#is this what finally breaks me free from twitter dot hell

[dreadofthegrave]

very extremely bold of melon husk to assume i will not just simply stop looking at his website if he keeps me from doing so. i aint paying for that

[im-thinking-arson]

Hi wow depression is a hell of a thing.

I'm sorry for the relative silence here, considering everything that has been going on in the last (roughly) year and a half it has been really hard to focus on any creative outlets. Everything has felt pretty heavy as I have been piecing together what exactly happened to myself and the people I used to share a community with.

Although my former FC is basically non-existent at this point, I feel it is appropriate to say that I no longer associate with its' leader @morganaux (sernoudenet on Twitter and formerly here) and to clarify why.

I have been struggling with what to even say about the situation. There are so many layers that I don't honestly know if any single cross-section could explain all there is to unpack. When it takes multiple people six months to explore everything they know as fact... I think that shows its not so much of a 'he said, they said' scenario as the few people who still support Morgy have tried to claim.

I feel guilty not speaking up sooner, considering this person is a member of the FFXIV community who I'm fairly sure some of my mutuals follow. Its so hard to speak out when he publicly acts innocent, like he has quietly moved on and refuses to acknowledge what he's done.

The reality feels so cold in contrast, with the knowledge I have- that he has done this multiple times before, burning down or wearing down those he has hurt with false sincerity; claiming innocence, claiming people misunderstand the significance of the intentions behind the knives in their backs, claiming he is the truest victim of the mess wrought of his own actions.

He quietly retweets fan art, cute animals, head canons, and all kinds of fandom things- but also others' tweets to identify with their own traumas- the same traumatic thoughts and feelings he incites in others through a mixture of gaslighting, lashing out, and playing the victim. He tweets passive aggressively about people he feels the victim of, (justified or not) even amid posts about his dearly beloved OC.

At this point I should just block him and try to scrape all memory of what I went through from my mind, but un-fucking-fortunately I know him too well to believe it's over when it's over. He still makes passive aggressive tweets about people he hasn't talked to in one, two, ?? years, a person who was a good friend to him for 10 years before he scapegoated them to maintain his own sense of righteousness.

Seeing as I witnessed him maintain not one, not two, not three- FOUR venting channels in his own discord, including at one point one specifically made for sh*tting on a single person, defending it's use and encouraging others to participate saying 'this is how victims cope'...

I know it's not over, and if he had a single shred of...anything... He could leverage against me he would have already tried to 'cancel' me. I'm not turning my back again to see if he decides to throw another knife.

For a long time I wanted to believe I had simply misunderstood the situation, that his intentions weren't so self-serving. The more I saw, the more I heard testimony from others that matched my own, the more I began to un-repress and process my own memories and connect the dots... And the less sense his own account made.

While I tried to maintain my friendship with him I ignored all the red flags, my own rise in anxiety, the isolation I felt. I felt so much pressure to fit into his equation, to be a supportive friend, to keep track of how he was feeling that I stopped taking care of my own mental health.

All the while he got angry for people not checking on him when he asked for space, threw a fit when anyone failed to accommodate his whims, and even accused his three closest friends of purposefully excluding him by taking screenshots without him in them or even hanging out together when he was offline..

And he would have people believe that most of the issues he was involved in centered on his friends not communicating with him. But in my case at least, nothing could be further from the truth.

I told him I felt uncomfortable with the fact his (at the time) friend had publicly lashed out at me in his discord server for stating my opinion. He suggested I work harder to befriend this person, that he couldn't and wouldn't approach his friend about it because he wasn't a FC member and only there as a friend of himself and his two closest friends.

He lashed out at a former friend (and FC mate) of mine -on my behalf- because they wouldn't stop messaging me while I was at work... And when this person subsequently put me on blast thinking I had put him up to it I mentioned considering posting my side of the story- to initially be shamed (by the person mentioned above) for suggesting I protect myself, stating it could make things worse for the people who had already publicly attacked this person...

I approached him about another former friend of his angrily ranting about a character I had though at the time they knew I was planning to RP (I had spoken about it both in-game and in a discord we all shared) because I didn't know them well enough to feel comfortable saying that made me feel uncomfortable and unwelcome in the space. I approached my former friend because I knew from experience he took things like this seriously and he was the one who had invited this character TO role play in the first place.

