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incarnateirony · 3 years

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Hi! I’m still not really over the last episode (and that happy montage in the end i-) and I’m feel confused about what’s part of the episode was fake. I mean the end totally is. But all Chuck scene was superweird too. And sometimes i think that it should be Cas instead of Lucifer and Jack felt him. I mean... confused! How do you feel about that?

Okay so here’s the thing -- this is a multifaceted episode--

BuckLeming, while often herded efficiently by Dabb, can muddy up the textual waters, leave gaps, and things unexplained.

However, that doesn’t account for Showalter’s choices in direction. Dutch shots out the ASS which are typically used to evoke that something is "wrong." Lots of panoramas, tracking shots, zooms and blurs in ways that simply are-not-standard for SPN. Extreme aerial shots.

One might even think “maybe it’s Chuck looking in on them!” but then you realize the same overhead view zoomed out on *Chuck* even and panned out to the horizon again.

One of the early mega-zooms literally zoomed out to The World, even. I’m just gonna gesture people to my tag on that and let them think on that, much less the empty world orbiting on the news or whatever the hell else.

There were *several* Cas-baits, yes. Yes, that was intentional from our actual authors.

But when it comes down to “fake episode”, here’s where we were at.

15.17-19 run immediately concurrently. At the end of 17, Chuck says this was his ending.

Now, the Winchesters largely derailed that ending, so Chuck was writing new material.

But Chuck is also seeking death.

He wrote a suicide note in 11. He wrote the story that would end in him and Amara being eradicated. And whatever influence he was exerting forcefully with Michael and Lucifer to bop the story around was all in the interest of seeing his book. One might think “to keep the Winchesters from killing him”, but he was desperate to see what his ending WAS, to know it and experience it and scream after them.

The dour taking of “no one cares” right after “I care(d)” about humanity is its own highlight going on. But wait, there’s MORE.

When Dabb dropped his pre-episode thing, we started talking before the episode.

So I mean, I think what we were *mostly* witnessing is the pen being ripped away.

But this is that emptiness that lingers even with Chuck generally resolved. They’re still kinda on the pages. The book is presented as shut, and the next steps are not taken. Development stops, if not drops.

This entire thing is so meta my damn head hurts.

Summarily: Is it just like, some weird AU that’s gonna go away? Not so much. Is it an incomplete portion of the story told from a skew? Absolutely. And is there still someone watching over them? T’would seem so. The whole World, even. Beyond Chuck.

Now the point at which we start blocking off issues of “eugenie writes like she’s 3″ is where we ask about things like “god power” or whatever else being thrown in the mix along with eugenie’s ki ball special effects that are literally always unique to her episodes, even if other people have to add the SFX.

So while it was a good bit of masterful work to do it via buckleming for this style of bump, it still inevitably has its flaws because... buckleming. But... Showalter was there. And one thing to note is almost every single scene entrance had some sort of major pan or zoom effect. That’s not typical for him.

The entire thing is designed to evoke, directorially:

One style: crooked shots, unlevel, unbalanced, uneasy feeling.

Second style: Over-under; some force is watching them on high, while others have a sort of brechtian absurdity, which seats it like a play on an elevated stage.

We are the audience, looking up at figures half the episode; but a second audience is looking in from “on high” and out over the world. As if perhaps even from the heavens.

Third style: CSI Miami, basically? Parts of this episode were sectioned off to be like a procedural crime drama in its cinematography and flashbacks. Which is ironic, because Dean loathes procedural dramas, but at the same time some of this fandom demands a procedural monster show instead of a family drama show.

Sam and Dean barely have any lines in the episode *until* we hit Crime Drama Time. Then suddenly, they reveal all of their case work. Despite Dean’s hatred of crime dramas, this is honestly when I feel like the brothers kicked in their own pen.

Let’s play a game-- the winchesters are aware they can write their own story. So they start telling the story they think people want to hear, or maybe just fill in the gaps from when Chuck gets dropped on his ass. Maybe Dean’s the one writing about how many times god punched them in the face whereas Sam is breaking down the crime scene investigation front. Another, where it feels like we’re loosely circling the war table as others lightly wander too.

But everything before that is the first and second style, and even after that, the overview-angle remains. The uneasiness is gone but there is an emptiness otherwise. But we are no longer spectators from beneath the stage, but staring into them.

I still very much expect everyone to “die” one more time and several specifics to choose to walk back into life at the end of it.

Is it a *complete* false narrative? No. We’re not just gonna turn around and be like “oh that whole ep didn’t happen.” But the writer lost his pen and got jacked at one point, while we also observed the stage from a series of angles as different audiences.

Riddle me this: Why show the World? “Because it’s empty and just them!” okay but there’s a lot of ways to show that which actually gets that point a whole lot better across than “here, here’s a planet that still looks lit up”--yes I know electricity is still running until stuff runs out but essentially speaking, the end of the episode shows us the kind of dramatic shots that could be used for that.

CASey just poofed in the World in the TV, seems legit.

Let’s see these overhead angles again, knowing it isn’t just Chuck.

This sort of overview is known for causing a “dollhouse effect” that derealizes the episode and makes them seem, well, like toys. Which is interesting. Because Chuck isn’t the only one watching them on high.

Cool, this is fine.

Either way, the entire episode is DESIGNED to cause some major uncanny valley. There’s a lot of parts that simply *haven’t been told or filled in.* It’s almost like evasive maneuvering, half the content just never made it to print, and what did wasn’t in its best draft. There may be battling authors, or a transition of authorship. But the thing is: this is not the complete story.

There is an entire missing section about Sam and Dean even finding out that Jack is a power siphon which they hadn’t witnessed yet much less arranged an entire plan.

Even Chuck’s episodes are generally told from the general POVs of the Winchesters, but this was absolutely not.

Matthew 28: 18: And Jesus came and spake unto them, saying, All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. Put a pin in that one.

Unless CHUCK IS WRITING HIS OWN FAKE DRAMATIC END, the overhead view, however, IS NOT CHUCK PERSPECTIVE.

-- Regardless, the metaness of “fish in a toilet bowl BRL plot” stacked into this makes it very difficult to accurately decipher the lines, especially with only one watch so far--just skimming back through right now to grab a few things I remember.

Some parts are plot salad buckleming.

Some parts are us as forced spectators of a stage play.

some parts are shifting authorship

Some parts are the heavens looking out over the earth it loves.

------

It almost feels as if, within enclosed spaces, unsteadiness and stageplay, we have Chuck’s POV.

But by the end it ceases to have any relevance, as he is no longer the author, and instead, we have the Presence of Being overseeing them, letting the Winchesters argue for their own proverbial pen in their own storytellings between here and there.

ALTERNATE PROPOSAL:

it is all one point of view. All of it. Pretend you’re someone’s eyes on a situation, you just happen to be in the sky half the time, and the uncanny valley is pulling forward the concept of being a presence that simply isn’t *there.* For example we're looking extremely closely at passed out dean but the camera turns and raises to level with Sam before Dean gets up. Our viewership lens is rising to meet Sam.

The camera stays in motion to fill a role or slot of a viewer. At first it’s haunting and ominous, but at other times, it’s simply part of the room, when it isn’t hovering from on high. Rather than speaking of empty space, we are viewing The World through that empty space, as if it were a Being.

Just a few more eye catching shots.

But whoever or whatever frames the end, even without Chuck--like the story is still turning on the pages, roughly.

The montage at the end feels like the Swan Song one, more or less, but there’s no narrator, no chuck.

The writer, the writer we know at least, is Absent.

Men are writing their own Stories.

But they aren’t alone.

I know how you see yourself. Angry and dark like your father. You think that’s what you are. But you are the most loving man in the whole world. That is who you are.

Someone does care. Even if right now, Sam and Dean don’t feel like anyone does.

...Because of you. I cared. For you, for Sam, for Jack, for the Whole World.

I cared.

“That’s not who I am.”

I am.

I speak therefore I am.

#supernatural #spn #15.19 #meta #my meta #the world #world #absence #being #polol

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garblegox · 2 years

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• Humpty Dumpty Elegy 8 | five books on 🦊POWER🦔 •

When I was an eleven year old boy, a very wise squirrel said something I never forgot:

Insecurity is the one thing that never goes out of style. And I am proudly outdated

He's a good lord and master, that Foamy the Squirrel. Taught me an embarrassingly large number of good ideas. Embarrassing, mostly because it exposes my obvious fatherlessness.

But hey, I'm a man of many dads. I got OG Gaydad (plus a step-Gaydadmother + their fuccboi), Realdad the Deaddad, Stepdad the Notyetdeaddad, Trinidad Deaddad, Partially-lobotomized Mohawkdad, new Trinidad dad (alive), plus Doug Stanhope, Aesop Rock, and everyone's LORD AND MASTER Foamy (My mom hasn't banged the last three, yet). A real Papa Johns Buffet.

My mom's got a nice book for you, it's called, "The Ethical Slut" by Dossie Easton. Sounds cool. Wasn't cool hearing her and my Grandma discuss it at the dinner table. Yuck.

So what are we in for today? What's the topic du mois?

POWER

I knew this was coming, and even though Humpty's not actually reading any of this, I wanted to make sure I put books on being a solid person, before I recommend books on being a powerful one.

Readers definitely care more about power and influence, than ethics and morality, or god forbid, narcissism. Which I completely understand; who the fuck am I, anyway? But I'm playing with fire here, giving a wannabe serial/spree killer/rapist books on power.

But now, with all the medicinal shit out of the way, time for the delicious stuff. Topics that are way more fun, like psychedelics, stupidity, "monkey brains", the soul, etc. Should be mostly free of moralizing from now on.

Fuck it, say the rock can't hide you, the river's bleedin', and the sea's boilin'. Sinnerman, you're going to need power. Pa-ha-ha-hawah!

• #1 The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell •

Lets start off small. I say Humpty's something, if only an empty shell with room to fill. Humpty says he's nothing... period.

Pick something you find insignificant, and he'll diminish himself beyond that. A mote of dust? Too big. An atom? My, that's generous. Sub-atomic particle? Close, but still too energetic to be his match.

The self-hate is so cartoonish you have to wonder if he's just putting on a show. Even Wednesday, with his actual life of pain, at least sees the fact that he survived it all as some measure of greatness. But Humpty? Well we all know how he works at this point. It's a short script.

So lets humor him. He's itty fuckin bitty. Who cares? Who isn't? We're all ants, hoping a good hill will emerge from us. Thing is, hills don't emerge from one ant; ants are pretty pathetic specimens all alone. But as a group, they can eat an elephant, brain first, and elephants know it.

This book is like Atomic Habits, for hills and hives. No person of influence or significance ever made it to our awareness alone. They came crowdsurfing in on a swarm of apes, tossed about like a beloved beachball.

It's easy to get misled into thinking there's only one correct role to play in society, and that you just ain't it. Maybe you find that the most legendary people are the ones who can convince people of anything, or have a vast library of info in their head, or an expansive network of powerful acquaintances. Maybe you're daunted by the idea that you have to be all three at once to accomplish your dreams.

Pick the one that comes to you most naturally, nurture that side, then search for the other two, and befriend them. Geniuses occupy multiple categories. But hey, fuck being a genius, don't be a narcissist, move on. We is what we is. Intelligence has diminishing returns, and the vast majority of an individual's intelligence is stored in their peers, not their brains.

Malcolm calls these three "Salesmen, Mavens, and Connectors"

I used to get down on myself, for spending so much of my free time alone, hammering useless factoids into my head. It seems I prefer reading about humans over interacting with them. Meanwhile people like Wednesday and my brother hunger for new connections 10x harder than I do. I just siphon friends from them.

However, as much as I envy their drive to connect, they envy my ability to be comfortable alone, and the knowledge I've independently accumulated over the years. They've both referred to me as a major resource for information, that's given them an edge in their own life.

After reading this book, I finally recognized that I'm fine as-is, and so are they. In fact I've always had a pretty good thing going, despite my reclusiveness. I'm a maven, they're connectors. The only thing we're missing, is a salesman and a mission. Then we can finally start that cult we've been dreaming about. wat?

Now, Malcolm focusses on how these three combine to make HUGE things happen, and gives the slight impression that they're rare people. But that's not true. The scale doesn't matter, whether you're looking to put together the next Amazon, or just make a fond name for yourself in a little pissbunk town of eighty people. Humans all generally fall into these categories. If you're wondering what your calling is, it's good to start by asking yourself whether you're a connector, a maven, or a salesperson.

Greatness is not a highway with just one fast lane. It's a heavy ass carriage that needs three horses at a time. Figure out what kind you are, find the papers and scissors to your rock, harness up, and get pulling.

[p.s. Malcolm infamously promotes the "broken windows policy" in this, which has been debunked. Big cringe. But it plays a very small role in making his overall point. Don't let it distract you too much.]

• #2 The Square And The Tower by Niall Fergusson •

What does power mean to you? When do you feel that taint-tingling, goose-bumping, buckle-swashing feeling that you are in the presence of something truly powerful?

Me, I'm less spooked by kings and their coterie. Likely a form of stupidity on my part. But I always see hierarchs as the middle of the hierarchy. Because above, below, behind, and beyeet them, lie networks and conspiracies. It's networks that chill my bones. Like the neat little gang of psychics I spotted in New Orleans.

I've seen the power of them my whole life. My mother is a member of the largest conspiracy in the Great Lakes/New England region: Barbershop singers. She's got connections from Salem to Sault St. Marie. She even sang with one of my principals as a Sweet Adeline which got me way more mercy than my misbehaving ass ever deserved. One of her other friends even got me a job working at Camp Rock (aka Camp Kilcoo) for a summer, living in a cabin next to a lake, making bacon and eggs for some delightful little punkass kids. That place taught me to shake hands like a man.

I exaggerate, but really, a mere barbershop network is like hammerspace for human potential. Reach in, pull something out for free. Even weirder, my mom's known by hundreds of people by a single letter. I can say "You know X?" And people go "Oooooh! So YOU are X's son!!"

If you want to keep an eye on power, you have to know what you're looking at. Now, it's a mistake to put hierarchies and networks on a continuum of opposites. Power can coagulate, or it can dissolve. Any Satanists out there?

Networks can act as hierarchies, and hierarchies can network. The best analogy is in the name: Hierarchies are vertical like towers, networks are horizontal like the market square beneath them. Some shit is a bit diagonal.

Historians are absolutely terrible at piecing together networks throughout history, because they leave measly paper trails. Either they're non-existent, or so vast and full of noisy data as to be encrypted to history.

Niall first does a great job of drawing clear lines between how hierarchies and networks operate. Then for the rest of the book, he gives a variety of examples of both, throughout history.

I didn't realize till I reread these books, but this one pairs perfectly with The Tipping Point. Niall discusses network nodes, and the importance of a node's "centrality". It all becomes extremely familiar when he gets into the three different kinds of centrality:

"Degree centrality" = The number of edges radiating out of a node. Like how many doors a room has. A room with many doors has high degree centrality. With humans, it's a measure of sociability. Or as Gladwell might put it, the node is a "connector"

"Betweenness centrality" = The extent to which info and influence passes through a node. It could be a room with few doors, but those few doors are where huge amounts of traffic and data flows through. Not a high quantity of doors, but a high quality. These are the "maven" nodes.

"Closeness centrality" = The number of steps it takes for one node to reach another. The Kevin-Baconiness of a node. The fewer the average steps from one node to all others in the network, the higher the closeness centrality.

For anyone who has read You Are Not So Smart and were left wanting to learn more about Dunbar's Number, these first two books both cover the concept pretty well.

I could go on, this is a very dense book, packed with cool information. How do poor people and rich people network? What are the "7 great insights of network theory"? What makes weak ties so strong? How come the rich get richer? Davos Man? Illuminati? Technology? Jungle warfare? Would the world be better without hierarchy? When is it time to be a non-conformist, or to integrate?

I'm afraid you'll just have to read this big thicc bitch to find out.

• #3 On Grand Strategy by John Lewis Gaddis •

You used to have to join an Ivy League school to get what this book offers. How fancy.

If there's one thing I absolutely love, it's a book on harmony. Taking two powerful and compelling opposites, finding the hip that joins them, and exemplifying those who can harmonize both sides into one effective point of view.

What are you, a fox, or a hedgehog? A map, or a compass?

As the analogy goes, the fox searches for food everywhere, and everywhere finds a new challenge to overcome. Life is uncertain. The fox is willy, creative, and dynamic. Whereas the hedgehog sits in one bush, and waits for his food to skitter and wriggle right up to him. Threaten him, he just balls up and waits. The hedgehog lives a simple life of certainty and stasis.

It's maybe unsurprising that Sonic is the de facto mascot for autism. Even though he's super fast, he moves in straight lines, and instead of staying still, he absolutely never wants to stop. A real linear fella, with a roguish fox-like veneer.

Many people make the mistake of trying to adopt just one form. But you need both. The other great analogy Gaddis uses is the topographical map vs the compass. One needs both to properly navigate. The compass points you north with certainty and straightforwardness, but it won't warn you of the swamps and cliffs, like a good map will.

With the basic dynamic laid out, Gaddis then loads you up with some choice examples throughout history, of foxes and their hedgehog foils, as well as people who embodied both styles with great harmony and success.

There are some fascinating pairs to think about. Machiavelli and St Augustine, Queen Elizabeth and King Philip II, Tolstoy and Clausewitz, Lincoln and Douglas, Jackson and Hamilton, etc. the respective foxes and hedgehogs of their times.

"Grand Strategy", according to John, involves combining one's inner fox and hedgehog, adapting to incompatibilities, keeping your self rooted with your head out of the clouds where platitudes swarm, and making decisions that can overcome the constant changes in time, space, and scale.

• #4 The 48 Laws Of Power by Robert Greene •

This is the book that started the Humpty Dumpty Elegy, officially. Scoffing at You Are Not So Smart was Hump's biggest single insult. But this got me in motion. I never planned on sharing this one with anybody. It even says to keep plenty of your best knowledge secret. But power crystalized into a topic, and without this, there were only four out of five books. Well sheeit.

Looking at the reviews, just the existence of a book like this upsets people. In fact, I was guilty of a similar attitude. I only read it after letting it sit in my library for more than a year. I figured only creepy douchebags and prisoners would read something like this.

But thanks to Chrissy Chaos blabbin' about it everywhere he went, I decided to give it a shake. And I'm so glad I did.

Now I'm upset at whatever put that bullshit in my head. Anybody who tells you not to empower yourself is your enemy. There's nothing to gain from being weak. Nothing for you, that is.

And if you think tough men are dangerous, wait until you see what weak men eggs are capable of -- Jordan Peterson, 12 Rules For Life

I should have known better. Repressing your shadow is one of the most effective ways of turning yourself into a neurotic psycho. You oughta be out there, vice signaling.

There were a number of rules that pointed the finger at Humpty, saying, "get this bastard out of your life!" But the one that obviously sealed the deal was,

Law 10: Infection, avoid the unhappy and unlucky.

Now, "unhappy and unlucky" describes Wednesday to a T. So I cracked a joke at him saying, "Sorry dude, my book says ya gotta go. Time to giddy the fuck up on out ma life, beitch!" We laughed, but I worried he might actually be thinking that the creepy power book I'm reading is saying mean things about him behind his back.

