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mellowswriting · 3 years

Text

Meaning Found

pairing || Poe Dameron x Reader

summary || Sometimes it takes a crash and the fear that your best friend is dead to finally admit that you love his stupid ass.

word count || 3,466

warnings || language, allusions to sex, minor injuries, lots of teenage makeout sessions lmao

a/n || I rewatched the sequel trilogy and was reminded of my intense love of Poe Dameron, so this kind of just... happened. My first Poe fic, too, so I tried to nail his sarcastic, teasing personality but I don’t know how well I did. Let me know what you think!

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“Poe?” You called out, your hands cupped around your mouth in a vain attempt to amplify your voice through the trees. “Poe, where are you?!”

It had been hours since you crashed on this godforsaken planet, the smell of smoke and overheated metal rousing you from your unconscious state. The first thing you noticed after the awful smell was pain. Your calf was killing you, the pain radiating up through your entire leg from a long gash that thankfully wasn’t bleeding too badly. It just hurt like a bitch.

Panic lanced through you when you realized your hot-headed pilot was nowhere to be seen. There wasn’t a single trace of him. No blood, no tattered clothes, no nothing. He was just gone. Fear thickened in your throat like glue, your lungs seizing under the weight of it. Still, you busied yourself with fixing what was left of the radio. Poe would be pissy if he came back and you hadn’t at the very least gotten a distress signal to the Resistance.

When he came back.

Poe would be back.

But then the radio was repaired and you managed to salvage some supplies from the wreckage of your precious ship - and Poe still wasn’t back. Enough was enough, you decided. Forget your fucked up leg, your pilot was out there somewhere, possibly in worse shape than you and in desperate need of help. So you found a branch that had been ripped from its tree when your ship met its untimely demise and tucked it under your arm in a makeshift crutch and got to hiking.

It was way more painful than you had expected. Each step had a sharp stab of fire-like pain bringing a wince to your face, but it seemed like the longer you walked, the more your body grew acquainted with the wound. It still hurt like hell, but the worry for Poe was far greater. The further you went, the more you really began regretting the choice to come on this mission. Your presence wasn't even entirely necessary - it was a damn supply drop for Maker’s sake. But when Leia herself asked you to have Poe’s back (and keep his pretty little ass out of trouble), you couldn’t very well say no.

Boy, was she going to get an earful if you got back.

When. When you got back.

“Poe, you shithead!” You screamed, your voice echoing off of the trees even through the rain. “I’m gonna leave your ass here, I swear! Where are you?!”

You barely heard it, the sound of his voice calling out your name. Hope lit in your chest, burning hotter than the pain that was now entirely forgotten as you took off through the trees, expertly dodging branches and raised roots as you went. His name fell from your lips over and over, hope falling away into relief when you realized his voice was growing closer.

The sight of Poe Dameron always took your breath away - not that you would ever admit that. It didn't matter when, it didn't matter the circumstance. He was too pretty for his own good, all sharp angles and dashing smiles. Even when you were at your grumpiest, usually as you sipped your coffee during morning briefings that always felt earlier than the last, his presence eased the heaviness that plagued your shoulders.

This time, it was infinitely more intense. Maybe it was the desperate way he crashed through the treeline. Maybe it was the huge grin that broke out across his face when he locked eyes with you. Maybe it was the way his arms immediately opened to embrace you and lift you from the ground, disbelieving laughter rumbling through his chest. Whatever it was, it had tears building in your eyes. For a moment, everything else was forgotten. The two of you weren’t stranded without a functional ship, you weren’t filled with fear and adrenaline, there wasn’t a painful gash in your leg. You were just in the arms of the one person who could make this whole shitshow a little bit better.

Out of nowhere, your relief gave way to fear. Sharp, debilitating, all-encompassing fear. You could have lost him. Poe could have died, or you could have died, and you wouldn’t have told him - fuck, he never would have known. Holy shit.

“Did you really have to call me a shithead, though?” Poe laughed as he put you down, his eyes sparkling with amusement. The gasp you let out when your feet touched the ground had that amusement disappearing, though. “Shit, what happened? How bad is it?”

“No, no, I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” You managed through the heaviness that clamped around your throat. Poe didn’t believe a single word that came out of your mouth, obvious by the way he sighed and shook his head. He ignored your protests and the way you slapped at his shoulders when he quite literally scooped you up. “Fuck, Poe, I said I’m fine -”

“You’re bleeding, you aren’t fine.” He gruffed out, readjusting his grip at your knees carefully. “Which way is the ship?”

The standoff only lasted a few moments, the both of you glaring at each other and waiting - Poe waiting for you to at least nod in a direction and you waiting for Poe’s dramatic ass to put you down. Of course, Poe won. When didn’t he? All it took was the jerk of your chin and Poe set off, grunting every now and then with the effort.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?” You whispered a few moments later. That fear was still rolling in your stomach. No matter how hard you tried to swallow it down, it still threatened to choke you up.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you know me. I’m tough as nails.” Poe laughed. He cleared his throat quietly when he saw the tears still gathered in your eyes. “Seriously, I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

The endearing term made your heart flutter. Pet names fell from Poe’s lips like second nature, you were used to it. Blame the leftover adrenaline, but this time it hit differently, right in your chest. Without thinking, you reached up and brushed his sweat-dampened curls back from his forehead gently, careful not to accidentally tug with all the jostling as he carried you. Your lower lip trembled. “We could’ve died.”

“I know.” Poe’s eyes hardened. “I know, I’m so sorry.”

“Poe, it wasn’t your fault.” You chastised gently, your fingers automatically carding through his hair and gently untangling it. He leaned into your touch slightly and a small smile graced your lips. “You couldn’t have known this would happen.”

“You told me to take the northern route, I should’ve listened -”

“Come on.” You sighed. Always so hard on himself, this one. “I literally argue with you about everything. That’s what we do, you dork. There’s no actual difference between the north route and the west route and we both know that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Poe smiled softly down at you and your breath caught in your throat again. Damn it. The man really was gorgeous, even with the guilt that still lingered on his face.

“I wasn’t bitching at you or trying to say you got us into this, okay? I… I just realized that you… fuck, Poe.” Words failed you. Or rather, you failed your words. They were there. They had been there from the very beginning, but the overwhelming fear of losing his friendship choked the words from you time and time again.

You didn’t even realize you were back at the wreckage of your ship, too in your head to pay attention to the world around you. Poe set you down gently in the grass, apologizing quietly when you hissed in pain. Now that you weren’t adrenaline soaked and desperate to find him, your body was all too happy to let the pain flare back up.

“Let me get the bacta from the med kit,” Poe murmured, leaving your side for just a moment. He seemed just as anxious as you were, the idea of being apart making both your stomachs turn. Even just a few moments, even just a few feet of distance, it was too much. Poe kneeled at your side and easily tore the remainder of your pants from your calf, the comfortable material now only reaching just above your knee.

Cleaning the gash was no walk in the park, but the moment the bacta touched your inflamed, angry skin, you sighed. That shit was magic, no doubt about it. Nonetheless, Poe was still careful as he wrapped your calf, his every touch slow and gentle and the memory of the last time the two of you were like this bubbled to the forefront on your mind. The roles were reversed, of course, because it was almost always Poe making daringly stupid choices and ending up wounded, but you had been so scared of making the blaster wound to his shoulder worse that your hands shook.

There had been a gentle trust in his eyes when Poe reassured you that he was okay, that you would do just great. His normally confident voice became meek as he whispered that you were the only one he trusted to fix him up, so you better get to it. That was Poe. Always trying to cover up vulnerable moments with humor. But that sparkle of humor was nowhere to be found as he settled himself next to you. Hell, he could barely keep eye contact with you.

“What...what did you realize?” Poe whispered. Something in the way he was looking at you told you that he knew already, fear and hope and anticipation all plain on his face. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, something you had come to recognize as a nervous habit.

You drew in a deep breath, steadying yourself against the racing of your heart and the excitement that buzzed through your veins. It lit you up from the inside out, the very idea of finally, fucking finally, saying the words you had been itching to say for far too long. “I realized that we could’ve died before I told you how much I love you.”

Poe let out a shaky breath, those full lips parting and closing around words that couldn't seem to find their way into existence. A fleeting moment of panic wound its way through your chest at the idea that you had misread this whole thing, constricting your lungs in a vice-hold that threatened to choke the life out of you, but it was washed away by the sudden press of his lips against yours. On the many occasions you imagined what it would be like to kiss Poe Dameron, you envisioned it to be all teeth and gasping passion, but the reality was so much better than anything else your brain could have dreamed up.

Poe kissed you like you were the most precious thing he had ever had the privilege of holding in his hands. Your eyes fluttered closed the moment his lips brushed yours, a soft and reverent touch that pulled a wrecked sound from him. He leaned back, breaking the gentle embrace of your lips to study your face. There was a small crease between his eyebrows where he had them furrowed and you couldn't help but reach up to rub at the space with your thumb.

The smile that broke across his face was brighter than any sun in the galaxy and he pulled you to him. The second kiss was more confident, something you never thought Poe Dameron could be more of. The warmth of his tongue sliding along your bottom lip made a rough shudder slither down your spine and his hand at your cheek buried itself in your hair to tilt your head. The new angle let him press even closer to you and the quiet moan it drew from him had you practically giddy, excitement singing through your entire body. Somehow your hands found the collar of his shirt, your body moving instinctually as if it was commonplace, as if your body knew exactly how to move with his.

“I love you.” Poe whispered against your lips, pulling away just far enough to rest his forehead against yours. He kissed you again, a short one just shy of a peck. “I guess we’re both idiots, huh? Could’ve had you for so long if I had just said something.”

“You can have me now if you stop talking.” You teased and Poe grinned. It was a grin you had seen countless times, but this time it felt almost new. Like you were able to appreciate that pretty smile of his in a new light. “Kiss me again, flyboy.”

An almost wild groan rumbled through Poe’s chest and he did just that. Poe kissed and kissed and kissed you until you were both left with swollen lips and goofy grins. Neither of you could get enough, like you had been drowning and were finally up for air. There was nothing else that mattered. Not the slow establishment of peace and control that Leia had managed to bestow upon the galaxy. Not the sudden shifting of goals after the success of the Resistance. Not the sudden floundering for meaning.

Everything you were searching for, the meaning of it all post-war…

It was found in each other.

“Wait, did you radio anyone?” Poe asked suddenly, those pretty brown eyes blinking up at you inquisitively.

“What?” You were a bit dazed from the feeling of his tongue expertly taking you apart. It took your mind a second to remember how to process words. “Uh, yeah, Leia sent Rey out to get us.”

“How long ago?”

“...Seriously? That’s what you’re thinking about right now.” You motioned between your chests, an eyebrow raised. Poe just stared at you expectantly and you sighed. He would wait there until the Falcon landed right next to you with his stubbornness. “Like three hours ago. Why?”

That devilish smirk reappeared like it never left. “Just wanted to know how much longer I get to have you like this.”

Heat creeped up your neck at the implication. “Maker, you are so annoying.”

Poe bit at his bottom lip and for a mere second you were distracted, wanting nothing more to be the one nibbling at him. But then he had to open his mouth again. “Yeah, and you love me. Says more about you than it does about me.”

“Shut up and kiss me.” You demanded.

“Yes, ma’am.” The words were whispered against your lips as he leaned in, once again dragging you into a makeout session that could rival any other. Like teenagers, the two of you, all wandering hands and teasing nibbles.

It wasn’t long until the telltale sound of the Millennium Falcon approaching pulled you apart - a good thing, too, because both of you were writhing for more than could happen in a field in the middle of nowhere. Besides, it was growing darker and being stuck any longer without shelter when the creatures of the night would begin creeping out to prowl wasn’t the best of ideas. You weren’t surprised that the little orange and white droid was the first down the ramp when the ship had settled on its landing gear.

“Hey, buddy!” The excitement in Poe’s was unmistakable as he crouched down to greet BB-8, the impact of his droid crashing into him knocking him right onto his ass. A series of inquisitive beeps made Poe sigh almost exasperatedly. “No, she’s fine, I took care of her leg.”

BB-8 rolled over and bumped at your legs affectionately, completely ignoring Poe’s indignant, “I’m fine, too, by the way!”

Rey appeared a moment later when you were kneeling to pat the droid and look him over, ensuring he hadn’t been harmed since the last you saw him. It felt a bit strange to care so much for the little guy but he was practically a little kid to you. You had started calling him Poe’s son as a joke long ago when you first met, but you had come to realize just how right you were.

“What the hell happened to you two? Did you forget how to pilot, Poe?” Rey called out as she walked up and immediately a loud bout of bickering began. To an outsider, it would look like these two hated each other but you knew better. Your little friend group would do anything for each other, especially after all you had been through together. All that was missing was -

“Finn!” Poe smiled and embraced his friend in a tight hug before slapping him on the shoulder. “I didn’t know you were coming, too.”

“You think I would miss seeing you two stranded together? Nah,” Finn asked as he pulled you in for a hug as well, a laugh rumbling through his chest. “I figured the two of you would’ve ripped each other's heads off by now.”

“Ha, ha.” You intoned sarcastically. “It’s nice to know that you two have careers in comedy now that the war is over.”

The playful jabs continued as the five of you settled into the Falcon, Poe keeping a hand on you at practically all times. On your lower back, on your hip, settled on your thigh. It seemed like now that he had the ability to touch you like he always wanted to, he couldn’t stop himself. It wasn’t long until his little game became obvious - seeing how long it would take for either of your human companions to realize something was different.

It didn’t take long for it to escalate. A hand on your thigh quickly became tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, which became affectionately rubbing the tension from your neck. Within fifteen minutes of flying through hyperspace, you had to leave the cockpit with some bullshit excuse just to keep yourself from curling up in his lap right then and there. You busied yourself in repairing the wiring you had been working on the last time you were on the Falcon, a simple job that was practically finished already save for untangling and reconnecting the wires and replacing the panel that covered it. Of course it took no time at all for Poe to wander off and find you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“Hey,” Poe murmured before kissing your neck gently, swiping your hair out of the way to give him even more access. The scrape of his stubble against your sensitive skin made you shiver against him and you could tell Poe felt it by the way he smiled against your neck. “Love how responsive you are...you’re never getting rid of me now, sweetheart.”

The lighthearted remark on the tip of your tongue melted away at the feeling of his tongue tracing that sweet spot just under your ear. You couldn’t help but lean back into his chest, one of his hands leaving your hips to brace against the wall. A low hum fell from your lips when Poe bit at your shoulder teasingly and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching back to run your fingers through his hair and hold him against you, your attempted repair completely forgotten in front of you.

Every touch had pleasure curling around your body, lighting up your every nerve with need and excitement. The man was a god, but if you told him that, it would pump up his ego to an insufferable level. Maybe you could handle it, the ridiculous amount of pride, if he would just touch you…

“Please,” You whispered, your eyes closing as your head fell back onto his shoulder, and you didn’t miss the hungry way he hummed against you. The arm that was wrapped around your waist shifted and his hand slid under your shirt, the shock of his warm skin against your stomach forced a gasp from you. His fingers dipped below your pants, just barely teasing at the hem of your underwear, and -

“I knew it!” Finn’s deep voice echoed harshly through the metal walls of the Falcon and you both jumped, damn near cracking heads in your surprise.

“No you did not!” Poe scoffed, letting you bury your face into his neck to hide your embarrassed face. Poe’s dismissal did nothing to curb Finn’s excited sprint back to the cockpit, screaming something about Rey owing him credits all the while. A short, huffed laugh fell from his lips as he pushed you back against the wall, facing him this time. “We can’t go back up there, they’ll be impossible.”

You set your chin against his chest with an agreeing hum. “We could just go to the bunks… carry on where we left off.”

Poe grinned at you. “Hell yes.”

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron

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bestworstcase · 3 years

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I like your thoughts on how Rapunzel was handling things wrong in “Rapunzel: Day One.” The episode tries to imply that Cassandra is wrong for not sharing her feelings with Rapunzel, but is a Rapunzel really the person Cassandra should be opening up to? Rapunzel never respects Cassandra’s boundaries. Cassandra’s a private person. Rapunzel doesn’t respect that. And just because Cassandra doesn’t want to open up to everyone doesn’t mean that she’s bottling things up.

ok so this is gonna be a long one bc tbh i like. fundamentally disagree that RDO, the narrative of RDO, in any way positions cassandra as the one at fault for the emotional conflict between her and raps.

to digress a bit - while tts is not immune to Aesop Episodes (e.g. rapunzel's enemy or you're kidding me) wherein the characters close out the story by talking about What They've Learned, ultimately i don't think tts can or should be read as a morality play. it's a story where sometimes characters just... fuck up and the narrative doesn't waste its time on hand-holding or spoon-feeding us the moral.

anyway, i submit that RDO is what i'll call a False Aesop Episode. it follows the basic structure of an Aesop Episode (protagonist acts badly -> protagonist learns a lesson) but the lesson rapunzel learns is a bad one. it's like if you took... say, "an apple a day keeps the doctor away" as an aesop, the False Aesop here is rapunzel confidently eating a rotten apple and then being blindsided a few months later when the doctor who kept begging her not to eat food with maggots in it steals the moonstone from under her nose and runs off into the night with her new demon pal--

and that metaphor got away from me a little bit but you get the idea.

#1: constructing the conflict

the episode opens with cassandra. she's training; we see the sword fly out of her injured hand; lance suggests she take a break, and she answers, "thanks to rapunzel's little trick at the great tree, i have to relearn everything using this hand, so breaks aren't really an option."

she isn't harsh about it. her demeanor isn't all that different from her normal self—she even segues into a very typical concern (that the woods are dangerous and they should all be on their guard) and banters with lance a bit.

what this communicates, immediately and succinctly, is that:

1. cassandra's injury is severe. it's disabling. she's either in immense pain or she's lost all the strength in that hand or both.

2. cass is really upset about this, and not happy with rapunzel.

3. nevertheless cass is keeping her feelings more or less in check; the worst anyone could say about her is she's being a bit more curt than normal.

which is to say, she's acting quite reasonable. she's not taking out her hurt feelings on anyone else or being mean or lashing out, and she's not hiding her injury either. the most concerning thing about her behavior here is actually that she's focused on training so she can do her job instead of on healing or resting or taking care of herself.

then there's a pan over to rapunzel, who is angrily watching this play out while venting to pascal. "i get why cass is mad at me," she says. "she told me—" huge disdainful rolling of eyes here "—not to use the decay spell back and the tree, and i did, and she hurt her hand. but if she had just listened to me and stayed out of it, this all could have been avoided! and i feel like we could work things out, but she refuses to talk about it!!"

line this up against cassandra's behavior and spot the differences.

cass is focused on her injured hand. cass is upset because rapunzel accidentally mutilated her in the great tree. that's what this conflict is about for cass; her injury, and how she feels about being injured.

by contrast, rapunzel thinks the conflict is about them not listening to each other. she does acknowledge that cass was injured, but 1. she puts the blame on cass, and 2. has shoved the fact of the injury to the periphery of the conflict. it's not important, it's just a natural consequence of the real conflict, which is cass being mad and petty and refusing to talk to her about how she's unfairly blaming rapunzel for something that wasn't rapunzel's fault.