He reacted by telling this person he had no idea why I was upset, asked them to address an issue they had no context for - prompting them to write an apology, and then reinforced their worry that I hated them by saying I "probably disliked them since [I] hadn't written them an apology" in return. I had thought they both wanted to drop the subject because he stopped responding about the situation.

He decided the situation was resolved and kept inviting us around one another for at least four months while keeping up the illusion that I disliked this person despite me trying to remain friendly- and said nothing about the situation until AFTER he had nuked his FC and almost everyone was done with his bullshit. I had asked him to be honest about the situation and finally got "[name] thinks you dislike him" ???

(I might add more details about these situations because it's honestly much more of a mess than it might seem, but I'd probably have to write a fucking book to explain everything well in-sequence of events.)

But those examples aside, I told him up front that the favoritism he showed and my concerns being glossed over was messing with my head, that I didn't know if I felt safe in his FC, that the whole situation was making me feel like I was losing my grip on reality, that at one point feeling like I was being discouraged from defending myself was beginning to make me feel su*cidal. These are things he knew.

He reacted to this ignoring both cause and effect, ignoring me unless I reached out first or it concerned RP, continually inviting me to hang out with people he knew I felt uncomfortable with (or vice versa) and normally turning down anything I invited him to do otherwise- including several times that I offered to help him with Eden or dungeons he wanted to farm when he previously said he was free to do so. A couple of times he declined saying he was waiting to see if he could convince another friend... and then threw a fit about 'no one wanting to help him' despite declining my offer and not reaching out to me after his other friend declined (I was still online but he decided to vent on discord instead).

Behind my back he talked shit about me, enough that someone who had known him 10 years and was familiar with his behavioral patterns qualified it 'constant' bashing, whenever I came up in conversation. And even included confronting me about the three situations I mentioned above in a plan he was working on to 'fix' his FC, as if he thought I was reaching out to him to stir up drama.

Eventually it came out that the friend I mentioned in the first example was emotionally abusing his friends (and I found out later told him two of them were talking shit about him- prompting HIM to lash out at them). One of them mentioned that person had still been talking shit about me 6 months later on a private account and when I got upset that THREE people I had thought were my friends didn't tell me, I made a few jokes in poor taste (that I do now regret) about the situation to try and prevent myself from having a mental break down.

The person he led to believe I hated left the discord server at that point and he decided to divert some of the blame for (in his words) 'being worried for this person's life' -whom he had attacked over the situation- to me... blaming them leaving and him having trouble contacting them on me.

I told him if this former friend was indeed attacking people and he was so worried we needed to talk about the situation, since in other situations his response was to ignore the hurt caused. He blew up about me messaging him at work, he blamed me for every situation I had brought to his attention. He went to his mods to rant about me and sent one of them to scope out the situation in hopes they could shut me up.

This is the friend of 10 years, who quickly became concerned and not for the reasons he had hoped. They shared a few screenshots of things said to gaslight me behind my back as the conversation progressed. Eventually the other mod jumped in and, knowingly or not proceeded to gaslight me FOR him, based on what they were told. By him.

They reinforced everything he was saying in guise of a neutral perspective and my efforts to prevent a full-scale breakdown failed. I lost all grip on reality for several days- in which at some point I wrote an apology to him for accusing him of several things that were later proven true- and one thing he, himself, proved he'd lied about to the other person involved.

I spent almost two weeks in a self-imposed social break to sort everything out and attempt to cope with what I was told was reality. I fell into the deepest depression I've been in since I had to run away from home, and honestly if it wasn't for my wonderful SO and our house mates, I might have really hurt myself.

It turns out another situation had been brewing parallel to my own. People had been coming to the social mod, the friend of 10 years, with their own worries about him. Almost every. Single. Member. Including at least four people who came forward with fears that if they did a single thing that he interpreted as an insult or threat they would find themselves exiled, called out, and ranted about in a jumbled mix of truth and fictional-malice until their own friends turned on them to support his victim complex.