So I thought about it, and wondered what I might say to make it clear that Mr. Greene wasn't referring to my powerful and inspiring friend Wednesday. In case Wednesday happened to catch real feelings about it.

"He wasn't talking about you, he was talking about Humpty Dumpty."

🤯⚡💡

When I said that in my head, a lightning bolt fired off in there, all these neurons waiting to connect finally did, and Humpty's scheme unraveled in my mind from beginning to end.

Now, I'd like to reiterate, I never advocated for kicking Humpty Dumpty out of our little group. I merely told them that I was 100% done with his crybaby bullshit, and that I was planning on doing things differently for my own peace of mind. But The Twelve Days Of Christmas began, without me needing a single power law to guide it. I just wanted to bore him, and ignore him.

But aaah well fuck him, he's not reading this. All this guilty conscience shit has got to be getting boring.

When the book wasn't describing Dump as cancer, it actually described him as a dude with remarkable control over his life already. It's just that he laments everything that makes him powerful:

His intentions are obscure; He always says less than necessary; He's got a great reputation, outside of the Discord; He effortlessly courts attention towards his fake pitifulness; He gets others to do work for him; He's can be disarmingly honest and generous; He knows to appeal to people's self-interest or self-image; He's never committed to anyone; He played a sucker to catch a sucker (Wednesday and I); He's the living embodiment of the "surrender tactic"; He played on our need to believe; He can control your options, dealing only the cards he wants you to play with; All grapes are sour grapes to him; He IS a compelling spectacle; And though he behaves like others, he thinks like nobody else.

The fun part of reading this book is finding what things you actually do quite well. We learn plenty of these laws naturally, as kids, and it's validating hearing them in a book like this. Humpty's not helpless, no matter how much he insists. After reading this, I just can't buy it from him.

It's not just validating, but overall refreshing and unique. Robert wrote this out of frustration, as he apparently writes all of his books. He found nobody was writing anything practical or honest about power. Everything else avoided delving into the human shadow, or just telling it like it is when it comes to the ego.

"Amoral" is a fair word for this book. It is not gonna help you find eudaimonia, or fulfillment. It has no advice on what to do with all your newfangled power. So keep that in mind. Try my other recommendations.

But are you an anxious person? Why? You don't just have anxiety. You are anxious, about something. It's not a cold, nobody just sneezed it into you. Everyone's anxiety is their own complex tangle of knots for themself to unravel. So what's got you anxious?

I'd be willing to bet one major thread in that ball of knots is a feeling of powerlessness. From times you held power, and knowingly let it go. To times where you didn't know you had it till it was gone. Maybe you're another person who feels guilty about your own will to power, so you concealed it, from everyone first, then yourself. Maybe you had power before you knew it could corrupt, and you misused it, and don't think it belongs to you anymore. Don't let "power" be something ineffable to you like the idea of "cool" or "success"; It's a thing with definite properties.

This book is considered an absolute lifesaver for people in exploitative, political environments. Known as "the most popular book in prison", it's best usage is in the hands of those subjected to power, not the ones wielding it over others. 99% of people using this book are doing so defensively, not offensively.

If there's one great way to describe Humpty Dumpty, it's as a former prisoner. He's got all the markers of an animal, broken by an institution. Like Camus says, if prison changes you, it doesn't change you into a philosopher, but a dimwit or a monster.

My #1 goal with this series is to empower people (at the expense of one douchebag). I feel like I've always had a headstart on that in life, thanks to my parents and their unique attitudes. I think the most destructive people I've ever known were exemplars of weakness, not strength.

These are not absolute laws. There's no sane reason to worry about following all 48 laws at once, 24/7. Unless you can stomach the solitude of a pimp, which nobody really can, not even pimps. My workplace, for example, is very low on exploitation and politics, so I save a lot of energy and don't worry much about these laws each day. But if you have a goal, there are 48 definite things you can do to ensure you reach it.

And remember, there ain't no rest for the wicked. If you're looking to make a better world to live in, you gotta beat the bad guys to it.

• #5 The Dichotomy Of Leadership by Jocko Willink and Leif Babin •

Look at you, you powerful motherfucker. You did it. You're the boss now!

Alright now WAIT HURRY DON'T FUCK IT UP AAAH OH MY GOD WHHYYY!🔥⚠🦴🌊⚡💥☠

Ooooh way to go, you dick, everything's broken, people died, tisk tisk

Power and leadership ain't something to fuck around with. Nobody knows that better than our two Navy SEAL friends, Jocko and Leif.

I said I love books on harmony. This here is one of the best. Especially since these authors epitomize the idea of "skin in the game".

Not only did they successfully learn and apply these principles in war, they proved through their consulting company, Echelon Front, that they're applicable broadly, in all realms of leadership.

Jocko & Leif's first book, Extreme Ownership (or as my brother calls it Insane Responsibility) was a smash hit, and changed a lot of minds for the better. But that name, "extreme", broke many people's brains. So they followed it up with a book on balance: The Dichotomy Of Leadership.

Their goal was to empower through humility. But some bosses thought it all meant "micromanage with rabid zeal." And by doing so, they negated the ownership of everyone beneath them. People weren't allowed to make choices, so extreme ownership up and down the pecking order couldn't be achieved. Nobody was getting paid to think, and things would begin to get rigid, fragile, and collapse.

It was clear, that with responsibility out of the way, the next most important key to leadership is finding the healthy medians among the "countless dichotomies of leadership".

The ultimate dichotomy, to them, comes when a leader has to put their people's lives/livelihoods at risk, for the sake of the mission. But that's just the hardest one to stomach. Beyond that, they cover eleven more powerful dichotomies a leader must always keep in mind.

How do you own it all, while empowering others?

When does resolute become overbearing?

When do you mentor, and when do you fire?

Where's the line between training hard, and training smart?

How do you stay aggressive without being reckless?

How do you stay disciplined without being rigid?

How do you hold people accountable without holding their hands?

When should the leader follow?

You must plan, but when does it become overplanning?

Can you be humble without being passive?

How do you stay focused, but detached?

That's a whole bunch of shit, isn't it? Each one makes the hair holding Damocles' sword seem just that much thinner, and the sword that much sharper.

It's a whole lot more than just foxes & hedgehogs, maps & compasses, Hellenists & Hebraists, Squares & Towers, etc. All those seem adorably theoretical compared to everything in this book. This is Tolstoy, Clausewitz, AND Bonaparte, all in one. Plus enthralling stories of urban combat from the people stirring it up.

This book isn't just written for the bosses and supervisors of the world. Since only a tiny fraction of any group is in charge, and it probably won't be you. Their whole philosophy is about decentralized command, and instilling leadership qualities into every unit down the chain.

For me, since I haven't been in a leadership position since reading this, I have just been using it to size up bosses, and do my best to make myself immune from their misbehavior. I get my work done admirably, no complaints, no excuses, nobody ever cracks a whip at me; Nobody's gonna steal my table of knickknacks.

Growing up, I used to worry I'd be like my father, chronically quarrelling with my bosses. But with Jocko and Leif's gravelly voices in my head, I'm at the point in my life where I know my employers are lucky to have me, and I'm not afraid to remind them. Politely.

A huge factor in one's quality of life, is the quality of their workplace. These books can help you recognize, in a single week of work, whether you're in a place worth working in at all.

Judge your leaders on all this stuff. Do they take ownership of the mission, or blame others? Do they balance these dichotomies well? Do they waste precious leadership capitol by pulling rank? Are they afraid to fire carcinogenic coworkers? Do they prefer wishcasting over forecasting? Are they good teachers?

If they don't hold up, don't try to fix them, QUIT. High staff turnover is often the only leverage against a bad boss. I say the same thing every time a coworker tells me they handed in their two weeks:

"Congratulations!"

But if the mission matters to you, and quitting isn't an option, this book equips you with the knowhow to make the best of bad leadership. Ride out that high-turnover rate with grace, while your naughty boss capsizes. Or better yet, maybe it's time to start your own mission?

• End Bit •

Well, that was a pretty intense month of reading. I originally didn't read these books consecutively; these are some of my oldest and newest ones. But this month, I lined up the five most powerful ones I had, and snorted them right up my ass. It's been quite a rush.

In retrospect, I could have just as easily made the topic this month "harmony" because they all focus just as much on that. Which says a lot to me about the nature of power.

Even 48 Laws Of Power provides reversals to every rule, except for a critical handful which have no reversal (like there's NO benefit to ignorance of other people, PERIOD). With all the caveats and reversals, it's closer to 100 laws for you to ponder.

Ask yourself, who in your life would prefer that you didn't have power? I mean people that wince and cringe every time they spot you displaying strength. To some of you, that may sound paranoid and absurd. But I know people with peers that drag them down like crabs in a bucket; tall-poppy-types. Mostly women, if I'm being honest. One of the downsides of empathy and agreeability is how hard it makes getting rid of toxic "infectious" friends. Particularly ones who so casually throw around threats of self-harm.

If you keep an eye open though, you'll see there are a lot of people out there who don't want anyone to find strength or confidence. Their rationales vary from disgusting to pathetic, but the point is, some people are to strength as puritans are to joy. They find agency, efficacy, and potency to be egregious and profane. I fucking hate these people.

Their favorite targets are kids. There's something sacred to them about the insecurity we develop in puberty. They see the natural heroism and genius of children as evil, and seek to rid them of as much of it as possible.

When I was a kid, my favorite movie was Matilda. This scene set my whole brain on fire:

youtube

Uh oh! Here come the tears of anger!

I've met maybe a hundred adults like DeVito's character, in my life. I've always wondered if some people watch that scene, and envy the power Mr. Wormwood has, like "Aaah, yes, one day I'll have the privilege of belittling kids when they show good character. Mmmmmm."

Meanwhile, I still want to snap his finger off and do horrible things to him with it. I think part of me lives to spot people like Mr. Wormwood and Ms. Trunchbull, and try to make them feel small when they do this to others.

That voice does not belong in your head. You are not dumb, you are not little, you are not wrong. You can do incredible things with that human mind of yours, including imprisoning it within itself.

Maybe it's hack to reference the Allegory Of The Cave, but these are my top five cave-escapers. I saw Humpty as a man who needed help to escape the black hole of lies he grew up in, like I did. He played on some megalomaniacal Prometheus complex I didn't totally realize I had till I dealt with him.

There's a whole world out there of sweetness and light, begging for your enthusiasm, and I know a lot of people are missing it. It's easier to put the thought of it out of my mind, to get through the day. But when I stop and truly think about it, it breaks my heart and fills me with rage.

Come on out of that Chokey.

Unlearn helplessness!

See you next month! Five more books! What'll they be about?! When does it end?! I miss reading new things!

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windvexer · 2 years

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This is a hell of a question, just to be up front with you. Asking because I respect your opinion and you're familiar with spirit work, an area in which I frankly am lacking.

I have four years of practicing witchcraft under my belt. I have very, very rarely interacted personally with or invoked minor entities, etc. - only occasionally in a high-pressure situation or in places where they are particularly powerful and present themselves to me. I follow a path that is tied with Catholicism and the the earth (though it diverges notably in several different areas. Don't believe witchcraft is a sin, etc. I always feel like I need to mention that and be abundantly clear. There are other traditions that influence me).

This said: my practice has stagnated since the passing a couple months ago of my great-grandmother, who was not extremely close but dear to me. She was Catholic. This is the first time a religious ancestor who had a strong effect on how I was raised has passed. I've largely processed my grief, and that's not what gets me every time I sit down and enter a place where I'm channeling energy. It's like I can't focus, and she is present in my mind.

You may not be the one to ask this, and it could be that I just have to work through this spiritual block on my own.

A) How do you negotiate ancestral relations with people who may disapprove of your practice?

B) (Related) Is it possible to do work with energy interrelated with other people (for example, power I draw from my deep love for my family) consensually? Do you have a philosophy about this?

I understand if this is a specific enough question that I'm the only one who can deal with it, or if it's just a lot to unpack. Articulating it has been a blessing in itself. Feel free to ignore! Or to take any part of it out of the ask if you want to speak on it.

Stay well!

A big heck of a question indeed.

Largely, I do think yes, you're the only one going to be able to solve this because it's your Great-Grandma and your practice. But community is meant for sharing ideas and helping each other where we can.

As a whole, it has been my general experience that people who are worried their ancestors won't like them or won't approve of them don't do ancestor work. Of course I am sure there are many specific examples to the contrary, but these aren't concerns I've yet seen expressed by someone who regularly engages in ancestor veneration. If you'll excuse the thought, the idea of an ancestor capitalizing on your abilities in order to tell you that they don't like you using your abilities does seem like an exercise in absurdity, or at the very least, surreal as heck.

Death is a great transformation. By virtue of their position, the dead can see around corners and make connections that we cannot. It doesn't particularly stand to reason that a departed soul is automatically a carbon copy of who they were when they were alive. If they are still sentient, able to have experiences, and be a free agent, they are also able to learn and grow - and set aside pre-death prejudices in order to uphold important family bonds.

I would recommend just talking to her and seeing what she has to say. You may be putting the cart before the horse when it comes to worries about differences in faith. There may not even be any negotiations and relations - she could just be waiting to tell you one thing before she moves on forever. And if the response you get is really "I'm both here to be an active individual involved in your spiritual life, and I don't like it and I want you to change what you're doing," I myself would probably handle it the way I would if the ancestor was alive: by thanking them for their thoughts, closing the door behind them, and not answering their calls after that.

As for B - I'm sure it's possible. If for example someone taps into feelings of love based on, I dunno, a really nice spot in nature, they're not siphoning power from that natural area. They're using those memories and feelings as scaffolding to help them raise and refine their own energy. So if someone said, "I use feelings of love for my family to help power my spells," I wouldn't bat an eye. But if they said, "I tap into the love shared between my family members and take it for my spells," to me that's something very different. I don't think that the former requires consent. I doubt I would engage in the latter - it seems perfectly fine if the energy is consensually donated and too much isn't taken away, but I'm already comfy tapping into energy sources from which too much power cannot be taken (like the sun), and I'd be super anxious the whole time that any family problems afterwords would be because I drained too much love out of my family system.

#my asks #ancestor work

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takaraphoenix · 3 years

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Buffy Season 9: Review

It wasn’t... bad, it was actually... good? It didn’t personally offend me, anger me or confuse the living daylights out of me like season 8 did, so I guess major improvements there. It even had a lot of good or interesting things that I found enjoyable or even well-handled (which is a surprise after s8, quite honestly).

I’m annoyed that once again we play the “let’s all blame Buffy for everything” game. That spiel’s gotten annoying... quite frankly, that time everyone betrayed her and kicked her out of her own house in season 7, like that was kind of where everyone lost their “blame Buffy” privileges for me.

Zombie vampires sure were something I personally didn’t need, but I actually genuinely liked the approach here. The thought that okay so vampires are human corpses possessed by demons, but what if the portal to hell is closed for business? And the result was an interesting new angle.

The introduction of generic white nice guy was a bit, you know, boring. The character himself really does just feel like that. Generic white nice guy. Doesn’t really have a personality, just exists so Buffy can have another mayhaps with A Nice Normal GuyTM. Even though we have really exhausted that approach too, in my opinion. She’s not into that. She keeps trying to fool herself into it but she’s not. Move on.

I do dig the angle of police actually training to deal with vampires though. The idea of the supernatural as an open secret is fun but it actually just being open is something I really like, the way it’s going to integrate into our society. I do like that we’re finally seeing more of that. Demons working day jobs, vampires having reality shows and being idolized (which, genuinely figures). That’s interesting.

I admit very personal bias here, but On Your Own was amazing and I loved it. The whole pregnancy scare is a bit of a cliche, but seeing Buffy go through that and how she went about it - talking to Dawn, to Robin, to Spike - the way she approached it and also the painful choice she made in the end. Also, here’s the personal bias, as a Spuffy shipper I obviously very much relish in the fact that her first gut-reaction was to run away with Spike to raise the kid. And her final reaction was to seek him out so he could support her through the abortion. The way it all unfolded in the end was... something else, but okay. And I loved just how feral and angry Spike got on her behalf. Though, gotta say, bit frustrated with how they wrote Andrew here because at this point in time it does feel OoC for him to non-consensually remove Buffy’s mind from her body and into a robot. Not after the actual years they have now been working together.

Wasn’t a fan of the Kennedy stint, that story arc didn’t do much for me and I don’t quite know how I feel about the whole slayers on a payroll thing. Also, seriously, Kennedy was being preak brat again. I don’t like when she’s brattish.

A very interesting element this season was Billy. For one, a boy Slayer is... new. But also just, the entire framework here. Gay boys. Yay. That hasn’t happened before. And Billy and Devon are really cute together? On a more general level I’d like to say that the way they introduced Billy just made me think “yes. this is how you do the soft reboot too, please” - because man I was scared when they first talked about a reboot, but when they backtracked to clarify it’ll be about a new Slayer and not an actual reboot, that was a huge relief. And I do think that Billy showed that that can work, very easily. Heck, even easier on the show, if it ignores the comics (which I assume) and just dives in with a “couple years ago, there was only one Chosen One. Now there are many. I am one of them” and like, that’s it. You need neither Buffy nor anyone else in it (though the cameos would be appreciated), but you can really just... tell the story of a different Slayer, protecting their own town. Sorry, I got sidetracked there. To bring it back: It was really nice and refreshing to see a new Slayer, protecting his own town, learning how to be a Slayer, with his own watcher. Was a bit of a back to the roots.

What I also really enjoyed was Willow in Wonderland. For one, loved the art style of that comic in particular. For another, it was... really interesting? Willow on a one woman journey, trying to restore magic, while actually learning a lot about herself and also snake girlfriend returns? Sign me up. Could have done without the surprise twist toward the end about Rack though. Please, comics, stop bringing dead bad guys back that I never wanted to see again, I beg you.

The finale didn’t... I don’t know... it felt like it was overcompensating, to be honest?

The whole season was quite down to Earth - Buffy working a day job, struggling with that and with rent, going through a personal emotional crisis, that was all very much reflective of s5, seeing the cops try to integrate into this world, new members joining the gang, it felt much more grounded. And then we have a sudden new apocalypse because the evil Slayer teamed up with the siphon and also Xander betrays Buffy for a hot sec because why not and all hell breaks loose, including the demon that first created vampires. The stakes went up a little too high at the end, for my taste, if I compare just how incredibly low-stake and slow-paced this season had been until the final arc.

Generally, I really hated Xander’s writing this season. His constantly rising temper was so... genuinely uncomfortable to watch for me? Having him raise his voice at Dawn, punch walls in anger when she doesn’t immediately obey, slap things out of her hand when her coughing annoys him, yell at her about things. He’s been written like an abusive partner throughout this season and I have so many red flags and alarm bells going off in my head about it. I kept thinking that something magical must have influenced him, but... no? It was just... that he had pent-up anger? And apparently some PTSD or something about everything, I guess? But that’s... that’s really not good reasons for his bevaior toward his girlfriend and all I could think of was the fake vision from Xander and Anya’s wedding and how fake Xander had acted toward her in that. Because that is the Xander he is becoming right now. And I don’t like it. I really hope they backpedal on that one next season.