[i will add here that this behavior from rapunzel is 100% not knowing how to handle guilt and externalizing it as anger, and this thread of rapunzel burying her guilt gets picked up again in rapunzeltopia; it isn't that rapunzel doesn't care that cass is hurt, so much as she's just not emotionally equipped to process these feelings in a healthy way so it mutates into...this.]

and where cass handles her feelings in a pretty reasonable way, rapunzel rants and raves and draws cass as a literal monster with fangs and claws—she's stewing in her out of control emotions and concludes that she just has to find a way to force cass talk to her, which she does shortly thereafter by ordering—not asking—cass to come with her to search for parts to fix the caravan.

#2: the breakdown of communication

i've said it before but it bears repeating: cassandra might not be perfect, but she's a good communicator. in s1 and the front half of s2, she shares her feelings with rapunzel readily and frequently. when she tries to set boundaries with rapunzel, she's able to be clear and specific about what she needs. when she expresses frustration with eugene or her dad or rapunzel, she's very articulate about exactly what she's frustrated about. she can recognize when politer, softer refusals are being ignored and become blunter and more specific to ensure the message is getting across.

the moments when cass struggles to communicate are noteworthy because they're not normal. they signal that she's in acute crisis. think of how her unhinged rant about adira in RATGT heralded a complete emotional breakdown. she clams up in RDO because it's the only thing she can do to protect herself. because rapunzel is an inexperienced nineteen year old who learned all her social "skills" from a manipulative, egotistical abuser and nowhere in the series does that show more than in RDO.

rapunzel knows cass doesn't want to talk about the great tree, so she isolates cass from the rest of the group with the intention of forcing her to talk about it anyway. she's passive aggressive at first: chattering about inanities and trying to bait cass into 'opening up,' and acting vexed and guilt-trippy when she finds out cass brought owl along. she broaches the subject by going "too bad there's not an open-up-to-your-best-friend-about-the-thing-you-guys-are-fighting-about wand, huh?"

then she leads with "i know you're mad at me, but i did the right thing. i didn't have a choice," which... what can cass even say to that? she acknowledged cassandra's anger in one breath and followed up with "but you're wrong tho" in the next. that statement makes cassandra's feelings about her debilitating injury into an argument about Who Was Right.

this is a game that cass tries very hard not to play. "look, if you feel that way, then it's fine. we're good," she says, which is a statement that is not true at all on its face but - what it means is that if rapunzel wants to turn this into a debate about Who Was Right, cass will concede because that's not an argument she's invested in. cass does not want to put her feelings on trial so rapunzel can pick them apart and decide whether she deserves to have them or not.

so she disengages. the sun sets. they camp. rapunzel pokes her again, this time with a more direct approach: "cass, i need to talk about what we both know is going on between us."

and that's when cass throws up a WALL. prior to RDO, when cass is pressed on her feelings, she either: 1. opens up and explains to the extent that she's able (e.g. under raps or RATGT), or 2. flatly shuts the conversation down (e.g. cassandra vs eugene). but in RDO?

"there's nothing to talk about."

"i never said i was upset."

"what makes you so sure that you know how i'm feeling?"

this is cass falling off the end of her rope. this is a cass who spent the last year and a half with rapunzel running roughshod over every boundary cass exhausted herself trying to set. this is cass maybe a few weeks out from rapunzel screaming at her in front of all their mutual friends and then telling her "i am going to make decisions you don't agree with and i need you to be okay with that" when cass tried to open up about her deepest insecurities. this is cass spiraling into despair because she's seen that her best friend cares more about assuaging her own guilt and exerting her authority as a princess than she does about cassandra's feelings.

this is the moment when the friendship dies.

#3: the memory wipe, cassandra's apology, and the false aesop

the details of the tangled-but-cass shenanigans are not super important for the purposes of this discussion. suffice it to say that cassandra lashes out in the heat of the moment, seriously harms rapunzel by mistake, and spends the rest of the episode trying to repair the damage, then apologizes to rapunzel for hurting her. this is, obviously, the correct thing to do when you hurt someone, even if it was an accident.

you see the parallel here, yeah?

rapunzel hurt cass with magic by accident, and then made cass's hurt feelings all about her, blamed cass for the injury, twisted the facts to justify her own indignation, picked a fight about Who Was Right and invalidated cassandra's feelings, and pushed and pushed and pushed until cass blew up and lashed out at her.

cassandra also hurt rapunzel with magic by accident, and then she set aside her own hurt feelings from the argument they were having before to focus one hundred percent of her energy on brewing a cure and keeping amnesiac rapunzel safe, readily admitted her fault, and offered an earnest apology for losing her temper as soon as she could reasonably do so.

if RDO were a true Aesop Episode, this would be the lesson, and rapunzel would of course learn from cassandra's good example and reciprocate by apologizing for the accident in the great tree and her abysmal behavior afterwards—and in a reflection of how cass shared how bottling up her anger allowed it to erupt in a catastrophic way, rapunzel would probably confess that her demanding, selfish behavior came from a place of feeling awful about what happened and terrified that it would ruin their friendship.

but RDO is a False Aesop Episode. rapunzel isn't emotionally equipped to handle the intensity of her guilt, and she lacks the social insight and empathy to draw comparisons between what she did to cass and what cass did to her, so she can't connect the two situations in her head to understand what she's doing wrong. the true aesop flies right over her head, and instead what she learns is this:

1. she was right about cass being upset

2. backing cass into a corner fixed the problem

3. friends really do "just know"

4. being pushy and forceful was the right thing to do.

because the thing is, when cass apologizes for the accidental memory wipe, she truthfully explains why she acted the way she did—she's furious and she didn't want to talk about it, so she held it in as long as she could and then exploded when the pressure became too much—and for rapunzel, i think the explanation and the actual apology get conflated. meaning, cass says "i'm sorry for what i did out of anger" and what rapunzel hears is "i'm sorry for being angry."

and because of that misunderstanding, from rapunzel's perspective her own indignation has been validated and her behavior justified, because she was right all along and cass shouldn't have been angry with her in the first place and now everything is fine--

but it's not fine.

we're not supposed to share rapunzel's perspective here, because she's flat out wrong. nothing is really better and nothing has really changed, except that rapunzel got the talk she wanted and stops putting this intense pressure on cass. so as we enter the house of yesterday's tomorrow, rapunzel is taking it for granted that things are fine with cass, and meanwhile cass is still injured, still angry, still as aloof as she can be without getting rapunzel breathing down her neck again... and then she meets zhan tiri, who gives her everything she needed and couldn't get from rapunzel.

like, to my mind, this is the entire point of RDO, that rapunzel makes this catastrophic mess of trying to patch things up after RATGT and comes out of that mess wrongly thinking she succeeded. the episode is presented through the lens of rapunzel's perspective, but the lines are very wide and i absolutely think the intention is for the audience to read between them and understand the reality that rapunzel has sort of blinded herself to.

#tts #rta #interpersonal conflict......good #theres also a whole separate layer of stuff going on in RDO w the class dynamic #this fight coming on the heels of raps pulling rank in RATGT and all but ordering cass to shut up and deal. like -#in RDO cass is Literally Doing What Rapunzel Ordered Her To Do #being okay with the decisions rapunzel made that hurt her #except that's not what rapunzel wants really. rapunzel wants cass to be her friend #but cass learnt in RATGT that her friendship can't transcend her servitude #she knows now that when push comes to shove rapunzel will treat her like a servant so... she acts accordingly #er #long post

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miraculousluvbug · 3 years

Text

WINGLESS | Ch. 5

***New to Wingless? Start at Chapter 1!

CH. SUMMARY: Plagg panics because Lila's the devil incarnate and Lila learns that Gabriel Agreste is far stupider than he seems.

Adrien fondly flicked through the pages of The Pun-thagorean Theorem (Making Math Funny!) textbook. Plumes of dust wafted up his nostrils, causing his eyes to squint and his mouth to contort into the longest face known to man to avoid a hacking fit, but he smiled afterward nonetheless. The book was withered beyond measure, sure, but within its decaying jacket, it held the fleeting whispers of a previous life. A life before his mother went missing. When she enjoyed teaching him math with puns and pieces of candy while his father clung to the confines of closed doors. When her jokes graced the halls and her smiles left behind a fog of golden joy in her wake.

Adrien’s heart thudded with longing.

But he was determined to push back the feelings he had kept buried deep, deep, deep within his heart. So deep that he often forgot they were even there until they reared their ugly heads like a Hydra from the deepest recesses of the sea. Every time he thought he dealt with it, thought he had cut off its head and could breathe for just a second, two heads sprouted in its stead, determined to grip him by the ankles with their jagged teeth and force him to drown in his debilitating lack of self-worth.

He shook his head violently, as if that could shed him of his intrusive thoughts.

Hopefully, this book would help Lila. And then she’d leave. And then he could skip the anime and just take a fat nap. Keeping the Hydra at bay was exhausting.

Correcting his posture, Adrien approached his classmate, noticing straight away she had moved to his desk chair. Odd. But he was willing to roll with it.

Ha. Get it? Desk chair. Roll with it.

He pursed his lips, trying to hold back his laughter at himself.

Kagami had called him a clown, but Ladybug, as it turned out, appreciated his sense of humor. And if Lady-friggin’-bug--Commander of Wit and Creative Mastermind--thought he was funny, he must have been a damn comedic prodigy.

Plagg recognized that love-struck look on Adrien’s face and had to physically restrain himself from making barf noises.

“Are you ready to start, Lila?” Adrien said. Oblivious to Adrien’s whereabouts, Lila started and spun to greet him. (Was he always that quiet on his feet?)

“Adrien! You found the book.”

“Yep! Why don’t you take a look at it before we start?” Adrien smiled as he passed the book to her.

Lila returned the smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Adrien idly wondered if she had ever meant a smile in her life. She pinched the book between her thumb and forefinger as if it were a moldy sock. “Wow, Adrien, this book is so . . .”

A silence lingered as Lila racked her vocabulary for a word less insulting than crusty.

“Old?” Adrien offered, tilting his head.

Lila tittered unenthusiastically. “Yes, old.” She draped the book onto Adrien’s desk and poked at it. “How long have you, um, had it?”

“It’s been in the family a while.” Adrien hesitated. He didn’t really want to mention his mother to Lila. Lila was poisonous. She spun every piece of information she caught into a sticky web of lies like it was second nature. He didn’t know if he could stomach hearing lies about his mother.

So he bit down on the story of his mom before it could tumble from his lips. Even though he so badly wanted to tell anyone who would listen. His father never afforded him the opportunity to speak about her. His friends at school avoided the topic like the plague.

Come to think of it, Marinette was the only one of his friends who tried to help him see her movie that fateful day the press tried to pass her as his girlfriend. (Which he wouldn’t have minded, honestly, but she always seemed hellbent on them being just friends, so he accepted it.)

Ladybug, the other important person in his life, saw his mother on his desktop during that one akuma attack and commented on her smile. Those two girls (er--women? Which term was more respectful?) were the only people he truly felt safe around. Safe enough to turn his back on the Hydra he always kept a watchful, tired eye on and just enjoy the breeze of the ocean as it caressed his cheeks and messed up his perfect hair.

No, the subject of his mother wouldn’t scare them away. They could handle it.

But Lila was no Ladybug, and she definitely was no Marinette.

Behind them, Plagg was practically pulling his antennae out. It had been at least eight, maybe ten minutes since the akuma alert and his kid was none the wiser. And it really didn’t help that he just saw Ladybug and Rena Rouge pass by Adrien’s gigantic glass wall in a blur of red and orange.

But it was hopeless! He couldn’t get the message to Adrien without being seen!

Or . . .

Or could he?

“‘What’s Pythagoras’ favorite instrument?’” Lila read aloud. Her eyes darted over to the blonde leaning against the desk beside her. He bit his lip and his eyes were doing something weird. She had never seen that emotion on him.

“Go on,” Adrien pushed, his eyes practically sparkling. Huh. Was that emotion . . . eagerness?

She cleared her throat and turned the book upside down to read the answer awaiting her at the bottom of the page.

“‘A triangle.’”

Adrien giggled. What he wanted to do was slap his knee and let the whole world know he found it funny with a booming laughter that rivaled Tom Dupain-Cheng’s, but he knew that was un-gentlemanly.

Lila quirked an eyebrow.

Adrien sobered immediately. “You know,” he tried. “Since a triangle is an instrument and the theorem is about right triangles.”

Lila’s stare was unrelenting.

Adrien coughed. “So the triangle is his . . . favorite instrument.”

Lila stared for a bit longer than necessary before letting out a glaringly obvious fake laugh. Adrien was more offended that she thought that laugh was believable than that she didn’t find the pun funny at all. “Ha. That’s, like, so funny, Adrien. I can tell already that this book is going to be a big help.”

Adrien’s shoulders drooped a little. He hadn’t expected her to fall to the ground in ceaseless mirth, but he hadn’t thought her to be such a brick wall either. “Right. Well, why don’t we start with number one? Do you have your notebook or do you need a spare piece of pap--?”

The sound of the television coming to life cut Adrien’s question short. Lila’s eyes bulged out of her head and the sight would have been comical had it not also meant that Plagg was being a nuisance. Again.

But honestly, when was he not?

Lila burst from her seat and sprinted to the television. “Were you standing on the remote or something?” Lila queried, her voice high-pitched and grating to Adrien’s ears.

Adrien scratched the back of his neck. Think, think, think . . .

“Um, my room is haunted?”

Lila gawked at him wordlessly, gripping the back of his sofa. “You posted something about that on Instagram, but I thought you were, I don’t know? Making it up?”

Because you would be an expert on that, right, Lila?

Adrien plucked the remote from the coffee table and pointed it at the television, his thumb barely brushing the power button when the words from the newscaster reached his ears and sent chills down his spine.

“New akuma . . .”

“Ladybug and Rena Rouge on the scene . . .”

“Chat Noir yet to be spotted . . .”

Adrien’s heart skipped a beat. Furrowing his brow, he ran to his phone and ogled its empty notification list. Why hadn’t he received an akuma alert? Was the Ladyblog acting buggy?

Adrien had to come up with an alibi and fast. Lie like the wind, Bullseye.

He scooped up his cherished pun textbook and shepherded Lila to his bedroom door despite her protests. “I’m so sorry, Lila! I, uh, just remembered I have to practice piano for an extra hour today.” The television droned on about the deadly, unstoppable, mind-controlling, threateningly large, new akuma behind him. The hair on Adrien’s neck stood up with every added adjective.

“You’re not seriously sending me out into the city where the akuma is?” Lila exclaimed.

Oh. The thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“Um, sorry, Lila, but I’m sure you’ll be fine! You’re Ladybug’s best friend, right? She’d never let anything happen to you.” Adrien smirked inwardly at that. Lila was failing miserably at hiding her disgust for his spotted partner when he shut the door--politely--in her face.

Quickly, he propped up his phone on the piano and navigated to his voice memo app.

“I deserve extra cheese,” Plagg drawled, hovering to the side of Adrien.

“For nearly exposing yourself to Lila?” Adrien remarked bitterly.

Plagg narrowed his eyes. “No, for figuring out how to get your attention when Lila was clearly undermining you!”

Adrien stopped dead in his tracks. His finger hovered above his latest piano recording while his mind raced. “What do you mean, Plagg? I didn’t get an akuma alert. That’s not her fault.”

Plagg scoffed. “Uh, you did get an akuma alert. That--that menace got rid of it!” Plagg folded his arms across his chest, clearly much angrier than he would ever admit. “She got rid of the notification so you wouldn’t see. Even when she doesn’t know she’s doing it, she’s sabotaging Ladybug! You can’t let her in your room anymore, Adrien.”

Adrien stiffened. So Lila was far worse than he gave her credit for. He wouldn’t underestimate her again. Harmless snooping, he could live with. Interfering with him protecting his lady? Unforgivable. She did that when he was Chat Noir and he thought he had learned his lesson.

Apparently not.

“We’ll talk about this more later, Plagg,” Adrien finally decided. A moment later, the soft melody of a piano piece danced around the room. His eyes wandered to the whiteboard on his wall that had twelve tally marks souring its otherwise pristine surface. Plagg followed his gaze and looked back at his kid with a frown and drooping brows, tail and antennae betraying his melancholy.

Adrien pointedly ignored Plagg’s Pity™ look. “Ladybug’s already cleansed an akuma twelve times without needing my help. Let’s not let there be a thirteenth. Claws out!”

Meanwhile, from the other side of Adrien’s door, Lila simmered, jaw clenched, mouth dry. She didn’t have an inkling why Adrien had concocted such a ridiculous excuse, but she was ninety percent sure it had something to do with Ladybug.

It always came back to that impudent roach.

Lila dragged her feet all the way to the main staircase with every intention to vacate the Agreste premises, but a quick sweep of the mainroom revealed the bodyguard was nowhere to be seen. And interestingly enough, neither was that dreadfully stoic assistant Adrien was so fond of. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen her when she first entered.

Empty. The room was deliciously empty.

And Lila had never seen the inside of Gabriel’s office.

Smirking, she decided she would have to correct that.

Just in case she got caught, Lila inconspicuously flitted around the room in an attempt to appear like she wasn’t on a mission. She fawned over trinkets and leisurely “admired” the boring paintings accosting the walls before her twitching fingers rested on the door handle.

She waited with an ear pressed against the wood. Silence had never tasted sweeter.

The room was . . . well, it left something to be desired.

Wasn’t Gabriel supposed to be a fashion icon?

His interior design made her want to gouge out her eyes with a plastic spork.

Lila gingerly let the door fall into place behind her, the hinges creaking only slightly (a billionaire or whatever he was could afford to professionally oil his door, she assumed) before her feet carried her to a mustard yellow tapestry. The woman adorning it she recognized was Adrien’s mother. The photos of Adrien to her right were all edited from photoshoots. Perfect. Unblemished.

Lila supposed she could overlook Adrien’s pitiful sense of humor. Adrien was still great eye candy, and his reputation made him an even tastier prize.

The scent of cologne and disinfectant mingled, battling each other for dominance and the result was only a bit nauseating. Orange light seeped in from the windows, the tendrils of luminance touching everything in the room but the wall with the tapestry. It was golden hour apparently.

