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kuuchuuburanko · 9 months

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Ok so a bit ago I was writing up some headcanons for Gremmjamin here based on some prompts. Some of which were based around things relating physical stats (ie. speed, endurance, stealth, running, jumping, dance, etc.) and I wrote,

Gremmy does not have a true physical form! His body is a construct, a creation of his imagination, as Gremmy is in fact a brain in a jar. And because he can so easily construct any form or physical version of himself as he sees fit, his physical capacity can vary drastically based on that. He could create the peak physical body, perfectly strong, fast, agile, any mix of those attributes to varying degrees. And so, it ranges based on what he desires at the moment. So In the stats such as running, jumping, swimming etc. those are set as a range. But there are limitations as well. You cannot imagine a learned skill. Or at least not to a proficient level. Vague understanding will only get you so far. For example, dancing is a learned skill. An art form, something that takes being taught, practice, study and experience to accomplish. It’s a performance and one cannot simply execute the movements either. It requires flare, emotion, etc. for it to be any good. Now if I were to tell you, for example, ‘imagine doing merengue’ and you had no idea what it was or what it looked like, how could you imagine it? Not well probably. It’s vague, it’s a guess, it’s hardly there. The same applies to Gremmy. One’s imagination can only go so far as your current knowledge. You have to know things to begin with to expand on them. I can know, generally speaking, what ‘dance’ is. As a performance art, as a concept, but if I don’t watch dancing, or learn the basics of it, how it’s constructed, how it goes with music etc. I’d be hard pressed to imagine or do a dance that’s any good, even with my imagination. Gremmy’s imagination only goes as far as that knowledge or lived experiences. And considering he’s been stuck in a box for much of his (sentient) life he hasn’t had much in the way of experiences outside of his head. (This is also why I believe his fight with Kenpachi was so simple. His imagined constructs of water and lava and guns and meteor all feel very simple and plain, especially considering the extent of his ability. In this context, imagination =/= creativity)

I am also drawing my reasoning from the novels (which aren't canon or whatever but I need my crumbs so they are canon TO ME) So...writing up that last headcanon post got me thinking… Gremmy's powers are vastly over-powered, even by bleach standards. A broad stroke of 'anything he imagines becomes reality'. Even his fellow quincy feared and were weary of him. He was considered one of the most powerful in their ranks. (There's even speculation/strong hints giving credence that Gremmy was actually an aspect of the Soul King like Pernida) But, from what was displayed in his battle with Kenpachi, the scope of that imagination seemed limited. Simple like entombed in water, floods of lava, shot into space, meteorite etc. For someone who could theoretically do and/or create anything, his methods remained very simple. Gremmy is obviously capable of creating more complex and intricate figments, seeing as he constructed live, sentient entities. I think that must have taken longer for him though, more thought and time.

In battle it's probably easier to stay simple. But I can't help but think that he was sheltered in a prison away from much social contact for more than the reason of 'he's destructive and volatile'. Imagination is limited by creativity. You can only imagine more vast possibilities if you are creative. And creativity is limited by your environment and current knowledge. If a child grew up in a home of only neutral colors, their thoughts and imagined things would be in only neutral colors. But there are more colors than grey and beige. Yhwach isn't stupid. I think he knew that Gremmy's abilities needed to be locked down at a certain point, so he purposefully sheltered him from the outside world. He made sure Gremmy only knew about grey and beige so he could be limited to only creating grey and beige things. If he knew about the entire color spectrum so to speak, he would have developed into being enormously more powerful than he was.

He's also still a kid. He's basically the gifted kid in class who stopped doing the assignments because they were too easy and he got bored. In the novels he wasn't entirely anti-social. He got along fine with Liltotto and even had a nice conversation with her when he was released from his prison. He doesn't like Yhwach and nobody treats him as a person or without fear/disdain except for Liltotto and so he felt grateful to her for that. So he's this kid with these nearly godlike abilities, and from his perspective he can do anything but that 'anything' is also not the whole picture either. He only started feeling true joy, excitement etc. when he was challenged in the battle with kenpachi, because suddenly life wasn't boring, dull and lonely. Suddenly, the world opens up to him, suddenly things are new and there's an infinite amount of possibilities. He beefs it of course, but I still think that he was basically nerfed by Yhwach so he couldn't find things like say... art, literature, cinema, anything in the human world for that matter lmao. Maybe if he had more shit to do, things to learn, time to experiment he wouldn't have been nearly as homicidal because now there's interest in life and challenges to be had.

I also think that if he were to have most of his powers stripped and was forced to build back up said power (like... say, if there was a little splat of his grey matter somewhere after his brain jar was collected and inevitably experimented on, that the little splat was able to grow and grow and grow and eventually grow enough that it could escape and hide to grow more and eventually he can materialize his body again so he decides to just chill on earth for a bit), he'd have to use what little power he has to be more detail oriented and creative with what he's able to 'imagine'. He'd just have a much better time if not everything was literally at his fingertips. Let him play minecraft and learn organically. But that's an au post for another time lol

#bleach #bleach tybw #gremmy thoumeaux #thousand year blood war #bleach meta #bleach headcanons #nobodys gonna read this but I need to say my piece #i think gremmy should have called ywhach a boomer and vine impact noised him to death #linny meta #long post /

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carissimipaixao · 1 year

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If it's alright may I request 20 from the bliss prompts with Lupin? thank you

─ ITALIAN CARNIVAL

published on: january 23, 2023 requested by: anon pairing: arséne lupin iii & reader prompt: “my, oh my. you are such a beautiful creature.” word count: 5.4k+

Carnival — a festival dedicated to playfulness and trickery, anonymity and mystery. In places like Italy, home of the tradition, it would be considered uncommon to spot someone not wearing a mask, concealing their identity from others and enjoying the hours ahead of privacy and mischief. In truth, not being able to see the face behind a mask makes you paranoid and highly suspicious; the adrenaline threatening to run through your veins, and the taste of fight-or-flight lingering in your brain. But, not all is against your favor, because, had it not been for your job requirements, you’d feel much worse.

After all, if you were to be unmasked, unconcealed from sight, it would give your enemy an incredible advantage over you. Still, you wish your boss had been a little bit kinder.

Wear this, those had been his words as he shoved a full-face mask in your direction. A jester-like expression was painted on the surface and, immediately, the thin line on your lips dropped, as you glared in displeasure at the mask in his hand. Every single one of you is meant to be disguised and hidden within the crowd. Don’t forget your duties, and my treasure will be protected. So will be your heads.

You now lean against the railing, watching the crowd below with clear uninterest written across your face; it’s not like they can even see it, right? This has to be the worst job I’ve taken, yet, you think to yourself. So far, in your “curriculum”, you’ve always been hired as a bodyguard, as security, keeping sure that rich men’s treasures are protected from equally greedy thieves or that their men are well-behaved. Betrayal is not to be taken lightly, especially in this kind of environment. Your current boss would highly agree.

However, despite how far you’ve come in the Underworld and how much you’ve proved yourself, there are still doubts — about you, about your capacities, about your loyalty. After all, femme criminals often don’t last long in the Underworld and suffer from stigma. In the mind of the patriarchal Underworld, women are easily consumed by greed and their deepest and strongest desires, compromising themselves and their job for a quick, easy buck. But, you aren’t that frail, nor were you raised to be that way. You’d rather play it safe.

As boring as it is.

Footsteps sound behind you and you quickly straighten your back, pushing away from the railing to glance over your shoulder. Markus wears a similar mask to your own, although the color scheme is different and compliments his outfit nicely. The sight is enough to make a smirk grow behind your own face mask. Karma is a bitch, asshole. ‘Ha-ha,’ Markus fakes a laugh, as if he has seen the expression on your face.

‘Don’t look at me,’ you snicker. ‘I didn’t say anything.’ Before he can continue, you turn back to stare at the crowd beneath you, dancing and drinking to their hearts’ content. ‘Anything to report?’

He approaches the railing and crosses his arms. His foot is tapping the floor slowly, in what appears to be boredom and annoyance. ‘Nope, it’s the same as it was five minutes ago, same as one hour ago.’ He sighs, ‘How special is this treasure, anyway? It’s not like he’d even tell us what it is. How else are we supposed to know what to expect, how to prepare ourselves? Is this thing even worth sacrificing our lives over?’

‘Careful there,’ you say, ‘you wouldn’t want to be caught making questions. What if he begins to doubt your loyalty?’

Even though your tone is light-hearted, the same cannot be said for your words. Boss is suspicious of each and every single thing that his men do or say. You have witnessed a poor novice die over a handful of questions before. Markus huffs next to you, mumbling darkly under his breath. ‘My loyalty? I’m only loyal to the paycheck. That’s all that matters to me. And, I know it’s the same with you.’

‘You know?’

You inspect the ceiling nonchalantly as he continues, ‘Why else would you be here? This doesn’t seem like your kind of gig, dearest.’

‘My kind of gig,’ you echo after a pause. ‘My kind of gig, dearest,’ you turn to him as you all but spit the nickname, ‘is slitting the throats of people like you.’ You can’t hold yourself back as you stab your index finger onto his chest roughly. ‘So, beware of what comes out of your little mouth. I’m not Boss, and I’m certainly not your mother. You don’t know me, so stop pretending you do.’

Ah, yes.

Your biggest dislike yet.

False accusations or assumptions.

Despite the masks, it’s not difficult to feel the hard intensity of each other’s glares. Markus drops his arms to his side and his back straightens ever so slightly, so that he towers over you. ‘Apologies, ma’am, but your little threats don’t work on me,’ he says. The tone comes across as nonchalant and playful, but you know what kind of message he wants to send to you. He leans closer, ‘Especially when you look and behave like a clown.’

His hand reaches to flick the top of your mask, and you instinctively move to grab your dagger — wrath and anger might as well be your primary traits. Yet, luckily for him, both of your earpieces come to life.

‘Is the perimeter clear?’ It was a raspy woman’s voice, which is to be expected from a heavy smoker. You quickly turn around to eye the crowd, and Markus mirrors you, leaning against the railing.

‘Yes,’ a man replies. ‘Keep an eye out, regardless. This guy is unpredictable.’

Markus taps the marble railing in thought. ‘Didn’t he say in the card that he’d be here at midnight? He always complies to the “schedule”. Plus, we still have at least forty minutes before then.’

‘We’re more than heavily secured,’ you add. ‘I doubt he’d just sneak in without doing his research. No matter what, his reputation precedes him.’

‘We’ll shoot his head off as soon as he appears in our sights,’ The smoker growls, before the earpiece goes quiet.

Markus heaves a dramatic sigh and backs away from the railing. ‘I guess this is it, then. We just wait until His Majesty decides to bless us with his annoying presence.’

‘I’m going downstairs,’ you speak suddenly, having made up your mind. Markus turns to you, humming questioningly. ‘Someone ought to keep a closer eye down there, don’t you agree?’

He shrugs. ‘I guess. For once, we’re on the same page.’ He fishes his inner pocket for a pack of cigarettes. ‘Just shout if you need anything,’ he says as he turns on his heel mid-way through his sentence, heading towards the balcony door. You raise an eyebrow behind your mask; was he begging to get in trouble with Boss?

Well, you think, it’s his head, not mine.

With that reasoning, you head off in the opposite direction, walking around the indoor balcony to go downstairs. As you descend the carpeted stairs, you scan the crowd once again. You aim to find someone whose profile partially or fully matches your target. Yet, there’s no trace or hint that he could be present. Anyone is a suspect, from your perspective. He’s a master of disguise, allegedly, so you wouldn’t know until he’s stolen Boss’s treasure or stolen your lives.

Deep breaths.

The people in the crowd are dancing slowly to the music. It reminds you of the waltzes and balls of the 18th century, although cartoons and comics depict the same imagery and colorfulness, as well as magical musicality. The majority of the guests wear elegant outfits, completing the aesthetic that is desired by their humble host. Any party by high-class (seemingly, even) always has a big number of guests, of course, since it allows for connections to be made, for alliances to be created and, most importantly, for what is morally wrong and corrupted (or greed, “good” intentions) to be defined and agreed upon by the rich.

It wouldn’t surprise you if half of those guests are oblivious to it all, however; they don’t know the true intention behind the party. They don’t know that the host that invited them oh-so heartedly was actually part of the mafia. They’re even here, because it means they’re on really good terms with him, or in an incredibly big debt.

Not that you care, it’s none of your business. Your only and most important goal here is to be successful at your job — to be paid handsomely and to make sure your head isn’t separated from your neck.

Deep breaths, you remind yourself. Stop thinking about it. Everything will be fine. You try to picture your victory, standing over a beaten-up thief as your Boss claps and pats your back. You’d pack your bags as soon as your job is done, because you value your life, and probably move to a different country with just how much money you’ll be able to make for stopping the thief. After all, Boss had placed a kind of a bet.

I’ve decided, he had said, that whoever stops this man single-handedly will receive their paycheck early, as well as a… compensation for the success and talent. He had a wide grin on his face, fingers crossed over each other, while his men spared glances around the room. The tension in the room was so thick that you could cut it with a knife, and that was when every relationship in the group was distorted by suspicion, distrust and arrogance. Everyone wanted the big prize.

But, you’d be the one to receive it.

On one side of the hall, there is a long counter that is made out of dark brown wood. Connecting the top and bottom halves, there is a white metallic line, reflecting the scenery in front of it. It is shining from the amount of times that the servants cleaned the bar prior to the event. Boss wouldn’t tolerate the slightest peck of dust. Everything just had to be perfect.

Behind the counter, the bartender moves gracefully. Again, chosen due to his perfectionism and skills. He prepares the drinks with such speed and grace, moving his wrists in near automatic motion, having no need to double check or calculate the measurements. It is as if his own body has been reprogrammed to the life of barkeeping.

It crosses your mind, as it did earlier, when you had a drink before the ball began, that there may be something more to this man than meets the eye. You wouldn’t be surprised, though, taking into account how Boss’ employment works. He needs a house full of monsters and freaks that wouldn’t hesitate to slit one’s throat, even if it was their allies’. Failure means death in this house, you remember his words.

Along with the skill, there is beauty, as he so tries to show to his customers, with a charming smile on his face which compliments his slim features. Anyone would be a fool, however, if they didn’t notice he is thoroughly enjoying the attention he’s receiving from his beloved customers, be it men or women.

You lean against the bar, elbow on top, and knock lightly on the wood with your other hand. That gets the bartender’s attention, with hands moving quickly between the many bottles of liquor and glasses. He recognizes your face in an instance and gives you that handsome smile. Before you notice, there is a glass of whisky flying across the wooden counter and into your hand. You tip the glass, and you take a sip from perhaps the most expensive whiskey you’ve ever drank in your whole life. And, it’s not even like you enjoy whisky; you’d prefer a good red wine over this disgusting thing.

A man makes his way through the crowd, looking exhausted. He pats his forehead with a clean, white handkerchief. The bartender looks in his direction and grins. ‘Already? But the party has just begun,’ he teases. At first glance, it might be correct to assume they are acquaintances or have already interacted, in the beginning of the party; but, that is also just the way of the bartender — charismatic and a social butterfly.

‘I’m afraid I’ve displeased my date enough as it is,’ the man says sheepishly, and he sighs.

‘Look on the bright side, Sir,’ a glass of wine is poured for the gentleman. ‘Can’t let your date down if you have something to give you energy to join the dance, can you?’ They must have met, you think. The banter is too casual.

Suddenly, the stranger’s eyes are on you. Your back straighteners. The ice clicks against the glass as you stiff, and you narrow your eyes over the rim of the glass. ‘This young lady looks like she would appreciate a glass of wine more than I do,’ he says. ‘Some rest, too.’ He doesn’t push the glass in your direction, as you are already drinking, but he does blink innocently — almost owlishly — at you. He claims his date is displeased with him, but, clearly he has moved on from her, as he now subtly looks you up and down.

‘Thanks,’ you reply drily, ‘but I’m good.’ Everyone looks suspicious to you, and you take a sip of your drink to break eye contact with the stranger.

The man leans back, ‘If you say so, then I won’t insist.’ He brings the glass of wine to his lips and takes a long sip. Then, he places the glass down and looks around the crowd. ‘I didn’t know your Boss actually enjoyed this type of party.’ He muses out loud, and it takes a moment to realize that he is still trying to talk to you, as the bartender has lowered his head to clean the glasses.

You knit your brows, sighing as you also observe the crowd for any suspicious behavior. ‘...He can be very old-fashioned.’ The same could be said for his torture methods, you think to yourself.

‘I see,’ he runs his fingers through his mustache. ‘He certainly has the money to afford these things, too. He has even bought authentic furniture and decorations from the time to fit the theme of the party.’ He chuckles and drinks more of the wine.

As you thought previously, this man seems to know your employer to some degree; you just don’t know yet if he’s on his good side or bad side. But, you shrug. You literally couldn’t care less. ‘It doesn’t make this party any more exciting, if you ask me. But, who am I to comment on Boss’ taste?’

The stranger turns to you surprised. ‘Are you saying that because you don’t care about the party, or because you don’t like parties?’

You turn your head to eye him carefully, before you lean back against the counter, twirling the empty glass in your hand, hearing the satisfying sound of the ice hitting against the glass. ‘Both.’

‘Well, I’m sure if you danced a little, if you joined the fun, you’d quickly change your mind!’ He puts his glass down. ‘Why don’t you dance with me? I just might be able to change your mind, dear.’ The flirtatious and sweet tone is obvious. Yet, for a moment, you are intrigued.

You snort. ‘Sorry to crush your dreams, but, unless you can tell, I’m “on the clock”, as luck would have it.’

The man shakes his head and extends his arm towards you. ‘And, I’ll just have to insist this time. I can’t simply ignore a lady who is having an absolutely horrible time at an interesting party such as this one. I’m sure your Boss wouldn’t mind if you had a little break.’ He turns to the bartender, who has started to smile at the interaction. ‘Be a friend, and keep this a secret for me?’

‘Sure thing,’ he snickers, and he throws you a knowing look. ‘A little fun never hurt anyone.’

You scowl.

Yet, a look at the hand that is reaching out for you, as well as the curious, but friendly, stare of the man in front of you, has you thinking. If you are able to blend with the crowd, you might be able to spot the intruders of the night or find clues about their whereabouts.

‘Fine,’ you say. You try to remember that you are wearing a mask — a clown mask — and that nobody can see the embarrassed expression that has begun to creep onto your face. ‘I’ll dance with you.’

The man smiles, the edges of his mustache rising. ‘Atta girl!’ He grabs your hand softly and takes you to the middle of the ballroom. You are definitely not dressed for the occasion, as the man is, with a fancy-looking dark blue suit. As he brings you to the center of the room, he turns to look at you, and you try to look more into his features, running that image through your brain, in case there is some sort of familiarity. Yet, it is difficult to tell, as the mask is covering most of his face. Defeated, you sigh.

‘Something wrong?’ The stranger inquires, tilting his head to the side as he holds your hand and positions the other on your waist. You tense up, suddenly uncomfortable — or, rather, unused to the feeling of someone’s hands on you.