#Buffy Season 9 #Buffy the Vampire Slayer #Buffy Comics #Buffy Review

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 22: Sasha

Basira brings the first tape before the week is out, and Sasha is apparently the only one surprised that Jon doesn’t seem happier about it. As a matter of fact, he seems downright distressed.

The assistants normally stagger their lunch breaks so there are at least two people in the Archives at any given time, something they’ve done almost since the beginning, but Jon comes out of his office and suggests all three of them go together, and Tim and Martin hustle Sasha out before she can ask questions. It’s Tim who points out, sotto voce while they’re standing in line at the cafe, that Basira probably called to say she was dropping by and Jon wants them out of there to preserve the fiction that he’s not telling them what’s going on. Sure enough, they pretend to ignore Basira in the parking lot on their way back to the Archives and re-enter to find Jon sitting on the edge of Tim’s desk, turning a tape over and over in his hands.

“That was quick,” Martin comments. “Thought it’d be harder for her to get them to you.”

“I did, too. I wasn’t—anticipating anything before next week at the earliest. And since I don’t know how soon she’ll be back with another one—or come back for this one, for that matter—I kind of have to listen to it as soon as possible.” Jon looks up at them with a pained expression.

Sasha frowns. “Am I missing something? Why’s that a bad thing?”

“Because I don’t…the real statements take a lot out of me. Live ones are worse. According to the Primes, doing more than one a week is going to be a drain. At least until I…build up my tolerance, I guess.” Jon sighs. “Which I’m not altogether sure I want to do.”

“We could record any real statements you get for you,” Sasha offers. “Then you can just listen to the tapes.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you all,” Jon says, looking shocked. “I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

“Yeah, but you’re the Head Archivist. Why would it affect us like that?”

“It’s the statements, not the position,” Martin says. “Each one is a thread that binds you closer to the Eye. Regardless of who takes it.” When they all stare at him, he blushes and adds, “I talked about it with Martin Prime while I was recovering. He told me he read more than a few statements over the last year and a half he was at the Institute.”

Jon rubs his forehead. “All the more reason I should keep doing this. I just…I don’t want to lose myself, either.”

Tim hesitantly reaches out and puts a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “You won’t. I mean, Jon Prime hasn’t lost himself, has he?”

“Only because he has Martin Prime to keep him grounded.”

“Well, you’ve got us.”

Jon smiles, but says, “I don’t want to put the burden of my humanity on you.”

Martin tilts his head. “Even if we offer?”

“Even then. I just…it’s not fair to you.” Jon sighs, obviously frustrated. “And I’m curious. There’s no denying that. Especially about…this. Gertrude actually seems to have labeled it properly. And—well, I only met her once or twice, and I-I was very new at the time.” He looks at the three of them. “Did any of you?”

Tim shakes his head. “Apparently I’d remember if I did,” he says, shooting a look at Sasha.

Sasha shrugs. “You would. We talked a fair amount. She—she said I ought to apply for the position of Archivist if it ever came up vacant.”

Jon flinches, but doesn’t say anything. Martin swallows. “I think she avoided me, actually. Never could figure out why, but any time she sent up to the library for something, Diana made a point of sending anyone but me with it. Which was weird, since usually she took any excuse to get me out of the way for a few minutes.”

Tim drapes an arm over Martin’s shoulders. Jon looks embarrassed, but stares at the tape in his hands. “I suppose I’d just like any insight to her time here. And, well, even with—” He glances up at the ceiling. “Even with what we know, there’s so much we don’t. And I understand that, there are some things we need to discover on our own, and other things we won’t believe until we have proof. Still.” He sighs. “And on top of that, I find myself wondering if the Eye is going to have any influence over the tapes Basira brings or if it’s going to be random.”

“What’s this one?” Sasha asks.

Instead of answering, Jon hands her the tape. Sasha peers at the label—a case number, a name, and the words Algasovo, central Russia. “Well, I doubt Basira picked it at anything but random if she wasn’t being influenced somehow.”

She passes the tape over to Tim and Martin, who study it before handing it back to Jon. “Does that mean anything to you? Algasovo?”

“No. I’m not sure it means anything to Basira, either.”

“Hang on.” Sasha sits at her desk and flips open her laptop. A few keystrokes later and all four of them are peering over her shoulder at a list of search results. All of them are generic, or else written in Russian—basic information about the town, the weather, and the surrounding area. “It’s a nothing village in the middle of nowhere. But Gertrude obviously thought this was important enough to put on tape.”

Martin nods. “And if it’s something we need to know about…”

“I suppose I’ll have to listen to it,” Jon says with a sigh. He stares at the tape again, and there’s something in his eyes Sasha recognizes—something hungry. He wants to listen to it. But there’s also something in his eyes that she sees reflected in Martin and Tim’s—fear. He’s afraid of what he’ll become as much as he desperately wants, needs to know.

She thinks about what Martin said, about how the statements will affect all of them no matter who reads them. She thinks about Martin Prime quietly telling Jon Prime that you being here might help him. She thinks about all of them listening to everybody’s statements all at once and not getting half so wiped as Jon looked on Monday when Basira left after making her statement.

“What if we listen together?” she blurts.

Jon looks up, obviously startled. “What?”

Sasha taps a fingernail on her desk. It’s getting ragged, she really needs to make an appointment for a manicure—maybe this weekend, she thinks. “If it’s going to affect anyone who records it, or reads it or listens to it or whatever…there’s probably a finite amount of energy to it, right? It’s not like we’ll all absorb the full amount of fear, it’ll most likely be more…it’ll get siphoned out and divided between the four of us. If we all listen to this tape together, maybe we can stop you from becoming…like that. Or at least slow it down. Maybe it won’t take so much energy from you.”

Jon hesitates and looks at Tim and Martin. Tim shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

“I’m up for it if you’re willing,” Martin agrees.

Jon swallows, then nods. “All right. Let me go get the tape recorder.”

Martin blinks. “What, you want to do it here? In the open?”

“I don’t believe there’s any point in hiding in my office to do it. Or Document Storage or whatever. Nobody’s likely to come down and interrupt us. It—it should be fine.” Jon leaves the tape on the desk and heads into his office.

“I’ll make us some tea. We’ll probably need it.” Martin fishes four mugs out of his desk drawer and disappears in the direction of the break room.

Sasha watches him go. “We really ought to just set up a tea station here in the Archives. Save wear and tear on the carpets.”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, but that’s not half a bad idea,” Tim says. “Bet Jon would agree.”

“Agree to what?” Jon comes over with the tape recorder in hand. “Where’s Martin?”

“Getting tea. Sasha suggested setting up a tea station here.”

Jon pauses. “Actually, why haven’t we done that before now?”

Tim’s right—Sasha was being sarcastic, but she enters into the discussion anyway and they’ve got a list of things to pick up after work almost fully written by the time Martin returns with the same cups he always uses for them. They rope Martin into the discussion, since he’s the one who knows the tea procedure inside and out, and they’re all a lot more relaxed by the time they settle down to listen to the tape.

Sasha’s attention is immediately piqued by the statement. Gertrude’s familiar dry, reedy voice sounds much more intense than she remembers from their conversations. It’s obvious the statement is real—it comes across in the texture of Gertrude’s voice—but she reads it calmly, no hesitation or upset. Something about the scenario draws Sasha in as much as it frightens her. Maybe it’s knowing that it killed her in the Primes’ timeline, or maybe it’s just that it’s the antithesis of the entity she’s essentially bound to, but the Stranger scares her the most out of all the entities. It fascinates her, too, which she supposes isn’t the greatest sign in the world, but too much of her mind is focused on the statement to really care.

At last, the statement ends. Gertrude gives a short summing-up that makes it clear, at least to Sasha, that she never intended for these tapes to be used by anyone outside the Institute, or indeed outside the Archives; her supplemental makes reference to things she obviously already knew and speculates in a limited sense about the nature of the younger brother of the statement-giver, and then the tape clicks off.

The scrape of a chair breaks the spell, and Sasha blinks up in time to see Martin, his face creased with empathy, wrap Tim in a hug. Tim doesn’t even bother to stand up from his chair, just clings to Martin like he’s drowning. Sasha can see the tears rolling down his face. Shit.

“Tim?” Jon slides off the desk, looking a bit shaky, and puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Tim reaches out blindly and pulls Jon into the hug, too.

Guilt rises in Sasha’s throat. She should have guessed. Out of everyone in the room, she’s the only one who knows why Tim came to work for the Institute in the first place, and it really should have occurred to her as soon as Gertrude uttered the word circus that this one would hit Tim hard. Add in the younger brother in peril and her dry comment about them being lucky to escape with only significant mental trauma, and it’s no wonder he’s crying. But she was too wrapped up in the statement to even think about him, let alone notice what Martin evidently picked up on immediately.

God, some best friend she is.

“Oh, Tim,” she whispers, penitent. She gets up from her seat and joins the group hug, hesitantly, not sure if she’s welcome. She doesn’t want to wedge herself in the middle of things, so she just squeezes Jon and Martin closer to Tim and prays that’s enough.

Someone is murmuring something, over and over, and it takes Sasha a second to realize that it’s I’m sorry and a second longer to realize it’s Jon, apologizing repeatedly into Tim’s hair. Christ, he’s starting to tear up, too, and he doesn’t even know why Tim’s so upset. Unless he’s figured out the whole mind-reading thing already. She doesn’t think so, though.

Finally, Tim takes a deep, shuddering breath and pulls back. The others ease off, with varying degrees of reluctance, and Martin fishes a tissue from somewhere on the desk and offers it silently. Tim takes it and wipes his face. “S-sorry,” he says hoarsely.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jon says, obviously trying to be brusque, but it’s as obvious a lie as when he was trying to be brusque with Martin the night of the attack. “You have nothing to apologize for. I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you listen to that.”

“You couldn’t have known.” Tim closes his eyes and breathes deeply for a moment, then looks up. “My—I still owe you a statement, I think. Not today,” he adds quickly, evidently seeing the slight panic that crosses Jon’s face. “You can’t take that, and neither can I. Just…whenever you think you’re up to it. But—short version, I lost my brother to a Russian circus. It’s why I joined the Institute.”

Sasha actually knows precious few details beyond that—Tim may have told her the whole story, but they were both drunk at the time and she’s blurred out a lot, although she remembers the salient points. Jon looks stricken. “Tim, I—I didn’t know.”

“No reason you should have. I never told you.” Tim finishes off his tea in one long swallow, then pushes back from his desk. “I—I need some air.”

“Take your phone.” Jon’s voice is soft. “Call if you need us.”

“I will. I will.” Tim pockets his phone and heads out.

Jon watches him, then turns to the other two. He still looks shaken and visibly distressed. “Did you know?”

“I had no idea.” Martin touches his shoulder gently. “Jon, sit down. I’ll—I’ll get you another cup of tea.”

“Not right now. I’m fine.” Jon does sit, though, and he squeezes Martin’s hand briefly before looking up at Sasha. “Did you…?”

“He told me once,” Sasha admits. “I don’t remember most of the details, honestly, but I knew about Danny. I just didn’t make the connection while we were listening to the statement.”

Jon rubs a hand over his face. “I didn’t even notice—God, I was so focused on—I’d have stopped it if I’d known.”

“I don’t think you could have,” Martin tells him. “I—he started turning grey right after Gertrude mentioned the circus, and by the time they realized the brother was missing he was starting to hyperventilate. I wanted to tell you to stop the tape, o-or try to intervene, or something, but I—until the tape stopped, I couldn’t move. It was like sitting there listening to Martin Prime rattle off that chamber of horrors all over again.” He sounds frustrated and upset. “Like I was bound there. I don’t get it. It’s not like I’ve never interrupted you doing a recording before.”

“Only once,” Jon says. “And you—” He freezes, suddenly stiffening, and looks back and forth from Martin to Sasha. “Oh, God. You’ve both interrupted me, but that’s the point, you came in in the middle of the recording. You’ve never been there from the beginning.”

Sasha gets it, all of a sudden. “Because we were there from the start, we got caught in the—the threads of the statement. I wonder if anyone ever interrupted Jon Prime if they’d been there from the start?”

“I—I don’t know. I suppose I can ask.” Jon rubs his forehead again. “Not right now, though.”

“No, not right now,” Martin says firmly. He stands up from his desk and moves towards the shelves.

“What are you doing?” Jon asks.

“Getting Leanne Denikin’s case file,” Martin answers over his shoulder. “There’s just a couple things I want to look at.”

Sasha looks at Jon and shrugs. “While he’s doing that, let me see what I can pull up about our statement-giver. Gertrude said she recorded this in ‘97?”

“Y-yes,” Jon says, looking a bit shaken.

“That was almost twenty years ago. The Internet’s come a long way since then. Bet I can find things she could have only dreamed of.” Sasha cracks her knuckles and opens up her laptop again.

Jon raises an eyebrow at her. “Do you read Russian?”

“No, but there’s this nifty thing browsers do now where they’ll translate whole pages for you. It’s not perfect, but it’s good enough. Mostly.” Sasha offers Jon a cheeky grin. “More technology Gertrude didn’t have access to. And I have no idea if she read Russian.”

Jon’s eyes go slightly unfocused for a moment. “She didn’t. The Eye might have occasionally led her to read or understand a language she didn’t know, but only if doing so would give her the knowledge the Eye craved.” He closes his eyes and winces, shaking his head as if to clear it, and it’s only then Sasha feels the faint buzz of static receding. Before she can say anything, though, he adds, “The Roger Rabbit principle, I suppose.”

“The what?” Sasha and Martin, who’s just returning with a file in hand, say in unison.

“Did you ever see that old movie, Who Framed Roger Rabbit? It’s a blend of animation and live action—it takes place in a world where cartoon characters are real people and live alongside actual humans, although they live in a-a suburb of Los Angeles, I suppose, called Toon Town. The eponymous Roger Rabbit gets accused of murdering a man and turns to a human detective for assistance. There’s a segment in the film where the detective—Eddie Valiant—and Roger are handcuffed together, and Eddie is attempting to cut the cuffs off, but the box he’s using is wobbling, so Roger slips his hand out of the cuff and steadies it. When Eddie realizes what he’s done, he demands to know if Roger could have done that at any time, and Roger replies, ‘Not at any time. Only when it was funny.’”

“I think I get it,” Sasha says, glancing at Martin.

Martin nods. “You’re saying the Eye only lets the Archivist access languages otherwise unknown if it gets something out of it in return. Like extra fear.”

“Something like that.”

Martin sits down and drops two files on his desk. Sasha cocks her head. “What’s that second one?”

“Oh—since Gertrude listed the case number, I figured I’d see if I could find the paper file somewhere in the shelves.” Martin waves one of them at her. “It was in the back corner. I think it’s one of the ones Martin Prime said he was gathering, that he could sense were real.”

“What makes you say that?” Jon asks.

“You won’t like my answer.”

“Try me.”

Martin looks up at him. “The shelf was almost packed solid with cobwebs.”

Jon bites his lip. “You’re right. I don’t like that answer at all.”

Sasha tries to disguise her laugh as a cough as she goes back to her search.

She gets absorbed in the work—a totality of focus she’s only noticed a few times before—and is therefore caught off-guard when a mug of tea suddenly appears at her elbow. She looks up, startled, just in time to see Jon surprise Martin with his own mug. Sheepishly, Jon says, “I was starting to feel a bit useless, but I—I don’t know that I want to be alone in my office right now.”

“It’s fine. Thanks.” Martin offers Jon a warm smile, which Jon tentatively returns. Sasha wonders if they’re moving towards a romantic relationship. She also wonders how much faster they’re moving than the Primes did and if she’s going to have to shoot Tim before he uses the two of them being together as an excuse for why they should give it a go, even though she’s fairly certain he’s mostly joking about their “will they-won’t they” storyline.

“Either of you found anything yet?” Jon asks.

Sasha shakes her head. “Well, I was able to verify that Ivan Utkin did die in 1984, just like Gertrude said—it’s not that I doubted her necessarily, just that I wanted to be sure. That’s young, though. He was only forty-eight. His obituary doesn’t list cause of death, and, well, that was the height of the Cold War, so I’m not sure if the records exist anymore. I’ll keep trying, though. Yuri Utkin died in…” She swallows. “May of last year.”

“Around the time Gertrude Robinson died.”

“A bit after,” Sasha specifies. “The twenty-fifth.”

“Ah, the Glorious Twenty-Fifth of May,” Martin murmurs, not quite under his breath. When Sasha gives him a funny look, he adds, “Discworld reference.”

Jon shifts his attention to Martin. “Anything interesting in there?”

“It’s definitely the same circus. I mean, we knew that, Gertrude specifically called out Nikolai Denikin in her summing-up, but I’m guessing that the steam organ Utkin mentions in his statement is the one up in Artifact Storage, which…isn’t great.”

“No,” Jon agrees. Something suddenly seems to occur to him. “Sasha, how long have you been with the Magnus Institute?”

“Six years,” Sasha answers. She’s been in academia for ten years—well, eleven now—but the first few years after graduating she worked for the EPCC, until the project she was on shut down and she needed to come to London anyway. “Since August of 2010.”

Jon seems to deflate a bit. “So you weren’t here when the Calliophone came in.”

“No, but—Martin, you were here, weren’t you?”

Martin nods absently. “Yeah, I—kind of remember it getting delivered? Not surprised nobody can find the paperwork, though.”

Sasha looks over the top of her computer. “Why do you say that?”

Martin looks up, too. “There was some staff turnover in Artifact Storage about that time. There were a lot of injuries over the month, and at least six people quit. Then the head at the time—um, Henry Winchester—died and…I heard it was kind of messy.”

Sasha’s interest is caught. “Messy how?”

“Christ, Sasha, I don’t know. It didn’t happen on Institute grounds, so it’s not like I saw it. I just remember a couple people muttering about crime scene photos and peri- versus postmortem injuries and whether it was something that would end up in the Archives at some point.”

Sasha bites the inside of her cheek and stares at her computer for a second, wondering if she can dig up the police report and see what happened. Then she shakes her head slightly. It’s not relevant to anything they’re working on right now and she doesn’t need to be using Institute resources—including time—on personal projects.

“Actually, Sasha, do you think you can see what you can dig up on that?” Jon asks, and Sasha looks up sharply, wondering if he really is reading her mind. “If it’s…if Henry Winchester’s death was ‘messy,’ it’s possible that whatever killed him was…well, whatever killed Leanne Denikin’s ex. And, ah, being able to connect the death of the previous department head to an artifact from one of our statements might give us a bit of clout wh—if we have to tell them to leave another artifact alone.”

“I’ve got to admit,” Sasha says, backing out of the network of old Soviet record sites and tapping into the series of back doors she normally uses to access police records, “even knowing what we know, it still seems hard to believe that someone could be killed by an evil clown doll.”

“It’s probably not actually the doll,” Martin says absently. “Probably just a manifestation of the Stranger. There were clowns in the circus, after all, it’s not without the realm of possibility that the doll in Denikin’s steamer trunk was just an effigy of a real clown.”

Jon gives him a look of mingled amusement and amazement. “You’ve really got the hang of this side of things, haven’t you? The rest of us are fumbling in the dark and you’re marching in front with a spotlight.”

