do. The problem somewhat solves itself when his wife’s lover is unceremoniously murdered by the cartel, and Wendy and Marty are driven into a sort of matrimonial business partnership motivated by the shared interest of protecting their children, but this also further demonstrates how corporate even their family dealings have become. His children, though precocious, are forced to contend with age-inappropriate levels of responsibility and the trauma of sudden relocation, juxtaposed with a childhood of complete privilege up until this point.

Conversely, the shadow of the Byrde family is arguably the Langmores. Precocious teenagers Ruth and Wyatt can initially be shrugged off as local hillbillies and budding con-artists, but much like the Shelby family of the Peaky Blinders, they prove to be extremely intelligent individuals suffering beneath a society that doesn’t care about their stifled potential. Systemic poverty is a bushfire that spreads from one generation to the next, stoked by the prejudices of authority figures and abusive parental figures who refuse to embrace change out of a misguided sense of class-loyalty.

Almost every other character we meet eventually inverts our expectations of them: from the folksy, salt-of-the-earth farmers who grow poppies for opium and murder more remorselessly than the cartel itself, to the cookie-cutter FBI agent whose behavior becomes increasingly volatile and chaotic, to the heroin-filled Bibles handed out by an unknowing preacher, to the secrets hidden by the lake itself, every detail conveys corruption hidden behind a postcard-pretty picture of tranquility and success.

Marty’s awareness of this illusion, and what lurks behind it, is perhaps the greatest subversion of all. Marty knows that the world of appearance and the world of reality coexist, and he was blessed with a natural talent for navigating within the two. Like Walter White, Marty makes us question our assumptions about who a criminal can be – despite the fact that many successful, attractive, middle-aged family men launder money and juggle criminal activities, it’s still jarring to witness, which tells us something about how image informs our understanding of reality. Socially privileged, white-collar criminals simply have more control over how they’re portrayed than an inner-city gang, or impoverished teenagers. However, unlike Walt, Marty’s criminal activities are not any kind of middle-aged catharsis: they’re a way of life, firmly ingrained in the corporate landscape. They were present long before he arrived on the scene, and he knows it. He just has to navigate them.

Just like our shining, messianic heroes can teach us about truth, justice, and the American way, so too does each antihero have something to teach us: they teach us that society doesn’t reward those who follow its instructions, nor does it often provide an avenue of morality. Even if you live a life devoid of apparent sin, every privilege is paid for by someone else’s sacrifice. But the best antiheroes are not beacons of nihilism – they show us the beauty that can emerge from even the ugliest of situations. Peaky Blinders is, at its core, a love story between Tommy Shelby and the family he crawled out of his grave for, just as Breaking Bad is ultimately a deeply dysfunctional tale of a father figure and son. Ozark, like its predecessors, is about family – the only authenticity in a society that operates on deception, illusion, and corruption. They teach us that even in the worst times and situations, love can compel us, redeem us, bind us closer together. Only then can we face the dragons of life, and feel just a bit more heroic.

Other examples:

Don Draper from Mad Men. A similarly Shakespearian figure for the modern era, Don is a man who appears to have everything – perfect looks, a beautiful wife and children, a prestigious job. He could have stepped out of an ad for the American Dream. And yet, he feels disconnected from his life, isolated from others by the very societal rules he, as a member of the ad agency, helps to propagate. It helps that he’s literally leading a borrowed life, inherited from the stolen identity of his deceased fellow soldier, and was actually an impoverished, illegitimate farmboy whose childhood abuse permanently damaged his ability to form relationships. The Hopper-esque alienation evoked by the world of Mad Men really deserves an essay all it’s own, and his wife Betty – whose Stepford-level mask of cheerful subservience hides seething unhappiness and unfulfilled potential – is a particularly intriguing figure to explore. Maybe in my next essay, on the importance of the antiheroine.

#my writing tips #writing tips #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #walter white #breaking bad #jesse pinkman #bojack horseman #don draper #writing advice #antihero #the types of antiheroes #long post for ts

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punkpsychologist · 2 years ago

Text

HELLO

AAA. OKAY. ITS BEEN A BIT. You know, I actually drafted this post before but my fucking power went out and I lost it. So here we go again.

Main parts of this motherfucker

where I've been

what happened (yes these are two different things)

where I'm going and how I feel about it

alrighty. so I successfully finished my first year of college at a community college near my home town. i worked asynchronously and was able to make it onto the dean's list again for the second semester!

so all of that was good and well but if you have read some of my previous posts you might know that there is a very specific Scholarship that i have been after. it was very important and was considered to be a deciding factor on if i would be able to go to a university and live in the dorms or not. i did not get the scholarship. my mother and i felt very confident that i would but it was very new and the school that created it had yet to really solidify how it worked and what it's requirements were. in otherwords, the prospect of the Scholarship was unstable from the beginning.

i never got any kind of email or correspondence that explicitly said that i would not receive the Scholarship but i found that it would primarily be given to sophomores. i'm a college first-year who is very close to achieving an associate's degree. my mother and i panicked back during my finals week over the Scholarship. after realizing that I would have a better chance if i had my associates, my mom and i made a plan to put me into a "maymester" course and to completely fill my summer with classes. if i was able to pass all of those classes, I would have my associates by august. now i mentioned that this plan was created during finals week, i was incredibly tired and my pms was putting me in a really bad space. i felt this kind of sense of hopelessness, like it all felt very fruitless. i was tired and i had been continuing on the thought that once i finished my finals that i would get to rest. after realizing how fruitless the effort could be, we scrapped that plan and opted to place me into a full load of classes for the second half of the summer, i was waaaayyyy more supportive of this. my classes begin on july 5th and im once again in the class of one of my favorite professors so we'll see how it goes.

it gets a little more interesting here. so i told you that i never was explicitly told that i was denied the Scholarship, so there was a period of time in the early summer where i was just kind of in this limbo of searching for answers. i was scrambled and panicked and felt rather hopeless. i need to leave home. it's not that my family is bad to me, quite the opposite. i am the only child of a single mother, my father overdosed on opioids when i was a toddler, and my mothers family stepped up to help raise me. i grew up extremely paranoid of people and was always very close to death-related situations. i was also sexually assaulted by someone close to me and couldnt tell anybody. i believe that i am a psychologically unhealthy individual. i have incredible amounts of empathy and sympathy for people, i am also extremely afraid of people. due to my anxiety mixed with my trauma and pms i go through phases of being paranoid and unjustly afraid of people that i love very much. the covid19 quarantine was the most enabling thing that has ever happened in my entire life. i didn't have to talk to anybody aside from my mother or leave my house. i made myself think i was safe and happy when in reality i was slowly allowing my anxiety to consume me. when i say this im serious, like having panic attacks in the grocery store because i cant manage all the people that i run into and lying to someone that i love very much because im afraid to go out and i dont know how to explain to him what exactly is making me act this way. i dont know how to function without my family, and they are all much older than me. i know they will die and i will eventually be left alone.

tldr: i need to be around people my own age and i need to be around them physically because my mental health has gotten out of hand

one of my friends inspired me to transfer to university a year earlier than initially projected. the Scholarship was needed to be able to go.

while in Scholarship limbo my mom straight up called me over and said "you know you're going to the dorms in the fall right?" and i stg its like i had a mini breakdown. AFTER ALL THAT FUCKING SHIT. I GET TO GO. I GET TO GO!!!!!!!!!! I DON'T KNOW WHY SHE DIDDN'T TELL ME EARLIER. THIS DID THIS WHEN I TRIED TO QUIT BAND IN HIGH SCHOOL AS WELL. MAN. I'm so happy, I can't possibly explain how simultaneously happy and afraid I am. Going off and to the dorms is the best possible outcome I could ask for but in yet it is the one that I feared the most. I wonder if this was her way of trying to get me to see how far I would go to try and scrounge up cash or if she wanted to see how devoted I was to the idea of university.

Either way. I have my dorm room and roommates secured. I was on campus a few days ago for an orientation. I also have a couple of friends as well as some organizations that I intend to join. For privacy purposes I still can't tell you all where I'm going or when exactly a lot of things are happening. I will probably upload pics of my room though.

If you're here, thank you. I hope you're doing alright, I genuinely hope anything youre struggling with becomes easier and that you find yourself struck with inspiration often <3

#college update #major college update #ouija vents #ouija talks #university #studyblr #university life #psych student #they let me in #punk academia

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buckleyirondad · 4 years ago

Photo

2. In The Hands Of The Enemy “Pick Who dies”

Peter has to choose who to save, Morgan or MJ.

AO3 Link

It was dark.

Michelle couldn’t see a thing, even when she strained her eyes.

She tried not to concentrate on that, or the rapid speed of her heart, instead she curled her arms around Morgan, who was tucked up against her chest, fighting through hiccupped sobs.

The truck took yet another, sudden turn, and Michelle’s shoulder collided with the interior.

She bit down on her lip, hard, ignoring it.

Morgan cried, “Mimi...”

Michelle brushed a hand through her hair, shushing her, “Yeah?”

She sniffled, “Is Petey coming?”

“I think so.”

Morgan sucked in a sharp breath, “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Michelle hushed, “But I’m here, and I’m not gonna leave you.”

It had been a normal day, up until they were snatched and tossed into the back of a truck.

Michelle picked Morgan up from Kindergarten, like every other Friday. She loved doing it, it was calm among the chaos that was her life - with most of her time devoted to exam season, that was hurling towards her, and the constant lingering worry, that came hand-in-hand, with loving a superhero – picking her boyfriend’s little sister up, was somewhat normal.

Then it took the worst possible turn.

They started their usual walk back to Peter’s apartment, hoping he’d be finished picking up groceries for May, by the time they got there, and they could head off together to the Ice Cream Parlour.

Michelle had felt uneasy, halfway through the journey. She’d mindlessly pulled Morgan closer and walked faster.

She didn’t have a sixth sense like Peter, but she did have something he didn’t, and that was common sense.

She’d noticed, in the corner of her eye, two men, on the side of the road – dressed, head-to-toe, in black individual suits. She didn’t want to be labeled as paranoid, but in the movies, that would be a red alarm, and it was.

The general public knew that Morgan existed, but her family never shared photos of her, and she didn’t appear at events.

Pepper dealt with the press, and people snapping the occasional picture. It would get harder when she started school, but for now, they had it under control; the staff, the parents, and even the kids, at her Kindergarten, were incredibly understanding.

Tony and Pepper believed she deserved anonymity, she was too young to understand the downfalls of being in the public eye, but she could decide, what she wanted to do when she was older.

Michelle respected that.

Still, even with all those precautions, Morgan was still a target.

Thinking on her feet, Michelle had diverted, down an alleyway, pulling Morgan along, while scrambling for her phone.

She wasn’t fast enough.

Before she could press her panic button, they were grabbed.

They never even saw the faces of their abductors, it happened, in a flash.

They took her phone.

There was only one thing she could do – protect Morgan.

The truck came to a halt, and voices followed, joined by the unmistakable sound of doors closing.

Morgan shifted, “What’s—” She sounded so young, she didn’t deserve this, “What’s going on?”

“We’ve stopped—”

The doors at the back were thrown open, with heavy hands, the hinges squeaked.

Michelle jerked, cradling Morgan’s head close to her shoulder, shielding her from potential harm, while trying to adjust the bright light beaming in.

A man barked, “Get out.”

Michelle swallowed the lump in her throat, and slowly, slid forward, climbing out onto the solid ground while holding onto Morgan, who intuitively locked her legs around Michelle’s middle.

Michelle looked ahead, trying to paint of picture of where they were.

They were surrounded by abandoned apartments, there were signs, explaining that they were ready for demolition.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

Michelle turned, and as soon as she saw him, her heart leaped, into her throat.

It was Mac Gargan. Weapon smuggler turned murderer.

He was involved in Peter’s infamous ‘ferry mishap’ that Michelle had heard about, a few times.

Also, in the five years when the universe was half empty, he’d managed to escape jail, and he hadn’t been seen since. Tony was looking for him, considering he had an obvious distaste for Spider-Man.

He stood proud, with a smirk, “Hello, hello, hello…” He sang, “Nice to meet you.”

Michelle bit her tongue, staying silent.

She studied him.

Gargan had a long jagged scar that snaked around his eye, which was bloodshot. He laughed humourlessly, motioning to it, “Admiring the view, sweetheart?” He asked, “You’re never gonna guess who’s responsible for this?”

He prodded her forehead, with his finger.

“Your boyfriend.” He howled, “Peter Benjamin Parker.”

Her mouth dropped open, “You—”

He interrupted, “It wasn’t easy finding out.”

She scraped her teeth over her lower lip, “Toomes?”

“Bingo.” He applauded, “It took a while, a few…untraditional techniques, but he caved, in the end.”

He buried his hand, in his pocket, drawing out Michelle’s phone.

He barked an order, “Passcode, now.”

Michelle hesitated.

Gargan’s snapped his fingers and one of his goons stepped forward, a gun raised.

Gargan jerked his thumb in Morgan’s direction, “Passcode or her head?” He shrugged, “Guess you have a preference.”

“1-0-0-8.”

The gun was lowered, and Gargan sneered, “Thank you.” He stepped aside, “I’m gonna give your little boyfriend a call, then we’ll have a catch-up.” He pointed to his guards, “They’ll take you where you need to be.”

Michelle looked at them.

They were emotionless, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, their mouths set in a determined line. Michelle’s eyes hadn’t properly adjusted, to the outside world, but the main difference, she could see, between the pair, was one of a few inches taller than the other.