Unable to help herself, Lila brushed her fingers along the edges of Gabriel’s touchscreen, searching, searching. Ah. There. A ridge. A power button, perhaps? With the tip of her fingernail, she pressed it and . . .

Of course, the thing would be password protected.

Maybe Adrien’s birthday?

Wait. Did she even know Adrien’s birthday?

Lila shrugged and turned on her heel. She was curious, but odds were she would never be able to guess Monsieur Agreste’s password. Unless . . .

Slowly pivoting to face the screen again, she tried typing something crazy and, albeit, a little stupid.

There was just no way. It was a waste of time to even try.

She tapped a green enter button.

The waiting screen consisted of the outline of a butterfly slowly being filled in and then repeating. Interesting. She wouldn’t have pegged Gabriel to be a butterfly guy. But if she thought about it really, reeeeally hard, she could just barely recall a few designs Adrien had modeled that sported a butterfly-like logo.

But whatever. This butterfly waiting screen meant nothing. There was still no way.

There was absolutely no way the password to the great fashion mogul Gabriel Agreste’s personal computer was “password.”

Was there?

She idly tapped her nails on the screen, the clack-clack-clack echoing around her in the frustratingly barren room. The anticipation ate away at her until . . .

Bingo. The screen unlocked, and the light shining on Lila transitioned from the black of the waiting screen to the blue of a schematic.

Lila snorted. “Seriously? I’m no Max but even I know that’s the most brainless password known to man.”

Closer inspection led to a fascinating revelation. The schematic wasn’t actually for a building or even a design. There were photos of her classmates and their . . .

Their hero personas? Interesting. Could he have been planning a Superhero line? How did he even find out their identities?

Wow, there was Nino as Carapace and that one girl Kagami as Ryuko. Max as some horse-looking hero she honestly had never seen in her life. Kim as a monkey. Unsurprising. Some guy with blue highlights who she’d only seen around Marinette. And Alya . . . as Rena Rouge.

Lila clenched her fists. Her nails left indentations in her palms.

She didn’t have time to stew over this infuriating morsel of information, however, before the floor beneath her began to tremble. Wasting no time, she sprinted to the middle of the room and was surprised to find the floor now still. Had she imagined the earth quaking?

What sounded like mechanical whirring had her spinning on her heel to face the painting. Her jaw dropped to the floor at the sight of a hole in the previously-unmarred tile. From the dark pit rose one bonafide, Barney-colored supervillain, his back facing her.

“Nooroo, dark wings fall.”

Instantly, a waterfall of purple and white glitter illuminated the room. The light was so intense, Lila had to lift her arms and shield her retinas. Her heart thudded wildly against her ribcage.

Any sane person would have run away at the sight of a supervillain in their classmate’s mansion.

But not Lila.

Lila quite liked Hawk Moth. She more than shared his distaste for the superhero duo and was overjoyed whenever he graced her with the opportunity to fight them as an akuma.

She was even more overjoyed to find out her boss and Hawk Moth were not just cut from the same cloth . . .

They were the same cloth.

The man otherwise known as Gabriel Agreste stood before her, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

His shoulders were hunched up to his ears as he grumbled, “Blasted children. I’ll get your Miraculous one of these days--”

“Um, Master?” a tiny voice interrupted.

Lila had never seen such a thing. Was that a bug? A fairy?

“What is it, Nooroo?”

Upon Nooroo’s silence, Gabriel turned around and was incapable of hiding the shock on his face when he found Lila Rossi trespassing in his office.

“How much did you see?” he demanded, scowling.

Lila tittered behind her hand. “Even if I hadn’t seen everything, Hawk Moth, I’d still be asking you what on Earth that thing is.” She jabbed a manicured finger at Nooroo.

Upon seeing his computer on and unlocked, Gabriel lifted his chin and sneered at the fifteen year old girl who had evidently outsmarted him.

Understanding, Lila shook her head. “You really are a boomer,” she mused. “‘Password’ is the least intelligent password you could have picked.”

“I thought it was clever, Master,” Nooroo meekly added.

Desperate to get control of the situation, Gabriel folded his hands behind his back and stood until he was at his full height. “So now you know.” He dared not move from higher ground. “I can’t imagine you thought it’d be smart to confront an adult man who’s shown he has nothing to lose.”

Lila raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have, like, a son?”

Gabriel’s gaze was unrelenting.

Lila almost pitied the oblivious blonde boy. “Whatever. I just wanted to snoop around your office. I couldn’t have possibly dreamed a juicier secret. Paris’s beloved and esteemed fashion designer doubling as its masked terrorist?”

Gabriel bristled.

Feigning nonchalance, Lila perched upon one of Gabriel’s long purple benches and crossed one leg over the other before leaning an elbow on her knee and resting her cheek in her palm. Mischief twinkled in her eyes. “Scandalous.”

“I could make your life a living hell, young lady,” Gabriel began, but Lila held up a hand, halting him in his tracks.

“No need to get defensive, Monsieur. You have nothing to fear from me.” Lila stood then and crossed the room to stand on equal footing with Gabriel. While the top of her head was far beneath the man she addressed, her confidence made her a formidable contender. She leaned forward and peered up at him. “In fact, I want to help.”

Gabriel’s fingers twitched. He knew she liked getting akumatized, but this was unexpected. His initial reaction was to shut it down. This should have never happened. He had to ensure her silence but keep her far from involved.

His curiosity, however, got the better of him. He was a businessman at heart, after all.

“Help how?” he pressed.

Lila smiled crookedly.

Hook.

“You’ve akumatized me before and we’ve caused great chaos together.” Lila fiddled with one of her foxtails as she circled Gabriel. “Can you imagine if we actually strategized an akuma?”

“Are you implying my previous akuma were unplanned?”

Line.

“Not at all!” Lila mended, already sensing that Gabriel’s pride was a sore spot. “But you catch your victims when they’re unhinged, laden with their own emotions. How many times has an akuma put their own needs before yours?”

Lila turned her back on Gabriel then and moseyed toward the benches once more. She let her hand trail along the fabric of the cushions, waiting for him to take the bait . . .

“I’m listening.”

Sinker.

“What if your akuma’s goals were aligned with yours? Everything would be calculated. Predisposed. And--” Lila couldn’t prevent the smile from bleeding into her voice “--I’ve never had a sentimonster assist me before.” Lila stopped moving but remained facing the window. The sun was nearly set now.

Heels clacked against the tile. Approaching. Lila steeled herself.

“I don’t suppose you’ll join my assistant and I out in the gardens, Mademoiselle Rossi?”

Lila grinned from ear to ear. Oh, she could just imagine the taste of Ladybug’s fear when she loomed over her, fingers pinching her earrings and just ripping them from her lobes. Would the joy blooming in her heart be overwhelming, like a banana overpowering the flavors in a smoothie? Or would it slide down her throat like her mother’s hot chocolate? Rich, creamy, satisfying, and scalding all at the same time . . . but faintly nipping at her vocal cords from the traces of cinnamon?

Was it unbecoming to hope Ladybug’s ears would bleed?

“I would love to.”

Unbecoming or not, it was her greatest desire, from both the deepest and shallowest crevices of her soul.

-----

I just released Chapter 7 over on AO3, so if you're itching for more, go check it out here and leave me some love in the comments. Comments are jet fuel for my creativity 🥰 Follow me for updates and check out my Instagram where I post art!

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a-lil-perspective · 3 years

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I have been silent for some time now. I have refrained from exhibiting any plaguing thoughts that might warrant me the label of “that person”, but I’m at the point where I’ve had my fill.

Ramble under the cut so as to not... offend or inconvenience anyone. There’s absolutely no obligation to read this. It’s Tumblr. You can block/ignore me. The option to do so is readily accessible.

I’ve been a Bad Batch fan since day one. While I didn’t start creating that very same day, it was relatively close. Point being, I’m a long-time dedicated fan. As the premiere to their series draws closer, I feel like there is going to be a great shift, rift here. That being said, I figured now is as good a time as any to make this post.

I love those boys beyond words. They’ve been the one constant in my life amidst a rapid and debilitating change. I love getting to give them life, even if my interpretations aren’t the most accurate.

Yes, I am a new Writer and yes, I am new to Tumblr, as I am sure both of those things are painfully apparent.

I get that it is impossible to please everyone. It’s something I’m learning more and more with each passing day. It’s something that gets harder to swallow, even more so.

I’d like to say that being here has been a largely positive experience, with all of these great connections and opportunities. But honestly? It’s been more isolating than anything. I’ve actually never felt more isolated than since I joined a year ago.

As a content creator or even just a general blogger, I don’t ask for much. I don’t ask for anything, in fact. I consider myself very low maintenance. I don’t demand/harass/play the martyr for reblogs. I have never mentioned it once, and never will. Some people on here are so damn passive-aggressive about it, and quite frankly, it’s embarrassing. It’s very stigmatizing. While I completely understand the frustration surrounding the like-to-reblog ratio, I think it’s neither tasteful nor reputable to threaten to call people out for not reblogging your fics. I wish I could say I was joking on that one. But I’ve seen it profoundly. Not cool.

And yet, no one says anything or raises any concern there.

Yet I make metas, harmless rambles, and I get shot down? Seriously?

—I need to “chill”, it’s “overkill”, I’m “overthinking”. I and my content are apparently just so damn arduous to interact with.

If you don’t like me, please just move on. There are plenty of other Bad Batch creators for you to enjoy. You know that. My work is absolutely not the final say, and I’ve never claimed it to be.

What is so wrong, with sharing one’s thoughts? Why do people inherently have a problem with other’s creative efforts? I see it time over again. Why do I feel like if I was making a bunch of smutty posts it wouldn’t be as much of a problem, that it in fact would be infinitely more welcome? (Absolutely NO shade to people who create smut, okay? I’ve made my own share. I admire those bold enough to do so regularly. I absolutely love them. Please teach me your ways).

This ramble really has nothing to do with the most recent event regarding my contributions. Rather, it’s a culmination of experiences over the past several months that have brewed and festered to the point where I can no longer keep downplaying it.

Social media, at its core, is one big popularity contest. It always has been, it always will be. But I’m not here to win. That’s never been my objective. That’s not what I’m about. Surprise (or not), I am not a popular blog. Not by a long shot. I’ll never claim otherwise.

I don’t ask people to view/interact with my content, I’m not an activist, I can’t even fathom exuding that kind of confidence. Even though I, admittedly, crave it. I suspect I crave interaction as much as the next creator. It’s a nice feeling. Yet there’s never been any obligation for it, especially with me, so I don’t understand what the problem is. As I’ve said, there are ample ways for you to block/avoid me. It’s the internet. In this day and age, there’s no excuse for viewing anything you don’t want to.

I came here in the hopes of finding like-minded individuals, uplifting and interacting, and exercising some otherwise stunted creativity.

All Tumblr as taught me is that creating and contributing is largely a thankless, empty endeavor. You can give and give and give and be reduced to nothing. There’s a profound imbalance between “giving” and “receiving”, and in regards to both ends of the scale, it’s became apparent to me that if you don’t cater heavily and in unreasonable degrees or get “noticed” by a popular blog, you get nothing, and your efforts are null and void.

Truthfully? I constantly feel like I walk on eggshells here, and it’s all I can do to not crack under the pressure, even though it’s my blog and my headspace. I should feel comfortable and free to express myself here, and I don’t, and I’m unsure of how to achieve that sense of stability. To be completely honestly I feel like a constant bother and a nuisance. When I post, I literally feel like there is a collective eye-roll that comes with people receiving a notification from my blog. Even though I know, rationally, that can’t be true, that’s an absurd level of thinking. I can’t say I can pinpoint exactly where it stems from.

But regardless: I hardly ever talk about/create the things I actually want. I only recently just got ballsy enough to share some metas, and we all know how well that’s going. I try not to have smut out of respect for my asexual/minor mutuals, even though the tag to blacklist is very much an option. I try not to bring up conflicting topics, Tumblr, political, or otherwise, even though with proper tagging I could. But I try not to even bring that into existence. Even though it’s my right to, I don’t.

I don’t actually feel like I fit into any narrative here, especially in the Bad Batch fandom; even though we are all basically the same steadfast group of bloggers. We all know who we are. We all coexist in the same space. It’s nearly impossible to be unaware of each other, at this point.

And yet, I’m not in a bunch of Discord servers or backed by a team of beta readers and all that jazz. It’s basically just me talking to myself out here. It’s very isolating.

Part of that—most of it—is my own crippling social anxiety, and the genuine belief that I don’t deserve to be in the same space/servers as all of these brilliant creators. Because I’m just me, and there’s not a whole lot of value there. With that mindset, it’s hard to actually feel like I belong anywhere. I know that is a mindset I have to conquer alone.

My excitement over my creations has largely dwindled into nothing. I seldom ever bounce my ideas off of others—another issue that stems from the fear of presenting as a burden—and even though I try to write for myself, even that fire has pretty much died out. I’m not even sure how or if I could even reignite it, at this point. It’s really quite sad. It makes me very sad, actually. All I wanted was to safely ramble, project all my thoughts and creativity that has otherwise been repressed through prolonged detrimental circumstances.

More than anything, I wanted to find and hold onto something that makes me feel useful, meaningful, happy. More and more I wonder if that’s even possible. I don’t think it is, not here. I often wonder if joining and sharing on Tumblr was a horrible mistake. I miss the innocent joy of when I first started creating. It was so simple. I’m trying to find that simplicity again.

But I’m burned out. I’m running on fumes. I have been for some time.

At this point it goes beyond just “taking a break” from Tumblr. It’s the fact that it all feels like this meaningless, monotonous cycle. I wonder every day if I am an isolated case in experiencing these emotions.

And yet, come tomorrow I will still be here, business as usual.

I’m not asking for sympathy or playing the victim or attacking anyone or trying to guilt-trip into more interaction. I am very aware of my shortcomings and incorrect mindsets. I’m just trying to make sense of it all. I feel very disconnected from everyone here and it’s lonely. This took a lot for me to share. I will most likely delete this because anxiety will eat me up, as it does with everything I post. Yes, everything.

#personal #lil rambles

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akitohru · 4 years

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The Sohma clan and its cult-like characteristics or: why and how they get away with everything they do. Why everyone stays. Why the current system held in place operates so well. I wrote this back when episode 10 came out, but I didn’t post it over here. However, with the release of Rin’s episode, I’m seeing this topic being brought up again a lot, so I wanted to post it over here too. This post will include no manga spoilers, so don’t feel the need to watch out for them.

Warning: Abuse will be heavily discussed in this post.

With the reveal that Akito is God, we find out why the zodiac are so loyal to Akito. However, the curse itself is largely a metaphorical device rather than an actual fantasy device. Even without the curse, their loyalty to Akito is still.. very realistic considering the environment they grew up in. It’s not an exaggeration to say that the Sohma clan (at least, the “inside” part of the clan.) is a cult. This post will be explaining why that is and how being in a cult affects people. I will be using this handout (uucnrv.org/uucwp/wp-content/uploads/Cults-handouts.pdf) in the post as a reference.The handout defines a cult as:

A religion or sect, generally considered to be extremist or false, under the guidance of an authoritarian, charismatic leader for whom members exhibit fixed, even religious, veneration.

The zodiac worship Akito as their God. Even if they have problems with how Akito operates things, they still hold great reverence for him and don’t go against him no matter what kind of heinous things he does Ex: Not doing anything about Yuki being locked and tormented in a dark room by Akito for a majority of his young life, Akito partially blinding Hatori + ruining him and Kana’s relationship, Akito harming Tohru, and Akito pushing Rin off from what looked to be the third floor of a building.

Now, onto what the handout describes as common characteristics of cults:

One charismatic leader is the group’s sole authority on truth; only this leader decides, or has the right to approve, all policies and practices. Members are zealous, protective, and unquestioningly committed to the leader.Members regard the leader’s beliefs and practices as truth and law; the leader affirms and enforces this idea. Questioning, doubt, and dissent are discouraged or punished.

Since I’ve pretty much already covered how all of these characteristics relate to Akito and the zodiac under the definition, I’ll refrain from repeating myself on certain things. You may have noticed in episode 9 that Yuki says, “He needs to know his place. Him and me both. That’s how it’s supposed to be.“ He and the others have had instilled in them ever since they were old enough to comprehend things that the way things operate in the Sohma Clan are simply just the way things are supposed to be. That they can not defy that. That is is fate. Like Akito says to Kyo, "It’s what’s been carved into the wheel of fate for those born with a spirit.”

“The group’s leadership dictates how members should think, act, and feel. Members require the leader’s permission to change jobs, date, marry, or have children. The leader tells members where they can live and how to teach and discipline their children.”

Ex: Hatori having to get permission to marry Kana. While this is a characteristic of a cult, this also has to do with the Sohma clan’s family/household system. You can read more about that in this informative and intriguing post made by Furuba Canon here! (It warns in the post but watch out for spoilers.)

“The group uses public humiliation or punishment, debilitating work, sleep deprivation, or other practices to create group-think and to suppress individualism and doubt.”

I’ve already mentioned some examples of the type of punishment Akito exacts against the zodiac for insubordination under the definition, but another example of this would be when Akito visits the school and threatens Yuki with the “special room” he used to isolate him before because he skipped out of the New Year celebration

“The group is elitist, claiming special status for itself, its leaders, and its members.”

The zodiac are most definitely seen as special in the Sohma clan, only the “insiders” knowing of the curse. Akito, of course, is seen as the most special.

“Criticism or jokes about the leader or group are taken very seriously and likely punished.”

We see this when Kyo is fighting back against Akito in the annex, Akito responding with, “Don’t give me orders,” and becoming more aggressive after Kyo tells him not to touch him. We also see this when Tohru protects Momiji from Akito.

Thought Reform

In the article (people.howstuffworks.com/cult.htm), “How Cults Work”, the author describes how cults manage to have so much control over people:

A destructive cult uses countless techniques to get its members to stay, commit themselves and take part in what may be harmful activities. The sum of these techniques constitutes what some people call “mind control.” It’s also known as “thought reform,” “brainwashing” and “coercive persuasion,” and it involves the systematic breakdown of a person’s sense of self… Thought reform is an umbrella term for any number of manipulative techniques used to get people to do something they wouldn’t otherwise do…most psychologists believe that cult brainwashing techniques, which are similar to techniques used in prisoner interrogation, do change a person’s thought processes

Techniques (I will only be mentioning the ones that apply to the Sohma Clan.):

1. “Isolation- Cults cut off members from the outside world (and even each other) to produce intense introspection, confusion, loss of perspective and a distorted sense of reality. The members of the cult become the person’s only social contact and feedback mechanism…

Cults may not allow unsupervised contact with the “outside world.” In this way, there is no chance for a “reality check” or validation of a new member’s concerns regarding the group.

