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ovaruling · 2 years

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low-impact exercise for women

hey gyns! every now and again i see some ladies asking about exercise resources that aren't an influencer-styled overstimulating end-result/image-focused mess. i'd say a fair number of us just want to get our bodies moving with intent, get our blood flowing, release some endorphins, and maybe build some strength.

no fitness trainer online is ever gonna be perfect, but i'd like to offer up Pahla B on youtube as an option to explore. she is a woman in her fifties who began exercising late in life, and has been on youtube for nearly a decade at this point. she specializes in low-impact workouts (no jumping, no floorwork or transitions to the ground).

my two cents of a rundown on why i prefer her channel, since a general wariness of fitness folks on youtube is good to have:

to reiterate, she specializes in moderate low-impact workouts. this means no jumping, no transitions to the ground. (her earlier workouts are not always low-impact, but she has recently in the last couple years redoubled her efforts to focus on strictly low-impact workouts.)

she has something for everyone: knee-friendy workouts without squats or lunges; shoulder/arm friendly workouts with no overhead moves; tons of full-length SEATED workouts; balance workouts; standing abs workouts; active rest; indoor walks, indoor runs, indoor walk-and-run intervals; equipment-free, or when dumbbells are involved she will often suggest that you can use water bottles or soup cans or whatever you have on hand... it goes on and on. her organized playlists are numerous.

her workout length (for the last year+) is reliably 20 minutes, including warm up and cool-down. she uses a timer, too, so you always know how long intervals are going to be.

she’s cheerful, easygoing, and talks constantly through the workout, from start to finish. this is great for those of us who need constant stimulation or focus reminders. she speaks to an audience of mostly middle-aged menopausal women, having conversations about mental and emotional and physical well-being, and each workout has a different topic with a focus.

she is a fitness trainer, but she’s pro-body neutrality. one of her running topics is "your body's gonna do what your body's gonna do." she talks often about this and it is extremely refreshing imo

no makeup or sexualization at all!

and she works out barefoot! she explains this as a personal choice and not to do it just because she is, but it lends a really relaxed casual feel to it. you don't have to spend ages getting geared up to work out--i've done her workouts in my pajamas before. it’s very “come as you are” which is nice

demonstrates in a small-space workout setting. she works out on the length of a small rug, often with her pets nearby.

she tells you what to do for moves that you don't want to do--if you don't want to squat, she tells you substitute with a kick, and explains why that is equally as effective as a squat, so that you're not sitting there berating yourself thinking you're losing out on fitness gains by not forcing yourself to do something that your body isn't comfortable with.

she is big on moderation. never too much, never too little. she talks about finding what's right for you and your body.

she used to be a preschool teacher, and her coaching style reflects that. there's no harshness, no yelling, lots of flexibility, lots of care and walk-you-through-this-thought etc

she does not play music during her workout. this is great, because even though she's talking, i just play my own music a few volume-ticks below her so that i can still hear her and the timer.

she has a few videos where she has added some instrumental music and those are indicated by music symbols in the title. they are a rarity, but they're a nice change sometimes.

she debunks a lot of harmful trendy myths about nutrition, fitness, body image, and menopause.

also: many of her videos have titles that seem like weight loss clickbait, which may put a lot of you off. but i promise you the content is not Like That. if the video title is like "Burn Belly Fat!" i can guarantee you she's going to tell you why you need body fat, why a strong core is what you want and why a "flat belly" is a harmful myth, and how to reframe your thoughts to be about strengthening your abdominal muscles in order to strengthen the rest of your body. she does this in a soothing way imo--you can come into the video with a fixation on a certain body part that you want to spot-reduce (she will tell you why this is a myth, too) and you will get a maternal-feeling conversation that doesn't chastise you for this anxiety but instead offers you a different way of thinking about the way your body works and allowing yourself to become familiar with it through movement. in short, this woman talks you through it.

she often discusses why dissociating from your body makes you feel anxiety, and she emphasizes why workouts that are moderate help you EXIST in your body and allow you to be present in your movements. she refers often to what she calls "the mind-body connection," not in a spiritual way but in the way of understanding that YOU are your body.

are you a runner who’s not comfortable outdoors? Pahla is an experienced runner and has a host of videos of indoor runs, where you can run in place or in a small space. some have walking intervals, some are straight runs. she has soooo many of them.

want to learn to run but don't have any experience/don’t know how to start safely? she has a series of videos for learning to be a runner that involves graduated intervals--like, 10 seconds of running, 30 seconds of walking. and then another video will be 20 seconds of running, 20 seconds of walking, and so on.

want to focus on building muscle? she has an entire 30-Day Body Shaping Series for Women that is meant to be repeated. it's strength-focused with some days that are low-impact cardio, and one "push day" per week where the workout is a bit tougher (heavier weights, but still low-impact) and slightly longer, meant to challenge you. the day after that is always an active rest day where the workout will be like a soothing stretch or a light walking workout.

like the idea of her but want something more challenging? she has a huge archive of older workouts that are TOUGH. truly, no joke, super tough. many are equipment-free, too. there are longer intervals/workout lengths (her longest that i've done was an hour!), high-impact (jumping, transitions to the ground), floor-work, high-intensity.

don't have 20 minutes? she has an archive of "the Hot 100" which was a summer series of 10-minute videos every day. she has a lot of 5-minute-fix workouts too that can be fit in to a busy day.

you can recommend her to the older women in your life. this is not a 20-year-old insta influencer who's been working out her entire life and is going to make your mother or grandmother or aunt or coworker feel alienated. this is a middle-aged woman--who began working out in her late 30s--who is making workouts for middle-aged women. it's FREE, there is a wide variety of accessibility-focused videos including seated workouts, and while the variety in general of her workouts is incredibly vast the format of her workouts for the last 2 years has been 20 minutes in length. and she focuses on topics that are relevant to women in their 40s, 50s, 60s, and beyond. she also builds in like, 2 minutes of balance to each workout to aid in fall-prevention, and talks about how lifting weights benefits bone density, stress, strength, mood, etc, and why that's so important for women.

even if you're like, 18, the things she's discussing about menopause are worth knowing, for yourself and for other women in your life.

for reference, i have autoimmune issues, and fibromyalgia, and a separate central nervous system disorder. there are days when i can barely lift my arms for fatigue or pain. i have been working out ~with Pahla for 3 years now and it has been a lifesaver for maintaining my strength without doing anything over the top.

a little personal testimony: my mom in her 50s has really bad arthritis in her back, knees, and hands. she also has heart problems and is mostly sedentary due to chronic pain. as a way of spending more quality time with her and to help her with stress, we decided for both of us to take 20 minutes each day and do a Pahla workout. my mom could barely lift her leg when we started, but she liked Pahla's style and kept at it, doing what she could and substituting exercises she couldn't do with walking in place (one of Pahla's frequent suggestions). we did a lot of seated workouts after some of her, and my own, surgeries, when neither of us were able to walk or do load-bearing movements.

my mom can now almost squat. she can ACTUALLY almost squat. just from doing the little bit we do each day, just from keeping herself moving. no crazy crossfit stuff, no "30 day squat challenge!" nonsense. she just found herself growing a little bit stronger every day, and because she wasn't injuring herself by overexercising, she was able to keep showing up the next day. she is now the most active i have ever seen her in my entire life and her mobility has improved beyond anything she said she ever hoped for.

anyway. for any women on here who don't want to do the gym, who feel safer and more comfortable indoors, who like the idea of low-impact workouts that aren't brutal but are still going to challenge you, who are tired of the way online profit-pushing fitness trainer culture is going--this is a free resource that i think some of you might like, too.

#radblr #radfems #radfems do interact #radfems interact #radfems do touch #radfems please interact

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teamjo · 1 month

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jo’s memory bank (2).

An official contract renewal lies on the coffee table, pristine white paper stark against the dark wood beside the condescension ring forming around a glass of water. The letterhead proudly displayed the NHL logo and beneath it the staggering figures that would make him the highest paid player in NHL history. It’s a triple digit million number, one that he’d get per year for a 5 year contract. It delves into the benefits he’d be receiving including endorsements from Nike, Gatorade and Bauer— signing & performance bonuses and additional perks that come just by putting his pretty signature at the bottom of the page.

Jo had the world sitting in front of him.

It all sounds so pretty on paper— so luxurious and so tempting. Any athlete’s dream, but he wasn’t feeling as grateful as he thinks someone would feel.

He leans back, running a hand through his hair as he slumps back into his couch— his eyes distant as memories flood in. He can almost feel the searing pain from the countless injuries he’s suffered, the aches that never seemed to fully heal.. The countless times he stepped onto the ice and the pain would flare, gnawing at his will power to push through a measly practice, yet another game.

But Jo had a reputation to uphold.. a team that relied on him.. and fans who idolized him.

He couldn’t disappoint them and more importantly:

He couldn’t disappoint himself.

At first the painkillers were a necessary evil— prescribed by the team doctors to help him manage his pain and continue playing. It started with a few pills here and there, just enough to take the edge off. But soon the doses increased, the intervals shortened and he began to rely on them not just for the pain.. but for the escape they provided.

He recalls the pivotal role that made him spiral downward like it happened yesterday instead of 7 months ago. It happened in the locker room after a particularly grueling game and Jo had been wincing in pain trying to hide it from his teammates as they celebrated a big win. His coach noticed his discomfort long ago, watching him pull off from the rest of the team to sit by himself on a secluded bench in a quieter section of the locker room. Jo didn’t notice his coach’s presence until the shake of the bottle, handing him the pills. Jo’s expression one of confusion.

“What are these?” Oxycodone.

“Shut up and just take them, kid.” His coach said, his voice low but firm. “You need to stay in top shape for the team. We can't afford to lose you— you’re slipping. We can all tell.”

Jo hesitated, but his coach’s insistence was almost desperate. “You’re our star player— hell, the best defender the NHL has seen in decades. We need you out there, Togame. No matter what. These will help you keep going.” Of course he didn’t tell him he got these from a sleazy doctor who had been known in the industry for accepting money from coaches and players alike without even as much as a consultation. Dosage and milligrams left completely up to their discretion. But Jo didn’t need to know, he needed to play and play well.

Did his coach feel remorse? Yes, of course. Togame was like a son he never had but unfortunately bad things happen to good people sometimes. He’d look back on this and thank him one day.

That day.. that day was the turning point. The coach’s selfish encouragement intending to keep him in the game by any measure, inadvertently fed his developing addiction. Jo didn’t need pills, he needed help. The pills became a crutch— a way to numb the pain and push through his physical limits. The more he took, the more he needed and the cycle became a vicious spiral that felt hard to impossible to break. Until he took his hiatus.

Jo feels.. okay now. His body has had 7 months to recover— his own trusted and personal doctors have given him the green light and arguably, he’s in the best shape he’s ever been in. He’s content.

But.. the offer he got from the MMA last week presents a way out— a chance to start fresh, however it also comes with its own set of unknowns and challenges. His love for fighting is ultimately the reason why he got into the fight club scene— it was gritty, it was real, and despite how seedy it was, it seemed as though everyone cared after one another. No one put on this.. mask of trying to help when their actions were solely to harm him. It wasn’t perfect but it felt nice to be real again and not a machine.

A big reason why he got into bartending in the first place was the simple face the glitz and glamor of fame was gone and he felt like a normal person again. Jo had always been into mixology as a side hobby of sorts in college, but when he took the hiatus he’s on now from the NHL, he needed to keep himself entertained for the time being, even despite his bank account having more than enough to solve hunger crises in multiple countries. Jo was a busy body. He saw a listing for a bartender needed for one of Kisaki’s clubs and he got hired on the spot by Tetta himself.

Jo sits in silence, remembering how the pressure to perform never relented. Each game, each practice, each expectation placed on him felt like a brick added to an ever growing wall of burden.

He feels an.. unfamiliar surge of anger at the realization of how taken advantage of he feels, how his developing addiction was encouraged for the sake of the team’s success.. How the pills were handed to him not out of genuine concern for his well being, but to make sure he remained on the ice, scoring goals, and winning games. Making them money. They saw his talent, his resilience, and used it to their benefit, all while never truly acknowledging the personal cost.

And yet.. alongside all the anger is a profound sense of.. guilt?

Jo chose to take the pills, he chose to push through the pain, to keep playing despite the damage it did to his body and mind. He feels complicit in his own exploitation— believing that his decisions stripped him of the right to feel like a victim. It was his choice to follow the coach’s advice, his choice to prioritize the game over his health. He doesn’t have room to be the victim. The line between self sacrifice and self destruction is blurred in his mind, leaving him questioning his own validity to feel hurt.

Jo’s wants to desperately break free from the past, to find a path that honors his wellbeing as much as his talent. But his love for hockey runs so deep— so rooted in his earliest memories linked to very early memories of his biological father. He remembers the first time he laced up a pair of skates, the feeling of gliding across the ice and the sense of freedom and power that came with every stride. Hockey became more than just a sport for him; it was a passion, a calling that ignited his soul— made him happy in every sense of the word.

It captivated him.

The sound of the puck clattering against the boards, the sharp cuts of the skates on ice, the roar of the crowd as he scored a goal— all of it filled him with an indescribable joy. He loved the his teammates, the bonds made through the shared victories and defeats both on and off the ice. He smiles at the locker room chatter, the pre game rituals, the mutual respect among all the players that created this sense of belonging he cherished. It reminded him of home— the unconditional love and support his mother provided just in a different medium.

Even the physical toll of the game couldn’s completely diminish his passion. The bruises, the aches, the grueling workouts— it was all part of what he loved about hockey.

They were reminders.

Hockey gave Jo a sense of purpose.

He’d be stupid to give it up, so he grabs his pen.

#𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 — togame.#☆ — queued post.#cw addiction

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missmentelle · 4 years

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Why Smart People Believe Stupid Things

If you’ve been paying attention for the last couple of years, you might have noticed that the world has a bit of a misinformation problem.

The problem isn’t just with the recent election conspiracies, either. The last couple of years has brought us the rise (and occasionally fall) of misinformation-based movements like:

Sandy Hook conspiracies

Gamergate

Pizzagate

The MRA/incel/MGTOW movements

anti-vaxxers

flat-earthers

the birther movement

the Illuminati

climate change denial

Spygate

Holocaust denial

COVID-19 denial

5G panic

QAnon

But why do people believe this stuff?

It would be easy - too easy - to say that people fall for this stuff because they’re stupid. We all want to believe that smart people like us are immune from being taken in by deranged conspiracies. But it’s just not that simple. People from all walks of life are going down these rabbit holes - people with degrees and professional careers and rich lives have fallen for these theories, leaving their loved ones baffled. Decades-long relationships have splintered this year, as the number of people flocking to these conspiracies out of nowhere reaches a fever pitch.

So why do smart people start believing some incredibly stupid things? It’s because:

Our brains are built to identify patterns.

Our brains fucking love puzzles and patterns. This is a well-known phenomenon called apophenia, and at one point, it was probably helpful for our survival - the prehistoric human who noticed patterns in things like animal migration, plant life cycles and the movement of the stars was probably a lot more likely to survive than the human who couldn’t figure out how to use natural clues to navigate or find food.

The problem, though, is that we can’t really turn this off. Even when we’re presented with completely random data, we’ll see patterns. We see patterns in everything, even when there’s no pattern there. This is why people see Jesus in a burnt piece of toast or get superstitious about hockey playoffs or insist on always playing at a certain slot machine - our brains look for patterns in the constant barrage of random information in our daily lives, and insist that those patterns are really there, even when they’re completely imagined.

A lot of conspiracy theories have their roots in people making connections between things that aren’t really connected. The belief that “vaccines cause autism” was bolstered by the fact that the first recognizable symptoms of autism happen to appear at roughly the same time that children receive one of their rounds of childhood immunizations - the two things are completely unconnected, but our brains have a hard time letting go of the pattern they see there. Likewise, many people were quick to latch on to the fact that early maps of COVID infections were extremely similar to maps of 5G coverage - the fact that there’s a reasonable explanation for this (major cities are more likely to have both high COVID cases AND 5G networks) doesn’t change the fact that our brains just really, really want to see a connection there.

Our brains love proportionality.

Specifically, our brains like effects to be directly proportional to their causes - in other words, we like it when big events have big causes, and small causes only lead to small events. It’s uncomfortable for us when the reverse is true. And so anytime we feel like a “big” event (celebrity death, global pandemic, your precious child is diagnosed with autism) has a small or unsatisfying cause (car accident, pandemics just sort of happen every few decades, people just get autism sometimes), we sometimes feel the need to start looking around for the bigger, more sinister, “true” cause of that event.

Consider, for instance, the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II. In 1981, Pope John Paul II was shot four times by a Turkish member of a known Italian paramilitary secret society who’d recently escaped from prison - on the surface, it seems like the sort of thing conspiracy theorists salivate over, seeing how it was an actual multinational conspiracy. But they never had much interest in the assassination attempt. Why? Because the Pope didn’t die. He recovered from his injuries and went right back to Pope-ing. The event didn’t have a serious outcome, and so people are content with the idea that one extremist carried it out. The death of Princess Diana, however, has been fertile ground for conspiracy theories; even though a woman dying in a car accident is less weird than a man being shot four times by a paid political assassin, her death has attracted more conspiracy theories because it had a bigger outcome. A princess dying in a car accident doesn’t feel big enough. It’s unsatisfying. We want such a monumentous moment in history to have a bigger, more interesting cause.

These theories prey on pre-existing fear and anger.

Are you a terrified new parent who wants the best for their child and feels anxious about having them injected with a substance you don’t totally understand? Congrats, you’re a prime target for the anti-vaccine movement. Are you a young white male who doesn’t like seeing more and more games aimed at women and minorities, and is worried that “your” gaming culture is being stolen from you? You might have been very interested in something called Gamergate. Are you a right-wing white person who worries that “your” country and way of life is being stolen by immigrants, non-Christians and coastal liberals? You’re going to love the “all left-wingers are Satantic pedo baby-eaters” messaging of QAnon.

Misinformation and conspiracy theories are often aimed strategically at the anxieties and fears that people are already experiencing. No one likes being told that their fears are insane or irrational; it’s not hard to see why people gravitate towards communities that say “yes, you were right all along, and everyone who told you that you were nuts to be worried about this is just a dumb sheep. We believe you, and we have evidence that you were right along, right here.” Fear is a powerful motivator, and you can make people believe and do some pretty extreme things if you just keep telling them “yes, that thing you’re afraid of is true, but also it’s way worse than you could have ever imagined.”

Real information is often complicated, hard to understand, and inherently unsatisfying.

The information that comes from the scientific community is often very frustrating for a layperson; we want science to have hard-and-fast answers, but it doesn’t. The closest you get to a straight answer is often “it depends” or “we don’t know, but we think X might be likely”. Understanding the results of a scientific study with any confidence requires knowing about sampling practices, error types, effect sizes, confidence intervals and publishing biases. Even asking a simple question like “is X bad for my child” will usually get you a complicated, uncertain answer - in most cases, it really just depends. Not understanding complex topics makes people afraid - it makes it hard to trust that they’re being given the right information, and that they’re making the right choices.

Conspiracy theories and misinformation, on the other hand, are often simple, and they are certain. Vaccines bad. Natural things good. 5G bad. Organic food good. The reason girls won’t date you isn’t a complex combination of your social skills, hygiene, appearance, projected values, personal circumstances, degree of extroversion, luck and life phase - girls won’t date you because feminism is bad, and if we got rid of feminism you’d have a girlfriend. The reason Donald Trump was an unpopular president wasn’t a complex combination of his public bigotry, lack of decorum, lack of qualifications, open incompetence, nepotism, corruption, loss of soft power, refusal to uphold the basic responsibilities of his position or his constant lying - they hated him because he was fighting a secret sex cult and they’re all in it.

Instead of making you feel stupid because you’re overwhelmed with complex information, expert opinions and uncertain advice, conspiracy theories make you feel smart - smarter, in fact, than everyone who doesn’t believe in them. And that’s a powerful thing for people living in a credential-heavy world.

Many conspiracy theories are unfalsifiable.

