#There is no courage or heroism in killing a hurt little girl.

[idalenn]

To reach The unreachable star

#gpose #gposers #ffxiv gpose #ffxiv #ffxiv screenshots #miqo'te #wol oc #ffxiv wol #lillian post #A while back I mentioned Lillian doing a pretty terrible thing in Ktisis that formed the nucleus of Meteion's anguish so we're hinting here #imagine being the driving force for the final days because your experience with Yotsuyu/Tsuyu and being a product of Gridania and #knowing your world and friends are being consumed while you're whiling away days in a relative paradise and how everything COULD be fixed #by the death of one child. Forget what the ascian said about being unable to change the past. You can never trust them. #This is the right course of action - for everyone. Go through Hermes to get to her right before her eyes too. That'll help certainly. #There is no courage or heroism in killing a hurt little girl. #She gets to spend the rest of endwalker fixing what she did. Confronting the Endsinger isn't about the fight. It can't be won with strength #only atoning and seeking forgiveness from Meteion will save everyone #and uh apologies for light nightmare fuel. I had something a bit more heroic in mind for the ninth photo that didn't work out.

[the-light-followed]

THE LIGHT FANTASTIC (1986) [DISC. #2; RINCEWIND #2]

“What shall we do?’ said Twoflower. ‘Panic?’ said Rincewind hopefully. He always held that panic was the best means of survival; back in the olden days, his theory went, people faced with hungry sabre-toothed tigers could be divided very simply into those who panicked and those who stood there saying ‘What a magnificent brute!’ and ‘Here, pussy.”

Rating: 5/10

Standalone Okay: No

Read First: ABSOLUTELY NO.

Discworld Books Masterpost: [x]

* * * * * * * * * *

If The Colour of Magic is a bad place to start reading Discworld, The Light Fantastic is 100% worse.  Not because it’s bad, because it’s absolutely an improvement on its predecessor.  It’s just that The Colour of Magic ends on a cliffhanger (only in the metaphorical sense; in the literal sense, Rincewind has just fallen off the cliff).  The Light Fantastic picks up exactly where it left off, with only a little exposition or explanation to soften the shift from one to the next.  I tend to think of The Light Fantastic as more like The Colour of Magic: Part 2, Now We’re Getting Somewhere, because, well, now we’re getting somewhere.

Folks, we finally have a cohesive, over-arching plot! We have stakes greater than “let’s not get killed by this latest thing that wants us dead!”  We have purpose, and drive, and successful barbarian heroes so old they lack teeth and have to make dentures out of diamond, and I love absolutely every bit of it!

In what will quickly become obvious is the norm for him, Rincewind’s life continues to be a series of upsetting things happening one after the other.  Some highlights from The Light Fantastic include:

Being forcibly teleported (back) onto the Disc by the parasitically-attached Great Spell living in his brain, after falling over the Rimfall.  Reality is completely rewritten to do this, but everything remains exactly the same except Rincewind’s new position clinging to the top of a pine tree.  (Twoflower gets dropped back onto the Disc as well, but that seems mostly incidental.)

Going to the land of Death while still alive, picking up his mostly-dead friend, and running right back out to the land of the living.

Camping in the mouth of a giant troll the size of a mountain, while being held captive by mercenaries.  Somehow only the mercenaries end up dead.

Being attacked by wizards and Things from the Dungeon Dimensions, and fighting said wizards and Things in life-or-death battles.

Using the most powerful magical book on the Disc, possibly the most magical item full-stop, and then afterwards, allowing said item to be eaten by the carnivorous sentient Luggage for safekeeping.  Rincewind ends up owning the Luggage before the end of the story—so technically, he still has this wildly dangerous book.

Oh, and saving the world, of course.  He also does that.

I love, love, love the way Pratchett writes ‘heroes’ vs. how he writes his protagonists.  Absolutely none of his protagonists are the stereotypical hero, and his stories are better for it.

Quick sidetrack to define terms: when I say ‘stereotypical hero,’ I’m talking about the kind of lawful good protagonists you see in most high fantasy adventure stories or superhero comics, the stuff with worldwide or even cosmic stakes.  They’re typically well-trained or have some kind of special skills, or they acquire special training/skills along the way.  They almost always set out specifically to save the world, and typically do not have any ulterior motives beyond it being ‘the right thing to do.’  Usually, they’re strong and rugged manly men with impressive jawlines.  I’m talking Aragorn from Lord of the Rings.  I’m talking Captain America and Superman.  I’m talking the real Boy Scout types.

Truth, justice, and apple pie—or whatever the regional-specific pastry of choice might be!

Pratchett’s heroes are not that.  They’re cowards.  They’re scared or confused or unprepared, or making the whole thing up as they go along.  They’re fools, alcoholics, con men.  They’re salty old ladies and know-it-all young girls.  If there is a stereotypical hero-type character, they’re going to be a foil for the actual main character, and they won’t stay perfectly pure and uncomplicated for long—I’m thinking specifically Carrot, though we’ll talk about him later when we get to the City Watch books.  

Here, what we get is Rincewind.  And he is as far from a stereotypical hero as it is possible to be, probably because he would have started sprinting full-speed away from the thought before anyone finished saying it out loud.  Rincewind doesn’t save the world because he suddenly found his courage, or developed bonus superpowers, or found some kind of magical sword to do the fighting for him.  (He actually found the sword back in The Colour of Magic, hated every second of it, and got rid of it as soon as possible.  Goodbye and good riddance to Kring the magic sword.)  He hasn’t secretly had the courage inside of himself all along.

Rincewind saves the world because he’s got nowhere left to run, and that’s excellent.

I’m going to save a lot of my rambling about Pratchett’s deconstruction of the concept of ‘heroes’ for when I get to Guards! Guards! and later City Watch books, since Carrot is, like I said, both the main example and the central thesis.  But it is very important for everyone to understand: for me, nothing is more satisfying from a literary perspective than knowing that, at the end of the Discworld series, coward and hero-only-by-accident-or-mistake Rincewind is one of the two people in contention for the spot as ‘ultimate savior of the world, the universe, and all of existence.’  The other is a teenage girl.

Honestly, the only reason I think Rincewind might edge her out for the title is because he technically saved a slightly larger slice of reality with this whole escapade.  In Tiffany’s defense, I’m 98% sure she hadn’t been born yet when this whole thing went down, so we really can’t blame her for not solving it first.  If she were there, she’d have it handled, and that’s just objective truth.

But Rincewind.  Rincewind.  At the end of The Light Fantastic, the dude’s spent two whole books screaming and running whenever something tries to kill/maim/eat/threaten him.  The audience has absolutely figured out by this point that while he’s smart and sarcastic and surprisingly speedy, he’s totally useless in a conflict.  His priority is saving his own skin, not dashing feats of derring-do or whatever it is heroes are supposed to do.

And yet with the end of the world looming, his back against the wall, and no real place left to run, when the Big Baddie demands that he give up the last Great Spell, the one last thing preventing the immediate destruction of everything and everyone, we get this from Rincewind:

“If it stops anywhere, it stops here, thought Rincewind. ‘You’ll have to take it,’ he said. ‘I won’t give it to you.’”

And that’s it.  That’s what saves the world.  Not a stereotypical hero, not a hero of legend, not a mythic champion showing up for a final glorious battle—it’s a Pratchett hero.  It’s an everyday guy, a coward and a failure, dragged in by accident and against his will.  It’s an average person, nothing really special, who looks at something that he knows is wrong and that he’s sure will hurt him for disobeying.  And yet he still says no.  It stops here.

Even rats fight back, as Rincewind himself says.

This is the moment that really sells me on Rincewind’s character, every time.  Even before Pratchett was really taking Rincewind or the Discworld seriously, even while the whole thing is still one massive joke more often than not, he’s still given the readers a POV character who feels believably real.  He’s scared shitless, he’s tired, he’s sarcastic, and he doesn’t want to be there.  But that’s too damn bad, because he’s the one there, and if he doesn’t do this, no one else will.

And maybe Rincewind’s not Superman, but he still does it. He succeeds, he saves the day, and—despite everything—he’s somehow the hero of this story.  Screaming all the way, maybe, but he still gets it done.

[Paul Kidby does incredible Discworld art, including some of the amazing cover art for the books.  You can find a lot of it on his website— www.paulkidby.com.  This one,The Colour of Magic, stars Rincewind, Twoflower, and their dramatic escape from the Wyrmberg.]

While we’re on the subject of heroes, we can’t skip over Cohen the Barbarian, who makes his debut here in The Light Fantastic. Now, Cohen is technically a hero, but this is still not in the ‘stereotypical hero’ sense—it’s literally his job.  It’s the thing he writes in the little box marked ‘Occupation’ on his tax forms, or at least it would be if he actually paid any taxes.  Or if he actually wrote things down.  

For Cohen, being a hero is how he makes a profit and pays the bills, and he is very, very good at it.  That’s 100% objective truth, and I know that for sure, because the man is old as the hills and still gets into life-or-death fights about twice a day, and that’s the sort of thing that gets you dead very quickly if you aren’t very good at what you do.