Cults typically instill the belief that “outsiders” (non-cult members) are dangerous and wrong.”

As we first see in the “Spring Comes” episode, the Sohmas mostly all live in the big Sohma estate with no outsiders being allowed in without special permission. Even if they are allowed to attend school and go out for other reasons, they’re still pretty isolated and surrounded by people who don’t find the way things operate inside the estate odd at all, some even encouraging of it. Someone living in that type of environment all of their life will more likely than not be influenced by the people around them, twisted as those people may be.

In a more extreme sense, we see this with how Akito isolated young Yuki and still isolates Kureno. Akito rarely allows anyone to see Kureno, keeping him by his side as much as possible, not giving him a chance to break free from his chains. The same went for Yuki. Again, Akito instilled in him that the outside world was pitch black and that no one would accept him out there, that it was dangerous to interact with people outside because they’d find him strange and weird.

2. “Induced Dependency- Cults demand absolute, unquestioning devotion, loyalty and submission. A cult member’s sense of self is systematically destroyed. Ultimately, feelings of worthlessness and “evil” become associated with independence and critical thinking, and feelings of warmth and love become associated with unquestioning submission…

Any doubts, assertiveness or remaining ties to the outside world are punished by the group through criticism, guilt and alienation. Questions and doubts are systematically “turned around” so that the doubter feels wrong, worthless, “evil” for questioning. The member is loved again when he renounces those doubts and submits to the will of the leader.”

We see this when Kyo questions why Akito allowed Tohru to live with them if he hates her so much, if he’s using her for something. In response to Kyo questioning, Akito retorts, “You’re always quick to make me the villain, huh?…You even killed your own mom! Do you think you have the right to fall in love with someone?! Do you think that’s allowed?! Kyo. Hey, Kyo. Think about it. Who’s the real villain here? Who’s the one who involved her the most?” When Kyo gives in, Akito becomes more “loving” towards him, saying, “It’s okay, I’ll go visit you in confinement. I’ll be by your side, so you won’t be alone. I love you. I actually love you so much, Kyo. Be a good boy from now on.“

Akito loves using people’s trauma against them, knows how to use it in such an awfully cruel way. In Kyo’s case, he has been told that he’s a monster his whole life even by his dad. His mother took her life and everyone blames it on him. It’s not simple to erase that guilt he feels from even though he has positive influences around him. (Ex: Kazuma, Tohru.) That’s how Akito breaks him down. Even if he knows Akito is a cruel person, it doesn’t erase the idea from his mind that he is a monster and that, despite Akito being the way he is, that he is right. Akito knows this. He manipulative and knows how to make people bend to his will.

“The leader may randomly alternate praise and love with scorn and punishment to keep the member off-balance and confused and instill immense self-doubt. The leader may offer occasional gifts and special privileges to encourage continued submission.”

We see this with how Akito tells everyone he “loves” them, but, at the same time, emotionally and physically abuses them to keep them in check. The situation with Kyo in the annex applies here too.

3. “Dread- Once complete dependence is established, the member must retain the leader’s good favor or else his life falls apart.

The leader may punish doubt or insubordination with physical or emotional trauma.”

I believed I’ve already used up all the examples I can use that won’t be spoilers, so I’ll copy the examples I used under the definition. Ex: Not doing anything about Yuki being locked and tormented in a dark room by Akito for a majority of his young life, Akito partially blinding Hatori + ruining him and Kana’s relationship, Akito harming Tohru, and Akito pushing Rin off from what looked to be the third floor of a building.

“Once all ties to the outside world have been cut, the member feels like his only family is the group, and he has nowhere else to go.

A specific example of this would be how Yuki felt when his mom gave him up to Akito. To quote him, “I thought that if she abandoned me, if she deserted me, everything would turn dark, and it would be the end to everything.”

“Access to necessities depends on the leader’s favor. The member must "behave” or he may not get food, water, social interaction or protection from the outside world.”

Again, Akito’s isolation of Kureno and Yuki applies here. There are some spoilery things I won’t mention that are very applicable here too.

To end off,

Indoctrination, or thought reform, is a long process that never really ends. Members are continually subjected to these techniques – it’s part of daily life in a cult. Some adjust well to it after a period of time, embracing their new role as “group member” and casting aside their old sense of independence. For others, it’s a perpetually stressful existence.

The zodiac were born into an extremely twisted environment. It’s pretty much all they’ve ever known. They think the way they are living is the way it is supposed to be and something that can not be changed. Akito is the head of the family and has the support of many Sohma elders/adults including most of the zodiacs’ very own parents. It is also worth noting that the Sohmas are a very rich and powerful clan (Notice how they even have a hospital under their name as shown in episode 5 of s2. That’s how Akito/the parents can get away with abusing the zodiac kids and putting them in the hospital without anyone reporting them.); if they really wanted to prevent someone from acting out against them they very easily could and could easily pay off authorities if anyone managed to report them. Another reason why real life cults are so successful is because of corrupt law enforcement who are willing to turn the other cheek if they are paid enough and deep political ties.

So, with all that being said, you can see why it would be natural for them to feel trapped, to feel that they have no choice. Adults around them that were supposed to take care of them and protect them instead used them for their own benefit/let them be a part of such a twisted system. Abuse, childhood abuse especially, is something that can irrevocably damage a person’s mind. The effects of abuse and trauma are nothing to scoff at. Even healthy adults who’ve never been in that kind of environment can be brainwashed by a cult if they’re unlucky enough to get caught up in one.

#fruits basket

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monicalorandavis · 4 years

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‘Cheer’ on Netflix is a shot of adrenaline to the heart

Cheerleader or layman, the show ‘Cheer’ on Netflix, which debuted just two days ago (Jan. 8), will make your body pulsate with nervous energy. That might dissuade you (and if you have a heart condition you should sit this one out) but this is what sports do to us. They make us cheer and scream and punch the air and, sometimes, we cry. Such is the story of ‘Cheer’. This motherfucker makes the Superbowl look like rec league racquet ball. Baby, this is high-stakes television and I want more, Netflix.

Yes, ‘Cheer’ is a sports show. But it is also the spiritual journey of the co-ed cheer team at Navarro Junior College in Corsicana, Texas. We follow the team (initially comprised of 40 members) through early practices all the way to the national championship in Daytona, Florida months later. By Daytona, the Navarro squad is whittled down to their strongest 20 athletes (though by the end, all of their finest performers have incurred the most devastating injuries and have been crushingly replaced). In every single episode the thudding of bodies to the mat remind us that cheerleading is a blood sport. These kids are putting their lives on the line for a sport that has almost zero career opportunities. Sure it has its “professional” team, touring team, and limited coaching opportunities. But those are few and far between. For almost all competitive and college cheerleaders, their career ends before they ever earn a dime from the sport they’ve devoted their entire lives (and sometimes family’s savings) to.

But to go into this show with judgments on the politics of cheer, or the politics of female-dominated sports is distracting from the artistry and dedication. Don’t let the unfairness of society at large discourage you. These athletes deserve your attention. They’ve worked their entire lives for it, in fact.

Let’s start from the beginning..

Through a feat of especially skilled storytelling (and editing), we learn about the individual members of the squad first. We endear ourselves to them one by one. Some are, obviously, more interesting than others. La’Darius has had it rough but is talented and soulful. Lexi is a rebel with tumbling skills to die for. And Jerry is a sweet, perfect angel with a heart of gold who performed at a competition the same day his mother died. By and large, you are struck by the extreme dedication of these college students. And then (right on cue), we meet their captain--

Monica Aldama, commonly referred to by the informal and simultaneously terrifying “Monica” is uttered with such reverence and fear I did not know who (or what) to expect. Surely, she’d look terrifying. She’d have mean, sharp eyes and big pageant hair. But instead, she appears slowly, patiently. Her appearance is...slight. Flat-ironed. Quiet.

Hmm...

Not a monster. Nails are manicured. Her family seems nice. Husband supportive. Things are not adding up here!

Then we watch the team practice. And oh baby, it goes from 0 to 100 real quick.

We see the impossible “pyramid” of doom and watch flyer after flyer plummet to a career-ending injury. One by one, loyal replacements step into their fallen teammates’ position, walking the plank. Some crack under the pressure while others rise. This is drama. Take note, Miss Rhimes. (Grey’s Anatomy could never!)

Through blood, sweat and tears, this crew works their asses off. They go full-out when their backs go out. They throw basket tosses in spite of labral tears. No, it’s not safe. Yes, they’re ignoring explicit medical orders. But such is the cost of excellence. Monica will not accept anything less. Neither will her athletes.

I’ll say it: Monica is an ice queen. Super competitive and smart. She’s creative and she’s a numbers cruncher. She’s added every stunt purposefully to maximize the total point potential of the routine. And her mantra is “no deductions”.

I’d posit Monica might catch some legal flack for her conduct on the show. She pushes her athletes way beyond what is kosher. One base with a rigorous extracurricular life on other competing teams blows his back out despite Monica’s warnings to skip the other team’s performance. He doesn’t listen and arrives to practice in debilitating pain, unable to walk. She makes him perform anyway. It’s hard to watch. The squad looks petrified but worried for their teammate. As he writhes in pain, the camera follows the expressions on his team members’ faces. Right on the brink of opening their mouths to speak up their eyes dart to an unconcerned Monica and they continue right back into the routine. It’s stunning. Her control over them is deep. Some kids express that the disappointment of their parents would hurt less than disappointing Monica. She is feared and revered. Sparse with language. (And even more sparse with hugs.) These kids bend over backwards to please her. And the line they all walk to serve her, in spite of injury and setback, is perhaps the strongest bond in the entire show.

Say what you will about cheerleading. These people are athletes. They deserve their things. They deserve a chance to be taken seriously. They deserve to be recognized and given the opportunities that other athletes receive. But they don’t. And even still they push on, sacrificing their bodies, social lives, grades.

I don’t want to spoil any of the major plot points of the show because each episode (and especially the finale) is a satisfying exploration of human will. Some people step up and others crumble. The only difference being their belief in themselves. It is profound and devastating. “Daytona” is perhaps the best series finale I’ve seen in a year. It is certainly the best performance from a sports team that I’ve ever seen.

Fucking hell, ‘Cheer’ is good.

#cheer #cheer netflix #netflix #navarro #navarro junior college #daytona #daytona cheer #cheerleading #cheerleader #sports #athletes #netflix show #netflix 2020 #monica aldama

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capnjay21 · 4 years

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A House is Never Still Epilogue

Five years ago, Emma Swan disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Killian Jones’ disappearance, well, not so mysterious – given the denizens of Storybrooke all but blamed him for her murder. Drawn back to town by a series of strange events, he soon realises the story of what really happened the night she vanished is beginning to unravel, and what’s more: it isn’t over.

A/N: and there it ends! thank you all so much for jumping on this crazy train with me. I hope I might see some of you on some other fics in future, but for now peace & love, thank you to every SINGLE one of you that decided to click on this little piece of weirdness, I have had so so so much fun bringing @hollyethecurious art to life <3 over and out!

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of suicide, canonical character death, and some Spooky Business™.

Last go of the teeny tiny taglist, thank you squad! <3

@snowbellewells @carpedzem @kmomof4 @optomisticgirl @lfh1226-linda

AO3 | one | two | three | four | five | six

-/-

epilogue

“A house is never still in darkness to those who listen intently; there is a whispering in distant chambers, an unearthly hand presses the snib of the window, the latch rises. Ghosts were created when the first man awoke in the night.”

– J.M. Barrie

Present Day

Emma had expected it to be more difficult to return to the place Brooke House had once stood.

The last few days had passed in a rapid flurry of everyone telling her how much Brooke House had taken from her – the last five years of her life, for one. Her high school graduation. Her own funeral, apparently, her bus ticket to Augusta. Her last chance to thank Archie Hopper for everything he had done for her before he moved away. Five Super Bowls, David had added, rattling off Patriots, Broncos, Patriots, Eagles, Patriots – seriously, Pats again? – before she had a chance to let him know a five year stint as a permanent haunted house resident hadn’t made her any less indifferent to football.

Tom Brady is the GOAT, was all Killian had offered when she looked to him for backup, much to her exasperation.

But it was more than that. Those first few hours out of Brooke House had made her feel like a child, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from clinging to Killian, to David, to Ruth; she had to be touching something, holding something, just to remind herself it was all real and not another cruel trick. The darkness had dangled the tantalizing notion of a rescue before her so many times that she was sure her imagination was strong enough to conjure up one so tangible all on its own.

But this was it. This was real. She was home.

“What else did you see?” Killian had asked her once, quietly, while they sat on the steps leading out into Regina’s backyard.

It had overgrown into something wild and crooked, another marker for the passage of time, with large tufts of grass and weeds growing in all directions, some even reaching as far as her hip. The apple tree at the centre was the only tended for and trimmed element amongst the unruly greenery, but the untamed nature of the rest of it comforted Emma. It made her feel like she was in the forest again.

When Emma had not immediately replied, Killian had elaborated. “In the – storm. Other than your parents, I mean. What else did you see?”

The storm, they had taken to calling it, as if it were just a passing, temporary weather event. Emma knew what it really was. Sometimes it was like she could still feel it breathing within her, sinking into the marrow of her bones, and in a way, she supposed it was.

Demons you could vanquish, but darkness stayed with you. It was born with you and it died with you and sometimes in the middle it reminded you from time to time that it was there.

She had smiled at Killian tightly and shaken her head. He looked troubled, but like he understood. She couldn’t think about it anymore; she wanted to move forwards, not backwards.

Which was why she had insisted they return to where the house had been.

“I don’t want to always be thinking about it,” she said, looking around at their reluctant faces. “I want to see it and know that it’s over.”

She had thought it would be more difficult to head back there – but with Killian’s hand in hers and the others following close behind, she had felt herself grow in confidence with every step along the White Pine trail, and further still once they stepped off of it. Her pulse raced, but it wasn’t for the same reckless, debilitating fear that it had thumped with that first night, when everything looked too vivid to be anything but a dream and she was waiting for the ground to crumble underneath her, to send her shattering back into the walls of Brooke House.

Killian had come for her. Even after five years, he refused to give up.

He had spent so much time apologising for not coming sooner, but she didn’t care about all that. It had taken her that amount of time to master herself enough to start to slip through the cracks, to try and show him something of her after she felt him cross the town line, and not just the demon.

As expected, the clearing was empty when they got there.

She felt the barest tingle, the skim of something other brush across her arms and down her neck, but it wasn’t strong enough to be anything but a whisper against her skin.

“Look,” David said, pointing into the centre.

There, where they had left it buried into the earth, stood the dagger.

Emma felt a shot of rage and a thrill of something greedy which frightened her; it wasn’t whispering to her like it used to, but it felt like it was trying to. Clearing its throat over and over and searching for sound.

“Are you alright?” Killian asked, and she realised he was peering closely at her.

She offered him a quick smile, willing it to be anything but as brittle as she felt. “I – yeah.”

Five years. Five years of her life.

Storybrooke had been amazed to see her return. She was due to go back down to the Sheriff station for yet another interview with Graham Humbert, where she was sure he would try and grill her again for details about what she remembered – and she was speaking truthfully when she told him she remembered very little. Like a strange, distant dream, the more she tried to clutch at her experiences in Brooke House, the more they seemed to vanish like smoke.

The only clear picture left was the image of her mother, lifting a baby Emma out of the car, and placing her on the side of the freeway.

She had no idea if it was even real. It still made her want to cry.

The only positive about the process of closing the missing persons case was that it lifted Killian off the hook – in the eyes of the law, at least. Not in the eyes of the town. She was surprised by the vitriol with which he was still met with, and while he could no longer be punished with a murder charge, no doubt most of Storybrooke still believed he had kidnapped her and only recently released her. No matter how angry it made her, he begged her to let it go. After everything that had happened he told her he couldn’t care less, that everybody who mattered knew the truth and he bore no ill will to any of the residents who still looked at him like he was still a stain on their otherwise perfect town. None of that mattered to him.

Sometimes, he had said, with the sort of smile that made him look like he was letting her in on a secret, the best books have the dustiest jackets.

Killian was her favourite chapter of every novel she had ever read. He was the feeling of curling your toes under a warm rug in front of a fire, he was the splash of cool water in the heat of summer. He was her favourite song, her best fitting jacket, that moment you could finally take off your boots at the end of a long day. To her, he would always be twelve and kind and sad, and seventeen and strong and yearning, but now he was something else too – he was twenty-two and scarred but still hoping, loving, and knowing there was something better out there for them. He was so confident that now they had fought so hard for their happiness, their freedom, that the universe would naturally bend, compensate, and let them have it for as long as they wanted it.

Only sky for miles, and miles, and miles.

She had to match that confidence. She had to.

So, because he wanted her to, she didn’t try to take on the town and their ill feeling. She did, however, make sure Ruth Nolan, at the very least, understood the situation perfectly, and insisted she apologise for any wrongful blame she might have cast on Killian in the wake of her disappearance. And at Emma’s request she had done so, emphatically. In fact, she had cried when she thought of any additional pain she might have caused him, but Killian had dismissed her worry and forgiven her immediately. This, at least, was a victory that they could have.

In the clearing, Killian’s hand tightened on hers. Maybe he sensed her thoughts had wandered elsewhere.

The others were also stood, staring pensively at the dagger. Only two inches or so were buried into the soil, so the flat edge of the curved blade could still be seen, and so could the fact that there wasn’t a single name on it. No more names of those stolen in the middle of the night or sent crashing over clifftops; no more victims for the demon to want to keep score of.

But Emma did not want to be a victim.

She squeezed Killian’s hand, once, and then let go.

Feeling the others’ eyes on her, Emma stepped forward and crouched in front of the dagger, feeling that hiss of something other reaching out for her. It cajoled, it pleaded, it invited her to take another look, to give it one last chance, but it was easy to brush the tendrils of its hunger away now. There was no heat behind it. It was just metal in the earth; it held no power over her now.

Emma reached forward, clasping a hand around its hilt, and tugging it out of the soil. Dirt crumbled from the edge of the blade and dribbled onto the ground underneath.

Five years. Five years of her life.

“This will not define me,” she vowed.

In the end, they had taken it to the ravine. She could feel the dagger heating up against her palm the nearer they got, it knew, she could tell, but she hadn’t let that stop her from hurling it out into the air. It had arced neatly across the gorge before disappearing down below, the distant ripple of its landing in the river just barely visible from where they stood.

It was gone. It was over.

And she was home.

They all watched as the current continued to flow, the harsh purl of the river against the banks of the ravine a distant roar. This was near to where Liam had driven over, that much she knew. They all had ghosts they wanted buried down below.