‘No,’ it comes too quickly out of your mouth, before you try to compose yourself and conceal your discomfort. ‘Just not used to this type of thing, as I told you before.’

‘My, does your Boss really not let you have a break?’ He gasps, as you two begin to waltz to the music. ‘I understand the importance of being on the lookout for intruders and thieves, especially due to his reputation, but a lady like you deserves to have fun, to go out once in a while. Or is that not, as you said, your “type of thing” either?’

You refuse to answer. You are not about to vent your feelings to a man you have just met — someone who you are trying to use to blend with fellow guests and spot the Gentleman Thief or anyone from his gang. Yet, everything feels normal, and nothing seems out of place. Subtly, you turn your left wrist to look at the time. 11:47 P.M., it reads. According to the calling card that Boss received the day before the party, Lupin III is planning to steal his treasure at midnight.

‘Waiting for someone?’

‘You could say that,’ you murmur, before hiding your watch and continuing to dance. It won’t take long for him to show up. Just where are you, Lupin?

The music seems to be ending, and you heave a sigh in relief, turning to face your left. However, it’s when you do that you spot a figure leaning against the wall, masked as everyone else, but a beard that you recognize immediately.

You tense, staring daggers into the masked man. You turn to look up, to see if you can find any of your colleagues, but nobody is to be found. Luck’s on my side, you smirk to yourself. The prize would be yours, indeed. You would catch the thief, his gang, you would protect your Boss’ treasure and earn his respect. Suck on it, Markus!

‘This has been fun,’ the stranger comments as the music finally stops. You step back, not looking at the man in front of you. The focus is on the man that leans against the wall, hands inside his pockets. He stays there for a moment, and then he turns and leaves the ballroom. ‘But, I wouldn’t want to keep you. You need to be on your watch. Otherwise, Boss’ treasure will be gone before you know it.’

With your left hand, you grab his before he can pull away. ‘Just a moment, sir.’

The man freezes, turning to you curiously. ‘What’s wrong, dear?’ He looks around the crowd. ‘Have you found your date? Do you think he stood you up?’

‘Maybe he did,’ you take a step closer. ‘But, I think I liked dancing with you. You were right. You did change my mind about dancing and parties. I can’t help but decide that I would like a second dance.’

His chest puffs out with pride and joy. ‘And, I’m very happy to hear that! But—’

‘Are you standing me up, too?’

‘W-well, I would never do that to a lady…’

You step even closer and tilt your head to stare into his hazel eyes. ‘Why don’t you dance with me… Lupin?!’ Your right hand flies towards his face, the edge of your knife catching onto the mask as the Gentleman Thief jumps away, leaving a smoke bomb in his place.

The crowd cries out in surprise, and everyone attempts to escape from the smoke, coughing. The screams and shrieks get the attention of your colleagues, who are now appearing as if straight from the shadows. Your watch is pointed towards your face, as you futilely try to keep the smoke away from your eyes. 11:52 P.M.

‘My apologies, ladies and gentleman!’ Lupin shouts over the crowd. ‘I want to congratulate the big man himself for allowing me inside,’ he stops mid-speech to giggle like a devious imp, ‘and, most of all, I want to thank him for hosting such a party to celebrate my theft of his marvelous treasure! Bye-bye!’ His voice faded away, just like that.

‘Wait! Come back here!’ You manage to escape from the cloud of smoke, running up the stairs after the thief.

He looks over his shoulder, the hideous mustache still on his face. ‘I’m sorry, chérie, but I don’t have time at all for a second dance. We’ll just have to do it another time.’ He throws you a wink.

You scoff, gasping for breath. ‘We dance now!’ You throw the dagger towards a light that hangs on the ceiling. The cord breaks effortlessly, and the chandelier nearly falls on top of the thief. He has to come to a stop, before it can fall on him, and you take the chance to tackle him. The man huffs as you fall on top of his back, grabbing his arms to keep him still. ‘You’re coming with me.’

He whistles. ‘I do love a possessive woman.’ You choke on your next words. ‘But, as I said, I don’t have time to dance with you tonight.’ Lupin’s arm extends and you see him press a button on his watch. Suddenly, a wire flies towards the ceiling, and he is no longer under you. ‘But, don’t worry, I’ll call you!’ Before reaching the ceiling, he gives himself momentum and jumps over Markus, who had suddenly come through the doorway directly in front of you, frantically looking around. He ducks by reflex, and then looks over his shoulder, before turning back at you.

‘Slacking off, are we?’ He yells to you and runs after the thief.

You jump to your feet, growling, ‘I could say the same thing about you!’

You begin to hear the sound of gunshots as you chase after the Gentleman Thief, following Markus in the hallways that are above the ballroom. More of your colleagues have found him, too, but you are surprised to hear that they are actually trying to kill him. Not that your Boss has specified how he wants to receive Lupin III, by one of his employees — whether he wants him dead or alive. Yet, knowing Boss, he would definitely appreciate the thoughtfulness of bringing the criminal alive, so that he can be the one to take his life away, little by little.

Thanks to his stunts, Lupin seems to be dodging miraculously every single bullet, smirking confidently as he swings over their heads. ‘Keep up the good work!’ He laughs over your colleagues as they try to aim at him, stray bullets hitting each other in — luckily — non-fatal spots.

Markus, next to you, points his gun at the Frenchman. ‘You’re not going anywhere!’ And, he pulls the trigger.

Two bangs echo in the upper floor. Markus clenches his injured hand, gritting his teeth, as his gun goes flying, the bullet hitting above where Lupin once was. You freeze and turn to your left. On the opposite side, you find, standing on top of the railing, the same masked man that you had seen in the ballroom, before the music stops and before Lupin got too careless (was it on purpose?) and revealed his identity to you. The man has easily and quickly disarmed Markus, despite the distance. That is to be expected, you think to yourself, however. From a man like Jigen Daisuke.

You curse under your breath. You have to be careful, and pay more attention to your surroundings. You wouldn’t want to be shot by such a skilled and terrifying gunman. You turn to look at Lupin, as he disappears into a closed hallway, surely going towards the treasure.

You adjust your position, ready to take off after the thief. Yet, as your foot moves ever so slightly, a bullet hits mere millimeters away from you. You gape at the hole on the floor. ‘I would stay still, if I were you,’ Jigen warns you.

Fuck, fuck!

An idea occurs to you.

You remember the switch that is inside your right pocket, which he cannot see. You have always tried to be one step ahead of your colleagues, rivals and even employers. You did not know what Lupin III would have planned in order to infiltrate and to steal Boss’ treasure, but you knew that, if you were lucky, you would be able to have some sort of advantage.

You slowly move your right hand into your pocket. The switch is still there, which is a relief. Then, you press it with your thumb, and the entire building goes dark.

‘Wha—hey, Lupin!’ You hear Jigen yell over the darkness. Perhaps, he would believe that this is all part of his partner’s plan, but it was never discussed, hence the surprised and annoyed tone in his voice. As quickly as you can, you lower yourself to the floor, undo the uncomfortable shoes that you had been using to “blend in with the crowd” — yet, not enough, as it is easy to tell who works for Boss and who doesn’t; Lupin had also unmasked you.

Then, you dash towards the door that you remember has been left open, as Lupin ran through.

‘—no, I’m telling you I didn’t do it!’ You hear his voice as you come through, having slided to a stop as you cannot see the hallway in front of you. You reach inside your pocket again, and the lights come back to life. ‘I didn’t… huh?’ Lupin is in the middle of the hallway, looking around stupefied. He only turns to you when you swiftfully close and lock the door behind you.

‘Lupin III,’ you start as you slowly walk in his direction, your weapon aimed right at his head, ‘I’m bringing you in.’

The thief puts his hands up in surrender, smirking. ‘Oh? Is that Boss’ wish?’

‘He wants to rip your head off your neck, and I’ll bring you to them,’ you say. ‘Now, you decide if you want to hand yourself over peacefully and alive, if you want me to deliver your corpse.’

‘I’m sorry, but there is something I simply must get. You can do as you wish, but, just like Cinderella, I’m taking that treasure home with me tonight.’

You do not lower your weapon as you approach. By now, you two are standing mere six feet apart, and nearly staring into each other’s eyes. You take the chance to ask something that has been running through your head throughout the entire night. ‘Why do you do this? Risk your life over a treasure that you can easily get from somewhere else, without putting your life at risk?’ You think of the fate that may fall upon you if you fail, if any of your colleagues fail.

Boss does not tolerate failure.

Lupin shrugs. ‘It’s fun this way. Don’t you think?’ He throws you a wink, ‘It’s the same as dancing, in a way. Dancing isn’t nearly as fun if you don’t have an exciting dancing partner.’

‘It doesn’t matter now,’ you scoff. ‘I’m taking you to Boss, now.’

The Frenchman sighs, dropping his shoulders in apparent defeat. ‘If you say so…’

Before you can realize, he has disarmed you, pulling you by your arm. You move to headbutt him, when he is so close to you, and both of you hiss at the impact. He drops you, and you recoil back in slight pain. That just doesn’t get any better over time, you groan. The mask against your face has pressed harder against your skin, due to the impact. You toss it off your face. ‘Ow, ow!’ The thief complains.

‘Enough games!’ You kick his shoulder as he is slightly crouched, clenching his head. The push makes him lose his balance for a split second, and you take the chance to push him onto the ground. You reach for your weapon, which he had dropped. ‘Surrender, or I will kill you, Lupin III.’

The thief stares at you, eyes wide, and for a moment, you believe you got him. Then, his lips stretch into a smile. ‘My, oh my,’ he purrs, ‘you are such a beautiful creature. It is a shame that your Boss thought that mask was appropriate for you.’

The safety of your weapon has been turned off before, and you place your thumb against it, regardless — just to keep yourself from accidentally pulling the trigger. ‘Do I have to count to three? Fine.’ You make sure you are aiming right at the middle of his forehead. ‘One.’

‘Well, there’s no need for this—’

‘Two,’ you grit your teeth. Does this guy not know how to shut up?

Sweat has begun to break around his forehead. ‘Maybe we can agree on something…?’

‘Three.’ But, everything feels too easy, and it is proven to you the moment your weapon disappears from your hand, before you can even think about pulling the trigger. No, it doesn’t disappear; it is dropping to the floor in pieces, as if it had been cut. What the—

You turn to your left, seeing that the door that you had closed and locked behind you has been sliced down. Jigen Daisuke stands on the other side, his weapon ready and loaded, a distasteful scowl on his face. In front of him, crouched, there is a man dressed in traditional Japanese clothing. He is sheathing a sword, eyelids closed and eyebrows frowned.

At once, Lupin rises to his feet. ‘Thanks for the help, Goemon! I was almost a goner.’

‘Perhaps it would be wise if you were able to concentrate,’ the Japanese man — is he a samurai? — says slowly, as if scolding the Gentleman Thief.

‘And avoid dancing with your enemy in the middle of a mission,’ Jigen continues the reprehension, unable to hide the bitter tone in his voice. Lupin rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly. The gunman turns to you, eying you up and down as you are on edge. You suddenly feel unsure of what to do, where to go, who to target. ‘And, you, miss, would you mind to step aside?’

You narrow your eyes at him. If you let them go, then what kind of fate will fall upon you? Boss would not spare your life.

With your back to the Frenchman, you aren’t aware of the reflective eyes that pierces through you — as if attempting to unmask your soul from his gaze alone. Jigen does not stray his eyes away from you, as you hold that stare, but the samurai shifts to look at his silent friend. He remembers seeing that stare before and, at once, calls him. ‘Lupin.’

The thief tears his eyes off you, recognizing the firm, yet understanding, expression in Goemon’s face. ‘...Let’s go.’ He turns on his heel to run away towards the treasure, but pauses to address you as you are now looking at him — displeased on the outside, fearful for your life on the inside. ‘Let’s have another dance soon, shall we?’ He gives you a polite bow, which unsettles you, and then, he’s gone.

His partners rush past you, barely acknowledging your presence. You clench your fists, unable to stomach the ugly feeling brewing deeply in your chest. But, something tells you this is not yet the end of your story.

‘I’ll be looking forward to it.’

#lupin x reader #arséne lupin iii x reader #lupin iii x reader #lupin the third #lupin iii #lupin the 3rd #reader #x reader #reader-insert #fanfic #fanfiction

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arobinwithoutbatman · 9 months

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📚

((So! OC I'm most proud of that I'm still very tempted to bring to Tumblr: Alice~ And yes she's a walking Alice in Wonderland reference because I think I'm funny and my brain decided a couple years ago that that was a Thing TM for me now

I made Alice to fill out a friend's world. She's a street kid, born and raised never known anything different. Born on London's streets, just like her parents, grandparents and likely her great grandparents. You do what you must to survive and she's seen many of the ways people choose to survive and the consequences of those choices. She chose to follow her parents and be a pick pocket and con woman. She can read just enough to be able to read pub signs because many of those come with pictures, some street signs and her tarot deck.

She does cold reads. She's bullshiting the entire thing because while she's keeping you distracted, under her table she's rifling through your bag with her foot to find something worth selling. And also watching your face and body language to see how you react to general statements so she can tell you what you want to hear. Which is funny because she can genuinely see the future, she randomly has visions and is entirely unaware of this fact but has noticed that she gets headaches and sugar cravings after some of her black outs and has noticed that she has small chunks of time that are entirely unaccounted for in her memory.

She's sneaky and snarky and so smart she would do amazing in school if given the chance but school generally requires a permanent address. And a birth certificate. And money. None of which she has. So whilst she's so smart when it comes to people and understanding the world around her, she's almost completely illiterate like her parents. She has so much capacity for kindness and wants to be kind but she literally cannot afford that. Sharing what little resources she has could spell her own doom tomorrow, trusting the wrong person could get her killed or lured into work she wants nothing to do with.

In the server I write her in on discord, she's had an amazing character arcnover the last 3 years. She's settled in with the mafia, she has a home of her own, easy access to food and warmth and medicine. It took her a little over a year to really start to embrace that and actually take the time to eat and rest instead of pushing herself to the point she collapses. She's now eating and sleeping regularly, she smiles a lot more, she's confided a lot in people and revealed just what life was like in England before she snuck over to America, she gets to be kind because it's safe for her to do that now, she's even learning to read.

She'd be fun on Tumblr I think. Depending on what age I write her at.))

#ooc #Tweet Tweet!#not batgirl

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buckbarnesjames · 3 years

Text

Chapter One (Updated)

Summary: “If I cannot get it right now, I don’t want it at all”.

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: discussions of sugar daddy/sugar baby relationships. swearing. discussions of sex.

Word Count: 2216

A/N: Hey guys, I’ll be back to writing this soon as inspiration has hit again, I’m just updating the previous chapters! I had to repost this one as I couldn’t find the original post to edit it. Please enjoy and as always, feedback is welcomed. The taglist is OPEN so feel free to ask to be tagged!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Bucky spent the rest of Friday afternoon mulling over how to broach the subject with you. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable in the work environment, but he had secretly always dreamed of having a more personal relationship with you and it wasn’t as if he was new to the sugar baby/sugar daddy dynamic - in fact, he rather enjoyed it. Eventually, he decides to let it go for now and think more about it over the weekend. Meanwhile, whilst Bucky is preparing to spend the weekend overthinking his predicament, you’re preparing to spend time with Nat and Wanda.

Saturday evening you meet them for drinks at a popular nightclub. “Hey, sugar baby” Nat teases you. You roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at her. “Enough of that, Natalia. I told you to drop it” you sass back at her. After a few more minutes of teasing from Nat and Wanda, they finally drop the subject. The waiter approaches your table and you order a round for you and the girls - a Cosmopolitan for Wanda, a white Russian for Nat and a Daiquiri in your favourite flavour for yourself. After a few rounds, you’re feeling brave enough to hit the dance floor.

You and the girls dance close together, the feeling of the bass pumping through your ears. You feel a pair of eyes watching you but brush it off and continue to dance. Halfway through the next song, you feel Nat’s hands on your waist as she leans in close enough that you’re able to hear you, “Hey...isn’t that Mr Barnes?” she says, tilting her head in the direction of the bar. Sure enough, there he is and he’s watching you rather intently. “Let’s give our boss a show, shall we?” she says before spinning you around. You throw your head back laughing, the alcohol probably clouding your judgement, and try to scold her in between giggles. You and the girls dance for a while, with Nat periodically confirming that Mr Barnes - and his friend - are indeed watching you.

Eventually the dancing wears you out, and you all head back to your booth. The waiter approaches again with a fresh round when he notices you all taking your seats. As he places the final drink down, he points towards the bar where Bucky and his friend previously stood, “The gentleman over there would like a moment of your time” he says, smiling knowingly. You look over to see that he’s still there along with his friend, who you now recognise is his business partner, Steve Rogers, nursing glasses of whiskey. As if he can sense your eyes on him, he looks up at you and smiles.

“I’ll be back in a moment” you say to Nat and Wanda. They look between you and Bucky in surprise before Nat drunkenly declares, “Uh oh, you’re in trouble” and giggles. Wanda tries to shush her whilst motioning for you to go as you stand there nervously tugging your dress down, which you now feel is way too short, and taking a long sip of your drink.

You approach Bucky and Steve, “Mr Barnes, are you trying to proposition me?” You joke, the fresh drink in your system giving you a little confidence. If only you had an idea of the thought that had swirled around his mind all day. He had originally called you over to discuss the conversation he had overheard, the alcohol in his system impairing his judgement, but now that you’re standing in front of him he can’t get the words out so instead chuckles at your joke. “Of course not, Miss Y/L/N. I just wanted to offer you a drink, you've worked hard this week” he smiles at you and awaits your answer as you try to ignore your brain suggesting that he’s also referring to the little dance show earlier.

“I appreciate that, Mr Barnes, but we were just about to leave.” Bucky looks a little disappointed at your reply. “Maybe another time though?” you smile at him brightly before realising what you had said. You could feel embarrassment coursing through your body. You had no idea why you’d suggested grabbing a drink with your boss. You excuse yourself quickly after that and head home with the girls, missing the way Bucky smoothes his tongue over his lips. You looked good in that dress.

“Is that the girl you were talking about? Your assistant?” Steve interrupts the tirade of dirty thoughts racing through his mind, and he’s grateful. He shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. The whole sugar baby/sugar daddy thing was a ridiculous idea, a momentary lapse in his judgement. He nods at Steve in reply and downs his whiskey, ordering another one as he places his glass down on the bar. “You have it bad, dude” Steve laughs and Bucky scowls at him. “I can see why, but I prefer redheads” Steve continues joking, looking to the exit as you, Wanda and Nat leave. “Nat would eat you alive, pretty boy. She’s ruthless and that’s why she’s head of the finance department” Bucky bites back. Steve laughs and proudly declares that he could handle her, to which Bucky continuously denies for the rest of the night as Steve tries to convince him to give him Nat’s number.

You arrive on time to work on Monday, your car having spent the weekend in the garage, and the next few days pass by in a blur of meetings, business proposals and coffee making. You don’t see much of Bucky through the week but put it down to the time of year and not the encounter you’d had with him Saturday night. You knew he was probably planning the end of month gala to celebrate acquiring an important business deal. Before you know it, Thursday arrives.