But Cohen still isn’t a stereotypical hero.  He does a lot of looting and pillaging, and his body count over the Rincewind books is—wow, it’s up there.  It’s a real doozy.  It’s hard to call his work heroism when it’s hardly a smidge to the left of repeated, outright murder.  I’ll probably circle back around to this in Interesting Times and The Last Hero, because there are some really interesting points made there about the ways that Cohen and his contemporaries play at heroes and villains like they’re a sort of performance they’re putting on rather than a moral act or a choice made out of necessity. But I will say now that putting Cohen in the same storylines as Rincewind really does put both characters into a more complex and interesting light.  Rincewind, the coward-not-hero, and Cohen, the fearless warrior, can kind of play off of each other.

It just goes to show Pratchett’s grasp of people as people, and not unidimensional cardboard cutouts.  Nobody’s always right.  Nobody is always wrong.  And real people don’t always stand up to perfect, pure concepts of what we think they should be.

Also, since Cohen is about a billion years old, we get little gems like his toothless lisp before he picks up some dentures, a concept that Twoflower brings with him from the Counterweight Continent.  (Or, as Cohen calls them, dine chewers.  That, friends, is a pune, or a play on words.)  Also, because he’s Cohen and therefore a dramatic bastard, the dentures are solid diamond.  It’s not as if the man can’t afford it, I guess?

I do want to take a little side trip into some other new details that pop up in The Light Fantastic, specifically the more in-depth stuff about Unseen University and the wizards.  The wizards are a lot of fun in the early Discworld books, specifically if you’re really bloodthirsty, because up until Ridcully arrives in Moving Pictures there’s quite a lot of turnover in Unseen University staff. The wizards are backstabbing bastards early on, and it’s almost jarring to compare the shifty, power-hungry jerks in The Light Fantastic and Sourcery to the fat, lazy hedonists they’ll become. We do get an impression of them as a collective that will stay pretty consistent as we move forward: their values, their skills, the way they do magic.

This is important not only because it establishes a lot of lasting detail for stories involving Rincewind, the University, and the city of Ankh-Morpork, but also because we’re about to get our first glimpse of the witches.  (Hey-o, here comes Equal Rites!)  With a lot of this stuff mapped out in advance, it makes it easier to run a compare-and-contrast of what’s going on with the two main schools of magic users on the Disc, what’s different between them, what’s the same—and the positives and negatives in them both.  (Again, hey-o, Equal Rites!  That all is about to be the whole damn point.)

I think it’s also fun to note that The Light Fantastic features the brief run of Galder Weatherwax as Archchancellor of the Unseen University, A.K.A. He Who Dies So Granny Weatherwax Can Have His Frankly Excellent Name.  Granny Weatherwax is the steel-souled spine of the witches, and the driving force of their run of books, and it’s kind of hilarious to think that Terry Pratchett did the writer’s equivalent of digging through a graveyard to give her a name.  This theft is later lampshaded and then ignored; Granny says something briefly about Galder Weatherwax being a distant cousin she barely knew, and the whole thing is never mentioned again from then on out. I can’t exactly remember where, and it might even have been in a short story or one of the side books Pratchett eventually put together, not in a novel.  Honestly, who cares—Granny Weatherwax is such a force of nature that it only takes a few minutes to forget that her name ever could have belonged to anyone but herself.

But Granny Weatherwax is not a discussion for The Light Fantastic.  It’s time to move on to Equal Rites!

* * * * * * * * * *

Side Notes:

This is the book where the Unseen University Librarian is changed into an orangutan.  It happens early on in a magical accident, as the grimoire containing the Eight Great Spells attempts to save Rincewind and the spell trapped in his mind, and he is never reverted to human form.  

He is referenced but does not appear in The Colour of Magic.  

At no point anywhere in the Discworld does he appear in human form.  At no point does he have lines in human language.  He is never named.  At no point is he described as he was prior to this change, except that the orangutan he becomes is initially said to look “like the head librarian,” so presumably he was already a bit orangutan-ish. 

For something as weird as this is, and for something with such long-lasting repercussions, it is treated in the moment as a thing of very little importance—except, of course, that now he has to be paid in bananas.  I find this absolutely delightful.

Tim Curry plays the wizard Trymon in the BBC miniseries The Colour of Magic, which combines The Colour of Magic and The Light Fantastic.  Trymon only appears in The Light Fantastic in the books, and I can’t read it anymore without picturing Tim Curry in his ridiculous robes and shoes, with his ridiculous overdramatic murder plots, working his way up to the top just to die a ridiculous death.

No, really. Look at this hat.  Look at this goatee.  Only Tim Curry has the acting chops to pull this off.

Death once again appears, and this time we also get to see his house and his daughter, Ysabell!  I can see why it didn’t take long to go from here to Mort: the concept is way too good to leave to little snatches and side appearances.

Krysoprase the troll shows up for the first time in this book.  Later, he’ll be known as Chrysoprase, and will make appearances in several other Discworld novels: Feet of Clay, Wyrd Sisters, and, notably, Thud.  There’s also a troll named Breccia in The Light Fantastic; Breccia will become the name of Chrysoprase’s gang in Ankh-Morpork.

While going through my copy of The Light Fantastic to work on this post, I glanced at the cover and briefly thought I was losing my mind.  At the bottom, there’s a blurb talking about beloved Discworld character “Conan the Barbarian”—but up until that moment I was 100% certain the beloved barbarian on the Disc was named “Cohen.”  Turns out I’m not crazy, it’s just that the literal cover of the book decides to make a reference to the character that Cohen is parodying rather than to Cohen himself.  And this is the 2008 print edition, not an early run or a badly-assembled e-reader edition, which means it’s being released by a professional publishing company a full 22 years after the original novel came out.  It’s not like nobody’s had time to look over the material and do some copy-editing.

* * * * * * * * * *

Favorite Quotes:

“The important thing about having lots of things to remember is that you’ve got to go somewhere afterwards where you can remember them, you see? You’ve got to stop. You haven’t really been anywhere until you’ve got back home.”

“Do you think there’s anything to eat in this forest?” “Yes,” said the wizard bitterly, “us.”

“Not for the first time she reflected that there were many drawbacks to being a swordswoman, not least of which was that men didn't take you seriously until you'd actually killed them, by which time it didn't really matter anyway.”

“Are you a hero, actually?” “Um, no. Not as such. Not at all, really. Even less than that, in fact.”

“What shall we do?’ said Twoflower. ‘Panic?’ said Rincewind hopefully. He always held that panic was the best means of survival; back in the olden days, his theory went, people faced with hungry sabre-toothed tigers could be divided very simply into those who panicked and those who stood there saying ‘What a magnificent brute!’ and ‘Here, pussy.”

#discworld #rincewind #the light fantastic

[raeynbowboi]

Sorting the Disney Princesses

Snow White - Hufflepuff

This likely comes as a surprise to no one. Friendly, patient, kind, and with hardly any temper to speak of, Snow White easily fits the mold for a Hufflepuff princess. Even after almost having her heart torn out, the princess never abandons her good nature, and I can’t recall her even saying anything bad about her step-mother despite knowing that she was the one trying to kill her. This kind and forgiving nature is exemplary of the Hufflepuff mindset, and she’s also very quick to shelter the queen in disguise when she believes her to be tired, showcasing that classic Hufflepuff hospitality.

Cinderella - Hufflepuff

One could certainly make a case for Gryffindor with Cinderella, as she has the bravery to stay in her bad home life, and shows a certain ammount of frustration, annoyance, and a fighting spirit that hasn’t been fully crushed by her circumstances. However, Cinderella is most at home in the house of patience, hard-work, and perseverance. Cinderella may also be a bit of a dreamer like Ravenclaw, but she shows a lack of innovation to really fit the Ravenclaw colors.  It is her repeated good will, generosity, kindness, and patience which helps her to earn her happily ever after.

Aurora - Ravenclaw

While admittedly, Aurora has little personality to speak of, Disney tends to market her as the dreamer of the bunch, always fantasizing about what could be, rather than how things are. This notion that she’s always thinking about ways society could be different is what earns her place in Ravenclaw, as Ravenclaws are the type of people who challenge the social norm and then question why the social norm is what it is. Aurora does just that upon learning that she’s a princess and already promised to a man she’s never met. While not in so many words, she does question why she has to marry someone she doesn’t know just because the circumstances of her birth are different from any other young woman.

Ariel - Slytherin

It’s perhaps a bit fitting that the first Disney Princess to break the passive damsel role would be sorted into the House of rebels, troublemakers, and rule-breakers. While Ariel could be sorted into Gryffindor for having the courage to venture where no mermaid has gone before, or as a Ravenclaw for her eccentric interests and her thirst for knowledge, I believe that the true core of Ariel’s character is her drive. When something stands in her way, she finds a way around it in pursuit of her goals. It is her ambition to walk on land, and nothing will stand in her way. Like Gryffindors, Slytherins can be reckless, willful, and have a certain disregard for the rules, and like Ravenclaws, Slytherins are known for being intelligent, clever, and driven to succeed. Ariel is a perfect example of Slytherin’s unwillingness to surrender no matter the odds against them, and is proof of what a Slytherin mindset of stubbornness, determination, and curiosity can achieve.