“There’s still one thing I don’t understand,” Killian said, finally.

Mary Margaret let out an amused sound. “Only one?”

Her hand was curled around David’s arm, and she was leaning in close to him. They had spent the entire night talking when they had come back from Brooke House, and much of the following day. What they discussed David had kept close to his chest, even from Emma, but something about looking at them now made her heart want to burst. This was something they had all earnt.

Killian hummed in reply, but he was smiling. He quickly mastered it and tried to school his features into something a little more serious.

The hard line of his jaw, the beard she most definitely approved of, the barely visible scar on his right cheek. She loved him. She loved all of it.

“It’s just… it’s Liam. How did he know all that stuff about how to banish a demon? Or better yet, why didn’t he just hightail it out of town immediately after being threatened by a malevolent spirit?” Killian shook his head, a flicker of sadness crossing his features and Emma stepped a little closer to him. “He stayed, he made all those notes on the ritual, he went to talk to Belle, on his own… I was always only ever following in his footsteps. So how did he know to do all this by himself?”

They were all silent for a moment, eyes fixed on where the dagger had disappeared beneath the surface down below.

“Magic is… it’s real,” David said, almost disbelievingly, but Emma knew he didn’t doubt anymore.

Her fingertips tingled with possibility. Oh, how it changed the world.

“I guess it isn’t so farfetched to assume he was somebody that knew that.”

Killian looked distressed at the notion. “But why wouldn’t he tell me?”

“You were just a kid,” Regina offered, with almost uncharacteristic gentleness. “Maybe he would have, later.”

There was so much they still didn’t know, and perhaps they never would – Killian had told her that Liam had never really wanted to talk about their parents. Maybe there was something in that. Maybe there wasn’t. Maybe, in the end, Liam Jones had been just as scared as they all were, and had improvised as best he could.

Liam Jones. Five whole years – lost not just to her, but to all of them.

Brooke House would not, could not, take anything else from them now.

Regina turned to go, with Mary Margaret and David following close behind.

Killian and Emma hung back just a little, staring out into the gorge and down into the frothy waters below. It had been there for a couple of days now, that heaviness that hung around Killian’s shoulders like reluctance or trepidation, so finite you could miss it if you didn’t know the curve of his smile as intimately as Emma knew it.

And she knew what it had to mean, too.

She let out a long breath through her mouth. “You’re not staying, are you?”

Killian closed his eyes. After a few thinly stretched moments, he spoke.

“I always thought that once we got you back, everything would just… right itself. Storybrooke would feel like home again. Everything would be as it was before.”

Before, when they were teenagers and invincible and they could do anything just because anything was what they had always been told they could do. When the town could look at them all with fondness because that was how you looked at the promising next generation of likeminded neighbours; when there had been a bus waiting to take them to Augusta still fresh-faced, wide eyed, and about to get their lives started.

“But it can’t be like before,” Emma said, slipping her hand into his. “You know that.”

Oh, how it changed the world.

Killian sighed, like he knew this but did not want to be told it. He squeezed her hand.

“You know I’m coming too, right?” she informed him.

He instantly tried to pull away, shaking his head. “Emma, I couldn’t ask you to –”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not asking,” she said firmly. “I’m telling you. You go, I go.”

Killian swallowed. “But… Ruth, David –”

“Going away doesn’t mean never coming back,” she pointed out. “You should know that better than anyone.”

This, he conceded.

“I love you,” he said.

Emma was surprised to see something like apprehension lingering in his expression as he said it, and when she thought on it she was startled to realise that might be the first time he had said it out loud. No conditions, no threats to life or limb or worse. It astonished her, but only because she felt like she had been hearing him say he loved her since she was twelve, in every deed or action that he had shaped tenderly and perfectly just for her.

Saying words, she decided, did not make them magic. It was everything else that made them so spellbinding.

She lifted a hand to his cheek and kissed him slowly, on the spot where it all began.

“I love you too.”

Hand in hand, they began their slow walk back to the treeline.

“So, where are we going?”

Killian rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “I hate to admit it, but Augusta really blew. Too damp. I was there for three months and it rained basically the entire time.”

“No way, it sucked? After all that build up?” she laughed. Killian nodded regretfully, but he was smiling.

“I was actually thinking – well. I went back to the group home a little while ago, and they said Archie moved to Portland. I have no idea if he’d still be there, but,” he lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, “I have some stuff I’d like to say to him. If – if there’s an opportunity to do so.”

Emma hummed a little in agreement. “That’s something else we have in common.”

Portland, then. She remembered that summer they spent the day traipsing around looking for a particular lobster restaurant that had turned up nothing besides one perfect, happy day with Killian. Maybe this time they’d have better luck. It filled her with immeasurable warmth to think on their lives together extending out in front of them, the red carpet to the show of her life, just now beginning again but ready to soar.

Killian was speaking, but Emma’s attention was suddenly drawn elsewhere; something had almost imperceptibly changed in the air, like a sound she had been hearing in her subconscious had dropped out without warning. She tensed. It was somehow a lot colder than it had been a moment ago, and gooseflesh erupted up her arms and down the back of her neck.

Subtly, so Killian wouldn’t notice, she turned her head to look over her shoulder.

There, at the edge of the ravine, stood the scaled man, his mouth wide to reveal a set of crooked, sharp teeth. His basket of spun gold twine stood proudly at his feet. He raised a hand to her in greeting, nails pointy and black –

She blinked and he was gone.

Her heart hammered one terrible thump against her ribcage.

Nothing could ever be like it was before.

Not now she carried the truth so tacitly; the truth that everyone knew but refused to speak aloud, keeping it hidden in the most desperate, sacred corner of their hearts.

Darkness never left you.

It was born with you, it died with you, and sometimes, in the middle, it liked to remind you that it was there.

-/-

Coda – Date Unknown

Mom had always told him not to play out by the creek, but he couldn’t help it. It was by far the most interesting part about visiting Grandma, since they had to spend the whole weekend there and the town always seemed to him like it would rather be fast asleep. There was nothing to do; no arcade, no park, and only one diner that served the same six meals over and over without fail. Mom hated it when he complained, but he was eleven, not four, and Grandma was snoring half the time anyway. He needed to find entertainment somewhere.

But the creek was different. It was vivid where everything else was lazy, a sapphire current of fast but shallow water, with a tide that rose and fell so unpredictably that he had returned home with soaking wet sneakers more times than he could count. His favourite game was leaping from stone to stone as far out as he dared, until the water got deeper, so deep he couldn’t see to the bottom anymore, and tried to keep his balance and stop himself toppling in.

Today he was determined to make it a few stones farther than yesterday. There was a particularly sturdy looking one shaped like a tooth that stuck out in the centre, and he was sure if he could make it as far as the large, flat rock next to it, then he’d be able to balance on Tooth for a few moments and really feel like the King of the river.

He heard someone call his name and his heart leapt into his mouth – Dad. Shoot. Mom always sent Dad out looking for him when she thought he was by the creek. He still sounded a long way off, though. If he started now, there was a chance he could make it all the way out to Tooth and back before he was seen, and pretend he was just skimming the woods looking for rabbits.

He shirked his jacket and rolled it up into a ball, leaving it on the bank like a marker of where he needed to return to, and began hopping across his usual route. For a fleeting moment he almost lost his balance on the fourth rock, and paused to steady himself before starting out again. After a minute or so he made it to the stone he’d gotten to yesterday, something blocky but wide enough to hold him without concern.

Yesterday, Tooth had looked so far away, like something far beyond his reach. He was sure it was closer today.

Or, he decided eagerly, he was just bigger than he was yesterday.

Gathering his courage, he aimed for the large rock beside tooth and pushed off with a fierce leap – before landing in an unsteady huff exactly where he meant to. Elated, he couldn’t help it – he let out a crow of success, a loud and wild thing that echoed out into the walls of the cliff faces around him.

When Dad’s shouts started to grow louder and nearer, he realised that was probably not the best idea.

He hurriedly turned his attention to Tooth, jutting out from the fast current like the ancient fang of a mountain lion, or – or the end of the tusk of a woolly mammoth. Its tip was sharp and narrow, and he realised now, up close, that he would probably only be able to get one foot up onto it, which meant he wouldn’t be able to balance there for very long.

Before he could take the final step and make it there, something caught his eye under the surface of the water. Out here the river was deep and quick, and he wasn’t stupid enough to just stick his arm in and reach blindly, but something was definitely – there. It had to be something shiny, it kept reflecting the light of the sun back at him.

It was probably buried treasure! Gold or real sapphires, emeralds, something that would make Mom and Dad so pleased they wouldn’t even care that he’d been out by the creek.

Kneeling down, he examined it a little closer. It must be wedged into the side of Tooth, which was why it hadn’t been carried away by the current or sunk down to the waterbed. He reached into the water and wrapped his hand around it – it was surprisingly narrow, heavy and wedged tight.

He had to wiggle it about for a minute or two, slowly edging out from where it had gotten stuck, and after a final heave it suddenly came loose and his momentum almost sent him stumbling back into the water.

After regaining his balance, he paused to examine his prize.

With a surge of disappointment, he realised it wasn’t gold or jewels, but it was beautifully made – it made him think of the knights in his storybook or soldiers ready to fight a forever war. It was some kind of knife, but the blade was beautifully curved in a way he’d never seen in any picture book, like the long tail of a snake curling into a sharp, deadly point.

It looked like it could really do some damage. It filled him with a special kind of thrill when he considered it. It made him feel – powerful.

And it… it whispered, almost.

The sound of someone calling his name, from incredibly nearby, jerked him from his reverie.

There stood Dad, arms folded sternly beside his discarded jacket on the riverbank, looking cross.

Crap.

He wasn’t sure why, but something made him want to conceal his new discovery from his father, so he tucked it behind him while he yelled an apology. Dad looked annoyed, but in that relaxed, almost-fun sort of way that told him if he played his cards right, he might just call him rascal, ruffle his hair a little and not tell Mom about it all.

When Dad bent to pick up the rolled up jacket left on the riverbank, the boy used that half a second to spare another glance at the knife, resting temptingly in his palm.

“Come on, kid,” Dad called.

Yes, he heard someone say. Come. Listen.

The boy tightened his hand around the knife – no, dagger, the word suddenly came to him, fascinated by its curve.

“Henry!”

Henry stood quickly, stuffing the dagger hurriedly underneath his shirt to keep it from view.

“Yeah, yeah!” he called back, readying himself to hop back onto the next rock.

His heart quivered with the hum of a new adventure.

#jay writes #a house is never still #cs role reversal #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs au #cs halloweek #killian jones #emma swan #here it ends!

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jltlaw · 3 years

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My Opinion on the Law of Attraction

Quite possibly the most mainstream ideas in Personal Development in the course of the most recent couple of years has been the wonder known as the Law of Attraction. It is the subject of far reaching public interest and has been the subject of an immense number of digital books and other computerized items, all professing to have the option to completely change people by giving them attestations that power "the Universe" to give individuals all that they wish for. Basically by saying an assertion, for example, "I draw in cash easily into my life" more than once, the Law of Attraction expresses that you will pull in this cash by constraining "the Universe" to hear you out and this will permit entryways in your day to day existence to open and the guaranteed cash to show up.

This began possibly approximately 20 years prior, in spite of the fact that things truly began moving when a film called "The Secret" turned out in 2006 that advocated the Law of Attraction and brought it into standard idea. From that point forward a wide scope of "masters" have come out that training this Law and various examples of overcoming adversity have been accounted for, despite the fact that there have likewise been an enormous number of negative occasions, as well. It is intensely upheld by Oprah Winfrey, who has perused numerous books regarding the matter and prescribes these books to her numerous fans.

All in all, as a Personal Development master myself, what's my interpretation of the entirety of this?

I'm a Roman Catholic and I generally attempt to offer you the best guidance. I consider being a Roman Catholic to be a benefit in Personal Development, since the lessons of the Catholic Church have been refined constantly to a serious level of exactness and its commitment to the Truth of Jesus Christ and to the manner in which things truly are have dazzled me. I was passed up the pinpoint religious exactness of the "Summa Theologica" of Saint Thomas Aquinas, who broadly expounds on a wide scope of themes with respect to the profound life and the significance of transgression, the instructing of the Church, how to go to Heaven, excellencies, indecencies, the spirit, reasoning and an entire bundle of other stuff. That is to say, this person is only dead-on. There are very few apostasies and mistakes that can move beyond him, and assuming any do, there's consistently Saint Augustine to wreck them!

In this way, as a Personal Development master, yet additionally as a Roman Catholic, I am ethically obliged to educate you, on agony of wrongdoing expecting admission to acquit it, that, in its supreme sense, the Law of Attraction is a sin. The Law of Attraction expresses that "the Universe" can be constrained by Man utilizing his own psychological force. Since experts express that "the Universe" is an equivalent for God, this is commensurate to saying that Man has control over God and can become "like God" (which is Satan's most noteworthy aspiration). Besides, I need to disclose to you that the Catholic Church has seen this all previously. We are the most seasoned section, and most apostasies have effectively been considered years prior and have quite recently been reused again and again all through the previous 2,000 years. So I need to disclose to you that endeavoring to control lifeless things and the conduct of others utilizing the force of mysterious powers and your own cerebrum is an antiquated sin. It's called SORCERY. It breaks the First Commandment ("Thou shalt have no other god before me") and is against the righteousness of religion, where we render love to God by virtue of His Goodness. So there!

So now, having set some hard boundaries and given you the hard word, it's the ideal opportunity for the uplifting news. I accept that, in a more confined sense, there is some advantage in a portion of the activities performed by the individuals who trust in the Law of Attraction. The Law of Attraction should be gotten control over so it is inside the limits of right explanation and experimental science. On an individual level, I accept that it is adequate to view at the Law of Attraction as "a skeptic's name for Divine Providence". Numerous occasions occur on the planet and I accept as an issue of confidence that God moves individuals and things so that every one of His animals are coordinated to their common end - downpour takes care of the dirt, plants develop, food is accessible for creatures to live and inhale, dead organic entities deteriorate into the dirt to give minerals and food to the future, etc. In the existences of individuals, God frequently coordinates either individual or thing to serve His inclinations and bring His kin to the existence that He has decided for them on this planet, so His Will be finished. In this way, to the adherent to God, numerous apparently detached occasions can be seen through the eyes of confidence to be willed by God so we show up at our powerful end, which is to appreciate the Beatific Vision of God in Heaven.

Presently, concerning "the Universe", this can be interpreted, as even a Law of Attraction professional can confirm, as an equivalent for God. So "asking the Universe" simply signifies "asking God". A large number gripe that the Law of Attraction doesn't generally work. This can be clarified by basically expressing that what you are requesting isn't as per the Will of God. God needs the best for you however to understand what He needs is to look for His Will. To request a Ferrari to abruptly show up external your home tomorrow first thing may not be God's Will for you. The truth of the matter is, you need to look up to the way that in the event that you are a jobless bricklayer living in a trailer park with obligations up to your eyeballs and the IRS thumping on your entryway, that Ferrari won't show up any day soon! You need to awaken to the real world, quit messing with the Law of Attraction and begin beating the walkway to search for a task. Make a move towards your objectives, get things going and continually bet on yourself. DO THIS FIRST, and afterward inquire as to whether it is His Will for you to have either prospective employee meeting. See which entryways open and which entryways close. In the event that two entryways are open, that is the point at which you ought to ask God which one to take. In the event that you need to know God's Will, start by attempting to do His Will on your present information on Who He Is. So begin on the Ten Commandments and make it your day by day propensity to submit to every one of them. God will see this and entryways will open. Submitting to His Commandments implies giving up old propensities and diversions. This may include a few forfeits however that will be normal. "Deny yourself, take up your cross and follow Me," says the Lord.

Concerning attestations, I see these as essentially petitions. Conversing with God is imploring. That is fine. Everybody ought to do that more!

Shouldn't something be said about the marvel of individuals "showing" things and "their psyche mind hears this" and stuff really begins occurring in their lives? Indeed, I feel that science can clarify this. Consistent redundancy of one prevailing thoroughly considered and over again makes neural pathways in the mind because of an element of cerebrum hardware that researchers call "pliancy". This is the place where frequently utilized neural pathways reinforce and turn out to be more various the more they are worked out, while neural pathways that are just every so often utilized decay and debilitate lastly vanish. The psyche mind isn't surely known by science however I accept that it CAN have some extensive impact on our idea designs. Masterminds, for example, Sigmund Freud discussed the "id", the "sense of self" and the "superego", where the "id" is the reptilian cerebrum, the base, carnal crude mind near the cerebrum stem which he saw as being lustful, intuitive and primarily worried about prompt delight of basic substantial desires. The "id" is constrained by both the "conscience" and "superego". I don't know I concur with all that Freud said but rather I feel that the psyche mind has an "underground" impact on cognizant idea designs however that this impact is directed by the cognizant brain (Freud's "sense of self") and our qualities and convictions on what is correct or wrong (the "superego"). I feel that if a Law of Attraction specialist reliably "shows" exactly the same thing again and again, neural pathways in that individual's mind concerning what he is showing will be fortified. This thus prompts increased affectability and attention to outside occasions that occur in such individual's reality that could have a potential association with this prevailing idea. This uplifted mindfulness permits the expert to take advantage of chances identified with the "showed" thing all the more rapidly and successfully, where, beforehand, a more "normal" mindfulness would have not seen any apparent association and the chance would have slid by. Hence the expert can maybe profit by unexpectedly making a move on these occasions thus the probability of the "showed" thing really occurring, in actuality, is expanded.

So that is my assessment on the Law of Attraction. In outline at that point, I can educate you concerning the accompanying -

1. In its total sense, the act of the Law of Attraction addresses an endeavor by Man to control his fate and the existences of others utilizing mysterious powers and his own psychological force, and this activity is customarily known as magic. It is seriously corrupt and by no means can I at any point prescribe this training to you as a way to accomplish your fantasy life.

2. In any case, in a more confined sense, the act of the Law of Attraction can be a solid method to zero in your brain on accomplishment and to wake up to potential outcomes that life offers you, and render you more prepared to make a move to accomplish your life objectives, while simultaneously permitting you the opportunity to cling to your standard judicious convictions concerning confidence and science. This more confined sense ought to be characterized as follows -

(a) "The Universe" is God.

(b) "The Law of Attraction" is Divine Providence.