One of them grabbed her arm, pulling her aside, “This way.”

The other chipped in, “Don’t try anything.”

They were led into one of the buildings and up the staircase. It was, at least, twenty stories high, but Michelle refused to put Morgan down, not for anything.

Her stomach twisted, churning violently, the closer they got to the roof. Stepping out onto it, sent a chill up her spine like she’d stepped over somebody’s grave.

The taller guard, watched them, like a hawk, not letting them out of his sight.

The other was a chatterbox and wouldn’t shut up about how hungry he was.

Gargan stepped through the door, after a while, wearing a valiant smile, “Peter’s on his way.”

Michelle stood straight as she slowed her breathing, “He’ll stop you.”

“Well, darling, he sounded scared shitless, so I doubt it,” Gargan cackled, he dropped her phone and cracked it, under his heel, “He won’t be long.”

He spun around, muttering to his chattering goon, “Take her.”

Michelle shuffled back, “What—”

The man sped over, manhandling Morgan, attempting to drag her out of Michelle’s reach.

“Mimi—” Morgan tripped to keep a grip on Michelle’s shoulders, “Mimi!”

“No—” Michelle pleaded, “No, Morgan!” The taller man grabbed Michelle’s flailing arms, holding her back, “Let me go! Morgan!”

Morgan kicked and screamed, “Mimi—"

Michelle turned her attention to Gargan, “Look do whatever the fuck you want to me, Gargan!” She yelled, “Just don’t touch her.”

“You’re not making the decisions here, Missus.” He tutted, “I am. If you don’t want accidents to happen, then you’re going to have to listen to me, and so is she.”

Michelle erupted, “She’s five!”

“I don’t care.”

Michelle slowed her breathing, “Morgan—”

Morgan sobbed, “Mimi…”

“Look at me.” She hushed, “You’ve gotta stay still—”

“—I’m scared.”

Michelle stopped fighting the grip around her, “I know, but you’ve got to be super quiet.”

Morgan stilled, “I’ll try.”

“Good.”

“See. That wasn’t too hard.” Gargan nodded, to his men, “You know what to do.”

Morgan was marched over, to the far left of the roof, near the edge.

Michelle was taken the same way, leaving a good, eight meters, between them.

A heavy thump cut through the silence, nearby.

Gargan ran to the edge, peering over, “Oooh...” He twisted, rubbing his palms together, “We’ve got company.”

Michelle bowed her head, “Oh, Peter.”

Peter leaped over, clearly jumping over from the building opposite, he landed, down on his knee.

Gargan brought his hands together, in a singular clap. “10 out of 10 for effort, but the landing was a solid 4 out of ten 10.”

Peter stepped up, with a look, in his eyes, that Michelle had never seen before.

The fury written across his face should have been enough to make Gargan falter, but he stood, strong.

Morgan cried out, “Petey!”

Peter’s eyes widened, “Stop this…” He snarled, in Gargan’s direction.

“No.” Gargan held out a hand, “Backpack now.”

Peter swung it off, tossing it over.

Gargan caught it, with ease, “And the rest.”

Peter shrugged, “I’ve got nothing else.” His poker face wasn’t half bad, but Michelle knew him too well.

Gargan raised his hand.

Morgan’s shriek tore through Michelle’s head, she turned, “Morgan!”

The guard was dangling Morgan, over the edge.

Unconsciously, Michelle stepped aside, but stopped, when something cold was pressed against her temple.

Peter’s face contorted, “Stop!”

Gargan took out his gun, pointing it in Peter’s direction, “The rest.”

“Okay…” Peter removed his web-shooters, throwing them aside, with shaking hands, “Okay.”

“Good boy.”

The gun, against Michelle’s head, was lowered, and in the corner of her eyes, she watched as Morgan was pulled back.

Morgan’s voice broke, “Petey!”

“It’s okay, M.,” Peter said gently, “I’m here now, everything’s gonna be alright.”

“Oh, don’t lie to her.” Gargan mocked, “That’s just mean. I’ve been waiting for this day.” He kept his gun raised, “I’ve wanted to kill you, for some time, but then, Thanos beat me to it. How envious I was. Now, you’re back, and I get to do it again! I could tear you apart, limb by limb, or perhaps, drown you, on the same route the ferry was that day.”

“I take full responsibility for what happened on the ferry.” Peter threw his hands out, “But this has nothing to do with them!”

“Oh, yes it does.” Gargan took a step closer, “Because, I’ve had time to study you, Peter Parker, and if I’m right, killing you, will never be enough.”

Michelle closed her eyes, she knew exactly where this was heading.

The guard’s arm tightened around her front, and she was dragged up, off the ground, her feet scraped across the surrounding wall.

She couldn’t help but look, at the drop that awaited her.

One firm push and she’d be gone.

Morgan was in the same position, and her panicked screams would haunt Michelle, no matter what happened next.

“No!” Peter shook his head frantically, “Stop this, I’ll do anything!”

Gargan let out a harsh whisper, “Choose.”

Michelle’s eyes were on Peter.

He was acting strong, but it was all a front, inside he was crumbling.

Peter’s voice wavered, “What?”

“Choose which one dies, or both of them will.” Gargan held a hand back, “Your mentor’s daughter or the girl of your dreams.”

“Kill me!” Peter cried, with zero hesitation, “Kill me and be done with it!” Peter’s chest, rose and fell, with rapid breaths, “Please…”

Michelle hated that Peter thought laying down his life was the ‘fix’ to the situation.

Gargan shook his head, “That’s not the decision I gave you.”

Peter thumped his fist off his chest, “Please, I’ll do anything!”

Gargan looked at his watch, “It’s their time you’re wasting.”

Peter lunged forward, pushing Gargan’s chest, “You can’t do this!”

It dawned on Michelle, later than it should have.

Peter wasn’t only fighting, he was stalling.

Michelle had spent months getting to know Peter’s family, and surprisingly, they’d become part of hers too, even Tony Stark.

Of course, they were coming.

A dark thought crossed her mind.

She knew they’d speed over, as fast as possible, but there was a chance, it wouldn’t be enough.

She was being held, off the edge of a roof, with Morgan.

They didn’t have time.

Gargan pushed Peter back, “Both of them?!”

Peter retched, a hand on his stomach, “No!”

“Then pick!”

“Please, please, I’m begging you.” Peter’s throat cracked, “Take me instead, kill me, torture me, I don’t care!”

“You’re keen.” Gargan chuckled, “They must really mean the world to you.”

A pause.

“Choose.”

“—Stop!”

“Choose!”

Michelle coaxed, ignoring the drop below, “Peter—”

Peter ignored her, “Please!”

She tried again, louder, “Peter!”

He darted his eyes over but looked down.

“Peter, look at me.” She begged, “Hey, loser! Look at me, please!”

Tears welled in his eyes, “MJ—"

She softened her voice, “Listen.”

He shook his head.

She calmed her voice, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not—"

“It is.” She nodded slowly, “It has to be.”

Peter tilted his head to his shoulder as a sob tore through him.

“I love you—” She stammered, “More than you know—”

“I—” Peter pressed a hand to his chest, “I love you, too.”

Gargan waved his gun around, “Ah, young love.”

Michelle’s breath caught, “No—"

“Shut up!” Peter clenched his fist, “This is—”

“Peter!” She cut in, “Stop, just—just look at me, nothing else—” She stammered, “Nothing else, just me.”

“MJ—"

“It’s not your fault, any of it.”

Peter’s shoulder slumped, he momentarily looked to the skies, for a miracle, but he looked back to her.

“Let me go—” She managed a weak smile, for him, “Please.”

Peter nodded slowly, his eyes locked onto her.

“So…” Gargan trailed off, “Who will it be?”

Peter muttered, with a cry, “MJ.”

Gargan tapped the back of his ear, “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Peter gasped, “Michelle.”

Michelle’s feet raised, off the wall, and before she knew, she was falling – she didn’t expect it, to be so fast.

She never hit the ground.

Strong metallic arms looped around her, “What?” She looked, but there was nothing there, despite being able to feel it.

Tony’s familiar voice spoke up, “Need a lift?”

“Stark?”

The familiar red and gold flared into view, as Tony’s suit became visible, “The one and only.” He flew down, guiding her down onto the sidewalk, he retracted his mask, “You okay?” He asked, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“I think so, how—” She studied, “How did you do that?”

“Retroreflective panels, Harley’s idea.” He said, “Pretty neat.”

“Yeah…”

“Still got a few bugs.” He shrugged, “It works better with planes.”

She stepped forward, throwing herself around him, in a hug.

“Oh!” He curled an arm, around her.

She stepped back, “Sorry—That was—"

“You were thrown off a roof.”

“I was—” She yelped, “Oh, My—They’re gonna—They’re gonna think I’m dead.”

“Not for very much longer.” He pointed, “Rhodey’s got a clear shot.”

Michelle whispered, “He made him choose.”

“What?”

She peered up, “It’s Gargan…”

Tony’s cheeks turned grey, “Oh…”

“He made Peter choose, between me…and—”

“Morgan?”

“I had—I had to convince him—” She blurted, “To—choose me.”

Tony sighed heavily.

“He was fighting against the whole thing—” She explained breathlessly, “But, but it had to me, Morgan is wor-“

“Let me stop you right there.” He cut in, “This isn’t about worth, MJ.”

“It had to be me.”

“No. It shouldn’t have been an option, in the first place.” Tony squeezed his hand around her arm, “If you hadn’t convinced Peter, to choose you – he would have fought against it until the inevitable happened. Do you realize how incredibly brave that was, of you?”

“I guess.”

“You saved Morgan, and you knew where that was going to lead you.”

“I had to—” She sniffled, “I love her, and Peter, he’s just..”

“You and Morgan, mean more than the world to him."

“I know.” Michelle fumbled with her hands, “Can you take me up?” She asked, teary-eyed, “I—I need to see him.”

“Of course.” He stepped forward, locking his arms around her, “Hold on.” They flew up, fast. It wasn’t a fun experience, but it was less vomit-inducing than swinging with Peter.

Michelle could see Peter, knelt on the ground, cradling Morgan, in his arms.

Gargan’s goons were unconscious, laid face-first, with their arms sprayed behind them.

Rhodey was standing, his gauntlet raised in Gargan’s direction.

Gargan's smirk dropped, as soon as he set eyes on Michelle.

Peter didn’t look up, his face was tucked against Morgan’s shoulder.

Tony touched down, carefully helping Michelle onto her feet.

Morgan lifted her chin, she hiccupped, “Mimi?”

Peter sat up straight, to see, his throat cracked, “I—” His lower lip trembled, and his words were lost.

Morgan leaped out of his arms, “Daddy!”

Tony retracted his armor, catching her mid-run and hoisting her up, into his arms, “Oh, Thank God.”

Michelle swayed forward, uneasy on her feet.

Peter gradually got up, into a standing position, he stared at her.

She sprinted forward and crashed into his chest, tangling her arms behind his back, cradling him close.

“You’re—” He nestled his face against her shoulder, “You’re not—"

“I’m here, I’m okay.” She ran her hands, up and down his back, “I’m alive, nothing happened—"

He sank, in her hold, “I’m so sorry—"

“You did the right thing.” She stood back, laying her hand on his cheek, “I promise, you did.” She nodded, “I love you, so much—"

“I love you.” He pulled her back in, “I never want—”

She shushed him, “We’re okay.”

#whumptober2020 #no.2 #in the hands of the enemy #pick who dies #marvel #spideychelle #petermj #michelle jones #peter parker #morgan stark #tony stark #irondad #mcu fanfiction

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vulcan-highblood · 5 years ago

Text

Not According To Plan 4/5

Fandom: Supergirl(TV) / Legion of Super-Heroes

Summary: (Post Season 3 Ep. 18 “Shelter From The Storm”) Querl and Imra return to the 31st Century. It’s not at all what they expected.

Read it on AO3!

Chapter 4: Requisition

Upon inspecting Legion Headquarters, it became clear that Querl’s prediction regarding the state of technology had been correct. HQ was, externally at least, very similar to the headquarters they had left behind when they had been thrown back to the past. However, this building lacked the sophisticated security system Querl had painstakingly installed, and all other systems that had been operated by COMPUTO.

Now Querl was stuck in his lab with an actual physical notepad, taking down the information on the individual they were seeking so he could determine the best way to make use of their limited resources and travel back in time again. He was finding that not being able to use an omnicom was both frustrating and painful. Frustrating, because it meant he had to physically scrawl all of his notes in Interlac, which took far longer than simply mentally dictating and watching the words appear on a screen. Painful, because he had been scribbling his notes in interlac for the better part of an hour and was beginning to develop a cramp in his wrist.

He was unused to hand-writing his notes. Even when he’d been in the 21st century, most of his work had been on computers. It was degrading, to be reduced to mere strokes on a page to try and work out his ideas. Everything was so sprocking slow, his mind felt as though it was whirling away from him, so much faster than his cramping hand.

“Well, Brainy? How’s it look?” Rokk asked, coming up from behind Querl to read over his shoulder.

Querl turned slightly, so Rokk wouldn’t be able to read his notes. Not that it mattered. They were so cramped and convoluted he doubted the Braalian would be able to make heads or tails of them anyway. His handwriting was atrocious. He had never needed it for more than the occasional scribbled notation prior to this point in his life, so he didn’t feel particularly put out by this failing. It didn’t make his wrist feel better, though.