Belle - Ravenclaw

Belle is a rather perfect embodiment of the Ravenclaw spirit, so much so that it’s the times when she’s not sorted into Ravenclaw that are the odd ones out. Ravenclaws are noted for being odd, eccentric, free-spirited, unconcerned with how they look to others, and often getting lost in dreams. Belle also shares the Ravenclaw thirst for knowledge, as she enjoys reading and letting herself get lost in the worlds contained within. She seems to share this sorting with her father, as they’re both curious. Upon finding an enchanted castle, one of the first questions on both of their minds is how these things work or function. Belle is a fantastic example of Ravenclaw values, and she’d fit right in with the other intellectual oddballs.

Jasmine - Gryffindor

A lot of the time, I see Jasmine sorted into Slytherin, but I find this sorting to be problematic and this is largely due to a lack of ambition. Yes, Gryffindor and Slytherin both are known for being reckless, outspoken, and brash, but a Slytherin’s actions are usually tied to a goal, while a Gryffindor’s actions are more often driven by morality. The simple truth of the matter is that Jasmine has no motivation. Yes, she’s tired of being a princess, but aside from almost running away from home, she never really does anything else to really work toward this goal. Indeed, even this desire to leave is connected to her sense of right and wrong, and she feels so strongly about the immorality of being pawned off on some man for his money that she’s willing to break rules in order to get away from this problem.

Pocahontas - Ravenclaw

She could easily be placed in Gryffindor with her her adventurous, reckless, and exploritive personality, but the true crux of Pocachontas’ nature is her curiosity. She’s fascinated by the things she does not understand, and even being warned that the knowledge she seeks is dangerous does not color her image of the settlers. Even before the settlers came, she was known in her village for being a free spirit, seeing the world in a different way, questioning customs, and being seen as something of an oddball.

Mulan - Gryffindor

There is something to say about putting Mulan in Slytherin. She’s pretty smart, cunning, and resourceful. Although it’s used as a joke, she makes a move in a board game toward the beginning of the movie that seems to completely change the tides of the game the two men are playing, and she’s the first recruit to figure out to use the weights to help her climb the pole rather than working against them. However, the key difference I find between Slytherins and Gryffindors is intent. Mulan’s intent is not to be the best soldier in the camp, it is to protect her father’s life by going to war in his place. It is that act of bravery and selflessness that earns Mulan her spot in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin.

Tiana - Hufflepuff

Another princess with a hard case for Slytherin, Tiana’s entire character is founded on her ambition and her drive to succeed. However, like with Mulan, the thing that spares her from being in Slytherin is her intent. If Tiana wanted her restaurant and was a true Slytherin, she’d put more effort into getting the money to pay for it by any number of other ways, including asking Charlotte for the money. However, Tiana is driven just as much by her principles of hard-work as she is by her motivation to achieve her goal. That is what earns Tiana her place in Hufflepuff. If she was a Slytherin, she would have been focused on finding the quickest and most effective route to reach her goal, but her Hufflepuff nature caused her to put more value in doing the hard work for herself and making her dream come true by the sweat of her brow.

Rapunzel - Ravenclaw

Like with Belle and Pocahontas, Rapunzel is a free spirit who is completely at home with her more eccentric personality and is best known for her curious nature. She has a very rose-tinted view of the world which differs from the world views of everyone else around her, and many are quick to find her a bit silly or a little strange. She also shows a knack for ingenuity, finding ways to utilize her hair as an extension of herself, rather than simply something to drag behind her.

Merida - Slytherin

I feel as though Merida is frequently sorted into Gryffindor as more of a joke. Her movie is called “Brave” and bravery is the key trait of Gryffindor, so by that logic, she should be in Gryffindor. But by all accounts, I fail to see a single act of bravery in the entire film. What I see instead is a resourceful girl looking desperately for any loophole that she can find, and jumping at the first one she comes across to disastrous effects. Merida is not a chivalrous Gryffindor, but is instead a cunning Slytherin whose goal is resolved not through an act of heroism, but instead by trying to stack the deck in her favor. If anything, her mother shows more bravery as she tries her best to adapt to her bizarre situation as best she can.

Anna - Hufflepuff

A people person at heart, Anna puts her relations with other people above all else. There may be something to say for Gryffindor given her reckless trust of Prince Hans, and her courage to go looking for her sister despite everyone saying it’s too dangerous, however, I find that she’s truly a Hufflepuff at heart. She’s a kind person who puts the comfort and safety of others first, and had she known she couldn’t trust Hans, she likely would have appointed someone with a record for being trustworthy and compassionate.

Elsa - Hufflepuff

Elsa is surprisingly difficult to classify. She’s withdrawn and not much for people, and quick to hide herself away, which leads me to believe she’s not much for Gyrffindor or Hufflepuff. However, she’s also not really odd, experimental, or curious, so she doesn’t really fit in with Ravenclaw either. Slytherin is about the only fit, thought it’s rather weak at best. We see very little of Elsa’s personality, just that she’s defensive and would rather be alone than risk hurting people. This self-sacrificing nature is what ultimately lead me to sort her into Hufflepuff. She sees herself as a menace, and thus works to protect others from the threat she perceives in herself.

Moana - Gryffindor

The newest member of the family, Moana’s story and character arc both focus on her having the courage to dredge up her family past and to accept the weight of her responsibility, no matter how unfair it is. While one could argue that she’s a Ravenclaw for her desire to explore beyond her island, and a Slytherin for being willing to do anything to achieve this goal of exploration, Moana’s final trial comes down to two pivotal moments: Moana having the courage to continue her journey after failing, and Moana having the compassion to see the lava monster for what it actually is. Neither of these is connected to her curiosity or her ambition. It is an example of her setting her goals aside to take care of a problem that is right in front of her. That is why I ultimately place her in Gryffindor.

#disney #harry potter #disney princesses #disney princess #sorting hat

[borntosavethedoctor]

When Clara Oswald sat by the little Doctor's bed to tell him that being afraid is alright, she wasn't just paraphrasing the Doctor from the future, it was her own experience talking. After all that time she had spent trying to be perfect and always brave, she realized that being afraid is something we need to become greater.

[my contribution to 101 Claras to see]

In series 7 we witnessed Clara being scared many, many times. And as we know, she was even more scared than she let on. There was no shame in that and nobody could blame her. A nanny who wanted to see the stars found herself in a lot of perilous situations. Anyone would be scared. But you don’t have to let your fears to define who you are. You can use your fears to become who you want to be. And so every moment like this was usually followed by an act of pure heroism and bravery.

One of the biggest Clara’s fears was the fear of getting lost. She got lost many times. When she first met the Doctor, she got lost in the Wi-fi and didn’t know where she was. She got lost in the corridors of the TARDIS. She got lost in the Doctor’s timestream. And she also got lost at Akhaten.

The Rings of Akhaten is probably the most important episode of Clara’s story; it defines many features of Clara’s character and a big part of her back story. And as we find out in this precise episode, fear of getting lost was following her since childhood; she used to have nightmares about it and one day these nightmares came real. But her mother, whose legacy Clara held closely until the very end, found her. It was Clara’s mother who showed her that being lost is not the end of the world. Because fear can bring us together. Fear can bring you home.

When Clara met Merry Gejelh, the first thing she asked was: ‘Are you ok? Are you lost?’ The thought of a little girl that got lost made Clara going to help Merry. But when she told Merry that she was never again afraid of being lost, she must have lied. This fear followed her all the time. But she gave Merry courage that the little girl desperately needed and that was the priority.

And as the episode went on, the fear of getting lost was still there, hidden in different words but still present. ‘We don’t walk away!’ What else is this than not letting somebody get lost? And Clara did want to help. So while Merry and the people of Akhaten were singing their long song, a lullaby, a story without an end, Clara had to do more because the song wasn’t enough. Just imagine… what would have happened if the Old God had consumed the Doctor? Clara didn’t want to find out and decided to fight the Old God and sacrifice the most important leaf in human history, the most precious memory of her mother she had, and saved everyone. And all this rose from two little girls’ fears. You see? Fear is a superpower.

When Clara and the Doctor landed on the Soviet submarine and fought the Ice Warrior, Clara was really scared, she actually admitted it. She even didn’t wander off, that’s how terrified she was (compare this with Clara in series 9, recklessly and deliberately jumping into situations that were dangerous). You are trapped miles under the water in a submarine that makes funny noises with a slaughtering alien from Mars that threatens to wipe out your planet – wouldn’t you be scared? Yet Clara didn't let her fear make her become somebody she's not – she didn’t try to kill the Ice Warrior unlike the Soviet soldiers. She volunteered to approach to him, but not to hurt him, to talk to him. And when she confronted Skaldak in the end, she didn’t use weapons, she used her compassion and with her kind words reminded him of his daughter. Because if you’re very wise and very strong, fear doesn’t have to make you cruel or cowardly.