Martin’s cheeks turn pink, but he shrugs. “It just…makes sense, I guess. It’s like—like I’ve had this bag of puzzle pieces my whole life, only they’re a photomosaic and they aren’t really distinct enough to put together easily and there aren’t any distinct corners or edges to it. But now someone’s finally given me the box, so I can see what the whole picture is supposed to look like. Makes it easier to put together the right way.”

“We’re lucky to have you,” Jon says with a smile.

If Martin blushes any harder, the heat is going to set off Sasha’s computer fan. He mumbles something and goes back to work comparing the two statements.

Sasha hits a wall in researching the police records. No, not a wall—a black hole. There’s simply an empty space where the records ought to be. She backs out and tries again and again. Still nothing.

“We may have to get Tim to work his magic on this,” she tells Jon. “I think this might go past hacking files and into seducing file clerks.”

“Are you saying you don’t think you’re capable of seducing a file clerk on your own, Miss James?” Jon asks with a lift of his eyebrow. Sasha makes a rude noise in his direction and he smirks.

Martin looks up. “Where is Tim, anyway? Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

The smile melts off of Jon’s face. Sasha glances at the clock at the bottom corner of her screen and is astonished to realize it’s nearly four in the afternoon. “I’m not letting any of you boys go off on your own in the middle of the day anymore. Every time I do, you disappear for hours on end.”

Before Jon or Martin can answer, Jon’s phone rings. He fishes it out of his pocket and answers with a crisp greeting. Instantly, his expression shifts. “Tim! Are you all right? We were just—what?” A frown puckers his forehead. “You’re where? How did you…never mind. I know where that is. Stay there. I’m on my way.” He hangs up and slides to his feet, then opens Tim’s desk drawer and fishes out his keys.

“Is everything all right?” Martin asks, a little anxiously.

“It’s fine. Tim got himself turned around and needs a rescue.” Jon flips through the keys and mutters under his breath, “I never pegged him for the damsel in distress type.” Straightening, he adds in a normal tone of voice, “I’ll be right back. Martin, if you can, go through the Hector Silvana file and see what we still need to follow up on…Sasha, have you had a chance to look into those incidents in Jason North’s statements?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back soon.” Jon turns on his heel and strides out of the Archives.

Sasha waits until she hears the door close, then tilts her laptop slightly closed and looks over at Martin. “So, while the Helicopter Parents are out of the Archives, how’s the search for a new place to live going?”

From the way Martin’s ears go pink again, she knows she’s right; he’s been avoiding the topic. Tim is still weirdly persistent about them staying at his house, and while Jon puts up halfhearted protests, Sasha doesn’t think he’s actually all that keen to go back to his own flat. Sasha’s been crashing in Tim’s bed since the Primes moved out, mostly because the others keep protesting the idea of sleeping in there and she’s just tired of arguing and also slightly tired of Tim’s living room, but she’s ready to go home. As much as she loves her boys, she looks forward to having her own space again.

“I’ve been looking,” Martin says, a bit reluctantly. “There are a few…Martin Prime told me where he ended up in his timeline, and it’s—it’s not bad, really, but it’s a bit out of my price range. He didn’t have a choice, he had to get somewhere in a hurry and it was the only place he could even come close to affording. I know Tim’s going to eventually want me off his sofa, so I’m looking, but…”

“Well, if you need someone to put in a good word for you, let me know,” Sasha says. “I don’t think there are any units open in my building, but my landlord runs a few different ones. Might be able to get you a good rate.”

“Th-thanks. I’ll let you know.”

Sasha re-opens her laptop and goes back to work. She somehow doesn’t think Martin’s going to ask her for a recommendation. As a matter of fact, she’s already mentally betting with herself against him asking Tim how much he’d charge to rent out his spare bedroom. They might all live alone, normally, but she’s noticed over the last couple of months that the boys seem much more relaxed sharing a space than they did before. And besides, living alone in the Archives for weeks on end probably isn’t good for anyone’s sanity. No wonder Martin wants to be around people these days.

She’s managed to verify an apparent lack of supernatural involvement in two of the incidents involving Jason North when she hears footsteps and Martin looks up from his work. The look of relief that spreads over his face tells her without looking around that it’s Jon and Tim returning, none the worse for the wear.

“Thanks for the lift,” Tim says, sliding into his seat and bumping his shoulder against Martin’s companionably. “Seriously, I didn’t realize I’d wandered so far, I just—”

“Tim, it’s fine. No real harm done,” Jon says, in a tone that indicates they’ve been having this argument for several minutes. “It’s been a long day and you needed to clear your head. Nothing’s actively trying to kill us at the moment, so far as we know. It’s fine.”

“Yeah.” Tim opens his laptop. “Still. Next time I need space, I’ll go…I don’t know, reorganize a shelf or something. Feels more productive.”

“At least it’s a nice day,” Martin says, but there’s an element of uncertainty in his voice as he glances at one of the high-set windows in the Archive. They’re technically underground, and while it was nice enough when the three of them went to lunch earlier, that’s no guarantee it still is.

“Yeah, it is. Oh, and, ah, I found something kind of interesting.” Tim reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, which he waves at the other three with a slight teasing grin.

Sasha can see in his eyes, though, that whatever it is, he’s very, very serious about it. “Oh? Do tell.”

Tim unfolds the paper and spreads it out on his desk. Sasha, Jon, and Martin all crane their heads over to see. It’s one of those flyers that real estate agents set out sometimes in front of houses for sale or rent, which is when Sasha remembers that Tim technically rents the little semidetached house they’ve all been crashing in lately. This one is terraced, but looks bigger, and appears to be in a halfway decent neighborhood. The price at the bottom is surprisingly reasonable for a house in London proper.

“Are you thinking of moving?” Sasha asks, surprised.

“Well, yeah. I-I mean, I wasn’t before, necessarily, but…well, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been living in that same house since, well, before Danny died,” Tim says softly. Martin looks up, eyes filled with sympathy. “It might not be a bad idea to start over somewhere new, you know? And it might be nice to own something, to start putting down roots. Plus, this one’s bigger—three bedrooms, it says. A-and I thought, well, I mean, if all of us went in together, it might…” He trails off.

Jon looks more startled than he has all day. “Wait. You thought—you wanted all of us to—”

“Well, it’s just—” Tim looks at Martin. “You need a place still, and I know—I thought it might be easier to share expenses on a place than to go full out on your own. And I’ve—I’ve kind of got used to having all of you around. I like it.” He looks from Martin to Jon to Sasha and back, his eyes almost pleading. “It’s just an idea, but—I mean, I thought I’d see if you guys were interested.”

Sasha is touched, but she’s also a little worried. Tim can be impulsive and tends to throw his whole heart into something, and he’s also been known to pin all his hopes on a single course of action. If he’s had the idea of all of them living together permanently in his head for more than a few minutes, it might not be easy for her to extract herself and go back to her own flat. It has to happen, though. She’s got just enough of a life outside the Institute that it’s important for her to get away.

Martin picks up the flyer and studies it more closely. “Says there’s an open house on Saturday afternoon,” he says, handing it over to Jon. “Might be worth taking a look, anyway.”

Tim brightens visibly. Jon examines the flyer, then nods slowly. “I think that would be an excellent idea.”

He offers it to Sasha, who smiles and shakes her head. “You boys have fun. I’ve got an appointment Saturday afternoon.”

It’s not exactly untrue. Second and fourth Saturdays are visiting days, and Sasha hasn’t been by in a while, so she probably ought to go. Plus she really does need to get her nails done. But it’s also a convenient excuse to avoid going and not have to pretend she’s going to be splitting the mortgage with them. Because Sasha knows herself well enough to know she’s not going in with the other three if they decide to do this. She values her independence, she values her privacy, and she does not want Tim to entertain any hopes that they might actually get together at some point. Besides, she picked her building for a reason, one she’s still not ready to share with the boys. She should probably feel guilty for keeping secrets, but she doesn’t.

“We’ll let you know what it’s like,” Tim promises.

Sasha smiles and nods and goes back to work and tries not to think about the fact that she’s basically going to break Tim’s heart.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#the magnus archives #tma #panic attack tw #love is stored in the jonmartim #and occasionally backed up onto the sasha

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infinite-xerath · 3 years

Text

Runeterra Retcons: Ruination Episode (Finale)

Finale 1/2

From the darkness, you emerge into a field of lowers. Dawn breaks over the horizon to illuminate crumbling ruins all around you: what looks to be the remnants of a once-great kingdom. The Black Mist, the screaming of the wraiths and the sounds of battle have all vanished. The scene before you is almost tranquil, but that tranquility is cut short when you notice the figures ahead of you.

Lucian: “AAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!”

Lucian lets loose a flurry of light from his Relic pistols, but Viego seems entirely unfazed as the light fails to pierce his armor. Vex stands behind him, and further back, you see the unconscious form of Senna hanging from a pillar by ethereal chains. At her feet are the now-lifeless fetters, laid out almost like an offering.

Viego: “Do you see now how futile it is, Sentinel? How powerless you are to save the one you love, just as I was?”

Lucian: “Damn it!”

You hear the Maiden of the Mist whispering to you once more, beckoning you to succumb to her influence.

Maiden: “Yes. It is meaningless to resist. Come. Let us be as one.”

Though her words are oddly enticing, they also spark a realization within you. Suddenly, Yorick’s words click in your mind as you rise to your feet.

“We haven’t lost yet, Lucian!”

“Don’t give up yet!”

All eyes turn toward you as you race up the hill, your fingers digging tightly into Yorick’s shroud of darkness.

Lucian: “Rookie!? What the hell are you doin’ here?”

Viego: “Another uninvited guest? Well, no matter. Welcome to Camavor, child. Soon, my queen and I will be reunited, and all will be as it should.”

“You’re wrong, Viego.”

“You missed a piece.”

Viego: “What?”

Vex: “Ugh, what’s this idiot talking about now? Honestly, I can just finish him off right here. Just give the word, boss.”

“You’ve gathered up Isolde’s light, but you completely ignored her darkness.”

“There was a fetter right under your nose all this time, but you couldn’t see it. No… You never wanted to!”

Viego response 1: “Ridiculous! My queen is perfect! Pure! She is the light of my world! There is not a shred of darkness in her!”

Viego response 2: “Impossible. You speak nonsense, child. The last remnant resides in her, the Sentinel! There… There is no other…”

“Isolde was just a person, Viego, and everyone has a little darkness inside of them!”

“You want your queen to be perfect, but even she can feel hatred and sorrow Let me show you!

You toss Yorick’s cloak into the air and the darkness forms into a ghastly figure: the Maiden of the Mist. Viego’s face contorts in horror as he watches the specter manifest, as though unable to believe what he’s seeing.

Viego: “It cannot be… But there is no doubt! I can feel her inside this… Creature! Isolde!?”

Maiden: “Ah, my king! Our king! You wrenched us from our slumber, now you would abandon us!? You said you wanted to be one… Then join us! Join us in eternity!”

The Maiden reaches out her hands as her, filling the air with her inhuman wails. A chord of darkness forms between her and Viego as the Maiden siphons his power away from him.

Viego: “No! Stop this! STOP IT!”

Vex: “What did you just do!?”

“Lucian, now your chance!”

“Lucian, get Senna!”

Lucian stares in disbelief at the scene before him a while long, but quickly shakes himself from his daze. As Viego struggles against the Maiden, Lucian makes for the pillar, blasting Senna free from her restraints. Senna falls to ground, but Lucian is quick to catch her.

Senna: “Ngh…”

Lucian: “Senna!”

Senna: “Lucian…?”

Lucian: “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Senna rises to her feet, clutching her head. A look of visible confusion corsses her face as she scans the scene before her.

Senna: “What’s happening? Where are we? Is that… Viego?”

Viego continues to struggle against the Maiden’s pull, but to no avail. You see strands of light mingling with the darkness as the Maiden feasts, though a familiar shadow soon manifests behind her.

Vex: “Get off of him!”

Vex and her shadow sever the connection between Viego and the Maiden, causing both to cry out in pain. The Maiden soon reverts back into a cloak of darkness, falling unceremoniously onto the ground.

As the connection is severed, whisps of scatter all around you, darting about the ruins before finally embedding themselves into the fetters at Senna’s feet. One finds refuge within your Wayfinder, restoring the Relic’s light.

Viego: “No… NO! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?”

Senna: “Just what is happening here, Lucian?”

Lucian struggles to think of an explanation, but before he can, the doll at Senna’s feet suddenly floats into the air and springs to life. In a flash of light, Gwen is standing beside her commanding officers, her form fully restored.

Gwen: “Goodness! I think I just had a most awful dream… Oh, hello Lucian! Senna! Rookie! And…”

Gwen frowns when she sees Viego and Vex.

Gwen: “Ah, it seems now is not the time for happy reunions!”

“Welcome back, Gwen!”

“Welcome back, Senna!”

Viego turns his gaze toward you, his eyes full of malice.

Viego: “You! You will pay for this, child!

Viego screams with rage and charges you, leveling his sword straight for your heart. You reach for your Relicstone shard, though it quickly becomes apparent that you won’t be able to grasp it time.

Senna: “Rookie! Look out!”

Finale 2/2

Just as it seems Viego’s sword is about to run you through, a swirling barrier of violet energy surrounds you. The blade of the Ruined King glances harmlessly off and Viego staggers back in surprise. Shen and the other Sentinels all appear manifest you, as well as those you set free from Viego’s control. The Eye of Twilight falls to the ground, nearly breathless.

Shen: “It seems… We were not… Too late.”

Akshan: “Indeed! Now, what is happening?”

“We’ve got Viego on the ropes!”

“Viego’s weakened! Now, let’s finish him!”

Vayne: “I’m not sure what you did, kid, but it looks like we can finally put this monster down once and for all!”

Viego: “Ngh… How dare you!?”

Senna: “Sentinels! Let’s wrap this up!”

Taking charges of the group once more, Senna directs each Sentinel’s efforts toward bringing down the Ruined King. Though weakened, Viego still holds a great deal of power at his disposal, conjuring swaths of Black Mist to keep you and your allies at bay. Despite your greater numbers, you can feel the exhaustion of the last several hours earing down on your, and your allies are clearly nearing their limits as well.

Suddenly, the Relicstone shard in your pocket flies from your grasp. You turn to see Senna standing behind you, her cannon now broken up in several different pieces lingering in the air before her. Your piece soon joins them as a web of radiance and darkness spreads between.

Senna: “I’ve got you!”

Energy courses through you as a wave of power washes over the battlefield, surrounding you and your allies in shimmering barriers. Viego, on the other hand, is thrown back into the grass, his armor breaking apart from the impact. He seems almost pathetic as he scrambles to his feet, desperately seeking a way to turn the tides in his favor.

Viego. “This cannot be… Our reunion was nearly at hand!”

“Admit it, Viego! You never really loved her! She was never anything more than a prize to you!”

“She may have loved you once, Viego, but not anymore! Not after what you’ve become!”

Viego: “Damn you!”

Vex: “Viego! Come on!”

All eyes turn to see Vex standing before another shadowy portal. Upon realizing that she’s been spotted, the yordle leaps through, not even daring to look back.

Lucian: “Don’t let him get away!”

Viego creates a Harrowed path along the ground as he sprints across the field, appearing and disappearing so frequently that it’s impossible to get a clean shot it. Ultimately, the Ruined King flees through the Vex’s gateway just as it closes, leaving you and your allies alone in the silent ruins of Camavor.

“We’ve gotta go after him!”

“Where did they go!?”

Lillia (if option 1 is picked): “But… But where did he go? Back to those dreadful Isles, maybe?”

Gangplank (if option 2 is picked): “Back to the Shadow Isles I’d wager, the slippery bastard.”

Shen: “My apologies… I would follow, but…”

Jayce: “Hey, don’t push yourself. I’m still not sure how this spirit stuff works yet, but it clearly took a lot out of you to get us here.”

Senna: “Nothing for it. For now, let’s gather up the fetters and get back to headquarters, or what’s left of it. We’ll discuss out next move there. Rookie, that Wayfinder still intact?”

“The Wayfinder is back online!”

“Good to go!”

Gwen and the other Sentinels gather up the fetters, though you quickly note that Yorick’s shadow cloak has vanished. Deciding not to dwell on it, you raise the Wayfinder and let its light carry you back to headquarters.

The sun shines on the remnants of the Sentinel outpost. Not a trace of Black Mist is to be seen anywhere, and as you look to the world map, you see that the Harrowing has receded back to the Shadow Isles.

Tryndamere: “It seems that things are returning to normal. Speaking of…”

The Hallowed Mist begins to dissipate from those you freed from Viego’s control, returning them to their usual selves.

“I guess the Wayfinder’s power only lasts for so long.”

“I guess those snazzy new looks were only temporary.”

Draven: “Eh, this is more Draven’s style anyway. I don’t need any of that Mist stuff show how awesome I am!”

Riven: “As if the Mist really makes a difference with you…”

Gwen: “So then… It seems we’ve won? We stopped Viego, gathered all the fetters, and drove back the Black Mist!”

Senna: “Well… Viego’s still out there, but without the power of the fetters, he won’t be able to go beyond the boundary of the Shadow Isles. For the time-being, I’d call this a victory.”

A wave of relief washes over you as you collapse onto the ground, exhaustion finally taking its toll. After all that transpired last night, you find yourself too excited to even properly celebrate, but you still take comfort in knowing that you’ve stopped the end of the world.

“So… What happens now?”

“What’s everyone’s next move?”

Lucian: “Well, seems to me like our fight ain’t over quite yet, and I’m lookin’ at a whole bunch of new Sentinel recruits. Whaddya say we get you all sworn in and-”

Tryndamere: “I’ll pass. Much as I’d love to run that Ruined King through with my blade, I’m needed back home. I… Have a lot of explaining to do when I get back to my wife.”

Senna: “Speaking of… Lucian, you wanna explain where you were when our base came under attack, and where this Shuriman came from?”

Akshan: “Ah, so you’re Senna? Lucian… You are a lucky devil.”

Lucian: “Heh… Yeah, lucky enough to be married to the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Senna glares at Lucian, unfazed by his flattery.

Lucian: “Uh, anyway! What about the rest of you?”

Draven: “Pass. I mean, I can TOTALLY get wanting Draven on your team, but that’s not how I roll. Besides, I gotta get back the arena for my triumphant return.”

Shyvana: “I must also return and ensure that the king is unharmed, as well as my allies in the Dargonguard.”

Lillia: “U-Um… I’m flattered by the offer, but… I’d much rather not go back to that awful place! That was terrifying!”

Viktor: “Though these Relicstones and fetters warrant further analysis, my primary concerns must be rebuilding my lab and beginning developing countermeasures toward future mind-altering attempts.”

Atreus: “My battle lies elsewhere. I must tame these embers that Pantheon left inside me to ensure they never rage out of control again.”

Gangplank: “Not interested. I’ve still got a city to reclaim, and a grudge to settle. Speakin’ of… Graves! Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you!”

Graves: “Uh oh. Guess that’s my cue to hit the road! Honestly, this hero business don’t really suit me anyway. Seein’ as my partner’s still nowhere to be seen, there ain’t much reason to stick around.”

Diana: “I, too, must depart. The Lunari need me, even if the Aspect within me has yet to fully heal.”

Shen: “Likewise, I must return and ensure that my brothers and sisters in the Kinkou are unharmed.”