It is very difficult to prove a negative. If I tell you, for instance, that there’s no such thing as a purple swan, it would be very difficult for me to actually prove that to you - I could spend the rest of my life photographing swans and looking for swans and talking to people who know a lot about swans, and yet the slim possibility would still exist that there was a purple swan out there somewhere that I just hadn’t found yet. That’s why, in most circumstances, the burden of proof lies with the person making the extraordinary claim - if you tell me that purple swans exist, we should continue to assume that they don’t until you actually produce a purple swan.

Conspiracy theories, however, are built so that it’s nearly impossible to “prove” them wrong. Is there any proof that the world’s top-ranking politicians and celebrities are all in a giant child sex trafficking cult? No. But can you prove that they aren’t in a child sex-trafficking cult? No, not really. Even if I, again, spent the rest of my life investigating celebrities and following celebrities and talking to people who know celebrities, I still couldn’t definitely prove that this cult doesn’t exist - there’s always a chance that the specific celebrities I’ve investigated just aren’t in the cult (but other ones are!) or that they’re hiding evidence of the cult even better than we think. Lack of evidence for a conspiracy theory is always treated as more evidence for the theory - we can’t find anything because this goes even higher up than we think! They’re even more sophisticated at hiding this than we thought! People deeply entrenched in these theories don’t even realize that they are stuck in a circular loop where everything seems to prove their theory right - they just see a mountain of “evidence” for their side.

Our brains are very attached to information that we “learned” by ourselves.

Learning accurate information is not a particularly interactive or exciting experience. An expert or reliable source just presents the information to you in its entirety, you read or watch the information, and that’s the end of it. You can look for more information or look for clarification of something, but it’s a one-way street - the information is just laid out for you, you take what you need, end of story.

Conspiracy theories, on the other hand, almost never show their hand all at once. They drop little breadcrumbs of information that slowly lead you where they want you to go. This is why conspiracy theorists are forever telling you to “do your research” - they know that if they tell you everything at once, you won’t believe them. Instead, they want you to indoctrinate yourself slowly over time, by taking the little hints they give you and running off to find or invent evidence that matches that clue. If I tell you that celebrities often wear symbols that identify them as part of a cult and that you should “do your research” about it, you can absolutely find evidence that substantiates my claim - there are literally millions of photos of celebrities out there, and anyone who looks hard enough is guaranteed to find common shapes, poses and themes that might just mean something (they don’t - eyes and triangles are incredibly common design elements, and if I took enough pictures of you, I could also “prove” that you also clearly display symbols that signal you’re in the cult).

The fact that you “found” the evidence on your own, however, makes it more meaningful to you. We trust ourselves, and we trust that the patterns we uncover by ourselves are true. It doesn’t feel like you’re being fed misinformation - it feels like you’ve discovered an important truth that “they” didn’t want you to find, and you’ll hang onto that for dear life.

Older people have not learned to be media-literate in a digital world.

Fifty years ago, not just anyone could access popular media. All of this stuff had a huge barrier to entry - if you wanted to be on TV or be in the papers or have a radio show, you had to be a professional affiliated with a major media brand. Consumers didn’t have easy access to niche communities or alternative information - your sources of information were basically your local paper, the nightly news, and your morning radio show, and they all more or less agreed on the same set of facts. For decades, if it looked official and it appeared in print, you could probably trust that it was true.

Of course, we live in a very different world today - today, any asshole can accumulate an audience of millions, even if they have no credentials and nothing they say is actually true (like “The Food Babe”, a blogger with no credentials in medicine, nutrition, health sciences, biology or chemistry who peddles health misinformation to the 3 million people who visit her blog every month). It’s very tough for older people (and some younger people) to get their heads around the fact that it’s very easy to create an “official-looking” news source, and that they can’t necessarily trust everything they find on the internet. When you combine that with a tendency toward “clickbait headlines” that often misrepresent the information in the article, you have a generation struggling to determine who they can trust in a media landscape that doesn’t at all resemble the media landscape they once knew.

These beliefs become a part of someone’s identity.

A person doesn’t tell you that they believe in anti-vaxx information - they tell you that they ARE an anti-vaxxer. Likewise, people will tell you that they ARE a flat-earther, a birther, or a Gamergater. By design, these beliefs are not meant to be something you have a casual relationship with, like your opinion of pizza toppings or how much you trust local weather forecasts - they are meant to form a core part of your identity.

And once something becomes a core part of your identity, trying to make you stop believing it becomes almost impossible. Once we’ve formed an initial impression of something, facts just don’t change our minds. If you identify as an antivaxxer and I present evidence that disproves your beliefs, in your mind, I’m not correcting inaccurate information - I am launching a very personal attack against a core part of who you are. In fact, the more evidence I present, the more you will burrow down into your antivaxx beliefs, more confident than ever that you are right. Admitting that you are wrong about something that is important to you is painful, and your brain would prefer to simply deflect conflicting information rather than subject you to that pain.

We can see this at work with something called the confirmation bias. Simply put, once we believe something, our brains hold on to all evidence that that belief is true, and ignore evidence that it’s false. If I show you 100 articles that disprove your pet theory and 3 articles that confirm it, you’ll cling to those 3 articles and forget about the rest. Even if I show you nothing but articles that disprove your theory, you’ll likely go through them and pick out any ambiguous or conflicting information as evidence for “your side”, even if the conclusion of the article shows that you are wrong - our brains simply care about feeling right more than they care about what is actually true.

There is a strong community aspect to these theories.

There is no one quite as supportive or as understanding as a conspiracy theorist - provided, of course, that you believe in the same conspiracy theories that they do. People who start looking into these conspiracy theories are told that they aren’t crazy, and that their fears are totally valid. They’re told that the people in their lives who doubted them were just brainwashed sheep, but that they’ve finally found a community of people who get where they’re coming from. Whenever they report back to the group with the “evidence” they’ve found or the new elaborations on the conspiracy theory that they’ve been thinking of (“what if it’s even worse than we thought??”), they are given praise for their valuable contributions. These conspiracy groups often become important parts of people’s social networks - they can spend hours every day talking with like-minded people from these communities and sharing their ideas.

Of course, the flipside of this is that anyone who starts to doubt or move away from the conspiracy immediately loses that community and social support. People who have broken away from antivaxx and QAnon often say that the hardest part of leaving was losing the community and friendships they’d built - not necessarily giving up on the theory itself. Many people are rejected by their real-life friends and family once they start to get entrenched in conspiracy theories; the friendships they build online in the course of researching these theories often become the only social supports they have left, and losing those supports means having no one to turn to at all. This is by design - the threat of losing your community has kept people trapped in abusive religious sects and cults for as long as those things have existed.

#missmentelle #askmissmentelle #conspiracy theories #cults #psychology #science #neuroscience

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singtotheskiies · 4 years

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uneasy lies the head // five hargreeves x reader

summary: all those years of hunting and plotting and denial were bound to catch up with five sometime—but you’re going to do everything you can to keep the ghosts of the past at bay.

words: 1398

warnings: slight panic/anxiety attack, emotional distress, brief mentions of murder

a/n: surprise, surprise! i’m back at it again with the five fics😎😎 this one’s more of an unplanned, plotless hurt/comfort scenario; hopefully y’all like it okay!! also, please message me with any requests you may have!! these hargreeves deserve loVE, and we need to give it to them!!!!!

✖️✖️✖️

Five is sitting on a couch—your couch, to be more specific.

Nothing else. Just sitting.

But something about the action doesn’t feel right to him.

You’re in the kitchen, humming softly to yourself as you find some snacks for the movie pulled up on the living room screen. Normally, he’d feel a tug at his heart at your sweetness, but tonight—something’s wrong.

His thoughts aren’t going where he wants them to; they’re messy and blocky, colliding with each other. Past failures, faces of victims, and pressures and manipulations are all choosing this exact moment to swirl up from a secret place in his mind where he’s tamped them down all these years. He shakes his head (what good will it do him?), bringing his trembling fingers up to his face to rub at his eyes. As his fingertips reach his rapidly blinking lids, he’s surprised to find that there’s wetness trailing down his cheeks. He ducks his head, suddenly unable to breathe, and his backs of his hands are drowning in salt water (or is it blood?) and he just needs to get up but his legs are lead—

“Five?” Your voice, small, from the doorway.

Again: “Oh, Five.”

Next thing he knows, you’re kneeling in front of him, taking his hands softly in your own and moving them, together, down to his lap. He meets your eyes and stiffens—just for the briefest instant.

And then, years and years of false confidence and murder and trauma and never quite getting there are let loose as he sobs.

✖️✖️✖️

You instantly know that something’s wrong when you see Five motionless on the couch, slumped over with his head in his hands. Dropping the food in your hands on a nearby table, you rush across the room to him, kneeling down in an attempt to see his face. His hands are covering it, and you gently guide his shaking fingers to his lap so that you can see what’s going on.

The green eyes you love so much are brimming with tears as they meet your gaze. Five stiffens for the briefest moment—no doubt a habit from years of refusing to show vulnerability—but then decides against himself and redoubles his sobs.

“Come here, baby,” you whisper, sitting yourself next to him and wrapping his shaking frame in your arms. He weeps into your shoulder quietly, his silent agony broken by the occasional sniffle or ragged breath. After several long moments, you feel his lips moving against your shirt, repeating a phrase you can’t quite make out at first.

Then— “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m s—“

“Shhh,” you tell him. “I’ve got you.” His tears redouble, his words breaking up as they’re replaced with heaving sobs. His body shakes sorrowfully against yours, and your heart breaks as you smooth a hand through his soft, straight hair. The feeling of your fingers seems to ground him—his breathing evens out a bit, and after a while of you stroking his head gently, he lifts his head up from your shoulder. He doesn’t meet your eyes at first, but you put a gentle hand on his cheek and he hesitantly finds your gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, his voice raw.

“No apologies,” you cut in, but his eyes plead with you.

“No, I am sorry. I—I don’t know why this happened, I just—“ His brow furrows again, a few more tears leaking down his cheeks. “All these years of having to be the strong one, having to know what I’m doing at all times, the—the killing—“ He trails off, looking at you with eyes so sad that you feel tears coming to your own.

“I’m just as scared as everyone else,” he continues. “I might know more, technically be older, but—I still feel powerless. Trying to be the voice of reason, knowing all the things I know—that doesn’t keep the nightmares away.” His eyes well up again, and you hold onto his hand a little tighter. “And then there’s you—you don’t deserve to be put through this; you deserve someone who doesn’t have decades of trauma and who hasn’t killed hundreds of people and—“ He breaks down again, too much emotion coursing through him to keep going. You let him cry it out again, waiting until he’s quieted down a bit to start talking.

“Five, I cannot begin to imagine what your life has done to you emotionally. But I can see you in front of me and you’re scared and sad and lost. I can’t undo what’s happened to you, but I can try and help a little right now, okay? Will you let me do that for you?”

He nods, sniffling, his eyes still watering at intervals.

“Do me a favor, okay?” You ask, cupping his cheek in your hand. He leans into your touch, brow furrowing in desperate relief. “We’re not gonna focus on the big, scary fears right now. I’m going to talk to you about little things, so just listen to my voice.” Five nods again, and you smile sweetly at him. He weakly returns the gesture.

“There’s that smile I love so much,” you say, kissing the faint outline of his dimple with as much tenderness as you have in you. He looks at you with so much love that his tear-filled eyes burn a quiet hole in your chest.

“Your eyes are so beautiful, too,” you smile. “They’ve seen so much, but they can still look at me like you are right now.” You press feather-light kisses on each eyelid, feeling his long lashes flutter against your lips as he sighs in contentment.

“Your freckles are so sweet,” you continue, kissing each one on his cheeks. “And I love your forehead, too. The mind inside of it is so incredibly beautiful and complex.” Your lips meet the space between his brows, and he releases a quiet outline of a chuckle as you keep going.

“Don’t even start me on your hair,” you laugh. “Even when you’re a sweaty mess, it still looks perfect. I gotta admire you for that,” you say, bringing a hand up to brush back a few strands that have fallen in his eyes. Five sighs as your fingers touch his skin, and you take a few moments to softly comb through his hair. You know how much he loves it, even if he won’t admit it.

“Your ears and nose are adorable,” you say, kissing them as you speak. A little shudder runs though Five’s body as you whisper in his right ear. It’s always a sensitive spot for him, and you giggle along with him at his reaction. “Your jaw is absolutely stunning,” you continue, pressing your mouth gently to the underside of his smooth, strong face. “I especially love where it meets your neck,” you grin, nosing at the mentioned hollows before placing delicate pecks there. Five lets out a shuddering breath, neck arching to allow you better access. You kiss your way down to his collarbone, running your fingers lightly over the strong line. After giving the area some attention, your fingers move to latch onto his.

“I could talk about your hands for hours,” you say, admiring the firm yet delicate lines of his knuckles and fingers.

“I wish you would,” he whispers mid-wrist kiss, so quietly you can barely hear him.

“Someday I will,” you promise, and as you lavish each knuckle with attention, you marvel at the boy coming undone in front of you. The snarky facade everyone is used to seeing is completely gone, leaving a child, really, who just wants to be loved. The heady power emanating from each soft breath and tiny smile channels itself straight to your heart. Looking upon him, this boy out of time who has chosen your shirt to wet with his tears—you can’t help but feel as though this is exactly where you were meant to be.

You release his hands softly, moving your own to cup his cheeks. Slowly, inevitably, you connect first your foreheads and then your mouths. As your lips fall together, you feel a tear slide from Five’s cheek to yours. Drawing back a fraction, you ask, “What is it, baby?”

Something in you already knows his response, but that doesn’t stop his words from resonating deep, deep within you after he’s spoken them against your mouth.

“Just love you.”

And the air dims down.

#five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #number five #number five x reader #number five imagine #aidan gallagher #aidan gallagher x reader #aidan gallagher imagine #the umbrella academy #tua #tua x reader #tua imagine #umbrella academy x reader #umbrella academy imagine #angst #fluff #fanfic #hurt/comfort

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fffinnagain · 4 years

Photo

10 Years of Sherlock (TV) AO3 stats!

Sherlock fans, new and old, click below to read a long list of graphs and comments about our communities fanworks over the last 10 years. I scraped AO3 again and demonstrate that:

More creators are writing longer works in 2020

Readers engaged more as the fandom changed after S4

Top ten new tags per year for the last 10 years

And a lot more.

PS the code to gather this data and analyse it can be found way over here.

Activity over 10 years

The last 10 years in the BBC Sherlock fandom have been tumultuous, but this community persists, with engagement from new fans and continued creative output. To commemorate over a decade of squee, I’ve done another scrape of the fandom’s imprint on the Archive of Our Own and will share some insights from the numbers in these plots. A very late update on my post S4 snapshot from 2018.

Note: This analysis is of completed public fanworks only, about 101000 of the 122000 Sherlock (TV) works available at present. This is to remove the late WIP effect, which adds a bulge to the last few months, and out of respect to creators who wish to have their material reserved for other registered AO3 users.

The works are still coming

Counting the number of works posted per day, we can see the peaks associated with each series airing (in UK and US). After that, the number of works continues fairly evenly, 20-30 per day, plus seasonal peaks. This rate is continuing on without a hint of new canon in sight. So who is posting all this work?

Creator-waves, monthly output

Years ago I started plotting creator waves, basically I group fanwork producers by the year they first posted to the fandom and then count how many of this group are active in later time intervals. This lets us get a sense of how long people are contributing and whether new fans are getting the urge to create.

This plot of the Sherlock (TV) fanworks on AO3 shows the standard shape of plump participation in the first year of any given set of creators, followed by a slowly thinning tail as they because less active over time. Turnover is natural in fandoms, with most only posting a work or two within a fairly limited amount of time, while a precious few persist for years. The surprise for me here is that the ratio of new creators is higher in 2020 than it was in 2019. Maybe the excuse of lockdown encouraged more folks to take a turn at creating content.

Another way to look at the output of fan creators on AO3 is to see the total amount of words being shared across all fanworks. The total has been pretty close to 300-400k words per month since 2018! To get a sense of what that means per work, I also plotted the median number of words per fanwork in these monthly sets. The median in higher in the last year than it had been staying for a while.

Reader behaviour: Hits & Kudos & Comments

Fan creators are only part of the story. Stats on engagement are a bit trick to interpret, I’ve got some plots here that tell us something about how works have been engaged with over time.

The obvious first to consider is Hits. Above is the total number of Hits given to works published each month. This is the current totals, not a historical snapshot, so we have a very strong bias towards early works, what we might call the Classics Effect. Works that have been around longer have had the chance to be seen by more people, and in particular those works that become must-read classics in a fandom, extending their exposure through prominence in top ranked works and recommendations.

To cut down on the advantage of the classics, we can also consider median hits per work for each month. As most works get a lot attention when they are first posted and then fade out of sight, the median number of hits reflects instead the ratio of readers to creators, basically how many eyeballs are around to look at the latest work, regardless of status. The median plot shows how the hyper-visibility of the few work available before 2012, and then a more steady curve once the fandom had gotten established on the platform after Series 2. Amazingly, the hit rate for the median work was steady through the big bumps in activity with later series, a 1000 hits for median works between 2013 and 2018, followed by a slow decline. I’d expect the 2020 works to continue gaining for a few months yet, but the median is probably 50-60% of what is was when the show was in production.

Kudos counts and medians show a similar story to hits, but there is a dip down around 2013 for kudos reflects the frenzy of productivity that saw the fandom grow during the Series 2 hiatus. Readers were getting spoiled! From the airing of Series 3 (2014) until a year following Series 4 (2018), the median work received an even 60ish kudos and 1000 hits, a niche audience that decreased to 50/750 through 2018-2019. The numbers of 2020 suggest a smaller community of readers again, though these numbers may still rise a bit in the next few months before the median works are forgotten.

The statistic that tells a different story is Comments. Looking at the total comments counts, there isn’t a drop after Series 3 (2014). Instead, the fandom compensated for changing numbers with more feedback and discussion attached to works. This is reflected in the median comment rate as well, which shows seasonal variation but doesn’t really drop off until 2020.

It’s remarkable that without fresh canon we continue to have new creators contributing to the fandom, and while that may be outpacing the readership somewhat, the standard of engagement has been very high. One could say the fandom is chugging along quite nicely!

What about Tags

So, with all that turnover and shifting population, is there a change in the kinds of works being posted? We can look at tags, all tags and freeform tags, to see if there were any meaningful trends.

First up, I did a creator-wave like analysis of works just for tags, to see how tags continue to be used after being introduced. Unlike the creators, tags clearly persist for years. After 2015, it looks like the core tag set has been established, with very few tags persisting in usage per subsequent year.

This graph reports numbers over time that are not proportional to the number of works or creators active. Instead, works on AO3 have been getting more and more tags over the years, with the average steadily growing from 5 in 2011 to 15 in 2020, with freeform tags (not characters or ships) from 2 to 8.

To get a sense of fic and tagging culture changes over time, I counted the most popular NEW tags of each year (wave). Note: this analysis is using exact matches, not the networked associations of tag meanings wrangled into AO3 today, so some things that pop up aren’t new concepts but instead newly popular TAGs for whatever they represent.

2011: 2752 (First year, so all solid stuff, tags that continue to be popular forever)

Angst 323

Fluff 232

Humor 216

Hurt/Comfort 188

Romance 168

Friendship 168

Crossover 138

Crack 121

Alternate Universe 119

First Time 106

2012: 11637 (still early, first references to Series 2)

Fluff and Angst 145

Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall 97

Kid Sherlock 54

Puppies 50

Sad 48

Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia 47

Mathematics 42

Season 2 spoilers 38

Omega Verse 38

Feels 38

2013: 16176 (Omegaverse nomenclature is growing, Top/Bottom terminology, new challenges)

Alpha Sherlock 65

Omega John 61

30 Day OTP Challenge 59

Tumblr: letswritesherlock 56

Top John 49

Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach 44

Bottom Sherlock 40

Reichenbach Angst 30

Don't copy work to another site 29

Age Regression/De-Aging 27

2014: 19256 (Mostly Series 3 related

Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow 249

Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three 167

Post-His Last Vow 149

His Last Vow Spoilers 142

Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers 128

2000 AU 100

The Sign of Three Spoilers 74

Fatlock 72

Post-The Sign of Three 66

Post-Season/Series 03 57

2015: 14272 (New challenges, new prominent Sherlolly tags)

Chats 47

International Fanworks Day 2015 34

Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015 27

S3 referenced 25

Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing 22

English Accent 22

Sound cloud 19

Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper 19

Protective John Watson 18

but not that kind of graphic 17

2016: 13517 (New stylistic tagging, TAB references, a lot of epilepsy?)