Clara might have been a teeny, tiny bit terrified when she and the Doctor wandered the Caliburn House looking for a ghost, but the real horror came when the Doctor got stuck in the pocket universe. What now? In that moment Clara forgot about her fear and did what needed to be done, although her actions might be considered ruthless. Because actions like this require bravery too. Hide was a breaking point. From now on, she wouldn’t find herself too scared to do anything. The fear was there and always will be, but Clara recognized that it wasn’t her enemy. Despite everything bad that could have happened, she persuaded the TARDIS to save the Doctor. Because fear can make you faster and cleverer and stronger.

The Doctor was dying in his own tomb, the universe was falling apart, the stars were going out and she knew she was the only one who could do something about it. Of course she was scared. She was walking into the Doctor’s time stream right after she had seen what it did to the Great Intelligence. Knowing that she had done it, that the Doctor had already encountered her echoes, wasn’t reassuring, because it didn’t mean that he could bring her back. So she just begs him to remember her; a girl who wasn’t scared to sacrifice herself to save the Doctor and consequently the universe. Because fear can make you kind.

Even later she was scared lots of times. But that was OK. She never allowed her fears to consume her. She always used them to do something good. And in the end, after all those wonderful and dangerous adventures with the Doctor in the TARDIS, fear was by her side, as her companion, when she stood on the trap street to face the raven. Shaking and crying, being scared for she was facing the certain death on the wings, she whispered to herself and to her fear to let her be brave. And her fear did exactly that. She faced the raven like a true heroine, not running, brave and scared at the same time. Because fear makes companions of us all.

#doctor who #dwedit #clara oswald #claraoswaldedit #tillthenexttimedoctor #mine: gifs #gifs: dw #meta: dw #mine: meta #546265984 years later #i'm finally here to publish this #better later than never right

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Book 4 : Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 20)

Description: Negotiations between Grayson and the Catalysts continue. Meanwhile, Rourke is plotting. 

Tagging: @xo-endlessmayhem-xo ; @princesstopgun

Chapter 20: A Tangled Web

Grayson

“Oh my god!” Poppy yelps. “Are you the Sean Gayle?!”

“Which Sean Gayle?” Dax asks, frowning.

“Only the Condors' star quarterback! I know you're not into sports, but haven't you at least played the UltraBowl video games?”

“If I don't want to play sports in real life, I'm not sure why I would want to play them on a video game, either,” Dax retorts. “...Did I know you liked football?”

“Probably not. There's a lot you don't know about me yet.” She winks at him. “I'm a woman of mystery.”

Sean Gayle clears his throat. “Okay, yes. I do play for the Condors. But that's not why I'm here. I'm here as Aquila. One of the Twelve Catalysts. And I'm here as Sean. Alodia's friend. It's why all six of us are here. Because you want to use Alodia to bring back Tahira.”

“It isn't that we want to use her,” I protest. “But we need her to--”

“I know. I know. And I sympathize. But we don't know yet if she could get hurt by this. We probably won't know until we've actually brought Alodia into it.” He glances at his companions. “We all believe Dragonness is worth the risk. I know Alodia believes it, too. But given the risk, we just can't bring Alodia into it until all of us are sure we can trust you.”

“It isn't just Alodia at stake, either,” Aleister adds. “As we explained before, the Prism Crystal is one piece of a much larger mystery. You could call us paranoid, and you'd be absolutely right. But we've seen what La Huerta's secrets can do when they fall into the wrong hands. ...And we already lost Alodia once.”

“Understand that we are committed to helping you,” Grace says. “But before you meet Alodia, every one of us is going to meet you. You're going to learn what she means to us. Because in the event that she comes to harm because of this...you need to understand exactly what you're asking us to risk. And we all need to know that you understand.”

“How do we convince you of that?” I ask, impatience and frustration barely concealed in my voice. They go on and on about what they're risking, but they don't have any idea what they'd really be gaining by bringing Tahira home.

Sean seems to sense my resentment. He looks into my eyes, holding my gaze. “...In many ways, La Huerta was a nightmare. We were never safe. We were often suffering. But through it all, we had each other. We had each other and we had Alodia. She was our leader, and every one of us was improved for knowing her. She was our hope.” He draws in a steadying breath, suddenly looking a little apprehensive. “...I had spent most of my life up to that point trying to be a hero. Not for the glory of it, but because I didn't believe I could trust anyone else. I thought it was on me to make sure the people I cared about never got hurt. I wanted to prove to the world that I was a better man than my abusive father. ...But somewhere along the way, that turned into me holding myself and everyone else to impossible standards. I became unforgiving, and I almost lost the love of my life because of it. Alodia taught me how to let go. She gave me the courage to trust.”

“We were all some kind of broken when we came to that island,” Zahra murmurs. “Misfits in one way or another, trying to figure out our lives. I was still stuck thinking that everyone was out for themselves. But you can't help but question that when someone invests in you like she invested in me. In all of us. She didn't deserve any of the crap that island threw at her.”

“I went to La Huerta on a mission of revenge,” Estela says. “I had shut out everything except that goal. ...I didn't actively want to frighten people off, but I had grown used to the idea that people were going to be afraid of me. ...Alodia never was. I stayed human because of her. And in the end, she prevented me from making what would have been the biggest mistake of my life.”

“Me, I was scared of the future,” Craig sighs. “I'd been a football star for awhile in college, but wasn't up to pro level. Soon as that became clear, I started giving up. I had never been good at school or anything like that, and without the game, I just didn't know what there was for me. ...But she didn't know what was coming for her, either. Every time the rest of us were starting to give up, she could give a speech to get us all back on our feet. She never let on how scared she was. ...We all thought Rourke killed her. ...I think she figured out he was coming for her, because I remember the last night we saw her five years ago, she made one last speech about what we all meant to her. Said she wasn't afraid...”

Zahra covers his hand with hers. “She might've been lying. But she made us believe it. ...It was probably the only flat-out lie she ever told us. She didn't usually hold back telling us what we needed to hear. She was always good at figuring that out.”

“...My whole life, my mother pushed me to be the best in everything,” Grace adds. “I arrived on La Huerta a nervous, neurotic, insecure mess. Every uncertainty sent me into a spiral of fear and shame because I wasn't supposed to be uncertain about anything. Alodia never acted surprised when I faced something that I couldn't handle. She never scolded me or acted disapproving. My weaknesses and mistakes never weighed more than my successes with her.”

“No one's mistakes count more than their virtues with her,” Aleister agrees. “If your good intentions are paving the road to hell, she will certainly call you out. If you have no virtues to speak of, she won't hesitate to take you down. But if there is even a chance of saving you, she'll crawl through the hell you created to do it. ...I made a horrible mistake on La Huerta, falling victim to my father's manipulation and betraying everyone. At the time, she spat in my face. But when next we met, she begged me to come back with her. Once I came to my senses, she never rubbed salt in the wound. I was forgiven, and that was all there was to it.”

“She does sound like an amazing person,” I concede. “...But so is Tahira.”

“...We know. We were all watching when she sacrificed herself to save the city. We're not disputing her heroism or her goodness.”

I am quiet for a moment. Thoughtful. “...All right. I accept that you all need to be more certain of everything before you bring someone as important to you as Alodia into this situation. So...what would it be worth if I brought Tahira's allies into this? If I let Talos and Minuet plead their case for Tahira, too?”

The six Catalysts take a moment to huddle up and discuss my offer. Rochelle steps nervously up to me.

“Do you really think they'll help?” she whispers.

Dax smiles a little. “For Tahira? Absolutely.”

The Catalysts break their huddle. “All right, you have a deal. Bring Talos and Minuet to the next meeting, and we'll bring Delphinus, Centaurus, and Pavo. They're the last three Catalysts in Northbridge.”

“...Then...that would bring us up to nine,” Rochelle says, her voice hopeful.

“It would,” Estela agrees. “...But don't get cavalier. The last hurdle will be Canis and Lupus. And they love Alodia more than the rest of us put together.”

Jake

Under the evening sky, wrapped in the warm, salty breeze wafting off the Pacific, I lean back in a lounge chair, cinching my arms gently around my wife's waist. She's reclined against my chest with a bowl of grapes and apple slices balanced on her lap, my legs wrapped around her bobsled-style. We had dinner with Diego's folks this evening, to tell them about the baby. It went about as well as we could have hoped for, according to Diego and Alodia. His mom fretted and wrung her hands awhile about the fact that I haven't put a ring on Alodia's finger yet, but then Alodia promised the baby would call her Abuelita, and that made everything acceptable.

I nuzzle Alodia's neck, inhaling the flowery scent of her body lotion. I let one hand creep up to cup her breast, but she gently takes my wrist and moves it back to her belly.

“Not now, Jake. I'm pretty tender there right now.”

“Ahh, right. You should tell your boobs it's a little early to be making milk.”

She snorts. “I think my boobs know what they're doing, thank you very much. I do wish they didn't hurt so much. You know I normally love it when you cop a feel.”

“Well, I don't have to grab your boobs.” I tug her T-shirt out of the waistband of her jeans and let my hand rest on her belly, rubbing in gentle, slow circles. “I could give Baby a little love...”  

“River.”