Olaf: “Hmph. I still haven’t found my glorious death… But perhaps that’s fine. This will become another chapter in the glorious saga of Olaf! Now, I depart to find my next foe, and build my legend even higher!”

Rengar: “I, too, have a worthy foe to seek. The Ruined King is your prey, but mine still lurks somewhere in the jungle…”

“So that’s it? Everyone is just leaving?”

“So much for our army of Sentinels…”

Vayne: “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. This… Little adventure of ours has made one thing clear: there are monsters out there that Demacia is nowhere near ready to face on its own. I think I’ll take over that abandoned Sentinel base and see about boosting our numbers a bit. If the Mageseekers have a problem with it, well… I’ve never exactly played by the rules, anyway.”

Jayce: “Can’t say I’d consider this Sentinel thing a full-time gig, but after everything that’s happened, I can at least pitch in and help Ada and Dess out, from time to time. A hero’s gotta help however he can, after-all.”

Akshan: “Well said! Though Shadya’s killer remains at large, I would happy to lend you my assistance again, if and when you need me. It is what she would want from me, after-all.”

Riven: “I’m… I’m honestly not sure what’s next for me. I could use a little time to think things over, if that’s alright.”

Gwen: “And you can be certain that I’ll pitch in however I can! Where the Black Mist goes, the Hallowed Mist will be there to fend it off!”

Lucian: “Heh… Well, we’ve still got a long way to go toward rebuildin’ the Sentinels, but it’s a start.”

Senna: “That’s right. We’ll get this base repaired and find a safe place to store the fetters, in case Viego ever tries to go for them again. On that note… Rookie, come here.”

You rise to your feet and approach the world map uncertainly, though Senna’s smile puts you at ease.

Senna: “Now that I think about it, you never did get properly sworn in, did you? I think it’s about time we make it official, and start your training in earnest. Repeat after me.”

Senna guides you through the ancient oath, carving the words deep into your soul. You can almost feel the Wayfinder thrumming in response as you take your first steps toward becoming a true Sentinel of Light.

I swear by the light of the ancients...

I will not run from darkness. I will light the way with a steadfast heart, And face each shadow with a ready weapon As a beacon, a warrior, a Sentinel, I defend myself, my fellows, and my world. May we stand together in the light, or fall in darkness.

Fight bravely and remember your oath.

Epilogue

Amidst the remnants of Helia stoops a lone figure, his fist tightening around his blade.

Viego: “How could this happen? I do not understand… My queen… You were within my grasp! That bitterness… That sorrow… Was that truly you?”

Thresh: “Ah, the sweet tones of misery…”

Viego: “Thresh.”

Viego rises to his feet and glares at the warden.

Viego: “What do you want, warden?”

Thresh: “Your anguish is every bit as delightful as I’d imagined. She was so close, wasn’t she? So close, and now she’s been stripped away from you a second time.”

Viego: “It matters not! I can find her again… However long it takes, I will find her!”

Thresh: “Yes, good. That sweet delusion still persists. It will be so satisfying watching the remnants of your resolve shatter.”

Viego: “You think to shatter me, warden?”

With a wave of his hand, Viego summons several wraiths to his side.

Viego: “Your lantern cannot ME, Thresh. Every soul within these Isles bends to my will, for I am their king!”

???: “You are no king.”

Suddenly, the ghosts of the kiilash leaps from the shadows, pouncing upon Viego’s wraiths and rending them to shreds.

Viego: “What is this!?”

???: “You are nothing more than a petulant child, lashing out over the loss of your favorite toy. You are unfit to call yourself Lord of the Dead.”

A massive figure looms over Viego, staring down at the Ruined King with contempt.

Viego: “Who are you?”

???: “I have many names. Founder of the Immortal Bastion. The Iron Revenant. Mordekaiser.”

Mordekaiser: “But you may call me Master.”

To Be Continued…

#Runeterra Retcons

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adie-dee · 4 years

Text

Week 3: Choice

[Introduction] [Becoming]

For @yourocsbackstory‘s antagonist event.

Prompt: The moment they ended up on said path, that leads them against the protagonist (or maybe society as a whole). A decision of some sort, a point of no return.

It is three days before my coronation, a fact I will learn within the hour.

Afterwards they will say I began planning it before I knew for sure. Except I did not. She did.

She has summoned me to see her. It has been months since we last met, but her order. She has been too focused on gaining power in her new location to be concerned with seeing me. A situation that has suited me. She has nothing left to teach me, and I no longer agree with her ways.

A maid blocks the doorway to her study. The maid is not dead, not yet, though from the way her intestines are spread on the carpet suggests she soon will be. A second body lays next to my mother's arm chair, a body that looks to be her latest lover, though I cannot tell for sure. Not without his head, which is nowhere to be seen.

“Please, sit,” she says, indicating to the chair opposite hers. She looks younger now, similar to the age I have chosen, to the point where those who do not know us would mistake us for siblings. I can see her true age though, visible through her weariness, and I wonder why. She has never shown this kind of weakness before. I do not know if it is new, or if she can no longer be bothered hiding it.

Taking care not to stain my shoes with blood I step over the maid, then settle into the chair. I do not ask about the bodies - if she wishes to explain, she will.

Sticking with convention she offers me tea and biscuits, setting them out even after I decline.

Finally, with pleasantries over, she sits also, delicately sipping her tea. “I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here,” she says, resting the cup back on the saucer.

“I do have questions.”

She gives a small nod. “I wish to die.”

For a moment all noise leaves the room. I do not know how to react. Nor do I believe I heard correctly, but when she repeats herself I know I have. I swallow, hard, trying to force my heart out of my throat.

“It seems you missed your chance,” I say, my attention returning to the body beside her. There is a dagger near his hand, the sight of which almost made me laugh. Had he truly believed he would have succeeded with that?

She glances down also. “Not to him,” she admonishes. “He was a fool. A pretty one, but a fool nonetheless. Sovereign would have been driven to ruin if he were to lead.”

“And the maid?” She was dead now, her eyes blankly looking our way.

“His niece.” A smile creeps onto her face. “She thought she could poison me to help him succeed.”

I smile also, amused by the thought they believed such mundane methods would work.

“The attacks have increased since we came here,” she says, returning to her tea. “And I have lost the support of our people, which I suspect is due to the displeasure over our move.”

“Do you blame them?” I ask before I can stop myself, continuing when she indicates I should. “You made us shift to this gods forsaken colony even though no one wanted to. The seasons are the wrong way around. The winters are warm, the summers unbearable. Plus we no longer have the political pull we once had. You have made everyone start from scratch.”

Anger briefly crosses her face. “Though it may not seem it, everything I have done is for the benefit of Sovereign. Everything. I do not do it for me.”

Finally I spot the missing head, which has been placed neatly on a shelf on her bookcase, like some sort of grotesque trophy. She may claim not to do this for herself, but she definitely enjoys doing so.

“There is a war coming,” she tells me. “One between us and the Order of Humanity. One I feared we would lose had we stayed in England. They have too much influence there. Coming here gives us time.”

“We are strong enough--”

She holds up a finger. “We are not strong enough to destroy the Order. Our very nature prohibits it.”

I do not understand. We are far more powerful than the few unfortunates the Order have captured. We would decimate them if we tried.

“Tell me what you know of the mage wars,” she states.

I pause. I was not expecting an exam. “A battle, many centuries ago, between a powerful group of mages and a half-mad group of enslaved mages. It lasted years. There were few survivors.”

She nods once more. “Which side do you believe Sovereign were?”

I go to answer, instead cutting myself off. The answer should be obvious, but if that were true, we would be taught that. No one has ever mentioned Sovereign’s participation in the wars.

“We were the enslaved,” she said, confirming my worst thoughts. “By the Order. And I, as Monarch, am all that stands in the way of that happening once again.”

“The bond,” I whisper, feeling it pulling inside, calling me to the pools. “It made them mad.”

“Very good.”

“And you…” I trail off, unable to ask.

She confirms my darkest thoughts. “If the Order kills me, as Monarch, they regain control of the bond.”

I feel sick inside. Our whole existence is a lie. We join thinking Sovereign will give us power and protect us from the Order, instead we unknowingly enslave ourselves.

“It is a hard truth to swallow,” she says. “Our line has kept this secret for generations, and it must stay a secret. There is no way for us to win should the truth be revealed.”

I am not sure I believe her. Surely it would be better for everyone to know.

“So you can see why we need to succeed,’ she continues. “One day there will be a way for us to end it once and for all. Except with the current lack of faith in my leadership, it cannot be me.”

I now understand what she is telling me. What she is asking of me.

“Name me Regent, then,” I insist, almost begging. I am not ready. “I will lead in your name. You do not need to die!”

She gives a sad smile. “Those against me will not stop with their attacks. It must be you, my child. I trust no one else.”

“And if I choose not to?”

“Then you have disappointed me and I will not allow you to leave this room.”

I go quiet. She is making me choose between her life and mine, and it is a choice I never thought I would have to make. Even contemplating it makes me uneasy, which I did not expect. Murder is merely a tool for us to get what we need. It should not bring on feelings.

While I am thinking I miss her creating a fireball, one which pulls me back to reality when it hits me in the shoulder. Her poor aim and weak spell suggest it is a warning shot, and I can feel her pulling together another spell, one likely to leave me in a similar situation to the maid.

Casting faster than her I attack, latching my magic to hers.. I do not wish to die, but the desire to live is stronger, and I will do what needs to be done.

She sighs, settling back in her chair and closing her eyes asher magic siphons into me. It is the kindest death I can give her, the least painful, and I fight to stop the tears that threaten to fall. I have not shown that level of emotion in decades. It is pointless to do so now.

Her skin looks dry now, flaking away like ash, and I can feel the bond fading away. In a few moments everyone will know what I’ve done, and what I have become. My beloved will have questions too: they know my ambition, as well as my belief I am not ready. I do not usually keep secrets from them. I have no choice but to now.

“Thank you, my child,” my mother whispers as she fades away. “I am so proud of you.”

#yourocsbackstory #Lies in the Lilies #my writing #the monarch

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grimmseye · 4 years

Text

First Impressions

Fandom: She-ra and the Princesses of Power

Relationships: Entrapta & Hordak, Entrapta/Hordak

Characters: Entrapta, Hordak, Catra, Scorpia

Tags/Warnings: Pre-relationship, Season 1

Read on Ao3: Here

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Princess Entrapta.

It had been a… miscalculation, on his part, overlooking the princess of Dryl. Her name had flitted through his circles, revered on Etheria for her technological aptitude, and dismissed an instant later with the assumption that meant she could have nothing to offer them. The resources of Dryl, that did interest him, but the mountainous terrain had made mobilization difficult, and the Horde had access to enough mines to sustain their production. It simply was not a priority.

It should have been. He would not betray that, but examining the bot that Entrapta had tinkered with, an inward rage welled up inside of him. If he had gotten her in his clutches before that She-ra appeared, before the isolated kingdoms allied with one another, Etheria would have already been his. Idiocy. Etheria was a backwater planet, but he needed to account for exceptions.

A chittering laugh alerted him to Imp’s arrival. He had sent for Force Captains Catra and Scorpia to bring their prisoner before him. The princess’ ideas intrigued him. Excited him, even. To think that the garnet he’d had in his possession since the beginning of his reign would be the key to the very planet he was conquering.

“What do you have for me?” He prompted Imp.

The creature smiled, and opened its mouth.

“Don’t you have anything better to wear?” It was Catra’s voice.

“Nope!” Entrapta was a shrill speaker, a sound that made him wince. “These are my working clothes! Why would I show up in anything else?”

“Because it’s Lord Hordak, and you need to show him respect.” Catra was terse. He heard footsteps, a small yelp from Entrapta. “He hates princesses, okay? You need to make yourself indispensable. One, so that he doesn’t put you on the next flight to Beast Island, and two, so that he doesn’t send me with you!”

“Okay, okay! I really don’t have any other clothes, though, I’ve been washing these in the sink whenever Scorpia isn’t watching!”

A pause.

“I’m sorry!” Scorpia’s voice. Hordak lowered his face into a hand. She really shouldn’t be a Force Captain, but she was a competent fighter and the conditions of her kingdom’s surrender had him ensure Scorpia’s position in the Horde would be comfortable and respected. Hordak did not go back on his word.

“Okay, look. Just let me do the talking. Don’t start blabbering at him or you’ll piss him off. When you enter, bow. And you know what, just take that as a constant. If he shows up, or even just appears on one of those screens, you bow. You know how to bow, right?”

Imp closed his mouth, chirping with satisfaction as Hordak scratched under his chin. It wasn’t particularly informative, only assurance that despite Catra’s insolence towards Shadow Weaver, she did have respect for him. That was good. As long as she kept in that line, she would continue to excel as Force Commander.

He heard their approaching footsteps, both his and Imp’s ears more sensitive than the Etherian human. A flick of Imp’s wings sent him up into the thick cables overhead, to loom just within their view.

The doors hissed open, the two Force Commanders flanking Entrapta. It was his first time seeing her, and he nearly had to squint. She was diminutive, with long purple hair pulled into twin pigtails. She was indeed dressed for work, a welding mask atop her head, safety goggles around her neck, a protective apron tucked down around her waist, steel-toed boots… It looked like she was prepared to launch into the next project at a moment’s notice. He could approve of that.

They ascended the stairs, stopping at the edge of the platform that held his throne to stoop into bows — Entrapta delayed, until Catra grabbed her by the pigtails to yank her down as well with a yelp from the princess. Hold for two, three, and they straightened up again, Catra taking a pace forward.

“Lord Hordak,” she greeted, in a tone that projected confidence but spoke of nerves. Her tail lashed behind her, something he knew the feline species to do when agitated. It was what he most disliked about humans, the difficulty in reading their moods, no ears or tails to add detail to the contortions of the face. “I brought the prisoner, as you requested.”

She reached back, grabbing Entrapta by the front of her shirt and yanking her forward. “As you know, the princess here thinks she can use the Black Garnet to, uh,”

“To tip Etheria’s balance between the other Runestones!”

Catra’s eyes widened, pupils dilating as she looked to Entrapta. Hordak followed her gaze, finding the princess standing on her hair. And that was curious. Human hair was inanimate, and Dryl explicitly lacked a runestone.

Catra clapped a hand over Entrapta’s mouth, forcing them both into a bow. “I’m sorry about her,” Catra gulped. “She doesn’t know —”

“Let her speak.” Hordak raised a hand. He wasn’t interested in flexing his authority just yet. “I want to know about this plan.”

Entrapta only kind of sort of understood who Lord Hordak was.

The Horde were the enemies of the Princess Alliance. The Princess Alliance had left her behind, so she no longer had to consider the ethical dilemma of working for the enemies of her friends — they never were her friends in the first place! It was nice to be able to sort things out cleanly.

The Horde had access to the best functioning technology she’d ever seen. That was why she was here. They had robots, and they liked it when she hooked them up with lasers that melted through steel walls instead of fussing about damage that could easily be repaired. They had a runestone, and they were going to let her hack it. They asked her about her theories, and even if she had to explain them far more simply and quickly than she would prefer, they listened. They encouraged her. They brought her to this Lord Hordak guy to get permission to do it.

His suit had distracted her, initially, some kind of armor fitted with tubes — what were they pumping? Was it armor, or more like a robotic chassis he could don, potentially to enhance the body’s natural abilities alongside providing protection —

Then they mentioned the Runestone and that immediately took her focus.

“You see, uh, Lord Hordak, uh, sir,” she was pretty sure she got that one right, “you know that the Runestones have elemental alignments?”

“I do.” He nodded once.

Entrapta grinned. “These alignments mean that they influence the very balance of the planet. Whatever the First Ones did integrated all of Etheria with some kind of network, one that I am able to access through the Black Garnet. I can siphon power away from the other Runestones and into the Garnet, simultaneously boosting our power within the Fright Zone, weakening the others and with them the powers of the princesses, and throwing the planet's elemental balance out of control!” Her voice pitched up into a cackling laugh, bouncing with delight.

“I see.” Was Lord Hordak's rumble. Entrapta calmed herself, remembering abruptly that she wasn’t supposed to cackle in front of Lord Hordak, and yet he didn’t admonish her, or even snap. He was leaning forward in his throne, chin propped in one hand, eyes intent on her. Bright red, glowing, and while she wasn't a biologist she had to wonder how. “That is. Quite a feat you are promising me. Are you sure you are capable?”

“I am complete confident,” Entrapta promised. “It may take several tries but I’ve been studying First One’s tech since I was this tall!” She motioned with her hair. “With enough time and the right resources, the real question becomes what can’t we do.”

There’s a moment’s pause. Lord Hordak raises a hand, gesturing towards the exit. “Force Captains, you will leave us. I wish to converse with Princess Entrapta in private.”

Entrapta felt a thrill of alarm, eyes widening. Scorpia and Catra looked just as uneasy. Catra had impressed upon her just how dangerous he was. What had she messed up?

Let me do the talking, Catra had said. Don’t blabber.

“Oh no,” Entrapta murmured to herself.

“That was an order,” Lord Hordak growled. Both Catra and Scorpia stooped into bows, Scorpia giving Entrapta one last look before they turned and descended the stairs, leaving her alone with with the ruler of the Horde.

She wore her emotions on her sleeve. Smiling and bouncing, twisting, laughing, clasping her hands. Everything about her had radiated excitement, her laugh going as far as to sound sinister at the prospect of the chaos she could bring.

Discounting her had been a severe miscalculation indeed. He needed to ensure Entrapta had access to any supplies she required.

When he dismissed the captains, he saw her body language change. The exuberance vanished, hunching into herself, hair curling around her arms. Fear, wariness. The way she tracked after her companions — she didn’t want to be left alone with him.

Good.

When the doors shut, Hordak rose. “Tell me your name,” he commanded. He knew it, of course, but that wasn’t the point.

“En-Entrapta,” she stammered.

“Princess Entrapta, correct?”

“Yes. Yes, sir.”

“Why are you here?”

The question seemed to take her off guard. She furrowed her brows, saying, “Because you called me here?”

Attitude? No. She seemed to have misunderstood the question. “Why are you with the Horde,” he elaborated. “You arrived here as a part of the infiltration with the… princess alliance.” The name nearly made him roll his eyes. “What made you swap loyalties so quickly?”

He could only describe her reaction as wilting. She hunched forward, a tendril of hair pulling that mask over her face. It hid her expression, though the movement only drew attention to her distress. “They left me behind,” she said, voice tinny from behind the mask.

“Ahhhh.” Understanding filtered through. “You want revenge. I can provide that.”

“No.”

The answer gave him pause. Hordak raised a brow ridge. “You joined the enemy of you former companions after they abandoned you. In what way is that not seeking revenge?”

“Those two occurrences are unrelated,” she claimed. “Yes, I was… left behind, and therefore any loyalty I may have had to them is no longer considered in my ethical deliberations. However, I did not join out of a sense of self-righteous justice nor a desire to inflict harm — I joined because I’m interested in your tech.” With that, her voice began to brighten. “As I said, I’ve been studying First Ones’ tech since I was a kid! I’ve only been able to locate a few of their ruins and learn pieces of their language, though, and that makes determining the function of their tech almost impossible. However, you have an entire kingdom of fully functioning, developing tech, the likes of which no one on Etheria has been able to rival. While there are some basic flaws in their designs, the overall product is amaaaazing.”