(d) "Showing" is utilizing mental redundancy of a solitary predominant idea to make reinforced neural pathways in the mind, which prompts elevated consciousness of life occasions that have some conceivable association with the showed want, and a more noteworthy availability to take advantage of such lucky breaks as they emerge, so that progress towards life

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orderofthefanfic · 5 years

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It’s All Over But The Laughing

Summary: Gotham was a trash heap of destitution and neglect. The rich barely even saw those less wealthy worth enough to step on and any who suffered were helpless. Arthur Fleck was no exception. Suffering from a disorder that left him ostracized from his world, even in the smallest of places, it felt as if no one even saw him. Until he met you. A similar case of loneliness and despair, it was never a case of whether you were seen, but of whether you were heard. Despite your gigs as a cheap singer, the words of your heart were never understood, with a stutter that frightened you from saying your mind and a world that silenced you from showing your truth. The day you met Arthur Fleck was the day your life changed forever.

Pilot

It wasn't completely unusual for people to linger in the halls of the social office, but her face, Arthur hadn't seen before. He slowed his pace, out of curiosity, most of all, and studied the stranger's nervous form. She sat in one of the decrepit chairs in the main hall, left as a makeshift waiting room despite the lack of people who even came to this office, shaking her knee as her hands, clasped tightly, bounced atop it. Her eyes scanned the room frequently, in Arthur’s favor, stopping just short of where he stood to observe, and a sickened look enrobed her aura. With a harsher bounce of her leg, she pushed a breath of air through her pursed lips, flattening her back against the chair and leaning her head back to face the ceiling. He intended to move on from watching her when one of the other psychiatrists in the building made their way towards her. At their approaching footsteps, she shot her head up, an anxious grimace playing on her face.

“(Y?N)? What are you still doing here?” The doctor looked to her watch, furrowing her brow, “Our sessions been over for 20 minutes.”

“Dr. Setler!,” The girl, who Arthur now overheard as (Y/N), began to wring her hands roughly, “I-I don’t...d-didn’t,”

She stopped suddenly, scrunching her nose and huffing a burst of air with a twitch of her head. He thought she was just stammering, her nerves getting to her, but as she continued to speak, he realized she struggled through multiple words, stopping almost entirely in between some, and continuously scrunching her face as she grappled through her sentences.

“I th-thought we had an extended session today and I didn’t get your call it was sh..compressed. I was going to wait until my ride arrived.”

Setler raised her brow, a tight-lipped smile flashed towards the girl that seemed in the least bit forced, “That’s going to be quite some time, yes?”

“Well, yes,” When she finally stuttered out her answer, she spilled out with a slight panic, “I’d rather just wait, I don’t truly want to call.”

Her mouth hung open as if to say more, but the doctor waved dismissively in her face, placing a hand on her back and leading her, quite reluctantly, to the public phone in the foyer, “Nonsense, Remember we talked about practicing with phone calls? You’ll only get better. Waiting here all day is obscene.”

She attempted desperately to disagree, but between her struggles to speak and dismission of Setler, she was unwillingly shoved to the device, and a receiver was thrust into her trembling hand.

With a rough pat on her back, Dr. Setler gave a short wave goodbye and took off down the hall. Arthur was not one to enjoy eavesdropping. He knew, and it was ingrained in him, that it was rude, but even with his consciousness scolding him as he stayed out of suspicion and listened, he was unable to stop. She stood blankly for a few moments before she slowly began to spin in the numbers, swaying on her feet as she unknowingly sealed her fate with each rotation. Although he couldn’t hear the speaker on the other side, he gathered enough.

The conversation looked painful to be involved in, the girl’s already debilitating stutter exemplified over the phone, and the stress that seemed to be gripping her was tightening with every word. In summary, she was behind on her paycheck, thus placing her behind on her already reduced-price medications. The man on the other end, who she’d addressed as her uncle, was audible even from where Arthur stood, although his words were indistinguishable, his distaste was crystal-clear.

“No meds, no roof.”

A persnickety individual, he seemed set on his personal philosophy that if she wasn't on whatever medications she was prescribed, instantly, she wasn't mentally sound or safe to be in his home. The ideal made Arthur sick.

At some point, the girl had half resulted to begging, pushing the phone tightly to her cheek and clenching her fist until her knuckles turned white. Her uncle was highly impatient with her stutter and as the conversation pressed on, she, too, was becoming increasingly frustrated with her inability to converse concisely. Within the limited range of the phone cord, (Y/N) paced and screamed internally. After desperate convincing, she managed to buy herself a day, 24 hours to pack up whatever life she had in her uncle's apartment and leave it behind. Part of her was relieved, the other was still preoccupied with finding a new apartment.

When the death buzz of an empty phone line stung in her ear, she finally gave up on trying to hold whatever was left of her together. Tears sprang to her eyes the second the receiver touched the hook and her palms rubbed her face angrily. Stumbling and shuffling to the seat in the hall, she slumped heavily into the worn and flaking leather. Her face was covered by her hands, muffling her weary cries, and a frown took over Arthur's own expression.

A moment or two passed, the otherwise quiet hall echoing with her sadness, before Arthur finally forced himself to stop creeping on the poor girl and at least do something . And so, Arthur Fleck did what Arthur Fleck wanted to do most: make somebody laugh.

He approached her slowly, his light footfalls rising only slightly above her sobs and cautiously lowered himself into the seat next to her. She stiffened but remained otherwise unchanged. He placed an immense amount of will power into keeping his own self calm, hoping a fit of painful laughter wouldn't rip through him. An awkward second passed, and when he thought about how uncomfortable his silent presence probably felt, the joke he'd been balancing on his tongue jumped out.

"Why are poor people so confused?"

Although she didn't verbalize her acknowledgment of him, he sensed a loosening of her hands as he cries quieted ever so with curiosity. She was unnerved, she wouldn't deny that, but she couldn't ignore what he'd just say out of the mere oddness of the question. Unknowing of its humorous intention, she stayed unmoving and waited.

Whether it was with good or poor judgement, Arthur nudged her shoulder as he delivered the punch line, "Because they don't make any cents."

Nothing. At first, there was absolutely nothing, then what to him sounded like harder sobbing, and then finally, a sound he was all too familiar with (maybe just not from others), laughter. Sad and bitter laughter at first, but soon it morphed into soft but genuine chuckling. Her palms began to rub her face with a pitied groan, her head shaking in self-disbelief and she assertively wiped the fallen tears from underneath her red eyes.

"Th-That's the worst joke I've ever heard," Arthur's heart plummeted, "I love it."

She finally turned to look at him, a weak smile tugging at her lips, and something deep in him glowed.

"Well, I'd hoped you would." He returned the grin, shifting in his seat as she took a few steadier breaths.

It was evident she was apprehensive about speaking, something Arthur understood, although perhaps from a different perspective. Her eyes darted quickly to the brown paper bag in his hand, her ears honing in on the unmistakable sounds of pills, and she seemed almost to relax more at the realization he was a fellow patient at the office.

An awkward silence grew quickly between them but he rubbed his palms on his knees and confided, "I didn't mean to listen in, but I overheard you don't have a ride and you're nervous about taking the subway alone. If you want, I take the subway all the time, I wouldn't mind joining you, if it would make you feel better."

He felt like he may have been rambling, pulling back as he pressed his lips together. She was staring at him silently, a strange look on her features and Arthur began to panic that he may have said the wrong thing. Or maybe he sat the wrong way, or did the wrong thi-

"I'd r-re..verily appreciate that." She tripped out, her head nodding softly as her eyes seemed to gleam. "Seriously, it would mean a lot."

His lips twitched upwards again and he sighed in relief, rising from his seat as he extended his hand towards her.

"My name is Arthur."

Her hand, still trembling, slipped gently into his, contradicting the firm grip and sharp shake she gave him.

Nodding, she flashed her teeth at him genuinely, "(Y/N)."

(A/N): Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. I watched this movie opening day and I have not stopped thinking or talking about it since. It was stunning and I just fell in love with the characterization of Arthur. Joaquin did a phenomenal job and everything about the film was beautiful. Also! I have never written a character with a stutter and I, unfortunately, do not personally know anyone who does that I can ask and get advice from. I tried to do research and watch video examples of how a stutter affects someone, the types of stuttering, and what it sounds like, but as someone who does not have a stutter and doesn't see it in person, I may not portray it as well as I'd like. I would love any feedback or advice you can give me on how I do or should depict stuttering and if there are any inaccuracies or over (or under) exaggerations, please let me know! I love to hear your feedback and comments!

#arthur fleck #joker #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck fanfic #joker fanfic #joker x reader #reader insert #joker reader insert #platonic #joker 2019 #fanfiction #writing #dcu #joker dcu #mental illness #mental disorders

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alison-anonymous · 4 years

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flawsome bandits pt. 17 ♡ sonic

Flawsome Firewood

So sorry for the later update, my darlings. Been suffering from some writer’s block and I also was working on an actual novel I’ve been writing too! Let me know if any of you are interested in checking it out and maybe I’ll upload some snippets sometime ;) I hope you all enjoy this chapter!! Much love!

Warnings - immense fluff, what else is new?

♡♡♡

It should be common knowledge by now that going off alone in the woods is a bad idea. And since our favorite four are not complete and utter idiots (like some may believe), they were quick to adapt to the Buddy System. A couple of days had gone by that were pretty uneventful, mostly consisting of more cute moments between Sonic and Y/n and a bunch of plotting from Robotnik as he drafted his Metal Sonic. Plus a couple of mishaps caused by Shadow (who was growing increasingly more distracted by the minute) and some more internal debating coming from Knuckles. Robotnik had finally managed to revive some of his more powerful drones, programming them to shoot at either of the hedgehogs or their little friends on sight so that if one of them ventured a bit too far, then they would be taken care of without him having to do anything but lift a finger.

He was SUCH a genius; Shadow and Knuckles were lucky they had such a benevolent leader like him. Little did Sonic and Y/n know that all it would take would be one little trip into the woods to understand that.

♡♡♡

“Aww, shoot,” Spirit sighed from her spot kneeling before the fire. Her blue eyes swept across the flames as they crackled before her, lighting up the evening sky. Y/n glanced up at her friend from the top of the truck.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“We’re running low on wood. Want me to go and get some?”

Y/n’s stomach instantly churned as she pictured venturing out into the woods this late during the day. It made her terrified enough to even be three feet away from her friends anymore thanks to Shadow, her yandere… She shivered in disgust as the thought of him crossed her mind. Him pressing her up against that tree, the amount of fear that she had been under was so debilitating that she couldn’t move… She hated him for it. Hated him with every fiber of her being for making her feel helpless. She wished that she never had to see him again, even though she knew she would have to at some point. After all, he was one of Robotnik’s henchmen. But still. Y/n’s e/c orbs glanced nervously into the dark underbrush of the forest, her ears flickering silently to see if there were any snapping twigs or rustling leaves. She tried her best to not picture Spirit going out on her own and getting stabbed or shot at by one of Robotnik’s plots.

She better go instead.

“No, no,” Y/n stood up, glancing over to see Sonic and Tails going over some of their defense lines again. They had been busying themselves by building defense traps (at Sonic’s suggestion thanks to Shadow and his grabby hands) and were getting along quite well. “I’ll go. Hey, Son?”

Sonic’s head whipped up the second his nickname left Y/n’s lips. She offered him a warm smile that made his heart skip a beat.

“Want to go get some firewood with me?” He was already by her side before she even finished her sentence. Throwing his arm around her shoulders, Sonic sent her a sly wink and grinned.

“You need a protector? Don’t worry, M’Lady, I won’t let anyone touch you.” He was just playing around, but it still made Y/n’s heart skip a beat as she smiled appreciatively at him. Spirit and Tails nodded in affirmation, letting them know that they would be alright on their own while the two hedgehogs with super abilities left them for a couple of minutes. Still keeping his arm firmly wrapped around her shoulder, Sonic guided Y/n into the woods. He couldn’t help but notice how the instant they left the warmth of the fire and entered the hangings of the trees that her body tensed.

As they walked in a light silence, he glanced down at his girlfriend and frowned. Her eyes were scanning the woods before them repetitively, like she was afraid the light was playing tricks on her and that something was going to come popping out of the woods when she least expected it. Slight PTSD, Sonic thought to himself, tightening his grip on Y/n’s shoulders. A slight flare of anger went through him as Shadow’s name crossed his mind. That bastard… Next time he saw that dark hedgehog, he was as good as dead.

“Are you alright?” Sonic asked. Y/n let out a small hum, and rapidly nodded her head.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m fin-” She suddenly stopped. Literally, stopped in her tracks. Her ears straightened up and her back arched, like she was trying to be a giraffe. Her e/c eyes flitted across the scene in front of her. “Do you… Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Sonic questioned, growing more concerned by the minute. Was she hearing that strange singing again?

That didn’t seem to be the case as she put a hand on his lips gently and shushed him once again. The implication of personal space no longer existed between the two, and he wouldn’t have it any other way, as her body was practically pressed up against him. His heart pounded within his chest, and that was when he finally heard it.

A high-pitched humming noise. Of a laser warming up.

His emerald eyes scoured the trees until they landed on a little red dot hidden within some brambles that was getting brighter by the second. Y/n was searching in a different patch of leaves; she hadn’t seen it yet. Of course, his number one instinct was to protect her at all costs. But… they were alone. And she hadn’t seen where the laser was yet. And Robotnik was probably on the other end, watching them through some security camera like the stalker that he was. And if there was one thing Sonic loved almost as much as Y/n, it was pissing that crazy mustached man. An idea began to formulate its way through his mind, and a small grin began to spread out across his face.

Who said that they couldn’t have some fun?

“Hey, N/n,” He whispered into Y/n’s ear, sensing her shiver from his breath against her neck. She turned to look at him and furrowed her brows when she saw the look on his face. He was up to something.

“What?”

“Follow my lead.”

Before she even had a second to ask what he meant by that, Sonic quickly grabbed ahold of her hand, wound her up into his chest, and spun her out in such a perfectly timed dance move that by the time their arms were fully extended, she rocked back on her heels just as a laser fired above their arms. Right where Y/n would have been standing.

Her eyes bugged out in shock and she looked up at her boyfriend, only to see him wink at her. Oh? Ooh! So he wanted to dance, huh? Well, she had never really been one for swing dancing before, but he seemed to be into it. And besides, they needed to have some fun out here, didn’t they? Help lighten the mood a little? A smile plastered itself onto Y/n’s face and she spun herself back into Sonic’s chest, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Another laser zipped through the air, missing her quills just in time. Their hearts raced with the excitement of the revelation of a new way of fighting.

“Hey, Egghead,” Sonic called as he swept Y/n off her feet into a dip, causing her to laugh. Another laser missed them by about a foot, barely even getting the chance to scrape Sonic’s quills before they were back up and dancing again. “Wanna give us some awesome dance music?”

A couple more lasers were shot and missed before Robotnik’s voice suddenly came crackling from one of the drones that were hiding in the trees.

“I’m trying to kill you! You could at least act like it! A scream or two would be nice!” Robotnik growled like an annoyed kid who didn’t get the toy he wanted. But, despite himself, the all too familiar tunes of Die Young by Kesha began crackling through the damaged speakers of his drones. Y/n couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the appropriateness of his song choice as she was picked up and swung around by Sonic to miss some more lasers being shot at them.

“Aww, come on, Eggy,” She giggled, listening to Kesha sing about the beat of the drums. Her heart thumped along to the rhythm. “Can’t you learn to let go of the hate?”

“I literally begin to shoot lasers at you, and what do you do? You dance! YOU FUCKING DANCE!” Robotnik began to lose control through the speakers as Y/n and Sonic dodged more lasers, their movements becoming enhanced from their abilities. As they danced along to the thumping of the bass of Kesha’s song, Y/n and Sonic couldn’t help but laugh. It had been so long since they had had this much fun together. Fighting a cranky Robotnik who seriously needed to try Match.com, using each other’s abilities to build each other up, and making sure that they were always smiling.

It made them completely forget about the weight of the situation they were in for a little bit. But while Sonic was holding a giggling, happy Y/n in his arms, it seemed like he had all the time in the world to forget. He couldn’t help but wish for this moment to last forever.

♡♡♡

A couple of days later, Knuckles had finally had enough.

He wasn’t the sharpest echidna in the… box? No. No he was not. But just because he put a rock on a sandwich once and tried to eat it doesn’t mean that he is completely incapable of judging a person’s qualities for himself. And he had finally decided that Robotnik wasn’t the nicest guy on the planet. No, it wasn’t because he had forced him to get electrocuted seventeen times. On the same day. It wasn’t because of him constantly criticising him for being “dumb” or “inconceivable”, which Knuckles didn’t even know the meaning of that word. It wasn’t even because of how drained Knuckles had felt since the day that he started working for the man. Or even because the second he looked into Sonic and Y/n’s eyes, he knew they weren’t evil. No. No, none of these reasons were the ones why Knuckles decided to quit.

Want to know why he decided to quit?

“He took away my bathroom privileges,” Knuckles sighed, looking down at the grass beneath the log he was sitting on. Only silence came from the four shocked teenagers sitting before him. Y/n sat cuddled up underneath the protective arm of her boyfriend, Sonic, while the teenage girl and Tails sat next to each other on the neighboring log. He had gotten swept up into a netting-trap thing of sorts when he had first set foot onto their campsite, but after he had explained to them that he meant them no harm, they decided to hear him out.

“He… took away… your bathroom privileges,” Y/n repeated, scrunching her nose up in confusion. “That was the reason why?”

Knuckles began to nod, then stopped. “Well, there were more reasons. But that was the drawing point. What happens if I need to pee? I have a very weak bladder, and my poo-”

“Stop!” Spirit held up a hand to stop him before he continued, ignoring Sonic trying desperately to stifle his laughter by burying his face in Y/n’s quills. Knuckles was very… bold, wasn’t he?

“How did you get away from him?” Tails questioned. “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t just let you waltz out because of something like that.”

“Well, he kind of didn’t know…” Knuckles scratched his neck anxiously, clearing his throat. “I sort of slipped away when he was sleeping and Shadow was busy practice-kissing a tree. I really don’t know who he’s trying to impress, but he needs some help.” He paused for a moment, completely oblivious to the range of horrified emotions littering the four teenagers’ faces. “Come to think of it, Robotnik doesn’t seem very mentally stable either. Anyways, I would like to join your team, if you will have me. I know that this may seem like a trap, but I assure you, it isn’t. I just feel like something is… off about Robotnik. I think he might be dealing with power that he shouldn’t be reckoning with.”

Y/n and Sonic slowly nodded, exchanging worried glances with one another. Should they take him on? I mean, Knuckles wasn’t very… threatening to them, so to speak. If anything, Robotnik was crazy and Shadow was a lustful back of dic- I MEAN a very… interesting specimen, to say the least. Talking to Shadow was like trying to swallow a gallon of detergent. It’s not fun for anyone.