“...River?”

She closes her eyes, letting her head fall back onto my shoulder. “...That's the baby's name. River Skye McKenzie.”

“Is that for a boy or a girl?”

“Either one.”

I turn the name over in my mind for a moment. “River Skye McKenzie,” I murmur, tasting the name carefully. “I think I like it. Why River Skye, though?”

“This baby is us. You and me. It's the two of us together, loving each other. I want the baby to have a name that reflects that. I was thinking of moments we shared, moments that stood out to me, and my mind kept coming back to that time beside the river. The one inside the rift where we hid while the rainforest burned outside. ...I had just met the Endless at the Threshold. Except for you and Estela, everyone was missing. I didn't know if anyone was hurt or captured. I knew that Rourke would be coming after everyone. Trying to...tie up loose ends. ...But just for a moment, beside that river, nothing mattered except you and me.”

“...I remember that moment. I was all cut up about Mike. But I'd gotten you back, and for a moment, that was enough. ...And then you promised me we'd get Mike back, and I loved you more than ever.”

“...That's one of my favorite memories of us. That's why I want to name our baby River.”

“And Skye?”

She chuckles, bringing my hand up to press her lips to my palm. “Where we first met.”

I laugh. “I suppose 'Plane' is a tacky middle name. And I think if we have a son, he'd hate us if we gave him the name 'Delilah', even as a middle name.”

“...So...you approve of my choice?”

I tip her face toward mine and capture her mouth in a kiss. “I love it,” I assure her when we break apart, stroking her cheek with my forefinger. “...Are you content with our baby having my surname? Legally, you're still a Chandler.”

She shrugs. “What the hell is Chandler, though? A name my father made up when he assumed human form?”

“Or the name Diego dreamed up for you.”

“Hmm, that is a fair point. ...Still...it doesn't mean as much to me as McKenzie. If we ever do legally marry, I'll become Alodia McKenzie in a heartbeat.” She sighs, nuzzling into me. “...I can't believe it's already September. Diego's class starts on Monday...”

“Summer is just about over,” I agree. The words are out of my mouth before I consider them, and I hear my voice falter just a little. ...Her last message to the Catalysts still exists. What she thought would be her last message. ...Our summer is over, but another will come soon...

If she is aware of my sudden change in mood, she doesn't let on. “Luckily, this is southern California, so it's going to feel like summer until December. And even then, it won't really get cold.”

“Yeah. It's the same deal in Louisiana.”

“My first winter at Hartfeld was quite an experience. Autumn was incredible and beautiful with the leaves changing, but then it just kept getting colder. And then came the snow. I mean, I had seen snow before, but never so much of it in one place. Not to mention that it was still cold even when it wasn't snowing, and there wasn't really any way to escape it. There wasn't just one or two cold days and then it got back up to something more tolerable. Diego and I spent most of winter term freshman year under a blanket in his dorm room watching The Crown and the Flame and whining about the weather.”

“You're lucky you had someone to whine with,” I reply, planting a kiss on her neck. “The Academy in Annapolis was the first taste I had of a real northern winter. The whole reason Mike calls me Grandpa is because he said I sounded like an old man grumbling about how cold I was all the time.”

“Aww, poor Top Gun,” she cooes. “You're lucky you fell in love with a California girl.”

I close my eyes and let my cheek rest on top of her head, sighing contentedly. “I'm lucky my California girl fell in love with me.”

“You made it easy.”

I snort. “Liar.”

“No, I mean it. You can pretend you were all misanthropic and self-interested, but you were always kind.”

To you, maybe. I don't say that aloud, but it's true. Maybe I was never actively malicious or cruel, but I could be a callous jerk to the rest of them at the start. Especially Sean. But Alodia...I couldn't be callous with her. Who knows if it was just some unconscious understanding of her importance or what, but from the start, I had to fight for her. Fight for that idealistic fire burning in her eyes. That confidence and determination. I had to nurture her, to nurse the flame so she could shine brighter and stronger. I had to protect her. Hell, maybe I already loved her. From the moment she called me Top Gun...

“Well, you know how it is, Princess. You bring out the best in me. I ain't never gonna believe I'm half of what you deserve, but that you still choose me only makes me cherish you more.”

“...I chose you over more than two-thousand lifetimes, Jacob Lucas McKenzie. I will choose you over two-thousand more. No land, no sea...”

I finish her sentence, murmuring it like a prayer. “...No one will keep us apart.”

Everett Rourke

Oh, this is interesting. Very interesting. Quite an intriguing development. So much so that I can hardly believe it's real.

“I must consider this,” I murmur into my disguised phone.

“There is...something more, sir,” Lila ventures timidly. “Alodia is pregnant.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Impressive. I would not have imagined it possible for such a hybrid as herself to conceive with a human. I suppose Jacob McKenzie is the father.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I must consider this as well. The implications...what it could mean...”

“What implications...?”

“I am not sure just yet. How far gone is she? It cannot be more than two months.”

“It's not. I believe she's only about nine or ten weeks gone.”

“We have time enough then to consider how this will affect the situation. Perhaps this should go without staying, but do not attempt to take any steps against the child. It could be useful to us, and I do not want it destroyed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. Now, I must make another call. Continue as you were. Report any important developments, but otherwise, you are to wait for my instructions. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

I disconnect the call and immediately place another. I do not expect she will be pleased to hear from me. Perhaps she will even attempt to ignore me. But I cannot allow that. And it is not as if she can block me. This device was designed with a workaround to that little problem. Finally, I hear her voice, an angry growl in my ear.

“Who are you?” she snarls. “And why do you keep calling me? This had better be important, or I will have you placed under arrest for harrassment so fast your head will spin!”

“Unnecessary, my dear Ms. Hall. I am already safely locked away from society.” I pause, feeling a smirk on my lips. “...It is Ms. that you go by these days, isn't it? For all that you kept Mason Hall's surname, you don't mean to imply that you are still married, do you.”

There is a pause on the other end of the line. “...Everett Rourke Senior, I presume,” she finally says, her voice tight with irritation. “Your...singular charm is unmistakeable.”

“Please, call me Everett. Really, I ought to be calling you Blair, as well.”

“Don't you dare, Rourke.”

“Come now, Blair. Our children are married. We have a grandchild in common. We are practically family. Are you saying that doesn't put us on a first-name basis?”

“It absolutely does not,” she says firmly. “I doubt either of us are very welcome in our grandson's life, anyway. Now get to the point. What does the disgraced former C.E.O of Rourke International want with the lead investor in his children's company?”

“Not sympathy. Just information. On a woman who was first employed by Mansingh Transglobal about thirty or so years ago. I believe she worked for the company until her death.”

“And when did she die?”

“In 1996. Her name was Cassandra Chandler.”

#Endless Summer #pixelberry choices #choices stories you play #playchoices #hero #Diego Soto #Jake McKenzie #sean gayle #raj bhandarkar #aleister rourke #Craig Hsiao #quinn kelly #estela montoya #zahra namazi #grace hall #michelle nguyen #grayson prescott #dax darcisse #poppy patel #eva minuet #rochelle

[greetingsfromthebottomofthewell]

PHOBIAS ARE SHAPED LIKE LITTLE GREEN PILLS - PART 4: NECROPHOBIA

[source] [triggers]

what a strange twist! may hayong know fortune from now on

Necrophobia - Is the fear of death or the fear of dead people. Max made a special deal with me when he showed up at my door this morning. This was not a pill that he intended to use, but he feels like this would be able to wrap up the research quicker.

Before I begin, I want to address a couple of questions you guys had.

One of the comments in the previous part questioned me about how I said nothing creepy happened to me in the past, but honestly, I don’t have a great answer for that. The human mind is funny. We only perceive things the way we want to perceive things. I never felt like I had any part of the deaths that occurred, instead, I just called it a coincidence. It just makes life seem a lot more simple. In a way, I am thankful for the pills, it has opened up my eyes to so much.

Other people have brought up the fact that Max is not human. You’re right. He isn’t, but I did find out that I’m not exactly human either. Funny thing is, if someone knew what we both were before they met us, they would be far more scared meeting me than Max. I’ll get back to that later on in this post.

I don’t know what Max’s last name is. Hell, I don’t even know what his real first name is. I just know that for the first time, I have bested that piece of shit.

Max came to my house right as I was about to take my fourth pill. I know I should have been surprised he knew where I lived, but after the last couple of days, I started to believe that he just knew where I was at all times.

Max: ”You gonna let me in? Or are you going to be like your rude-ass father and let me stand in the cold?

Me: ”Come in, I didn’t think you would even have the decency to ask. Sit down anywhere you want. Would you like some tea with gold flakes or peanut butter toast with jizz from the gods?”

Max: ”No need to be hostile, and don’t insult the gods. Anyways, I didn’t come here to make small talk with a dull-headed human, I came here to give you a deal.”

Me: ”I’m not taking any more pills after this. I don’t give a fuck how much you give me.”

Max: ”No, and if you’d just shut the fuck up and listen, you would see that I am trying to help you. Instead of taking the last three pills, I will give you one pill. This pill will only last for three hours, and I will sit and observe. Do we have a deal?”