She flipped up her mask at that point, hovering on the ends of her pigtails with arms stretched out wide, a bright smile on her face. "If I'm allowed to play with this stuff I want in! And now I get to work with a Runestone." She looked downright dreamy.

Hordak regarded her for a long moment. His eyes narrowed.

Science for the sake of science. Progress for the sake of progress. She didn't’t hold malice, and yet didn't’t seem to care what her inventions were meant to do.

That would work.

Hordak drew closer, watching as Entrapta’s joy filtered back into that closed-off wariness, gasping as he reached for her — and offered a hand.

“Welcome to The Horde, Princess Entrapta,” he rumbled.

She stared at him. And then she breaks into a smile bright enough to make him squint as she wraps her hair around his palm to shake.

#entrapdak #entrapta #hordak #she-ra #spop #my writing

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stardomyx · 4 years

Photo

DISCLAIMER: Before I begin I would like to establish that NOBODY has to agree with or even like my Lore, especially since this particular post is on a Canon Character. These are purely my headcanons and my thoughts on this character, I am not about to force these ideas/headcanons onto anyone.

After re-reading Spaghetti’s backstory and thinking over the little system I have in place for Food Soul ranks, I realised that Spaghetti would be a pretty interesting subject for this theory. So lets talk about him.

First of all, I have to say that the way Spaghetti’s backstory is written is a little strange, as it seems to imply that he both was and wasn’t with his Master Attendant while he was still living in poverty. However it’s also stated in his story that his MA’s true family took him in because of his potential as an Attendant, a potential that no one else in the family had, therefore giving him the ability to summon a high ranking Food Soul in the first place. So with that being said I think it’s safe to assume that the first part of the story can be believed, and Spaghetti was summoned directly into the estate belonging to his MA’s family.

Which starts us off on the topic of this post:

I’ve stated a few times that most UR Food Souls are of such a rank because they’re one of a kind, whether it’s due to them having abnormally high power levels or some other reason. One of these reasons is that they were customised for whichever Attendant summons them, these Attendants will most commonly be those of the upper class like those in government, and of course, royal families. Da bourgeoise basically. You guys will have to forgive me for not knowing exactly how this customisation process works yet, but I do definitely think that the custom Food Soul would end up as a physical manifestation of everything their Attendant wants in a companion. To give an example; a Guild official would like a professional and hardworking Food Soul who would also be a good ambassador to the Guild, so that’s what they would get. The process is by no means cheap, and the resulting Soul is often a bit of an anomaly, regardless of what line they come from, thus creating a completely one of a kind UR.

So; Spaghetti’s Attendant, what do we have? We have a young boy who started off very roughly in life, living in poverty, who has recently been sought out and adopted into this very high class family. No doubt his mindset is a little bit scrambled, he’s got one foot on the gravy train and the other is no doubt still firmly set in the place where he had lived previously as he tries to adjust. So as a result of these mashed up mindsets we get canon Spaghetti; a Soul who - considering the dish itself - probably wouldn’t be considered by a lot of upper class humans, but because of the influence of the family and his Master’s background, canon Spaghetti turned out very differently to how the rest of his line would typically be. I would imagine that the rest of the Spaghetti line are mostly M and R ranks because of the dish itself being a staple food. It’s a very well known and common dish, so you typically wouldn’t find a Spaghetti soul above a R rank because they’re common, like a Tom Yum or an Orange Juice. But, because canon Spaghetti was summoned into an upper class family by an Attendant who had roots in a far more humble background, that all mashed together to form him, a custom made Spaghetti.

An UR rank Spaghetti. At least at first.

My theory is that canon Spaghetti started out as an UR ranking Soul for a couple of reasons, one of the biggest reasons is actually highlighted in the post’s header, (the art is by the always talented @gearfilledgoggles so please go and commission them if you have the funds.) The reason being that he has violently purple eyes, and with the exception of just two other SR Food Souls, Spaghetti is the only non UR to have purple eyes, which incidentally is what lead me to think about this theory in the first place.

The two other SR Souls I mentioned both could’ve been UR’s themselves, playing into this theory of purple eyes = UR. But I’ll get onto that later. But they both strengthen this theory.

The second reason is because of the environment he was summoned into. His MA got a protector and a father figure in a Food Soul, I have no doubt that Spaghetti was tailored to what his Attendant had been lacking in his early life, therefore he was customised, making him one of a kind within his own line and therefore a UR.

The third reason is actually something I have to provide some quotes for. If you guys remember the Castle Mystery event, we’re introduced to the Fallen Angel Bone Knight, a pretty fearsome Fallen who’s on the same level as Tsuchigumo and the Enhanced Uke Mochi as we see in the future team ups. This would add absolutely nothing to this theory if Spaghetti just happened across Bone Knight and chose to use its power for his own gain, but that isn’t the case at all. If we look at some of the dialogue from the Castle Mystery event, we see quite a lot of evidence that points towards Bone Knight being a product of Spaghetti’s corrupted Soul Power, here we go:

"Oyster pushed the door open to find Spaghetti sitting on the throne in the main hall. In his hands, he was holding a pale blue stone. Behind him was the Fallen Angel that had ambushed them.” - Castle Mystery Main Story Chapter 8.

“Let me introduce you. This Fallen Angel here took me a lot of effort to create-- Actually, it seems that you've already met Bone Knight." He couldn't tell for sure, but it seemed to Pretzel that Spaghetti's voice was more downcast than usual, and it seemed to have a self-deprecating tone. - Castle Mystery Main Story Chapter 8.

And finally 3)

"A Fallen Angel made from human ill will concentrated in Bluestones." - Bone Knight’s wiki page.

Blue stones, huh? Like the one we see Spaghetti looking for in B-52′s backstory? Curious. I’ve seen theories floating around that these stones are essentially for purification, they’re vessels for holding impurity until they can be cleansed - kinda like how humans use crystals and other such things IRL. My theory? This Fallen Angel was born out of the corruption of Spaghetti’s Soul Power, and because of the - well - power contained within that Soul Power, Bone Knight ends up being what we see in the event, huge, terrifying and destructive. Personally, I think it’s a bit odd that Spaghetti - a Food Soul who in game isn’t that great of a unit - was able to create something like this, unless he wasn’t always a SR unit, and the power he is able to use has been stunted somehow.

And the reason behind his power being stunted is.. Pretty much why he needs to siphon off that corruption using blue stones in the first place. It’s because of his contract with his Master Attendant being severed in such a cruel way. That severance didn’t just leave him with scars, it left him vulnerable to corruption, it left him vulnerable to the possibility of Falling. Spaghetti has taken part in a lot of unscrupulous activities - including murder - so it’s no surprise to me that he’s picked up enough corruption to Fall. Not only has it left him open and exposed to the possibility of Falling, but because of how traumatic that severance was, it’s also dulled down his Soul Power. Essentially the family who took in his Attendant played themselves by killing him, they had a UR ranking Strength unit, but because of their selfishness they ended up with a far less powerful Soul than they started with. A less powerful Soul who’s also capable of producing a destructive monstrosity like Bone Knight out of the corruption he takes on.

And lastly, as for the two SR Souls I mentioned above who also have purple eyes, I’m of course referring to Marshmallow and Fried Chicken, both of whom I think could’ve been UR’s too because of these reasons: In Marshmallow’s case, she’s deathly afraid of fire, which implies that she may have been in a traumatic event to form this fear. Key word here being trauma, something that I believe can cut down Soul Power and leave the Food Soul at a lower rank than they started with. And as for Fried Chicken, we don’t know exactly how he ended up as a SR unit, but we do have this in his bio on the wiki page: “He's searching everywhere for ways to become stronger, so he can keep up with his attendant.” He’s trying to become stronger, huh? This need to become stronger and burn brighter is highlighted very strongly in his voice lines, which gives me the inkling that he’s trying to regain some power of some kind. If he was previously a UR unit and suffered some trauma to bring him down to SR, of course he would be fascinated with gaining more power and possibly climbing back up to his original UR rank. It may seem far fetched, but I think there’s some substance to it, all things considered.

Tl;dr: Spaghetti strikes me as a far, far more powerful Soul than canon portrays him to be. Because of his ability to form Bone Knight, because of the circumstances under which he was summoned and because of his eye colour. Lets just take a quick peek at what the colour purple can represent: royalty, nobility, luxury, ambition and power.

#Food Fantasy #FF Spaghetti #FF Fried Chicken #FF Marshmallow #Food Fantasy Lore #i love this bastard so much

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tvdiaries-imagines · 5 years

Text

Old Flame: Pt. 7

Warnings: A little cursing

Word Count: 3207

OLD FLAME MASTERLIST: CLICK HERE

Before Klaus took you along on his journey to confront the teenage witch, he decided to kill some time and show you around Jackson Square for the first time. This area of the quarter was much different as there weren’t numerous drunkards walking about. Though you didn’t mind it and would actually enjoy being apart of it one of these days. You deserve a drink and some fun.

In Jackson Square, you were taken aback by the line-up of paintings nearly an entire block long. You let go of Klaus’s hand to admire them.

“Wow. These are amazing.” You glimpsed around at the paintings in amazement as you ambled along. Klaus found his place beside you with his hands behind his back, delighted that are enjoying your time in his city.

The next couple of hours consisted of Klaus showing you around this area of the quarter. He even had you sit down and try a beignet from the infamous Cafe Du Monde. You thought they tasted delightful and you’re surely going to crave them in the short future.

Now the fun has ceased because you are now in the passenger seat of Klaus’s SUV as you both make you way to the Lafayette Cemetery. It is where Klaus said is the ultimate hangout spot for New Orleans witches.

Minutes later you arrive and entering the massive cemetery, there is nothing but fog surrounding it, which makes it look even more eerie than it already is.

“This place gives me the creeps.” You rubbed your arm with discomfort beside Klaus. He snorted in response.

“What happened to decorum?” Klaus announced loudly, though you don’t see anyone around. “Does no one greet their guests anymore?”

Not even a minute later, a mob appears of what you assume are werewolves in their human form. You can tell by their low growls. They all begin to surround you and even some stood on top of the tombs, prepared to strike at any moment.

“Well, that more like it.” Klaus implied. Oddly enough, he seemed pleased by it.

“Nik, that’s a whole lot of werewolves.” You voiced with worry.

“Don’t fret, love.” Klaus muttered to you before turning his attention to the wolves, raising his voice yet again. “I am rather disappointed at how many of my once formidable brethren have been neutered by a 16 year old girl. Where is she? Where is this witch who dares craft moonlight rings without my permission?”

Before you know it, the wolves ahead of you started to clear a pathway and Cassie appears. “Niklaus. I’ve been expecting you.” She said confidently.

“I remember her at Francesca’s.” You whispered to Klaus.

“And Y/N, a recent ally of mine has been expecting you as well.” Cassie mentioned.

“And who might that be?” Klaus asked Cassie before you had the chance to open your mouth.

Your brows snapped together in confusion at the figure in all black in the shadows. After a few more paces through the fog, your eyes widened at the figure who is now more recognizable.

“Kai?!” Your face was stuck with an incredulous expression. You couldn’t believe your very eyes.

“You imbecile!” Klaus sped towards Kai, but before he could strike at him, Cassie used her magic to immobilize him. Kai snickered at the incapacitated hybrid.

“Niklaus. Leave him.” Cassie ordered. “We have much to discuss. It seems Y/N and Malachai do as well.”

You briefly thought it was odd that Cassie referred to the original hybrid as Niklaus instead of Klaus like everyone else does. However, you didn’t dwell on it as it was the least of your worries. You needed some answers from Kai Parker.

Once Cassie was sure Klaus has calmed down enough not to advance at the heretic, she freed him from her supernatural hold. She asked that he followed her into one of the tombs and he listened. After all, he needed answers just as much as you do.

The werewolves started disappearing back in the shadows and you didn’t hesitate to roughly push Kai in the chest. “Why the hell are you working with her, Kai?!”

“Does it matter?” He responded with a coldness to his tone. This isn’t the Kai that you know.

“Are you stupid or do you not know that she’s Nik’s enemy?”

He chuckled darkly. “I know that, Y/N. That’s why I’m working with her.”

“Why? What is wrong with you?!”

“It’s not about what’s wrong with me. What’s wrong with you?! How can you still love him? After all the bad things he’s done? All of the fucking people he’s killed?”

“Oh, like you’re the one to talk.” You rolled your eyes.

“The people I killed were for a reason. But him, I hear that he does it if someone looks at him the wrong way.”

“Don’t even start with me, Kai. He’s different with me. And hey, who even told you I still love him?” Your eyes narrowed. You don’t recall ever telling anyone recently about your feelings for Klaus. Let alone that you still love him.

“Don’t act stupid with me, Y/N. You couldn’t tell me in front of my face so you had his brother, Elijah do it for you. You scaredy cat.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said. Kai blinked in response. A light bulb appeared above your head. You remembered Klaus telling you that Elijah dealt with Kai, but he didn't get into detail. “What did Elijah say to you?” You asked.

“Um to summarize, he said that you don’t plan on going back to Mystic Falls because you love Klaus and want to be with him, blah blah lame. And then he handed me a plane ticket you booked for me to go back to Virginia.”

“What the hell?” You blurted out, brows creased.

Though, you can’t deny that your feelings for Klaus has slowly but surely been restoring, especially after his confession earlier today, you’re infuriated that Elijah would blatantly lie to your friend to get him to back off. You wondered what his reason could be behind it.

Elijah was definitely going to have a piece of your mind later though. And so was Klaus for allowing it. Sure, you wanted Kai to leave you alone in the meantime, but you didn’t want to use a lie for him to do so. And this lie has backfired because now Kai is siding with the enemy.

Now all you want to do is run off because you’re pissed at all three of them.

“Yup. Before I had the chance to leave, Cassie’s creepy sidekick approached me and took me to her. I forget his name, but him and Cassie were very convincing, especially after all the wild stories she told me about your loverboy.” Kai sighed dramatically. “So with that being said, I didn’t show up for my flight and here I am in this weird cemetery. Fun, huh?”

“Idiot!” You shoved Kai’s chest. “She’s Klaus’s enemy. What if she tries to hurt me in the process?”

“Don’t you worry hunny bun, because I made sure she won’t. She’s really after the Mikaelsons. I’m just here for an extra hand because I despise those bastards now.”

Your face contorted before you whooshed towards Kai to break his neck so you can get him far away from Cassie. But, he was quicker than you this time. Next thing you know, Kai seized both of your upper arms and began to siphon you. Something he’s never done to you.

“Ah!” You writhed in pain. It felt like your arms were on fire and the energy was being sucked out of your entire body. “K-Kai let go. It...it hurts.”

“Sorry not sorry, baby girl.” His eyes were darkened with malevolence.

A few seconds later, Kai finally released you from his intense hold and you fall, landing on your palms. You started taking deep breaths while on the ground to regain your strength to stand. You nearly shed a tear because Kai has never laid a hand on you so violently before. It stung you a little.

Your view remained on the ground and seconds later, you saw a pair of black boots beside you that belonged to Klaus. He leaned down, straightening his hand to you. You grabbed it without hesitation and he helped lift you up.

“Where did that bloody coward go?” He asked with a hardened expression. You quickly glanced around and frowned, noticing Kai was nowhere in sight.

“I-I don’t know.” You said weakly.

“He’s hurt you. Can I rip him in half now?” Klaus’s nostrils flared.

“No, Nik. J-just leave him alone. He didn’t m-mean it.” You stuttered from the pain, placing your palms over your thighs and bent your knees to catch your breath again.

Klaus was alarmed by your frail state and bit into his palm, gesturing it towards you. “Drink, love. It’ll help.” Your eyes flickered at his wrist, extremely tempted to drink out of it, but you just remembered what Kai told you earlier.

A scowl spread across your face. “No.” You spat before standing straight and walking off weakly. Klaus followed behind you and it didn’t take long for him to catch up.

“What’s wrong? What did he say to you?”

“Don’t talk to me.” You used all of the strength you could muster to walk even faster to exit the cemetery towards Klaus’s SUV. Suddenly, Klaus sped in front of you and you flinched as you nearly walked into his chest like a wall. You took a step backwards so that there was some space in between you two.

Klaus seized your chin in between his finger and thumb to tilt your head up. “Tell me what’s wrong.” His brows furrowed with confusion as his eyes displayed concern.

You shook your chin off of his grasp and walked around him at a normal speed. This time he didn’t advance in front of you, he kept up with your steps beside you.

“Don’t play stupid with me, Nik.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” His tone remained low and calm.

“Sure you don’t.” You shook your head in annoyance. He just had to add that pet name.

“I really don’t.” He replied seriously.

“Okay whatever. Well, Kai told me all about what Elijah said to him to get him to back off. I’m not an idiot, Nik. I know that you had some kind of influence on Elijah.”

“What exactly did my brother say?”

“He told Kai that I booked a plane ticket for him and that I’m not going back to Mystic Falls.”

“And is that true? You’re not going back?” He asked, searching your face for a clue.

“Are you serious right now?” You stopped in your tracks and glared at Klaus.

“Indeed.” He blinked. Right then and there you can tell by his unique expression that he isn’t lying.

“So you really didn’t know what Elijah said, huh?” You folded your arms across your chest. You’re utterly relieved that the man you once loved and probably still do wasn’t entirely apart of that scheme.

“I did not, love. I told my brother to handle it and he did. I didn’t get into the specifics. Although, I wouldn’t mind at all if that wanker flew back to wherever he came from and never returned.” He quipped.

“You’re the worst.” You shoved him almost playfully before continuing to walk off towards the direction to the compound. You’re hoping Elijah is there when you arrive so that you can confront him straightaway.

You hadn’t realized that you were so blind from your anger just a moment ago that your body is begging for revival. Kai’s siphoning really took a toll on you. Your eyelids started feeling heavy and your body began to slump. The weak state won and instantaneously, you dropped towards the ground, but Klaus was right there to catch your fall.

“I got you, love.” Klaus said softly as he began to carry you bridal style towards his car. He could easily feed you his blood right then and there, but instead, he wanted this moment to carry you.

(Later…)

Klaus laid you down gently on your bed and removed your heeled boots. He freed himself of his leather jacket and placed it over the nearest chair. Sitting close to you at the edge of the mattress, he bites into his wrist and feeds you his blood instead of grabbing a blood bag for you.

After you’ve had enough, he wiped the remains off the corner of your mouth. You begin to wake up, energizing by the second.

Once you are reeled back into the now, you noticed Klaus caressing the strands of your hair. His fingers were quite soothing.

“All better?” He asked with a soft smile and you returned it.

“Yes. Where’s Elijah?”

“He’s not here. But don’t worry, I hadn’t informed him earlier of what you learned. It’s best he hears it from you.”

You sat up straight with your back against the headboard. “What do you mean earlier? How long have I been out?”

“Only a couple of hours, love.” He muttered smiling softly.

“Okay. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You’ve had quite the day and needed the rest. The quarrel can wait.” He placed a hand over your thigh, rubbing his thumb across it in a relaxed manner.

“Oh. I guess you’re right.” You implied.

“Also, I must inform you of something I’ve learned.”

“What is it?”