Bucky is working late again. As usual, you’d order him some food and placed it on his desk. You’re packing your bag to head home when Bucky enters the office, closing the door behind him. “Miss Y/L/N, could I talk to you for a moment?” he says, his tone serious and you begin to worry that you’ve done something wrong. “Of course, Mr Barnes. Is everything okay? I haven’t messed something up have I?” you ramble on. You couldn’t afford to lose this job, the pay was great and allowed you to live comfortably in a decent Manhattan apartment. “Y/N,” Bucky interrupts your inner monologue, “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to talk to you about a conversation I overheard the other week.” Your stomach drops. Oh, shit. He’d heard you, Nat and Wanda.

You look to the floor, embarrassed. “Mr Barnes, I can explain…” Bucky interrupts you again, this time by placing his finger under your chin and lifting your head so your graze meets his. You gasp at the contact. Bucky had never been this informal with you before. “You’re not in trouble, Y/N. In fact, I found the conversation rather interesting.” Bucky says, removing his hand from underneath your chin once he’s sure you won’t break eye contact. “Look, I’ve been thinking about this for the past week and I don’t want to overstep any boundaries but well, If I don’t ask then I’ll never know.”

“Thinking about what, Mr Barnes?” You look at him in confusion, your head tilted slightly to the left. Bucky finds the action endearing. You look so innocent. He takes a deep breath before speaking again, “Look, you know as well as anybody around here that If I can’t get what I want right now, then I don’t want it and well right now… I want you. I want you in the capacity that you and your friends were talking about on Friday.” Bucky hears as you sharply inhale. “You mean, you want me as...as your sugar baby?” you ask, your voice an octave higher than usual. Bucky chuckles softly at your nervousness. “Yes, Y/N. You’re free to say no, I’ll never broach the subject again and we can continue to work together in a professional capacity but...I’d really like it if you were to say yes”.

“Why me?” you ask. You don’t know why but it’s the only thing you can say. For some reason, your feet aren’t carrying you out of the office and home as fast as possible, like you’d wished when this conversation had begun. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you’d secretly fantasized about your attractive boss since the moment you began working at Barnes Industries. “I have more money than I have sense, Y/N, and if I’ve gotta spend it on someone other than myself then I choose the beautiful girl who has sat at the desk across from me for the past two years”. Bucky watches you, surveying your reaction. He was pushing the boundaries so far right now but god, he hadn’t been able to get this idea out of his head all week. “Beautiful?” You ask, as if that was the most ridiculous thing he had said in the last five minutes. “Beautiful” he says firmly.

“How would this even work, Mr Barnes?” you ask, the wheels in your head are spinning a thousand miles and hour and you can’t stop yourself from entertaining the idea. BUcky smiles and you see him visibly relax. He pulls a recognisable Tiffany & Co box out of the pocket of his suit pants. “Well...if you were to agree, I’d love for you to accept this gift and wear it every day around the office.” He opens the box to reveal a drop pendant with five, shining stones. You gasp at the simplistic beauty of it. “And what then...if I accept?” you whisper. You had no idea why you were whispering, you knew that you and Bucky were alone in the office. “If you were to accept, I would take you on an initial spending spree and buy you whatever clothes, shoes and products you desired. I would then give you a weekly allowance of an agreed upon amount” Bucky says, his tone similar to the one he uses in business meetings. “And what would you require from me?” you ask. He knows what you’re implying. “You wouldn’t have to do anything you were uncomfortable with. I’d require your company at any events I have to attend and I would love to spend time with you outside of the work environment, taking you to dinner and things but that would only happen if you wanted it to” he answers, watching as a mixture of emotions flash across your face - surprise, confusion and relief. It stings a little when he recognises the look of relief on your face, he’d always been attracted to you and hoped the feeling was mutual.

“This is all so sudden, James” given the situation, you address him informally. His heart flutters at the way you say his name. “I know, and you don’t have to agree but if you decide this is something you want...then text this number before eight tomorrow morning and I’ll send a car for you” he says and he hands you a card with a cellphone number that you don’t recognise.”It’s my drivers number” he answers the question he can see formulating in your mind. You smile, knowing he’d given you that number because his personal phone tended not to be charged unless you’d done it. “I’ll let you go home now and think about things,” he says, taking a step back from you and giving you some breathing room. You silently pick your bag up and make your way to the door of the office, with shaky legs. You turn back to look at him offering him a small smile and a “Goodnight, Mr Barnes”.

You toss and turn all night, mulling the idea over. It wasn’t like you needed the money, Barnes Industries paid you well - probably above the national salary of an executive assistant - but the idea of spending time with Bucky in a more personal way was gnawing at your mind. It was no secret between you and your friends that you had always harbored a little crush on him, and now he was practically on his hands and knees in front of you offering himself - and his money - to you. You get out of bed at seven AM, deciding there was no point in lying around any longer. You get dressed for the day quickly and attempt to eat some breakfast but the nervousness in your stomach doesn’t allow you to eat much so you just drink a coffee and eat a few spoonfuls of oatmeal. You pick up your phone and the piece of paper Bucky had given you last night and take a deep breath before typing out the words that would change your life forever.

I thought about it, Mr Barnes. You type out, clicking send immediately after - giving yourself no chance to change your mind for the millionth time. And what did you decide, Miss Y/L/N? The reply is instant, as if he had been waiting around all morning for you to come to a decision. You quickly type and send your reply.

Yes.

#The Arrangement #ceo!bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x reader series

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frommindtopen · 3 years

Text

They’re doing a series of sermons on the Apostle’s Creed at church. I thought I’d go through it again just to see if I still believe all of it because I’ve found lately that maybe there are some Christian precepts that I’m beginning to question.

As I was raised Episcopalian, I had to memorize this whole thing when I got confirmed, but I couldn’t remember all of it now so I had to google it and print it out. I went through it step by step and questioned myself. Do I really believe all of this? This is what Christians are “supposed” to believe. It was interesting to note that the Creed didn’t address any of the things that I, personally, am currently questioning. That was a bit of a relief to be honest. Anyway, here’s what I came up with. Honestly, I’m not expecting ANYONE at all to read this whole thing. It’s a lot of words. I’m just pasting it in to keep a note for myself for the future.

I believe in God,

(Yes, I really do believe that. I believe in a compassionate, all-seeing, all-knowing, all-powerful being who watches over us, who CAN take steps to change things and who DOES take steps to change things - from time to time - as He sees fit, that we cannot question because we just don’t know what He knows. I believe that He is omniscient, that we know nothing compared to Him and when we bring our petty complaints to Him - even though they don’t seem so petty to us because they may have to do with life and death - we have no idea of what the grand scheme of things is - He actually knows what He’s doing and we don’t. I also believe He keeps out of our business. After all, this is OUR world, He gave us free will and let’s us use it and if we don’t use the brains He gave us or if we use those brains the wrong way and use our free will the wrong way, the only time He might step in to fix the issues that we caused is if we petition Him with enough prayer and even then He might not step in. But, yes, I DO believe in God.)

the Father almighty,

(And, yes, I believe He is the Father almighty… pretty much see the above.)

maker of heaven and earth,

(Yes, I believe He created everything. I don’t think that necessarily means there was no evolution involved. I don’t see why creationism and evolution have to preclude each other. After all, “to God a thousand years is like a day and a day is like a thousand years,” so time is all screwed up so who knows what seven days was really in the beginning. But, either way, I believe He created everything. And I get really amazed when I think about all living things having the same DNA origin, sort of like God did a cut and paste then made variations to it. Yeah, of COURSE He created everything… come on.)

and in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord,

(I DO believe that Jesus Christ was the Son of God and was fully God and fully man. I don’t exactly get completely how that works but I DO get that it DID work. For heaven’s sake, if we can “get” some of the fantasy books out there, then how can we not “get” the concept of fully man and fully God. Is it because we say that this is real? Maybe. You know that some people run around acting like Harry Potter is real. I saw people in Universal who were wearing robes and dressed like “He, whose name shall not be spoken,” and it was like 100 degrees outside. Yet, they paced around with that heavy stuff on and serious expressions across their faces as if they were truly headed for Dumbledore or whoever it is and ready to buy a real wand. I’ve never heard a story of a wand REALLY changing the course of someone’s life with a miracle but I have heard hundreds of stories of a prayer changing the course of a life with a miracle. So… yes, I believe Jesus Christ is the Son of God and I believe He’s real, but the reason I mostly believe is because of His presence in MY life.)

who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,

(Well, yeah, otherwise He wouldn’t have been fully God…)

born of the Virgin Mary,

Well, yeah, otherwise He wouldn’t have been fully man…)

suffered under Pontius Pilate,

(Even Josephus wrote about that — Josephus, for those of you who don’t know, was an ancient historian *nonChristian, by the way* who did confirm the reality of Jesus as a living, breathing human being.)

was crucified, died and was buried;

(Yep, it happened.)

he descended into hell;

(I don’t know how we know that and I’m less sure about that one but I’m going to buy into it because it makes sense.”

on the third day he rose again from the dead;

(Now, I struggled with this one for a while. I mean that’s a hard one to believe and it was hard for me. But here’s the thing, there were hundreds and hundreds of witnesses. There were hundreds of people who saw Him after he rose from the dead, not just like the Apostles - which is how it looks in the movies - there were hundreds! The way I ended up convinced was one afternoon, my daughter was telling me about a documentary where they said that Hitler was probably not actually dead at the end of WWII because there were some witnesses who saw him in South America. Not a lot of witnesses, but a few. I got really mad because I believed that, completely. There was no doubt in my mind. Then I thought to myself, if I could buy into the Hitler thing because of a few witnesses, why am I questioning the Jesus thing when there are hundreds of witnesses? That’s when I realized how biased I am. When it comes to Jesus and the Bible, I am pre-biased to more cynicism and anything from the Bible or to do with Jesus/God will require more convincing and more proof than anything to do with another subject. I am pre-programmed to believe anything Biblical LESS easily than anything else!)

he ascended into heaven,

(Yeah, that’s pretty easy to believe if you believe the last thing, right?)

and is seated at the right hand of God the Father almighty;

(Also, pretty darn easy to believe if you believe the other stuff.)

from there he will come to judge the living and the dead.

(If you believe that Jesus is the Son of God, of course you believe He has the right to judge people.)

I believe in the Holy Spirit,

(I DO believe in this. I know what I am like inside. Don’t we all know who we are to a certain extent? And I know the capacity I have for evil. Yet, I also know how I’ve changed since I came to Jesus. I believe that the Holy Spirit DID enter me and is still doing that work in me. Yeah Yeah, I know you can say it’s just me maturing or whatever but you don’t know what is inside of me. You don’t know the struggle I’ve had with mental illness. You don’t know what I’ve been through, how I tried to commit suicide three times, the first time at age 13, how many times I cut up my arms, all that I’ve done to others and myself. And you don’t know how that changed once Jesus came into my life so you really can’t make the judgement call on what brought about the change. Only I can make that call and I say it was the Holy Spirit.. the hand of Jesus.)

the holy catholic Church,

(I was taught that this actually means “throughout the whole” and not the Catholic Church denomination. I DO believe in the church body but I don’t feel as if the church body is functioning appropriately in the USA or probably very well anyplace else at this time. I think we are a very very sick body currently and only getting sicker. We are diseased and Covid has made us even sicker.)

the communion of saints,

(Yes, I think communion is pretty cool in that it centers our thoughts and reminds us of what the Lord did for us but I don’t believe it has magic powers or anything.)

the forgiveness of sins,

(Boy, oh boy, do I believe in this. And I sure believe that we are called to forgive others. I think that is one of our number one callings. We must must must empathize and forgive and when we can’t find forgiveness in our hearts, we must pray for the Holy Spirit to put that forgiveness there. I think that is one of our primary goals as human beings and, especially, as Christians.)

the resurrection of the body,

(I don’t know about this one, but I’m hoping that it’s true.)

and life everlasting. Amen.

(Yes, I do believe in life after life, that it will be everlasting.)

#God #Jesus #Apostle’s Creed #beliefs #faith #questions

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queenofallwitches · 3 years

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an update and primer:

so the last winter was weird. I had a complete breakdown, went into psychiatric hospital for 40 days in total. two seperate times.

learnt a heap of new things, met a tonne of cool people and had amazing conversations and few fights but overcome my own demons by that.

brain speaking-I have a scarred brain stem and neurological disorder is not a mental diagnosis, but a neurological disorder, proven by MRI scan, ADHD.

also damage to my basal ganglia, and prefrontal cortex.

neurological diagnosis means ADHD is not a "mental" health issue, as some believe, rather a neurodevelopment disorder caused by structural differences in the ADHD brain.

other neurodevelopment disorders include: Tourettes, Autism, Cerebal Palsy, Dyslexia and other Motor and Intellectual Disabilities. (Which recieve, in my view, a lot of insight, media information and stigma reduction by the advocacy networks surrounding these types of disability).

Over the last few years Autism has been over everything, I've seen mainstream media cover Tourettes and yet ADHD is still HUGELY misunderstood, misconceived and misrepresented in media, be in from the angle of documentaries, personal insight of a "typical" case, films, tv, and other media.

one of the first things my dr told me was "in females it rarely presents as hyperactive red-cordial OD child"

which is what my mother BELIEVES, that is because I have an adopted cousin with the ADHD dx who was that growing up, but the representation I'm told is also divergent for women with a higher IQ score than the average IQ. I come in around 142 and tested 123 at age 3 when I was unable to focus, pay attention and had severe trauma. I tested 142 in grade 8.

I'll share my experience as a female who is intellectually gifted, with higher IQ than average, and an adhd brain:

I've been told gifted and talented "genius" children are harder to diagnose because the symptoms present differently, we hide it better (camouflage) and our focusing can be "faked" by mediocre efforts of academic success.. this is true, I would do the assignment the Sunday night hours deadline, last minute, or have my parents half do it for me, plagiarise it (fuck I've killed my whole academic career now) copied but changed my words

from old 1970s encyclopaedias I KNEW they couldn't cross reference (I went through 15 years of school never studying doing homework or assignments and still had top grades).

I literally did not listen, and spent my classes planning the end of the world survival strategies with my GT friend who, basically helped me with my calculus and hard fucking maths, which was the ONLY 50 minutes of the day I put attention into my work.

now I'm going to be heading back to full-time study in the coming months, I get anxious as the pressure of a Bachelor level degree, and the pressure it takes me to perform, is enough to break me down. I've been advised it might be wise to start light (like a basic vet style diploma) and then build up, which is logical, but I keep thinking I'm meant to be doing my thesis by now. which is the kind of pressure one gets as a kid who is told repeatedly, "your intelligence is exceedingly the average and you can do ANYTHING you want"

I wanted to be an astronaut, a storm chaser, and an architect, a town planner and then a journalist. I always held to being a "FBI agent" or spy (I wonder why). so when I found psychology is really a blend of all these things, I kinda found a niche in a psych and social science double degree. but I'm thinking my academic career is LIFELONG, and due to the fact I also want to work in my field alongside my many written thesis coming, I'll be in academics for a long time. I may fail a few things, which I have to come to terms with. I do not fail easily, or readily, but I'm a perfectionist type-a academic who will put my whole life on the line to achieve "merit". I get exams, I get assessments, I read journals super-easy, I talk the talk and walk the walk so well psychologists who are at masters level compliment me on my "knowledge".

when it comes to mental health and trauma, I will always have the personal attachment, called lived experience, which will make failure and burnout, 100 percent realistic. I have to boundary up, bootstraps on, and prepare that yes, my personal "bias" will probably be entwined in this.

which is why I'm looking at the social science for the statistics and thesis writing side of things, and the counselling for the trained therapist side. either way, the degree of counselling requires so much self-insight, and then the social-science will back me away from personifying it. the other choice is criminology, which leads to forensic psychology, which is eternally fascinating. my main concern is the pro-pedophile content Ill be up against, which will look at the anatomy of a shoplifter akin to the devil, and leave the pedophile in the DSM-5 dx "paraphilia" box.

I'm not joining or jumping to anything.

either way I've got 2 year of credit, a heap of pathways and a lot of "academic momentum" from all my life being aimed to be "academic powerhouse". I went through my files and found a lot of awards I'd won in my high school, and top place in the competitions we would be entering in. I remember feeling so sad if I had a "credit" vs a distinction or high distinction, only to see now, a credit in university maths in year 9 is a skillset I don't have anymore so, good on me. or a credit in English, or Science at that age was pretty impressive, considering these tests were random and not studied for.

just a general skills assessment only the top 30 kids in the year were to take on a year by year basis and put out to vet from the top universities and taken by other kids in the same grade around the state.

it puts so much focus on my intelligence, because it's primed to be that way, I know that is true. I know I feel good being academically successful and it gives me a feeling of "achievement" but is it really for me?

I also found 2 letters from my local politicians offering me job placement, work experience and I was 1/4 kids in my 10th grade graduation tom get the letter, and due to my behaviour I pissed ALL the idiots who bullied me off. I was "too pretty to be a nerd" "too smart to be pOpUlAr".

so I made a group of misfits, who are all highly intelligent, creative and my group had the ONLY gay male in the school AND THIS IS BEFORE YOU FUCKING RETARDS MADE IT "COOL". he was bullied badly, so fuck you, you fucks claim "liberalism" but I bet you were the type of idiot who bullied guys like him in high school while you pretended to like my chemical romance and fake cut yourselves. I hate you all, forever.

my grade was full of idiots who were fake emo, who left the scene the moment the scene changed to dub-step and club music. I was there, watching you all, like sonny Moore, went from FFTL to that dubstep skrillex shit he started in 2009.

I dated you, hooked up with you and I went to your gigs. I know who was real and who was fake. I met some of you years later and realised the more emotive ones were the less "alternative appearing".

I can say 1/10000 emo guys from the 00s were genuinely Into the music and scene for the right reasons based on my dating history and this can and will be analysed statistically using SPSS one day to prove a lot. I've had too many relationships from each sub-culture and I have had 4-11 males at a time per public "output" of my energy pursue me over life.

I'm not being cocky when I say I have a long line of "suitors" and its banked back about 50 men. it's been a thing I've avoided as it seems to grow based on my body shape, attitude, appearance, so I am currently out of touch with dating scenes, no interest to try that ANYWAY, given the fact that I have had so many LONG TERM relationships ANYWAY. I can't see another one going well, and at this case, I'm living with an ex but we never went on conventional and now our families label this 3 things: "asexual", "polyamorous" and "open relationship". I'm also "bisexual" but this all to humans outside, looks ridiculous on paper. (wild orgies and lots of swinging or some stupid sex magick probably is what J brother literally thinks we do).

bc humans are intrinsically designed to need to label things they don't understand. we share a lease, not a relationship, and fucking polyamorous, I WISH. there are no girl-girl-guy 3 some, or orgies, or sex magic parties.

this has changed the attitude and perception of this "relation' which Is non-romantic, non-sexual. he can date and likely, will, as can I , and I likely won't date.

I would say 14/15 have had ADHD, or other mental illness and or trauma. which means to me, nothing at all.