Me: ”Fuck that. You’re just trying to kill me, and stay here so you can get rid of the evidence or some shit.”

Max: ”Killing you would be doing you a service. After all, you would just be closer to your daddy if you die. No. I just want to see how you would react to this pill. I’ll even let you know what it will do to you.”

Me: ”Just tell me, no need to be secretive about it when you’re going to end up telling me anyways.”

Max: ”Necrophobia. Fear of the dead and dying. Honestly, it is the direct opposite of you, and I feel like this would be fun for me to watch.”

Max tossed the pill towards me, and I stared down at the pill. After thinking about it for a couple of seconds, I grabbed the other three pills and gave them to Max. He put the pills in his pocket and sat down on the couch. After taking a couple of deep breaths, I put the pill in my mouth and swallowed.

Immediately, red spots started appearing everywhere I looked, and a high pitch noise filled the air. Max calmly sat there as the noise started to get louder and louder. Soon, it was at an unbearable volume, and pain erupted inside of my head. It felt like every little noise that went into my ear tried to escape through parts of my skull. I started to cry out in agony when I could hear Max speaking to me. Even with my hands over my ears, I could hear his voice clearly.

”Poor uncle, poor poor uncle. Always thought he was human. Thought he would just go through life as a mere mortal. Haaaa. I don’t blame you. After all, your lack of intelligence proves you are truly the son of “The Unseen One” and for that, I must make sure your sanity is gone. May death come slow, but your life be a disappointment to our family. May the children of Apollo rise and the descendants of Hades remain in the underworld where they belong.”

I tried grabbing him, but I just couldn’t take my hands off of my ears. I kept trying to remind myself that the noise was just my imagination, but I couldn’t convince myself. I felt like if I took my hands off of my ears, I would die. I couldn’t die. No, I never wanted to die. I tried using anger to motivate me. I thought of my father dying because of Max, but instead of making me angry, my entire body locked up in fear. The thought of a dead body rotting away in the dirt, skin peeling off of his rotten flesh, intestines becoming a grayish sludge.

The sound was too loud. Everything I saw was completely red. It was too much. I blacked out, and I could hear Max laughing.

As I started to open my eyes, I heard a voice deeper than I have ever heard.

”The last thing you should be afraid of is death. Don’t let the fear overpower you. Make death your ally and not your enemy.”

Everything was back to normal. The sound was gone. The red spots disappeared, and Max was still sitting on the couch. He looked up at me with a small smile on his face and said, ”Well done, you only have 30 minutes left. Here. Drink some water. It should help you feel like normal again.”

I didn’t trust him anymore, and I did the one thing I should have done all along.

Max did seem confused when he saw his arm moving on its own. Yes, he did struggle when his hand went into his pocket and placed the pills on his tongue. He thrashed around when his other hand put the bottle of water to his lips. The high pitched noise and the red spots started to come back, but it was already too late. The pill was weaker now, and I could easily ignore it. Every gulp Max took of the drink, I could see the panic in his eyes grow.

I ran around the house and locked every door. It took thirty minutes for Max to become a paranoid mess, and it was the second part of the death I planned out for him. After a couple of minutes, he silently got up and went to my kitchen. He grabbed a couple of knives and ran as quickly as he could down the street. I sat on my couch and watched the news. It didn’t take long for the local news to cover a story about a guy who walked into local Taco Bell and started stabbing himself in the chest with every single knife he had. It was funny listening to one guy’s recount of the event.

”I don’t know man. The dude just came in here and screamed about how he didn’t want no woman to touch him. He walked up to a guy holding an orange and slapped that shit right out his hand and told him to not fu-, sorry, I mean mess with the devil fruit. Last thing he said was he was afraid to live in a dirty world and started to stab himself. Son’a bitch was nuts.”

Well, I don’t really have much else to say, but I do know that this may seem a little confusing to some of you guys. So I will explain.

Max was a son of Apollo, and I am a son of Hades. We aren’t gods, but we do have a fraction of the powers our parents do. Max knew how I would act in particular situations and he knew I would end up killing a couple of people I love. He wanted to break me down mentally, and he damn near succeeded. He just became careless with the little game he made for me. No, I didn’t end up getting the 43 grand, but shit, I’m just glad I didn’t go insane.

What am I going to do now? Well, I’m quitting my job for starters, and going to an organization that offered me help. I don’t know much about them, but I do know that they will be able to help me.

Yes, I see the father that passed away as my real father. He was there for me when I was growing up, and the hurt I feel from his death will forever be there. For that I will say, rest in peace, may your soul pass on to Elysium.

I just want to say one thing. The pills did help me overcome my normal cowardice self. I am not a hero by any means, nor do I have mad amounts of muscles. Courage is not found through bouts of heroism. No, it’s found through doing things you thought you would never do. Whether it be talking to a girl you always had a crush on, telling your mother to stop taking the pills that made her become a complete pile of trash, or snatching the bottle of beer out of your dad’s hands so he can see the tears that run down your face because of his struggle with alcohol. I hope you can take a lesson out of my experiences. Keep pushing forward. If you fall back, you will still be a hell of a lot further than when you started.

As always, this was Hayong, and I would like to thank all of you for your suggestions and support. It was by far the roughest experience in my life, but you helped me get through it. If I do end up with more experiences from the organization in the future, I will post about it.

Until then, goodbye.

P.S. Hey Max, hope you have fun in the underworld. I’m sure Hades has a special treat for you.

#horror #scary #scary stories #stories #creepypasta #nosleep #phobias are shaped like little green pills #necrophobia

[irlpinkiepie]

a house built on sand, chapter 2

a bnha fic

Dreams are fickle creatures.

Sometimes the most certain can fall apart at a moment’s notice, and sometimes, the most fantastic dreams have a chance of coming true.

Of course, that all depends on the dreamer.

[ao3]

Katsuki Bakugou was an anomaly.

“Explosion: A pair of otherwise harmless quirks uniting in powerful harmony. The user can manifest sparks at will, which ignite nitroglycerin-infused sweat produced in the palms to create explosions. Powerful in combat scenarios, due to the raw power and unpredictability of its manifestation; however, like most body-localised quirks, it lacks range and is easily countered by attacking the combat style rather than the quirk. Rescue applications thus far unknown, but the quirk’s strength suggests potential.”

Partly anomalous in that he had an unusually powerful quirk by sheer chance, coupled with enough ambition to fully utilise it; partly so in the way in which he approached life with a certainty nonpareil; but mostly, for Izuku, in his seemingly uncanny aptitude for being unnervingly present as far back as she could remember.

Some of that was just a fact of life; she had moved houses a couple of times, but her mother and Katsuki’s parents were friends and tried to coordinate their moves as best they could. But for some reason, they also seemed convinced beyond belief that Izuku and Katsuki were friends as children and therefore must always stay that way, regardless of how much things change.

At least she'd accepted one thing.

In any case, it became evident within about five seconds that her original high school plan was a clear mistake.

“Are you kidding! I already aced the mock exam - I’m practically made for it!”

She knew that normally no student without a quirk would be able to get into a hero school, let alone graduate. But would trying really hurt anyone? Besides, worst case scenario: this kind of research and analysis would be invaluable in the hands of a hero who knew how to use it. Sidekick, maybe; secretary, most likely. As much as the idea of glamour and heroism appealed to her, there was something comforting about the idea of being just outside the spotlight.

“I’m the best student in the class already! I doubt any of these other losers could even come close.”

Especially now.

“Well, I believe Izuku here was also thinking of applying…”

Twenty-eight stunned faces, and one burning glare, all suddenly turned to face her.

~~~~~

Never satisfied with just the last word, Katsuki took the first as well.

“Are you kidding? Deku?” he roared, his voice booming around the classroom. “I know you’re a special case and all, but there’s only so far studying can get you.” Pulling his legs off the desk in front of him, he leaned forward towards her, resting his chin on one hand and mockingly tapping his forehead with the other. “You’ve gotta have a hero’s quirk to get into a hero’s school, you know!”

Panic. Calm.

Try to ignore the stares.

“Well, I mean…” Play it off. “Sure, it’s not been done before, but there’s a first time for everything, right?” Hopefully that’s enough to deflect suspicion.

Oh. Too late for hoping, right.

“Listen,” Katsuki snarled, all pretenses gone now. “If you were any other kid in this class, I’d think you were trying to steal my thunder.”

A spark. Pressing forward. Where’s the teacher?

“But this?” He paused for a moment, savoring the room’s utter silence. “A Quirkless bookworm, trying to get into UA? Trying to upstage me?”

No more smile.

“I, uh…” don’t let him get mad don’t let him get mad don’t let him get mad-- “I really, truly, wasn’t trying to show off, or, or say I was better or anything like that.”

Confusion; doubt, maybe. An improvement.

“I just.” Don’t let on more than you need to. “Getting into UA has kind of been a dream of mine…… ever since I was little. So I thought it would at least be worth it to try--”

“Listen,” Katsuki said, loudly clapping Izuku’s back as he sat down on top of her desk. “Don’t try to get yourself killed this young. Stick to something more fitting of a book boy like yourself. Who knows, maybe one day when I’m out fighting villains and saving the world, you can wave to me from your office.” He flashed her a faint smirk, then trudged to his seat and put his legs back up on his desk.

Not mad. Friendly. Maybe. Hard to say.