“I have identified the technology advances that led my temporal predecessor to believe that this individual was the best choice to counter my cousin’s attack,” Querl said, “and I am in the process of learning the identity of this individual.” Turning, he looked at Rokk, clarifying. “The information on this person remains shrouded in mystery, but they appear to have hailed from the twenty-first century.”

“That’s where you just came from, wasn’t it?” Rokk asked, ignoring the fact that, technically, he’d been in the 21st century too. He had simply been asleep for the duration of the visit, and thus did not recall their lengthy stay.

Querl wrinkled his nose in irritation. It was troubling that he had not anticipated needing to rely on such an individual while he had been in the right place, at the right time. Then again, Querl had absolutely no recall of this individual in his own mind, which implied that this… (human? Likely. Though not all residents of Earth at that time were truly human, statistically speaking, it was the most reasonable assumption) inventor was possibly a survivor of the Blight who would have died without their intervention.

Fascinating. Their own actions to prevent the Blight also provided a solution to their problem, a problem which was also a result of preventing the spread of the Blight. While this was an intriguing conundrum, trying to determine the identity of this individual with limited historical records and significantly limited access to computer systems was proving to be a challenge.

“Everything has changed as a result of our actions,” Querl pointed out. “I do not even know of this person as their works are all completely unheard of from the time of the Blight, and yet… some of the technological advances pioneered by this individual appear to be foundational structures upon which today’s technology is based. It is…” Querl resisted the urge to sigh, “…admittedly genius-level work. Considering, of course, the limitations of the time.”

Rokk’s eyebrows jumped towards his hairline. “Did you just admit to another person’s work being genius?”

“Having only recently returned from that time period I can unequivocally say that managing to produce any functional tech is a work of exceptional skill and likely boundless patience.” Now Querl did sigh, turning to look at Rokk. “It was so sprocking frustrating, their computers are so stupid it was like talking to a stone. Twenty-first century computers are a lump of electrical impulses and silicon, they have no heart…” he shut his mouth suddenly, feeling as though he had shared quite a bit more than was intended. “It was infuriating,” he summarized.

Rokk was giving him a look, a look Querl received from his peers rather consistently. They didn’t understand computers, and likely did not understand the severe chasm that divided 21st century technology from the 31st century. But when you were a part of it, it was impossible to forget.

“Sounds rough,” Rokk said, neatly underlining the precise problem with the universe at present.

The people of this time still had not fully come to terms with everything they had lost. Could not appreciate how much his family had torn from them all. “What I am trying to say,” Querl turned back around to stare at his blocky interlac notations, “Is that the AI virus is far more dangerous to us than people from another time - we don’t know how to survive without AI. We haven’t needed to, for centuries.” He glanced back at Rokk again, trying to clearly explain his theory. “An individual from the twenty-first century would not feel as though they were being deprived, precisely because they have never known the level of advancement we once had in this time.”

Rokk shrugged lightly. “I’ll take your word for it.” He turned to leave, then paused, as though he’d remembered something. “Oh, right, I almost forgot -” he quickly approached Querl, extending a large bundle of physical note paper. “I just brought the physical images and information from all the history texts in the National Archives related to the unnamed inventor that you asked Luornu to get for you. I’m guessing that’s the same one you’re researching?” He waved a small handful of paper in Querl’s face before dropping them on top of Querl’s notebook. “There’s probably two hundred pages more that Jo and Luornu are still printing off, plus they found some more research notes that your past self made about the inventor. I put that on top of the pile, actually - I figured you would like to start with what your past self had already decided was important.”

“Yes,” Querl agreed, “Let us hope that my former self’s last days were spent on useful research. I would hate to see my previous research only to discover it is all useless, necessitating additional months of fruitless study while society as we once knew it continues to crumble.”

Rokk made a strangled noise like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

Lucky for him, Querl wasn’t expecting a response. It had been a bit callous to make sarcastic remarks about his own untimely death, but Querl was stressed and under a lot of pressure. He felt as though he had earned the right to be a bit of a nass about this whole sordid predicament. But he recognized that this attitude was unhelpful, and so, taking a deep breath, Querl spoke again.“I appreciate the information,” he told Rokk. “I am certain the notes will be useful.” It was, after all, his own research.

“Right,” Rokk said, moving for the door to Querl’s lab. “I’ll just… leave you to it. Good luck.”

Querl lifted a hand in a gesture of farewell, already picking up the pile of notes Rokk had dropped in front of him. He had work to do, and time was running out. If not for him, then certainly for the Legion Cruiser. He needed to gather the necessary information quickly if they stood any chance of traveling back in time again. If only he could use a sprockingcomputer.

Querl lifted the first page, unintentionally dragging the side of it along his fingers, and - “Sprock! Grife! What the-” it had cut him! Why was this paper sharp? Nursing his wounded hand, Querl glared down at the pile of notes, which stared back at him accusingly. Sprocking grife. It was shaping up to be a long day.

~~*~~

Querl was beginning to regret the lack of natural lighting in his laboratory, as the harsh glare of the lights appeared to be causing him to develop a low-grade headache. It wasn’t a particularly painful headache, it was just difficult to concentrate when absolutely anything that strayed from the norm forced him to pause and run a self-diagnostic. Despite his near-certainty that he had not been infected in the short amount of time spent in this timeline, Querl nonetheless found himself bordering on paranoid. He had already died before seeing this mission through to fruition once. If he died this time… well. Querl didn’t expect there would be many other people in the universe capable of plotting a route through time and space using only pen and paper.

To be fair, though, other people would be able to use a computer without risking contamination. So perhaps he wasn’t the only person who could plot their route. He was simply faster than the others. With a sigh, Querl stared at the “historic artifact” that his previous self had found incredibly important and frowned. He could have sworn he’d seen it before, but his recall was taxed by the fact that he had multiple thought-tracks running system diagnostics at regular intervals while several other thought-tracks were attempting to plot a route back to the 21st century. Even so, Querl knew that this ‘artifact’ had been noted, once before. It was in his mind, somewhere. Which meant that at some point during his time int he past, he had been close enough to the inventor to actually take note of their work. How frustrating to know this now, when it was going to be so hard to get back to the same time and place as he’d been before. If only he had a name, or at least a face, to put to the inventor. He could work with that! He could work with…

Work. Why was it that work had sparked something? Immediately dismissing the system diagnostic, Querl attuned three of his thought-tracks to pursuing that line of thought. He could work with the inventor.

Perhaps, he already had.

As he focused, he brought up memory after memory, scrutinizing them for details, the slightest hint, and what he found was… frankly, unexpected. It couldn’t be. Despite the fact that even Querl would have been hard-pressed to predict a Blightless future with anything even resembling accuracy, the fact that he’d been so close was incredibly frustrating. It didn’t matter how unlikely it had been for him to know this, he still felt as though he should have known. Knowing that there was no reason for him to know such a thing was irrelevant in the face of an emotion as illogical as frustration.

Taking a deep breath, Querl set the artifact aside and steepled his fingers, attempting to quiet his mind as he considered the revelation. The thought-tracks he’d commandeered quietly went back to their system diagnostic as Querl mused on what he’d learned. All in all, it made a surprising amount of sense. After all, Winslow Schott had, at least according to DEO records, once opposed and prevailed against his descendant, Brainiac 8. Perhaps he was the right person to oppose Pirn. Or Brainiac. Depending on how much of the younger Coluan’s operating system had been subsumed by his evil ancestor, he might be willing to use that name instead. If Pirn was insisting on going by Brainiac 6, there was a good chance that Vril’s ancestral memory had somehow wrested control from the young Coluan entirely, as the cousin that Querl remembered hadn’t seemed the megalomaniacal sort. Of course, the mother Querl remembered hadn’t seemed the filicidal sort, either, and yet-!

He was going to need a lot of time to think about the meaning of family when this was all over.

For now, he had bigger things to think about. Well. Not bigger, simply more urgent matters than really thinking about the fact that no matter what timeline he fled to, apparently his family was still the sprocking worst. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that. He needed to figure out how to plot their trajectory as precisely as possible, preferably before the Cruiser, which was still equipped with onboard AI systems, shut down for good. At least now he had something to go on, but finding a way back to that time would be troubling.

Querl straightened up, rolling his shoulders, and reviewed his system diagnostics. All clear. His headache appeared to be strictly biological in nature, then. Perhaps because he hadn’t slept since he’d arrived in this century nearly 47 hours earlier. Querl shook out his hand, absently wondering if he would end up developing carpal tunnel from all the unfamiliar motions, and resumed his calculations. The fine-tuning would come later, but at least he had a more clear idea of where - and when - they needed to go next.

#querl dox #querl #dox #brainiac 5 #brainy #my fic #fanfic #losh #supergirl tv

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anthropologist-on-the-loose · 6 years ago

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Some Issues with Johann Hari's Article

When I opened up my news feed this morning and saw an article in the Guardian about depression, I was excited and intrigued. As someone who has major depressive disorder, as a medical student planning on going into the mental health field, and as a clinician, I was hopeful that I would learn about some new therapy, some new resource or insight I could gain or offer to others. Instead I was met with the self-promoting, sensationalized ramblings of disgraced journalist who is dangerously promoting polarizing views of depression, treatment, patients, and the medical community as a whole.

As you can probably already tell, I found Hari’s recent works offensive - on many levels. From the perspective of a medical student, Hari’s “novel” insights were incredibly disappointing. Our social and physical environment has an effect on our mental health? Shocking! Hari presents this insight as if this is some sort of fringe, radical idea rather than the well accepted theory upon which a good portion of treatment for depression is based on today. The biopsychosocial model has been a standard of treatment and teaching in the medical field for decades. Any decent professional acknowledges that this is one of the major complicating factors in treating patients who have major depressive disorder or a major depressive episode. While pills are incredibly easy to prescribe, it is much much harder to control what happens outside the clinic, which is often the major influencing factor in a person’s mental health. Physicians know this, and there is a growing portion of the medical community that places a priority on dealing with the psychosocial part of the biopsychosocial model of medicine. Hence the swelling of interest, over the past decade or so, in the medical community around community involvement and building resilience.

Furthermore, Hari’s comment that the medical community only offers “one option” for treatment of depression is spurious at best. Pharmaceutical intervention may play a role in an individual’s prescribed treatment, but nowhere does it say that it should be the only or even the major portion of the treatment. Ideally, a treatment regimen is a complex combination of multiple different resources, from pyschodynamic or talk therapy to mindfulness activities, and yes, medication. Ideally, treatment regimens should be deeply personal and individualized, decided on by negotiation between the physicians recommendations and the patient’s desires. Of course this is an idealized model and this doesn’t always happen for a multitude of reasons*, but to claim that that patients are offered only one option for therapy (pill-way or the highway?) is a gross misrepresentation.

Hari’s article was also triggering on a personal level. I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder about a year ago, but likely had it from childhood having grown up in a deeply toxic household. When, finally, as an autonomous adult, I started to seek treatment, no one pushed me towards medications. My therapist and my psychiatrist didn’t even mention medication until I myself had reached a point where I felt that life was untenable. At that point, I was willing to try anything. Anything - just so I could get out of bed in the morning and do my school work and pass my exams. Medication was offered to me then and I was hesitant, but I tried it and transformed my life. I am not saying taking antidepressants “cured” me - they didn’t. But they did lift the fog a little to the point that I could do talk therapy and actually have it make an impact. I spent the whole of my childhood in and out of psychologists’ offices, like a revolving door and it made little to no impact on my mental health. In comparison, the strides I have made in the last year with the help of antidepressants have changed my life. I feel like I have a future and even when it feels like the world is in flames around me, I feel I can walk through the fire and survive. It’s not all because of the pills, but they certainly helped kick start my progress.

But from the first day that I started taking antidepressants, there were always people around me who were trying to get me to go off them, despite the improvement they saw in me. Always the constant question and nudge - Can’t you cope without them? Maybe learn new coping strategies? Have you tried yoga? Turmeric? Meditation?

Yes, yes, and yes. I have lived with this problem for 20 years. I coped with my depression for 20 years and never really lived because of it. I am not trying to say that just because antidepressants worked for me, that everyone should use them. But I am worried that my experience of people trying to take away the things that do help me is not unique and the pressure put on vulnerable people seeking treatment to just power through without help (whether pharmaceutical or therapeutic) will turn people away from trying something that may help them. Hari dangerously veers toward this perspective, adding additional pressure on top of the extreme social pressure that treats depression like a personal weakness. Tomorrow, when I go into clinic, I am worried that there will be patients who Hari has convinced to drop their medication. Of course, no patient should take anything they feel uncomfortable with, but it frightens me that I will have to stand to the side and watch people who are slowly getting better regress because some journalist published an irresponsible and highly polarizing account to springboard his own flagging career.

And maybe I am being exceedingly paranoid about Hari’s own reasons for publication, but I can’t help but feel that this is a publicity ploy. From the monolithic, black-and-white, good-and-bad characterizations he makes of the medical community to the way he chose to sensationalize long held and accepted theories to the excessive media campaign and promotional advertising for his book, I can’t help but feel that this is yellow journalism. Hari’s own journalistic integrity has come under suspicion more than once- for plagiarism in the past as well as anonymously editing his critics’ wikipedia pages. Who’s to say this is any different?

And just one final plead. Even if you read my entire monologue and decided that it is just the over bilious nattering of a self-important windbag, please, please DO NOT STOP YOUR MEDICATION COLD TURKEY. You put yourself and you health at considerable risk stopping antidepressants immediately without tapering off. Please go and talk to your doctor (doesn’t need to be psychiatrist, primary care will do) who can help you adjust your medication regimen to your satisfaction.