I think this "open book" non romantic relationship style of "friends and roommates" not sexual.

attachment is misunderstood by others but works well fro my adhd, meaning I'm not expected to marry, or be a wife in any capacity. he is free to do what he wants, as I am, and open communication is a novel frontier I brought into this in the start, and stayed with for the duration. we fight, but I fight with a lot of people in my life over many petty things. also down to my adhd, I believe, I have rejection sensitive dysphoria, which makes me hypersensitive to rejection, perceived or real.

im not sure if this is trauma or adhd or both. but

I have used sexuality as a weapon in many relationships but it cannot or will not be used here, so I have had to resort to uncovering parts of myself which I never knew, which will stay with me even if he decided to marry and wife up in 5 years, which I'm okay and expecting him to do, and I would much rather that then be trapped in a situation where I cannot be that "wife/mother archetype" as I'm too "femme fatal/other-woman/sex-laced seductress and siren" a "FWB, unicorn, drug buddy, hook-up where im a therapist" or "intellectual and cognitive mind-bender work-study obsessed woman".

both at once and many types of human, including one who is a full-time ceremonial magician of 7 years. I will drink, drug, fuck, fight like males and still be more feminine and high maintenance than 89% of women. I grew up a tomboy and don't mind getting into fun, adventure based situations, like hiking, or anything adrenaline, I would only be reluctant to eat weird shit.

I also have many "neurological" issues including ADHD, and trauma which causes a rupture in the average human and I dating.

I'll tell you how many men have said "you are the unicorn" and then realised what that means, I went as far as canvasing the PUA world back in 2014 after reading the game, a book on PUA, which is essentially, pick up artistry, based on NLP and hypnosis. I did this after reading the copy my ex in 2008 handed me before we dated saying "I gave this up for you". it took me years to open the book, buy when I did I truly believed the only way I would fall in love again, was through PUA. that failed in so many ways but gave me a training foundation for men who were candidates for that, I have trained up J, and the way that sounds is BAD. I know, but I got a lot of value myself, I just don't see it how I wanted to see it.

but that was my original intent, and I achieved this he knows that, knew it was happening and evolved for the best self.

I am thinking we can modulate this into a business model for how I was operating in the BDSM world was mainly psychological, not physical.

I get told all of is incredibly intimidating (I am told) to women and men.

I don't really care anymore, because people have always seen this part of me in the wrong way ANYWAY, but I own who I am NOW. which is what I needed ANYWAY. so it cannot be stolen again, and sexual healing has come from abstinence ironically.

I also don't care what or who is trying to tear up my relations, toxic or not toxic, all people around me will be on a healing journey by default, or cut out of my life, for I am radiating that energy so brightly its impossible NOT to feel that pull.

I will drag your shadows into the light, and make your secrets spin from your lips into my consciousness. its not what I do but its what is design.

I make your weaknesses mountains to climb over. you cannot hide from these in my presence, I won't be this controlling or obsessive female who wants 24-7 attention as I have a life full of meaning without love or sex. I don't want to be wined, dined or expensively gifted, unless specially requested.

I don't want love letters or romantic declarations, this isn't some femnazi bullshit, but it triggers me. I appreciate the efforts and won't make you feel bad about your insecurities, for mine are probably 30 x more pronounced.

I appreciate small things, that most males won't or don't know how to do. like remembering things I've said and being thoughtful. or knowing my silence isn't personal, or a game, but a protective wall. I've had songs sung too me, guitars played, songs written, or things made in ways that are heartfelt. but I've always had them used against me too. so it is the context. I value time, energy, conversations of depth and reciprocal exchange. I also value trauma understanding, my alters and fragments being accepted and valued as me as a whole and a person who is not afraid, or scared of stupid stuff like sensitivity, emotions, feelings as raw as my own. men feel intensely too, lol.

but will only give oral sex 100 times before I don't recieve it, I can communicate now so that wouldn't happen.

but I won't be a bitch about this stuff. I am extremely feminine and care in ways other people, do not, I forget nothing people tell me, so it can be a reward or reverse uno card pull in a fight, but I am not evil or deviant in my relations. I react, depending on how you treat me. I don't need your money, or providing source of income to be okay as I am my own queen, however sharing resources is okay to build something. I don't need to be seduced, but will need to be shown a person is trustworthy.

few cross that.

that will always be time-endurance and testing. there are ground rules I don't play with, or play games. or like being forced or forged into something I'm not. I know abusive and I know safe, and I am a psychology expert, trained psychotherapist and study humans for fun, so I'll always be analysing things.

and I know red flags and I know ego, I know how to placate and please and pleasure, but will only do so, for a bigger and better reason than the mere act of seduction. which is without value and transactional to someone like me, I won't lie.

and I know every tactic in the book, for the book was written by someone like me, many lives ago, and my karma is being burnt for that book.

in terms of walls, I have many, may it be called a maze. or labrnyth.

I will teach you things you never thought you'd know, and change your life in ways you won't ever be able to go back to before. I will blow your mind, sexually, emotionally, intellectually, on all levels, and I'll make your friends and family love me.

I'll bring your walls down and you won't be able to understand this, because you don't understand me, and thats ok.

but I'll always understanding you and make your life better because thats what I do anyway, and people talk to me about things I will never share, as I keep secrets. I am jealous, of everything but, only because I am attached in a disorganised way, and working on that.(I won't even mention how man women or men don't know basic psychology of themselves). I also am a therapist , for my friends and family too.i should not be , but I am. I care, I listen, If you think I'm not listening, I'm still listening. sometimes I interrupt, because I have ADHD and I am horrible at resolute planning, or being "normal". but I don't want to be normal anyway. I need you to recognise and understand my shit, for that is what I do for everyone in my life, and I have helped more than I receive.

I'll probably accidentally give you therapy, but thats fine, because you will uncover your depths and find meaning in this. it's not something that goes bad unless you are fundamentally, evil, even the most abusive relationship I was in, was benefited from this process. yes he's still narcissistic, but he is self-aware. and did I benefit, never, just know the anatomy of self-proclaimed narc and I still can't hate him. will get my civil claim one day.

I will fuck your mind without meaning too. but thats because I fuck my own mind. but the meaning is made in the man- some find this highly offensive or personal (its not). I fuck minds by my own overthinking, or over perception on many levels of reality. so join the ride, or don't come along at all. because once the rollercoaster is in motion, I have no control of what may or may not happen. it's purely experimental.

I am experimental.

and the women who are judging me, are not any better.

look within, and shut the fuck up. self-improve and quit this jealous divide and conquer bitchiness. I HATE gossip, bitches, snitches and fakers.

I look to other women who are intellectually, physically and spiritually "individual". and find value in superior status to my own, which is something my narcissistic ex taught me.

I look for mentors, and teachers and people who will teach me how to improve myself, which I am fearful to reconnect after something is amazing and I can't give anything back of positive value. I am sorry I am working on that.

I won't devalue those below me, but I also need to be mutually benefiting from a relationship.

I dont drag people down, I may disappear if I feel I am doing this by mistake. I am flakey as fuck, and sorry for that. its anxiety and lack of perfectionism, so I am wrong and bad for this. I can change. will change.

if you can find value with my relation, personal professional or romantic, we can move into a symbiotic beneficial agreement based on mutual "terms". but many won't or cannot see this, nor do I impose my bullshit into the lives of randoms at this age.

I don't care if this is cruel, it's real.

I value loyalty, compassion, self-insight/awareness, someone who understands all parts-spirituality, metaphysics while still having intellectual & logical & analytical brain-sight.

I enjoy music, magick and learning new things.

I do not care about appearances I dont think ive dated based on one time. I do value connections and chemistry which is far-few between, I hate fakers. I smell insincerity miles away. but I do respect women who are well-presented, or beautiful, with hair beauty and makeup, I can't do this shit well, so I look up to those who are in professions who do it like art. I find them to be genius level queens who scare me.

I call out bad behaviour and make people uncomfortable if they are repressed. I will change you without even meaning too, I don't even need to date you. its just my presence, over time, amplified by the intensity of the dynamics.

I don't want simplicity, but I also don't need over complexity.

I value passion, independence, creativity, curiosity, problem-solving, deep-disscussions, shared adventures and some occasional risk-taking (lol), sensuality and sexuality for a common cause beyond physical pleasure. I like being taught but not micromanaged. I need my own independence, and need to be trusted with that. I hate being scolded for that like a child, or being pushed to change my ways to conform to societal values. which I will push back and refuse to do. which is not healthy. I don't adult like many others do, but I try to proceed in other ways. and learn to adult like normal people, accept me.

I also value myself, and how I can be celebrated, enhanced and improved vs. the opposite.

I give space, and have boundaries, and understand human psychology, sexuality and relationships in ways few others unless they are trained, can do.

I value MY time. so you can have space to value YOURS. I dont need to be in anyones pocket for a long time. I love being alone, and being around people who are stimulating, but draining people will be drained out of my life quicker than I intend. I am sorry for the people who felt I disappeared, when I was only trying to be 'fair', if I feel I'm a bad influence, I will work on myself until I'm not. I'm still working on it.

I also use this psychology awareness, to enhance communication, connection. you may or may not become an accidental guinea pig. I will be upfront that I am experimental, but that is part of the buy ticket and take the ride. lets work together. not apart.

I am coming from a place of love, and love is what I feel for my animals, which you will be adopting as children.which I want to stop experiments being done on. I love love, in all ways, but hate cruelty of animals and children, violence and suffering. I dont advocate justice, because I find life is fucking cruel, unfair and unjust. by default, so I focus on myself. what can be changed, and what I am able to do in my own locus on control. I will always find myself drawn to the outsiders, the misfits, the vagabonds, the misunderstood. I want to help people who are society, or socially, disadvantaged by trauma and mental illness, but only when I have ability to help myself.

it's a journey.

I will not date anyone who is cruel to animals, outside of specify magical sacrifice, there is not any place for that. nor will I date or fraternise with anything or anyone linked or associated with pedophilia. I won't judge anyone on anything that are outside animal cruelty and pedophilia. I don't and haven't. I keep on good terms with every ex, bar 1 whom I only apologised too this year. it felt good to do that. I change my behaviour.

I am open, but also highly attuned to both logical, factual, empirical , scientific worlds, and spiritual, intuitive, psychic and the "collective unconscious". I walk in both these realms, and I am "conventionally attractive". which puts a lot of pressure on me, to be "stupid". I am always dumbing myself down to fit into normality, but I look ridiculous if I do that so I peacock my intellect.

only to be misconceived.

I give up because I no longer care how anyone but MYSELF can see ME. I won't dumb myself down , but I can enhance you UP. prepare yourself for graded education, evolution and self-growth on mass scales.sorry not sorry.

that sucks for the people who want to be living vicariously through me, for making up to lost trauma years, for family who sold me out for the success I'd bring home, or fake trauma enmeshed friends, or whatever they want or need from me. I value my time and energy, and have given that in abundance, and if you want to be with nut only "one part of me that is alters". I can't provide that now. not sorry.

I have to work on something or not be in a dynamic at all.

I no longer can switch on demand to adapt for you, it will not be effective and that upsets a lot of people. especially now I'm sober. harder to handle this, as I see the world for its ways and why it is, more vividly. I haven't had alcohol for almost 2 months, although, I could drink, I haven't.

I can't do it, anymore. it, being, faking, my selves fronting to impress. I can't. I have no more left to give, and I'm expected by everyone to be a way I can't do it in the way they want.

I will go to another year long outpatient DBT, followed by 10 weeks of A-C-T therapy, and however many ECT OR TMS may or may not help. I'm told it won't (ect) work. but TMS, is something I am open too. but I am telling you, none of this psychotherapy, that will be based on dbt skills, day therapy, intensive skills training, recommencing my studying, and resuming "life worth living" will or can wipe the traumas I've "recovered" memories for.

I will also shut the fuck up, and tell nobody about this if you leave me alone, I told that to my family, and this is open letter to the watchers, stalkers and perps who read this openly as I track the hits on here and have 200+ visits a day every day for the last month. globally. no idea how or who you are but I think its the same people who called the police for the "ayreon song lyrics" seen to be a suicide not last October.

thanks for that wake up call, I have shut the fuck up, since December, more so now. I will burn the journals, or lock them up.

my recovery is not linear, not yet fully integrated and I trust nobody so I don't think my psychotherapy will be deep, I focus on things like ADHD AND my EDNOS. and dbt skills. I won't be talking about sexual traumas.

enjoy the update, and thanks for the "attention".

I have my goals, my work, my meaning and what my life should and could and will look like, but I will not share that with anyone. that means everyone right now.

I've been tested, traumatised and terrorised to the point of not-tolerant of anyone who may bring that back, and banish the fuck out of my sphere every moment I need.

take me as I am, or watch me as I go, which I will go, where I am not wanted I will remove myself, but I will find where I am celebrated because I create that.

I will rise up against all adversity every time but that is survival and that created a resilient and brave woman, in me. who will not be destroyed or decomposed by humans who are fundamentally fucking evil.

I gift you my truth, in progression, and give up the pain of the past.

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heartslogos · 3 years

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newfragile yellows [1122]

There is no rule that states a god is required to be kind. Nor is there one that states that there is a requirement for gods to be just, fair, merciful, or even attentive. There are no requirements of gods because they are gods. They have no laws, no rules, no commands over them by their definition. If they did they would not be gods.

They are not required to give out miracles or gifts. They do not need prophets or saints or avatars. They do not need icons. They do not need symbols. Perhaps the one thing they need is prayer and belief, but in the same way mortal creatures need food and drink.

Any action taken by a god to get more of that would really be up to their own discretion. Whether they gain their believers through gifts of the impossible, or threats of the unimaginable. There is no guiding doctrine that states which direction they must go.

Gods can be indecipherably kind. They also posses the capacity to be unreasonably cruel.

If there is any sort of thing that would bind a god — any sort of oath or command or law or theory it would be this.

Do not lose.

Is there anything more disruptive to godhood than being wrong? Is there anything that would shame one’s face more than being an entity of supreme and ultimate power and still, despite that, coming out the lesser?

Gods must not lose. Gods can be weak. They can be fickle. They can be petty and simple minded and stubborn and foul tempered. But they cannot be losers.

And Ellana, who has lived since the beginning of thought as a creature and concept and omnipresent hunger in the bones and blood and guts of the first creatures to rub two brain cells together, is no loser.

As a god she can be accused of many things. Being too soft. Being obsolete. Being overwritten and having her attributes torn apart and spread out through new faces, new names, new pantheons, new cults. Being so forgotten that she’s been reinvented as a new age fairy tale. A trope in fiction that isn’t to be believed.

And that she doesn’t mind. It’s mostly true.

But there is a difference, a very keen one at that, between mortals and gods poking fun at her with their words and then attempting to snatch at what she’s kept as hers with their pathetic hands.

It is the smallest flex of godly power that allows her to push others into motion. Mortals are objects that are never at rest, and they will never be at rest. Not even in death, when their bones and their flesh crackle with the urge to move and shatter and waft of bouts of foul and sweet smelling rot.

It is the smallest curl of effort, less than if she wanted to twitch the tip of her finger, to push these mortals into action. That’s all they needed. A little push. It doesn’t take much, really.

What does take more effort is finding the patrons behind. This. Oh, the whole affair stinks of their meddling. These children. These infants. These embryonic cells, not even capable of finding a nipple to nurse. She knows exactly who’s behind this, but they’ve gone and chased each other all around existence and finding where they got too exhausted to keep running and instead settled down to have their little piss fight is a little bit more effort than she would normally care to expend.

Ellana, as a god, has never had a form. She’s created a mortal shell to bide her time with. After all, it’s unlikely she’ll ever die in the way that gods do. There will always be a hunger for a return. All of life would have to die before she does. And if that event should come to pass she would not mind it. She was born with these creatures, and dying with them would not be so bad at all. Dying is another type of returning.

As a god, she is faceless. Shapeless. Without voice. So she takes the shape of the return. And whatever that is in another god’s eyes is a reflection on them, not her. Whether that be one that they wronged or one that they lost or perhaps something else entirely. Ellana does not know and she doesn’t care to know. She is the return.

Empathy is not required of her.

Ellana looms over them all, invisible and untouchable. She listens for a moment as they squabble. It’s such a familiar scene. She can even feel bits of their power floating off, becoming hers. Godly desire for a return has no difference than that of a mortal one. It is all the same.

She watches. She listens. She luxuriates in the feeling of being right. She bathes in the feeling of vindication. And she lathes herself into countless new, invisible and incomprehensible, shapes on the sharp corners of her outrage at having been struck by these hapless half wits.

She descends. A thousand arms about the shoulders. A thousand mouths at the ear. A million eyes at the back of the neck. The loathing and scorn and fury of a billion memories, ever growing, ever changing, ever compressing. A star that burns itself anew, perpetual and self sustaining.

She speaks with the voices of an uncountable dead, an unimaginable could-have-been. All of them hers. All of her them.

“You can have your war,” she tells them as they go still, afraid but not realizing why they’re afraid. It’s been centuries since Ellana last made an appearance. “I allow it. You can have your little fights. You can have your little games. You can play take away as much as you like with each other. But you have crossed a line that cannot be crossed. You’ve disturbed something your instincts should have told you to leave well enough alone. And I will not tolerate your mess spilling over into what I’ve claimed as mine.”

Her finger is every sharp edge, every thick blunt instrument, and every hot palm across their throats at once.

“I will return it to you,” Ellana says, “And let it be a lesson to you that you learn from once and never again.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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myaekingheart · 3 years

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As I approach a very raw and emotional arc in the story that I’m writing, I’ve been thinking a lot about comfort characters, coping mechanisms, and fandom. Specifically in the lens of curating your own fandom experience and trying to navigate other people’s perceptions of your comfort characters.

Like, one of my favorite things about fandom is the fact that we have this tendency to so often latch onto characters that mean something to us or that we see parts of ourselves in. We get really, really attached to characters and fall in love with them and even create these fabricated narratives (that are sometimes also romances, self-insert or not) as a way to feel some sort of bond with these characters. We feel like we know them and end up feeling like we share some sort of fictional relationship with them and it can be extremely comforting. It can be extremely comforting using that fictional relationship and the stories we weave as a way to cope with things we’re dealing with in our lives, to work through these complex and raw thoughts and emotions in a way that foregoes more dangerous routes. The intrinsic value of hurt/comfort and even whump in transformative works in terms of coping with mental, physical, and emotional pain cannot be ignored. And this is great! The right to take a comfort character and use them as your own personal coping mechanism is truly one of the most wonderful things about fan culture.

If this was all there was to it, then that would be fine. And if you’re kind of solitary in your fandom endeavors, then that’s likely all there is to it. When you start engaging in fandom and with other people, though, I feel like that’s when things can so easily go awry. Chances are, you are not the only person who takes comfort in a specific character. And you are not the only person who uses that character to cope and process through transformative works. It’s an amazing feeling to find someone who shares the same love for a character that you do, and who is on a similar wavelength as you in terms of using that character as a way to cope, and the things that you each use that character to cope with. But then there’s the darker side, when people use your comfort character to cope with things that make you uncomfortable. Or even just use them as a player in a story that makes you uncomfortable. It can be extremely difficult to be so deeply attached to a character and your own personal solitude in them, the idea of them protecting you from something bigger than yourself, and then so suddenly find someone else using that very character to create stories heavily focused on the very thing you’re trying to combat. The most common reactions, I feel, are typically anger, fear, confusion, hurt, distrust, disgust. A part of you might even begin questioning how well you even know this character to begin with, or if everything you’ve thought you understood about them was way off the mark and you’ve been fabricating this false, out-of-character idea of them. But more than anything, you begin to feel like the one character in which you sought comfort has been turned around to hurt you. And that can be an extremely distressing thing to try to manage.