“That Cassie. It seems my mother has possessed her body.” Klaus responded.

You gasped, wide eyed. “No way.”

“And to make matters worse, my bloody father has returned to the land of the living as well.” He added rather calmly.

“Great. Just great.” You purposely hit the headboard with the back of your head and groaned at the ceiling in frustration. “Both your mother and father are alive and out for revenge. Again.”

“No matter. My family and I always find a way to prevail. Just give it time.”

“You’re definitely right.”

“Aside from my family’s predicament,” Klaus set his feet to the floor and grabs your cell phone from his jacket pocket, handing it to you, “it seems this belongs to you.”

You responded with a warm smile and he exits your bedroom. As you went through your phone, you were slightly disappointed to find that you didn’t have any missed calls or text messages. You were hoping that you’d receive a voicemail of some sort of Kai apologizing or even one of the Salvatore brothers checking up on you through text.

You set your phone on the nightstand and shuffled to your feet, peeling the curtains. The sky was wrapped in a dark blanket. You opened the French doors and instantaneously, Jazz music and mixed conversations from the folks below filled your ears.

Walking over to the balcony railing, you allowed yourself a moment to people watch before you later found a book to read until you fell fast asleep underneath the warm covers.

(Later…)

Waking up the next morning, you stand up to begin your morning routine by brushing your teeth and showering before scurrying to the dining room to confront Elijah.

Once you are dressed in proper attire, you use your vamp hearing before exiting Klaus’s room. You find Klaus and Elijah in the dining room, enjoying their breakfast in silence.

Klaus is sitting at the head of the table, drinking out of a wine glass filled with blood. The table is filled with many breakfast foods. There is also an empty seat beside Klaus with an untouched wine glass filled with blood. It must be for you.

Elijah is sitting at the other end of the table, patting his mouth with a cloth napkin. You wasted no time in confronting him.

“Elijah!” You shouted, hands tightened into fists.

“Good morning to you too, dear sister.” Elijah brought his fork of eggs benedict to his mouth and chewed gracefully.

“Don’t sister, me! How could you, Elijah?!” You exclaimed, anger rushing through you.

He set his utensil down and swallowed the remaining piece of food, giving you his undivided attention. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I spoke to Kai earlier and he told me everything.”

Elijah raised a brow. “Did he now?”

Kai’s words started to repeat in your head like a broken record and you’re nearly shaking with anger just by looking at Elijah. This time, anger got the best of you so you stole Elijah’s used fork from the table and stabbed him in the neck with it.

“Ouch.” Klaus said with amusement. Elijah rose to his feet as he pulled the fork out with a slight wince, gently setting the fork over the placemat.

“I can’t believe you. Out of all people. You’re supposed to be the noble one. But here you are spitting lies!” You exclaimed.

With added drama, Elijah pulled his handkerchief out and started dabbing the blood off of his healed wound before placing it on the table.

“But is all of it a lie? Ask yourself, Y/N.” Elijah briefly narrowed his eyes as he placed his hand over your shoulder in an attempt to calm you.

“Get your hand off of me.” You slapped his hand away, curling your lips into a snarl.

“Niklaus.” Elijah addressed calmly. “Would you be so kind and give us a moment please.”

“As you wish, brother.” Klaus obliged, winking at you before exiting the dining room. Elijah waited until he was certain that his brother was no longer earshot.

“Before you strike me again, you must understand that I said what I said for good reason.” He said, placing a hand inside his front pant pocket.

“But lying is never good, Elijah.”

“Indeed.” He replied, pacing slowly with swagger, “However, I see the way you look at Niklaus. And Rebekah and I know that our dear brother still adores you after all this time. I was simply telling your little friend something you’re afraid to.”

“I’m not afraid to tell him anything.” You threw your hands over your hips, glowering at the original.

“Are you sure of it, sister? That boy certainly worships you and you’re afraid to tell him that you will never feel the same.”

“No…” You shook your head. “He’s just a friend and he knows it.”

“Well, friend or not, I prefer he stays out of the way. For yours and my brothers sake.”

“Is that why you bought him and plane ticket and said it’s from me? And told him I’m never going back to Mystic Falls?” You asked out of anger but already knew the answer. “That’s not your decision to make!”

“Do you prefer he lingers in this city and possibly runs into Niklaus during his morning stroll? I’m aware you prefer he remains unharmed so that is why I did what I did.”

“You’re a little too late now. He didn’t take the flight and now he’s siding with Esther. Nik didn’t tell you?”

“No.” His face fell. “He failed to mention that.”

“Frustrating, isn’t it?” You added out of spite before storming out with your wine glass without a backwards glance. Your appetite to eat was instantly lost.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter because I worked hard on this one 😭 there have been multiple times when I’d make changes because some parts just didn’t fit right for me. Also, pls don’t hate me for making Kai bad. Lol. How could you blame him? He’s in love with Y/N and he can’t help how he feels. So when Elijah said what he said, it triggered something in Kai. But I promise there will be more of Kai later! Can’t tell ya when :)

TAGS: @ynm1505 @ravenmoore14@xdontxcare @seasiren96 @anyasthoughts @woodworthti666 @agentmarvel13@miss-lumiere @elizabeth-ann1090 @physically-a-cheesecake@azhar1422 @morsmornte @retrocontessa @kollover24 @thewolf-and-thesheep @xoxoaudreymarie

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geminiloopholed · 4 years

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Everyone thinks Lizzie is selfish (and she can be) and that she is a horrible twin but I decided to write a drabble on her illness. Has mentions of sex (nothing graphic or ANYTHING), mania, depression, self-harm (mentions), the bullying I am just gonna post it here for now but if anyone thinks I should post it in the tags, etc well then comment? Or just let me know what you think.

I used my experience plus creative freedoms, headcanons I had for Lizzie for a long time to make this.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I feel like I'm a snow globe and someone shook me up and now every little piece of me is falling back randomly and nothing is ending up where it used to be ― Amy Reed, Crazy

𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞? 𝐁𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞?

Funny how things work from daddy working just a little too much and mommy busy searching for answers away from home, keeping it a secret that it is almost like an affair. A bunch of lies that the twins are forced to swallow down with cheap alcohol that they shouldn’t be drinking. How she should be asleep but instead she is here in this moment dancing around the room, music soft but it sounds loud in her ears. The amount of times she falls to the gym floor can be counted on how many bruises she will be covering up with makeup in the coming hours. A bloody lip and she is still going, only stopping to get some vampire blood to heal herself up (So no one will ever notice that Lizzie Saltzman isn’t perfect).

Her twin is the one that comes through the door at close to five pm and is shutting off the music. “Time to go hide in our room if you don’t want dad to worry.” It sounds like an I LOVE YOU from a siphon that barely says the worlds to the blonde. Sometimes, Lizzie wonders if maybe she could get that I love you if she just tries harder to be better. Lip curls into a smile, sweat making her clothes cling to skin and she feels a sense of pride swell up inside of her.

In the shower, she has to stop and can only smile at her razor blade because not today. not ever again.

Breakfast with her twin is with drumming fingers against her plastic cup filled with strawberry smoothie and a pancake that she eats half off before feeding the rest to a wolf that she is interested in, he is cute and has that damaged look in his eyes that Lizzie craves. Just like Josie, she wants to save a lost cause but the way she goes about it is different. Josie mother hens, Lizzie is the bad influence that will show you a good time right down to the letter

Snickers and snorts in her direction by the end of the day by Alyssa fucking Chang has her breathing fast, that witch has never been a friend of hers. When she was younger, she had been sent to the ER because of burns thanks to that witch. she doesn’t know all the damage her daddy did to that girl deep down in her subcouncious NOR does she care. The fifteen year old doesn’t five a fuck about the other’s wedgie trauma or lacktherefore of. In the bathroom, splashing water on her face and Josie holding her hair back as she vomits. It hurts when she is finished, her throat and stomach both ache from overuse and yet she still wishes there was more to throw up because she can avoid the other that way. Josie getting a paper towel for her twin.

“Thanks,” Lizzie whispers, shaking fingers grip an edge and wipe at her mouth, breathing in air that is hardly calming but she forces herself to fake it. “Go be with Satan.” Two more months and the Satan/God’s angel will be broken up and Lizzie will have her twin back. She is a blackhole of love and energy and it is pushing her twin away for the moment so she can handle shit herself even if that makes it a bigger deal.

𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞?

No one warns you about the lack of sleep, about how sleeping three hours can feel like you slept all night long. How you can still go running around the school in the crisp fall air and be just fine.

Everyone is complaining about not sleeping and Lizzie just sits there, foot shaking feeling ALIVE and more important then anyone else, so much that she shot her mouth off and said maybe if you weren’t busy fucking David or whatever the night before you wouldn’t be so tired. Her best friend, one besides Josie ends their friendship right then and there and Lizzie doesn’t give a damn because she is BETTER OFF WITHOUT HER.

No one tells you that you feel ontop of the world but end up alone because being alone on top is nothing. Kings and Queens never knew who to trust either and they ended up being bad asses, marked down in history and that is what Lizzie wants, to be in the history books that kids read about seventy years from now when she is dead.

Life is fine even if it means skipping lunch to go walk around the halls for the thirty minute break listening to music in her head, the tune all jumbled and doesn’t make sense but whatever.

𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞?

Just sex? How does one feel being in a state and having their first time in the fall air and when the boy leaves all she feels is cold and alone. Tears fall as she lets herself up and gets dressed. It didn’t help with her head, didn’t slow anything down like she had hoped and instead it added some new thoughts in her head. How someone could call you crazy and then get their fix, it ruins and destories. Getting back to the dorm by the time Josie is out of the shower sucked

Lizzie cleaned herself up in a bathroom stall the best she could, trying to get the taste of his kiss out of her mouth and off her lips. She wishes she could be held by her mother and told everything would be okay but she doesn’t want to be a blackhole, something that Penelope will later shoot out of her mouth during a manic episode by the time her birthday comes around. How Hope Mikaelson came in and even fucking helped her get the grass out of her hair without saying a world, because girls don’t knock each other down too far, at least not on this (Or maybe the Mikaelson has some tact on the subject). Lizzie changes her clothes and curls up into bed with Josie and sleeps for the four hours that she can sleep and is up praying that no one knows about what she had done.

No one seems to know the next day at breakfast and instead of sitting down? Lizzie is up walking around the building, helping teachers with getting things down and ready for the younger classmen.

𝐃𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫 '𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞? 𝐒𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞?

Of course, someone has to point it out to her father that Lizzie had been off her pills because he didn’t seem to noice. So busy with his private training sessions and whatever else that he assumed Lizzie’s anger outbursts were just teen angst but here it was a cry for help. It is with the help of MAGIC that they break the manic episode and she sleeps for four days off and on and her mommy comes down to hold her. For a split second she feels like she is whole again but that is an illusion.

It’s telling Josie between sobs about her first time without naming names only to find out that everyone knows because people brag about that sort of thing. How walking the walls forever would feel like someone placed a bag over her head and was just waiting for the air to waste away, for her to die. It’s then that her sister breaks up with Penelope Parks, attempts to fix the broken and shattered pieces and Lizzie lets her because she needs someone to care.

Dad leaves and so does mom, leaving the girls to pick up broken pieces all over again.

𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐰 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞

The depressive episode comes and Josie is the one holding a blonde as she cries, blood coming from cuts that she made to try and feel better but it never works. It is praying that a manic episode would hurry up so she can have some relief. Queen of self-harm, Josie would tell a boy from the grill that ends up at the school. If Lizzie would know her twin would out her secret to someone else, she would have never let Josie through the door (She didn’t actually let the siphon, no Josie used magic to bust in)

No one tells them that having your twin giving you pills twice a day would be normal to both of you after that. Josie tossing them across the room and watching because clearly, no one else is going to do it. Lizzie can’t do it, her head tells her not to do it and right now she was too weak to do it herself. The agreement was just until they turned sixteen but tht would be cut short when Monsters start coming and this mopheaded boy that Lizzie swears she doesn’t like comes to down.

Josie is everything that grounds her and Lizzie is everything that makes Josie fly around like she has no wings but one half of a whole is hardly good math.

The twins sit in the bathroom with scissors cutting Lizzie’s once LONG hair to her shoulders. The once down to the middle of Lizzie’s back gets cut and even as she cries, Josie keeps going because there is no other way around it. No one talks about how depression can ruin your good locks because running a brush through it never comes to mind or it does and you are so tired tht you can’t be bothered.

𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞?

All of her issues turned her mean but no one ever stopped to ask her if she was alright, no one ever cared to see behind the mask when she was still kind hearted and not putting up a front. No one gave a damn, just like her parents and sometimes just like Josie.

Penelope Park gets her pen at christmas time frozen and it breaks into millions of pieces, only after she mad Josie cry. It becomes the two of them (Penelope and Lizzie) going at one another. No one hurts Josie and gets away with it, if Penelope wasn’t someone Josie cared about, Lizzie would throw down and give that witch a wild bruising without care but Josie begs for the other not to do it.

Diana calls Josie a loser and what does Lizzie do? Punches her in the face. No one notices it is to honor her twin, to defend her really because no one ever thinks that Lizzie can be nice. No one thinks Lizzie cares about anyone BUT herself. Her mask is working only it works so well that Josie starts to believe it too.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦.

No one talks about the illness taking who you are and crushing it. No one talks about losing things like your hair or how you have impulses to have sex with someone you don’t know. This isn’t a dream, no one can go back and change how their brain works even if they would LOVE to do just that.

#・ ˖ ✦ ⋄ . ❝Mine: Drabble❞ 【GEMINILOOPHOLED】#・ ˖ ✦ ⋄ . ❝Mine: All❞ 【GEMINILOOPHOLED】

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legalsteroids76-blog · 4 years

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Myths About Weight Loss and Six Pack Abs

Fantasy 1 - To get well defined abs you should do several crunches each day.

Or on the other hand one of my top picks from an infomercial... "you would now be able to have rock hard hot thin well defined abs in just 8 minutes per day! " Yea, and I have a twelve inch... don't worry about it. I've heard this one a bigger number of times than I can recall. First let me reveal to you the one genuine mystery to getting well defined abs. Are you prepared, in light of the fact that you just need to complete two things! Here it is - eat less and practice more! That is it. That is the BIG mystery! 90% of getting those well defined abs is disposing of muscle to fat ratio. You as of now have abs, you can't see them in view of the layer of goo that is concealing them! The other 10% is doing some stomach muscle works out, for example, crunches to help reinforce, and fabricate abdominal muscle muscles giving that decent undulated look.

Fantasy 2 - You need to go to a rec center or purchase costly weight preparing frameworks at home to get fit and have a decent exercise.

In no way, shape or form. I do everything at home, aside from the vast majority of my running obviously, with a lot of hand weights, a fundamental weight seat and a draw up bar. A few people may likewise need to utilize a yoga tangle on the off chance that you don't have a decent mat, or covered floors for comfort. You may likewise lean toward opposition groups to loads. I incline toward the free loads. A weight seat is extremely convenient however redundant. Likewise, an additional seat or stool that you may have lying around will prove to be useful also. So what does the entirety of this mean? It implies don't squander your cash on moronic tricks, speedy stomach muscle machines or pills that you see on TV! Set aside your cash and get some solid nourishment next time your at the supermarket.legal Steroids

Fantasy 3 - Spot fat evacuation.

I've been asked by numerous individuals what certain activities simply focus on the stomach cushions, or abs, or my man boobs to dispose of that fat? The appropriate response is, there's most certainly not. You can't spot fat evacuate. As you start losing fat your body will figure out where the fat originates from. It might pull some chicken back fat off from your lat region, or some from under the arms. It may pull some thigh cheddar from your legs or your rear end. Perhaps a little from your extra layers or around your extra tire gut. So I'm sorry to need to state it, however you don't get a decision. You will see that you are thinning and taking care of business in various pieces of your body simultaneously. Presently, in such manner, it is designated "difficult midsection fat" which is as it should be. Regularly, when your body stores fat the lower mid-region is the primary spot it gets put away, and once more, ordinarily, the last spot from which it is evacuated.

Legend 4 - I saw Rocky eating crude eggs in that film before he whipped Mr. T's butt! Eating crude eggs must be beneficial for you right?

I think I blew a wet fart from giggling so hard the first occasion when I heard this one! Let me state this - NO! Crude eggs are bad for you! Except if your attempting to be wiped out from salmonella and you would prefer not to have the option to work out for quite a long time while you recoup from loose bowels cha, and vomiting your guts out! I will cover more on eggs in the nourishment segment and why you ought to and shouldn't eat them, however for the time being simply don't eat any crude ones OK?

Legend 5 - I can do certain activities to simply "tone" chose regions.

Many individuals have asked me what they can do to tone just abs or tone just arms or chest? First let me beginning of by saying there is nothing of the sort as a "conditioning" work out. What you should do precisely all relies upon what your attempting to accomplish. For instance on the off chance that you need to make your muscles more grounded and greater you have to do obstruction preparing. On the off chance that you need to become less fatty and progressively characterized and dispose of the goo that is concealing that provocative body of yours, at that point you need cardiovascular exercise and great nourishment.

Fantasy 6 - I can get in shape just by slimming down.

I get this one a ton likewise, so let me simply feel free to get the entire slimming down thing and why it will never work off the beaten path. Diets are awful. In any event, saying that your "starting to eat less" suggests that you just expect on having better sustenance for a foreordained timeframe, and toward the finish of it your going to come back to your butt-split awful dietary patterns once more. You have to change your attitude totally about abstaining from excessive food intake and comprehend that great nourishment ought to be a perpetual change in your life. Here's a fast in and out regarding why diets don't work. At the point when you eat less your body (and digestion) changes with the lower caloric admission. So after about a month you lose six or eight lbs on the grounds that your not eating enough and afterward you feel upbeat about where your at so you start returning to your awful dietary patterns once more. Indeed, it takes your body twice as long to speed your digestion up to make up for taking in much more calories now that your off your eating routine, than it does to back it off, by eating less. So in addition to the fact that you gain the weight back, yet a great many people end up fatter than they were before they begun by screwing with their digestion.

Fantasy 7 - If you need to be super torn or too enormous you need to utilize enhancements or steroids.

How often have you seen an ad for the "enchantment fat consuming pill. Simply take two per day and you'll get tore while never doing a solitary exercise!?" Or another of my top picks "Take our super muscle 10,000 powder shake and you can increase 40 lbs of muscle in just four months!" The truth of the matter is, on the off chance that it were that simple, at that point everybody strolling around would be torn and cut and there wouldn't be such a weight issue in America.

Alright your perusing this in light of the fact that your needing my sentiment, so here it is. I am very fussy about the enhancements that I use since I need to know precisely what is going into my body. "In any case, Sgt E, I heard Arnold state "creatine will siphon YOU up!" Look, the fact of the matter is the enhancement business perceives the weight issue in America and is making a fat ass hoodlum knott move of cabbage off of edgy individuals burning through cash on it. Enhancements while lawful, are unregulated, and untested. I could get a Bunsen-burner and my trusty spoon and make a split stone out of some caffeine, headache medicine and exlax and call it Mega Bulk 10,000 in the event that I needed to.