*Dear G-d, the medical field is so, so far from ideal. Can you believe that it takes 8 months to make an appointment with a psychiatrist in Chicago? And that an initial 50 minute consultation costs about $400, which is likely going to be out of pocket because so many psychiatrists don’t accept insurance? And when you mention this as an ethical problem to psychiatrists they just shrug as if it isn’t in their control to accept insurances (It is. It totally is.). Don’t get me started on physicians not spending enough time with patients to explain their medications and potential side effects so they can make an informed decision, corporate structure in large hospitals, and any one of million things I could rant about.

Please, please read this response. I know it’s long, but it brings up some incredibly important points.

And yes, PLEASE do not quit any medication cold turkey without consulting a medical doctor. There are so many things that can go wrong if you do.

The rest of this you can ignore if you want, it’s just me blathering

It is relation to this article, which I reblogged earlier today. This is a very important criticism of a topic that is near and dear to me, one where I let my emotions get in the way of my critical thinking.

I did a brief search on the author of the book, Johann Hari, and found that not only is he know for plagiarizing and hack journalism, but he has been open about having issues with drug addiction which makes me suspect that his views on medication in general might be a little biased.

I didn’t realize until a second reading that I had been internally refuting aspects of the article in my head, and how damaging it might be for people who don’t have an intimate knowledge of the medical system, or for those who already distrust it. Sometimes I forget that some of my experiences are not universal.

I’m so glad you took the time to write this, and for your willingness to share your own story.

Thank you so, so much for sending this in.

#important #health care #mental health #medicine #i'm not sure who you are or what to call you #but seriously I applaud you for writing this #I'm so glad you felt comfortable telling me that something I reblogged or said has legitimate issues #it really means a lot to me that other people are willing to help me learn and grow #submission #in which i say things

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sosa-sketch · 6 years ago

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Fright or Flight: Chapter 2

Parings: Prinxiety // Logicality // Platonic LAMP

Story Summary: Virgil and Patton investigate the New Prince Castle, when a brutal accident kills Patton. Patton wakes as a ghost and meets friendly ghoul Roman, who has been haunting the castle for 20 years. Virgil is determined to bring Patton back to life and brings Logan, the ghost expert, to help him out. Time is quickly running out, and the four must work together to undo death. If only it was as simple as Logan made it sound.

Unknown to them, a secret entity in the castle does not plan on letting them succeed.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

When Patton first met Virgil, his last intention was to become friends with him. Virgil had built up a notorious reputation over the first few months of school, and his grades did nothing to disprove his status. Patton wasn’t the type to judge a person’s character based on rumors nor looks. No one was a higher believer in the benefit of doubt than Patton! However, Virgil’s first impression did not help his case.

Virgil transferred into Patton’s English class the second semester due to a schedule change. When the teacher stated a new team project was to be completed, Patton did not shy away from offering to be Virgil’s partner. He understood how difficult it could be being the new kid in a class full of friends and cliques.

The project was hefty, an collection of novel analyzing, essays, vocabulary, and journal entries. Patton was not looking forward to the Shakespearean project-Shakespeare’s language was alien to him. It occurred to Patton that pairing up with the soon-to-be-dropout may not have been his best idea. Nonetheless, Patton refused to be jaded.

The first day of the project, Virgil refused to touch the work.

“There’s no way I’m touching this project.” Virgil sneered. “Especially about Shakespeare.”

“Huh?” Patton had not fully processed Virgil’s words. “Is it because you don’t understand it?”

“Sure.”

“Neither can I! I guess Shakespeare really has our brains shaken up! Maybe we can ask the teacher to go over it for us?”

The teen huffed and shook his head. Virgil laid his head on the wooden desk and his eyes slipped closed. He napped for the rest of the period.

His behavior continued for weeks. Patton had tried everything in his power to get Virgil to help him out. Patton’s seemingly endless supply of compliments and encouraging gestures served no help.

Patton’s mind had conjured countless excuses for Virgil since Virgil himself refused to give one. At the beginning the excuses had seemed feasible. Lack of sleep? Family issues? However, by week three, Patton was already scraping the bottom of the barrel, trying to justify Virgil’s dismissive attitude with clones and possible mind control. Virgil was no closer to lifting up a pencil, there were ten days left of the project, and Patton still understood little to nothing about Shakespeare. Patton was flying solo and time was ticking.

The final week before the project was due, Patton caught the flu.

Patton would chalk up the flu to the top three sucky sicknesses of his lifetime. His fever was raging, his skin drowning in sweat while the insides of him iced over. Patton couldn’t tell when being awake ended and when sleep began. The only alarm in Patton’s body was the churning in his gut that rushed him to the toilet.

Understandably, the project was the last thing on his mind.

Patton would not remember his Shakespeare mission until the Sunday before it was due, when he was shaking off the final remnants of the flu. The realization hit him like a train, but by the time he went flying off his bed and hurriedly logging on to his computer to check the time, Patton knew it was hopeless. There was no way he could get the project done in a few hours and counting. Not when all his energy was going into fighting of sneezes and headaches.

Patton was dejectedly scrolling through his email filled with newsletters from adoption sites and animal protection agencies when a subject line caught his eye: “English Project.” Linked to the email were word documents and an audio file. Perplexedly, Patton opened the email.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: English Project

Patton,

so apparently you’ve been sick. class is way more quiet without you their, which is wierd.

i think i did everything you hadn’t done. it’s gonna be really mispelled and confusing and shit. sorry. i’m not the best with righting. feel free to fix anything.

get well soon.

-V

p.s. sorry for acting like a jerk. i owe you a explanation monday.

Patton hugged his computer screen and laugh with relief. He had no idea why Virgil was so nervous. His ideas were brilliant. A week later, Patton would see an A in his gradebook for the Shakespeare project.

There was a reason why Patton never lost faith in people.

True to his word, the next week Virgil explained his mistreatment to Patton. Virgil struggled with dyslexia. While he was getting tutoring in overcoming his learning disability, Virgil’s writing made him incredibly insecure. His old teacher always let him work individually, but the new teacher wasn’t having it. Before class, the teacher pulled him aside and told Virgil he was no different from any other student and would have to work with a partner. Virgil, determined to spite the teacher and anxious to seem like an “idiot” in front of Patton, would pretend to sleep the whole period.

“All your writing took was a quick grammar fix. The ideas were so good! I’m not just saying that to say that, they actually were! I could never think of something like that.” Patton reassured enthusiastically.

Virgil flushed a bright red. “I didn’t do much. Shakespeare is a lot easier to understand with audio.”

Patton listened to the audiobook of Macbeth that night. Virgil clearly wasn’t giving himself enough credit.

Virgil and Patton quickly grew close once the project was done. Virgil was still quiet, snappy, moody, and detrimentally insecure, but he began to open up more as the months went on. By senior year, Patton and Virgil was joined at the hip. Two peas in a pod.

Virgil had grown a lot since freshman year.

Being joined at the hip with Virgil meant that Patton got to understand Virgil by the simplest change in body language or expression. It also meant that Patton became aquatinted with anyone close to Virgil.

Patton already had a bad feeling while Virgil’s tone had shifted on the phone the night they were chatting about yearbook quotes. Remy sending Patton a text only confirmed the ball of dread in his stomach.

Rem: pat can we talk ?

Patton: You don’t even have to ask! Everything ok?

Rem: it’s about v

Rem: have you guys talked recently ? out of school

Patton: We talked last weekend. Over the phone. Why? Is Virgil fine??

Rem: idk. he came over to my house a couple nights ago at like 5 am. talked about some ghost shit.

Patton: He woke you up to talk about ghosts??(language!)

Rem: looking for affirmation that he wasn’t some obsessed ghost freak. i told him nah

Rem: but tbh he kinda is obsessed

Patton: He is passionate about his ghosts! But that’s not a bad thing.

Rem: v strongly disagrees. the whole thing about the yearbook and ghost quotes really messed with his head

Patton: I didn’t mean anything bad by it! It was just an idea! I promise! I’ll apologize to him!!!

Rem: wait no thats not what im saying. no one blames u

Rem: is he doing any ghost stuff anytime soon

Patton: Yep. He’s going to visit a castle!

Patton: Is that bad?

Rem: don’t you remember last time v became paranoid abt something? he pulled some real stupid stuff just to prove ppl wrong

Patton: Yeah. I know.

Patton: Gosh now I’m worried :(

Rem: i just dont want him doing anything he’ll regret on the trip. can u just…idk watch out for him pls ? ik v can take care of himself. but sometimes he gets into this headspace that’s self-destructive

Rem: tbh i dont like his ghost stuff as it is. i dont need him doing something dumb either

Patton: I understand Rem. That’s really sweet of you <3 <3

Patton: I’ll look out for him! I promise!!!! :-) :-)

Rem: ty. dont tell v abt this convo tho

Despite feeling uneasy about it, Patton understood Remy’s request to keep silent. Telling Virgil about their conversation would only push Virgil away and make him defensive. It’d be impossible to look out for him.

Virgil had already given Patton a way in. Patton had to talk to Logan for Virgil and get any supplies he might need. Patton loved visiting Logan in and of itself. Maybe Logan could help him out.

Logan’s business was located near small shops clustered along the beach. It was a hotspot for tourists, where knickknacks and souvenirs were sold and expensive attractions were advertised. Patton walked along here with Virgil sometimes, stopping at the arcade or mirror maze. Patton had met some of the most interesting people in the small touristy town.

Among the attractions was a dark blue shingled building with a pointy-roofed top. Painted letters on a wooden board spelt out “Afterlife Exposed.” Patton stepped through the door and a bell gently ringed, signaling his arrival.

At the sound of the bell, a tall, dark-haired man turned around. His navy suit blended in with the darkness of the shop. The man’s lean body was captivated beautifully in the suit. Patton quickly averted his eyes, blushing furiously.

“I have been expecting you-oh. Greetings, Patton. What a surprise.”

“Hi Logan!” Patton waved enthusiastically. “Who were you expecting?”

“No one. It’s a new rule Father has implemented. I must say it to every customer to ‘set the mood,’ as he calls it.” Logan dragged his hand over his face exasperatedly. “I find it quite ridiculous. But business shall be business.”

Logan’s father technically owned Afterlife Exposed. But he was always hidden in the back, gathering supplies or experimenting. Logan was currently studying entrepreneurship in college in order to take over the family business someday.

“How may I help you today, Patton?” Logan inquired, stepping around the counter to stand in front of him. He was even taller up close.

Patton filled Logan in about the New Prince Castle family murder and Virgil’s plan to investigate the castle for one of his ghost routines. Logan nodded politely the whole way through.

“I see. What an intriguing case. What exactly does he need from me?”

Patton shrugged cluelessly. “Anything you think might help, I guess.”

“What’s his budget?”

“A coffee and cake pop from Starbucks, if he uses his gift card.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “And he sent you to purchase something from here? Why, he couldn’t even afford a keychain.”

“Come on, Logan! He’s one of your most loyal customers and between us, he’s going through a rough patch. Can’t you help him out? Please?”

Logan massaged his temples and sighed. “Patton, it’s just not something the business can afford to do right now. My Father and I have been dealing with a sort of rough patch as well. You and Virgil have my sincerest apologies-truly, you do.”

Patton nodded dejectedly, “I understand.” Spotting Logan’s hesitant expression and tense form, he rested a hand on Logan’s shoulder and grinned. “Really, I do. I don’t blame you.”

Logan gave a small, tight-lipped smile in return. Gently shaking Patton’s hand off his shoulder, he clasped his hands together tightly. “Well, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“I’m not too sure.” Patton pursed his lips in thought. “Well, actually. I was wondering if you could tell me the dos and don’ts of ghost hunting. The yays and nays. The cats and dogs-actually no scratch that, both of those would be a yay.”

“With all due respect, Patton, I think Virgil has got that covered.” Logan reassured. “He must have asked me a dozen times prior to his first investigation.”

“Oh yeah, I know. It’s for me.” Patton corrected.

Logan raised an eyebrow in perplexion. Patton had never shown an interest in ghost hunting when Virgil wasn’t to be found.

Patton thought quickly. “I just want to understand more. For when I talk to Virgil. Sometimes I really don’t get half the explanations coming from the kiddo’s mouth.” It wasn’t a lie. “Just…how do you deal with ghosts?

“I see.” Logan clicked his tongue. “I’m sure Virgil could explain it to you more in depth. But, if you’re ever in doubt, chalk it up to one thing: respect. Is what you’re doing respecting the afterlife and their home? Are you portraying common courtesy? Treat them with the same respect as the living, if not more. There are exceptions, as with anything, but for the most part, that should keep you out of trouble with spirits.”

“Respect.” Patton repeated.

“You have strong morals, Patton. If you’re concerned about involvement with the afterlife due to your closeness with Virgil, I would not worry. Lack of respect is the last of your weaknesses.”

Logan pulled out his phone from the back of his pocket. “I apologize, I must return to my work. However, if you or Virgil have any more questions, feel free to give me a call.”

Patton gushed and thanked Logan, jotting down his number. Logan flushed a gentle red and held out his hand for a handshake.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Patton.”

Patton swatted Logan’s hand away and brought him in for a hug. “Thank you, Logan.”

Logan awkwardly pat Patton on the back before ungracefully untangling himself from the embrace. “I was only doing my job. Now, I understand it’s none of my business, but I recommend getting some rest. You look exhausted.”

“High school has permanently carved bags under my eyes.” Patton shook his head defeatedly.