Slowwww burn 92

John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes 37

Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson 33

post-tab 30

JME 27

Post TAB 25

Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy 23

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016 19

epileptic 19

fraternal love 17

2017: 15067 (Series 4 tags and challenges)

Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective 133

Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers 93

Post TFP 73

Sherlock Series 4 Spoilers 69

Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem 60

Post-Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective 55

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017 50

Post S4 48

Sherstrade Month 2017 44

31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017 41

2018: 10733 (Lost of new challenges, seasonal and weekly)

Towel Day 2018 64

Mystrade Valentines Calendar 2018 25

Kinktober 2018 23

Pregnant Molly Hooper 23

Soft Smut Sunday 23

Tom Robbins 23

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2018 21

Inktober 2018 20

established universe 16

Always1895 16

2019: 7785 (More prompts, and character attitudes)

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2019 25

221B Autumn Challenge 21

A-Z Christmas Prompt 19

KatsJohnlockXmas2019 16

Whumptober 11

Poor Greg Lestrade 11

Kinktober 2019 10

Dissonance 10

John Watson is a Good Friend 9

Sleepy Sherlock Holmes 8

2020: 8074 (Not all COVID related, thank heavens)

Mystrade Monday 59

COVID-19 48

Coronavirus 46

Mystrade Monday Prompts 40

Whumptober 2020 36

warning for a covid-19 setting 33

Flufftober prompts 2020 24

Do Not Translate 24

they're all right they're just at home 23

Granada Sherlolly 21

A little note from looking across all freeform tags, not just the new ones, we see a curious pattern with regards to two actions: First Kiss and Anal Sex. They appear amongst the most common tags as of 2014, neck in neck for two years, than Anal Sex drops off the top ten in 2016. From there out, First Kiss stays in the top 5 from that point on, while anal sex appears at rank 9 from 2017-2019 and is gone again in 2020. This probably says something about the fandom, somehow.

Bravo for making it to the end and thank you for reading!

Questions/comments welcome.

#Fandom stats #Sherlock #AO3 #Graphs #python

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kiingocreative · 3 years

Text

The Structure of Story is now available! Check it out on Amazon, via the link in our bio, or at https://kiingo.co/book

I often feel that it took me thirty years to write my first book, No Pain, No Game. Not because I was physically writing it for that long, but because finally publishing my first novel felt like the culmination of three decades of bad writing, half-finished novels, random short-stories and a million mundane diary entries. It took that long to experiment with my craft, hone my skills, and master the fear of putting my work out there for all to see.

Exaggerations aside, it actually took me three years to write No Pain, No Game, from typing the first word on an otherwise blank page to having a fully-fledged, ready-to-publish novel. Those three years consisted of mostly undisciplined writing, sitting down to work on the story as and when the urge arose, sometimes not looking at it for weeks on end, and only getting back to it when inspiration hit. Only when I got serious about publishing did I put in the hours consistently, whether or not I was in the mood for it. The whole experience felt like not so much like long distance running, but more like a slow, often sluggish stop-start stroll, with a heart-pumping sprint at the very end.

I came out of having published the book revved up from adrenaline, soaking in the momentum, fretting for more and ready to do it all again. Out came the laptop again, the rush to get the first draft over and done with and the mad rush into editing-land.

It’s a Marathon, Not a Sprint (and not interval running, and not a slow leisurely walk)

The thing with sprinting, however, is that if you do it for too long, you quickly run out of breath and I soon learnt that maintaining that level of effort over time was unsustainable. Somewhere in the middle of editing my first draft, I hit a wall.

A big, fat, hundred feet high brick and mortar monster of a wall. I never saw it coming, and I face-planted right into it. For weeks after that I couldn’t look at my manuscript or social media, and I had to take a proper break from it all to restore.

The break gave me a chance to introspect and take stock of what had happened. It felt to me that, if I wanted to keep on writing more books (which I did) I had to pivot from my disorganised style of writing to a more committed endeavour. There’s nothing wrong with a leisurely walk, or random bouts of interval running, but I realised it wouldn’t give me the kind of results I was truly after. I had to look at writing as a marathon, and build the sort of stamina and endurance I needed to do this many times over without burning out.

From Dilettante to Disciplined Writer

When I think back to writing my first book, I wonder if there’s some truth in the saying that ignorance is bliss. Because I was less focused on the outcome at the time, I was better able to enjoy the ups and downs of the process, especially because I only sat to work at it when I felt like it. I was also mostly unaware of the mountain of logistics that come with writing and publishing a book, so I’d be able to see the distance I’d covered, without worrying about the miles that still stretched ahead of me. Yes, ignorance was, most definitely, a little bit like bliss.

Reminiscing on her own experience, author Shamika Lindsay says that, with her first book, ‘the process felt so different and [she] almost felt the pen gliding across the paper but with [the sequel], it was like pulling teeth’. In fact, she adds, starting to write her second book from scratch felt like ‘such a chore and [she] was just so eager to complete it because [she] felt like it took so much from [her] to write than the first book’.

For R. G. Tully, author of the Ardamin series, who put greater emphasis on the editing stage when working on his second book, the process also took longer and wasn’t always enjoyable. ‘The editing grind was exactly that, a grind’, he confesses.

But you have to do it whether you like it or not, because the only way out is through. There are, fortunately or unfortunately, no shortcuts. Fortunately, because it’s the very act of going through that arduous journey that makes you a better writer in the end. And unfortunately, because there can be times it’s just not all that pleasant.

You’ll be surprised the amount of distractions that manifest themselves when you desperately need a reason not to work on your manuscript — it’s actually quite spooky. Treating writing with discipline, organisation and professionalism is exactly what will prevent you falling off tracks, and what ultimately gets the work done. And that’s the difference between a published book and one that’ll sit indeterminately unfinished somewhere in your archives.

A Tough Act to Follow

Unfortunately, there’s still a little bit more to writing your second book than just great discipline. Even when you’re able to get yourself to follow through and show up for your craft, giving your first book a literary sibling can come with its own challenges, especially because you have something to compare it to.

And it’s not only you, but your readers too, who will be expecting certain standards from your writing, especially if it’s a series. Though it shouldn’t come in the way of writing the book you want to write, the relationship of trust you’ve built with your readership through your first book still needs to be honoured, and this can cause certain amounts of pressure.

‘I felt a little pressure to keep the same feel about the story’, R. G. Tully says, ‘and to include more from my secondary characters, give them a little more depth’.

Stormi Lewis, author of the Sophie Lee trilogy, puts it simply: ‘It was a little hard to decide how to exactly start [with the second book]. At first I was worried and became overwhelmed because so many loved the first one. I didn’t want to let anyone down. I had to step back and come to terms that they loved it for being unique. And the only way I could stay true to the story and give them what they really wanted was to focus on the story and not so much about what I thought they wanted for the second.’

For others, the comparison can be more inward-facing, like author Tara Lake, who admits that writing the second book in her series has been a challenge, because she’s ‘struggled with comparison of the self: past Tara had a lot more time to devote to writing, present Tara has much less time with [her] kids being home full time from school during much of the pandemic’.

For others still, some of that pressure can be self-imposed. When writing her second book, Freya McMillan shares that ‘[she] put a huge amount of pressure on [herself] as [she] wanted it to be meaningful in a particular way to honour [her] dad, who died a few years ago. Once [she] stopped doing that, it was much less challenging to write’.

It Ain’t All Bad.

I do want to pause here and add that not everyone faces such challenges. There are authors out there who launched into writing their second book with more ease than the first.

Sabrina Voerman tells me that ‘[her] second book came a lot easier to [her] than [her] first book. The idea hit [her] so hard and fast that it took [her] aback, and [she] could do nothing but write it’, and the entire novel was written in a matter of weeks, whilst her first book took years to finish.

Same for Trevor Wiltzen, who says that writing the sequel to his first book went smoothly, greatly helped by the fact that ‘[he] wrote the second book immediately after the first, [so he] knew the characters really well’. He admits he ‘found it very freeing and really enjoyed the process’.

Even Stormi Lewis, who struggled at first, adds that ‘once [she] got started, [she] was fine’ and that ‘[she] felt the writing was solid and [her] best book yet, simply because [she] really got to develop more of the characters and the story’.

As with everything, we must then conclude, there will be as many types of experiences as there are writers out there. So how can we best prepare for what’s to come?

A Chance to Grow

Performance coach Tony Robbins says that the quality of our lives is intricately linked to the quality of the questions we ask ourselves on a daily basis. So if we need to face something that’s outside our comfort zone — starting again from scratch on your second book for instance — is it a punishment or is it a gift? Is it a curse or an opportunity?

I’m tempted to think that the level of discomfort that can come with writing your second book is a gift, because it gives us a chance to grow.

It’s a chance to take everything we’ve learnt from doing it the first time around and take our learnings for a spin to see if it makes the process easier. It’s an opportunity to improve, to work at our craft in new and wonderful ways.

It’s both daunting and incredibly exciting to face a brand new story — or a different side to the same story for those writing series — and to dare to plunge into the unknown of where it’s fated to take you. It’ll see you grow and evolve as a writer and, in turn, you’ll get to watch your writing morph into something more mature than it was before.

I say look at your writing like you do the passing of seasons: different times will have different qualities, different characteristics, different feels to them. You live and learn through each of them, and gather a wealth of experiences that eventually inform who you become. Maintaining the discipline to write through every single one of them is what will ultimately give your work all its depth and substance.

All it takes is that first word on the page.

And the second.

And the third.

And all the words beyond that.

#writingtips #screenwriting #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writers #writing #writerblr #writing advice #writing community #writing resources

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bigfrozenfan-fanfics · 3 years

Text

Chapter 08 - The secret

Links: Chapter overview, Character list, Map, Glossar Rating: M over all Publishing cycle: each Friday on (link)

Remarks: all my chapters contain carefully selected music tracks. It’s your own decision if you want to use them or not while reading. The purpose is to musically support the respective mood of the plot. If you can please use a browser for reading (not the Tumblr app) due to the text formatting.

youtube

It was just before dawn when Mattias rode off to meet his companions. There was hardly anyone on the streets and he greeted friendly when he came past someone. After he passed the last house and took the path to the upper rock gate, he saw in the distance a vehicle with a canvas-covered body standing at the side of the road. When his companions noticed him, they waved at him.

When he reached them, he did not dismount but bent down and gave each of them a hand as a greeting. Both wore unobtrusive civil clothing.

“Good morning Trygve, good morning Kristina,” he said, sat up again and put both hands on top of each other on the pommel. “Ready for another trip to the Enchanted Forest?” he asked jokingly.

Trygve pulled a face, “Not really. It cost me almost my whole life.”

Kristina agreed and said, “Yes, I feel the same way. But you know, General Mattias, that we will always stand by your side faithfully. I hope we'll be away from there as soon as possible and I can enjoy my retirement on my little houseboat. The fjord is always better than that dreadful forest.”

Mattias nodded seriously, “I can understand that very well and I'm thankful for your willing to help me on this, hopefully very short mission, to get Elsa back to Arendelle incognito. I also want to return to Arendelle as soon as possible, to my dearest Halima. How have you been doing since you came back? We haven't had much of a chance to talk about it.”

“Well, I am back with my family and we are all doing very well. The financial support from the royal family, respectively from Queen Anna, has helped us all a lot and it makes life more comfortable,” answered Trygve.

Kristina looked far less satisfied and hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Unfortunately I have no one else. My relatives died three and four years ago. I visited their grave only last week. But I have made new friends and we do a lot together. I was also able to buy a houseboat and a small sloop with my severance pay. I sail out with it very often on the fjord.” After a little while, she added, “Over all, I'm doing quite well and I can be happy to spend my retirement in Arendelle this way.”

“I'm happy for you,” said Mattias and smiled, but then, turning to Kristina with a sad expression on his face, he added, “I'm sorry for you, Kristina, that you were not able to see your relatives again. My deepest condolences.”

She nodded sadly, "Thank you."

Trygve had looked at her with concern during her narration and now put a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry for you, Kristina, I didn't know.” They looked at each other. “Let's do something together when we get back ... and hey, if you don't mind I'd like to go for a sail on your sloop with you. I'll bring the food too.”

She laughed and nodded. “I'd love to, Trygve.” But then they both lapsed into thoughtful silence.

“All right, folks, the sun's coming up over the horizon. We should slowly set off,” Mattias interrupted their thoughts and took the reins in his hand.

The two nodded and got on the wagon side by side. Trygve had the draught horse trotted, Mattias rode after them. When they had passed the rock gate, Mattias looked back. The first sunrays had already reached the upper part of the castle and bathed the top in a warm light.

~~~

It was of course Olaf who was the first to notice that something was different than usual. While Kristoff and Anna were still enjoying their togetherness in bed, he had already gone outside in the early morning hours and looked around the camp. Since he had been able to read and write, had read all the books he found in the castle for the last two years, and was now even a regular guest in the Arendelle library, he had developed a new view of the world around him. He was curious and liked to combine contexts that no one else saw as he did. Where others took many things for granted, he questioned everything and was the only one who noticed that the Northuldra camp was unusually empty this morning. Apart from women and children, not a single one of the men was to be seen.

“Tell me, guys, isn't it curious that there are barely any men around the camp today? All I see are some women and their little ones.”

Anna and Kristoff sat together with him still a bit sleepy at the fireplace and looked now first at him, but then also peered around surprised.

“You are right, Olaf,” Anna said and raised her eyebrows. “Where did they all go?”

“Maybe they have heavy work to do and need all the strong men for it?” Kristoff surmised and shrugged his shoulders.

“Or maybe they are doing what they often do in Arendelle Castle in the morning when one of those council meetings is taking place,” Olaf replied. Anna and Kristoff looked at him in amazement.

“Might well be,” Anna pondered and nodded thoughtfully, but what could be so important and why didn't they tell me about it; she asked herself. It certainly has something to do with Elsa, but I am her sister and Queen of Arendelle after all, so I should also be informed about everything that concerns her. She made a thoughtful face.

“Let’s gonna find it out,” Kristoff said and stood up. Then he went straight to the next Northuldra woman who was repairing the tunic of one of her children. “Excuse me, but we were just wondering where all your men went. It's so empty in the camp today.”

“They have important things to do today,” she said with a smile and returned to her work. Kristoff turned to Anna, pursed his lips and, with his shoulders raised, spread his arms wide to communicate the disappointing answer.

Anna frowned and now also stood up to ask the next woman the same question. She headed for a young woman who was cutting vegetables for the morning soup in front of her kota. But Anna did not receive a satisfactory answer either, as her expression indicated, when she turned around again and looked at her companions helplessly.

Shaking her head, she went back. “I guess we won't get an answer from anyone else either, by the looks of it.” They both sat down again and looked at one another questioningly.

What have they got to hide; Anna asked herself, and above all why? She put her head in her hands and pondered.

~~~

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Two Northuldra men waded through a shallow part of a quietly flowing wide creek and started to run faster once they reached the other side. The forest was slowly getting denser and man-sized bushes seemed to block the way. But the men knew exactly where a hidden path led through the undergrowth, and shortly afterwards they were no longer to be seen.

When they came out on the other side they stepped into a wide clearing. In the center was a large, elongated building, the upper part of which consisted of a tower-like construction, with skilfully timbered beams that protruded from the symmetrically built roof and ended at the upper end under a pyramid-shaped, open spire. Inside, a narrow wooden staircase led to the top, ending in a small platform. The lower part of the building had some narrow window openings placed remarkably high below the long roof boards, designed exclusively to let light into the interior.

Besides from the central entrance no windows were visible. Instead, at regular intervals long white birch branches were attached to the house in such a way that it almost looked as if they would support the whole structure. The branches protruded through the overhanging roof and then branched filigree upwards. Around the house, large birch trees grew at regular intervals, which were conspicuously straight and with their foliage formed a natural roof over the entire clearing and the building. This place looked impressive and almost magical.

The men rushed through the open double door and one of them pulled it shut behind him.

“Oh man, there you are at last, you're late! You must have been up against a big fish again, Joná?” joked one of the men standing near the entrance, laughing at the fisherman. It was the same one who had been on the beach the day before with a few others to interrogate Joná. Behind him, the hall was filled with Northuldra men, who seemed to be waiting for something, and some of them were talking animatedly.

Joná pulled a face, “Of course not, Völund, but the catch has to be brought to the camp by somebody, or do you want to have stinking fish on your plate later?” Völund waved off bored and turned around again.

The two fishermen looked at each other for a moment, nodded suspiciously and sneaked to the right side of the hall, where there was a second, smaller entrance. This door was wide open. Joná looked around and had to admit to himself that they had apparently really been the last, all the men from the camp were already present. Then he looked up in amazement. The room was very high with an open beam construction. Daylight flooded through the narrow windows. Torch holders were placed under each opening, and underneath them ran a balustrade around the entire interior. At the front, opposite the double doorway, a narrow staircase wound upwards, part of which led inwards in a semicircle and ended in a small opening at the top leading to the tower they had seen from the outside.

Joná had never been here, but of course he knew about the place and the purpose of it. In earlier days there was always a big kota in their camp, with a second entrance remarkably similar to the one he was standing next to now. This access was usually reserved for the shaman, the Noaidi of their people and this kota was used exclusively for rituals and the Norting, a grand assembly of his people. But this was long before his time and on recent decades, as he knew, there was no need of calling out a Great Ting. The last time was before the dam was built and the diplomatic negotiations with the foreigners from Arendelle were started. On these days, their elder had called for a meeting, but was shortly after murdered by this king behind his back. Today Yelana was their unspoken leader, and now it fell to her to proclaim a Norting if neccessary.

Joná was too young back then to attend such a meeting, but his father had told him all about it. Every man in his tribe ought to attend it as they came of age. At least when the opportunity arose. Today was apparently such a day, and Yelana, although not a Noaidi, just came in through the side door. She glanced around the hall for a moment and nodded at him briefly when she noticed him. Joná raised an eyebrow in surprise. Then she circled the waiting men and stood on one of the lower stairs to be heard well everywhere. It became quiet among those present.

She cleared her throat. “Traditionally, I am obliged to call a Norting when an important decision is about to be made and its consequence affect all of us. There are disturbing news related to recent events.”

In the hall there was a low murmur and many looked at each other with concern.

“However, I must first point out that my conclusions are based on suppositions, some of which have not yet been confirmed. Highly plausible assumptions, however. Our fifth spirit Elsa was probably attacked on purpose and there is possibly a certain person behind all this, someone who might have a good reason for it. That someone is also most likely behind the disappearance of the other four nature spirits.”

The worried murmurings in the hall abruptly increased.

“Hear me. I had a hunch, so I went to see Gyda yesterday.”

From the ranks of those present, someone shouted out loud and clear, “Gyda? What does this old witch have to do with it?”

Yelana's gaze swept around, angrily fixating on the one who presumed to disturb her speech and pointing at him with an admonishing index finger. “Be quiet and don't interrupt me! You have no idea what you are talking about. Gyda is not who many of us think she is. She is a solitary person, I admit, but she has been through a lot in her life, and if you would let me finish, you would understand.”

Yelana took a deep breath and outlined in short, rough words what Gyda had told her and how much it had burdened her. However, she left out the climax for now. Yelana was known for her seriousness, but there was one thing she did not miss out on, and that was to bring certain things to the point at the right time. Some of the younger men opened their eyes in surprise when she ended, but didn't dare say anything. Yelana noticed it, of course.

“Yes, those of you who were born under the mist may not have known it yet, but before Elsa, we had another fifth spirit. The older ones among you, including me, still knew him. He was difficult to deal with him, to say the least.”

Some nodded affirmatively.

“It was Gyda's own decision that she lived in seclusion ever since, and many of us have supported it. We have all, in our gullibility, judged her prematurely.”