These four people came forward on the condition that their names be kept anonymous to protect their identity. He didn't take kindly to this, quickly demanding names so they (his mod team) could handle the situation. The mod refused, knowing he has a history of lashing out at any criticism against him and to protect those who were already afraid of bringing the problems up to Morgy.

He reacted by lashing out at this person, claiming they ruined his life, and attempting to weed out those who had spoken out against him by kicking anyone he didn't feel 'safe' being around from his FC. He posted a message in his FC discord about resuming his 'reign of terror'... Which, even if it was a joke, was in in poor taste after pruning his FC of anyone he didn't think could be convinced of his 'good intentions.'

I missed this first culling of his FC members, I assume, because I had apologized and at the time submitted to his version of events. He approached me soon after I noticed the changes in the discord and FC roster; claiming he really wanted to work things out and remain friends- going as far as to say he was so nervous about my reaction that he was shaking.

I wanted to take him at face value despite everything that happened because yeah, I did want to believe he was sincere, that he was a good friend, and that all of it had been an unfortunate misunderstanding. And at first I did until I started talking to other people who knew him and getting their side of the story. Nothing he said added up. Between first-hand testimony and over a hundred screenshots from multiple people the ONLY things that were clear and consistent were that he lied and fit his narrative to whatever he wanted to achieve.

He tried to reduce conflict by omitting information, he controlled people's perception of one another by how he spoke about them and how close he let them to himself and others, he built a support group by polarizing his friends against his 'enemies' and if anyone had a problem with him... They were wrong, and got added to the pile of 'aggressors' he had accumulated over the years, to be bashed and spit on for years to come.

He may have sensed my change in opinion when I directly asked him to help me reach out to the person who thought I disliked them-  managed to come to an understanding and we mutually apologized for the situation... Without his meddling. Or maybe when he realized I was still on talking terms with the people he had lashed out at and directly asked him why he had kicked people who did absolutely nothing to him... Or it could be that I kept in contact with the person who 'ruined his life' by trying to protect his friends from him. I don't know.

While we were still talking he tried to identify with me and bond over the feeling of loosing the FC, a group of people that despite the anxiety, and pain I had felt in the environment he'd built I did deeply respect and care about... Despite the dissolution of that group and the abuse I suffered being -at the core- his own fault. He even went as far as to say my description of the PTSD and fear I was experiencing described exactly how he was feeling, too.

As our conversations further weighed on my mental health I had to take a break from interacting with him. I was honest again, with what I was told, what I knew, and asked him for honesty about the situation... What he had said about me behind my back and why because I wanted to hear it from him. I wanted to see if he would acknowledge the harm he caused both to me and the rest of the (former) FC.

He never did, and probably won't. He asked for some time to tend to his own stress levels and mental health and then blocked me on all social media and discord, and kicked me from his FC without ever making an effort to reach out.

Of the few people who are still close to him, one of them suggested that "maybe he just decided he didn't want to be friends anymore." But after him begging to have a conversation to iron out all the facts, claiming to be so anxious about such a conversation going well that he was 'shaking', admitting that what he did hurt people and that my being wary of him was understandable, asking me -directly- to let him know if he did anything 'shady', and stressing he REALLY wanted this conversation to take place when we were both able to handle it because of how important he felt it was...

I feel like its fair to say that him suddenly cutting off all contact isn't quite so simple. He could have done that at any point. Before pointedly ignoring my concerns, before gaslighting me, before blaming me for the results of his own actions, before accepting an apology for accusing him of things he did legitimately do, and certainly before directly telling me had no real problems with me, that he it was super important to him that we remain friends, and that I deserved his honesty.

I'm not going to try and tell anyone who they should be friends with or not. Frankly, people can change and in a lot of cases experiences with individuals will be different.

But on that same note, if I had known then what I know now I might have saved myself from roughly two years of anxiety and avoided the state of dissonance I now find myself in. I still have moments where I want to doubt the things I experienced first hand. My mind is still trying to repress my own memories to cope.

A part of me still cares about him despite everything because as far as I knew, he was my friend and I am still trying to reconcile what I found to be true.