Logan gave an amused smirk. “You sounded like Virgil.”

Patton beamed. “Like father, like son!”

Just as Patton was about to turn around to leave the store, something in the corner of the room glistened, catching his eye. “Hey Logan? Just one more thing?”

Logan hummed at him, encouraging Patton to continue.

He pointed to the object at the corner of the room. “How much can I get that for?”

“Walkie-talkies. I sent you to Logan Berry, one of the smartest, most knowledgeable people about the afterlife in this town, and you come back with a Ghost Buster walkie-talkie.” Virgil grunted, dangling the toy by its antennae.

“You can have the Casper the Ghost one instead.”

“What? No! Ghost Busters is better, anyway.” Virgil groaned. “That’s not the point. How about advice? Did Logan say anything?”

“Just to respect the ghosts. Have common courtesy. Which you better be doing anyway, even without Logan telling you to do so.”

Virgil threw his hands up in exasperation and fell down into his sofa as the cushions engulfed the skinny man. “Obviously I respect them! The last thing I need is coming home possessed and cursed! He knows I know that. That’s really all he said?”

“Besides giving us his number.” Patton confirmed. “Which I already gave you.”

Virgil grumbled. “Whatever. One day I’ll get enough money to- wait. The walkie-talkies. There’s no way you could have bought them with my money, I would not have had enough. Please don’t tell me…”

Virgil got a glance of Patton’s sheepish look and groaned. “Patton, we have a rule! No buying each other anything!” He buried his head in his hands. “I can’t pay you back. You know that.”

“Hey…” Patton took a seat next to Virgil and laid a comforting hand on his knee. “It’s okay. They weren’t expensive. You don’t have to pay me back.”

Virgil looked at Patton in between his fingers. His voice was muffled against his palms. “You know how I feel about that, Pat.”

“Virgil, come on.” Patton pleaded.

Virgil shook his head. “Thank you. But, you need to return them.”

Guilty silence settled among the two, but neither made a move to leave. Both were lost in their own worlds when an idea struck Patton.

He nudged Virgil. “I know a way for you to pay me back without money.” At Virgil’s unimpressed look, he protested, “Seriously! It would mean a lot more to me than whatever these walkie-talkies cost.”

“Yea?” Virgil lifted his head from his hands. “What is it?”

Patton stared at Virgil’s stormy eyes as his heart pounded. In all honesty, this was the last thing Patton wanted to do. He was terrified. But, he thought back to the conversation he had with Remy, and the last time Virgil did something senseless unsupervised due to paranoia. “I want to go ghost hunting with you. At the New Prince Castle.”

Virgil’s jaw dropped. His eyes darted around Patton’s face before he shook his head and gave a weak chuckle. “Sure, Pat. Whatever you say.”

“No, I’m serious!” Patton insisted. “I’ll respect the ghosts and do whatever you tell me to do!”

Virgil was dismissing Patton before he could finish his sentence. “No, no, no. You hate ghost stories, Pat! Especially ones that are spooky and gruesome. You’d hate ghost-hutning. It’s dark and there’s lots of weird noises and tons of spiders. No way. I’m not adding more guilt to my conscience.”

Virgil made a move to get up from the sofa, but Patton refused to let the conversation drop. He grabbed Virgil’s hand and pulled him back to the seat. Virgil landed with a clumsy thump.

“Kiddo, I know I hate all those things. I’m sure I’ll be scared. But, you’ll be there too! I love you more than I hate all those things combined.”

“Patton, we can do something else together. Go to the movies. Or bowling. Normal teen stuff.” Virgil reasoned.

Patton retorted, “But ghost hunting is important to you.”

“It’s not that important. It’s a simple hobby. I don’t care that much about it.” Virgil cut off.

“I know, I know!” Patton quickly backtracked. “What I meant was that ghost-hunting has been a cool way for us to bond. It intrigues you-a perfectly normal amount-and I like seeing you happy! Just like you go walking with me along the shops by the beach even though it’s super crowded and you hate it.”

“Patton, what’s your point?” Virgil grilled.

“My point is I want to try this thing that you enjoy with you. Just like you try things for me. It’s senior year, Virgil. No one hates thinking about it more than me, but we don’t know what things are going to be like after high school. I want to find a husband, start a family. Maybe study veterinary science. You could have a publisher for your writing, become a famous author, and move. I want to do this with you. I want to get over my fear.”

Patton stared at Virgil hopefully and held out his hand. “What do you say? One more big adventure for the dynamic duo?”

Virgil stared at Patton, looked down and roughly shook his head, froze, then stared at Patton once more. Virgil’s foot rapidly tapped against the floor, creating a dizzy, distracting melody. Finally, Virgil pulled his hair and glared at Patton. “You’ll be careful?”

Patton nodded eagerly.

“And you’ll stick with me no matter what? At all times? I want you in my sight.”

Virgil dramatically groaned, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. “I guess you can come.”

Patton shot up from his seat, whooping with joy and hopping around the sofa. “Thank you, Virgil! Thank you! We’re going to have such a great time!”

Virgil peeked one eye open and gave a soft grin. “Yeah, I guess we are. You’re sure you wanna do this?”

“Never been more sure of anything in my life besides my love for you and cats! I pinkie swear it.”

Patton and Virgil intertwined pinkies before Patton winked and let go, embracing Virgil.

“Let your moms know you’re going to be gone for the weekend.” Virgil smirked. “We have a haunted castle to explore.”

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #remy sanders #deceit sanders #LAMP #CALM #platonic lamp #hurt/comfort #family fluff #fluff #logicality #prinxiety

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survivor-ingary · 3 years ago

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Episode 9 - "I GOT A SUPER IDOL AKJSDNKSJANDKJ" - Kenneth

At the last tribal, Toph was voted out. During the past round, Keith found an exile ticket in the idol hunt and is in exile this round. The individual immunity this round is a 'chop the rope' style of Touchy Subjects. It will be followed by an instant tribal council.

ANNA OU- the execution of the vote was an absolute mess this is embarrassing y'all... i'm really starting to not trust ellie more and more considering the way this vote went! the way we were originally gonna vote toph but all this mess led to us flipping votes to brayden, which was a fail cuz he played the idol to himself and not toph LOL and not babs giving the idol to ellie cuz she would've gone home tonight!!!!! thank god the end results were still in our favor, getting rid of toph, but raffy is pissed once again lmao. this twist is very interesting, because i knew ahead of time that keith was gonna poof this round but i played dumb and whateva! it's kind of concerning cuz it might actually be a 4-4 split this time which SCARES ME so the extra vote consideration might be even higher. I really wanna win this Touchy Subjects challenge so the votes don't pile onto me (even though I fully believe it'll be either Dennis or Ellie lol)

my bestie toph just went home and im so sad :( he was literally my closest ally in the game and i am literally sooooo sad that he’s gone. but i did use my idol on myself which ended up being good bc if i didnt i would have gone to jury. just like everything is going wrong for me at this point and im on the bottom pretty much with raffy and anastasia. we needed to flip 2 people to have majority, BUT KEITH LEFT TO EXILE ISLAND AND HE WAS THE MAIN OPTION WE WANTED TO FLIP, so now that leaves kenneth and babs and we have to flip both of them or we are out of here. so we have our work cut out for us, but i really think we can flip babs because like they would just get like 6th place without us, and i just gave i think a pretty good pitch to kenneth so i really hope he considers it and doesn't just run and tell his majority alliance like he did with anastasia. anyways the challenge is touchy subjects and im nervous and i kind of am wishing i voted kenneth for biggest goat but i think i put riley and i regret ut. i hope someone says kenneth as biggest goat or something so it opens his eyes and he realizes he is literally number 4 to a solid 3 and should flip and be number 4 in our not at all solid 3. anyways i really hope i live this round

Captain Exile's log, Entry #58. I have been on exile island for an hour. it seems like forever... my mind is slowing turning into mush. I fondly remember the days I would plot Raffy's demise. Those days now seem like a lifetime ago.

I wonder why the 3 time keeping hosts have forsaken to this island, making me a fool by calling it a vacation. I also will never forgive them for not having an exile island hidden immunity idol. I should have asked Jay to send her cat to keep me company. . opportunity missed.

my favorite hobby is writing checks i can't cash

raffy realllllllly seems to trust me

babs realllllllllyyyy trusts me

ellie reallllllllly trusts me

kenneth realllllyyyyyy trusts me

keith reallllllllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy trusts me and i trust him right back

a+b do not trust me so im gonna have fun with this.

i love that idols just naturally attract themselves to ellie.

i love that keith and i are doing an amazing job as undercover kings and it makes me laugh that raffy completely believes that keith is perfectly in his back pocket. king of delusion.

i stirred up a lot of paranoia but its believable that ellie is the one thats mainly on dat.

excited for touchy subjects would love to win

I'm too nice for orgs. I reload video games when I accidentally select the mean dialogue options because I don't want to hurt any character's feewings. Which... is NOT the same as genuinely thinking everyone is a pleasant person.

Well, as the only person playing this live challenge sort of "remotely" ahead of time I feel like I'm in a really weird position. I guess I'll wake up tomorrow to... something? A clusterfuck most likely.

Brayden round 9 is already over but im pretending im writing this while its round nine

hey everybody its round 9. i played my idol to save myself which was so cool but im sad that i had to do it bc now im really vulrunable and have no protection in this world. my only alliance left is anastasia and raffy and i dont even know if i can actually trust raffy bc he just voted toph off, but like i have no other options. also i jut realized i thimk i actually did send a confessional this round but its ok. the challenge is touchy subjects and i know i have pretty much no chance of winning but i hope i get asked whos a goat so i can say kenneth and maybe he’ll flip. the plan is to go for riley this round since they arent a huge player and hopefulyl anyoen who flips would be fine voting them. i really really really hope tonight isnt a hands up tribal bc that would be really bad ;)

GUESS. FUCKING (freaking for the kids). WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I GOT A SUPER IDOL AKJSDNKSJANDKJSANDJKNASKJDNAKSJ I HONESTLY ALMOST LOST HOPE ON GETTING SOMETHING FROM THE SHOPS AT THIS POINT... The only other time I got something from the shop was my first ever purchase which led to an extra vote! THIS IS ABSOLUTELY MASSIVE because I feel like I have more options moving forward now, and I can make risky, but game-changing moves!! I will absolutely be saving the super idol as much as I can, hello?!?!?! I wanna make it to FTC so bad and ensure my spot in Final 5, so I just have to hold on until then!!!

soooo who's callin' me the fourth wheel to Ellie, Dennis, and Riley? oh? it's Brayden? okay king, step up then <3

holy fuck I hope I can explain this mess to Brayden kljfjkdlsahjkb WHY AM I LIKE THIS

Who is that girl I see?

Staring straight back at me

When will my reflection show

Who I am inside

I was completely over Toph's vote out. Like, it just is another demonstration of my "allies" not trusting me. They thought that I told Toph all about the plan to vote him instead of Brayden. They think I ratted to Anastasia and Brayden about the whole deal. It was incredibly frustrating to wake up from a nap with my allies not trusting them. And then they wanted me to vote for Brayden which would have landed Ellie in the jury house. Like, the plan was perfect, but Dennis, Babs, and Ellie just talked themselves into a paranoid mess. After the vote, I managed to talk myself into the good graces of Brayden and Anastasia after voting out Toph. What I said was "If y'all still want to work together, I'm down, but I didn't necessarily trust Toph. Additionally, I was approached like last minute to vote him because of Ellie's idol (they told me about it just before the vote). And I didn't want Brayden to go (didn't know about your idol)." They seemed to buy it?

I went on call with Dennis afterwards and basically asked for Riley to get voted out this round because they are Ellie's immoveable ally. They will never want to work with me. That's dangerous. It could give Ellie a lot of power in this game. Dennis seemed to agree. I also realize that Dennis has a crystal clear view of my game. He knows the type of game I am playing. That scares me. I need to play this game with the knowledge he can turn on me at any time.

My current position is in the middle. I am working with the heads of both sides in this game. I am working with Ellie, Dennis, and Babs on one side. And Anastasia and Brayden on the other. Kenneth is on the Ellie side, but I think my avenues with him are currently closed. What's the most frustrating is that Anastasia and Brayden are so misted by Babs that they can't see that they are LYING. Straight to their faces! Talking about wanting to be allies. Like, I need them not to spill to Babs about anything cause then I would be exposed.

Pray for me y'all.

Kenneth uh this tribal was... literally not in our favor at all... riley was gone the whole time and we didn't throw raffy under our bus when we should have... rip well riley wasnt in my end game plan anyways but its still pretty unfortunate to not have them around for the next couple of votes... i wouldve pitched for raffy harder but it didn't even matter because riley already submitted the vote for brayden :/// just a lil' unfair but it's SURVIVOR i guess!

Keith I woke up to a surprise. I was expecting to be another day on this island but it wasnt to be... This was a round came with a surprise tribal after the challenge. So yayyyy me.... bye bye Exile.