One could see how many of the heads were lowered and it became quiet as a mouse.

And then Yelana got to the point, and somehow she enjoyed that moment, “Gyda had a son!”

It was quiet for a second, and everyone remained motionless to process what they had heard, but in the next second a wave of excited, loud word fragments burst onto Yelana, when most people suddenly realized what it meant. Yelana let them go for a few moments, but then struck several times hard with her gnarled birch cane on one of the steps above her. The whole construction vibrated and boomed and it became instantly quiet again in the hall.

“We do not know what he is capable of. But the fact that he apparently has the spirits under control and tried to kill Elsa and almost succeeded tells me that he is not to be underestimated by no means. He is different from his father in one crucial respect. He's out for revenge. Revenge on all those who were partly responsible for his father's death. Revenge on all those who came from Arendelle, home of that murderer Runeard.” She let the words sink in, then continued in a softer, but insistent voice.

“I deliberately did not invite Queen Anna and her companions, for as long as they are among us, we too may be the target of Kolgrimr, the name Gyda gave to him. For the time being, none of them may know our secret of the old fifth spirit and his son, and if they had not already planned to leave tomorrow and take Elsa with them, I would have arranged for it myself. Both Anna and Elsa are half Northuldra and half Arendellian and are descended from one of our oldest families. We owe them both so much when they freed us last year and we have made a new peace between us and Arendelle. But I admonish you all anyway. All this is something that we cannot control and we all have to decide this way, because unfortunately there is still something you do not know.”

Yelana paused in the silence and then looked over to Joná. “Come here, Joná,” she said forcefully and waved him over.

All heads turned and looked into the corner where he was standing. Völund's jaw dropped and Joná didn't know what was happening to him. He hesitated and looked around him nervously.

“You need not be afraid. Come...,” Yelana added reassuringly. Slowly he moved towards her, his head lowered and he wished he could hide now, it was clearly visible on his face. Finally he stood next to her and she put her hand on his shoulder.

“Because we had just talked about the fact that many of us have many prejudices and show a lack of respect for one of our own. Here stands Joná and he has done something that showed a lot of courage and conviction to want to help us all. He dared to approach Ahtohallan with his boat despite the ban, because he wanted to find out what was behind all these events. I don't mean to say that I approve, but he found out something that we otherwise wouldn’t know and which was ultimately decisive in convening this Norting.” She whispered to him that he could go back, and Joná hurried to comply.

“Ahtohallan lies beneath a magical fog wall, identical to the one that trapped most of us here for over 34 years. This is probably also the reason why Ahtohallan no longer has a connection to the nature spirits and can no longer help us. There is only one person who can be responsible for this and I hope you now understand why we are all in great danger if this kind of threat should come upon us.”

The ensuing turmoil was indescribable and Yelana had a hard time bringing everyone back to their senses. In the end, she raised both arms and moved her hands up and down to appease them.

“Please calm down again! I can understand your concern, but we are not his main target, please be aware of that. Kolgrimr survived somewhere under the mist completely alone for over 35 years since he was a seven year old kid and he never turned against us once. I guess none of us can even imagine the hatred and despise he has for Arendelle. That is also the reason why none of them can stay among us here. He has only recently started to put his plans into action and I can only hope that Elsa will very soon remember who she was before and what powers she once had. Keep your eyes and ears open and tell me immediately if you discover anything unusual. But please, stay away from him. He may be Northuldra, but no one can say what has become of him in all this time.”

Yelana took a deep breath and finally dissolved the assembly. “That's all for now. You can go back to camp now.”