But Knuckles…

“Okay,” Sonic finally spoke. “We’ll take you on. BUT if we find out that this was all a trap-”

“I assure you, it isn’t!” Knuckles quickly defended himself. “I promise! I’ll even do a, what is it you humans do? A blood oath?”

“Please don’t,” Tails stressed. “You could get a sexually transmitted disease from blood on blood contact and-”

“STOP!” Spirit whimpered, having enough with the strange conversation topics for today. Y/n found herself getting a headache too as she stood up and extended her gloved hand out towards the echidna. He looked at her with stars in his eyes.

“Let’s just shake on it instead.”

Knuckles eagerly grabbed onto her hand and gave it a firm shake, but with one death-glare from Sonic, he let it go before it went on for a little longer than it should. Y/n rejoined Sonic on the log and he wrapped his arms around her once more, this time pulling her closer to him in protectiveness.

“Welcome to Team Bonnie & Clyde!” Y/n smiled. Knuckles smiled back.

“Pleasure to be here.”

And for once… Knuckles felt like he truly belonged.

♡♡♡

Later that night, Y/n lay wide awake next to Sonic.

He had his arms wrapped around her to make sure that she wasn’t taken away from him in the middle of the night, and Knuckles had even promised to keep an extra close eye on the forest for her while he took the first watch. And yet, she still couldn’t find a way to sleep.

The worry of everything had finally become enough to drive her to insomnia. Well, you made it to the fourth week, Y/n, she silently congratulated herself. Fourth week and then the nights finally became a little scarier. Not that she was complaining. The stars were absolutely gorgeous from here. But that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was, well, the problem.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the visions she had had. The burning forest. The screaming filling her ears. The figure that she now knew was Shadow forcing her to drink something that might kill her. It was more than enough to drive her crazy wondering why she had to see that, what the little wisp before her had been. Why was it singing to her? Why hadn’t it come back yet to sing to her again? Did it only come to her when there was a time of need? Something to be fixed? Something to be stopped? Like Robotnik, perhaps?

She shivered, but not from the cold.

It was terrifying to even think about having to face him again. Sure, she had already faced him today. But she was with Sonic then. And back when she and Sonic had fought against him in Green Hills, they had been working together against him. Two to one, he would have been outnumbered anyway. But now he had Shadow on his side. And while Knuckles had come over to their side, plus Spirit and Tails, Y/n couldn’t help but worry.

Shadow. Shadow was… a problem.

He debilitated her. And she couldn’t figure out for the life of her why. It was probably because she had never met anyone that forward and that terrifying before. He loved her, and that was the most dangerous thing. Of course, she had Sonic to protect her if the time ever came, but Sonic wasn’t going to be there twenty four seven. She had to find a way to stand up for herself. But even punching him in the face and verbally saying no didn’t get her anywhere. He made her freeze up in terror. And she didn’t even want to think about what he would do to her friends just in order to make her his.

And the last thing she wanted was to be his.

Y/n rolled over to face Sonic and smiled when she saw his sleeping face. His mouth was open a little bit so that a soft snore came out of his nose. She stifled a giggle, feeling her heart flutter within her chest. God. She loved him so much… She would do anything to protect him.

Anything.

Even if… No. No, he would never forgive her if she did that. Y/n instantly shook the ridiculous idea out of her head and thought back to Robotnik. He was planning on making a Metal Sonic, which was what Knuckles had told them. A version of Sonic that was entirely man made and suited for combat. Which meant that he might even have powers that Sonic himself didn’t have. Y/n scrunched up her nose in thought. So they would have to fight Robotnik, his drones, Metal Sonic, and yandere Shadow. And they would all be very angry and blood-lusting. All against herself, Sonic, Spirit (who was actually pretty good with a baseball bat), Tails (who was a techie), and Knuckles, the ex-Robotnik lover.

Could they defeat him?

She was afraid to know the answer.

♡ a.a.

#sonic #sonic x reader #sonic imagines #sonic the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sonic the hedgehog imagines #sonic the hedgehog movie #sonic the hedgehog movie x reader #sonic the hedgehog movie imagines #sonic the hedgehog 2020 #sonic the hedgehog 2020 x reader #sonic the hedgehog 2020 imagines #flawsome bandits

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zelvyth · 4 years

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From a very young age it was reinforced that my ADHD was a disability I was meant to overcome rather than a tool I could use to better myself. I didn’t even know that I had been diagnosed, and that my mother had chosen not to medicate me, until I was partway through highschool. By that point I had already begun to give up on ever truly “making it” in life. The hurdles I needed to overcome had demoralized me to the point of near total apathy. Between my sexuality and early coming out in a small town highschool, and my various mental health problems, I felt like no one in the world saw things from my point of view. The last blow to my self esteem came when my grade 12 english teacher, the true decider of fate to any young person, told me my final thesis on Lady Macbeth being one of the greatest example of the flaws in Machiavelli’s “The Prince” was brilliant, but due to formatting and scattered grammar issues, she could give me no higher than a 60%. After years of getting consistent high 90’s in my english classes as well as other subjects, I had failed this extremely crucial essay due to the idiosyncrasies of the most frustrating language known to humankind. I passed that class with a 68, and felt like my fate was sealed. No chance at getting into any University in the country without redoing 5 months of work because one person believed that following the rules was a more important indication of intelligence than original ideas and the ability to make an argument. It crushed me. I admit that I didn’t put in the effort, but I had spent my entire life being told I was incredibly intelligent. It was the one thing I held onto. I felt betrayed by the education system. Though it was also due to many other factors at the time, this contributed to the second of my four suicide attempts. Today, I reject that philosophy.

When a person with ADHD is thinking, they connect ideas in their heads much faster than the average person. It can be confusing and disorienting to the people around them. I constantly have to explain how I got from point A to point B because the points connect automatically in my head. It’s exhausting, so I frequently do not bother to try. It’s extremely helpful when crafting an argument, however it can be debilitating in many aspects of modern life. Things the average person doesn’t think about, can be crippling for me. Without a true passion towards something, my ability to focus becomes hazy and my thoughts become scattered. I spend the majority of the day stuck in my head having conversations with myself instead of doing “normal” things with my time. I have spent my life being told that ADHD is my weakness, today I can tell you with the utmost certainty that it is my greatest strength.

When the international pandemic of the respiratory disease “Covid-19” truly began and the world went into full nationwide lockdown, the bistro that I had, for the most part, happily been employed at shut down. After 8 years of honing my culinary craft certain that my skills, though undervalued, would always be needed somewhere, I was out of a job. Indefinitely. So was most of the country that worked with their hands or, in some capacity, physically with other people. Unless you were able to conduct business through zoom conferences or were a suddenly “essential” employee like a fast food worker, you were left with little to do but sit and think or try desperately to distract yourself from the increasingly troubling world around you. Luckily, to my surprise, the conservative government had pledged to keep us all fed and watered as best they could. What deeply worried me was the knowledge that my friends south of the border, through no fault of their own, and already mostly furious with their government, were not being treated with the same bare minimum of respect. I knew it was a recipe for true disaster and widespread civil unrest as early as march.

I watched while the culture of social media, at least from my own lgbt bias, slowly started to shift and I picked up a lot of the big picture through memes and personally shared anecdotes. Celebrities were being ripped apart as they tried to get our attention again from their huge mansions while people sat at home worried about how to feed their children. Using insensitive phrasing like “we’re all in this together” when they undeniably weren’t. It quickly became a social caste system. The desperately poor trying to creatively make money any way they could. The often needlessly endangered. And the upper class for whom, little had changed besides the inability to do whatever they want at any given time. The lines were very clearly drawn. While the rich bemoaned their accessibility to haircuts, the poor argued with landlords about rent. All the while another group was frequently paid minimum wage to work on the proverbial front lines; flipping hamburgers, being yelled at by the rich because you were out of everything with the supply chain so damaged, or literally saving peoples lives. The anger and frustration quickly took over nearly every form of social media. Subtly, but day by day it grew. There was only so much one could do from inside their apartments, and globally, the havenots found solace and comfort with one another. The narratives of meme culture, which had matured and specialized far beyond the early days of “lolcats” and “trollface” comics, became almost exclusively about mocking the rich and their inability to deal with slight inconveniences.

Nearly every month of 2020 was a new major nationwide crisis and people had little else to do but talk about it or ignore it. The year kicked off with serious threat of a third world war because Donald Trump was tweeting intentionally inflammatory remarks towards the fascist leader of North Korea. All while nearly the entire country of Australia was ravaged by forest/bush fire. January saw a clearly corrupt president unbelievably not be impeached. Sparking outrage among, in my humble opinion, any sane individual. This also exposed, to anyone who knew all the facts, that the systems to hold those in power accountable was clearly broken and corruptible. Towards the end of January, beloved basketball player Kobe Bryant died in a horrible helicopter accident involving his daughter. Late February leading into early March was when global fears over Coronavirus began to be taken extremely seriously by every government in the world, the exception being the United States and the Trump administration. By late April, the country had over a hundred thousand dead, and nearly a quarter of its population out of a job. The irony of this, is that the calls to reopen the country didn’t come from those that had lost their jobs, but the upper class that had grown restless deprived from their usual comforts. Meanwhile we openly mocked them on instagram, tumblr, and twitter. Trying desperately to make light of a horrible situation and bring at least a little levity to their lives. News that a new breed of dangerously fatal hornets had migrated to North America was derided as a filler episode. One of my personal favourite takes on the year as a whole so far was a comparison to the four horseman of the apocalypse. January representing War, February representing Pestilence, March representing Famine, and April representing Death. In fact a lot of meme culture started to take on an extremely apocalyptic vibe. The message for many was clear, and depressing.

Then things started to happen really fast, so fast that for many it would make your head spin looking at it from the outside. It began with a video featuring a white Canadian woman from Waterloo named Amy Cooper that went viral across the globe. In the Ramble area of Central Park in NYC, this woman was filmed by a clearly peaceful, yet insistent, black man named Christian Cooper, no relation, asking her to leash her dog. This is a bylaw of the area. The woman refused and began to become very distressed, roughly handling her dog by the collar. She started dailing 911 and accused the man of assaulting her to the dispatcher. What many understood about this act, and rightfully called her out in outrage over, is that she was using her knowledge of how police handle black people in America to threaten this mans life over leashing her dog. She has been fired, and the shelter has taken her dog back.

Two days later, as I was travelling to my family’s cottage to “get away from it all and unplug”, a friend sent me a snapchat video from Minneapolis. It was on fire. I immediately did everything I could to try to find out what had happened. That, is when I saw the video of 8 minutes and 46 seconds of a police officer with his knee on the neck of another human being. This did not shock, nor suprise me. I had followed the many accounts of police killing people on video since 2014 when I was 16. When the Ferguson protests over Michael Brown’s killing by police officers were broadcast over most of the developed world. I had seen little change, despite Barrack Obama being President. This continued to happen for the next 6 years, though there were no more protests. Some of the people of those original protests that started the Black Lives Matter Movement, went missing over the next several years. Mainly those that had been photographed.

George Floyd’s death, I feel, was the straw that broke the camels’ back. Which is how anyone who has personally experienced police mistreatment and injustice would understand watching that video. A societal contract had been broken. And Minneapolis started to burn down the city that would let this happen to their friend, their neighbour, their father, their brother, and most importantly, their son. The words that chilled me to my very core… And continue to make me cry when I think about. Continue to make me want to punch every cop I run into.The words that have caused me to continue having this argument every day with everyone I know. The words that make me want to scream and rage and burn that country to the ground…. “Mama”

In his dying breaths this man called out to his mother. Who had died 2 years earlier. Who could not come save him. The police officer casually, with his hands in his pockets, knowing he could get away with it, murdered that man while he called out for his dead mother. Suffocated him to death in the middle of a global pandemic driven by respiratory disease. If I had been in Minneapolis that night, I would have helped burn it to the ground.

Something I didn’t expect happened then. Something I didn’t expect when I saw the fires and the rage from mostly black citizens of the city. As I watched Fox News try to turn the story into a conversation about rioting and looting rather than Police accountability. Other peaceful protests started up in other cities. My entire social media feed from multiple sources was filled with people discussing their anger and vowing to protest it. I don’t like to admit that I didn’t see this coming. But on May 26th, as I ravenously tried to keep up from the comfort of a cottage on Crystal Lake Ontario, a spark of hope for humanity that I had lost a long time ago started to ignite.

Something interesting happens when you get most of your information from social media. It either makes you hyper critical of everything you’re told and willing to research anything important, or it makes you willing to believe anything your friends tell you. As the protests kicked off in major cities across America, after months of inactivity, my ADHD kicked into high gear. I used every neuron of my brain power to follow the protests from as many different angles as I could. Most importantly, I followed the story from the people who were at them. That’s what growing up in modern society makes you do. After months if not years if not decades of being lied to for personal gain constantly. It makes you pay attention to the people who have nothing to gain.

I got back to my appartment from my cottage a day later, still glued to my phone. Barely talking, barely eating, barely sleeping. I watched police officers in riot gear throw tear gas into peaceful protests in every city in America. Tear gas, by the way, is an international war crime in combat situations. I watched media with an implicitly right wing bias condemn the protests. Convincing people that looting was worth a war crime. I watched it work. It worked with my own father. It did not work for me. I watched the news from political biases of both sides but took most of it with a grain of salt. That’s what I had been taught to do from as young as 14 by the world I grew up in. The news could give me general information. However, the story was on the ground and I knew from experience that people would try to bury it so I had to watch it as quickly as possible. I watched friends of mine in the states get tear gassed and beaten while exercising their first amendment rights. I watched the news condemn the protests. I was horrified. I watched the peaceful protesters of police brutality in New York get beaten and gassed from a minimum of 30 different perspectives of the people I knew and trusted, and those I didn’t. I watched the peaceful protestors in LA get beaten and gassed from the same amount of perspectives. I watched them throw flash bombs and shoot rubber coated bullets into the faces of my friends in every city in America. I watched the President of the United States order the peaceful protestors in front of the White House to be beaten and gassed so he could have an awkward photo-op with a fucking bible. I watched this for a week straight from every angle available. Day in and day out. Every hour I was conscious, I watched fascism try to grab power in in every city in America. I watched people in powerful positions deny it.

It wasn’t just paying attention to the protests and the news of them explicitly. I wasn’t just filled with horror. I was also watching something wonderfully unexpected happen. I watched my black friends, my gay friends, my asain friends, and my intelligent friends, begin to weaponize social media. I watched them beg all of their friends to do the same. So did I, even though I felt like there wasn’t anything I could really do from cozy liberal Waterloo. I watched us all turn the algorithms against the people who made them. I did everything I could to make sure you couldn’t turn away. I told my gay white friends condemning the actions of protestors that his rights came from a riot. I watched them shrink in fear of my voice. My father told me I was getting caught up in left wing rhetoric. I tore his arguments to shreds. He told me broad angry statements don’t do anything. I told him broad angry statements create the conversation we’re having. Resistance is a highway with many lanes, and I knew my lane.

You grow up, especially in my age, especially when you’re gay, especially when you are exposed to a lifetime of stories of rebellion against tyranny, hearing about the power of resistance. As I marched in Waterloo with over thirty thousand people I didn’t know, I realized that I have never truly understood that power. How it surges through your body like electricity as you scream until your voice is hoarse. It’s a high better than any drug known to man, than any pride parade where I was pandered to by corporations for hours. It took my fear, and my anger, and my helplessness and turned it into raw power exploding from my body. I continued to watch people I knew deny reality.

The protests grew. They spread across the world like wildfire. I went to facebook, a place I avoid because I don’t agree with the majority of people on it, and told anyone who would listen to me that this is what Pride means. What it truly means to be proud of your community. Not a rainbow flag in a store window, not a corporation asking you to buy it’s rainbow backpack. But turning apathy in face of evil into raw unbridled electricity. I watched the protests spread to Montreal and Toronto, I watched the police mishandle things there too. I watched violence perpetuated by the state against my friends, people I’ve known for years. The power I felt merely grew. It grew with every flash grenade and bullet and tear gas canister shot at my friends. It will not subside till this is over or until I die. I’m going to spend the next decade giving up the comfortable life of good food, great drinks, and fantastic company that I found in the restaurant industry. I’m going to spend a decade getting my Law degree to fight for every last one of us in the courtroom because that is a place I can make it count.

Today is June 8th of the year 2020 and I began writing this piece at Noon, it is now 4:11 P.M. I have done zero editing and I refuse to. I submit this as my revised final essay. I want to know when you got behind the protests. Because if it was as you were reading this, I deem you unworthy to judge my critical thinking skills. If it was yesterday I think you should be ashamed of yourself. I was with them from hour one. You should have been too. How dare you spend years teaching children about racism and oppression. How dare you tell me that I’m not worthy of higher education in any form. Telling children that wikipedia is unreliable as a source is idiotic, it’s one of the most peer reviewed encyclopedia’s to ever exist. How dare you tell me and the young adults you teach that you don’t give out scores higher than ninety percent. What is the point of forcing teenagers to write in cursive. Why must I live the experiences you write about in your precious properly formatted essays. In this country a 68 is two percent shy of getting into any University. It’s sentencing an intelligent person with an array of disabilities a life of believing they have no power. Despite my own mistakes at the time and the amount I have grown as a person since, I will hold you personally accountable for that.

As a closing statement, to every English teacher in this province, no, to every English teacher in the great country of Canada. Think very hard about when exactly you put your full support behind this movement. Because your curriculum is outdated, and absolutely useless in the real world. And your racism is showing.

Post Script.

There is no bibliography of unbiased sources because all sources are biased. You have a supercomputer in your pocket and this should all be public information. Look it up.

#blm #nojusticenopeace #adhd #adhd brain #protests #canada #manic

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crpslife · 4 years

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Hi. My name is Complex Regional Pain Syndrome… some friends who have known me for a very long time call me RSD or CRPS…… I’m an invisible inflammatory disease that attacks your sympathetic nervous system.

I am now velcroed to you for life. If you have CRPS you hope for remission but there is no cure.

I’m so sneaky–I don’t show up in your blood work, in x-rays, MRI’s can’t detect me, basically there is no test to prove you have me. There are only test to rule out other things.

Others around you can’t see me or hear me, but YOUR body feels me.

I can attack you anywhere and anyway I please. And, I will. Constantly.

I can cause severe pain or, if I’m in a good mood, I can just cause you to ache all over.

Remember when you and energy ran around together and had fun?

I took energy from you, and gave you exhaustion. Try to have fun now.

I can take good sleep from you and in its place, give you brain fog and lack of concentration.

I can make you want to sleep 24/7, and I can also cause insomnia.

I can make you tremble internally or make you feel cold or hot when everyone else feels normal.

I can cause one limb to change color, look bruised, feel super sensitive randomly for seemingly no reason.