At this point I feel like I should say please don't harass Morgy if you read this, but honestly? If you have any reason to hold him accountable go for it. He needs it. And if you have any gut feelings about him or anyone in his circle please listen to it. The few supporters he still has are willing to ignore anything he has done previous to the fall of his FC and have shown they are willing to debate and accuse people who speak out about legitimate concerns involving him.

If anyone has any questions I am willing to answer them and share the proof I have.

And in the off chance anyone wants to (further) argue with me about my experiences or whether or not I suffered enough to be considered a victim, please Google some images of a hand giving the middle finger. But if after that you still really want to play stupid games? I can find you some stupid prizes.

I don't owe him my silence. Or peace of mind. The only thing I owe him is to be as entirely, brutally, honest as possible given the information I have. I think it's a fair offer considering the mind-numbing volume of honesty he -still- owes all of us.

- - - - -

I may add more onto this. Unfortunately the entire situation is a lot more complex, but I wanted to get the backbone of my own experiences out there and there is so much bullshit it can't all be seen from any one direction. A lot of the circumstantial evidence loops back into other situations and makes it hard to comprehensively represent everything on any sort of singular timeline. As I said in the beginning there is a reason it took a small group 6 months to piece it together.

I am far from the only person hurt, and the entire situation was a mess with people feeling unnerved or pressured into going along with his agenda. For the most part now that I have more context I don't blame most of the people involved for their own actions. I fully support those who can't or won't come forward about the situation whether they just want out of his drama, or are afraid to come forward.

[corpsentry]

behind the taylor swift gundam was in fact another, smaller gundam: a brief inquiry into the events of june 2020

so back in june this year june and i got together and we made this motherfucker of a story with this motherfucker of a thread to keep track of it all. but you already know that! and i’ve already got one foot and three elbows in my grave, so i’ll spare you the long-winded stuff. you wanna know how i wrote 93,035 words in 4 weeks? i’ll tell you how i wrote 93,035 words in 4 weeks-

-by linking you guys to copies of my planning documents because i feel like those words speak louder than any words i can offer in the present day. these are long documents. but they are also historical artifacts. very interesting. very weird. very, uh, full of cussing. so anyway, here’s

BIG DADDY: THE ORIGINAL PLANNING DOCUMENT

for those, like me, who have no motivation left in life to do anything and rely on summaries from others to acquire new knowledge, it all started with a single line.

prince of a fallen kingdom atsumu tries to kill hinata but falls in love with him instead

june, april something, 2020

with that in mind i tested the concept out with a few paragraphs of text, which you can find at the bottom of the Big Daddy document in the graveyard segment, accidentally sold my soul to the image of hinata with epaulettes, and then worked backwards, structuring an entire plot around two images:

a) hinata getting the shit beat out of him, with snark b) hinata and atsumu dancing in an empty ballroom under the stars

if you want a betrayal, you have to have something worth losing. if you want to fall in love with someone you don’t know, you have to meet them. if you have to meet them, there has to be a reason for that meeting, and so somewhere in between atsumu became a sword instructor and hinata the prince with daddy issues. june and i used this method of glancing anxiously over your shoulder to see what you’d missed to fill out the blanks in the story, after which i tacked up a bunch of post-its, typed out the plot, consulted june, typed out the plot again, and then broke the characters down into a bunch of questions, like ‘what do they want?’ and ‘what do they have?’ and ‘what are they afraid of?’

with the plot more or less ironed out, i decided it was time to start writing, and then i decided that i was actually too scared to start writing after all, so instead i set a couple of timers using classroomtimers.com (15-20 minutes long) and i sat down and i wrote about the world that hinata and atsumu inhabited.

each warm-up was 300-500 words long, and for the first few days, i’d write one before getting into writing the story proper. later these evolved into simply picking a scene from the story and launching straight into it, which became useful for opening those scenes later when i got to them organically.

then i got lazy! so i stopped. but these shitty little exercises were really useful for me because, unfettered by plot, convention, or any kind of tradition hovering over my shoulder, i was able to fuck around loosely enough to realize what i wanted this story to be. it was a very contrived kind of trial-and-error, an exploration of the characters, the story, but most importantly, the tone.