As the last of them had streamed out of the hall, she sat down on the stairs, a little exhausted. “I don't want to be in the shoes of the Arendellians and I hope that Elsa still has her magic,” she muttered softly to herself and it sounded almost like a prayer.

~~~

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I hope you have enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a comment if you liked the story, I would be pleased to read your opinions, even criticisms. If you want to be tagged as soon I publish the next chapter please let me know.

Remarks: Back when I was writing this chapter, I dreamed of this hidden building and always wished that someone might be able to draw it for me or that I would be able to do it myself. It wasn't until recently that I dared to do an edit and took Disney's concept art of the Northuldra-style Arendelle Castle as a basis for my story and modified it accordingly. I wish I had better quality imagery for the two Northuldra fishermen there, it took me quite a bit of effort. Hope you like the result.

Tagging: @karma26 @whether-near-to-me-or-far @annaofthenorthernlights @igotelsapregnanthelp

#frozen #frozen2 #frozen3 #fanfic #epic novel #the broken bridge #chapter 08 #bigfrozenfan

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

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Chapter 7 of As Lightning to the Children eased or as I like to call it: Dooku gets his shit together.

Dooku didn't know how, but Shmi Skywalker had known that something had happened to her child before the call of the Council had even reached them. She had looked up in the middle of her katas, paling rapidly. Dooku had heard of Masters sensing their Padawans' distress before, had experienced such with his own reckless students, but never with such intensity and days' travel in hyperspace away from his children. Still, Shmi continued with her tasks with the same dedication as before her foreboding and did not panic when they got the actual notification two weeks later, telling them that Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Qui-Gon Jinn were already back on Coruscant, apparently all in a miserable condition.

Padawan Skywalker the elder's stance on the whole situation caused Dooku to reconsider his rude behavior during their first meeting. She had known that something was terribly wrong, had felt it deep in her bones when no one else had, and yet she had endured, done her Master proud, and fulfilled their mission first. When they arrived back at the temple, a place Dooku had been away from for too long as he had forgotten the warmth of its embrace, she dutifully made her report to the Council, under the many concerned eyes of the assembled Masters. And only when she had finished her statement, answered all questions, she excused herself and left to visit her son.

If anyone still doubted her place in their order after these actions, Dooku wouldn't hesitate to challenge them himself for her honor, though given her quick wit and skill with the blade, she'd hardly need anyone to fight her battles.

Shmi didn't ask him if he wanted to come with her, but she also didn't stop him when he fell into step with her. She smiled at him, kindly as if she were his Crèchemaster, ready to console him, and not a Padawan as they silently walked to the halls of healing.

Dooku hadn't been there when the Skywalkers had joined the temple, but he had heard of the impossible terror that was Shmi's child.

Yet, somehow, all those rumors couldn't compare to meeting him in person. He looked innocent and human enough, sleeping in his Master's arms, a small togruta child stretched across the both of them. Then, suddenly, he woke and within the blink of an eye, Dooku found himself pinned against a wall, electric blue eyes focused on him with previously unknown intensity.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan was awake a second later, holding down his student's arm as if that could lessen the pressure on Dooku's chest. "Anakin, stop it, we're home, it's alright."

Disorientated, the child blinked at Dooku, curiosity and confusion entering his gaze as if he were seeing Dooku for the first time. Then whatever might have kept him in a chokehold, stopped and the boy fell back into his Master's arms.

"Obi-Wan?" Anakin sounded puzzled when he spoke up. His voice was rough as if he hadn't spoken in days.

"Hello, Anakin." Though Dooku knew that his grandpadawan was hardly older than twenty-five, the exhaustion wearing him down made him look decades older. "Are you awake now?"

Anakin tilted his head. "Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

A shadow passed over Obi-Wan's face. "No reason. Do you know who is visiting us?"

More hastily than before, Anakin's head whipped around and turned into the direction Shmi was standing in. "Mom!" he exclaimed and, after carefully pushing the third child off his lap, he jumped out of bed to rush to his mother. He hugged her tightly, burying his face in her robes. "Mom, I missed you."

Shmi Skywalker, showing no sign of fear, worry, confusion or anything such as that about her son's earlier actions, only embraced him just as tightly.

"I missed you too, Anakin," Shmi said and kissed the top of his head.

Anakin didn't let go of her, but his eyes drifted to the lightsaber clipped to her belt. Without another word, Shmi took it from the belt and handed Anakin the blade. Anakin examined it closely, ran his fingers across the metal hilt before handing it back to his mother. "Your crystals sound nice. I like them."

"I'm glad."

As mother and son continued talking, Dooku managed to get to his feet, still shaken by the assault the others pointedly ignored. He crossed the distance to the bed Obi-Wan and the now yawning youngling were lying on and sat down on it. He disliked showing such weakness, but he couldn't exclude the possibility that his legs might not hold him upright should he continue to stand.

"What was that?" he asked.

Obi-Wan sighed and the youngling whose presence Dooku could not quite explain sat up and gently patted his cheeks, making the young man smile.

"It's a reflex, mostly," Obi-Wan explained. "Anakin isn't quite over what happened yet and lashes out when he thinks we are threatened by something or someone he doesn't recognize."

Obi-Wan's elaboration failed to clear anything up and if the boy didn't look like he hadn't slept in a week, Dooku would claim he was purposefully misdirecting. "We are in the Jedi temple. What is there here that he fears?"

What had Dooku done that Anakin assumed his own lineage would attack him?

The look Obi-Wan was giving him was downright chilling, damning, before it slowly turned into incredulity. "I thought that was why Shmi— You don't sense it, do you?"

He sounded flabbergasted.

"No," Dooku said. "What is there to sense?"

Discomfort and wariness settled in the air, so heavy that Dooku was reminded of the invisible hands around his neck.

"The taint, the poison, the rot clinging to your light," Obi-Wan said slowly. "The darkness."

It sounded like judgement.

The first thing Qui-Gon recognized was noise.

It was loud around him, familiar voices speaking out. When he tried to open his eyes, he found the task impossibly challenging. He fought against the voice telling him to rest a little longer, that he didn't have to wake quite yet, but Qui-Gon had always been a stubborn one, unwilling to follow orders he deemed unnecessary.

"Master!"

When light began to fill his vision, Qui-Gon looked into the face of his worried Padawan, missing his braid and looking as distraught as Qui-Gon had seldom seen him before.

"Obi-Wan?" he tried to say, but his voice wasn't cooperating, so whatever left his mouth, it couldn't have been his apprentice's name.

"It's me, Master, yes." Obi-Wan understood him anyway, clever and wise as he was. Qui-Gon had given his Padawan a much too difficult time when he had still been his student and not a Knight of his own regard. He could hardly imagine being any prouder of Obi-Wan than he already was

"Master Qui-Gon!"

His vision became clearer and allowed for him to see Anakin and Ahsoka sitting just beside him on the bed, Shmi behind them and there, right next to her—

"Master."

"Save your strength, Qui-Gon," his Master urged him. If Obi-Wan had looked distressed, Dooku appeared downright hysterical. Qui-Gon was quite ready to believe this was all a hallucination now. As far as he knew, his Master had sworn off returning to the temple for at least another decade and even if he were here, he certainly wouldn't seek out Qui-Gon, no matter how injured.

"Rest some more," the imitation of his Master said. For just the shortest of moments, Qui-Gon was reminded of the time he had been a youngling just a few months older than Anakin and Dooku, not even quite Obi-Wan's age then, had panicked over his sickness. It had only been a mild cold, not the blinding hot pain chaining him to the bed now, but Dooku had told him to rest then with just the same cadence and care.

"Everything will be better after you've slept."

The illusion said the same words as his Master had then and just for that alone, Qui-Gon was inclined to believe him, even if he couldn't sense him, sense any of them properly.

Qui-Gon didn't know how much time passed between the intervals he was actually closer to consciousness and those he was inaccessible to the world. It felt like centuries passed within the blink of an eye. Regardless, whenever he woke, Dooku was there, dutifully sitting at his side as if Qui-Gon were still a child. It was reassuring anyhow.

The morning Qui-Gon woke and didn't feel like he needed to drop right back to sleep, he was greeted by the image of Dooku reading while the children were playing some board games on the bed next to his.

Qui-Gon decided to observe them just a minute longer before he spoke up.

"Am I dreaming, Master?"

Dooku immediately dropped the datapad and the others stopped their game, Qui-Gon's voice breaking this strange atmosphere.

"Qui-Gon!" it came from all sides. "Are you alright?"

He felt half-blind as if he had lost a sense he had always taken for granted, but, staring into the guilt-ridden expression of Anakin, he realized that lying had never been easier. "Yes, of course. What did I miss?"

From the look his lineage was giving him, quite a lot.

Ahsoka was young, but she wasn't stupid.

"What happened?" she asked Obi-Wan. The real adults wouldn't tell her anything for sure, but Obi-Wan just might because he was Anakin's the same way she was Anakin's, and he was theirs, and that was all that mattered. "Anakin is different."

He was hurting, though he tried to hide it. His pain and his fear scared him, which in turn only upset Ahsoka. She wanted everyone to be happy and healthy, but the world had shifted when she hadn't been there and it hurt.

"I—" Obi-Wan hesitated, so Ahsoka crossed her arms in front of her chest like she had seen Shmi do when she wanted to know something and nobody was willing to tell her. It made Ahsoka feel taller and more grown-up. Obi-Wan would have to tell her the truth.

"I want to know," she repeated. "Now."

Obi-Wan studied her for a few moments longer, then he sighed. "Anakin did something very foolish and difficult and Qui-Gon did something just as stupid and now everything is a mess."

Ahsoka could tell that he was trying not to use big words with her, but it only felt like he was attempting to get away with saying less.

"What did they do?" Ahsoka asked. "I want to know."

The need was pulsating under her skin, edging her on, licking at her arms like hot flames, urging to demand and not stop until she had forced the truth from his mouth, the ugly thing that was closing his throat.

"Anakin saw something really, really bad and dark," Obi-Wan said. "So Qui-Gon helped him forget that."

"But isn't that good?"

Ahsoka thought it was. It should be. If Qui-Gon took away what had hurt Anakin, then Anakin was going to be better now. That was how helping others worked. The others always said so; Shmi did too. The more you helped, the more did the galaxy heal.

"Yes, technically speaking, but… You know how the Force gives us warnings?"

Yes, of course, she did. Everyone always said to listen to the Force for their knowledge, but the Force had never warned her before she had stubbed her toe, so she wasn't entirely sold on that yet.

"The memories Qui-Gon hid from Anakin were such a warning, so now we don't know what the Force was warning us from and since they are so well hidden to protect him, Anakin won't be able to recognize the danger again when he sees it."

Oh. That really did sound bad. "Did he anything do something stupid then to get back the memories?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, Anakin decided to break the Force a little to keep Qui-Gon here longer."

Ahsoka wondered whether that was the reason Qui-Gon's wound was healing so slowly and no pain medication truly helped. He tried to hide it, but Ahsoka's nose and eyes were better than humans'. She saw him tense, could smell the sickness. Ahsoka bit her lip. "Is that why Qui-Gon's Force is all messed up?"

She didn't know how to describe it in a better way. It felt a little as if Qui-Gon was made up out of strings and someone had cut them and then tied the ropes back together clumsily in haste, leaving a net that could catch his soul, but was incredibly messy.

"A little. There's no telling what messing around with the Force like Anakin did."

(And they wouldn't know for a long while what it meant to force something to live. No matter how good the intentions at that moment, the residue of his actions left Maul awake, alive, alight in the dark side, and screaming.)

"Is he going to be okay again?" Ahsoka asked.

When Obi-Wan didn't reply immediately, she climbed back into his lap and let him wrap his arms around her. Jedi were the happiest when they weren't cold, and her family felt as if they needed a lot of warmth.

"I hope so," Obi-Wan replied. "I really do hope so."

For the first time since he had gotten his first gray hair, Qui-Gon actually felt old. He was tired all the time and his control over the Force was atrocious and depended on the time of day, what he had eaten for breakfast, the weather, and whether somewhere halfway across Coruscant somebody had totaled their Speeder, or so it felt to him at least. There was no rhyme or rhythm to whether he could use the Force at all and what his control over it was, not even as his body recovered.

His gut wound hadn't healed entirely yet, and he continued to be haunted by its phantom pains. He knew that it hurt Anakin, that he felt guilty, so Qui-Gon tried to avoid showing any of these weaknesses around the boy, but Anakin was an intelligent child and he noticed it anyway. Qui-Gon wondered if Anakin's sudden clinginess and paranoia resulted from his actions, actions he now had to justify himself for.

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to sit?" Plo asked.

Qui-Gon wanted to reply with words as sharp as the edge of a knife, but he shouldn't. Plo was asking him out of worry and because they were friends, not to belittle him or point out his discomfort to him.

"I'm quite sick of sitting and lying down," Qui-Gon confessed. It hurt to admit this weakness, was he fully his Master's Padawan in this aspect, and against what his heart was telling him, he forced himself to say it out loud. "But a chair would be appreciated."

They got a chair for him and so Qui-Gon sat in front of the assembled Council, laying his mind bare for them to see and judge.

"Obi-Wan's report states that Padawan Skywalker had a breakdown as you boarded the ship to Naboo again. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"And following this breakdown, you put a heavy mind block on him. Is this true as well?"

"Yes," Qui-Go replied, or maybe it would be more correct to claim he apologized.

He didn't regret saving Anakin then. It had come at a high price, his own mind still bleeding where he had cut himself on the kyber crystals of Anakin's soul, but he regretted that it had come to this at all. Trifling with a mind like this was nothing that could be taken lightly, and had the Council not asked to see him, Qui-Gon would have accused them of negligence. "I saw no other choice."

"What did you saw in his mind that forced you to act like this?" Mace asked.

"I saw a reflection of his own state of being, I suppose." His words sounded stuporous, too carelessly chosen, but he didn't know how else to describe this feeling. The more he attempted to elaborate on what he had seen, the more he realized that their language lacked the terms he needed

"I don't think the Force was meant to be anything more than something that binds the world together," Qui-Gon declared. "But Anakin… His existence defies that. He is the Force incarnate and it hurts him, subconsciously. The Force is endless and in Anakin, they have to constrain themself to a body with mortal limits, a fact which unsettles him down to his core when he becomes aware of it. From my observations, which I fail to describe accurately here and I fear to share with the state of my own mind and control, merely having consciousness is unsuitable for a being such as Anakin. We have all heard the voice of the Force, its call and its will, but it doesn't want as we do, as mortals might."

"But Anakin does," Plo continued his thought. "So you have the Force turned sentient, which goes against everything they ever were before, and suddenly they have to deal with the fact that Anakin has wants and needs that go beyond that of his parent."

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed. "I think – or at least the way Anakin perceived it – the Force is shackling themself with his existence, in his existence. He became aware of it through a factor I have not yet determined, and that resulted in his breakdown."

"And so you decided to cover up these shackles."

"I did."

It was the only way he could have stopped Anakin from self-destructing.

The Force had shifted for the third time in less than a decade after so many years of slowly eroding away.

It was strange. Where once it was clouded, twisted, and shadowed as his Master and his Master's Master had crafted it, there was a rift now, a clearing.

It was shedding light on objects that should not be seen.

Darth Sidious pulled the shadows closer around himself and, throwing one last glance at his Master's dead body, decided to investigate.

He had need for an apprentice.

#star wars #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #shmi skywalker #count dooku #fanfic

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jokerfan99 · 4 years

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My Top 10 Favorite Anime Villains (Updated) by DarkChild316

In a different time and a different world, I did a list of “My 10 Favorite Anime Villains”. I am older now, and hopefully much wiser and now thanks to the global pandemic and my new subscriptions to Hulu and Funimation I’ve had the opportunity to go back and revisit so many classic anime that I feel like I should re-do it. Plus I’ve gone back and looked at my previous list and shook my head thinking to myself: “My God man, what in the f**k were you thinking with some of these choices!” So, I’ve gone back and redone the list, now this list is strictly for the men only. If you want to see a list dedicated to my favorite female villains, check out my list of “My Top 10 Favorite Anime Villainesses.” But for this list, here is my updated list of My Top 10 Favorite Anime Villains:

#10. Shishiho Makoto (Rurouni Kenshin): Growing up as a kid, Ruroni Kenshin was one of the first anime I had ever watched, and this guy was someone who I hated with a passion. Looking back at it years later, I realize now what an amazing villain and foil to Kenshin that Makoto was. Unlike a lot of villains on this list, Makoto wasn’t just evil for the sake of being evil, Makoto’s evil came from the worst type of trauma: betrayal! In this case the betrayal came from Makoto’s own government, where Makoto survived not only multiple gunshots, but being doused in oil and burned alive, leaving him in complete and utter agony. What puts Shishio on my list is what he manages to do after surviving death. He compiles an army of the best fighters Japan has to offer and plots to overthrow the entire Meiji Government. While in complete agony. Who else can claim that? Did I also mention he’s topping the list of the best fighters in the show? His swordsmanship is second only to Kenshin himself as he proves in their absolutely epic fight.

#9. Hisoka Morrow (Hunter x Hunter): Hunter x Hunter is a show with several great villains that truly stand out, and while Meruem was memorable, pardon me for believing that Hisoka was the standout villain from that show. A devious killer and master Nen user, Hisoka is driven by little more than his desire to find and kill strong opponents. Be they young children or master criminals, he’ll pursue them to the ends of the Earth with a bloodlust on par with that of a wild predator. Likewise, he doesn’t care what happens to himself or others in this pursuit. Mass civilian casualties, the loss of his own villainous allies or even the loss of his own limbs barely phases him, so long as he gets to fight with someone that tests his limits. As a result, he more often than not embodies chaos incarnate, wreaking havoc in his pursuit of battle and leaving a mountain of corpses behind him. Needless to say, this puts him at odds with the series’ protagonists at regular intervals. Not only do Gon and his friends fit the bill for what he seeks, but they often take on enemies that prove to be exactly what Hisoka is looking for. And yet, this also serves to make him all the more interesting. Where other villains might strike out at the protagonists and heroes immediately, Hisoka schemes, allies himself with and double-crosses people regularly, always finding the best angle to work in order to reach his goals. He may not be a world-ending anime villain on the level of a Meruem with seismic ambitions, but he’s undeniably the most interesting and brilliant villain in Hunter x Hunter to see at work.

#8. Izaya Orihara (Durarara!!): If you think of a list of top anime villains and this guy isn’t one of the first people who comes to mind, please raise your hands so I can have a few words with you in private with no cameras or eyewitnesses. The crazy thing about Izaya is that he doesn’t even realize he’s evil, and that’s what makes him great. He loves humanity; from the depths of his bones he loves us all. This is why he makes it onto my list; he does progressively more cruel acts against humans, putting people in situations that generally lead to their deaths. He is also a master of parkour and highly skilled with a switchblade in his hand (as evident in the above picture), which he generally only uses in dire situations or fights against Shizuo. In short, I absoulutely love this guy. I thoroughly enjoyed the way he manages to manipulate an entire populous, and that’s why he’s more than earned a spot on my list.

#7. Dio Brando (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure): You might have thought it was someone else, but it was me, Dio! All meme-worthy jokes aside, Dio Brando is unquestionably one of the most iconic anime villains of all time and, thanks to his series’ late-blooming popularity outside of Japan thanks largely to the 2012 anime adaptation, one that still feels modern in our minds. Dio is a tenacious bastard that takes advantage of the generosity of the Joestar family to further his own power, being intolerably dickish to Jonathan by constantly tearing him down, trying to make him look bad in front of his dad, spreading rumors to sully his reputation, and sabotaging his relationships. This escalates into killing his dog (his f***ikg dog of all things!), poisoning and later stabbing his adoptive father (I mean WTF!), and becoming a freakin vampire. Even after decapitation, Dio gets his revenge and sets in motion many of the events of the series, making a formal return in Stardust Crusaders as the main villain once again. With raw ambition taken to the extreme, iconic lines, poses, and outfits, incredible abilities from Aztec mask-induced vampirism and the time-stopping power of The World, Dio’s menacing presence towers over his series and over anime as a whole, which makes him MORE than deserving of a spot on my list.

#6. Light Yagami (Death Note): Yes, he’s a VILLAIN, get over yourselves Light Yagami fanboys! Anyway, there are a number of different adjectives and superlatives that could be used to described the lead character of Death Note: Diabolical, calculating, and determined to make the world in his own image all describe Light who was easily the most clever man in Death Note, as evidenced by the layers upon layers that composed his elaborate plans. Light started out as a good kid, doing well in school and heading to a bright career in police work like his father. But when he gets possession of the death note, he begins a remarkable descent into a disturbing mastermind who becomes judge, jury, and executioner for the entire world. But what truly makes Light's character stand out remains complicated throughout the story. His ultimate goal is to make the world a happier, safer place; a noble but perhaps misguided goal. His idealism and nobility still shine through when he doesn’t have the Death Note. When he temporarily relinquishes ownership of the death note to throw L off his trail, Light loses all memory of the death note and he reverts to his normal personality. His sense of morality returns and he shows more compassion for those around him. He even refuses to use Misa Amane to get information out of her when L asks him to. These qualities help to create a complex character who ends up being a detestable villain, yet you still kind of root for him to come out of this story as a winner. Light’s progression through the series is marked by his sheer brilliance. He's got a calculated and strategic mind that would make the great philosopher Machiavelli jealous, and the power of the death note adds a callousness that makes him free to use people in whatever way necessary to accomplish his goals. It’s highly entertaining to see his intricate plans play out. But Light’s messiah-like ego is just as big as his brain, and that arrogance ultimately leads to his tragic downfall.

#5. The Major (Hellsing): An evil Nazi Scientist, I know everyone is just rolling their eyes right now thinking I’m reaching for the low-hanging fruit for this one, but just hear me out here. While he may seem like an obvious pick for a list like this, The Major’s goals, however, are somehow far more unhinged than what may first appear. Despite being an impassioned orator and uncompromising strategist willing to sacrifice countless soldiers, the Major himself had no especial loyalty or passion for the cause of Millennium. His sole obsession is to plunge the world into an unending conflict to the point of endangering not only the lives of others but also his own. The Major’s leadership of Millennium, his decades espousing the genocidal ideology of fascists, and subsequent war against the Hellsing organization, the Vatican, and the entire world serve only as a pretext to satiate his insatiable bloodlust. The Major is one of anime’s most insidious villains, a charismatic, nihilistic sociopath driven purely by his sadomasochistic death wish.

#4. Shou Tucker (Fullmetal Alchemist): Now, you may be recalling that in my previous version of this list, I had Envy listed as my choice as my favorite villain from this show. Well after careful reconsideration, I’ve had to reevaluate my decision and give that spot to this creep, because while Envy’s actions were despicable to a point, they PALE in comparison to this guy! He only really appears in one episode if I remember correctly, yet in that one single episode, he made more of an impact then most villains make in a lifetime, which really says a lot about this guy’s character. What was it that made him so memorable you ask? Well, it could have something to do with the fact that this man transmutaed his own dog and daughter to create a talking chimera, which hadn’t been done before, and for what other reason…all in the name of recognition in the world of alchemy! That mere fact alone made this guy the most hated man in all of anime, the fact that he sacrificed his own family for the sake of fame, with absolutely no hint of remorse, made this guy the definition of an absolute living piece of shit and the only thing worse is how the episode ended, but I won’t spoil that one for you if you haven’t seen it.

#3. Gendo Ikari (Neon Genesis Evangelion) Up next is a man competing with the likes of Medusa Gorgon for the title of “Anime’s Worst Parent”, Gendo Ikari, please step up to the front of the congregation. Now Gendo is a man who’s list of atrocities throughout Evangelion is far too many to name, but I’m going to try my best to list them here: You have being actively complicit in the premature instigation of a biblical apocalypse, resulting in a near extinction-level event that caused the death of nearly two-thirds of the human population. Emotionally neglecting his own son Shinji estranging himself from him for over twelve years, only to offer him up as a sacrificial pawn in his bid to artificially bootstrap humanity’s ascent into evolutionary godhood so that he could be reunited with his dead wife. Cloning said wife’s DNA into a harem of emotionally dependent albino ingenues who share a dogged infatuation for their creator. And that’s not even mentioning the horrific emotional abuse and mental manipulation he inflicts on Dr. Ritsuko Akagi and her mother Naoko. All-in-all Gendo is proof positive that love not only has the capacity to overcome any obstacle, but sometimes it can truly make monsters out of us all.