I can also give you swollen hands and feet, swollen face and eyelids, swollen everything.

OH, and just because I started off in one part of your body, don’t think I can’t travel and effect other limbs or any other part of your body I so choose to torment. I can, and likely I will.

I can make you feel very anxious with panic attacks or very depressed. I can also cause other mental health problems. You know crazy mood swings? That’s me. Crying for no reason? Angry for no reason? That’s probably me too. It is hard to not feel hopeless when you have me beating your body up constantly.

I can make you literally scream out loud, anytime of day or night, anywhere you are because I can create pain that makes you sure someone just stabbed you with a knife. Making you look crazy is fun for me.

I can make your hair fall out, your nails become dry and brittle, cause acne, cause dry skin, the sky’s the limit with me.

I can make you gain weight and no matter what you eat or how much you exercise, I can keep that weight on you. I can also make you lose weight. I don’t discriminate.

Some of my other inflammatory disease friends often join me, giving you even more to deal with.

If you have something planned, or are looking forward to a great day, I can take that away from you. You didn’t ask for me. I chose you for various reasons: That sports injury, needle stick,, or that car accident, or maybe it was the surgery to correct a bone problem.. Whatever the cause, I’m here to stay.

I hear you’re going to see a doctor to try and get rid of me. That makes me laugh. Just try. You will have to go to many, many doctors until you find one who can even try to help you effectively. Most of them will make you feel like you are to blame, or worse, it is all in your head. I’ll convince them that you are crazy because normal people know that you can’t have all those symptoms all over your body and still walk around looking normal.

You will be put on the wrong medication for you, pain pills, sleeping pills, energy pills, told you are suffering from anxiety or depression, given anti-anxiety pills and antidepressants.

There are so many other ways I can make you sick and miserable, the list is endless – If your body is all of a sudden dealing with things that were never issues before…yep…. that’s probably me.

Shortness of breath or “air hunger?” Yep, probably me.

Bone density problems?

Can’t regulate body temp and poor circulation?

Constant ‘electric jolts’? Yep, probably me.

I told you the list was endless.

You may be given a TENs unit, get massaged, told if you just sleep and exercise properly I will go away.

You’ll be told to think positively, you’ll be poked, prodded, and MOST OF ALL, not taken seriously when you try to explain to the endless number of doctors you’ve seen, just how debilitating I am and how ill and exhausted you really feel. In all probability you will get a referral from these ‘understanding’ (clueless) doctors, to see a psychiatrist.

I will make you question your own sanity at times. I will make you contemplate unthinkable scenarios.

Your family, friends and co-workers will all listen to you until they just get tired of hearing about how I make you feel, and just how debilitating I can be.

Even after explaining to those you interact with regularly that I’m the most painful disease known to man, and there is no cure, they will say things like “I hope you have a speedy recovery”. Those who don’t know me well have no idea how cruel and unusual my punishment can be.

Some of them will say things like “Oh, you are just having a bad day” or “Well, remember, you can’t do the things you use to do 20 YEARS ago”, not hearing that you said 20 DAYS ago.

They’ll also say things like, “if you just get up and move, get outside and do things, you’ll feel better.” They won’t understand that I take away the ‘gas’ that powers your body and mind to ENABLE you to do those things.

Some will start talking behind your back, they’ll call you a hypochondriac, while you slowly feel that you are losing your dignity trying to make them understand, especially if you are in the middle of a conversation with a “normal” person, and can’t remember what you were going to say next. You’ll be told things like, “Oh, my sister had that, and she’s fine on her medication” when you desperately want to explain that I don’t impose myself upon everyone in the exact same way, and just because that sister is fine on the medication SHE’S taking, doesn’t mean it will work for you.

They will not understand that having this disease impacts your body from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, and that every cell and every body system and organ can be effected.

The only place you will get the kind of support and understanding in dealing with me is with other people that have me. They are really the only ones who can truly understand.

Author Unknown

#crpsawareness #crps/rsd #crpswarrior #crps #crpsfighter

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Together”

Alright guys, this is the moment you have all been waiting for, get read, and don’t forget to keep me appraised of your reactions and what you think. Knowing your reactions is the best part of writing for me :)

Here is the link to part two and a way to get to part one if you need it.

https://starr-fall-knight-rise.tumblr.com/post/183747185950/humans-are-space-orcs-the-challenge

The entire square had gone absolutely silent. Captain Vir lay in the circle at the feet of General Cosma, who stood looming over him with her massive, war-staff in hand. Sunny stood just outside of the circle across from her mother. That vacant, cold expression that had dominated her demeanor not hours earlier had blossomed into an expression of proud defiance as she stood against the fiery gaze of her mother.

“Don’t be a fool,” The general snapped harshly as the light of the sun pulled behind a thick cloud of ash.

“No mother, I will not be ignored this time, not be brushed off. I WILL be taken seriously.” She stepped forward, “My entire life, I have been degraded, brought down, and humiliated by your embarrassment, and all for what?! Because I’m not tall enough? Because I can’t fight like you want me to? No matter what I did, I was never good enough. You ignored me until you NEEDED me, and like the narcissistic, hateful, thoughtless person you are, you thought I would run out to do your bidding like a good little soldier.” She was closer now, almost within arm’s reach, and she laughed in her mother’s face, “I’m not your soldier. A general remains a general from the respect of their soldiers, and you lost my respect a long time ago.”

General Cosma had turned her attention away from the fallen human completely and now loomed over Sunny like a merciless god. She had almost three feet on her daughter. Looking at it from any angle, there was truly no hope for Sunny to win this fight, there would never be.

Cosma’s chest rose and fell with the heat of her anger. “Insolent whelp.” Cosma hissed.

“Don’t like that do you, don’t like that I outsmarted you, General Cosma the great and wise, outstripped by her crippled, pathetic excuse for a daughter. I’ve been planning this since the beginning.” She pointed to the glittering carapace of Vir’s leg, “I retrieved that form the battlefield after the humans left, used my own body to modify it….” She paused, “I used some of father’s armor too, I wanted to make it strong. A good gift.”

Cosma snarled in rage.

“I planted those ideas in your head, made you think they were a product of your own brilliance…. That was the easy part. I wanted to get to the humans… and you know why, mother.” When no answer came, Sunny took a step forward, “Because the humans beat you.” The glee in Sunny’s eyes flashed, “They beat you at your own game, and they beat you hard. They killed father, crippled your favorite son, and left your useless daughter unscathed, and they spared your unworthy life…..” Her voice dropped low, “I knew, if anyone could teach me how to beat you, it was the humans… the same humans that spared my life.”

Cosma was practically trembling with rage, “You are a traitor.” She spat voice quavering, “A traitor to your own race. You are a disgrace to your entire species! AND YOU WILL DIE LIKE A TRAITOR. She lowered her voice dangerously just then, “And once you are dead, I will leave your body to dry under the heat of the sun, and your soul will never see the ascending fires.”

A gasp rocked itself around the clearing.

Sunny glowered forward, “I would rather face the immortal abyss than meet you in the afterlife, besides.” She taunted sarcastically, “Maybe the human gods will adopt me seeing as I have granted the favor in return.”

The square went silent as if the entirety of life had held its collective breath. Even the wind refused to blow. The only sound was came from the distant, heaving breath of the mountain taking over respiration for the silent world around it. Sun broke through the cloud of ash, and as if by some divine providence illuminated the center of the square and the circle within. Light crossed in a diagonal across Sunny’s carapace illuminating her like the brilliant blue of shallow ocean water.

General Cosma stood in the direct rays of light her dark purple carapace burning with dark cosmic light. Like staring into a deep space nebulae.

Neither of them moved.

Captain Vir had managed to wriggle out of the circle on his side like some distasteful sort of rock worm. And now sat with his back against the stone step staring at the scene in front of him in awe and disbelief. The tears from earlier had completely dried, leaving no sign of such recent despair all replaced with the dusty look of tensed confusion.

It was only Sunny and General Cosma now staring toe to toe, squared against each other, “Choose-your-weapon.” Cosma snarled through her clenched teeth.

Sunny stared up at her mother with an expression of distaste though Vir swore he detected a hint of something in Sunny’s eyes, something that was difficult to read, and as he looked around at the crowd and their wide eyes, he began to understand something…..

She didn’t expect to win.

She didn’t expect to make it out of this fight.

“No weapons.” Sunny announced, and the entire square shifted with anticipation. “We do this how it was meant to be done.” She whispered.

***

The war drums thrummed through the ground like the beating of a massive heart. The moss underfoot vibrated with each thud. Inside his chest, Vir’s heart thudded fit to burst as he looked on in abject horror as the events unfolded around him (From the sidelines with the other Drev, untied, as was his right as part of the clan).

Sunny and General Cosma stood just outside the circle, one at the North and one at the South. Behind the clouds of Ash, the Sun hung directly overhead in the sky. Carapace glittered blue and purple against dim light, painted now, as was custom with circling lines and patters on white, chalky paint.

The war drums thudded in unison and then went silent. The two stepped forward into the circle pausing where they stood. Another loud cacophony of drums rent the air, and the two slowly sunk into position. Cosma lowered herself into a low crouch. Sunny shifted into a triangular stance raising her hands, in balled fists, to just under her chin.

Vir could hear General Cosma Goading her daughter from across the ring. The drums began to beat faster, faster, faster, faster, until it was one continual wall of white noise. And then stopped… General Cosma charged across the ring right towards Sunny.

***

General Cosma roared forwards with all the power of her anger, towards the small, inconsequential shape in front of her, intending to rip her apart with all her ferocity. But, like a flash of light, Sunny was gone, and General Cosma struggled to find her.

Light on her feet like a skyrunner, Sunny had darted to the side already set for another engagement, general Cosma had never seen anything so fast, nothing that had ever flanked her so quickly. She snarled down the anger at the insolence of her daughter, trying to run away like a coward and swiped at her with an open palm. The sharp tips of her nails glittered in the ambient light, but they cut through air, just air overbalancing her with nothing to resist. Sunny had rocked back on her feet, avoiding Cosma by inches, and for a moment, Cosma locked eyes with her daughter.

Her gaze was absolutely still, completely locked on Cosma like a weaponized targeting system, a stare that was horribly intense and predatory. The gaze seemed to look past her hands, terminating on her trunk and her throat, as if Sunny was looking to rip her throat from her neck, and then she snapped forward, a single hand darting out and past Cosma’s defenses. Pain blossomed through her side from the strike, powerful enough to knock the breath and wind from her, staggering her a little to the side.

Outside the ring, the crowd, hissed and roared with the glee of first contact…. First contact not attributed to General Cosma.

How could this be? Anger built up inside her like a corked bottle, and General Cosma snarled through her gritted teeth, “Stop Running, Coward!”

Sunny moved in again, and General Cosma launched herself into a set of furious attacks designed specifically to take advantage of her superior reach over Sunny, and to her frustration the other just kept blocking them. IT WAS INFURIATING. This wasn’t how Drev were supposed to fight. Drev were aggressors, not defenders. Sunny was doing this ALL WRONG… as was per usual. In her anger, she moved faster, hammering against Sunny willing her to break, willing her to snap in half and give in to the greater power.

She watched the eyes, as Sunny kept eyes locked on her middle, never moving, as if she could somehow predict Cosma’s next move, and then, the eyes flicked suddenly down. Cosma barely had time to react, and even as she did, she realized the attack was not coming from the expected place. Sunny’s hands were still raised to her face, they hadn’t moved. Something, slammed itself against the side of her knee. She screamed as her leg buckled, throwing her to one knee, and then Sunny was there teeth barred against her as a predator. With all four of her hands, Sunny grabbed Cosma with an Iron grip, and then drove her knee forward, once, twice, three times into Cosma’s belly.

The pain was horrible, radiating, debilitating. She couldn’t even scream. This wasn’t right, you didn’t use your feet to fight…

Cosma spurred her anger forward rising to both knees with a swift push flinging Sunny to the ground feet away in the circle. Sunny landed on her side, and then rolled, skidding to her feet against the dirt before charging in again giving Cosma no time to regain her breath.

Cosma tensed her body for an impact, and was again caught off guard, as the girl leaped into the air, and came down on her shoulders. She bucked like a wild beast, but Sunny had her tight. Legs wrapped around Cosma’s neck one ankle crossed over the other as sunny jerked her body to the side throwing Cosma and herself to the ground. Cosma found herself on her hands and knees as the breath was choked out of her by Sunny, who slowly constricted to crush the life out of her.

Outside the ring, the Drev howled. They had never seen such fighting.

Vir was on his feet now, screaming instructions at Sunny as he watched.

Cosma struggled against the incoming darkness fighting it back with her anger. She wasn’t done yet.

And with that thought, she reached up and grabbed Sunny by the leg, digging her sharp nails into the skin as hard as she could, puncturing through skin, and towards bone. Sunny screamed, but didn’t let go, though she stopped constricting.

General Cosma began kneading her fingers back and forth grating against the bone. Warm blood ran down her hand in orange rivulets. Sunny screamed even louder, and was loosened.

Cosma took that moment rearing backwards and slamming Sunny against the ground with all her weight. Sunny’s grip broke like a brittle bone as she went skidding across the circle. Cosma rolled to her feet and so did Sunny, though she was limping and shedding drops of blood behind her on the dirt.

This time, Cosma didn’t engage so quickly, and the two circled each other, a predator against a warrior.

They exchanged blows in the middle a few times. Sunny cut Cosma Across the throat with a shallow gash that had the other Drev howling for blood. Cosma snarled her anger and lunged for Sunny. Instead of stepping away like she had expected, Sunny darted inwards grabbing Cosma by the arm, pivoting on the spot so her back was against her larger opponent, and then pitching forward.

The world tilted around Cosma in a streak of light, as her feet were thrown over her head, and she flipped landing on her back with a terrible CRACK. The stone underneath them had split with the power of it. The wind was nocked from Cosma’s body and she gasped for air. But, somewhere, Sunny still had hold of her arm, and sliding forward, she threw her legs over Coma’s larger chest and face pinning her arms and capturing the hand and the wrist against her body.

Cosma pitched and struggled, but Sunny snarled leaned back and arched her back throwing her hips upwards against the joint of the elbow.

The sound of her joint snapping filled the clearing. Cosma let off a howl of pain that could have cracked stone and all at once, Sunny was thrown off by the power of sheer anger and pain. The surprise was clear on Sunny’s face as she skidded into the ground. She tried to regain her feet before Cosma, but the other had been a warrior for far longer, and made it to her feet, one arm dangling listlessly at her side. Her eyes now glittered with the fire of her hatred as she charged forward.

The ash above had thinned out, but now enough to allow the sun to break through. Instead, the scene was bathed in bloody red light. Sunny scrambled to her feet, just in time to lift her eyes upwards, and see the descending hand aimed directly at her face.

***

The blow was terrible, blood sprayed into the air in a glittering arc as Sunny was knocked across the circle to come face down against the stone. She lay there writhing in her agony, hand over one side of her face. She couldn’t see, could barely think through the pain where she lay. Blood pooled on the rocks below her. Behind, the Drev were silent, wilted…. They should have known all along, General Cosma was their greatest warrior after all. Even with her fancy tricks and underhanded tactics, Sunny still stood no chance.

General Cosma let off a rasping chuckle as she walked forward flicking blood from the tips of her fingers, and onto the stone, “I’m surprised at you Sunny, you fought well, ALMOST well enough to call you MY daughter. But alas, not good enough.”

Wind brushed past her skin

“Come on SUNNY, shake it off, you only need ONE eye, Promise I’ll get you another one.” The voice was out of place in this landscape, oddly out of place against the red sky. It was too friendly for this scene, too encouraging. A dark shadow cut over her rimmed in red light.

“Come ON, SUNNY!”

General Cosma reached down to her fallen opponent, very much intending to choke the life from her, and received a double-kick directly to the face, she reeled back blood welling from her mouth, stumbling against stone. Her vision flashed black and red, and as she regained her sight, she looked up to find Sunny stumbling to her feet. Blood drenched her front, from her eye and the scratches on her face all the way down her front to spill onto the ground.

“Don’t worry mother, Sunny whispered, they can just…. Put me back together.”

General Cosma stepped back in horror, as the thing walked towards her, moving with a limp and an unnatural jerk unseeing from one eye, and she remembered the battlefield that day, the air thick with ash, and those unholy creatures walking form the darkness their eyes glowing with a false light, their bodies moving on false limbs. Alive like it was unnatural to be.

“You know mother, I realized something.” Sunny said, her voice distant, “You are no Drev, No general. Everyone knows that war is impersonal, and yet. Here you are, seeking revenge. Father died in battle against a strong opponent, and your pride cannot accept that, because that means you aren’t as strong as you thought you were, that father wasn’t the perfect mate.” Feet scuffed against the ground, “You are afraid because everything you know is crumbling, you can’t hold onto your past, or your pride.” She took another step forward, “I saw father die, and I was…. Saddened. If it weren’t for you, I think he could have been proud of me, WAS proud, though he couldn’t say it.”

She screamed and ran forward again.

The fight was desperate this time, Sunny’s strength flagged, her blood spilled upon the ground, but still she took pieces of her mother away with her. There was no more cheering now, no more noise as slowly, Sunny could no longer hold herself, her hands fell and she stepped back with each blow. A blow to the stomach, a claw to the neck. Sunny fell to her knees.

Cosma kicked her over with contempt panting and bleeding, her blood mixing with the blood of Sunny on the ground all around them. They were both breathing heavily, “Would your father be proud now.” Cosma hissed as she leaned down grabbing Sunny by the throat and slowly squeezing.” Overhead there came the distant roaring of an engine. Or at least, to Sunny, that’s how it seemed.”

She looked up to the sky, vision from one eye fading in and out. The sun was hidden behind a layer of ash. It wouldn’t show itself, not even one last time as she died. That was a pity, a real pity too that she would never see Earth again, never see the warm blue sky overhead, with the sun on her skin and the smells of a forest. Then she paused.

“I know why you lost.” The sound of the shuttle grew engines roaring.

Cosma snarled, but did not tighten her grip.

“Because…..”

General Cosma waited, waited for the idiotic piece of wisdom her daughter was so desperate to share, she did not feel the shadow steel over her back.

“Because… humans work together.”

Cosma jumped in surprise. That wasn’t Sunny’s voice. She turned her head eyes widening. A pair of pearly white K-9 teeth glittered at her in a sinister smile a single green eye was locked on her face black pupil nearly engulfing the green of the Iris and the world erupted into pain, red turned to black, and then….. she was gone.

The last thing she heard was a stone clattering to the ground before darkness enveloped her.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are weird #humans are space australians #Earth is space Ausralia #The Drev

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