RESEARCH, PLANNING, AND VICTORIAN BOUGIE FASHION

this is a loose map of the castle and Important Locations within it, which i drew up at the start so i could keep track of where everything was and how i could get my characters from point A to point B. i wanted the story to have Some kind of internal logic, you know, even if that logic amounted to ‘a compass would function normally in this world whereas kageyama tobio would not’.

99% of my planning and organizing within those five weeks took place in this lovely dotted cat journal which my sister gave me for my birthday and i repurposed into a metaphorical Diary of Suffering while working on juno. i used it for everything from keeping track of narrative threads to clothing consistency checks, but the main purpose was this: each day at about 10 pm i’d crack open the cat book to a fresh page, stamp the date and the day of suffering at the top, and then write down a list of things i wanted to write, address, or fix today. then i’d sit at my laptop and write like a madman until about 7 in the morning. with breaks, of course, for sitting in the bathroom and staring at the wall and sitting in the kitchen and staring at the wall, but mostly i was writing. and complaining about writing. you were there, you probably remember that.

anyway, here are some pages from the cat book.

aside from the fact that my handwriting is complete shit, you can see that i made zero effort for any of this to be presentable. it was mainly a way for me to keep track of my thoughts because i have the attention span of an ikea wardrobe and tend to forget things as soon as i think of them. the lack of structure also mirrored the way that i went about writing juno. while i did proceed, for the most part, in chronological order, i had a lot of weird and useless revelations during lunch, which by this point was happening around 2 am, and in the 5 minutes before the exhaustion finally hit and carried me down to hell. i changed A Lot. again, to understand exactly how much the story evolved from day one onwards, please consult the big daddy document.

in the meantime, here’s something else.

once june sent over hinata and atsumu’s character designs i sat down like the fucking fool i am and spent 2 hours poring over a document about victorian and other fashion movements of the past so i could assign a noun, adjective, and verb to each element of their outfits. i don’t know why i did this. i certainly could have not, but i attempted to make sense of their ‘fits from a logistical perspective and that went into the cat book too. everything went into the cat book. the cat book is a relic of the past now, stuffed with artifacts such as the birth of oikawa tooru, and also his demise.

MEDIUM DADDY: EDITING, PROOFREADING, AND CREEPY MURDER CATS

i finished writing on june 26th, 2020, approximately a month after i’d first started planning, somewhere around may 27th or 28th. at that point i had about 90,000 words’ worth of story and no sanity left whatsoever, so i took a day-long break to stare at a wall and listen to taylor swift’s enchanted on loop.

and then i made a new document, which you can look at using the link above, and i laid out everything i had to do. i’d discovered a fuck ton of plot inconsistencies and general errors while writing and lying awake in bed at 9 a.m., sleepless in seattle, and now that i was free of the demon egging me towards the first finish line, it was time to Deal with them. i speed-scrolled through the draft, which was 200+ pages compressed into one google doc, because i like to tempt god’s wrath, and fixed up all the plot issues over the course of a few days. this was the fun part.

the actual, hard editing was the extremely un-fun part. i reread the entire thing, paragraph by paragraph, line by damn line, from start to finish, paying especially close attention to awkward phrasing, incomplete dialogue, and moments which had fallen flat in my haste to get on to the next one. this was really fucking terrible. i spent more time lying facedown on the floor than actually editing anything, but after a long time (about a week), that, too was done.

SMALL DADDY: TITLES, SUMMARIES, AND GOOD FUCKING BYES

i spent a good eighty days thinking about the title, though hilariously enough we ended up with something that was a blend of our names. june + elmo = juno, which is, all things considered, pretty perfect, but the process of picking the title was Hell, and i Did Not Come Up With The Title until about 2 hours before posting. you can take a look at the haphazard clusterfuck of my title-selecting process in small daddy, which is linked above.

so the title was a last-minute choice. so was the summary. and the chapter divisions. and actually all the songs in the playlist for juno. the day we dropped juno onto planet earth like a newborn baby pitched out of the sky, i spent an hour hunched over my laptop, cutting my 213 page google doc into chapters based on nothing more than a Vibe. two days before that, i also attempted to voice-act the entirety of juno, an affair which ended at the 20,000 word mark with a sore throat and the kind of exhaustion one typically wants to sleep in a coffin for 23 years to get rid of. so in all honesty, i did very little editing, which is why there are definitely minor typos and/or mistakes hanging out somewhere on that chunky ao3 webpage. but whatever.