#2. Griffith (Berserk): Griffith did nothing wrong; at least, not by his own drives and ambitions. A peasant who grew to become the leader of his own mercenary band, Griffith was a self-driven man who pursued his desires with unparalleled efficiency. No matter the situation or obstacle, he found a way to overcome them, whether that meant facing down an army of thousands or assassinating a country’s leaders. All the while, he amassed a legion of friends and followers who would follow him to hell and back, caring for him as much or more than he cared for them. As a result, they were dragged down with him when his ambitions saw him imprisoned, tortured and maimed. They cared little though, risking life and limb to save him and help him salvage a life with what he had left. That wasn’t enough for Griffith though. When given the option to become a demon and continue the pursuit of his dreams, he whole-heartedly accepted it; even though it came at the cost of sacrificing the lives of each and every one of his friends and allies. But that wasn’t the worst of it, to further spite the early desertion of Guts, Griffith proceeds to rape Casca, Guts’ love interest, in front of him as Guts is held down by demons. So yes, Griffith did nothing wrong by himself. By everyone else though, he did them the worst of injustices, and continues to do so with each breath he takes, all of which makes him a compelling and infuriating villain.

#1. Johan Liebert (Monster): I’ve covered a wide variety of monsters (pun fully intended) on this list, but THIS monster (again, pun FULLY intended) truly takes the cake when it comes to anime villains. A serial killer who would fit in well in any blockbuster film, Monster told the story of a man who had truly become monstrous; a charismatic, intelligent sociopath with no other goal than to kill everyone else in the world. Johan didn't just kill people, he made other people into monsters just like him. This skill of his corruption is first displayed in his youth, when he used stories to convince the other boys in his orphanage to kill all the staff, and each other. Johan is often compared to Light Yagami of Death Note, but the two couldn’t be any more different. Light's fatal (and genius) flaw is his own ego, which leads him to put his own life above all else, even his goal of changing the world. But Johan has never been afraid of death. Quite the opposite, he welcomes and embraces it, being more than willing to put his own life at risk, and one of his signature traits is how he challenges people to shoot him. Another of Jonah’s signature traits is his skills as a masterful manipulator. Where Light and other on this list had to resort to supernatural means to get what they wanted, Johan just used his own wits and knowledge of human nature. He's easily the most frightening villain on this list because he’s the truest to life villain on this list and he exposes the base human nature of his victims and of human society. Monster's remarkable story was almost entirely due to Johan alone, and it’s why he’s #1 on my list.

So that's my updated list, what did you guys think about it? Love it, hated it? Go on and tell me what you think and let me know who your favorite anime villains are. See you soon!!!

Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/darkchild316

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babyybitchhh · 4 years

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Oh! You are taking requests! That’s awesome! ✨💫 I’d like to request a scenery where the reader lost her sister to Douma (she lacks proof... it’s an strong gut feeling?... she’s right tho) so, she get on his “good side” working in his cult to get a chance to avenge her sibling... her acting convincing and the “betrayal” amuses him to no end, so he decides to play with her before... eating/transforming her? Your choice! I’m a sucker for horror so it could be as dark as your heart allow it! 💜💃

Sorry this took so long cxnvldsnvoen and even though I tweaked the storyline just a wittle bit, I hope you like it! <3

Words: 2639

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Warnings: Cunnilingus, involuntary urination, cannibalism (sort of, you know the drill with Douma), body horror? Sexual gore? Yandere?? I’ll be honest, I’m not entirely sure how to tag this one.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24362824/chapters/66015442#workskin

♥♥♥♥

You were easily the most insincere person he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing.

The lie itself was written all across your face in bold, slashing brushstrokes for the whole world to see if only they’d look close enough but so few ever did. He alone was privy to your deceit. Only he saw that dishonest smile for what it was, always so placid and warm even though it just barely concealed the hissing viper within. The unwavering mask of false loyalty you greet him with and the rage waging war behind your eyes every time you look into his face. Everything was right there, completely out in the open as if you couldn’t be bothered with trying to hide it, and Douma loved that aspect of you perhaps most of all.

Just as any good figurehead should, he’d nurtured the darkness within you until it sprouted roots and festered, growing ever larger as your hate for him also grew. Welcomed you and your heavy burden with open arms. Encouraged it even. You were simply too fun to play with and he was ever so curious to see how far into depravity you would ultimately spiral because of him. In some ways it was sad. Pathetic even that you would devote what was left of your miserable life to being a duplicitous little bitch when there were so many alternatives that were far, far more pleasant. But it was also undeniably thrilling at the same time, almost intoxicatingly so.

To think that he had angered you to the point of not only chasing after him like a pitiable stray but to also go so far as joining his congregation just to get close … this was a uniquely exquisite indulgence he wouldn’t soon rush to squander. Particularly not when keeping you around afforded him so many plushy benefits.

“You’re trembling.” A dangerously sharp nail traces its path down the length of your twitching stomach. He pauses at your belly button, toys with the notion of jamming his finger right through it and into your guts, but ultimately decides to save it for another day. Humming faintly, Douma resumes his tauntingly slow descent south. “Are you cold?”

You refuse to look at him and instead push the side of your face deeper into the pillow. It was always like this no matter how often he opened up his chamber doors in welcome. You simply refused to stop playing your part even when he had you spread out like some shameless whore on his bed of silk and that would never cease to amuse him for as long as he allowed you to live. You’d have been quite the accomplished actress if only you hadn’t been going up against the head performer himself. That you were out of your league was, to him at least, painfully obvious but he didn’t have the heart to tell you that just yet.

No, not yet. There was still more of you to savor.

Bending close, Douma presses a lingering kiss to the center of your stomach. He can taste you on his tongue, blooming notes of stale meat poisoned with bitter fury, and it elicits a quiet groan out of him. You were the finest decadence he’d had in his bed in a very long while.

“Poor thing, that just won’t do. Let me warm you up.”

You squirm against the sheets as he pecks his way lower, issuing expertly timed sighs at the appropriate intervals. He appreciates just how committed you are to the act. Wonders if you found some pathetic young sod to practice with before presenting yourself to him or if you were simply a brazen slut by nature. It’s hard to say which prospect delighted him more, though Douma hardly cares to know the answer, particularly when he presses two fingers to your outer labia and carefully spreads them open.

So soft and fleshy, the petal-like folds make his mouth water. He could imagine no greater joy than nibbling on those puffy little lips and taking nipping bites at the swollen pearl bud that peaks up at him even now until you were bordering on hysterics, fighting him tooth and nail to get away. Only then, only when you were a frenzied animal trying to escape his taloned clutches, would Douma allow himself to sink his teeth in at long last. He was certain your sweet cunt would give way under his jaw without much resistance, if any at all. It would be just like biting into a peach.

But you weren’t quite ripe enough yet. You were almost there -- so, so very close he could just about feel the meat of your womanhood being rendered and chewed between his molars -- but still not there. He would satiate his abominable hunger only when you were blackened, mind, body and soul with your hate.

Eagerly licking his lips, Douma leans down and swipes the tip of his tongue across your clit. The way the meaty nub clings to his taste buds, dragging against the salivating muscle until it pops back into place with a plump jiggle, delights him to no end. It was so swollen that even it’s protective hood did very little in the way of concealing your arousal. If he didn’t know any better, he’d almost think you’d had to go months on end without release. Evidently, though, your cunt just enjoyed being on the receiving end of his attention that much even when your brain was most assuredly in total disagreement with that sentiment.

He moans, very faintly, at the thought of your brain. The day of feast couldn’t come quick enough.

“Oh, sweet dove …” Douma coos, nuzzling into your clenching pussy as if he were a cat marking its territory. “Are you really so neglected? I’m not sure how you’ll ever forgive me for making you suffer like this.”

You choke down an unintelligible sound that’s half sob, half moan and bring your hand up to coquettishly hide your mouth from his line of sight. “Douma-sama … please …”

He can hear it in your voice. The lie. The obvious, blatant, belligerent lie and it goes straight to his cock.

Undeniably, you sold the performance with every aspect of your body language right down to the way you shyly spread your legs further apart for him but the lie was still there. It was simply too big to hide. Not the small, pardonable white lie a god could be swayed to forgive with the right offering but a massive, all encompassing falsehood that had long since swallowed up your ego like a gluttonous black hole. You weren’t a person any longer but a container merely housing the selfish urge for vengeance.

You were so damn close.

Nails digging into the plush swell of your thigh, Douma lays himself out flat between your legs and presses his mouth to your slit. For as brief as the gesture is, he still comes away with glistening wet lips and he greedily licks up the evidence just as a carnivore might lick its bloodied chops. Delicious.

“Don’t fret, my dear. I know exactly what you need.” A pause. Another playful kiss to your gushing cunt. The savory smacking of his lips is quickly followed by a dreamy, almost wistful sigh that makes you shudder, though it's impossible to say if that reaction was one of pleasure or abject disgust. Not that it really mattered either way to him. “Just relax. Let me take care of you and then you’ll be free to scurry off back to bed like a good little girl.”

You visibly tense under him and, smothering the cruel laughter that tries to claw its way up his throat, Douma glances at your face.

Still partially obscured by your clenched fist, you continue to hide from him as if you were an untouched maiden being ravaged against your will even though you’d spent countless nights with him in his room like this. Always, always playing your role. The tension in your neck, however, told a different story. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that you were biting your tongue and he derived a great deal of joy in the knowledge that you despised being talked down to so much. It just made him want to do it even more.

“Do you have any idea how good you taste? You’re like the sweetest forbidden fruit to me.” Tilting his head, Douma seals his lips around your pulsing clit and mouths at you. You arch, shoving your bare tits into the air with a quiet hiss but, still, you won’t look down at him. That suits him just fine though and he comes up off you a moment later with an obscenely loud, attention grabbing slurp that makes you twitch. “I could just eat you up, you know that?”

“D - Douma-sama --”

His tongue abruptly darts out, mercilessly lashing your clit.

You outright squeal, jolting at the sudden onslaught of stimulation before catching yourself and forcibly choking back any other sounds you may have been inclined to make. Douma is not so easily deterred though and he laps at you hungrily, attacking the engorged pleasure button from every possible angle until you’re a quaking mess underneath him. He could help himself to your sopping little cunt for hours if given the chance, high as a kite off the very real urge to consume you in the most literal sense, but it doesn’t take long at all to have you writhing uncontrollably. Although unfortunate, it was expected given just how needy and swollen you were -- and just for him at that. Who could have ever guessed?

“Oh, darling,” He pants, groans into the meat of your pussy. His eyes start to roll back in doped out bliss when your wild twisting drags those petal soft folds across his mouth as if you were intentionally teasing him now. Begging him to just take the plunge and take a bite out of you already.

It was almost enough to break his resolve. He wanted nothing more than to gorge himself on your delectably tainted body until he was too stuffed to move but the part of him that knows precisely how satisfying the payoff will be keeps him in check. It’s too soon -- still too soon to indulge -- and he has to make do with simply drooling all over your poor defenseless cunt while it creams around nothing except your hatred of him. Of all the meals Douma has enjoyed in his lifetime, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you would be the one he’d relish the most.

So caught up in the ecstasy inducing thought of finally eating you, truly eating you, he doesn’t notice you withdrawing a razor sharp pin from your hair until it’s right in his face. Blinking incandescent eyes at the foreign object, Douma allows himself another lazy lick at your still palpitating cunt and you seeth through gritted teeth, the glinting metal trembling in your hand.

“Get. Off.”

He acquiesces without a fuss.

You don’t even try to hide your surprise as you warily watch him sit up so that he’s kneeling on the futon between your spread legs. Clearly you’d expected a different reaction out of him and that makes Douma smile. You don’t seem to appreciate that though and you jerkily sit up straighter, jabbing the pin at him in warning.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, demon!”

“Or what?” He asks sweetly. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Yes! I’m going to kill you and take revenge for my sister!”

Brows drawing up in affected pity, Douma pins you with a withering leer. “If you’re going to kill me anyway then I don’t see any reason why I should stop smiling.”

Balking, you sputter indignantly. “You - you horrid fiend --”

He moves too quick for you to react. His arm swings, slamming into your wrist with enough force to send the pin flying. You reel back with a haggard gasp but he grabs your forearm in a pinching grip and yanks you close again. Bringing his opposite hand up, Douma rams his palm into the underside of your outstretched limb. The resulting crack is instantaneous and horrible. Your face crumples in agony.

You scream.

“Now, now,” He purrs, letting your arm fall limp at your side. In a shell shocked panic, you try to reach for it as if to reset the bone yourself but he all too easily catches your shaking hand in his. Cradling it close to his chest just as one might do with a lover, Douma smiles at you as he effortlessly snaps your other arm just as he’d done the first. “Calm down. Everything will be alright.”

He can barely hear himself over your frenzied shrieking. It’s hard not to take pity on you when you’re like this, looking for all the world like nothing more than a wounded animal. Confused and so incredibly scared. Almost out of your mind with pain even as regret and terror flash at him through wide, glossy eyes.

It really was a shame too. You’d been so close to reaching full maturity but, well … this would probably do the trick just as well. Not right away, of course, because the only thing currently running through your mind were baser instincts that served no real purpose other than keeping you alive. You were in no mindset to humor your feelings of resentment and hate for him, or the loss of your sister for that matter.

Was that really what had prompted you to seek him out like this? Douma couldn’t exactly recall but it was a believable explanation. He was certainly willing to accept it, at least.

Deciding that the details didn’t really matter, he reaches out to grab your shoulders and shoves you back down on the bed. You wordlessly stare up at him in wild eyed terror as he rises above you like some sort of beautifully horrific wraith, preternaturally sharp teeth glinting in the low light when he grins at you. The shock must be starting to set in because your mouth moves but nothing comes out. Not so much as a peep, as though your voice box had been stolen.

He can’t help the deranged titter that bursts out of him. You were so damn cute .

“Don’t worry, darling. I won’t kill you. Not yet, anyway.” Contently sighing, Douma leans close to nuzzle his nose against yours in a mockingly affectionate gesture that only makes you shake harder. “You’ll stay here with me until you’re rotting from the inside out. I want you to despise me with every fiber of your being first and then, when you can’t even look at me without being consumed by rage, then I’ll finally eat you. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

You don’t respond - maybe you can’t - but he does feel the moment your bladder finally gives out and seeping wet warmth spreads across the front of his pants. A shudder of revulsion works its way down his spine and he clucks at you, letting his mouth tug into a disappointed frown.

“Such a high maintenance little girl … what should I do with you until then, hmm?” Douma thoughtfully puts his head to one side but quickly perks up at a sudden thought that has him smiling from ear to ear with nothing short of manic glee. “Oh, I know! Maybe I should break your legs too. Then you won’t be able to do anything at all without my help.”

An insignificant, fraying part of your conscience that had managed to cling to its humanity must register what he’d said because you begin shaking your head, still as silent as any mute, and that just makes his grin widen.

“I bet you’ll really start to hate me then, won’t you?”

#kimetsu no yaiba #KnY #douma x reader #Douma #kny douma #self insert bullshit #my writing

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lelecarr · 3 years

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WHAT SHOULD BE KEPT IN MIND WHILE BUYING A SECOND-HAND CAR?

Everybody has a dream of buying a car. Purchasing a car is considered a major milestone in any person‘s life, other than that it is a daily necessity for most. While most of the population think of buying a branded car, many people have opted to buy a second hand or a used car over the years.

Here, are some tips to be kept in mind while looking for Used Cars Online:

The process of buying used luxury cars in India has witnessed a big-time boom over a decade or so. It is not just limited to buying a car but today’s world is highly digitalized, where most of the buying is done online which includes shopping for groceries, clothes, shoes, furniture, etc. The added extension to this list is purchasing cars online too. Buying the first-hand car by booking online from a manufacturer‘s website is easy but for buying a second-hand car you need to 1st look for the best place to sell online to find a reliable used car and to find second-hand car dealers. Here is what you need to keep in mind while working for your hand over a second-hand car:

1. Know your budget:

It is always the best option to have a rough idea about the estimate of the amount that is to be invested in buying a used car that is affordable. While estimating, we should always keep in mind the cost of insurance and other expenses that should be included in the funding. It helps to prevent overspending.

2. Choosing a good model:

When the budget is decided and settled for, It’s now time to decide which car will be your dream car and of your suitability. For the current process, you can visit the best site to buy used cars in India and mention all the specifications that you are looking for in your automobile. For instance, If you stay in Pune and are looking for an SUV you can browse through the price second-hand SUV in Pune.

3. Dealing options available:

Generally, you buy a car from an individual or a dealer, but in recent times buying a car online has turned out to be a good option for a trading second-hand car in Mumbai. As the website offers affordable deals and discounts. Just in case you’re buying it from an individual ask him/her why they want to sell the car, how long the car has been used, and finally get the car checked by a mechanic. Proceed only if it feels right to do so.

4. Certification of Pre-owned vehicles:

While buying a used car in Mumbai it is advisable to crosscheck all the documents for certified pre-owned vehicles. This will give you advantages, just like a brand-new car besides save a significant amount of money. While purchasing certified pre-owned vehicles in India, you get a further extended warranty plus leftover of the original manufacturer's warranty.

5. Inspect the car:

An individual would let a mechanic check the car but the dealer will be least interested. In such cases don’t refrain from checking the car by yourself. You need to keep the following points in mind and use the OBD2 scanner!

• Make sure everything is in good shape & the colour has not faded or no mismatch in the bodywork.

• The engine is working smoothly and can accelerate from a standstill without resisting.

• Inspect the interior of the car like the seats, gear, handbrake, and others.

• Check the tires for any signs of uneven wear, lack of maintenance, or suspicious issues.

• Check all the electronics installed are working fine.

• If possible ask for service history in the service booklet/owner’s manual stating it is maintained properly and performed at regular intervals.

6. Make sure correct paperwork is available:

Buying a second-hand car in Mumbai, buying a used car in Pune, has its drawbacks, as you may be lured into buying a stolen vehicle at a tempting price. Hence, it is important to check the paperwork that is done properly before dealing with it. The checklist of paperwork includes the registration book, taxation book, invoice, PUC certificate, etc.

7. Loan option availability:

With the growing digital market selling and purchasing used cars in Mumbai has been supported by a lot of banks offering car loans at a lower rate of interest. Conditions are applied on the eligibility criteria which must be fulfilled by the owner and necessary documents required for issuing a loan are also kept in check. Be sure that you have all the necessary documents to not sell yourself short for a car loan and buying a car.

8. Ownership transferred:

With selling a car the ownership is also changed. The original car owner selling the car must inform the RTO with which the car has been registered about the transfer, utilizing a letter with information about the new owner (Transferee) within a time limit of 14 days. For instance, you want to buy a second-hand car in Ahmedabad and the car is registered in Pune then the owner has to inform the RTO about the same.

9. Bargaining:

Try to negotiate the price according to the condition of the car. If the vehicle requires a lot of repairs, reduce the price accordingly. If you are a good negotiator you are at an advantage but if you are not, ask for a friend or relative to help you through it. Numerous websites specifically deal in buying and selling of cars. It is not a bad option to consult the best sites to buy a second-hand car for proper information. Now that you have got all the information is required, get your dream car and drive on!

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mszegedy · 4 years

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You, too, can design a wrench to throw in the workings of the coronavirus

I pretty much never post about my job here. I do love my field, but it’s not a special interest of mine. Just a normal interest. And while the things I do are pretty easy to explain, it’s hard to explain why they matter.

Now it’s easy to explain why they matter, too. Unfortunately.

The term I’m most comfortable with for my job is protein engineer, but nobody uses that. So my bio says computational protein design specialist instead. I sit at a computer and design proteins. This is important because anything important that has ever happened has been accomplished with the help of proteins. They are the most useful thing to make living things out of, because you can use them as both structural components (struts, ropes, cages, armor plating, nets, pipes, spools) and as machines (assemblers, disassemblers, sorters, recyclers, dynamos, rotary motors, ratchet motors, pumps, locks and keys). They do all the things that make things be alive. (By the way, if you’re on desktop, every one of those words in the parentheses is a link, if you’re curious.)

More precisely, I wish I sat at my computer and designed proteins. Today, instead of doing that, I attended the first half of an emergency protein design conference called to discuss how we can design a protein that can be used to cure the coronavirus. It was five hours long and I’m really tired and I got nothing done today.

Even on a normal day, though, I don’t really design proteins. I just read papers, write programs that make charts, and write apologetic letters to my advisor.

This is because actually designing a protein is the easiest step. The rest is paperwork and tears. Designing a protein is so easy, actually, that I get computers to do it for me. But designing proteins is like playing Starcraft. You can beat a computer just by knowing what the hell you’re doing.

About a decade ago my research community made a program, called Foldit, that let anyone design proteins. We do the paperwork and tears, while you do the design. It’s a fair trade, because design is fun, and we still get paid. (Most of us, anyway.)

Right now, the world only has to accomplish one protein design task. This is the simplest it’s ever been: make a protein that sticks to some part of the spikes on the coronavirus. That’s it. Make the right protein, and you’ve cured the coronavirus.

Everybody in my research community is scrambling head over heels to attack the problem from all angles. With Foldit, you have… somewhere between 10 and 50 percent of those angles available to you. You make something even vaguely successful, and we can use it as fodder for our models and algorithms and clueless neural nets until we’ve aggregated the design for the stickiest motherfucking protein the coronavirus has ever seen. And it won’t be able to do anything to stop us.

Do you want to do something about the coronavirus, and think you can handle protein design? Read below the cut, I’ll explain exactly how you can do that. Do you want to do something about the coronavirus, and don’t think you can handle protein design? Read below the cut anyway, and you’ll change your mind, because protein design is about as hard as sculpting, except with a way lower skill ceiling.

Please help us. We believe in you. We discuss Foldit models at our conferences. We take you seriously. We take this pandemic seriously. We need you.

On board? Let’s dive in.

A protein is a sticky string. There’s two kinds of sticky: orange sticking to orange (”nonpolar” sticky), and red sticking to blue (”polar” sticky). Here’s a short protein, technically so short that we should refer to it as a “peptide”:

You can see that it’s organized into groups of 3, called “residues”: little red bit (a hydrogen), an optional orange bit of some kind (the “side chain”), and a blue bit (a carboxyl). At the ends, the red and blue bits get bigger. The fact that the red and blue bits are always there means that they can be arranged into some simple patterns, assuming there’s room. But let’s talk about the side chains for a moment.

Some side chains end in red and blue bits. These are the “polar” and “charged” side chains, and when the protein tangles itself into the right shape, they’re found on the outside. This is because outside the protein is water, and water molecules have a red part and a blue part, so the side chains want to stick to it. I put a water molecule, to scale, next to the first charged side chain, so you can have a visual. Polar and charged side chains are called “hydrophilic” side chains for this reason.

The pure orange “nonpolar” side chains, meanwhile, gather on the inside, sticking to each other in a gooey mess. They’re the opposite of hydrophilic: hydrophobic. When you achieve that gooey mess, you have “buried your hydrophobics”.

90% of figuring out what shape a protein will tangle up (euphemistically “fold”) into is burying your hydrophobics.