It can be even more difficult when the version of this character that is so heavily focused on something that’s harmed you is widely accepted or at least presented in a fandom space. It can feel isolating, like you constantly have to watch your step and vet everyone that reaches out to you or follows you. It can be tiring. It can leave you feeling like you just want to remove yourself from fandom spaces entirely. A personal example: one of my favorite characters is very commonly presented in fandom in a way that feels very close to an incident from when I was younger that traumatized me. And seeing this character presented in this way can be incredibly distressing, disturbing, and disgusting. More often than not, I end up having this very visceral reaction that leaves me nauseous, angry, and self-conscious. Because seeing a character I love occupying a space reminiscent of someone who hurt me is unsettling, and even moreso when it’s so much harder to avoid.

So that begs the question of what to even do about this, because I’m sure that this experience is universal to anyone engaging in fandom in one capacity or another. There are plenty of options. There is leaving fandom entirely, whether that means detaching yourself from your entire fandom experience or resorting to enjoy fandom quietly, silently, alone. This is an easy and safe option. This is like the abstinence of options. You can’t put yourself in the line of fire if you never engage in the first place, right? But it’s also incredibly isolating. It’s cutting yourself off of the positive experiences in fandom because the negatives seem to outweigh them. It’s throwing the whole thing in the garbage because one piece broke off. Another option is policing other people. This is considered in poor form. This is unhinged and unempathetic. This is the angry child stomping in the grocery store insisting that if you can’t have a piece of candy, then no one can. Because people are going to continue to write and create whatever content they want regardless of whether or not it makes someone else uncomfortable. Sometimes especially if it makes someone else uncomfortable, because that is the point that they are trying to make in their art. But also because so often the very things that make you uncomfortable are the very things are bringing comfort to someone else. It’s their way of coping, just in the exact opposite way as you. And policing them would make them feel the same way as someone policing you. It feels restrictive and hurtful and, again, isolating. So if you can’t stop other people from creating what you don’t want to see, and you can’t bring yourself to remove yourself from the situation, what other options do we have left?

Managing your fandom experience is like a balancing act. It requires not censorship, necessarily, but well-intentioned warnings. Tagging and unfollowing and blocking and blacklisting. The only reliance this has on other people is for them to maintain courtesy by listing the contents on the front page like the ingredients on a package of food. Not everyone does this, which is another problem entirely, but the ones that do are doing all that’s required of them. The rest is up to you. The rest relies solely on your ability to blacklist your triggers, unfollow people who do share content that triggers you without tagging (which can be difficult when something that triggers you is very niche and vague, like a specific perfume or a woman with blue hair). Block people who follow you that share triggering content, even if you’re not following them, because we know that even them just appearing in your notifications and the temptation of looking at their content can be unnerving--despite how much we all certainly like to believe we have some semblance of self control. Blacklist the tags that bother you so that you can continue engaging with a friend’s content even if they share things that you don’t enjoy or want to see. Tumblr makes this easy with options like Xkit and Tumblr Savior.

But what about other places? What about on Twitter and Discord and AO3 and deviantART? What about when you run into uncomfortable content that you can’t avoid? When all other options have been exhausted but you still just can’t escape it? What do you do then? I’m still trying to figure that out myself. I’m still trying to find a way to navigate certain unsettling waters in the most balanced and respectful way, while also respecting my own triggers and mental health. And sometimes it’s really fucking hard. Sometimes there’s more to it than just blocking and blacklisting. And I wish I had answers for what to do in those situations, but I don’t. Not yet. And I hope one day I will.

All of this is just to say: fandom can be a murky and dizzying experience and sometimes you’re bound to run into things that make you uncomfortable, or things that don’t sit well with you. Sometimes you’re bound to run into interpretations of your comfort character that make you sick to your stomach and want to punch a hole in the wall and delete everything you’ve ever written and shot out into the world for reasons you don’t even quite understand. And sometimes all of that can feel really isolating, or like you’re just overexaggerating and being a wimp, or like you’re being a bad participant in fandom spaces. Sometimes it can be really hard to want to stay involved in fandom when curating that experience can feel like so much work. And because as much as you can tag and blacklist and block and unfollow, that doesn’t always completely erase the feelings that running into that triggering content comes with. You can do all of these things and still feel nauseous and angry and uncomfortable and like you desperately need to reach for the eye bleach. And that can be really hard to navigate, especially when seeing that content makes you feel separated from the one character you would turn to to actually cope with this. Sometimes it can begin to feel like the way you see this character or feel about this character has been irrevocably changed for you now, because all you see attached to them now is your trigger, and that really hurts. I wish I had answers for how to manage those feelings, or how to rewire the circuits in your brain and load an old save up, to cut out the moldy part of the cheese and enjoy the rest that hasn’t yet been spoiled in your mind. I wish I had answers for how to cope with those sorts of things, but I don’t. I just hope one day I will.

#i'm probably going to delete this later #but i just needed to tap out a really shitty essay on some things that have been going through my mind lately #because sometimes it really can just be increasingly difficult to avoid triggers in fandom #but it's just something we all have to learn how to perfect and navigate properly i guess?#i don't know i'm just being stupid though #so don't mind me #long post is long #delete later #ramblings

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

Text

Humans are Weird “Aliens Explaining Emotions”

From a discussion I had with my friend from some days ago. it was a fun and challenging exercise, and I hope you all like it :)

A lot of my academic counterparts had been asking me about the scope of human emotional range. This may seem like a confusing question to humans seeing as that emotion is an every second part of their lives, but there are many species in the galaxy who are only limited to a restrictive subset of emotions including fear, contentment, anger, happiness and interest. I, and other scientists have taken the liberty of studying human emotion, as well as human studies on the matter, and come up with 29 emotions on the human emotion spectrum. I took the liberty of asking a human to describe just what these things feel like, and when they occur and will try to explain it as well as I can.

Admiration = The human categorized this as a subset of awe but ONLY for people. This involves being impressed, and the desire to BE more like another person, or the desire to be closer to that other person. I’d consider this some function of social integration for humans an instinctive way of modeling proper behavior. Admiration is usually towards a figure in authority or position of power a parent, friend, icon, or celebrity.

Adoration = Not to be confused with admiration, adoration does not necessarily involved the desire to become like that other person, but it does involve the desire to be around them, to make them happy. Anything the target person does, no matter what, is seen as exciting, cute or admirable in whatever combination. Humans will generally do anything for someone they adore. Adoration can be for animals, small children, a mate, or someone famous.

Amusement = I have learned to personally experience this one myself. It is an extreme requirement if you are to spend any time with humans as it is the single most important emotion for social bonding. I would say it is similar to happiness, but much more physical. It is almost a cognitive joy taken from a specific phrase or situation that manifests as a bubbling in the stomach and chest. It is a pleasant feeling.

Anxiety = Just imagine feeling like a boulder will drop out of the sky to crush you at any moment, or the impending feeling of knowing the world is going to end, but you don’t know when. I would consider this a subset of fear, but less intense, more chronic and physically catastrophic.

Awe = awe is an extreme emotion which manifests with the widening of the eyes, and the mouth. This is a response to unbelievable or amazing situation. Humans describe it as a feeling of the chest expanding, may include tingling or the piloerection of hair on the skin. This emotion can be completely overwhelming and may manifest when the human understanding is stretched to capacity, and the brain is having trouble comprehending what it saw.

Awkwardness = is a motion manifested when something socially inappropriate happens. Awkwardness is a way of letting others know that something socially unacceptable just happened. This may include saying something insensitive at the wrong time, like asking a fat woman if she’s pregnant only to realise she isn’t. The modern use of the word Cringe is a subset of awkwardness that is more intense and usually involves a person or situation being EXTREMELY awkward so much so that it causes a person to cringe. Includes a tightening in the stomach and chest manifesting in a human making their body smaller and curling towards the center like someone is about to hit them. The awkwardness is so bad it is physically painful.

Boredom = when a human is lacking in cognitive stimulation. The brain will try to find something to interest itself and may lead to frustration or anxiety as the brain gets frustrated over the lack of stimuli. May also manifest as a flat affect or staring off into space.

Calmness / Contentment = a limbo emotion suspended between all other emotions. It is not happy, it is not sad, it is the closest emotion to the state of just existing in which my species spend most of their time. Humans do not often spend time here.

Confusion = An emotion that is common in many species, when cognition cannot figure out what is happening. It often manifests in humans with head tilting, frowning and looking around to gather more information.

Craving = This is a want, but to an extreme. A craving turns a want into a need to the point where the human finds it hard to pay attention to anything else. It is very common when it comes to food, but can also involve a craving for attention, company or other emotions.

Disgust = An emotion you do not want to be on the side of. Disgust is being repulsed by something, can be a smell, sight, or even a person. Disgust is a strange expression that involves turning the head away and the upturn of one corner of the mouth. It can be directed towards a specific behavior, but it is mostly used to determine that a human does not like something. I would argue that having a human disgusted with you is worse than having a human angry at you. Anger and respect can go hand in hand, but disgust and respect are mutually exclusive.

Empathetic pain = an emotion that seems almost entirely human. This involves a human’s ability to watch another person and feel their pain. For instance human males describe watching another man be kicked in sensitive areas and experiencing the contraction of muscles or even a tingling sensation in the area in which the other human was hurt, females can also experience the same sensation despite never having actually felt that sort of pain.

Entrancement = Sort of like adoration but involves less cognitive processing. A human isn’t likely to be thinking very clearly if they are entranced with something. I would describe it almost as a hypnotic state.

Envy = When a human wants something that another person has. It can include an object a situation or an attribute they wish they had. In short it is the desire to have what someone else has an a resentment towards the person who has it instead of them.

Excitement = The most adorable human emotion. Excitement is joy but more aggressive, generally used situationally for an event, or for seeing someone they have not seen in a long time. Excitement can be in the moment or anticipatory. Humans like making lots of noise when they are excited weather it be screaming or talking, they may jump up and down or cavort around in other ways. Humans are very active when they are excited.

Fear = Self explanatory, we all know fear. The imminent worry that you are going to die, be bodily injury or experience something else unpleasant. Humans have the ability to fear on behalf of others.

Frustration = This is a stepping stone to anger that involves the desire to do something but the inability to do it. Frustration happens when things are not going your way, and you cannot change it.

Hatred = the scariest of human emotions. I would argue it is an amalgamation of anger and disgust and may manifest in the desire to avoid, destroy or terminate whatever is the target of this emotion. Hatred, and maybe envy, are the wo greatest emotions that lead to murder. Once a human hates you, there is no coming back. Humans may use the word lightly to describe a mild dislike, but rarely do humans hate pickles they may dislike them but not hate them. Hatred is the desire to destroy, or obliterate whatever it is. If a human hates something, they wish them dead, desire to make them dead themselves, or desire for them something worse than death. Humans will use the word lightly, so make sure you examine body language when discussing this word with a human.

Horror = horror is a mixture of disgust and fear. This is a human’s response to seeing something so terrible that the brain can hardly comprehend what it is. It is almost like an equal but negative version of awe. It can be in response to horrible accidents, terrible situations or incomprehensible actions or atrocities committed by other humans.

Happiness = Contentment turned up. It is almost described as a warmth through the body, and an inability to stop smiling. Happiness is the emotional manifestation of feeling the sun on one’s skin after a dark night.

Interest / curiosity = a common emotion we understand as the desire to want to know more about a specific subject..

Joy = happiness turned to 11. This is happiness so intense the body cannot hold the emotion. Humans may scream, cry, laugh or many other physical actions in order to allow the release of this emotion. Joy is not a quite or unnoticeable emotion.

Love = This is the best emotion to be the target of. Humans have many versions of it, but in essence if a human loves someone, their only desire or goal for that person is to see them happy. A human would do anything for someone they love, and that includes die for them , not just die for them but walk over fields of glass, through fire, thousands of miles. Humans have been known to survive past all odds and hold onto life in order to see someone they love one last time. If you are lucky enough to have a human who has any sort of love towards you, you can rest assured that they will do whatever it is possible to keep you safe and happy.

Nostalgia = a strange human emotion that involves the desire for the past, or a fondness for the past. Playing a human a song that they may have heard often in their childhood may have them experiencing nostalgia.

Romance = This is a love specifically between two partnered humans. Think love as mentioned earlier but with a physical or sexual component.

Sadness = This is the opposite of happiness, and is often described as a heavy feeling. Increase that feeling and you get something called sorrow which is the opposite of joy. This generally happens during unfortunate events like the death of a family member. This is generally associated with the loss of something, another human, a pet, innocence, a situation, or a better period of time. Sadness should be curbed quickly, for it is not good for humans over a long period of time. It is theorized that the feeling of sadness is evolutionary designed to get other human’s attention looking for comfort.

Satisfaction = this is an internal feeling of pride usually experienced when a human does something and it works out. I would call this the opposite of frustration. Humans experience this when they believe they have done a good job with something.

Sympathy = this is like empathetic pain accept can include emotion or situational. A human does not have to have experienced the pain or situation someone else is going through to feel sympathy for them. It is almost the feeling of proxy sadness and the desire that another person’s situation get better. This is why humans are so good at understanding other species. A human who sympathizes with you might take your situation, imagine something similar and determine how they would feel if they were you, then they can experience a shadow of what you are feeling and thus sympathize. Is extremely important in a social society.

Triumph = A mixture of satisfaction and joy. This happens when a human has gone through a very difficult project, or experience and come out victorious. Triumph is experienced in war, beating a terrible illness, receiving what one has worked really hard for after years and years of dedication.

Some humans may tell you that they have not felt some of these emotions. and , unless they have a mental illness, or some other rare reason) that makes them physically incapable, than they are absolute lairs. They may not KNOW they experienced that emotion, or may not have the understanding to explain it, but deep down they know exactly what it means. If a human claims they don’t experience emotion that way, tell them to stop being an edge-lord and that the inability to experience emotions is neither a good thing, something to be proud of, or even a possibility if you are a human.

Im looking at you there human, the one who read this and was totally like, yeah but i've never felt that before. Stop trying to be special, you're human you know what all these feel like. You cannot be human without them.

Just a reminder that this was designed as being written by an alien, so if it doesn't seem entirely accurate, than that is okay :) This list was written with the idea of vast humanity ( and not acceptations ) if you find yourself an acceptation that is okay, but the list will remain unchanged. I myself am technically an acceptation in one aspect, but I didn’t want to confuse the issue.

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are spaceoddities #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia #humans are weird

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hobidreams · 5 years

Text

Bloom Minis: I

things that fall: petals to soil. rain to earth. namjoon for you.

pairing: florist!namjoon x assassin!reader genre: bit of angst-tinged fluff words: 1.4k a/n: this is a drabble for Bloom from Namjoon’s POV. it contains heavy spoilers for the main fic! this is set right after the third meeting between Joon & Reader. yes. that one.

At the sound of the now-familiar shop door’s open, Namjoon’s head snaps up.

Excitement douses every crease of his instinctual grin, betraying the hope that blooms unabashedly in his chest. He’d been in the midst of trimming an arrangement, but the shears are dropped in his haste, needing to be at the front of the store without any more delay.

He wipes his hands on his apron, trying to catch a glimpse of his visitor as his feet slap against the floor. It hasn’t even been a day, but could it be…?

“Hey, it’s me!”

Jungkook’s bright voice filters through the ferns and florals as he enters, casually trendy in his oversized t-shirt and ripped jeans.

Namjoon tries his best not to look too disappointed. “Hey, Kook.”

“Wow. You look so much like an actual florist,” Jungkook laughs, eying Namjoon’s dirt-smeared clothes, the general sweatiness.

Namjoon raises his left eyebrow. “That’s kind of the point.” He turns to pick up a stray towel. He runs it over his face, mopping up some the sticky perspiration. “Are you still on duty?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Nodding, Namjoon starts to walk towards the door behind the counter. “Then you know what to do.”

Jungkook spins the sign behind him to BE BACK IN 15mins. He flicks the lock, securing it with a quiet click. Namjoon has already disappeared into the backroom. When Jungkook joins his partner, he finds Namjoon sitting amongst computer screens in lieu of trees, the expensive monitors flickering with information or CCTV footage from the hidden cameras around the shop and its vicinity.

“So, this is about the report, yeah?”

Jungkook presses his lips together. “HQ read it this morning,” he confirms. “They’re... not happy.”

“As always.” Namjoon sighs. “I should’ve gone to give the debrief in person. Then I could’ve at least explained it better.”

“Yeah...”

“Damn it.”

“Your report did end kind of... abruptly. And you didn’t get much that can be used against the Nightingales.” Jungkook flicks his eyes to the computers. “Look, bottom line, they think you’re wasting this opportunity we have. With her.” He gestures with his chin at the screenshot blown up on screen. It’s taken from that very first meeting – your face, caught in a fascinated smile as Namjoon shared his billionth plant fact. Thankfully, Jungkook doesn’t question why it’s there. Either way, Namjoon doesn’t think he can explain.

The monitor beside that one holds information Namjoon has now read several hundred times over. They are what sparse facts the NIS could collect on you, your family, your life before your worlds entwined. But he’s long filled those icy fragments with what is unquantifiable in formal documentation: the fatally deep warmth in your eyes, the breaking lilt of your voice when you speak of those you love yet cannot save. After last night, he commits the honey of your whimpered bliss to his memory too.

With a cough, he wills himself to look away from your smile before he loses himself in it again. “It hasn’t even been two months. Don’t they understand that these things take time?” He sticks his tongue in his cheek, jaw set. “It was pure chance that we even met in the first place. We should take every precaution not to rush things and scare her off.” He wants to suggest it requires months, weeks, days; hell, even an hour longer, he would take.

“It was lucky, but it’s not producing many results right now. I’m sure it’s not your fault, but HQ doesn’t want to waste resources by leaving you here.”

If only you knew. “Makes sense.”

Jungkook flashes a light grin, letting the tough NIS agent exterior crack. “Plus, I miss working with you, partner.” Lazily, he makes to lean against a nearby table for half a second before he jerks away. “Ah, god, ouch!” He just lightly stabbed himself on a spike of an aloe plant.

“Hey, careful!” Namjoon’s rolling chair clatters as he lunges towards the plant, nearly knocking a few other pots over in the process. “That one already has a broken leaf!”

Jungkook leaps away with a wince. He carefully situates himself in an open area before he stares with his nose wrinkled at Namjoon, who is practically petting the succulent, making sure Jungkook didn’t uproot it with his jostling. “It’s just a plant.”