my attitude by july 5th (was it july 5th? or 4th? somewhere around there) was basically whatever. anything so i could get finish this damn thing, chuck it out of the window, and never see another google doc until the next century. i’ve been asked a few times how exactly i wrote at a rate of roughly 2000-3000 words per day for four weeks straight, and my answer has always been this: i died. what died, you ask? my soul. my spirit. my Will To Live. i’m a creature of fixations, and juno was my fixation for june. will i ever be able to do this again? would i recommend this experience to anyone? is god real? the answer to all of the above is probably no. juno was a fever dream, and so is my cat book. and so are all the lattes i had. and so was my 9 am to 4 pm sleep schedule.

but what we made is real. the research, oikawa tooru, the 4 am conversations in which i was like ‘how the fuck do i end this’ and june was like ‘jade proposal’ (the proposal was her idea. all rise for twitter user atsuhinas. she is the mastermind behind all of the Inch Resting moments in this story; i just flapped a korok leaf in her direction and made sure the air circulation was working properly) are real as fuck, and looking back, there’s a lot i’d change, but i’m lazy. and college is starting. and anyway, i did write 93,035 words in just under five weeks, four if you don’t count the week of Editing Hell, so i think that’s pretty cool.

thank you for reading this to the end, and for following us on our journey through the enigmatic taylor swift gundam fic which quite literally consumed my entire twitter account for the five weeks i spent working on it. retrospectively speaking i really was butt-obsessed so i am frankly incredibly impressed with everyone around me for putting up with a Husk of a Man for a month. thank you for doing that. thank you for indulging my vague tweeting, and our butterfly dns, and for reading 93 thousand words of gay fanfiction set in a high fantasy world with epaulettes and galettes. on behalf of june, once again, we are incredibly grateful for all your support.

if you have any questions about specific aspects of the writing process, or anything you’d like to know in general with reference to JUNO, feel free to drop me an ask through my tumblr inbox, or through my curiouscat over here. i’m aware i didn’t cover everything, but there’s frankly too much to put in a tumblr post without passing away somewhere around the 56% mark, so let me know what’s on your mind, and i’ll try to answer that to the best of my abilities. but anyway, before i go, here are some

TAKEAWAYS

one: don’t try to write 93,000 words in five weeks. seriously don’t fucking do it you will end up jittery and sleep-deprived and you will leave all your friends on read for a month. pace yourself. set realistic goals. you wrote 2k this week? that’s fantastic. you wrote 4k in a day? you absolute motherfucker. i hope you’re taking a long fucking break tomorrow. your story will not run away from you, but if you run too fast, you will get tired, and then you will pass away.

two: you don’t have to know everything about your story before you start writing. in fact if you have a single camera shot of two characters holding hands under a rose garden awning, i think that’s fucking wonderful. if you look at big daddy, you’ll realize that my initial plot draft, and all the ones following that, are not perfectly aligned with the final version of juno. i improvised over half of the scenes in this motherfucker, and to be completely honest, some of the improvised scenes were the best. fucking oikawa tooru was improvised out of nowhere. he only got written in way later, around chapter 8 or something, because i realized i needed a plot device and a source of information to keep the playing table from toppling over. i Sat Down one day and was like ‘okay, it’s time to write oikawa into the introduction. because he matters now. he didn’t matter last week but now he does, and soon he’s going to be the fulcrum of the entire story, because it’s like that with oikawa tooru’. it’s okay to change your mind halfway. it’s okay to go back and rewrite entire scenes or segments. it’s okay to highlight 4 pages of fresh, sentimental writing, and hit delete. writing is a fluid process, and you Will make discoveries as you progress through your story alongside your characters. be understanding of that iterative process. be kind to yourself.