There’s only 20 kinds of side chains in total, and that’s also counting the weird residues with not-quite side chains like proline, that weird bend in the last but one residue in our little peptide, and glycine, the residue with no side chain at all. (Besides a measly hydrogen, and everyone knows hydrogens aren’t real. That’s a computational protein engineering injoke; feel free to use it. The joke is nobody knows exactly where hydrogens are, and nobody cares.) Here’s a family portrait:

I’m not gonna explain any of the weird ones here, because honestly, it’s not super important. Red sticks to blue, orange sticks to orange, and stuff that looks like it’s connected is connected. That’s it, that’s proteins. I guess it’s worth mentioning that the yellow parts are sulfur, but sulfurs are just large, bratty oxygens (the blue bits). They’re not special.

Remember how I said the regular alternation of red bits and blue bits on residues creates some simple, reliable patterns? “Some” is two. Well, technically a few more than two, but nobody really pays attention to the other ones, because they’re just knockoffs of the first two. Here is the first pattern. It’s the favorite pattern of isolated bits of protein with nothing better to do:

This is called an alpha helix. They’re stiff, like rods. You’ll see a lot of these. The other one happens when you lay bits of proteins side by side:

This is called a beta sheet. If you leave a bucket of any protein whatsoever in one place long enough, eventually it’ll fall apart and turn into these. That’s part of why cells have to clean their proteins up: otherwise, it’ll turn into this junk. (”This junk”, on the cellular level, is called amyloid fiber, and is deadly to the cell. On the human scale, it’s called silk, and it’s nice and soft.) But this is also a very structurally useful pattern; it creates tight but flexible weaves. They get shaped into barrels or parts of barrels, usually, but sometimes they get used as walls instead. And sometimes they’re very small and consist of just two short bits that need to get glued together at the sides.

The rest of the protein is just spaghetti, euphemistically called “loops”. The functional bits that attach to stuff outside the protein tend to be on the loops, because the loops are the most flexible and can be posed the most precisely. In real life, proteins are constantly undergoing vibrating motions on every level. The biggest motions are also the slowest; pac-man-shaped proteins will “breathe”, opening and closing at regular intervals. Usually the only time they’ll be able to bind stuff is when they’re open. The takeaway here is that all the stuff inside the protein is gonna wiggle anyway, and you have to make sure it looks the best when it’s wiggled open, if you’re trying to stick something.

Congratulations. That’s everything I know about how proteins get their shapes, pretty much. Your mission is now to make a protein that sticks really well to some important part of the coronavirus’s spikes. The spikes are made of protein, and when they get near an alveolar cell, they open up and jam a lockpick into a “lock” protein called ACE2 on the surface of the cell, which makes the cell sluuurrrp up the virus. Some good ideas are to cover the lockpick so it can’t activate the lock, or to jam the opening and closing mechanism so the spike’s shape gets distorted.

There’s also a couple of other proteins the coronavirus makes that you could try to mess up. A popular target is its two proteases. Viral proteins come like the plastic bits for assemblable toy models: all the pieces are there, but they’re connected together, and you have to break them apart before you can put them together. That’s what the proteases do. (The second protease also cuts off the “to be destroyed” tags that the cell’s proteins keep putting on the viral proteins.) It’s much harder to get your protein drug inside the cells, but once they’re there, they can be as effective as a drug that targets the virus before it gets into the cell. Leave the drug delivery to us. (Or to big pharma, idk. I got a C+ in drug delivery in undergrad, and got it bumped up to a B when I reminded the professor that my attendance grade was low because I was in the psych ward for a chunk of the semester. That’s still more drug delivery than most protein engineers have taken.)

You’re ready!

Here’s a “Getting started with Foldit” tutorial.

Here’s an in-depth analysis of the coronavirus spike for Foldit players, with an accounting of some of the more advanced tools at your disposal. (I highly recommend DDG, although it’s slow to compute in real time.)

#coronavirus #biochemistry #video games #covid-19 #covid19 #quarantine activities #molecular biology #proteins #protein folding #foldit #signal boost appreciated #coronavirus activities #biology #chemistry #computational biology #protein design

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theastrophilearchitect · 3 years

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WandaVision series review part 3.

You'd think I'd have learnt my lesson now--save the damn draft before you switch tabs to find the tags you want to add. But I haven't. Clearly.

The last two weeks I've posted parts 1 and 2 of my WandaVision review, because, even though by the time this goes up, WandaVision will have ended nearly a month ago, it's still all I can think about. Part 1 contained my initial thoughts and episodes 1-3 breakdown; part 2 contained episodes 4-6 breakdown, and this part will contain my episodes 6-9 breakdown and my final thoughts.

Episode Seven: ‘Breaking the Fourth Wall’ This episode was released on February 19th, with a runtime of still 37 minutes, following a 2000s-style sitcom format heavily influenced by Modern Family.

Cue the recap, and we open to Wanda waking up in an empty bed. We then cut to an interview-style scene which I assume is based off Modern Family or another sitcom, like the interviews intermingled with reality TV, but there’s nothing to really pick apart; it’s just entertaining. The twins then run into Wanda’s bedroom and tell her their ‘game is freaking out’, and we see their controllers change over and over with that scarlet-TV texture. Billy comments that his head is noisy, an echo of the power shown in episode six, similar to Wanda’s own.

Interview-Wanda then says as punishment for expanding the borders, she plans on taking ‘a quarantine-style stay-cation’, which, written probably in 2019, did not age well. She goes downstairs to make milk, and it transforms between a carton and a bottle. These object shifts may be implying as Wanda expands the borders, she loses more and more control of even the things right beside her--the Hex is falling apart.

Cut to Hayward and SWORD setting up a new camp beside the new border of the Hex, but further back than before, likely to give them more time to move if it happens again.

Vision then wakes up in the circus the original SWORD camp was turned into, and, looking like his synthezoid self, is assumed to be a clown. He then sees Darcy, dressed as an escape artist, but she doesn’t remember him, clearly under Wanda’s control.

Wanda asks the twins if they’ve seen Vision, they ask if she wants them to look for him, and she replies, ‘If he doesn’t want to be here, there’s nothing I can do about it.’ It seems like she’s trying to defer her guilt at what she’s down to the townspeople. The twins then ask about Pietro--’Do not believe anything that man said. He is not your uncle.’ We saw Wanda blast him into a haystack towards the end of the last episode, but now he’s simply vanished. Wanda then laughs that she has none of the answers they expect her to, and makes some nihilistic comments. She uses her magic to open the door to a knock, and enter Agnes, who takes the kids next door to give Wanda some alone time. The furniture then begins to shift into pieces from the other decades, but Wanda fixes it.

Cut to Jimmy and Monica in a military vehicle they stole in the last episode, and Jimmy explains in Darcy’s hacking, she found a secret project called Cataract, to bring Vision back online--to fix the Vision. But it failed, until Wanda brought him back, which was why Hayward was so focused on Vision over Wanda in the Hex. They then meet some non-SWORD military people, who unveil a higher-grade vehicle, presumably for Monica to attempt to safely re-enter the Hex.

God, I love seeing Darcy in this show. She was the only good thing about the first two Thor movies. So Vision zaps Darcy, and she wakes up. They steal a circus vehicle--a transformed SWORD vehicle--and Vision asks her some questions about the Hex she doesn’t actually know the answers to.

The tension really builds in this episode, simply as it cuts between characters in much shorter intervals than in previous ones. We watch a montage of things in Wanda’s house shifting, then cut to an interview, where she explains that she doesn’t know what’s happening. Then, the person behind the camera asks, ‘Do you think maybe this is what you deserve?’ The voice doesn’t sound familiar, but knowing who the interviewer is, I can hear it. Wanda questions this because the interviewer isn’t supposed to talk, then cut to this episode’s advert.

This is for a drug called Nexus--’A unique anti-depressant that works to anchor you back to your reality. Or the reality of your choice.’ ‘Nexus. Because the world doesn’t revolve around you. Or does it?’ As someone who hasn’t actually read any comics, this information is very second-hand, but a Nexus Being in the comics is a powerful being with the power to alter reality and time--essentially in possession of the Infinity Stones’ powers without possessing the Stones themselves. This brings with it the implication that is what Wanda is--more than just a girl who got powers from the Mind Stone, but Nexus Beings aren’t elaborated on in the rest of the show.

Cut to Agnes and the twins; Billy says he likes it there, because Agnes’s mind is quiet, which is compared to Wanda. I want to explain the implications of this, but I’ve been trying to only spoil things as I get to them, so I’m going to keep my mouth shut, or rather... what’s the keyboard equivalent? God knows. Anyway, Agnes tells them not to worry about Wanda, because ‘she’s supermom’, which, you know, is a fun superhero thing.

Cut back to Monica, who prepares some kind of suit to re-enter the Hex. She gets in, and drives toward the barrier, but when the wheels meet it, they fail to pass, and begin to drive up the barrier, flipping Monica onto her back. The vehicle begins to rewrite itself and break apart; Monica manages to clamber out of a trapdoor in the roof. Jimmy prepares a medical thing, and the barrier spits out the vehicle. Monica turns back, drops her helmet, and plunges into the barrier, and presses through. Her body warps, we hear echoes of Captain Marvel, we hear Carol’s quote about Maria being given the toughest kid, and her body reforms, her eyes light up blue, and she passes all the way through, eyes still glowing, and we see a shots of her warped vision, almost as though she can see energy or EM radiation.

Darcy tries to explain why Wanda killed Vision to him, and though the road is empty, a traffic light is red. As it turns green, roadworkers approach, impeding them and preventing Vision from returning to central Westview.

Monica enters Wanda’s house, who threatens her, and lifts her telekinetically out onto the street, where she is watched by the neighbours. Wanda drops Monica to the ground, but she pulls a superhero landing, with blue lights for effect--her DNA has been rewritten by the Hex’s borders for the third time, and it’s clearly unlocked something. Wanda continues to threaten her, and Monica says to do it--’Don’t let [Hayward] make you the villain,’ to which Wanda replies, ‘Maybe I already am.’ Which is fair, but then villains never think they’re the bad guys.

Agnes watches them from a window. Monica tries to talk Wanda down, then Agnes comes outside, tells Monica to leave, and takes her inside. The people haven’t questioned Wanda’s magic, or Monica’s apparent new powers, which merely shows the extent of Wanda’s control. It’s also interesting that Monica didn’t fall under her control again when she re-entered the Hex.

Cut to Vision and Darcy, the roadworks clear away, but someone with a stop sign and a queue of crossing children continue to block their way. Vision phases through the van’s roof, and flies away.

Wanda notices the kids’ show on Agnes’s TV, and the half-eaten food on the coffee table, and realises the twins are missing. She asks, and Agnes tells her they’re probably in the basement, where Wanda then obviously goes. The basement walls are covered in branches, made of stone, and there is no reply when Wanda calls for the twins. She then enters an ancient chamber, walls engraved with runes, and a spellbook on the side.

Agnes comes downstairs, stroking Senor Scratchy, the rabbit Wanda and Vision used in their magic act way back in episode two, and says, ‘You didn’t think you were the only magical girl in town, did you?’ Agnes shuts the door with a twist of her hand and some purple sparks.

‘The name’s Agatha Harkness. Lovely to finally meet you, dear.’

Purple fogs Wanda’s eyes, and cue the best moment in the entire series: Agatha All Along. This musical number essentially shows that Agatha has been behind everything that’s gone wrong for Wanda, aside from SWORD, obviously, and is such a good song. Go listen to it. Now. Immediately. Go.

We see her screw up the magic show, send Pietro to the door, and we see her sitting behind the interview camera.

‘And I killed Sparky, too.’ Insert maniacal laughter, and cue the credits.

We sit through to the split between the animated credits and typical black and white scrolling ones, and this episode has an mid-credits scene. I checked for one the first few episodes, then gave up, and I can’t remember what it was that made me find this one, if it was just letting the credits play, or feeling the odd urge to check, or what.

We watch Monica try to find a way into Agatha’s house. She pulls open basement doors, then--’Snooper’s gonna snoop.’ Fake Pietro stands behind her, dressed in a beanie, hair no longer mostly white as per Quicksilver’s design.

This is my second-favourite episode overall, first being episode 8, and contains the biggest switch since episode 4. We meet the big bad, since Marvel is literally incapable of writing a story in which the climax isn’t between the hero and a villain with their exact same powers. (WandaVision takes this to the extreme, but that would be a spoiler.)

Episode Eight: ‘Previously On’ Released February 26th, Marvel blessed us with an episode 46 minutes long! At last! This was the second episode to completely break the sitcom format (first being episode 4, obviously), which leaves us in 2000s-themed Westview, but without a laugh track or any other sitcom elements.

We open with a recap, including Jimmy Woo’s explanation of Wanda and Pietro’s origins pre-Avengers from what I believe was episode 5. Or was it 4? Probably 4, because it was really soon after Hayward was introduced, in episode 4. Yes. Let’s go with that.

This episode opens in Salem, Massachusetts, 1693, and we watch Agatha dragged to and magically tied to a stake, to be killed for betraying her coven of witches, by practising dark magic, but she denies it. She then relents and admits it, begs for help to control it, but the witches blast some kind of blue magic at her, which Agatha turns violet, and absorbs, killing the witches wielding it. The witch she calls mother, who also seems to be the leader of the coven, blasts her with magic after the others are dead, and as she does so, a kind of crown of the same blue light glows around her head (something I would neither notice nor question if I had not yet watched the series the whole way through). Agatha absorbs her magic and kills her, too. She steals a necklace from her mother, flies away, and we cut back to present.

Wanda tries to penetrate Agatha’s mind, but she tells her her thoughts were never available--a repeat of Billy calling her mind ‘quiet’ in episode 7, but I’m not actually sure the point of this, aside from limiting information available to both Wanda and the audience. Wanda’s Sokovian accent also returns in this scene. She tries to use her magic, but Agnes puts her in magical binds and explains that the runes in the walls mean ‘only the witch who cast the runes can use her magic’. Agatha also explains how she possessed fake Pietro--Fietro--not so she could control his mind, but so she could see through his eyes and ears.

Agatha questions how Wanda cast so many spells to control so many people, so many objects and locations all at once, when she had no magical training, which confuses Wanda because she doesn’t use incantations the way Agatha does; her magic is more through willpower and intention.

Agatha then brings Wanda through a door, in an attempt to comprehend how she did it, and it leads them to an old, one-room living space in Sokovia--Wanda’s childhood, before her parents died. They prepare for a TV night, and their father invites young Wanda to pick, showing her a box containing various sitcoms--Bewitched, Malcolm in the Middle, I love Lucy, Who’s the Boss?, The Addams Family etc.--many of which acted as the basis for episodes of WandaVision, but she chooses The Dick Van Dyke Show. This love of sitcoms, the ideation in comparison to the Cold War outside, is where Wanda’s subconscious choice of making Westview into one--her version of a paradise for herself and Vision.

Then a bomb goes off outside, killing their parents and leaving Wanda and Pietro in rubble. A bomb lands before them, Stark Industries written on the side, but their television is behind it, and Dick Van Dyke still plays.

Cut back to present Wanda and Agatha; Wanda says the bomb was defective, but they were trapped for two days, and Agatha implies it not going off was Wanda’s doing, believing her to be a witch like herself.

They move onto a HYDRA testing chamber, where teenage volunteer-Wanda stands near the sceptre from The Avengers, the one Thanos gave to Loki, the one containing the Mind Stone. She moves toward it, and the sceptre’s blue orb breaks from the handle; floats towards her. She touches it, and it bursts, revealing the yellow Mind Stone inside, and letting out a kind of wind blast. In the light, Wanda sees a silhouette reminiscent of the original Scarlet Witch design.

They take Wanda to isolation, and we watch some scientist replay the tape from the testing chamber, but in the footage, the orb doesn’t move; she moves to the room’s centre, then it cuts to her lying on the ground.

Agatha concludes that the Mind Stone amplified a dormant power, and they move to a memory of the Avengers compound post-Avengers: Age of Ultron. Past-Wanda is grieving for Pietro, Vision enters her room, and she invites him to sit. They discuss the comedy on her TV, then he asks if she wants to talk about her grief, and she describes it as ‘this wave washing over [her], again and again. It knocks [her] down, and when [she tries] to stand up, it just comes for [her] again.’ Vision tries to reassure her, then says the thing that everyone’s been quoting but hit me hard: ‘But what is grief, if not love persevering?’

Agatha asks present-Wanda what happened when there was no-one there to pull her back from the dark, and when Wanda refuses, she presses. They shift into the SWORD compound, where past-Wanda approaches the desk demanding to be given Vision’s body post-Avengers: Endgame. This is the point from the CCTV Hayward showed Monica, Darcy, and Jimmy, claiming Wanda stole Vision’s body.

The receptionist calls somebody, and sends her down the hall, and I can’t help but notice that in her grief, in her hoodie and jeans, her hair is perfectly curled. She goes to Hayward’s office, who takes her into a windowed chamber, beneath which she can see mechanics/engineers doing something to Vision’s body, colour faded and parts broken up. The eyes in his severed head are white, and Wanda is upset, but Hayward questions why she wants to bury him, when she has the power to ‘bring [her] soulmate back online.’ But Wanda says she can’t do it, like when she refused to bring back Sparky, and Hayward tells her his materials are too valuable to just be buried, but offers her the chance to say goodbye. He tells her Vision isn’t hers, and she shatters the glass; lowers herself into the room.

Hayward calls off the guards who raise their guns at her. She lifts her power to his head, where the mind stone was: ‘I can’t feel you,’ reminiscent of the I just feel you, in Avengers: Infinity War, when the Stone bothered him in the night in Scotland. And she leaves, without the body, proving to the audience that Hayward is a liar.

Wanda drives to Westview, real Westview, where she watches the people go about their regular lives, but they seem sad. They all seem sad. She drives to a plot, the outline of a house marked by a concrete foundation, holding a piece of paper from an envelope in the car. She unfolds it to find a plan for the house: To grow old in. -V. Wanda breaks down in what is presumably the plot she turned into their house in the Hex, and her power explodes from her, in huge gusts we’ve never seen. The house forms itself, then it goes further, transforming the town and turning it to monochrome in preparation for WandaVision episode one.

Streams of power turn gold in the air, and form the silhouette of a body, which solidifies into Vision, black and white Vision, dressed in 50s clothes. Wanda remains in colour, in her regular clothes, then she turns to monochrome, to her 50s outfit, and Vision greets her. And despite the seriousness of this scene I can’t get over the damn bullet bra.

And the pair sit down to watch the television, then the surroundings shift, and we see present-Wanda in her 2000s living room, but in a set, with empty seats for a live audience before her. Agatha claps from them, then vanishes. We hear the twins yell, and Wanda comes outside to find Agatha magically garrotting them, dressed in full-witchy attire.

Agatha describes Wanda as ‘a being capable of spontaneous creation’, calls it chaos magic--’And that makes you the Scarlet Witch.’ I feel like I ought to say roll credits, only that’s not even the name of the show. Before WandaVision’s title was officially announced, I remember seeing speculation that it would simply be called Vision and the Scarlet Witch, like Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

The credits roll, and, halfway through, we cut to Hayward and SWORD outside the Hex. Hayward goes into a tent, describes all their hard work at something, ‘but all we needed was a little energy directly from the source;’ and we’re shown the missile Wanda dragged out of the Hex in episode 5, glowing red. Someone flips a switch, and we watch lights turn on in a glass chamber, containing Vision, rendered in pure white, who wakes up. Another Vision, made from the original, and yet before this episode, due to the constant thing about twins, people were speculating there were two Wandas. Wrong character, right idea.

This is my favourite episode in the show: it’s magical, and it makes everything make so much more sense. We see that the Hex’s creation was an accident, but Wanda was ‘making it up as [she went] along,’ like the theme song in, I believe, episode 5. I just love origin stories.

Episode Nine: ‘The Series Finale’ This finale was released on March 5th, with a grand total of 49 minutes of runtime, and, epic as it was, I found it to be rather disappointing, following a fairly typical Marvel formula, compared to the originality of the rest of the series. Granted, parts of this episode in particular were shot in 2020, so they didn’t quite go as planned, but still. The CGI is excellent though.

We open to exactly where we left off; Wanda frees the twins and sends them inside, then sends a blast at Agatha, who absorbs it-- ‘I take power from the undeserving. It’s kinda my thing’--and Wanda’s hand begins to blacken. Agatha offers her Westview in return for her magic, which Wanda obviously doesn’t accept. White Vision lands behind her, and she goes to him, confused. He places his hands on her face, but presses, trying to crack her skull, and it becomes clear he is doing Hayward’s bidding.

In sweeps Wanda’s Westview-Vision (who we’ll call Red Vision) and blasts White Vision away. The two swoop off together for their own fight, Wanda flies after Agatha, and we see Monica locked in a messy living room with Fietro, where she has presumably been since the end of episode 7.

The Visions fight each other, in that classic Marvel way of pitting the hero against a villain with an identical skillset (I’m looking at you, Iron Man, The Incredible Hulk, and basically every other movie. Seriously, Marvel needs to make more villains like Loki, instead of introducing them at the start of a film and having them somehow taken out of the equation by the end). It’s a cool sequence, as they phase through each other and plummet up and down. I love flying sequences.

At SWORD, Jimmy calls out Hayward, saying he won’t be able to cover this out, but Hayward says Wanda stopped her show, so there’s no evidence, and there’ll only be one Vision by the end, who people will assume Wanda resurrected. But Jimmy says he has called some friends from Quantico--whatever that is--to expose Hayward, who handcuffs him, but Jimmy is a magician, so he frees himself and actually calls somebody to apprehend Hayward.

Wanda arrives in the town square, to no sign of Agatha, and is then blasted to the ground by her from behind. Agatha summons a book we saw in her basement: ‘The Scarlet Witch is not born, she is formed. She has no coven, no need for incantation. [Her] power exceeds that of the Sorcerer Supreme��--Doctor Strange--’It’s [her] destiny to destroy the world.’ But Wanda denies that she is a witch. Agatha casts a spell on Dottie from episode 2, apparently bringing her back to consciousness. She tells Wanda her name is Sarah, and begs her to let her bring her daughter out of her room. Wanda accuses Agatha, who replies, ‘She’s your meat puppet. I just cut her strings.’ I just love that line, for some reason.

Agatha casts another spell, and everyone in the square returns to their senses, approaches and surrounds Wanda.

Monica finds a document in the room with Fietro, that says his name is Ralph Bohner. This was incredibly unsatisfying to me--it’s interesting that Fietro is actually the Ralph Agnes constantly mentioned, but nothing else comes of this, and, as of the end of the series, Pietro and his changed face are simply an elaborate boner joke. I wish his face had some kind of relevance as of now, but it may become relevant in Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, because that’s obviously where we’re really going to delve into the multiverse, and it features Wanda, so it would make sense.

Monica pins down Ralph and tears a string of beads from his neck, which glowed purple; the thing allowing Agatha to control him.

In the twins’ room, Billy has a vision (heh) of what is happening with Wanda, and they run outside.

The people around Wanda bombard her with their real stories, their real problems. ‘When you let us sleep, we have your nightmares.’ She yells that she’s kept these people safe, but they beg to be freed, and the noise builds, until Wanda screams, with a burst of power that toes ropes around their necks, suffocating them, but she stops it. Mrs Hart begs her, ‘If you won’t let us go, just let us die.’ Agatha taunts her that heroes don’t torture people, and she sends out a blast of power, that highlights the Hex’s border crimson, and it begins to break apart. She tells them all to leave now.

His white counterpart blasts Red vision to the ground, near Wanda but he begins to break apart. The twins arrive, and begin to break apart, tied to the Hex. It looks weirdly like a LEGO advert, but Wanda recloses to Hex to save them. You know, what? I’m still not sure why it’s hexagonal. I wouldn’t question it being round, or quadrilateral, but hexagonal seems too intentional.

Agatha blasts the family with magic, and Wanda shields them, but Agatha absorbs the power. SWORD vehicles roll into the square, hayward in one, having apparently managed to cross the border before Wanda closed it again. White Vision rolls into the scene and slams Red Vision through the walls of and into a library, and Red stops White attacking him by explaining that he is not the true Vision, because he’s just Wanda’s version.

Wanda flies up, again after Agatha, while the twins use their powers to take away SWORD’s guns, and Hayward comes out with a pistol, which he fires at them, but Monica, having freed herself from Ralph, blocks the bullets. They ripple through her body, and pass through, but fall to the ground as her eyes glow orange. As Hayward drives back, then revs up to apparently run them over, Darcy, in the circus van, slams his vehicle into the side of a building.

We cut to the Vision’s pondering the Ship of Theseus--a philosophical thought experiment. If the Ship of Theseus has one of its planks replaced, it remains the Ship of Theseus. But, if all the planks are replaced over time, is it still the same ship? And what if the old planks are reassembled into another ship; which is then the true ship? This is a metaphor for the two Vision’s--White being the reassembly of the old planks, and Red being the replaced.