~~~~~

Izuku’s third memory. Age 4. The night she came home from the doctor’s office.

She wasn’t sure how she felt yet, but she was shaking, and her eyes were floodgates that might burst at any moment. She guessed that this was sadness, but something didn’t seem quite right about that description. It was the best she had, though.

There was only one thing for it. Pull up the video on her computer. At this point, its existence was so integral to her that she didn’t even think as she tapped at the keyboard.

When her mother walked in and saw her staring at the screen with tears pouring down her face, her expression fixed in place as she gazed blankly at the Symbol of Peace’s first and most famous rescue, she instantly knew something was wrong.

“I’m so sorry,” she sighed before falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around her grief-stricken daughter. Izuku, on the other hand, remained motionless, fixated on the events unfolding on the screen as she had seen them more times than she could count.

As far as she knew, she had failed her hero.

Clutching the charred, damp remains of her notebook, Izuku ran from the school grounds as quickly as she could. Duck through the alley, down the hill towards the underpass through the bridge; technically, this wasn’t an emergency, but she had been embarrassed enough today without strangers making it worse.

Had Katsuki forgotten? Or was he just playing it up to keep her safe? They didn’t talk much outside of school these days, so it was difficult to say for sure.

The book had been a little much, though - as much as he claimed to be “making sure you don’t get your hopes up too high”, she nearly panicked when he threw his stolen goods out the window. Fortunately, she had acted fast, and the pages were still mostly intact when she fished it out of the fountain. Some marginal notes lost to the aether, but those can be remade; some of the later pages burnt away in his grasp, but she still had the news articles bookmarked; it wouldn’t be hard to recreate. Wiping the notebook gently across the front of her uniform, she did another quick check, then tucked it gently into her bag before lying down in the grass by the side of the road.

Malicious. Maybe. He tried. Maybe. He--

Blinking vigourously, she shook her head to clear those thoughts.

Izuku’s second memory. Earlier that day.

She didn’t like how cold and mechanical this place was. At school and at home, the walls were filled with life, and the people always stopped to say hello. She wasn’t used to having this many people refuse to acknowledge her, in this weird place where every surface shined a sickly white light.

Even now, kicking her legs back and forth in the chair outside the room where her mother was talking to one of the doctors who had examined her, there was not a single thing which threatened to catch her attention, so she turned around in her chair and pressed her ear to the wall, trying desperately to catch snippets of their conversation.

“…and you’re sure it’s not just a mutation? Those happen.”

“…would explain a dissimilarity but not a failure to manifest…”

“…far past the typical age for…”

“…better to know now then be crushed later.”

It didn’t all make sense to her, but she knew it was something bad.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but your son--”

“Ahem.”

“…your daughter just isn’t going to develop a quirk.”

In the car ride home, she listened to her mother try desperately to explain what had happened. She didn’t have the heart to tell her that she had already heard.

“Mom? Do you…… do you think I can still be a hero?”

Sometimes silence speaks volumes.

She didn’t remember the rest of the car ride, or her frantic dash into the house and upstairs to her bedroom.

For some reason, the last couple years of school had been exhausting. Ordinarily, after a day like this, Izuku would want nothing more than to run home, curl up within the safety of her bed, and escape for a moment. But today felt like a special moment for some reason, and she wasn’t about to squander the advantage.

Sitting up and crossing her arms over her chest, she thought again about Katsuki, about UA High, about her future, and she resolved herself.

“I, Izuku Midoriya…” She didn’t know where the words were coming from, but she was too swept up in the moment to care. “…promise to seek out my own future, and never give up! No matter what!”

The decisiveness of her exclamation filled her with resolve, but it still felt somewhat out of place in the uncertainty of the moment. She still didn’t know what would happen after this year, she still didn’t know how to feel about the one kid in class who still paid her any mind - and yet, bolstered by a newfound courage, she picked herself up and headed into the underpass on her way home.

After a few moments, she became acutely aware that she also didn’t know the consequences of not checking local news before walking so close to a drainage grate.

Her first memory.

Only hints of details. A field, a path - some other children?

A flash of blond hair.

Understanding feelings is difficult; putting them to words is harder. Still, these words feel natural enough.

“I don’t think I’m like you. I don’t think I’m a boy. I think I’m a girl.”

Waiting for a response with bated breath.

“Cool,” comes the reply from the boy with blond hair, and he smiles and lets off a flash of light and heat that still dazzles her. She’s a late bloomer, her mother tells her, and seeing a quirk like this is almost magical.

The conversation turns, as it often does. This time it’s in a direction that favours her interests.

“Do you think,” she says, not knowing what to expect even from herself, “that we can be as strong as All Might one day?”

“You can feel free,” he says without a care, “but I’m gonna be stronger.”

She hadn’t felt tense and uncomfortable a single time that whole conversation.

By the time she saw the man made of slime, he was already enveloping her.

She tried to struggle and break free; she tried to call for help; failing everything, she began to panic, but even that was cut short by her breath suddenly being cut off.

A voice in the distance was all she heard as she lost consciousness.

#talking always yes lots of reading #ok to rebagel #bnha #tv: my hero academia #i am consumed by writing this fic now #ahbos

[synoikismos]

[1/?] really, you are no different from any other man hungry for glory, are you? willing to sacrifice everything, uncaring of all those you tread into the dust in the name of your rise - you who offended the very patroness of your kind - that really, you are no hero, are you? slaying a bull and calling it heroism, perhaps we ought to be anointing heroes left and right in the agora and temple.

[2/?] they say that heroes need courage most of all. it is not courage to abandon a girl who loved you, not courage to kill a bull, not courage to cause your father to jump into the ocean in grief - what did your mother teach you, that for your own glory and gold the only option is to cast the net of grief unto others, wrapped in false promises of love and affection? they do say your father refuses to acknowledge you - would he care to taint the purity of his realm with one like you?

[3/?] a terrible man, that is what they shall say of you, before promptly forgetting you ever were.

a silence falls, dark and deadly, as he regards the stranger spilling such sordid truths—if they were even truths. were they blessed by the golden rays of the dawn, perhaps theseus could have comported himself better, charm exchanged for apathy, nothing more and nothing less. the best way to kill a story is to ignore it; yet here, in this later hour, inky veins of the night falling on the floor despite the candlelight of the tavern, he cannot help but feel slighted.

(  he cannot help, too, the feeling of being judged. in a moment, it is as if he is trapped once more in the depths of hades, desolate and despairing. he is like a flame snuffed out; he is weary.  )

❛  your assessment is unfair,  ❜  he says, and underneath the veneer of strength, the show of placidity, this almost careful consistency to a role that has designated him hero and slayer—underneath all that: there is the sound of vulnerability, almost human, almost shameful.  ❛  not to me but to the memory of the dozens of athenians killed by the creature you would dismiss out of hand as a mere bull.  ❜  

(  it is easy to imagine, perhaps, that he only did what he did in pursuit of greater glory, to accord his name some sort of fame upon which to build his legend upon; but all theseus can remember is this: the fear of ships across the sea, the loss of many athenian youths, the crumbling of a foundation for a future, a king who cannot—would not—do anything—and theseus ?  theseus said: when the next ship comes, let me be sacrificed in their stead.  )

it is this insult to the citizens of athens that hurts him most, because he would not stand to have the citizens of his home be thought of as weak, as cowards who could not stand up to what any middling farmer could kill with his bare hands. he did not stain his hands red for a livestock animal; athens did not cry out in anguish because of mere cattle.

crete had demanded a tribute: seven young men and seven maidens for every turn of the earth around the sun. how many names to history had been lost in this madness ?  how many futures had been wiped out ?  how many families were broken apart ?  how much was lost then, lost now, lost forever ?

❛  you are free to think of me however you may like,  ❜  he says. for a moment, he appears like the king that he was, the demigod that he is, the hero that he still hopes he is.  ❛  both of us will long be dead before a proper assessment of my legacy can be done—but do not say that i cared so little about athens that i only saved her in pursuit of my glory. if you had heard the cries, seen the expressions of anguish, then even you perhaps would do anything to stop such misery from being perpetuated.  ❜

(  and he was successful, wasn’t he ?  there are no more tears in athens now—the same athens which does not think to receive him anymore, who refuses him his crown.  )

❛  as for the other accusations,  ❜  he says,  ❛  do you not think me plagued by them ?  you speak so much of that which you do not know, as if i did not languish over such miseries in my own time and my own place.  ❜  his mouth twitches, a slight faltering of the mask. it says more than he could ever know.  ❛  if i am a terrible man, then so be it. it is too late now.  ❜

too late for what ?  salvation ?  absolution ? contrition ? correction ?  

like all heroes, he is silent on his legacy. like all heroes, he is a coward.