#episodes

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ahnamission-blog · 7 years ago

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so today

was actually a productive day. I came across a bunch of my old accounts and was surprised to see what I had written and how much I've grown. In this time span of the past year I've made so many voice recordings and note diaries in my iclouds, onedrives, evernotes of all the things I've learned and went through but it's weird none of them are public and all my stuff is everywhere I have like 13 email accounts and then drives and clouds connected to them, which are all like different chapters of my life which I can categorize by what music I had screenshotted and what color hair I had at the time. I don't know if anyone will read this but I'm getting into a eucalyptus bath at my parents home and I guess I'll just let my mind wander. Life has changed so much, i've chang3d so much. It's amazing how much has changed, the amount of synchronicity lately has been positively overwhelming, i miss writing. It's so strange that I tried killing myself and it's almost a year from the date la st year on 9/11. It's so weird that some people close to me never even acknowledged that it happened and bullied me even after it happened. So much has happened that I can't explain, to most unawakened sleepers or cynics or skeptics it sounds like hogwash or some random name of some random mental disorder. But it's not, all of this has been so real and my heart just keeps going back to the whole reason I know any of this at all, or even was interested in it. By someone who came into my life and presence has lingered long after his departure, leaving me with the desire to be kind to everyone I meet. Ugh I'm rambling. It's amazing how much you can miss someone or just wonder how they are, thinking about things I'd ask if given the chance or just being happy with the opportunity to listen, even as a friend. Why did I have to....ugh. anyways, it's weird that I tried to kill myself I guess. It's crazy that I stabbed myself and am still here, it changed me completely and it's even stranger that after getting out of the hospital that I just fell back into old things: facebook, instagram, caring what people think, and it's the strangest that ever since that suicide attempt that I've been met with so much rudenss, dog comments, ignorance and hostility....half and half comments, cup of joe, sloppy joes- all this shit. I don't sleep around yet people heckle me as if I'm a whore. I guess saving it for someone special equates to being whatever. Some people I'll never please. I don't need to, but it's different to watch the social hierarchy take place and people try to outdo each other, women hate on each other, people competing with one another or slandering each other online. A president who uses twitter.....its incredible how fake of a world we live in. And being aware of it, watching people succumb to the matrix and then being called crazy by those same people. Because I don't want to pay 600 dollars for some bag, or need a lip injection, or shop at a thrift store. Blah this is going to be a brain dump. This bath is so warm, I'm going to put the jets on. I've never had such intense incredibly lifelike dreams before in all my life, nor have I ever had to fight so hard to protect my energy or frequency, negative people exhaust me to no end. There's energy vampires and it's such a real thing but anyone who is one will play into the facade that it doesn't exist. I'm just letting all my thoughts go, it's been so long since I painted. I miss it. I can't believe I let myself gain so much weight, i used to be a dancer. Being in this body is hell. I miss flexibility, twirling, moving like an instrument to the rythym. I still dance but mostly alone and I realized how awkward I am in my own skin. Someone told me why am I telling my story, stop telling people I almost killed myself. Like Buzz off it's my story to tell and if you don't like it don't listen. It's amazing to watch people treat me like shit and then become offended when I distance myself from their bad vibes. This left and right sided war is some sorta bullshit that I can't even categorize but is so blatantly obvious that I feel like a fool for even touching the topic. Basically I'm unlearning all I had learned - the false histories, the dogmas and doctrines of belief systems built on lies and contradiction. It's amazing to see how tall the wall they built is. I'm so in love with someone who probably forgot I existed, but my heart has never recovered from it. And I believe in unconditional love and I know everything happens for a reason, still, it's incredible to see what real love is capable of doing to a person, or for one. Music is everything. I find peace in music, water, poetry & the stars. It's incredible to know how many people have made rumors against me, i've been called everything in th3 book by now from schizophrenic to batshit crazy to some sorta mental disorder that exists in .003% of the population. And I'm just amazed people buy into the lies and rumors at almost 30 years old, and then I know people double my age who are on the same bullshit and all I can think of Holy God Almighty, not to be disrespectful to YOU Lord but to think of an existence full of rumors and gossip after 55_60 years of life sounds like living hell. It amazes me people care that much what others are doing. It's sad. It's even sadder to know some miserable people try to bring down someone who tried killing herself. But I guess misery loves company. It's a mentality - divide and conquer agendas create it. I wanna do acid, i should meditate. I've had SO many intense dreams lately, dreams seem more r3al than life itself. I always try to find him but it's so hard to get to him it's like someone is always in the way and I wonder why it has to be this way. I'm so happy for my sister she's found the love of her life in h3r best fri3nd. I wish it was that easy and accepted for me, but it is this war. A war against true love or something, some war against me and I don't know why. All I know is I'm the last to know everything and all my family has lied to me and continues to. I never got an answer to how they knew I stabbed myself when my parents ran into a room I was quietly bleeding out in, peacefully, finally able to leave and everything was shifting and it was so beautiful. It felt like I was finally going home to somewhere I belonged. It's ironic because I have so many spirit guides and synchronicity but I'm a deeply neurotic and paranoid person because I am so accustomed to being lied to that I question myself constantly. Learning to be in my own company is interesting. I go back to my apartment and there's new food in the fridge, things are out in different places it's common now. They don't respect my privacy now as they never did but I can't even bring it up because all I get are lies and cover ups like always. So I let it go because what else can I do, i should have known it going into it. Nothing I have is really mine, just a reminder to feel owned by someone or something somewhere else in the world. My father farted when I tried to kill myself. After stabbing myself with an 8 inch knife and they all lie. I'm so used to it Its so sad, i was the last to know that the collective consciousness was a thing and to this day they don't admit it. My entire life is a sham, the only thing that truly belongs to me are my heart and my mind and there's no way I'm letting them take those two from me. No matter how many people are against me. All I gotta say is some people in my bloodline literally don't even treat me like a blood relativ3, it's sad and I feel bad for them that they march around being mad negative light drainers who are angry crabby and fucking rude. And those same fucking people will be r3ading everything I post like hey, get a fucking life of your own instead of talking about and putting down mine fuck3r. Go read something you enjoy. Ugh. Meditate. Count to 10. Inc3nse. Candles. Tarot. Energy readings. Mindfulness. The Power of presence. I know, i know, emotions are just visitors let them come observe them and watch them leave don't become identified with them. But some people be all up in my energy, thoughts, business, postings, and dreams like ?!?!?!?! If I'm such a schizophrenic batshit loser you must surely hav3 something better to do with your time and energy than be concerned with how I'm spending mine. Then it hits me that I attract the frequency I emit so I must vibratehigher. The high self and the low self.soul and ego. Wisdom versus carnal desire. This world is truly crazy but it's nice to know so many people are waking up. Crickets chirp an unrehearsed melody as I turn bath jets off, traffic whirs by in the background. Silence. Stillness. How many times I've found myself here. Despite distraction, or social media or trying to answer to a higher calling....of some sort. Why does that dog always bark. And WHY do I know so many fake people. But th3n I've met a lot of humbl3, kind, awakened individuals on this journey that I hardlyknew yet extended their kindness. I miss him so much. All of this was for him, i've never cared so much for someone. Duolingo or something, i go to bed everynight hoping to see him. Some say I'm delusional for beli3ving in us or holding on this long without physical logical concrete scientific evidence. And I've been skeptical, because could anyone really love me that deeply even at my darkest? I don't know but I have chosen to believe in this, and that it will all work out and that the best is yet to come and to have faith and trust the process and hold the vision and. Honestly I am so grateful because I had no idea how powerful love was. Or surrender. But here I am, in a bath typing out a bunch of thoughts as they splatter across my consciousness. And it's so much bigger than any one part, its like we're all fractals. And were all waves, seemingly separate but all part of something more. With so much depth And unexplored territory.....and it's so beautiful why would anyone wanna hide it or keep it secret? Because then people would be aware of their power. God I missed writing. So much has happened so much has changed. I'm so sick of them trying to quiet me or interrupt me or distract me and my thought or energy or dreams or what3ver. I mean everyone can hear my thoughts and no one talks about it yes hi train beeping in the distance, i love you! This esp thing is so obvious, my parents were so mad when I was friends with Angie and she was communicating with me through thought or esp or heard my thoughts. They keep trying to keep it secret and it's a complete and total fail because I have a big mouth and my patience has reached it's bullshit tolerance so now im just gonna put it all out there. Which just prov3s that anyone whose trying to mask the truth with a lie shouldn't be trying to make my life seem like some big huge bullshit story of a farce when your life and reality can b3 ruined with something as simple as the honest to God truth. And the truth is we can all communicate through ESP and telepathy and the Collective consciousness exists and a bunch of peopl3 are ascending and evolving and feeling he frequencies and shifts on a planetary level, some sooner than others and I was the last one to know but now I know so don't be mad that I'm sharing the knowledge because to be honest I never really know what it going on in a collective state but I do know my own body and mind and the shifts and changes it has went through in the past few months and this is a real thing and no amount of tweets or toupees or annoyingly consistent drawer of red neckties or some random wall on an imaginary bord3r is going to distract the Collective awakened community from the reality that humanity as a whole is traveling towards a high3r evolutionary conscious state. And this divide and conquer agenda, organized social media & news, weather manipulation, water fluoridation, chem trail bullshit is going to hide th3 fact that you couldn't keep this lie a secret for ever and you're just mad the truth is seeping out and it's fine that it's being ridiculed right now with #woke bullshit but it is common knowledge that things are ridiculed, then acknowledged, then experienced, then witnessed as being self evident. So what's up from dat third eye. Lol I mean really. Synchronicity is off the charts right now man like kablam! And I'm expected to be serious as half of my mind doesn't even belong to m3 but is shared with a collective party? The one thing I know that my teacher taught me is consciousness can be controlled if you don't know who you are. Mind control is an actual thing. Energy vampires totally exist. All we have is energy, frequency and vibration. And that's all that we are. But knowing that information is powerful because then you start to emit your own frequency rather than picking up others. You start vibrating higher to detach from lower levels of self, ego self, and start vibrating with your higher self and higher purpose and therefore you are in a place, energy wise, where only that vibration can reach you at. And it's fucking magical!!!! I'm tired. I've been up since, well over 24 hours. Had 2 large pumpkin spice lattes, took 600 mg of seroquel and 2 attivan and didn't sleep. Smart choices. But I was like no hll no I'm not missing another beautiful day sleeping through it, and I organized so much stuff! And my mom and I made so much food for the week together it was pretty cute. Anyways idk. Now I'm thinking of him and I'll probably get all sappy and try to duolingo it to get some sort of......him. idk. To be honest, it's my total vulnerable topic. So I could easily shut off right now or switch topics but.....im feeling ballsy. Lol. Idk. I mean, could this all be real with him? Deep down I hope so that's all I could ever want or hope for. I mean, all this has happened and it is for a purpose. I just hope he is part of it, but it's so private but I've made it so public without really meaning to but I guess it is no secret and I guess everyone knows already so I guess I'll just surrender, i love him, and let it be what it is. Hmm that's different lol anyways I wonder what this week will be like. I wonder if I'll meet someone whose like heyyyyyy heard your thoughts through the Collective Conscious and dope thoughts man, dope thoughts. Like can't we just talk like that? Or is everyone too busy retweeting some sentence about some dumb society hierarchy bullshit that's meant to serve as a distraction from reality? Wake da fup.....but literallyit took me forevs to wake up. Acid helped. I wonder how DMT is like, anyone got the hookup? I could use a trip! Anyways it feels nice being myself again and talking like myself or typing I should say, even if no body reads this at least I was able to write about something real without someone trying to stop me from speaking truth. Anyways wherever you are, if you're reading this, i miss you and hope you are happy. That's all for now folks <3 namaste

#collectiveconsciousness

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kelseybock · 5 years ago

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A Few Lessons Learned: Summer 2019

I was flipping through a holiday magazine today and got so excited for all of the things associated with my favorite season and time of the year: cooler weather, pumpkin patches, cider, football, scarves, holidays... and I started reflecting on how great this summer has been as well. I have truly enjoyed this summer with friends and family. I’ve experienced so many events that I was unable to be a part of when I was in school due to lack of time, etc. and that I really felt that I had missed out on after getting married so young. I traveled to Mexico for my sister’s wedding and a family vacation, saw Cody Johnson (& Brett Young tomorrow!), visited with lots of family and friends, and met new co-workers and people from all over the world as I began my job. Colton would agree that we have both learned a lot about who we are and what we both want as a couple.

I have personally been doing some serious soul-searching and that has been good, but also difficult. I’ve reached out to friends and family with my fears, doubts, and thoughts and have tried to make sense of things that I know have impacted my life greatly growing up. I’ve been trying to make sense of it all.

Like I said, I have learned a few things this summer as I haven’t had the anxiety of schoolwork deadlines, exams, etc. on my mind to fret over and as I’ve actually been able to be where I’m at with the people that I love. Last summer Colton and I took a vacation to Colorado and I loved being with family in the mountains where we hiked, relaxed, and just took in the beauty of the nature surrounding us. This summer sticks out in my mind though as I have learned and been reminded of some valuable lessons as I traveled and was able to actually relax a little and have fun with so many people that I love. Below are a few of the things that I have learned or been reminded of:

1) Intentionality

It truly does make a difference to be intentional about being present, and scheduling in the time to do that. Our schedules these last few years have been crazy and difficult and we’ve tried so hard to just make it work however we could. I was working full time and was also a full-time student, while trying to juggle being a wife, a sister, a daughter, a friend, etc. Colton was doing the same and it was extremely difficult, especially when peak season hit every year at his job. I’m sure many couples may be able to relate to just in general, the stress of life and a packed schedule, and the pressure to have the quality time needed in marriage. Anyways, I am pretty darn real with people about my struggles and I am not usually one to sweep things under the rug, so when I say it was a difficult few years for us, it is not because I am trying to complain a lot, it is because it truly was.