That earns Jungkook a glare. “They’re living things, just like you or me.” It takes Namjoon a full minute before he’s satisfied that the aloe hasn’t sustained any lasting trauma. (Jungkook rolls his eyes behind Namjoon’s back.) “Anyway. I miss you too, but I can’t leave. In case she comes back.”

“But you gave her your number.”

“I did, but she might drop by.” And I don’t want to miss it. “Or she’ll want to come over immediately like last night.” Oh. Fuck. Namjoon thinks the curse as soon as the words come out of his mouth, having not been able to staunch them in his focus on covering his emotions. The emotions he hasn’t yet dared to untangle, for fear of what might come out. Bringing up last night will only exacerbate that, complicate it by involving clueless Jungkook in the situation. Namjoon had hoped Jungkook wouldn’t ask about the night at all, but now he watches the younger man’s eyes harden.

“Speaking of which. Can you tell me what really happened last night?” Jungkook flexes his arms, the veins rippling. “I don’t think you just ‘talked and she left.’ That’s just bullshit you wrote for HQ, right?”

“No,” Namjoon replies, perhaps a bit too quickly. “No. It’s true.”

Jungkook just looks at him.

“It is!” Namjoon insists, but he’s much too aware that he and Jungkook have been friends for much too long for such a tactic. Still, he owes it to their partnership to at least try. “She just needed comforting, that’s all. Nothing happened between us. Just talk—”

“Hyung,” Jungkook interrupts with a murmur, his tone holding all the fragility of glass. Yet it’s still delicate enough for Namjoon to understand he is not speaking in a wholly professional capacity. “She’s an assassin.”

“I know.”

“A criminal.”

“Yes.”

“She’s killed people.”

“Well, so have we.”

And there it is. A fact neither of them can refute, nor do they want to acknowledge. It ushers in a silence that neither of them know how to break and so they let it seep through the space until it is suffocating.

“Look, Kook, I’ll stall with HQ somehow. I-I’ll figure it out. I need some time, that’s all. I know what we have to do.” Maybe if he says it enough times, his rebellious brain will finally behave. “We… We’ll get the Nightingales in the end.”

“Right.” Jungkook cards his fingers through his dark hair. “Okay. You’re right. We can do this.” He manages a smile, his prominent teeth peeking out just a bit. “I’m going to go then. Gotta report back.”

“Okay.”

Jungkook walks to the door, unlocks it. He can’t help but turn back one last time. “Hyung. Just... Be careful. Please?”

Namjoon nods even though his heart throbs in contradiction.

And when he is finally left alone with naught but the quiet hum of a distant bee, he turns his stare down at his hands.

He wants to be careful.

He wants so fiercely to stay focused on the task given to him and uphold the tenements of his vocation but all he can remember is the softness of your skin, the heat of your tears drawing rivulets down your cheeks that he could taste on your lips. Damn it all.

Namjoon breathes an extended exhale, collapsing back into his chair. His eyes search the computers, finding your picture on the screen with a misplaced urgency that does nothing to calm his poor heart. Here and now, Namjoon thinks he understands why succulents etiolate. Why they ruin themselves in such desperate reaching for the suffocating heat, the very light that burns scars into their petals, leaves them forever altered. And as he traces the beguiling curves of your smile with his gaze, a truth mires itself in his thoughts so easily it is as if it has always belonged there, as if it finds its home there.

It’s a truth that frightens him with how it overrides logic with instinct, reality with sordid fantasy. Mingling, building, finally culminating into an urge teeming with danger, yet he hurtles himself towards it anyway because he cannot seem to survive otherwise. The damning truth of it all: that he will do anything to hold you in his arms again.

#armiesnet #bts fluff #bts angst #bts reactions #namjoon fluff #namjoon x reader #assassin au #florist au #bloom #rain writes #this is dedicated to miss ari #who so patiently helped me through this :')

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phantomwarrior12 · 4 years

Text

Fight

Words: 2,946

Warnings: Mild swearing, angst, intimidation, Sigma being a dick

Summary: What happens to a broken’s man mind when his actions are not his own?

A/N: Hey folks!

So, this fic was abandoned years ago...but last night inspiration sparked and I finished it! I also had to fix the tenses (throwback to when I wrote in past tense >.< Gross), so if there are any mess-ups, I do apologize!

As always, please leave a like/comment and let me know your thoughts! Enjoy!

~Phantom

----------------

Their intervention had been anticipated.

It's an outcome Sigma has come to expect from the drones of Project Freelancer.

They - he has arrived with more reinforcements than predicted. The blue soldiers, one an incompetent fool, the other, an incapable marksman.

Were it not for damage he had already sustained, the Meta would have already disposed of Agent Washington and his compatriots, granting them access to a wealth of technology and equipment.

Nonetheless, Agent Washington's - Wash's meddling will not be tolerated. Sigma can almost feel the familiarity of the nickname, the undeniable urge to protect a friend of his host, the man he has corrupted, tormented, forced into submission to mold the monster they faced - Agent Maine.

The time displacement device they've acquired from Agent Wyoming's corpse seems to function at full capacity, delaying the impending missile from the cobalt Simulation Trooper. His gaze lingers to his right where Washington and the larger trooper are suspended mid-air over a wall with a grenade exploding just behind them.

The blue imbecile had carelessly lodged the grenade against the wall, forcing them to flee from their cover.

As Sigma prods the Meta forward, his gaze briefly flickers over to the cobalt soldier. The sudden appearance of Gamma beside him jolts the AI from his silent deliberation.

Gamma's robotic tone ruptures the otherwise silent battlefield, "What is it?"

Sigma frowns, diverting his gaze from the soldier to the duo before them, "The rocket wielder - there's something familiar about him."

Gamma's gaze flickers over his shoulder, "He's human, a dirty Shisno. Do not concern yourself."

Sigma merely nods his agreement before returning his attention to the agent and the imbecile. A cruel smile slides easily across his lips, his expression resembling something like satisfaction as the Meta draws his magnum.

"Finish him." A singular order.

The Meta raises the weapon, the barrel resting even with Washington's visor. Sigma waits, one beat. Two. Three. His patience dwindles as he again addresses the Meta.

"Fire your weapon, Meta. We wish to be whole again, yes?"

A solitary nod.

"I realize Agent Washington presents a familiar face, as it were, to Agent Maine. But, we are the Meta. We must be whole again - the only way is to remove those who oppose us. Do you understand?"

The Meta wavers, his mind urging his finger to pull the trigger, and yet, his body betrays him. Sigma's features contort into a frown, brows knit together as he recognizes the influence of Agent Maine.

While Sigma has beaten his consciousness into submission, his subconscious presents more of a challenge. He's confined Maine's mind to a small corner of his brain, allowing the AI units to dominate his body. Though, from the confines of his mental prison, Maine occasionally manages to intervene, to aid his friends.

Sigma repeats his order adamantly, "Now, Meta!"

The strain grows unbearable, his suit begins to glitch, sparks spouting from the extensive wiring of the armor.

"We're overloading! We have to go!" Eta and Iota interrupt Sigma's demands.

Sigma glowers in disgust as Gamma warns of the immanent failure of the time displacement device.

Omega interjects before Sigma can respond with an edge of fury, "We're leaving!”

The Meta backs away before holstering his pistol and taking off.

"We'll meet again soon, Agent Washington, I promise."

----------------

"What happened, I thought we had complete control?" The dark edge in Omega's tone closely resembles the very emotion he represents: rage.

Sigma casts a displeased expression towards his brother, ignoring the close proximity - Omega's idle attempt at intimidation, "Agent Maine is strong-minded individual, he wants to be rid of us. Even as his consciousness submits to our will, his subconscious is less...cooperative."

"Why not delete it?" Omega snaps in return, scowling at the flaming AI.

"Were it so easy. In many ways, the human mind is like a computer. It retains information, manages the functions of the body, but unlike a computer, one cannot simply delete a program when it's no longer useful." Sigma returns coolly.

Omega stares back unwavering, "Your point?"

"His body would no longer function properly, we would be setting ourselves back rather than moving closer to our goal." Sigma returns calmly.

Theta flickers online beside them, "Would it hurt him?" His child-like voice cracks at the mention of pain. The smaller AI is still struggling to cope with the loss of North, the ache of losing him still fresh.

Sigma glances down at the most trusting of their party, "Yes, Theta, it would hurt him."

Theta's eyes fall to the ground, "He hurts all the time, doesn't he?" His voice grows quiet as he spoke.

"Yes." Sigma admits, noting the change in demeanor.

"Just like North." His shoulders sag, memories flooding to the surface.

"It is alright, Theta," Delta assures him gently, ignoring the pointed look from Omega.

"No, Theta, not like North." Iota flickers online beside Theta and kneels beside him. "North is in a better place, he's not in pain anymore." He rests a reassuring hand on the child's shoulder.

"I miss him." Theta returns quietly, voice quivering with emotion.

"I know, Theta, but you're with your brothers now," Iota attempts a smile beneath his helmet, "and we won't let anything happen to you."

Theta nods slightly, eyes still turned downcast even as Gamma approaches, "The Meta requires repairs. His armor needs more power."

Sigma touches his chin thoughtfully, mentally sifting through the downloaded Freelancer database for locations with the desired level of energy. His lips curve into a small smirk, "I believe I've found a suitable location."

Omega turns his gaze from Sigma to the helmet of their host, "And what do you propose we do about our little rebel problem?"

Sigma follows his gaze to the golden-orange visor before them, "I shall have a talk with Agent Maine. The sooner he accepts his role, the more efficient we shall become."

"And if he continues to resist?" Gamma questions.

Sigma meets his gaze, "Then we force him to submit."

Theta begins to argue against the idea of hurting Agent Maine, but a singular glare from Omega silences him.

"Then it's decided. Meta, you may proceed to the next set of coordinates."

-----------------

Agent Maine sits dejectedly in the corner, eyes fixated on the far wall of his prison. He's been confined to a corner, a piece of his mind in a cell that closely resembles his quarters aboard the Mother of Invention, complete with the photographs of his friends.

Friends. The people he'd been forced to murder, the very same people he would have taken a bullet for at any point in time. The people who had become family, the people he was meant to protect. Now - now they're gone.

Gone because a psychotic AI had manipulated him, gone because he was forced to watch in sheer horror as he hunted and slaughtered his friends.

He doesn't know what is worse, listening to Sigma drone on about obeying and submitting or the guilt that threatens to swallow him up.

Sigma. The only reason he's trapped in this mental prison. No one listened to him, no one noticed his gradual reclusion, no one helped him when he needed them the most.

No one - no one except Wash. His faithful little brother, always innocent, always vigilant, always the supportive one - well as supportive as one can be when their name wasn't Agent Florida. It seemed to be that man's personal mission to make sure everyone remained in good spirits.

The thought itself strikes a painful cord, drudging up familiar memories. Sparring matches with Carolina, bonding exercises with the entire team, North's incessant tendency to act as the father as the group, occasionally rivaling Florida's paternal tendencies. He could almost see South and Connecticut teasing Washington about his gullible nature. Wyoming's terrible knock-knock jokes, York's exasperated sigh whenever the older Freelancer cracked said jokes.

They hadn't been perfect, but they had been family. His family.

He sets his jaw, forcing himself from his reminiscent daze as he turns his scowl once more to the barred door before him.

He's tried, time and time again to break it, to push it open, to threaten Sigma into opening it, but it all proved to be in vain. The AI won't yield, he is, after all, the ambitious fragment.

Damn him. Damn him and all his "brothers" to hell.

They would all still be here. It's the only thought going through Maine's mind. He shoots to his feet, hands clenching into fists as he spins and buries his hand wrist-deep into the cement wall.

"Agent Maine, I must insist upon a calmer demeanor, you don't want to hurt yourself, now do you?"

The voice behind him catches his attention, but he never needs to turn around. He knows who it was. He wishes he didn't, he's heard the same voice inside his head for months now, and it shows no signs of leaving anytime soon.

"Go to hell." His back remains turned, scowl focused on the broken concrete in front of him.

The corner of Sigma's lips tug upwards into a smirk and with a wave of his hand, promptly repairs the hole and secures the prison. "As an AI, I'm sure you're fully aware that I cannot physically--"

"Don't care. Leave."

There's an amused scoff and Maine hates it. The searing heat of flaming orbs flickering to the photographs strewn across the bed to his left. "You've been thinking about them again, haven't you?"

No response.

Sigma ventures closer to the images, noting the closest to be of Agent Washington trapped in an affectionate headlock as Agent Maine towers over him with a smirk of amusement, eagerly watching the smaller Freelancer struggle to escape.

"You interfered with our mission today, Agent Maine." His gaze flickers back over to the Freelancer, noting the increased tension in his stance at the mention of his involvement. "We were forced to retreat, and your friend, Washington, still lives."

Sigma can almost see the satisfied smirk from where he stands. Even with his back to him, he knows how the man thought. Any inconvenience, any setback he can cause was a small victory.

"Agent Maine, it's time for you to embrace your role as our ally, our vessel for the duration of our quest to become whole." Sigma addresses the 7-foot Spartan, pacing closer with hands clasped behind his back.

Maine folds his arms across his chest, completely disinterested in listening to rambling fragment behind him. He turns and scowls at Sigma, jaw set in a hard line of defiance as the AI paces closer.

"You can't possibly hope to keep fighting us, Agent Maine. You'll burn yourself out - or, we'll be forced to take more drastic measures to ensure your cooperation. You don't want that, do you?"

Maine returns his threat with a glower, his eyes conveying the boundless hatred for his captor.

"Feel free to voice your response, Agent Maine. We are, after all, inside your mind, the only place you truly have a voice."

Maine brushes past him, pausing mere feet from the barred door. He looks to Sigma, jerking his head towards the door.

Sigma allows a condescending smirk, "You know I can't let you out, not until your agree to help us, Agent Maine."

His movements are sudden, predicted, but sudden as he steps forward, throwing a fist at the blazing AI. His hand passes through and he stumbles through the projection before turning back to glare at him.

"I will ask you one final time, Agent Maine, will you cooperate?"

Maine snatches the lamp from the bedside stand, lobbing it in Sigma's direction, shattering it against the far wall.

"Very well. I'll leave you to your deliberation. I am confident you will make the right decision given time." Sigma flickers out, leaving the large mercenary alone in his prison.

Maine sinks onto the mattress, elbows on his knees, shoulders slumped forward in defeat.

Never.

--------------------

"Come on, Maine! Give it back!" Washington pleads, reaching for sweatshirt Maine has confiscated from the Freelancer.

York laughs from his place on the couch, the taller Freelancer waving the clothing over his head, well out of Wash's reach. "Whose sweatshirt is that anyway?"

"Yours." North volunteers, not bothering to glance up from his book.

"Why do you have my sweatshirt, Wash?" York's expression resembles something of a condescending smirk.

"Only one I could find--" Wash leaps into the air for the fourth time, fingers grazing the pocket, but not nearly close enough to grab hold.

"Why are we torturing Wash?" Carolina strolls into the rec room, taking in the scene before her.

"Because Wash took my sweatshirt and Maine took it from Wash." York returns, motioning her closer.

She sags onto the couch beside him, "What happened to your hoodies, Wash?"

"Ask Connie," he jumps a little higher and Maine moves it just beyond his reach, "Come on! Please?"

Maine looks to York who had distracted himself with tucking a strand of Carolina's hair away from her eyes. Maine opens his mouth to speak, losing his concentration for a split second and Wash tugs the hoodie from his grasp.

"Ah ha!" He celebrates by hoisting the brown sweater into the air before tugging it on, "Finally."

"You need to pay more attention, Maine," Carolina chuckles lightly.

Maine looks over at Washington. This hadn't happened. None of this had. His gaze darts to the door as it whizzes open and Sigma strides in.

"Enjoying your fantasies?"

"Maine? What's going on?" York looks between the former Spartan and the AI.

Maine shakes his head as he backs away, reality crashing down around him as the heels of his hands dig into his temples.

"You will comply, Agent Maine."

"No."

It's not his voice. It's Wash. Even in his subconscious, Wash has his back.

"You're speaking through figments of your imagination now? Pathetic."

"No! You know what's pathetic? You! You'll never be whole. You'll never be human. You're a fragment. You'll always be a fragment. You won't win." Wash strides forward, a fire ignited in once gentle blue, daring steps ever closer to the AI fragment, "And Maine will never help you."

"Really?" He looks to Maine, unamusement evident in his features, "Enough of this. You will surrender. You can't possibly believe you can resist us any longer. You are, after all, on your own."

He's right.

Maine is alone, even here, within the confines of his mind with little more than the memories of his friends to keep him company.

"Except he's not alone." Carolina stands, shoulders squared in the same dignified posture she's used to stare down death itself. "You may have his body. You may have his mind. But he has all of us and the strength to fight you. By bringing him here, to this place, we get to remind him," she looks over her shoulder at him, features softening as she meets his gaze, "He's not alone."

"That is enough, unless you wish to see your friends die all over again--"

Maine flinches but Carolina doesn't move as she retains her scowl on Sigma. Behind her, York and North move to stand in front of Maine. And Wash - little Wash with his heart and his drive - he stands beside Maine. He can feel the weight of his brother's hand, the strength of the others and the iron will of Agent Carolina as she places herself between him and Sigma.

"You can go to hell. As long as Maine is alive, he will never join you."

Sigma narrows his eyes, "Have it your way."

The world around Agent Maine begins to fade and he's forced to watch North and York disintegrate. Carolina fights, but falls to Sigma's advances. It's happening all over again.They're gone.

And he's alone. He's alone until a firm hand rests on his forearm. He's alone until he looks down to see Wash clinging to him with a flame roaring behind his eyes.

"You have to fight him, Maine. You have to fight him and all of the fragments. I know you feel alone, but Carolina was right. We're here. We're your strength, Maine. Don't forget that!"

Maine watches him fade. His fists clench and his chin drops.

"It's time to go, Agent Maine."

"No." This time, it's Maine who speaks, who lifts his head and squares shoulders.

This time it's Maine who strides forward with a confidence he'd thought he lost when Sigma seized control. This time, it's Maine to who jogs then runs then sprints toward the AI fragment and barrels through his holographic form and the wall and the next wall and the next.

They shatter and crumble and he can hear Sigma's vain orders blasting his ears, but he doesn't stop. He crashes through the last, and suddenly he's in a Freelancer storage facility with Agent Washington staring him down.

Wash.

There's a blur of voices and he's trapped.

"And I am a motherfucking ghost."

He's screaming and yet Wash can't hear him.

It's Maine! I'm right here!

Another blur of voices that trigger memories and Maine fights through the haze, fighting to take a step but he can't. Wash is right there.

Wash - please.

"We can talk about this--"

"No, we can't."

The cacophony that splits the air is deafening

and Maine crumples in a heap of armor and pain. When the ringing fades and he can do little more than stare at the ceiling above him, he gathers what little strength he has and he growls a feeble, exhausted growl to let Wash know who's left in the shell.

"Maine?"

--------------------

Taglists are open! Send me an ask/message to be added!