Red Vision proposes that the true ship is the one touched by Theseus himself, with the wear and tear, suggesting White Vision is the true one, because he has the memories Red doesn’t; the one touched by Wanda. White Vision claims he does not have the memories, but Red tells him his data banks are not so easily wiped--they’re there, just withheld. White allows Red to do his zappy thing, and the memories of everything Vision went through pre-WandaVision comes back to him. White says he is the true Vision, and flies away through the roof.

Meanwhile, Wanda sneaks up behind Agnes and does the nightmare-mind thing she did to the Avengers at the beginning of Avengers: Age of Ultron, sending her mind to the stake at the opening of episode 8. The desiccated witches rise, but instead turn on Wanda, calling her a witch, again, and again. The witches wrest Wanda onto the stake instead, but a red crown, like the blue on Agatha’s mother in episode 8, materialises on her head, formed of the same light as her magic. It’s really jarring at this point that she’s still in a hoodie and sweatpants.

Wanda blasts away the other witches, and they emerge from the nightmare, back to Westview. She and Agatha rise, blast magic at one another, and Wanda’s hands blacken further as Agatha absorbs more and more. She sends a blast at one of Westview’s walls, and a spot ripples in the middle of each.

Wanda’s face seems to age, like the witches of Agatha’s coven, and Agatha absorbs streams of magic, until Wanda has none left. She gives her some depressing lecture, then tries to blast Wanda out of the sky, but it doesn’t work. Her hands begin to blacken, and Wanda’s face youthens, then the camera pans to reveal runes on Westview’s walls, like those in the basement, now disabling Agatha’s magic. Little confused how Wanda stayed flying when Agatha took her power, and how Agatha now stays flying.

The red crown reappears on Wanda’s head, her eyes glow, she reabsorbs her power from Agatha, and, as she does, she changes. Her hair comes down, and she becomes the silhouette she saw in the Mind Stone at HYDRA, finally getting a Scarlet Witch costume, and it is epic.

They return to the ground, and Wanda uses her powers to put Agatha under the control she had the other residents under, to turn her into the Nosy Neighbour once and for all. Wanda leaves Agatha alive, so she could return in future instalments,.

Wanda, Red Vision, and the twins return to their home, and the Hex’s border contracts, until it covers only their street. They put the boys to bed, and Vision begins, ‘Your mother and I...’, and, when I first watched this, I really thought he was going to say ‘...are getting a divorce,’ but he simply finishes, ‘...are very proud of you both.’

Wanda says that ‘a family is forever,’ clearly already in mourning for the children she’s about to lose. They finish up, the border continues contracting, and Wanda turns off the lamps in the living room, though Vision turns one on, to say goodbye. As the border progresses towards them, Vision asks what he is, and says some literal and romantic crap; they kiss, talk a little, and he breaks apart as the border reaches them, and the house returns to the empty plot it once was.

Wanda is left standing exactly how she was before she formed the Hex, same hair, same clothes, puts up her hood, and walks into town. where the people glare as she approaches Monica, who says, ‘They’ll never know what you sacrificed for them.’ They have a classic series-wrap-up conversation, then Wanda shifts into her Scarlet Witch outfit, and flies away.

Mid-credits scene; we see Jimmy just after the debrief, Hayward is put in handcuffs, and Monica is called into the theatre, where she meets someone wearing a police badge, who shifts into a skrull. The skrull says a friend of Monica’s mother’s would like to meet with her, presumably Talos, and when Monica asks where, she just points up.

And an end-credits scene opens in a pan shot, zooming to a cabin by a lake in the woods, where Wanda, dressed in sweats, sits on the porch with a mug. We follow her inside as the kettle whistles, but the camera continues into the bedroom, where her astral form sits, dressed as the Scarlet Witch, with the Darkhold, the book Agatha had. When we see Doctor Strange astral-project, his body falls unconscious, and this truly proves the Scarlet Witch is more powerful than the Sorcerer Supreme, as aforementioned.

This series really solidified my love for Wanda and Vision--Wanda, who I liked before, but mostly because of her powers than her character, which lacked development, and Vision, who I kinda hated because of his moral-high-ground bullshit, but who I now love--brought back fan favourites Darcy Lewis and Jimmy Woo, and set up Monica’s future plotlines. In truth, I liked Agatha better before she went full-witch mode, but she was an enjoyable villain. Hayward, on the other hand, was someone easy to hate, but not to such a level it was fun to hate him.

Every episode kept me on my feet, and every week I screamed I couldn’t wait for another. Part of my love for this was because we’d had no MCU content since July 2019, with Spider-Man: Far From Home, but it was just such excellent storytelling. Though the climax was a little disappointing, it was still more entertaining than most action sequences, where things happen so quickly I just zone out, and the visuals were incredible. I loved the sitcoms, and the differentiation at the end. Episode 4 was the perfect time to finally give us some form of explanation.

Basically, watch this damn show. Though I’d be surprised if you got this far without watching it. Watch it, make everyone else watch it, and, writers, take notes. The best stories are the ones with excellent characters and an excellent plot, and WandaVision mastered it.

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journeymanwithpen · 4 years

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A Story of Split

I recently visited Split, Croatia. It's steeped in history. Wherever you turn, you’re mired in it. When you lean back in your chair in one of the numerous cafes of the old town, your shirt is brushing against 1700-year-old Roman wall. You sip your coffee and can almost hear in your mind the banter of legionnaires who leaned against this same wall with cups of wine during the break from duty. Houses of the downtown Split sprout like unruly hair from within the Roman limestone walls dating from 3rd century A.D. The city’s Cathedral of St. Domnius is consecrated in 7th century. The black granite sphinx guarding the front entrance to the cathedral is estimated to be from 15th century B.C. It is no wonder then that an aspiring scribe who finds himself walking the cobblestone streets of ancient times can’t stop imagination from running wildly back through centuries. Allow me to take you through the time to the very beginning of Split:

The year is 260. We are standing at the seashore in Aspàlathos, a Greek trading outpost in a charming bay on the central coast of Dalmatia. Several ships are tied to the shore, their sails folded like the wings of seagulls lining their masts and the shore. Slaves and sailors bustle over gangplanks, unloading ships and loading the others. At our back, the habitat is not much to look at, just a few rows of stone houses stretching along the shore. Most of them have dual function, as a warehouse and an abode. People who own them are from the Greek colony of Issa on the island of Vis. It’s about half a day sail south-southwest from here. Aspàlathos was built for one purpose: trade. It's trading with Dalmatae and other Illyrian tribes inhabiting the coast and hinterland of the Balkans, and with Romans from Salona, a metropolis of 60,000 souls, the Roman capital of the province of Dalmatia, and a cultural, political and commercial center of the region. It sits less than two-hour walk, or half an hour on a fast horse from Aspàlathos.

Next to us stands a lanky youth. His shoulders are wide and long muscles are taught from military training. His hair is cropped short, revealing high brow and sharp features. He wears a legionnaire's uniform, with leather-strap sandals instead of boots, common for legionnaires on those warm days of spring. He gazes into the distance, dreaming of faraway places, dreaming of seeing Rome one day. He's only 16, eager to leave family's nest. Next to him stands a man with stooped shoulders holding his hands behind his back. Man's fingers are smeared with ink, an unmistakable mark of a scribe. His squints at the youth.

"Diocles, my son," the man speaks, "go with fortune and may Jupiter keep you safe and return you to us. When you can, send us a word, so that we know you're alive and well." The man places a hand on Diocles's shoulder and the youth turns to meet his eyes.

"Remember," the man continues, "when you tire of marching and battles, your home will wait for you. You won't find a better place to rest than this." The man swipes an arm wide over the peaceful bay, the village and rolling green hills behind it.

Diocles smiles at the man. "I know, father. Thank you. It's time to go back to my legion."

They clasp forearms for a long moment, eyes locked on each other's. Then Diocles breaks the hold and walks with long, impatient strides north, across the hills, toward Salona and its garrison. His father returns to the house which is also his office. A scribe is an important part of every trade, the hand that writes contracts, permits, receipts and counts coins. Unfortunately, most of those coins are transferred from one client to another, from a buyer to a seller. A pay for scribe's services will not build him a palace. Diocles's father is doing alright, keeping his family well fed and clothed, with solid roof over their head, and a nice little farm where his wife tends to her cabbages which grow so well in this weather. He hoped to pass all this to Diocles one day, but the youth is eager to see the world, as young men often are. And what better way to do it, but with the mightiest army of the time: Roman legions.

Thirty-five years later, in 295 A.D., the youth who is now a man of over 50, returns to the bay of his youth. He observes the works started to build a large structure that will stretch from the seashore and climb the gentle slope of the hill. His name has changed, as is his appearance; he is stockier now, almost stout. His chestnut hair, streaked with grey throughout, recedes further from his brow, and his jaw and face are covered by neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and moustache. A toga picta died Tyrian purple was draped over his shoulders, marking his stature. He is Gaius Aurelius Valerius Diocletianus, or Diocletian, the emperor of the Roman Empire. The structure whose foundations are just being built is going to be known as Diocletian's Palace.

In the year 305 A.D. Imperator Caesar Gaius Aurelius Valerius Diocletianus - Diocletian for short - took his stroll along the raised promenade atop the southern wall of his new home. Flowerbeds and trees lined the promenade on both sides to offer the emperor shade from the scorching Adriatic sun. A few marble benches were placed in regular intervals to allow a breathtaking view over the Brettia channel at the islands Brettia (today's Brač) and Solentium (today's Šolta). The emperor moved with shuffling steps, leaning on a cane for support. He was gaunt, his cheeks were hollowed, his shoulders stooped and boney. His skin was grey and a size too large for a man he became. Diocletian was fighting an ailment for over a year, a mysterious illness that almost killed him. It left him emaciated and weak. Next to Diocletian walked a stout man with powerful if somewhat stooped shoulders and strong arms clasped leisurely behind his back. He had open round face with eyes perpetually half-closed and eyebrows that climbed a touch too high, giving him a disbelieving, inquisitive expression. The lower half of his face was obscured in bushy dark hair which greyed at the sides, trimmed to follow the line of a strong jaw. His meaty lips were slightly downturned as if in disapproval. He was Maximian Herculius, co-emperor and Diocletian's partner in ruling the empire that grew too big for a single person to rule over. When Diocletian was confirmed as the emperor of Rome, he turned east to secure the eastern borders of the empire. He soon realized that the news from the Gaul and western borders of the empire travelled too long and his imperial decisions and decrees weren't reaching the west in time. To remedy it, Diocletian elevated his friend Maximian to Cesar, and soon after Augustus, making him equal in status, an emperor in the west, although Diocletian's seniority gave him the upper hand in decision-making. The two worked well together, Maximian's military brawn complemented Diocletian's political wisdom and the alliance born of friendship lasted throughout the twenty years of their rein.

Reaching the bench, Diocletian gingerly lowered himself on it and lifted his face toward the healing warmth of Dalmatian sun. The almost forgotten scent of the homeland wafted to his nostrils.

"I think, my friend, that I can get easily used to retirement," he smiled. "I already feel better."

"You'll miss the action when your strength returns," Maximian grunted in response. "Is your wife joining you?"

Diocletian shook his head. "Prisca is staying in Thessalonica with Galerius and Valeria. She may come when my strength returns."

Galerius was Diocletian son-in-law and successor, the Cesar in the East. His wife - Diocletian's daughter Valeria asked her mother Prisca to stay with them.

"Come Maximian," Diocletian reached his hands to his friend who helped him stand up - "let me show you the gardens. I'm going to grow cabbage here, the way my family did." They walked on to the colonnaded gardens accessible from the promenade.

Diocletian's failing health made the other emperors of the tetrarchy convince him and Maximian to retire. Weakened by disease, Diocletian accepted without much objection. Maximian resisted at first, but Diocletian talked him into leaving the post to younger men. Not suffering idleness well, Maximian sailed to visit his friend's retirement home.

It was an imposing fortress built at the place Diocletian called home so many decades earlier. An impressive walled compound had 16 watchtowers along east, west and north land-facing walls. The only unfortified wall was the southern wall, built on the edge of the sea. Its only opening was a small landing for the imperial galley and supply ships. The walls were built of large limestone blocks. An arcaded gallery bearing the tree-lined promenade stretched along the south wall. The imperial palace with private living quarters and audience hall covered the south half of the fortress. A Peristyle with a balcony from which the emperor greeted his subjects was the very center of the compound. The west side of the Peristyle housed the temple of Jupiter with gardens built for worshipers. The emperor attended the round temple of Jupiter on the east side of the square. The main streets traversing the fortress from east to west and north, met at the forum on the north edge of the Peristyle. The north half of the compound held twin military garrisons for the emperor's legions.

Upon Diocletian's death in 312 A.D., the palace was reclaimed as a property of Roman Republic, and was used as a refuge for exiled dignitaries and deposed rulers. In 7th century A.D. the Roman metropolis of Salona was sacked and destroyed by invading Slavs. Refugees fled from the ruins of the city to find refuge within Spalato's fortified walls. Once luxurious palace and garrison compound was taken down. Its stones were used to build many smaller houses. With time, the willy-nilly building continued outside the Roman walls, under different rulers. Venetians built another set of walls to protect the city from the Croatian-Hungarian and later Ottoman threat. Parts of the wall, as well as "Mletačka kula" (The Venetian Tower) have grown into the tissue of modern days Split.

#writing #amwriting #history #historical fiction #travel #split #spalato #croatia #roman empire #diocletian #ancient

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syms-things-5 · 4 years

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Clear The Area

Warning: Not explicit (yet); some mild language. This has been quite cathartic in a way.

Summary: 29-year-old nurse Sarah Bernette has worked hard to get where she is. Moving to Boston from a nowhere dump of a town, she’s studied hard and is grateful her stress is finally paying off. Despite being fostered repeatedly throughout her childhood, she’s since found some comfort in the form of her adopted parents, Jocelyn and Noah, and a pseudo-adoptive family of sorts in form of the Evans clan who have treated her as one of her own ever since she moved in with best friend, Shanna. Valuing them above all else, she appreciates their support even more when her long lost birth mother decides to reappear in her life after so many years, and is surprised to find out just how supportive Chris is in particular. As she struggles to maintain a firm grip on both her professional and private lives, she finds an ill-advised solace in her growing mutual attraction with him but how long before everything unravels and threatens to pull the rug out from underneath her?

Note: I have two chapters written and will post ‘Chapter Two’ at some point this weekend to get things moving. I apologise for my spelling/grammar errors. Let me know if there is something wildly incorrect here and I’ll change it. Still figuring out a few things and I expect this will be a slow burn but it’s exciting to finally get off my arse and…sit down and write.

CHAPTER ONE

Today was probably a 4 out of 10.

4.5 if she was feeling generous.

Sarah thought about the decisions she had made in the past decade that lead her right to this moment, this moment being cleaning neon-coloured vomit off her scrubs for the second time in the past hour.

“You would think people would have learned downing shots of Absinthe was not a great idea by the time they’d left their teens,” snickered Audrey before shooting her a sympathetic look and handing over another wipe. “I can’t believe how green it was. It looks like you got punked by the Marshmallow Man!”

“Thanks for that.” Sarah was scrubbing as hard as she could while internally questioning her decision to pursue Nursing all those years ago. Her History teacher once told her she could have “a decent stab” at becoming a Middle School teacher if she applied herself right. Right now, she could be knee-deep in teaching half-interested kids about the 27 Amendments without an ounce of sick in sight. Instead, she was baffled. “Fuck. It’s practically luminous…”

This must have been payback for pushing herself as a teenager. Being fostered in and out of care homes during your formative years could turn you one way or the other, and Sarah chose “the other”. She was sure the universe was telling her she should have stayed put and been happy with her lot in life, in her too-small town with no feasible job prospects, where everyone knew you and held that against you, instead of moving halfway across the country with next to no money to study at a University she couldn’t afford and would most likely be in debt to for the next twenty years. Now, however, she got to convince local drunks that climbing on to roofs was, in fact, not a great idea despite the bet they had made with their “friends”. On a good day, she got to help children pick out the colours for their plaster casts.

Or take today. Today, she got to lecture a group of young people about the trials and tribulations of playing “run the bus” with 60% proof. Every day was just a little bit different so as to keep things interesting. That, she reminded herself, was something she had to remain glad about.

She sighed and threw the last wipe in the bin. Taking a last look in the mirror, she turned to her friend for reassurance that she looked at least passable. She caught her frown before Audrey realised Sarah could see her and quickly gave her a thumbs up. She did love her Audrey which is why she decided to repay her kindness by forcing a hug on her as a thank you.

“Silver lining, though,” Audrey said, shoving her away, laughing in protest. “You’re lucky you didn’t get any in your hair.”

“Yeh bastards had a good aim at least.” Sarah dusted down her arms one last time to check for anything she might have missed and the two of them left the locker room. The place was now eerily quiet, thank god. Just run out the clock and they’d be home and dry in no time, figuratively speaking in Sarah’s case.

Audrey placed a comforting arm around her pal. “You want me to find some spare scrubs? I’m sure they’ll have some upstairs. It’ll only take a minute.”

“Nah it’s OK. I’ll be done in 20. Just gotta sign Mr. Richardson out from cubicle 5 then I’ll run home and shower.”

“OK, well, if you have to hang around, avoid triage because you-know-who is there and I don’t want you ruining your chances again.” Audrey pinched Sarah on her hip and headed back to her work.

You-know-who was Greg Anderson, an attractive 30-something medic from a hospital on the other side of town. He was up-and-coming in Paediatrics apparently and had been shadowing a Consultant for the past few weeks. He was 6ft plus with dark hair and brown eyes and his father was something big in Economics in MIT. He drove a Porsche and wore Louboutin’s on his rounds which had Audrey practically foaming at the mouth. Indeed, he hadn’t bypassed the attentions of the majority of females in the ER, as well as a few men and even a couple of patients but as always, Sarah was solely focussed on the job at hand to pay him any heed. Audrey thought she caught him staring at her the other week, though, and made it her mission to set them up. She took great pride in playing matchmaker for her friend given that she herself got locked down nine years earlier and “it’s a damn shame to let these skills go to waste.’ She had somehow also managed to get Shan and Lisa onside, too, however that had happened.

Greg was handsome, she’d agree with that, and definitely her type in the right light but something was a little too Republican for her liking. Plus, he was a Rangers’ fan and Sarah swore blind early on in her life that she couldn’t bring children up in that kind of hostile environment. Sarah briefly contemplated walking past triage with the lingering scent now clinging to her clothes but as Audrey kindly repeated to her at regular intervals during the days, Greg was her only realistic prospect right now and figured it was perhaps better to keep her options open, at least for the time being.

Mr. Richardson was gone pretty soon afterwards and, accepting defeat for another day, Sarah grabbed her bag and headed home.

There was definitely beer left in the fridge, she was sure of it. She’d bought a six-pack at the weekend and could only remember drinking two during the Bruins’ game, so…

“Oh yeh, you’re out of beer.”

Sarah turned around from the fridge to face a sheepish looking Chris holding the last frosted bottle in his hand, his ball cap low over his face attempting to hide the faint black circles under both his eyes. There was a 5 o’clock shadow forming now he wasn’t required to shave. As drained as she was, she briefly contemplated wrestling him to the ground for that last swig. He looked just as tired. She figured she could take him. At least he had the decency to look guilty about it.

“I’ll run out and get you some if you…Jesus! Why do you smell like a brewery?!” He practically recoiled holding his free hand to his nose.

Sarah rolled her eyes and grabbed a glass for some cold water instead. “Are you here to just annoy me or steal my beer as well?”

“Both now you ask but seriously, what have you been doing all day? You don’t usually smell this bad.” He joked.

“Oh, some kids took it in turns to throw up on me and I didn’t have any clean scrubs to change into.” She downed the water and went to fill the glass up again. God, she didn’t realise she was this dehydrated. Chris shot her a look of confusion. “It’s a long story. Is Shan around?” She shed herself of her scrub top and headed into her bedroom down the hallway, Chris casually following behind.

She had to pop out for something so I’m just handing here ‘til she gets back. You coming for dinner at Ma’s? She’s doing her famous lamb roast. Might wanna shower first, though.” He joked, playfully sticking his tongue out at her.

“God, I forgot how hilarious you are.” she overtly rolled her eyes at him. “No, I’m good. Just gonna head for an early night, I think.”

“OK, well, if you change your mind, we’re leaving in half an hour. You know she’ll make me drive back to get you otherwise.”

That was true. For as long as she’d known and lived with Shanna, Lisa had treated her like any other member of her family and Sarah had never fully grasped how much she had appreciated it, coming from where she did. Lisa knew Sarah’s folks weren’t as close by any more and compensated for this by inviting to every dinner night she held, every games night, school events, theatre events, and more besides. She spent Christmases with them, visited Disney with them, and had New Years with them on occasions she wasn’t working. Lisa even organised a surprise birthday get-together for her as well despite Shan’s protests that she wasn’t a birthday kind of person. Sarah had learned to stop feeling awkward or out of place soon after.

Once Shan told Lisa Sarah had wanted to start learning to play piano as a new year’s resolution, Lisa had insisted she could teach her whenever she had some spare time. There soon after followed afternoons of tea and gossip and not much playing of the piano but it felt comfortable and nice for the first time in a long time. Shan would make excuses so Sarah didn’t feel obligated to attend everything but in truth, she didn’t mind so much. It was nice to feel wanted.

Chris was lounging on her armchair with one leg over the armrest, messing on his phone. Sarah could count the number of times on one hand the nights he had spent in his own place since returning to Boston a fortnight ago. As true as it was that he rarely spoke about filming in any great detail, she could nevertheless tell he’d been left particularly drained by this particular experience and wasn’t looking forward to the reshoots scheduled for next month. There had been a rumour he’d started sleeping with his married co-star and she guessed Lisa had been mithering him about it hence him turning up on their doorstep last week. Other than one night back in his own bed, he had remained on their sofa ever since, clearly relishing in the familiar company.

“So what made those kids throw up?” Chris called out, still engrossed in his phone. A quick glance over his shoulder told her he’d been ignoring someone’s text messages.

By now Sarah was in her old yet comfy sweatpants and a Boston hoodie Shan had bought her as an anniversary present of her 5th year living there. “Um, Absinthe. The nasty kind.” She was gathering her washing together.

Chris whistled low through his teeth, a kind of “been there, done that”.

“Rookie mistake.“ he laughed to himself. He frowned at his phone before chucking it onto her bed and turned around in her chair to plant both feet on the carpet, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. He looked like he wanted to get something off his chest but was struggling to find the words. He was reluctant to drag Sarah into anything given how exhausted she looked. Despite their differences in careers, sometimes it felt like she was the only person he knew who could understand how long and tiresome the days could get. Then he would inevitably feel embarrassed he was out there only pretending to save lives when she was out there day after day actually living it for real in all of its bloody glory. And for a tiny fraction of his pay. He tried not to water than thought too much.

“I take it you know,” he asked quietly, still not looking up from her bedroom floor.

“Know what?”

“About Jenny?”

“Oh,” she paused for a brief second. He’d know straight away she was lying if she tried to play dumb. “I mean your mom might have mentioned something in passing,” she shrugged unconvincingly. He scoffed knowing she would have talk about nothing else since the rumours started gathering pace online. He knew he hadn’t done himself any favours by avoiding the conversation either but he simply couldn’t stand another lecture of disapproving look. Dinner tonight was to be his mea culpa.

Sarah was thankful when she heard the front door go and then the sound of Shan dropping her bags in the kitchen and heading towards Sarah’s room.

“I signed for this for you this morning while you were out.” she handed Sarah a brown envelope before turning to Chris with a hand on her hip, looking like she was scolding her 7-year old nephew. “Mom’s been trying to get hold of you all day. She wasn’t sure if she needed to lay an extra seat for you this evening. Sarah, she wanted me to make sure I couldn’t persuade you to come as well?” Sarah shook her head and held up her stained clothes and enjoyed Shan’s visible flinch.

“I’m not even going to ask.” She held her hands up and walked out. Chris rolled his eyes in mock imitation of Shan and Sarah smiled sympathetically, mouthing a “good luck” to him as he left trailing behind her.

Sarah was left looking down at the envelope in her hands. It looked very official; the kind you would receive if you’d been summoned to a court hearing or Jury Duty. She didn’t recognise the address or the stamp but recognised her home town almost straight away. It had been years since she’d been there. Why the hell were they dragging her back now?

#Chris Evans #Sarah Bernette #Chris Fic #Fan Fiction #Clear The Area #chris evans x original female character #Syms Writing

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