People who know me well know that as a student, I stressed over my grades and know that I didn’t prioritize having a vibrant social life. I definitely sacrificed that often, but it was all worth it because I still have my man by my side and a family that has cheered me on through some pretty dark times. And a degree too, which helps in some respects I suppose.

Friends have come and gone, but I am so thankful for our life group and the relationships Colton and I both have made here in KC.

Lastly, I’ve had the thought that if others were to describe me as I pushed my way through life during those semesters, they would possibly say that I was anxious, boring, and probably grumpy.

I’m glad to say that those long and dark days are a part of my past. My anxiety levels have gone down SO much and I’ve recently been putting way more effort into my health, relationships, marriage, home, and seeing and exploring our city. I have also recently started being more intentional about waking up every day to do something positive, something that brings me peace and joy before I start my day off by heading out the door into the world.

2) Facing Reality

I know from experience that just because one difficult season or period of life is over, it doesn’t mean that another will not arrive. I have had my fair share of bad experiences this summer alongside the good ones, but I’ve also had a lot that has happened in my life, just things that are part of my life story and have shaped me, that have come to the surface this summer.

I try to stay positive and I don’t expect everyone to understand, but I do think that most people are surprised by my story when they take the time to listen to it.

Having my past experiences rise to the surface happened often when I was in high school and college, but I was always too busy to really focus on them and the baggage that they entailed. As I’ve talked with others and have had the time this summer to seek out wise and certified people who have directed me to other intelligent and certified people, I’ve been humbled. And scared. Facing things from our pasts, our childhoods, our fears... those are things that most people never want to really deal with or relive.

With the degree that I have, I should know that it’s more than necessary to take care of myself. People who have a passion and heart for taking care of others also have to take care of themselves, sometimes before they can even go out and help others. Reaching out and seeking out my options has been a huge step for me as I had talked to people in the past about it several times but didn’t end up following through. I made excuses because I was fearful.

Kind of ironic... but has anyone else felt that way too? Fearful when it’s time to take a necessary and healthy step to help yourself? I think it’s important to have a good support system willing to follow up with you to see if you are taking those steps, growing, healing, etc.

3) Oversharing

A couple of semesters ago in my counseling classes, other students would say their first impression of me was that I appeared to “have it all together”, of which I laughed and explained how much of a mess my life really was.

When people started telling me that they thought I had my life together often, I went a little extreme and made it a goal of mine to be as honest as I could with people, even at the expense of their comfortability, which is kind of embarrassing looking back, but I’ll own it shamelessly, or at least I’ll try to... haha...

However, I’ve learned to not share so much with people that I think may care. If people don’t ask, they probably don’t care too much. And if they do ask, I’ve learned that you also have to be careful because sometimes people are just vicious and want to use the information that you give them to gossip or hurt you somehow. I’ve learned that you can’t force who you truly are onto someone just because you want them to perceive you correctly. It is also other people’s responsibilities to get to know you, and you have to just trust that they will be gracious and kind in that process as you hope to be with others as well.

4) Investing

Colton and I are making more life changes and deciding what all of the next steps look like for us financially, with family, plans, etc. There are exciting changes ahead and we are serious about the next few years as far as how we handle our time and resources.

If there’s one thing that I’ve learned, it’s to invest.

Invest your time, invest in your relationships, and invest your money. Invest in the right relationships and friendships.

Not everyone is cheering for me as an individual, cheering on Colton, my marriage, my family, or even my well being in general and I have found that everyone is definitely not my friend or interested in being one. I’ve learned to be wiser in recognizing those that aren’t.

The reality is that everyone does not have my best interest at heart and that’s why being alert and aware is important as well. Not paranoid, but aware.

As far as investing money, we have been meeting together with a man that teaches courses over finances. He has helped us get on the same page with our finances, which has been such a healthy thing for us to experience!

5) Forgiveness

I sat down for the first time this summer and wrote out apology letters and also letters expressing how I felt about the things that they did to me or I to them. That might sound really strange, but I was advised to do it last year and never did until now.

I wrote a letter to each person who I’ve been hurt by. I wrote out why I felt hurt by them, how their words and actions affected me, and lastly how I could have handled things differently in the relationships/friendships as well. I realized my own mistakes as I reflected. (Apology letters can be written for anyone obviously: family members, friends, anyone that you hold a grudge against or struggle to forgive)

Writing the letters was more difficult than I thought it would be. Tears were shed and a lot of reflecting occurred. I realized while writing to these people that are no longer in my life or aren’t that involved how much I’ve grown as a person over the years and months, weeks even... and also how much I really was holding in all these years. I would encourage friends and family members to do this exercise as well because it’s incredibly freeing. You do not have to actually mail the letters or deliver them if you don’t feel comfortable with that. The act of writing them and putting them in a sealed envelope alone is enough for some.

I think marriage makes you stretch and grow in this area at all times, but I have been reminded over and over about forgiveness and grace as I’ve been given it and have given it to others as well. I have been reminded that when I mess up and make mistakes, I can have some grace for myself.

I’ve always been really hard on myself, but I’ve really tried to work on being more forgiving as well as remembering to take the time to reflect on my decisions. If my spouse makes bad decisions, I can always have more grace with him too.

The forgiveness concept applies to all of my relationships though. I’m learning more about it overall and trying to give it out more than what sometimes feels comfortable. Because if I have been forgiven over and over, why shouldn’t I forgive others as well?

6) Boundaries

I’ve learned more about boundaries and having discipline after talking with people who have put their own boundaries in place. I’ve also read a couple of books about boundaries and people skills.

Throughout my life, setting boundaries has been something that I’ve always struggled with. As a natural people-pleaser, I’ve struggled with saying “no”. This summer specifically, I got so fed up with allowing people to walk all over me and treat me like absolute garbage for being what they may perceive as a nice and quote-unquote weak person. Some of the kindest people have been through some of the most difficult experiences and events that some could not even begin to imagine. Those kind people are humans too. The difference between the people that are 90% of the time kind and the perpetually hateful ones is that the kind person has possibly experienced the pain from some of the most awful people and has possibly lived through some of the most horrifying experiences and are still able to treat others with kindness, respect, and love. I have learned that genuinely kind people have learned how to turn their storms and ugly life experiences into stories of hope for others. They have learned to love others wherever they are at in life. The perpetually hateful people, on the other hand, seem incapable of seeing the world beyond themselves and appear to have trouble with having empathy and truly caring for others. Que the conflict between the two and the relational disasters that often take place...

I will say that the kind people that some would never expect to lose their cool can get angry too if poked at too often for too long or if they perceive that they or their family are threatened...

bears may be cuddly and warm looking, but poke a sleeping one, and you’re asking for it. I’ve learned to not be surprised if you provoke another to anger. I’ve learned from my own experiences, if you’re going to play with fire, then be willing to face the consequences if you end up getting burned. A tough, but good lesson to learn.

With that said, I’ve learned to start telling people when they’re going too far with me. When they’re crossing the lines. When they’re inconsiderate and when they’re just downright being hateful and rude. I don’t do this every time because I am trying to choose my battles, but I definitely have grown in this area.

I used to think that I had to just be extremely patient when people decided to resort to screaming or yelling as a way to get a message across, but I’ve learned that letting others think that it’s OK to treat people with hatred, disrespect, and unkindness isn’t helping anyone because if they’re not doing it to you, they will move on and do it to someone else that they can take their stress and anger out on. Sometimes it is your place to call someone out, especially if they’re hurting you and others.

Setting boundaries with certain people is necessary and that’s ok too. I’ve learned to not feel bad about choosing to protect myself and my family from negative people and influences. You can still love people but say “no” at the same time. If those people can’t respect the boundaries you have chosen to put in place, then frankly, it is their own issue to work through.

7) Grief

Grief comes in waves and it comes hard. This summer I was hit hard in dealing with grief and loss. I really missed people that I’ve loved dearly and lost. When I broke down at work one day, I quickly found that people are actually willing to meet you where you are and relate to you with their own experiences. In the past, I’ve tried to hold it all in out of fear that people would not understand. That’s sad because then you’re not giving people the opportunity to love you and comfort you with sweet words or hugs when you might need it.

I was also reminded that everyone grieves differently. As I’ve struggled through anger at times with peoples insensitive comments, it’s taught me what not to say to others. The saying is true that you truly don’t know what someone else is going through.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

There’s definitely more that I could write, but I think this list wraps up a good amount of lessons and reminders from this summer. Hope you all have a great and productive rest of your week!

If you ever want to chat about life, I love coffee, food, and conversation. I’m not afraid to talk about real and hard things either. (Future posts are going to get very real. I’m challenging myself with this blog.)

Kelsey Bock

#thingsivelearned #intentionality #facingreality #investing #forgiveness #boundaries

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lesbitchka · 8 years ago

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(submission)

I am sending this from a friend’s blog, not my own, because I’m overly anxious and don’t know how submissions work and… if my url was somehow posted with this and the guy I’m talking about found it things wouldn’t be good and I’m jsut too anxious to take that chance on something I don’t know the workings of. I’d appreciate if you had a way to omit my friends url though and answer this anonymously but if you can’t they said it’s okay. I’ll see this because I follow you on my blog. Thank you so much.

So this is a long question and I didn’t want it to get split up because it’s sorta important it’s coherent. Also I’m sorry if it’s not totally relevant, I’m not sure who else I could mention this with.

I recently turned 16, but when this all started, I was 15. I’m also a trans boy. I met a person who identifies as Asexual Demiromantic Gay Trans Demiboy. He was 20. But we were the the same fandom and had a lot of the same ships, so we got to talking and hit it off really well. We became friends outside of fandom pretty quickly. (He actually mostly just won’t talk with me about fandom stuff anymore… like he’ll listen to me but won’t engage on it.)

I came out when I was 12 and started transitioning. My family is really supportive and has helped me tons through everything. I was on testosterone at 14 and was approved for top surgery when I was 15 (and got it a month after my 16th birthday). So, yeah. Really supportive environment.

Needless to say, I find relating to other trans people difficult because I don’t go through a lot of the struggles they do. I used to go to trans social groups in my area but I’d always be singled out if I slipped up in the slightest to give a hint of how supportive my environment was.

I’ve gotten a lot better with this, but a roughly year ago, I wasn’t.

We were talking about attraction one day and I expressed that I would probably only date a cis boy.

And he flipped out.

He had said it was because everyone only liked cis boys. His ex apparently left him for a cis guy. And he said something weird, I don’t remember what.

And then it came out that he liked me, romantically.

Everything has been shit since then because I don’t like him back. I can’t define why, but he always asks and hates on himself, his body and being trans.

I’ve been pressured to give him reasons. I’ve discovered a lot about myself through that. I mean it’s fucked me up a lot, but I’ve come to understand more about my attraction. I’ve tried to explain to him. It’s not because he’s trans. I just don’t like him like that–I’d date a trans boy if I liked him!

But, uh. I also found that I’m probably hypersexual, or, at least, in a relationship, I feel as though I would need to be sexually desired to few valid. So this is obviously a reason I couldn’t date an asexual–asexuality is literally not experiencing sexual attraction. Maybe arousal and all, but not attraction.

I tried to explain this to him recently. And he tried to tell me that’s not how it works. He said he could want me sexually, and then explained that if I bought him strawberry pop tarts he’d hop right into bed with me, if that’s what I wanted. He told me I misunderstood him.

Now he’s constantly fighting with me telling me it isn’t fair. I think he’s trying to convince me I don’t know who I like or not. He’s super important to me, and I feel close to him like I haven’t someone before. But that’s not really special, I have unique attachments to most individuals in my life. I’m also an affectionate person. He tells me I treat him like a boyfriend. I tried to tone down my affection but if I cut it all out it’s just. “Hey!” And he’ll respond with “Hi.” And it’s. Dull and just a couple words, because he won’t talk to me about fandom or anything anymore. Just. How’s your day. I’m going to McDonalds. Etc. and then he gets sad and mad with me.

We obviously have very different views on affection and the likes, but I’ve explained a thousand times I don’t mean anything romantic by it. He just cries and gets mad at me and yells some (we have voice called when this happened).

He keeps asking how I know what i feel for him isn’t romantic attraction.

And he STRICTLY dates trans boys. He hates trans girls with a burning passion, like. If I mention it he flips and goes off. He also hates cis men. (Which I don’t understand, because he loves trans men…?) And he doesn’t hate cis girls but he’s not into them. So, yeah. Only trans boys.

And I just… I don’t know what to do. I don’t understand what it is to be demiromantic. He said it’s taking time to have romantic attraction until you really know someone, but I thought that’s how romantic attraction worked… and also he developed feelings for me in a couple of months, not even half a year, and at that point we mostly talked about cool characters. Nothing deep or emotional or about each other really.

And the whole asexual… but has the capacity to be sexually attracted to me thing, I don’t get that. He says I give him feelings he’s never had before. It’s stressful and I don’t get it and he won’t explain. Is it some part of the MOGAI community, like the concept of “good aces” having sex to make their partner happy…?

I almost feel like he only likes me because I’m a trans guy. It makes me feel fetishized–but like. I’d probably be more comfortable with some cis person expressing their attraction to my transness. Because he seems to think there’s nothing wrong with it at all. And there isn’t, I guess, I mean if you’re only comfy dating trans guys like yourself then I guess you are but? He claims to be demiromantic but “fell” for me so fast and it just makes me really uncomfortable. He focuses on it a lot, too. He still gets mad at me and claims I don’t like him because he doesn’t have a dick, even though I’ve explained countless times that I’ve worked through that and it isn’t about him being trans. I also feel like in his saying “no one wants a trans boy” (about himself apparently) he’s almost… trying to convince me that he’s the only person who will ever want me. But maybe I’m just paranoid? I don’t know…

And then, attraction. I mean… I… think I’d know what romantic attraction feels like. And sexual. Attraction in general. Isn’t it defined by individual? Or is he right? Am I romantically attracted to him and just… don’t understand or something?