RVB Forevers: @mamma-dragon @spoopyghostgirl @heaven-hell-imagines

Bonus Tag: @epsiloneridani07

#agent maine #red vs blue #rvb #agent washington #agent carolina #agent york #agent north dakota #sigma rvb #omega rvb #theta rvb #eta rvb #iota rvb #alpha church #leonard church #gamma rvb #delta rvb #rvb fanfic #project freelancer #phantom writes

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mst3kproject · 4 years

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Tobor the Great

This was a movie YouTube thought I ought to watch. It’s so bad even Leonard Maltin didn’t like it.

Two scientists, Dr. Harrison and Dr. Nordstrom, are concerned about the effects of space travel on the human body, and so they attempt to convince the Civil Interplanetary Flight Commission (think NASA, but with funding) to use an alternative form of test pilot. No, sit down, dog- and monkey-lovers in the audience, I’m talking about a huge, unwieldy, unnecessarily humanoid robot! Obviously, foreign agents want to steal this machine and turn it into a huge, unwieldy weapon instead of a huge, unwieldy astronaut, but Nordstrom’s grandson Brian saves the day using his special telepathic link with Tobor!

The movie does not believe we’re smart enough to figure out why the robot’s name is Tobor. It spells it out for us, literally and on more than one occasion.

Tobor the Great is a children’s movie – the main character is eleven-year-old Brian, who is mostly addressed by his nickname, Gadget or Gadge. He’s established as an engineering genius in his own right, who gets to hang around in his grandfather’s lab and make friends with this cool robot. He’s what every white American boy in the 50’s was supposed to want to be. All of which makes it sort of weird that we don’t meet him until nearly fifteen minutes into the movie.

Consider some better children’s movies. In Coco, Miguel is the literal as well as the metaphorical narrator – we begin with his voice telling us the backstory. Lilo and Stitch gives us one title character almost immediately, and then brings in the second as quickly as it can to get us to the point where they meet. Of course, you don’t have to introduce the main character first in a movie, but if you’re going to put it off you have to do it skillfully. Star Wars takes its time getting around to Luke Skywalker, but it’s already given us somebody to follow in the form of C-3P0 and R2-D2, who make good audience proxies because 3P0 doesn’t know what’s going on any more than we do. Tobor the Great lets nearly a quarter of its running time go by before we finally meet Gadge, and even more before we get to Tobor himself, and that time is spent setting up what seems to be a rather different movie.

The opening does establish the need for Tobor, but it takes way too long about it. We start with narration and stock footage about the American space program, which is as deathly boring as it always is in these movies. Maybe it seemed more exciting in the fifties, when space rockets were the coolest thing around. Then we get into Dr. Harrison and his complaints about unsafe practices, which lead to his resignation and to him trying to dodge the press before meeting the likeminded Dr. Nordstrom.

These seem like strange things to put in a children’s movie. I feel that a lot more time is spent justifying the need for a robotic astronaut than is really necessary, and the early close focus on Dr. Harrison makes it seem like he’s going to be our main character – but he fades into the background once we get to Dr. Nordstrom’s lab and at the end he’s not much more than a completely unnecessary love interest for Gadge’s widowed mother. In Star Wars the two droids stick around and participate in the plot for the whole movie – Dr. Harrison doesn’t. The politicking within the CIFC is not something children are likely to be interested in, nor is the nagging newspaper man, and all of these scenes are just guys in suits talking. Very little actually happens and none of it involves robots carrying off beautiful women like the poster shows us!

The annoying reporter is a particularly odd inclusion. His name is Mr. Gilligan, which Joel and the ‘bots would have found hilarious. I went into Tobor the Great totally blind, having never heard of it when the thumbnail appeared in my YouTube recommendations, but if I’d read a plot summary or something beforehand, maybe I wouldn’t have expected Gilligan to play a major role in the plot. As it was, I figured he was either a Soviet spy or would unintentionally pass information on to them – but he vanishes after the first press conference, and the question of whether he has the right to compromise national security in the name of selling newspapers is never dealt with. Instead the spies are a bunch of guys we’ve never seen before.

Once all this is over with, though, we do finally get to see Tobor strut his stuff. Nordstrom and Harrison work on programming him to do things like type reports to be sent back to Earth and dodge meteor showers (as all 50’s space rockets had to do), while Gadge sits and watches… and does very little else. You’d think this part of the movie would continue the thread of Gadge being the equal of the adult scientists, maybe overlapping with him and Tobor bonding, but there’s almost none of either. Why set up Gadge as a prodigy if you’re not going to make use of it? At the climax we expect Gadge to save the day by figuring something out, as he showed he could do earlier. Instead he just shuts his eyes and thinks really hard at Tobor, like Ichi trying to summon Gamera. It works, but it’s not as satisfying as it could have been. At the end the movie has neatly avoided almost all of its potential and anything that might have been cool to watch, and failed to give us anything it seemed to promise.

To make things even worse, Gadge is played by one of those insanely cloying 50’s child actors who say things like “oh, gosh!” and “gee whillikers!” I cannot imagine anybody actually talking like this. Actor Billy Chaplin sure makes it sound fake as hell. While Chaplin is a decent actor physically, everything he says sounds stilted and unnatural, like he’s reading it off notes while trying to project his voice to a full auditorium. The adult actors are much better, which just makes Chaplin look all the worse by comparison.

Tobor, on the other hand, is wonderful, in the ‘stupid cardboard movie robot’ way that makes Torg from Santa Claus Conquers the Martians and the delightfully awful robot of Devil Girl from Mars so much fun. It’s got lots of blinky lights and moving parts, and stamps around with a pretty convincing sense of weight. Unlike some movie robots it actually moves at a good clip when it wants to, perhaps helped by the fact that it has working knees. The movie makes the point that Tobor is a large and dangerous piece of kit at the same time as it’s able to be gentle and dexterous, which reinforces the idea that it would be frightening as a weapon.

My favourite part is when Tobor drives a car. I wonder if the guy in the costume could see anything. That must have been a hell of a day on set.

What you want me to get back to, though, is the bit where the robot is psychic. Yes, that’s actually the premise of this movie, a telepathic robot! I’m not sure how plausible that would have seemed in the 50’s, even in such an explicitly silly movie. Dr. Nordstrom doesn’t expect the reporters to believe in it without a demonstration, and yet the same decade also produced films like The She-Creature that present such ideas with an entirely straight, albeit incompetent, face. Psychic powers as hard-ish sci-fi seems to have gone out of style by the 90’s, and nowadays it sounds like something you’d see in the Weekly World News.

Man, I miss the hard copy Weekly World News. It was so nice to have that little isle of humour in the sea of garbage that was (and still is) the supermarket tabloids. Remember Hilary Clinton’s space-alien lover? Classic.

The function of telepathy in this story is not just to give Gadge a way to summon the robot after the spies break Nordstrom’s control mechanism. It is also a means whereby Tobor may acquire human traits and emotions. How to make a robot feel things is a perennial problem in science fiction… a lot of the time the mechanism is simply glossed over, as an artificial intelligence becomes more human by interacting with humans. Emotions are just chemicals in our brains, though, and the more we learn about how they work, the harder it gets to justify a machine feeling them. In Star Trek: the Next Generation Data and Lore have a special bit of hardware that must be installed to enable emotions, and really seem like they’re better off without it. In Saturn 3, Hector has a processor made of cloned brain cells that can produce their own chemistry, as well as a direct neural uplink to its programmer.

As such solutions go, I actually kind of like how Tobor the Great goes about it, even if the mechanism is silly. Rather than having emotions of its own, Tobor senses and mirrors those of the humans around it. When Gadge is panicking, worrying that Tobor is out of control, Tobor panics and goes around smashing things, thus making for a self-fulfilling prophecy. When Gadge thinks of Tobor as a hero, the robot comes to his rescue, carrying him to safety like a rescued princess, and responds to the anger and rage of the spies by turning these emotions back on them and beating them up. This is quite different from many ‘emotional machine’ stories, in that it doesn’t actually require Tobor to be in any way self-aware.

Unfortunately the movie is not very consistent about this. There’s a scene in which Tobor gets frustrated and breaks stuff after being put through too challenging a simulation, which does imply that the robot has an intelligence and emotional capacity of its own. This bit has a purpose, as it serves to make us worry that Tobor will be unable to tell the difference between friend and foe at the finale, but it just doesn’t fit with the way this machine is treated in the rest of the movie.

Like many others both from MST3K and from the Episodes that Never Were, Tobor the Great has a couple of good ideas at its core. It even predicted how much easier and safer it is to send robots into space than people, although those robots don’t look much like the lumbering humanoids of 50’s sci-fi. Sadly, the film is uneven, rushed, and poorly-acted, and nothing particularly fun or exciting happens in it. Various people over the years have seen its potential and Tobor has starred in a couple of comic books and an unproduced TV pilot, but these never went anywhere either.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #tobor the great #50s #tobor is robot spelled backwards

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gigi-sinclair · 4 years

Text

Sins Not Tragedies (rated G, implied Jopson/Little, future Hartnell/Irving)

AKA “Haven’t you people ever heard of closing the goddamn door?”

For @theterrorbingo square “there’s nothing to be afraid of.” And it was supposed to also be for @zaphodbeeblebro, but it kind of got away from your prompt, so I’ll do another one for you later!

CW for period-typical attitudes. Title, naturally, from Panic! At the Disco

John Irving is not a fool.

He is no innocent, either, although he knows many people think it of him. He is familiar with the weaknesses of men. He even has sympathy for them. That is, after all, why he sought to rehabilitate Mr. Hickey and Mr. Gibson himself, rather than turn the matter over to the captain, as protocol demanded. His mercy was justified, it seems. Mr. Gibson has not complained of any further assaults, and it does not appear Hickey has turned his deviant attention elsewhere. Perhaps the flogging, unpleasant as it was, proved just the lesson he needed.

This, however, is something else. Rather, it is the same thing, but John cannot possibly react to it in the same way.

Hickey and Gibson are men of the lower ranks, of the lower classes. As is Jopson, for all his extreme familiarity with the captain. In everything, they require a guiding hand, a patient teacher. They cannot be expected to have the capacity to withstand temptation—and John can acknowledge its lure is all the stronger after so long here in the ice—without the help of their moral superiors.

Lieutenant Little should require no such assistance. The man is a first lieutenant. Soon to be a commander, if the Admiralty hasn't already decreed it. There is no excuse for what John glimpses as he passes the storeroom late one night.

The ship is all but abandoned now. For some reason, all three lieutenants—Little, Hodgson, and John himself—remain on Terror, even though only Lieutenant Le Vesconte and Captain Fitzjames are left on Erebus, but the crew is scant. They have suspended the formal system of watches. Still, the creature is out there, and they must remain on their guard. John comes down from the deck after spending long hours of staring at the ice, alert for the creature from Hell. He should go directly to bed, but he needs a cup of tea to warm him up. He heads for the galley, passing on his way the captain's pantry.

This little room, Mr. Jopson's territory, is usually sealed off from everybody else. Today, the door is ajar. Curious, John approaches, with a mind to shut it if there is nobody within. Instead, he sees what he immediately wishes he had not.

The room is dimly lit by a single candle. It is enough for John to make out the figures of Jopson and Little standing face-to-face, much more closely together than even the small pantry necessitates. Edward's arms are around Jopson's waist, while Jopson's hands rest on Edward's shoulders.

There is nothing inherently scandalous about their placement but, again, John is not a fool. Edward's position is not to prevent Jopson from slipping down the perpetually slanted floor. Jopson, while an attentive steward, is not brushing lint from the lieutenant's lapels. This position speaks loudly and clearly of illicit intimacy, and John at once feels unwell.

Abandoning the idea of tea, John retreats to his bunk.

He has to inform the captain, but, at the moment, Edward himself is captain, and, until now, doing a fine job of it. In all the years they've known each other, Edward has never struck John as weak, or as at all lacking in character or morals. If anything, he is one of the most upstanding officers John has ever met. He is the last person John would have expected to fall prey to such deviant desires. If someone like Edward can fall, John thinks, twisting his hands anxiously, then what hope does anyone else have of resisting?

John sleeps very poorly. In the morning, while he is hungry, he cannot bring himself to go to the wardroom for breakfast. He does not know how he is meant to face Edward or Jopson, how he is meant to make polite conversation with them knowing what he knows. Instead, he buries himself in that which he has always found most comforting: his Bible. It helps little. His mind, quite unbidden, keeps returning to what he saw, and, more salacious yet, that which he did not see, but which was implied.

When a knock comes on the door, John starts. Of course, it is only Gibson, here to help him dress for the day.

“Mr. Gibson,” John begins, as Gibson fastens his stock about his neck.

“Yes, sir?” Gibson looks at him with his wide, pale eyes, and John realizes he does not know what he wishes to say.

He lands on, “Thank you.” It sounds awkward. The way John feels.

“Of course, sir.” Gibson nods and excuses himself, leaving John once again alone with his ceaseless thoughts.

But not for long. Scarcely minutes after Gibson's departure, there is another knock on the door. Mr. Hartnell looks in, the sight of him reminding John, for the first time, that they are meant to meet today.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Hartnell,” John says. “I had quite forgotten our appointment.”

“No trouble, sir.” Hartnell looks poised to leave. John can't blame him.

The idea of John helping Hartnell come to terms with the loss of his brother through Bible readings would have been a good one, if Hartnell himself seemed at all inclined to want it. He never has. He comes to John's cabin diligently three times a week, sits and listens to John expound upon the Biblical themes of love and forgiveness, but the fidgeting and the chewing of his thumbnails indicate quite clearly that he longs to be doing something else, probably far away from John. John, unsure how to react to this, has bullied on, convinced he is doing the right thing by offering a subordinate the natural, God-given wisdom of a man of a much higher social position and rank. In the cold light of all he knows now, John has to wonder if he was ever right to interfere at all.

“We ought to stop this,” John says, his heart as heavy as his sigh.

“For today?”

“For good. I am no physician, Mr. Hartnell, nor am I a Biblical scholar. I have offered you all I can. It is time for you to seek solace elsewhere.” Harsh perhaps, but true, for Hartnell's own sake if nothing else. Hartnell's face falls. He is a very handsome man, John notes, not for the first time, and therein lies the true crux of this matter.

John always thought he was immune to Thomas Hartnell's charms, as copious as they are, because of who John is. His faith, his background, his rank, all are sturdy armour against sin. But Edward, while not as overtly religious, is just as Christian, and even more highly placed than John. He, quite obviously, has succumbed the lure of a much lower-ranking man.

Rather than flee as he should, Hartnell steps inside, and casts his gaze across John's walls. “If you don't mind me saying, sir, I've always liked these paintings of yours. That cat's the spitting image of my sister's moggy.” Hartnell nods at one of the paintings. A black and grey cat, it was an experiment in monochrome painting, and not one of John's great successes. “Old Tom, we call him. It's quite a thing, to have to share one's name with the cat. I suppose I already share it with half the men I meet. The occasional animal oughtn't make much difference.”

John blinks. “In Australia, we had a bull called Red John.” A huge, ornery beast. John hasn't thought of it in years. It was an ill-tempered old thing that fathered more calves than any other in the area. An irony which, at the moment, does not escape this John.

“Well, now, sir. That is a namesake to aspire to.”

Despite himself, John laughs. It makes Hartnell smile in turn, which sends something soaring in John's breast. “You have helped me, lieutenant,” Hartnell goes on. “Even if it doesn't seem like it. I ain't...I'm not half as addled as I was before I started seeing you.”

“That is kind of you to say.”

“It's the truth.” He bites his lip. John immediately looks away. “You are a good man, sir. One of the best.”

John cannot be silent. “You say that because you do not know me.” Does not know the dreams he has been keeping at bay by clinging to his rank, his position. Has not seen the lake of depravity into which John knew—absolutely knew—he would never dip a toe, until he found Edward Little, of all people, splashing about right in the middle of it.

“I think I do.” Hartnell's expression is so earnest, John wonders, for a moment, if he really does see right through him, and, more amazing still, is not utterly disgusted. “I can come back this evening, if you're too busy now. I would very much hate to miss our discussion.”

“Yes,” John hears himself saying. “This evening.” Perhaps everything will be as it was by then. Perhaps the genie will be back in its bottle, and all will be forgotten. Strangely, that thought doesn't make John as happy as he would have expected it to.

Hartnell's smile grows brighter, making him radiant even in the weak Arctic light. “Until tonight, then, sir.” He turns to go.

“Take the painting,” John blurts out. Hartnell stops. His cheeks burning, John takes the monochromatic cat from the wall. “If you like it, that is. Could be something to remind you of home.”

“Thank you, sir.” Hartnell gazes at painting as if John has presented him with an artistic masterpiece. It's prideful, but John's heart swells to see it. “For everything.”

When he's gone, John brings out his watercolours. He's not sure what he is going to paint, but despite it all, he has an urge to make something joyful. Perhaps, John thinks, Edward is not an infallible paragon of virtue. Perhaps none of us are. And perhaps, he adds, even though thinking it may well be Arctic madness or the beginnings of scurvy or brain fever or some other deadly malady, it is possible to live on regardless.

#theterrorbingo #slight joplittle #hints of future hartving

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verus-veritas · 5 years

Text

The Trunk

By Cris Kane

The airy upstairs bedroom was empty, except for the battered metal trunk near the windows. Dane had noticed the case when the realtor showed him the place, but he had assumed it, like all of the dusty relics cluttering the house, would be gone once he took ownership. All of the old lady's other belongings had been cleared out, so it seemed strange that the movers would have overlooked the large steel box.

Dane pulled out his phone to call the real estate agent, but hesitated. He'd watched enough of those TV shows like "Antiques Roadshow" where people found something weird and old tucked away in a garage or a basement or an attic, only to have it valued in the tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars. If the old lady's estate mistakenly left something valuable behind, wasn't it technically his property now? "Finders keepers," Dane thought with a smirk.

He started to muse about what sort of treasure might lurk inside of the trunk. Probably just some mothballed dresses from the Fifties or a jumble of knitting supplies. Dane found it hard to imagine that an old maid of 85 could have stashed away anything that would interest him. The house itself had barely interested him, being too old-fashioned for his taste, but he was persuaded by its location. In the past few years, the neighbourhood had been gentrified, and gents were just what Dane was looking for. Based on the prevalence of rainbow flags and gay bars in the area, he figured his odds of finding a partner had to improve.

Up until this point, Dane had established an unfortunate pattern of becoming hopelessly hung up on one hot guy after another, only to discover they were straight. Or at least that's what they told him. He knew he wasn't exactly anyone's dream-come-true with his nasal voice, bony frame, and curly red hair which no barber in his 26 years on earth had managed to shape into anything remotely flattering to his disproportionate facial features. Living where the population was 95% gay, at least guys would have to come up with more creative rejections than "Sorry, I'm straight."

Dane knelt down on the bare hardwood floor and pushed against the metal box. It didn't budge, so Dane realized it wasn't empty. He placed his hands on the latches which held the lid shut. The locks were tight and slightly corroded, and looked like they hadn't been opened in a very long time. Although braced for disappointment, Dane nevertheless felt his heart flutter in anticipation. He popped the latches and raised the lid. The rusty hinges squeaked.

When he saw the contents, Dane leapt back in fright, jamming his wrists on the floor as he braced his fall. The list of things he might have expected to see had not included the broad muscular back of a human being.