(  why do you think all heroes try to run away from the undeniable truth of their humanity ?

it’s because they are afraid.  )

#*（ 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐬 ） ⁄ τὸ ἑαυτὸν γνῶναι — ask memes ! #*（ 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐬 ） ⁄ εἰ μή ἐγένου πρῶτον ἡ σποδός — self ! #obviously taking supreme liberties w the setting n the rest but ! #i just rlly wanted to write theseus' reaction n went 4 the most believable #but also nonnie ? u snatched my wig ? #bless u !!! xx #also underneath all that fluff n ego n self importance ? is a big heart eyes emoji for the citizens n city of athens ; insult his name ; #insult his deeds ; insult his actions — but if u denigrate his actions; it better not be denigrating athenians as well #ig some part of this is obviously self serving bc it accentuates his heroism but also — he rlly does not like the implication #that all those athenians died 4 nothing lmfao so he's all like ''pls check urself???'' #like theseus has a Very Solid Ideology ok; he just .... Does Not show it bc — well; why would he ? #also i love how i keep using the heliocentric model even tho they were probably dumb n Did Not Know Shit

[whytehartleanne]

In memory of Sergeant Michael Willetts, GC.

A True British Hero:

Michael Willetts of 3 PARA (13 August, 1943 - 25 May, 1971) was one of the first British soldiers to be killed during 'The Troubles' in Northern Ireland, and the recipient of a posthumous George Cross for his heroism in saving lives during the Provisional Irish Republican Army bombing which claimed his own. He is buried at St Mary's Church, Blidworth, Nottinghamshire.

Operation Banner:

Operation Banner was the operational name for the British Armed Forces' operation in Northern Ireland from August 1969 to July 2007, as part of 'The Troubles.' It was the longest, continuous deployment in British Military history. The British Army was initially deployed, at the request of the unionist government of Northern Ireland, in response to the August 1969 riots. Its role was to support the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) and to assert the authority of the British government in Northern Ireland.

The main opposition to the British military's deployment came from the Provisional Irish Republican Army (IRA). It waged a guerrilla campaign against the British military from 1970 to 1997. An internal British Army document released in 2007 stated that, whilst the Army had failed to defeat the IRA, it had made it impossible for the IRA to win through violence, and had also reduced substantially the death toll in the last years of the conflict.

Bio/Death:

Born in 1943 in the Nottinghamshire town of Sutton-in-Ashfield, Michael Willetts entered a local colliery after leaving school, but found that he did not suit the job, and so joined the 3rd Battalion of the Parachute Regiment in the British Army, in March 1962, at the age of 20. He married his wife Sandra in October 1965 and the couple had two children, Dean and Trudy - aged 3 and 5 when their father was murdered.

He was a talented radio operator - particularly good at Morse Code. After serving in Malta, and along with the rest of his regiment, Sergeant Willetts was dispatched to Northern Ireland in 1971 at the outbreak of violence there between Irish nationalists and the unionist Royal Ulster Constabulary.

On 25th May he called his wife at lunchtime and they talked about their little girl who had started school that day.

Just before 8.30pm an IRA man entered the reception hall of Springfield Road RUC Police Station. He was carrying a suitcase out of which a smoking fuse could be seen. Immediately after dumping it on the floor he ran out to a waiting car.

In the reception area of the station were Patrick Gray and his daughter Colette, 4, and Elizabeth Cummings and her son Carl, also 4, along with a number of RUC officers, one of whom spotted the smoking fuse and raised the alarm.

Sergeant Willetts was on duty in the inner hall when he heard the commotion and sent a fellow soldier up to the first floor to warn those working there, while he himself headed to reception. He found the Police Officers ushering the members of public to safety.

Patrick Gray describes what Sergeant Willetts did:

"We all rushed as fast as we could through the enquiry office towards the door at the end of the room. I remember this young Sergeant standing in the door and holding it open for us all. He was very calm and stood there until we had all moved through."

Sergeant Willetts effectively shielded the civilians and Police Officers with his own body until they were safely past him and outside - he then stood in the doorway, shielding those taking cover when the bomb exploded.

It was a full week and after the funeral before his wife could bring herself to sit down and be told the whole story. In the 2012 book "The Paras" she is recorded as saying:

"I wasn't surprised at all because there was no way he would have gone out that door leaving anyone in there. He loved people. His friends and colleagues all spoke highly of him. The presence of the children and their Mother made him do what he had to do, which was get them out of there as soon as possible. My own grief eventually moulded with a sense of pride, but also anger that the bombings continued. He was a good example of a good British soldier. The regiment was very proud of his courage."

One of those serving in the station, Constable Phoenix, made his way back to where the bomb went off after the explosion. Constable Phoenix became a prominent anti-terrorism Detective Superintendent and was killed in the Chinook helicopter crash on the Mull of Kintyre in 1994.

Lost Lives quotes from Constable Phoenix, Policing the Shadows:

"Constable Phoenix made his way to the entrance area where he saw Sergeant Willetts lying with the back of his head gaping open. A metal chunk from a locker hurled across the room by the force of the explosion had struck him. Local people had gathered outside and began to help clear the debris, offering what assistance they could.

Ambulances began ferrying the injured to the nearby Royal Victoria Hospital. Lieutenant Colonel Chiswell was with Sergeant Willetts, who was taken out on a door to the ambulance. A crowd of youths were waiting to greet them. They started to jeer and scream obscenities at the badly wounded soldiers. Lieutenant Colonel Chiswell recalled, "My reaction was one of total disbelief that anyone could be so inhumane."

"Dying to protect little children was just the sort of thing I would have expected him to do," Sergeant Willetts' brother-in-law quoted in a contemporary report which also details the actions of a Republican crowd on the day of the murder.

Sergeant Willetts, who was due to leave Northern Ireland in a few days, died after two hours on the operating table.

Memorial Badge:

George Cross:

In June 1971, Sergeant Michael Willetts' 3-year-old son collected the George Cross posthumously awarded to his father. A news report from the time records that his mother Sandra Willetts said:

"I have no bitterness towards the Irish. But it hurts to hear them complain about the troops. The Army is just trying to stop innocent people being murdered."

George Cross Medal Citation:

"The Queen has been graciously pleased to approve the posthumous award of the George Cross to: 2391067 Sergeant Michael WILLETS, The Parachute Regiment.

At 8.24pm on the evening of 25th May 1971, a terrorist entered the reception hall of the Springfield Road Police Station in Belfast. He carried a suitcase from which a smoking fuse protruded, dumped it quickly on the floor and fled outside. Inside the room were a man and a woman, two children and several police officers. One of the latter saw at once the smoking case and raised the alarm. The Police Officers began to organise the evacuation of the hall past the reception desk, through the reception office and out by a door into the rear passage.

Sergeant Michael Willetts was on duty in the inner hall. Hearing the alarm, he sent an N.C.O up to the first floor to warn those above and hastened himself to the door towards which a Police Officer was thrusting those in the reception hall and office. He held the door open while all passed safely through and then stood in then stood in the doorway, shielding those taking cover. In the next moment, the bomb exploded with terrible force.

Sergeant Willetts was mortally wounded. His duty did not require him to enter the threatened area, his post was elsewhere. He knew well, after 4 months service in Belfast, the peril of going towards a terrorist bomb but he did not hesitate to do so. All those approaching the door from the far side agree that if they had had to check to open the door they would have perished. Even when they had reached the rear passage, Sergeant Willetts waited, placing his body as a screen to shelter them. By this considered act of bravery, he risked - and lost - his life for those of the adults and children. His selflessness, his courage are beyond praise.

22nd June 1971." - London Gazette, 21 June 1971.

Other Honours:

Michael Willetts was also posthumously awarded Man of the Year in 1971 by RADAR, the Royal Association for Disability and Rehabilitation.

"Soldier" written, recorded and performed by Harvey Andrews:

In 1972, folk musician Harvey Andrews wrote and recorded "Soldier."

The song was never intended to be an account of what happened to Sergeant Willetts - it was inspired by the actual story.

Whatever may be said about the artist's poetic licence, there's no doubting the power of the song's lyrics, and although Harvey Andrews was an established and well respected artist the song was banned from the airwaves by the BBC for fear that it would upset Nationalists in Northern Ireland.

Harvey Andrews recalls:

"When I wrote it, based on the Sergeant Willetts incident, the protest song movement was well established. I had no idea the song would become so big.

It was banned from broadcasting in Britain and I was not allowed to sing it on "Folk on Two" on BBC radio. Soldiers were not allowed to play it. One has emailed that he was charged and locked up for a few days. It was sold in the streets of Belfast and was basically number one over there but was never printed as such, I think. It has been bootlegged as well as re-recorded by Protestant bands in Scotland and sold illegally in pubs."

He insists that the song was intended to transcend sectarianism - something which seems reasonable when one actually thinks about the lyrics.

Not only that, but they are words which reflect the general attitude of soldiers from Great Britain quite well. They provided a title for not one but two of Ken Wharton's excellent books about Operation Banner.

🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶

"But will the children growing up learn at their mothers' knees

The story of the soldier who bought their liberty

Who used his youthful body as a means towards an end

Who gave his life to those who called him murderer, not friend?"

🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