I’m afraid that if I ever date he’ll kill himself. If I mention having a crush or even liking the idea of a person who would like, get me daisies, he flips out and won’t speak to me proper and is grumpy for days. He’s said that I’m all he lives for. That he schedules his day around me. That he should just kill himself because he’s “horrible” and I’d be “happier” and he’s “always going to be hung up on a guy (he) can’t have anyways”.

I know he’s genuinely suicidal. But he won’t talk to me about everything else… it only ever comes out if I’m going somewhere with someone who could potentially be a person I might like, or if I comment that there was a cute guy walking down the street or that I like the hair of a boy at school today.

I’m sorry that this is a lot. I didn’t know who to talk to about it–I don’t really have anyone, and a lot of it is based on attraction and asexuality and.. I’ve followed your blog for a while and you’re really knowledgeable and post lots of various resources hat I’ve felt are relevant before. I think I mostly just needed to get this out here�� but if you can help me understand anything I’d really appreciate it.

first of all, i’m really glad that you came to me with this. i know it must have taken a lot of courage and you might even feel guilty for doing so - but it’s incredibly important that you reached out

i’m sorry, this is going to be hard to hear, but the best course of action for you and your well-being is to drop that guy and erase him out of your life, asap

now, he’s 20 years old. you’re 16, and were 15 when you met. that is not healthy and is already enough of a red flag (look at this post, and this tag). friendship? sure. there need to be boundaries, but sure. this thing he’s got going on? no way

“I’ve been pressured to give him reasons. I’ve discovered a lot about myself through that. I mean it’s fucked me up a lot, but I’ve come to understand more about my attraction. I’ve tried to explain to him. It’s not because he’s trans. I just don’t like him like that–I’d date a trans boy if I liked him!”

you should not be pressured to give someone reasons for why you won’t date them and the fact that he continues to press the subject just shows that he can’t take “no” for an answer, which also shows a sense of entitlement to other people. another red flag

“He said he could want me sexually, and then explained that if I bought him strawberry pop tarts he’d hop right into bed with me, if that’s what I wanted. He told me I misunderstood him.”

yeah, no, he’s the one willfully ‘misunderstanding’. it’s not about having sex, but about being wanted sexually. like you said, ace people don’t experience sexual attraction and you’re fully within your rights to not want someone who can’t give you what you need in a relationship. more in this tag

“Now he’s constantly fighting with me telling me it isn’t fair. I think he’s trying to convince me I don’t know who I like or not.”

that’s manipulative and trying to convince you to subscribe to his views and beliefs, no matter how much they contradict yours, to get you to doubt your own perceptions. huge red flag

“He tells me I treat him like a boyfriend.“

again, manipulative. lots of people are affectionate and close with their friends

“I don’t understand what it is to be demiromantic. He said it’s taking time to have romantic attraction until you really know someone, but I thought that’s how romantic attraction worked… and also he developed feelings for me in a couple of months, not even half a year, and at that point we mostly talked“

demiromantic is not in any way a useful label, because everyone experiences attraction differently and saying otherwise suggests that everyone else falls in love at first sight

“And the whole asexual… but has the capacity to be sexually attracted to me thing, I don’t get that. He says I give him feelings he’s never had before. It’s stressful and I don’t get it and he won’t explain. Is it some part of the MOGAI community, like the concept of “good aces” having sex to make their partner happy…?”

i linked the sex positive ace tag above; if he’s ace it’s unhealthy for the both of you to have sex. again, it feels more like he’s trying to manipulate you into dating him (the whole “i’ve never felt like this before” thing) - another red flag

“He still gets mad at me and claims I don’t like him because he doesn’t have a dick, even though I’ve explained countless times that I’ve worked through that and it isn’t about him being trans. I also feel like in his saying “no one wants a trans boy” (about himself apparently) he’s almost… trying to convince me that he’s the only person who will ever want me. But maybe I’m just paranoid? I don’t know…”

he’s willfully ignoring what you’re saying, again, in favour of trying to guilt you into dating him. with what i know of him so far, i’m pretty sure he is playing the “no one else will date you” angle - not only is that not true, but it’s another huge red flag

“Or is he right? Am I romantically attracted to him and just… don’t understand or something?“

no, he’s not right, but he’s been working you and guilt tripping you long enough to make you doubt yourself

“I’m afraid that if I ever date he’ll kill himself. If I mention having a crush or even liking the idea of a person who would like, get me daisies, he flips out and won’t speak to me proper and is grumpy for days. He’s said that I’m all he lives for. That he schedules his day around me. That he should just kill himself because he’s “horrible” and I’d be “happier” and he’s “always going to be hung up on a guy (he) can’t have anyways”.

he might be suicidal, he might not, but the fact that it only ever comes up when you mention the prospect of being interested in someone - again - shows that he’s manipulating and guilting you into cutting off other people and just going for him instead. huge, huge red flag

i know it’s hard to let go of someone you care about and who you’ve known for so long, especially when they keep threatening suicide whenever you hint at relationships with other people and you think you’re responsible for their mental well-being - but this is not healthy and the sooner you cut him out of your life, the better

you don’t owe him anything. not a relationship, not even a friendship, and you certainly don’t have to and should not stick around just because he’s guilted you into worrying what he might do if you try to leave. he’s not your responsibility, not to mention he’s a grown fucking adult who should know better than to pull any of this on a minor

the best thing you can do is to block him, change urls and move on. you don’t owe him any explanations, and trying to have a conversation about you needing to get away from him would undoubtedly turn ugly, with yet more guilt tripping you to stay. that will make it even harder to leave and he will be on the lookout for any following signs of you trying to get away

im here for you if you need someone to talk to and please do message me to let me know you’re safe

#submission #abuse /#im gonna put this into #age gap discourse

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thatfestivallife · 6 years ago

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Back in March 2017 on my first travels through India I spent the incredible festival of Holi in the even more incredible town of Pushkar which is one of the biggest traveller hubs for this hectic colourful festival. I’ve had quite a few questions about my experience and always seem to have a load of mates who find their way there every year so I thought I would finally put together this post about my experience – and share these wonderful photos of my friends! It wasn’t necessarily all fun and games though so make sure you read to the end for important tips on how to prepare, and for what I really thought of the experience.

Those Festival Facts – Pushkar Holi

What is Holi? Marking the arrival of spring as well as the downfall of the demon Holika – Holi is a hindu festival of colours.

Where is Holi? All over India but primarily in the North – here I’m talking about my personal experience at Holi festival in Pushkar, Rajasthan, India.

When is Holi? March time as it marks the end of winter but it varies year on year depending on the moon. Holi in Pushkar in 2019 is 20th & 21st March. It is an ancient festival which has been celebrated as far back as the 4th century!!!

Holika Dahan

The night before the more universally known paint fiesta, is Holika Dahan. For Holika Dahan in Pushkar the main square is full of people with the local gypsy drummers drumming in the centre and everyone taking part in this amazing stick bashing dancing thing – this is also the case for a several nights before as well. This was probably my favourite part of the celebrations actually! Such a lovely vibe, someone let us on their roof and we watched the dancers and the confetti explosions fly through the sky! There’s a big bonfire and this evening represents the banishing of the demon ‘Holika’.

Main square at Holika Dahan

The Festival Of Colours

The day after is Rangwali Holi and started at 7 am with the screams of little children running wild on the streets with paint and water guns flying everywhere… followed shortly by the thumping of the extremely loud ‘music’ coming from the square. Our guesthouse was just off the main square so we all got ready there before heading off – if you’re at Holi there are a quite few precautions you should take before diving into the melee, hang tight, I explain them all at the bottom of this post!

BEFORE…

Ready!

We wrapped up, left our things at home, tentatively stepped out into the street where we were immediately greeted by children smearing the powdered paint onto our faces face and shouting ‘happy holi‘… Then we wandered out into the square, getting pelted a few more times on the way! Not just powder paint either but some pretty hench water guns with the paint mixed up with water.

One of the weirdest things for me about Holi in Pushkar is the music in the square, thumping electronic / psytrance / occasionally recognisable and really loud! The festival in Pushkar is less of a traditional celebration and more of a festival to attract tourists… I mean it’s basically a rave! The whole square is PACKED for hours with people dancing and stacks of speakers.

Right in the thick of it! Photo by my friend Zoe Savitz

If being in the middle of it doesn’t sound like your idea of fun, there are plenty of four storey restaurants and rooftops through the town and surrounding the square, where many people flee for some relief and to relax… the vibe was pretty amazing, the palpable excitement had been growing for a few days in the town and this was its very colourful crescendo.

What starts as individual colours mush together very quickly to a bright reddish pink and soon the water and the paint have come together and flow down all the streets like a river… the whole town become pink for weeks!

AFTER…

The Darker side of Holi Festival in Pushkar

So I’ll be real here – I didn’t particularly enjoy the day time festivities of Holi that much!

It is a pretty intense experience – as I said before the Pushkar festival is geared towards tourists rather than being a traditional Hindu celebration and also attracts hundreds if not thousands of men from surrounding cities – I saw no Indian women getting involved and everyone was really drunk even though Pushkar is a dry city. About 90% of the crowd were men.

I had been pre-warned about a ‘darker side‘ of Holi… and by darker side I mean unwanted touching and groping. This meant I was really on guard all day and found it pretty exhausting – crowds in 39 degree heat are pretty nackering anyway, let alone when you’re paranoid someone’s gonna put their hands where they shouldn’t. I didn’t spend much time in the crowd perhaps because of this.

I personally wouldn’t call any of my experiences sexual harassment but I was super wary and cautious and got pretty irritable at the guys getting up in my grill. Smearing paint on my face with an excitable ‘happy holi’ started out as innocent but the more booze that was drunk, the more bhang lassis consumed, the busier it got, the more it was likely to get in my eyes or mouth, the more tiring it was, the less I could escape from it and the less it mattered when I said no.

This problem isn’t a secret, there was even a huge campaign launched in the big cities last year, #HoliNotHooliganism, but I met a lot of tourists didn’t seem to know that it was a thing and dived in a bit unprepared and unaware. I know it’s not just Pushkar either because since coming home I’ve done a bit of research and I’ve found a whole heap of worse Holi experiences; Alex from Lost with Purpose who had some experiences in Varanasi that were not great but who has some good tips for women who would want to visit. Aleah has also written a really interesting article over on her blog about ‘Eve teasing’ and her experiences at Holi in Varanasi too.

BUT on the flip side…

Most of my friends (half women – half men) fully embraced the hecticness danced in the square all day and had a great time with no problems. They did have a bunch of local friends who went with them which might have helped and is something I would definitely reccomend! I definitely also need to add that I do feel uncomfortable writing this whole section as I am really cautious of sounding like I’m tarring all Indian men with the same brush, this isn’t a sweeping generalisation and was just my personal experience of this festival not my general experience of my times in India.

Also if the whole thing doesn’t sound up your street then please don’t let it put you off coming to Pushkar at all… Pushkar is possibly my favourite place in the world, full of incredibly friendly and hospitable people and the only reason that I haven’t done more travel blogs about it yet is that I don’t even know where to start!!

Johnny ❤

Tips for how to prepare for Holi Festival in Pushkar

How to protect your camera at Holi Festival!

As I said early there are a few precautions you should take to make sure you have the best Holi you can:

Book early! everything gets totally booked out over holi weekend and is a lot more money – I stayed in Shree Savitri Palace… since then I have stayed there for all of my trips to Pushkar, I love the family who live there they have really looked after me and my friends on all my stays. If you want to stay somewhere authentic, cheap and that is basically a palace with a temple in it then this is the one!

Buy your paint from street sellers before… it comes in powder form and it’s available everywhere you won’t miss it.

Protect yourself from the paint…

Cover your skin and hair in coconut oil (and I mean everywhere) to stop the paint from staining and to help it slide off in the shower after – you can get this easily in loads of shops in Pushkar.

If you don’t want your hair to be a funny colour for weeks – not saying this isn’t a valid fashion choice – then cover it up… I made a turban out of an old dress which also covered my ears, win win.

It can get in your eyes and mouth and you can breathe it in too so think about bringing something to cover your mouth – we made scarves out of an old sarong.

Most people try to wear something light coloured so the paint shows up on it best.

If you’re a guy… my pal Johnny said its pointless to wear a shirt as it will promptly be ripped off and thrown on to the washing lines above the square!

On that note – maybe don’t wear anything you wanna be able to wear for Sunday best again!

Don’t bring anything with you! If you must, think about investing in a money bag or something that attaches to you can tuck right into your clothes. I left all my stuff at my guesthouse as it was close to the square and only took my camera out in the street outside my hostel (that’s where all these photos were taken!)

If you do bring a phone or a camera… protect it, see above for Zoe’s plastic / tape / fabric concoction!

Let me know if you have ever celebrated Holi anywhere! I would love to hear about other experiences of it… x

The most colourful festival in the world - and its darker side. Celebrating Holi in Pushkar, India Back in March 2017 on my first travels through India I spent the incredible festival of Holi in the even more incredible town of Pushkar which is one of the biggest traveller hubs for this hectic colourful festival.

#festival #Holi #India #Pushkar

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