For instance, we should take a gander at a mainstream brand named supplement named Hydroxycut. On May 1 2009, WebMD Health news announced 14 Hydroxycut items were being reviewed by the producer after the FDA got 23 reports of genuine liver wounds going from jaundice to even passing. Try not to think I'll be facing that challenge today.

What YOU have to know is what is powerful and safe to utilize. On account of the idea of the enhancement business, I just prescribe Nutrilite nutrients and enhancements. Nutrilite offers a decent assortment of lunch rooms, nutrients, fat terminators and carb blockers that I have had extraordinary accomplishment with. Nutrilite has a demonstrated reputation of accomplishment and numerous expert competitors additionally prescribe the Nutrilite brand. I likewise utilize 100% whey protein powder since I simply would prefer not to eat a pound of chicken or turkey bosom each day to get everything of protein that my arrangement requires. Presently relying upon your objectives you may not require as a lot of protein as I do, or you may require more, yet we'll cover that later on also. To see a full rundown of the enhancements I do suggest simply Click Here.

"Be that as it may, Sgt E, Barry Bonds and Mark McGuire broke records utilizing steroids. Would it be a good idea for me to hit the juice as well?"

The fast response to this inquiry clearly is no. You don't have to get squeezed to get tore and build up. Presently do roids really work? Truly and they are viable. They are additionally unlawful and many individuals have demolished their lives by abusing them. Most steroids are fake and getting them from your rec center rodent mate on the bootleg market just methods you truly don't have a clue about what's in it. Along these lines, the roids don't get Sgt E's seal of endorsement. They are not important to accomplish results and not worth taking a chance with the side influences, for example, hindered development, gyno, skin break out, balding, fat addition, "brew paunch" and also a contracting of your "money and prizes." That's correct, I just went there.

Fantasy 8 - I can increase 20 lbs of muscle in just two months as per some magazine articles.

Ever heard that colloquialism about never thinking anything you read and not exactly 50% of what you see? These equivalent magazines are in loaded up with commercials for items professing to get you tore and built and various stuff, not on the grounds that they do, but since that is the manner by which they profit. The straightforward truth is, outside of youthful years one can hope to increase around six to eight, perhaps ten pounds of muscle in a years time. That implies doing opposition preparing five days every week for about an hour daily, with center and force, and having a decent nourishment plan.

Fantasy 9 - I can at present get tore while stoning out on pot, or getting crush pounded alcoholic consistently in the wake of playing guitar saint!

Alright we should begin with the pot first on this one. It helps me to remember the business with the children smoking pot in the storm cellar looking at "nothing at any point occurred in their lives." This is practically what will happen to your wellness routine if your smoking a great deal of pot while attempting to exercise and exercise. There are a few issues here as a result of the side effects of hitting the dance floor with the capable Mary Jane. First is the munchies. At the point when you smoke weed you get the munchies and trust me, you don't go to the cooler and venture into the veggie plate for cauliflower and carrot sticks! You wind up eating stacks and sacks of super nacho mushy poofs and simply getting fat. Another issue is the progressing influence that pot has, which is the thing that helped me to remember that business. At the point when your working out and remaining fit you have to have drive and want, and the capacity to remain engaged and decided. After a joint or two you normally simply need to chillax bare in a bean pack seat eating Cheetos... or then again so I've heard. The last issue with pot is likewise the equivalent for individuals who additionally smoke cigarettes and that is, it brings down your bloods capacity to convey oxygen to your muscles.

Presently lets take a gander at liquor. Drinking liquor and wellness resemble those terrible concrete blender shots your moronic companions stunt you I

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unsanctitude · 5 years

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HELLO I need to know more about your librarians and your universe as a whole infodump it on me

HI !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WELCOME !!!!!!!! MAKE YUORSELF AT HOME FRIEND. ILL TELL YOU ABOUT THINGS

ill give u the super basics of the very simple things i have brainstormed .which is really mainly 2 big cities that have got like a light/dark theme respectively each for a different god (yet to be redesigned F) . the dArk City is called Sanctum and the light city is Haven. Sanctum was overthrown(?) at some point by a guy who somehow siphoned the the dark god’s power (god of which i lovingly refer to as hubert) and the city became a ghost town.. literally (and a monster town), so in the “present” there is currently only that one major city, Haven and the other one’s haunted and everyone is Dead and Evil there but they want to become alive again yknow

this whole universe actually started with me making a Cult that i eventually situated right outside Haven in a Dark Forest I Forget The Name Of, led my Morgan “Mour” Vapeiros who spoilers is son of the Guy That Stole God Power but he doesnt know it, he was created by magical means and that God somehow broke free from the Bad Guy when Morgan was born and essentially lives inside Morgans body and kinda ?? secretly influences him to make a cult that will allow her to take her own form again and i havent decided how it wil happen. i was just super into lovecraftian stuff when i made this

anyways to go more towards the LIBRARIAN stuff, one of the smoller librarians is a little blue elf named Lunick who appropriately is an astronomer situated at Haven’s palace ,he’s like supposedly the smartest guy there and he is !! but he’s super nervous all the time and almost cant handle working at such an illustrious place but he’s hanging in there. i say he’s a librarian only because he tends to the palace’s library there only when he’s got free time, but he adores hanging out at the library more than anywhere anyhow !

now if we move on to the shitty librarians we can travel back in time before Sanctum was sacked and u will find Atlas. i have to say with a heavy heart he’s not very normal at all and is probably the polar opposite of everything Lunick is. first and foremost he is a harpy as u have probably noticed, he’s a big giant owl. harpys in the universe have proven time and time again they just do literally whatever they want. so he decided to appoint himself the head librarian of Sanctum’s libraries (if there are multiple ones he controls them as well, but as of now i think he focuses on the largest one. its a small city after all). he knows how to use illusory magick so he appears as an “elf” to appear i guess less conspicuous, not that he cares what elfs think of him but itd make things easier as opposed to him being a 9 foot tall owl monster (he also needs elf hands to be able to write things down and stuff). now you’d think someone would stop him from just walking into a library and claiming it as his own but nobody did and everybody is too afraid of him to make him leave. atlas’ goal is to read every single book and know everything so he makes other people feel bad for being stupid

anyways that’’s kind of the most basic of summaries for the universe besides the library stuff. theres of course more places than the Two Cities, like Fish Salem and Dragon Home and Totally Not Moomin Valley and Underwater Adventure, and im thinking abt some East Asia-inspired zones for probably the distant future !! i just didnt wanna go into super detail bc the post is long enough as it is and i know itd burn me out, but pls if u ever wanna know about a specific thing or place or character feel free to drop by again !!!! thank u : D

by the way its library related so ill put it here. i am currently building sanctum’s librowly in mine craft, as i intend to do with most notable buildings in this universe

u would be surprised how much easier it is to design buildings using this game as opposed to anything else

#optikalcrow #also reading this again .i am so self aware of how like ..Not very creative i am JSDHGJDFK #im really here to have a good time but it warms my heart that ppl are interested !! <333 #again tho please send asks if ur interested in any Specific Thing !!! im Not very good with like .broad an all-encompassing bigposts like t #his one fhdssdfk #bc really i only think of the individuals and i make up the story after.. like beads on a necklace except there isnt a long of string to #tie it all together

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inviisiiblelee · 5 years

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ookay so absolutely no one asked for this post but i’ve been so unreliable lately with literally everything that i figure i can at least explain what’s been going on for the last six months or so. i know i’ve briefly touched on this to others in discord and some of this has been viewable through some of my other posts and all but, here’s a big block of text explaining why i fall in and out of tumblr, discord and everywhere else i exist online

TL;DR?: I’m depressed, anxious, & or in a panic pretty much all the time, and disability has really effed me over.

I lived in an incredibly quietly abusive home for the last fifteen years of my life. I am just now turned twenty.

when i say this, i don’t mean it in any kind of roundabout way, and it’s really only been in the last year that i realized that this is what i was living. and i will come out and say that i don’t even think my parents realized this was how they were treating me, that this was the kind of household they were building for me. and honestly, it was a way worse experience for me than it was or will be for my younger siblings (i hope).

the fact of the matter is, my biological mother was a drug addicted alcoholic, since the birth of my sister who is only two years younger than me. my mother was not a very good role model mother in really any way, and i really honestly wish i had more to offer than this basic, umbrella-like summary. but it’s so bad that i have almost no memory of what my mother was like, personally. i don’t remember her voice, her face, or any of that. she died of an overdose when i was eleven. It’s been nine years and, really, I have more memories that are worth my time remembering after the fact. i grew to hate my mother with my entire being, and her death wasn’t something i dealt with right.

even now, i haven’t dealt with it well, but i have let go of the anger that really held me back.

since that moment of my life, it seemed like an event that became who i was. i was the kid who’s mom died, i was friendless and depressed, and i acted like everything was fine, and i honestly still do. eventually, of course, things moved on --- my dad found another woman to love, who became the mother i wished i always had. of course, there was a lot of internal conflict as this happened, something that while i was never aware of it, happened no matter what i really believed. evidently, at the end of the day, losing your biological mother is something that really changes you, especially when she went by way of suicide.

my father remarried in 20...14? maybe? i really don’t remember --- my years and months really started running together in my mind, and honestly my memory has never been something to brag about when it comes to my own life. life seemed to be okay but really, there was a lot of conflict between my family and i. my father is a military man, and was heavily heavily abused as a child, and almost killed by his own mom. but he was an abusive father by way of mental and emotional abuse, especially once i entered high school. i was constantly compared to my mother, which i hated because she took her own life, and she was the worst role model of my life. my father had a habit of callling me useless, or telling me i would never amount to anything. in his mind, he was doing me a favor --- trying to make me realize i needed to change. but all he did was instill a hopelessness inside of me that he would never understand or admit to giving me or being part of.

my self esteem tanked by the time i was a sophomore in school, and my grades began to really see a dip. i was spending less time on my schooling, because i was exploring hobbies that my father didn’t approve of, which meant i was spending more time hiding the things that made me happy than i was studying. school was becoming something i didn’t like as much as i once did --- it was getting so hard to find joy in anything, and i realize now that was the major & chronic depression that i would later be diagnosed with. but all i heard from my parents at that time was that i was sick in the head --- that i would turn out dead like my own mother, a drug addict and homeless and useless. and eventually, a thought hit --- why bother?

when i was in the summer year between my sophomore and junior year of high school, the summer of 2016, i made a plan to take my own life, because i felt like such a burden.

i was not the most aware of what would work --- and i was very against going through something painful --- so i found an amalgamation of every prescription and non-prescription drug in the house. which was quite a lot. and i would siphone pills through the day, slowly, so it was less noticeable.

when my family found them, they refused to believe that i was depressed and suicidal, instead choosing to believe i was selling pills at school, peddling fake drugs (considering there were pre-natals among my stash, which, admittedly, wouldn’t have done much). instead of ever offering and following through with counseling, they asked me one time when i was fourteen and never actually put me into a place. they make the excuse now that it would not have been beneficial if i didn’t want it, but i recall several times speaking to them about getting into counseling and nothing ever coming of it.

the next two years would be a total rollercoaster. at seventeen, a predator was contacting me and trying to get photos, my location, even so much as meeting up with me. my parents put me through hell for talking to the guy --- and now i realize that whether or not i was an older female, i was still under eighteen and being taken advantage of. my principal and secretary of the school got involved, and i became more suicidal than ever. i lost friends due to the state of mind i had.

luckily, i graduated high school and turned eighteen, and this seemed to be the end of my forseeable problems. i had been working through high school, and though my family had forced me to resign from the last workplace due to workplace drama and claiming my coworkers were bad influences, I was searching for jobs and hopeful for getting into college.

i was not the perfect child at home (i rebelled against chores like any kid, and when i worked, i was even less reliable for doing chores because i was never home to cause the mess but somehow it was always my job to clean it up when i had a sister two years younger who was FULLY capable, but thats just another story tbh), but professional help has also made me see that i was not deserving of the kind of punishments my father put me through, including being lectured at about how much of a failure child i was for over three hours almost per night during the summer. i did not experiment with drugs as a high school student, i never attempted to run away or sneak out, i had a few thief instances that never recurred the way my younger sister’s instances were monthly.

in july, barely a month and a half after graduating and turning eighteen, my parents kicked me out. i had nowhere to go, no money to help me, and no amount of help from them. and yet, i managed to move into a place a few weeks after the news.

it was a huge mistake.

i had found someone on craigslist (BAD IDEA PAST ME) renting out a room in their home. they lived an hour from the nearest bus stop (an hour walking) but close to the downtown area. rent was about half of what i made in a month. and very quickly, there were problems. once i had the place found, i had no other options --- the few other places that were that cheap were no longer available, and my deadline was coming up. the place itself was pretty atrocious --- dirty and gross, BUT i was told it was being fixed over the next month and i thought if i could help out, no problems. there were cats (i was allergic, though it did eventually seem to fall out from me living there) and even a bird that was loud and annoying. the cons really outweighed any pros, but it had taken a long time to find the place, and i was not sure i would make my deadline before my parents dropped me off at a shelter. plus, i was supposed to be going to school in the next few months for college, with loans and all, and it should have been fine!

just kidding.

i moved in, met the three other roommates, and began the downward spiral. i was almost immediately out of money --- rent was far too much, and i couldn’t buy groceries afterwards. my phone bill lapsed a few times, and i never was able to finish paying off the deposit. my routine became something terrible. i only ate once a day, while at work with my free meal. and on saturday and sunday, which i didn’t work, i only ate a little bit, if one of my friends happened to give me food out of pity, or else i didn’t eat anything. i started stocking up on CLIF bars, because i could eat one and sleep the rest of the day with little issues.

i slept on the floor of the room, miserable, in a panic. the landlord (who also lived in the living room of the place but worked) was horrible. he essentially demanded that i take care of him while he was home, and expected me to just do it because he hadn’t kicked me out yet for not having the deposit paid.

eventually, i had enough. one of the other roommates, his name was Josh, was getting tired of the same treatment. and my final straw was when i found out the landlord searched through my room without asking and while i wasn’t there. so he and i got together, started looking for a place closer to town, and gave him a verbal/written notice of moving out.

however, this fell through, too. josh lost the money he had for the apartment two weeks before we were supposed to move, and so i had to scramble to find a place. i got lucky --- a really good friend of mine talked to her mom and they took me in when he couldn’t recover the money. i left josh with some of my things until i had a permanent place.

he stole half of all of my belongings, about five hundred dollars worth of miscallaneous stuff.

josh disappeared off the face of the planet, after faking his own death to me via his ex. it got wild, and i almost (and should have) took it to the police to get my things. but because his whereabouts are really unknown to me, it was going to be a way more expensive process than i was into.

around that same time, my financial aid for school fell through due to some change, and without any cosigner for a loan, i had no option but to drop out -- and still got footed for a bill of $1700. for school i couldn’t and never did attend.

the following year of this was not that bad --- my friend’s mom moved out of the house and left it to us. it was a really nice, three bed and two baths with a nice kitchen. they bought me a bed and bed frame, as i had previously been sleeping on the couch, without a mattress of any kind (Josh stole it). i was so grateful.

but after a year, too, she had gotten a boyfriend and they were talking about moving to nashville for his job (they’re there now, congrats to them!) and her mom was going to sell the house.

at this point, my family was in some contact with me again --- my mother and i had less issues than i had with my father, and she found out the situation and offered me to come back home. they were having issues with my younger sister, and i think they hoped my newfound independence could rub off. they would charge me no rent.

I agreed, a huge mistake. I know this now --- but at the time, I wanted their approval and wanted nothing more than to live with my family without problems, which is what was promised to me. They acknowledged I was an adult. This was a lie.

once back home, things were supposed to get better. or be better, rather. but it was immediate to me that it was not true --- once again, all of my decisions were being scrutinized by my family. i would work most of the day, and if i didn’t come home and socialize, i was getting long talks about being part of the “family.” i tried to accomodate all of this, and still it was not enough. if i was spending my money on anything they didn’t approve of, i was getting lectured about it. from the months of august 2018 until the end of january 2019, i was miserable, and depressed, and wanted nothing more than to die.

at the end of december, right before christmas, i finally found a counselor. my family had made it a must for me --- if i wanted to continue living there, i had to go to counseling. so i found a place and someone i began to trust. not long after, i started realizing just how bad i felt in life at home, and my counselor (agreeing for the first and last time with my family) mentioned an in-patient therapy place.

SO, in January, I went to an in-patient hospital for three weeks to undergo constant watch, and this would change my life.

the most recent big event in my life had been me breaking up with my girlfriend. some of you may know of her already, known as ruby, pretty prominent in the youtube rp fandom. she was abusive. not only to me but to others, and though i was warned, i dated her, fell in love with her, and she proceeded to make me feel bad for everything i wanted to do or did. so in the months between november and january, i was being put down by not only my family, who were still calling me useless, worthless, ignorant, and made to be my mother, my girlfriend was also making me feel bad for talking to other people, for spending time playing games and having hobbies that didn’t involve her.

when i went to this hospital, i was under watch 24/7 for three weeks. they took my vitals, watched my every move. and i was supposed to be on track for finding my weaknesses.

This experience was vital for me --- but it also broke me down.

i was suddenly feeling every emotion i ever hid from myself. i felt myself break down and instead of hiding behind the solid walls i used to have, i had nothing to defend myself with. every thought about the family that seemed to tear me down, tore me down all over again. every thought about how my exgirlfriend saw ME as abusive or neglectful for not being awake at midnight to greet her from work had me in tears and believing no one would ever love me. it felt like someone ripped out my heart and threw it down to let everyone who ever wanted to trample it, do so without a fight.

it took three weeks to come back, and i was a broken woman. i had a better knowledge about myself, how my emotions worked and what i needed to do, but i was raw to the world, and my father supposedly understood. but it was clear to me, within the next week, that this was wrong. he wasted no time continuing to tell me that i wasn’t trying hard enough, that i wasn’t putting any effort into my life. that i was content to lay around and was worthless and just like my mother.

so i left. i called someone i met while i was away, and he helped me move out that day. but my panic was non-stop. i couldn’t work the way i used to --- panic attacks were happening more often, and i was calling out more because of it. i ended up quitting out of fear of being fired, because i couldn’t get up every day anymore and go to work the way i used to.

eventually i moved again --- i found a guy i got along with really well, liked a lot. his family was very generous --- but they eventually kicked me out too. and now, i’m living with an old friend of mine, her family like my second family. but i changed --- i have a whole slew of medicines i’m supposed to take daily in order to function without panic in my daily life. debt’s come back around, and work has become harder to find. i’ve recognized that i have a disability, in the form of major and chronic depression, bipolar, and ptsd from my mother’s death and further abuse. i don’t get job responses the way i once did, and there are days where i stay in bed (on the couch where i live now) all day, panicking about the fact that i’m considered homeless, that i have no job, that i’m losing insurance soon and college is slowly slipping through my fingers. applying for disability guarantees me nothing, and marking myself as disabled, when compared to last year when i didn’t, has resulted in less interest in my resume, whch is great

i’m trying for commissions for art or writing. i’m trying to write a novel to maybe make something of myself. but i don’t know what to do.

so. if you’ve ever wondered why i don’t stick around all day like i used to, if you ever wonder why you haven’t heard from me in a week or longer, there’s why.

#tw abuse #tw suicidal thoughts #trigger warnings in general #about me

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