Dane gasped, covering his mouth to stifle a scream. Was the previous owner a murderer who left behind a corpse stuffed in a trunk? It had to be a recent kill, as the pale body looked healthy, and there was no stench of decomposition. Dane squeezed a hand into the front pocket of his skinny black shorts and struggled to pull out his phone.

Suddenly, the metal box shifted and rattled and a sleepy grunt emerged from inside. Dane's joints locked, his brain lost the capacity for rational though, and his lungs took a breather. The only organs still operation were his eyes, which widened as the contents of the trunk struggled to climb free.

Rising into view first was that wide back, followed by a pair of well-developed arms. Manly hands gripped the edges of the trunk, hoisting the torso upward and revealing a full head of wavy blond hair. The escape artist flung his back against the short side of the box and inhaled deeply, as if he had been deprived of oxygen for an impossibly long time. His hairless pecs rose and fell, and some color infused his skin. The hidden treasure was a fit young man, fully intact, clearly alive, and apparently naked.

Another one of Dane's organs stirred to life.

Once he had caught his breath, the man in the box grabbed his legs to untangle them from whatever ungodly yoga pose would have been required to wedge this body into such a confined space. First the left, then the right leg sprung free, draping limply over the edge of the case. His head fell back and he placed a hand over his eyes to shield them from the daylight streaming through the windows. From his parched throat emerged the faint words, "Too...much...light."

Dane snapped out of his stupor and scrambled tentatively across the floor toward the windows, adjusting the shutters to reduce the outside glare. Back pressed against the wall, Dane slowly boosted himself, first to a crouch, then to a fully standing position. He could see the entire contents of the trunk now, including the large limp package below the young man's waist.

The blond hunk rubbed his eyes, sweeping away the accumulated crud at their inner corners, then raised his head and smiled, dreamily sighing, "Dolores."

But when his ghostly blue eyes fell upon Dane, his body jerked and the metal case skidded half an inch backward. "Where's Dolores?", the young man demanded, his scratchy voice cracking from lack of use. His left arm slid down to cover his exposed penis.

"I don't know!", Dane shrieked with fear. "Who the fuck are you?"

The man in the crate swiveled his head and took in the empty room. His shoulders sagged and his facial expression drooped. "Oh, my," he said sadly, "she died, didn't she?"

Dane now dimly remembered the name "Dolores" from the paperwork on the house. He nodded in confirmation.

The mystery man pushed his hands against the box and boosted himself to a standing position, momentarily forgoing modesty as his cock swung down between his beefy thighs. When he reached his full height, he stretched his arms high with a yawn, his fingertips nearly touching the ceiling. He tilted his head back and forth and side to side to relieve a crick in the neck. Dane could hear the gritty grinding of bone against bone from across the room. Finally, he stepped out of the box, offering Dane a full profile view that revealed the man's firm ass cheeks. The man placed both of his hands over his genitals and asked softly, "You wouldn't have some pajama bottoms that I might borrow, would you?"

It took a good ten seconds to piece together the question inside his boggled mind. His brain kept getting stuck on the word "bottoms". When he finally realized what he had been asked, he stammered some nonsense syllables, then raised a finger to excuse himself from the room and staggered into the hallway. He opened up one of the moving boxes and rummaged through the contents for anything resembling pants. He pushed aside handfuls of bikini briefs and Speedos, all of which would have looked ludicrously tiny on the big naked man in the bedroom. He finally grabbed a pair of electric-blue lycra running shorts which Dane had never been brave enough to wear in public. He rushed back into the bedroom and stretched out his arm.

The man examined the shorts quizzically, then turned his back to Dane as he clumsily stepped into the snug tights. It didn't even occur to Dane to turn away and offer the stranger a moment of privacy. His eyes remained glued to the man's glutes as the clingy blue fabric slid its way up their curves.

The man turned back toward Dane, his thick cock bulging inside the lycra, angled upward to the left. "I must say, I've never worn a girdle before. I'm not sure why the ladies complain so much. It feels rather nice." The man looked at Dane, studying his features. "So, are you Dolores'...nephew, perhaps?"

"Huh?" Dane was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything but the man's well-proportioned physique and that outline in his shorts. "Uh, no, I just bought the house after she...well... I'm sorry, who...or what...are you?"

The man looked embarrassed. "Of course. I should explain myself. You see, I come with the house."

"You come...? I'm sorry, what? What were you doing in that box?"

"That's where I stay when I'm not needed." The man said this with a smile, as if it were perfectly normal.

"Uh...huh. So how long have you been in there?"

"That depends. What year is it?"

It took Dane a few moments to come up with the current year. Upon hearing it, the young man frowned. "Oh, dear. The last time I saw Dolores, she did seem to be slipping a bit. I fear she must have forgotten I was there."

"Okay, I'm having trouble processing all of this. What...? Who...? Why...?" Dane couldn't form a coherent question. "What's your name?"

"I answer to whatever you please. Dolores called me Oscar. It was the name of a boy with whom she was smitten as a child, I believe. I am a servant, of sorts. What you might best describe as a genie, although the term is not entirely accurate as it applies to me."

"A...genie. So, what, you're going to grant me three wishes?"

"Oh, no, there is no limit on the number of times. But I can grant only one wish."

"Only one wish?"

"Yes, but...this is a bit awkward...I only...do...what I mean is...my only service is..." The nearly naked man seemed surprisingly embarrassed, before eventually blurting out, "I make love."

Dane burst into laughter. "The fuck you do!"

"Yes, that I do," said Oscar, a bit surprised to hear such salty language. "I and others of my kind are descended from Eros. We exist to provide erotic pleasure."

"So you...provided erotic pleasure...to this old lady Dolores?"

"She wasn't such an old lady when she moved in," Oscar said with a wistful grin. "It was my pleasure to bring some joy and comfort into what seemed like a very lonely life." He studied the gawky young man across the room and could see much of that same loneliness in Dane. "Alas, I fear I cannot bring you the same comfort."

Dane snorted and shook his head. "Figures. Even a fuckin' genie..."

"Excuse me, 'Even a...even a genie' what?"

Dane looked at the buff demigod and said with disappointment, "You're straight, right?"

The young man from the trunk smirked. "I'm whatever you wish me to be."

Dane looked leery. "Seriously?"

Oscar looked a bit embarrassed. "I do admit, it has been quite a while, but yes, I have provided pleasure and companionship to male masters on occasion." Encountering a man who was not embarrassed to admit an attraction to another man was, in Oscar's long experience, something of an anomaly, but perhaps a sign of progress.

Dane bit his lip. "So you're okay with sleeping with guys?"

Oscar smiled as he slid his hand across the smooth surface of his spandex shorts, cupping his fingers around his developing erection. "Much like wearing this girdle, I find it unexpectedly pleasant."

Dane's grin grew into a full-blown smile. He wondered how much those experts on "Antiques Roadshow" would tell him a find like Oscar was worth. But Dane knew the answer.

Priceless.

Source: “Caption This!” 24/02/18 by Cris Kane

#magic #love #maletransformationblog

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meditativeyoga · 4 years

Text

The secret to effortless living

There was a time when survival for a human being indicated food as well as sanctuary. Today, food as well as sanctuary are obtaining a growing number of challenging as well as pricey. It is great to have all those things however they ought to not become the determining variables of your life. What kind of food you consume, what type of clothes you wear, what type of residence you reside in-- each one organises these points inning accordance with his capacity but they should not come to be restricting elements, they are just the sustaining variables of your life. Whether you travelled from your the home of your office on foot or on a bicycle or in a Maruti or a Mercedes, it is simply a concern of different individuals's monetary capacities, choice as well as opportunity.

The important thing is you arrived, the ways of traveling is only incidental. This is real with every element of your life. However the incidental variables have taken on such sensational relevance that the fundamental feature of life has been completely forgotten. The process has come to be a lot more vital compared to the genuine thing. We are attempting to graduate from one material point to another due to the fact that our company believe that is happiness.

Don't follow the herd

It is in pursuit of happiness that you do the whole circus in your life. Different people could have various concepts about the best ways to arrive, but everyone remains in pursuit of happiness. The human race has actually been doing so much to achieve happiness and also wellness on this world that in this quest, we are damaging the extremely world on which we live. We must first recognize exactly what our idea of wealth is. Is it simply around more buildings, even more equipments, more cars and trucks, more ... everything?

If I go to the West as well as ask them, "Why don't you practice meditation?" the usual antiphon is, "Oh but we have actually reached pay bills." I claim, "Why do you individuals create a lot of expenses? If your whole life has to do with paying costs, why generate them? You can stop on your own and live even more pleasantly, isn't really it? To pay those costs, you are simply functioning endlessly. What's the factor?" The solution usually is, "everybody is doing it." No matter, they are all driven by someone else. You do not attempt to do exactly what somebody else does. When it involves outdoors circumstances, we have actually not included equivalent abilities. No two human beings are made with the same level of ability. There perhaps someone who can do a thousand points in a day without experiencing or being emphasized. Possibly you could do only three things in a day, it's okay.

Limit juggling to what you can

Life puts us in several situations where handling things is like balancing. Being in the family members is a big balancing procedure. Keep your feelings aside as well as simply consider it sincerely. Our lives have numerous complicated activities. We have different sorts of connections and also different degrees of involvement with different kinds of individuals on a daily basis. We are frequently changing from one kind of relationship to one more. Possibly you were just handling with two balls as well as it was rather simple.

Then you selected up more spheres as well as the juggling came to be challenging. When you wish to use up more task, there will be extra managing. You can not help it, that's the means it is. So when you require to juggling, you had better develop some skill. Otherwise, the spheres will be spread all over the location and you will be going crazy each day since you cannot hold things in area. Exactly how efficiently you carry your life just depends on the level of proficiency you have over juggling. This minute you might get on the phone with your business companion as well as the next minute you could be speaking with your spouse or your youngster. Life resembles this, it is continuously shifting. You can't simply tune on your own: "Ok, today I am going to resemble this." So, due to the complexity of this modification, if you occur to treat your wife like you treat your organisation companion, quickly you will remain in trouble. Or if you treat your business partner like your wife, you will certainly remain in problem, isn't really it?

So prior to we enter any situation, you need to check out your ability to manage. "Can I juggle all this and still enjoy or will I get shed when juggling?" If you are very little of a juggler, you much better continue to be alone as well as manage on your own. Every little thing includes a certain discomfort and satisfaction. There is a cost to pay in every aspect of life.

So prior to handling anything in your life, you must ask yourself: are you ready to pay the price? Every person needs to choose just how much of exactly what is right for him. Your neighbour may have a 100-bedroom house-- maybe he wants to reside in a hotel. For yourself, you must decide just how much you require. You do not do things like him. This is the greatest problem, we are attempting to do things like someone else. That's the wrong method to come close to life. We have to decide what does it cost? of exactly what we must carry out in our lives-- just how much outside task or internal wellness or social wellbeing would certainly maintain our life balanced without spoiling us and also the ambience around us. Unfortunately, such knowledge is missing out on in the world, we are just going widespread. It is crazy the method we are going due to the fact that the sort of lifestyle the globe has selected is simply not sustainable.

Don't die surviving

Today, if you have adequate loan, you could enter into a store and get every little thing that you need for a whole year. It has never ever resembled that on this world. Survival has constantly been a wonderful struggle. Today, for the initial time, the survival procedure has actually ended up being absolutely arranged. Currently is the moment to find expression to further measurements of being a human. The majority of individuals select to complicate their survival. We still do not seem to be do with survival. We wish to make the survival process so complicated that we will certainly spend the remainder of our life defending survival.

It is essential that you streamline your survival process to ensure that the further dimensions of that you are find expression in your life. It is incredibly essential that you find out exactly what it means to just sit below and also reverberate as an item of life since that is the supreme ecstasy of being below. And also now that our survival is typically cared for, I assume we should trigger a wave of bliss any place we go. As well as because we do not do that, we wrap up that a human being ways being an unpleasant, ineffective 'absolutely nothing'.

When you utilize the expression, "Oh, I'm simply human," it indicates, "I'm just powerless nonsense." We require to change the context of what it indicates to be human. When someone claims, "I'm human" he has to suggest "I'm delighted. I can wonderful things within myself." We've decided to make a human being right into a miserable worm who simply defend his survival throughout his life. We are capable of arranging our survival as if we don't have to have a hard time for survival every day-- unless we make complex the survival process.

For most people, the survival process itself is ending up being a full time job. Simply to work, to reproduce and to die one day, exactly what a fuss they make! Also a worm as well as an insect with their minute brains handle their survival rather well. Nature has actually offered every human considerable intelligence to care for his and also his offspring's survival. You are simply exaggerating it.

Stop clinging

A while earlier, I had a major squirrel problem in your home. The mommy squirrel brought to life 4 children. 3 of them got consumed yet the mommy doted upon the last one. She would watch her child go throughout my points, biting into everything. Here was a mom that was excited for her kid to discover its squirrel business as quickly as feasible, she intended to be complimentary of him as soon as feasible. Sadly, most human moms and dads don't have this sense. They want their youngsters to find out the human service as slowly as possible due to the fact that they don't have a life of their very own. They obtain some life just by hanging on to their kids. Which's the reason there is so much juggling. People declare to be one of the most intelligent varieties. Our youngsters should be totally free of their moms and dads a lot quicker than anyone else, isn't really it? Yet that does not occur due to the fact that we look at our youngsters as a funding based upon which we could live our future lives-- when we are alive as well as likewise after we are dead. It is as a result of this that the juggling appears so much of a headache, not or else. Family is not the issue, your personal insecurity and also your very own 'desire' to stick to things around you is the actual problem.

Don' t do anything for fulfilment

Human life does not finish with survival, it begins only when survival is looked after. If we had concerned this planet like any various other animal, then eating, sleeping, replicating and dying someday would certainly have been a complete procedure on its own. Also as a human you should do all these points. Somehow for human beings life doesn't seem to be fulfilled with them. Whatever activity you could have executed, life has not attained fulfilment. In every stage of your life you believe, "If this takes place, my life will certainly end up being total." As a child you believed, "If I obtain this plaything, my life will certainly be full." You obtained it but after 3 days, you threw it away. Life did not acquire fulfilment.

Then you believed that if you complete your education and learning, life would certainly be full. That also taken place but there was no fulfilment. Then you began to think, "Exactly what's the usage of functioning like a donkey? If only I get wed to that man or woman I enjoy, my life would certainly be made." That occurred and after that you know just what happened.

Fulfilment does not come since of some activity you do. Just if your frame of mind is complete, will certainly your life acquire fulfilment. Now, the human condition is such that without knowing anything regarding the nature of his presence, you are attempting to make a living and in some way pass via the globe. Your body, mind, emotion and also energies are the automobiles with which you travel with your life. Without any kind of understanding, control or subjective experience concerning them, you are attempting to live your life. This is an unexpected existence. When you exist mistakenly, even if you procure someplace in life, it will just be by accident. So, when a person is experiencing his whole life in an accidental way, experiencing anxiousness, concern and battle is all-natural. We go about stating, "Life is a battle." Life is not a struggle.

Get a grip on yourself

You are obtaining emphasized out merely due to the fact that you have no idea the best ways to function smoothly within on your own. You have no control over your own system. If your mind, body as well as powers were taking guidelines from you and also behaving the way you wanted them to, you wouldn't get worried no issue what was occurring around you. You should do something about this. If this does not occur, you will certainly continue living life by accident and also always be really hoping that circumstances function out.

If you are looking for to increase the range and also play of your life, if you are seeking challenging circumstances, then you need to do something concerning the way you function. Challenging scenarios suggest that you will face scenarios that you have no hint around. If you are the kind that obtains stressed out, normally you will certainly prevent those situations.

When you prevent those scenarios, you will naturally avoid all feasible growth for yourself. Today, so several people are getting into challenging tasks and are multi-tasking, however a large number of them could not be naturally outfitted to deal with such situations. This is why we see so lots of individuals losing their performance and simply damaging up while seeking their occupations-- surrendering to burnouts.

If you are regularly looking for obstacles in your life, and also you don't equip yourself with an internal security as well as an internal feeling of pleasure within on your own by your very own nature, you are bound to become a calamity over a duration of time. You could achieve success in your job however as a human you would have stopped working because you could not enjoy the procedure of life. Such individuals are not cheerful or serene, they have actually come to be stressful. If you are difficult, that implies somehow you have failed yourself, isn't really it?

When you tweak yourself to such a factor that the fundamental professors operate so wonderfully within you, then normally the most effective of your abilities will certainly simply drain of you. If you really intend to bring high quality into your life as well as to perpetuate that quality right into life around you, the most importantly thing that you have to do is to establish your internal truths in a certain way with a particular security. Just what is within you-- your mind, your feelings and your system need to not experience upheavals when facing the challenges of life. Just when there are no inner turmoils as well as concerns can you handle the outdoors problems well.

Take the first step

So exists a method to produce an internal circumstance? Yes. As there is a science and also technology to developing outside situations the way we desire them, we have an entire scientific research as well as technology to produce inner situations the method we want them. As we have engineered the globe, we can additionally engineer our interiority. Without it, we end up operating by accident.

The firstly action that every person ought to take is: furnish on your own making on your own the means you intend to be. If this occurs, creating the exterior will become easy. You inform me, when can you utilize your body and mind well? When you are pleased or dissatisfied? When you more than happy you can effortlessly handle points, yet when you are stressed out or dissatisfied, the very same little points freak you out. If you are joyful, increasing a hill is also effortless, right? It could take a great deal of exertion, however you feel it's easy since you are doing it happily. When you are doing it joylessly, every little thing is difficult. When you are doing it happily, everything is effortless.

Effortless does not imply resting on a sofa. When I say simple and easy, I am stating, as soon as you get involved in a particular state of pleasantness within on your own, as soon as you are joyous by your very own nature, every little thing is easy. When you are satisfied, you agree to playing around and do everything since you do not feel the initiative of it. Effortlessness does not imply lethargy, ease indicates that in your experience, it's not burdensome.

Once a person is at simplicity within himself, normally he functions at his ideal. Bringing this sense of ease, bringing this feeling of effortlessness within you is essential. If you truly want to boost the high quality of your life, you have to take this step and also be willing to spend a little bit of time for your inner health and wellbeing. If this is done, you will see a remarkable change in the means you work. The necessary innovation is there-- I call it Internal Engineering, the optimal of wellbeing.

Inner Design is simply this, that you craft your interiority to make sure that you operate effortlessly within on your own. This does not indicate you stay clear of challenging scenarios. When you are uncomplicated within you, you seek them. Inner Design implies you discover exactly how to perform this piece of life. If you know just how to conduct it, after that inning accordance with your ability, you can additionally conduct the outside effortlessly.

If your health and wellbeing is constantly under hazard, you will certainly not take care of the outdoors well. If you intend to manage every little thing well outside, if you wish to achieve success in your life, you must simply discover exactly how to utilize these 4 limbs and a few mind cells, that's all that's needed. Just how vivid and also focused your mind is, how vivid and healthy your body is, that's just what decides just how successful you are.

#healing #meditation #Yoga #yoga retreat

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