three: You Are That Motherfucker. you, me, your dog, your dog’s friend, your dog’s enemy, all of us are that motherfucker. i never thought i’d be able to write anything longer than the great big map, which was a much simpler, linear story in which the other main character did not appear in the current timeline until like the eighth chapter. juno was different. juno was the motherfucker, and i was scared shitless of it, and to cope with that fear joked constantly while writing that it’d never see the light of day.

but it did. it was a rocky process, and i was awake for 48 hours after posting it because of the sheer adrenalin stuck in my skull, but i got through it. and i wouldn’t have been able to do it without june, who stepped in when i flopped over facedown on the floor and dragged me to my feet like the badass friend she is, and without everyone else in my life, who put up with me talking about The Thing that i couldn’t really talk about, but juno’s up there now. forever, or until the internet collapses and civilization goes extinct. and if the nineteen year old clown with the attention span of an ikea armchair and an a level certificate from hell wrote the 93,000 word long thing, so can you. i mean this completely unironically and with every ounce of genuine emotion i can summon from the cracked asshole of my heart.

writing is hard. writing is scary. writing is an investigation of the world around you and therefore, by extension, yourself, and that kind of honesty is freaky. it’s like going skinny-dipping next to the president’s mansion. who’s going to see you? what if they take a photo? what if you lose your spot at university?

but don’t think about that. our world is overrun with stories the way cereal bowls are full of cereal, but it’s those stories that keep us all sane in the disgusting day-to-day muck of reality, so think about your story. what’s haunting you today? what message do you want to leave printed in font size 666 comic sans across the southern hemisphere of the planet? what will you be tomorrow?

a writer. you’re going to be a motherfucking writer.

[split-n-splice]

A chapter in which Drakken is a purveyor of human suffering and Shego is a bad apple. owo

[Chapter Guide]

5. Enabler – 2

Shego couldn’t help scrutinizing the twitchy man as he pulled out a small leather-bound notebook from under his newspaper and flipped it open to a blank page. He held out an expectant hand, but she just stared at it suspiciously, her glower asking a question she didn’t have to say out loud, which he read even with his dorky magnifying goggles on.

“You’re getting an upgrade,” he claimed. It did little to alleviate her suspicions.

She was reluctant to humor him, but offered up a single glove nonetheless and watched him carefully. The curious man examined the meager article of clothing, looking it over inside and out. He hem-hawed.

From a distance, there was nothing unusual about her gloves – they were just gloves. She’d been heckled by villains before that they looked like dishwashing gloves. Shego knew her own gear well though, and knew they were more than what met the eye, as Dr. Drakken was surely finding out now as he studied the clusters of pin-holes dotting the hefty fabric, the palms and fingers laced with tiny eyelets. At a glance, the pattern might appear to be for grip, but Drakken wasn’t so quick to dismiss them.

“These holes, they’re for…breathability?” he guessed.

“Doy,” was as eloquent a confirmation as he was going to get. He was too distracted to snip at her for the attitude though, and her guard slowly lowered as she studied him. The thought of an upgrade was both tempting and laughable, but she wasn’t laughing. “The gloves hold me back. I don’t even know why I bother with them,” she admitted.

Demonstrating on impulse, she held both hands over the countertop, palm up, and watched as Dr. Drakken flinched back when they flared with her bubbling green plasma. The glow radiating from her covered hand was noticeably dampened, physically rather than drug-induced, by restricting the amount that could escape.

She wasn’t proud as she explained, “GJ designed them to keep me from going overboard on the firepower. I got carried away sometimes. So they did everything they could to keep me dialed back without making me useless to them.” She shrugged meekly. Even without full power, she could serve a hell of a sucker punch and leave second-degree burns, though the whole point of being a hero was to help more than harm.

“I see,” muttered Drakken.

He relaxed when she snuffed out her glow and pulled her hands out of sight behind the counter, tucked safely between her knees.

The blue man began jotting down notes on the pad. “Your hands still need protection though, so an upgrade is in order. These are getting worn out anyway.” He tapped his pen on his chin, humming. “Subduing you won’t do. I’d rather amplify this glow of yours if possible.” When he caught a glimpse of her piqued interest, he smirked. “I’m sure I can find something to conduct it.”

Fixing her face with mask of indifference, she refused comment. As the blue man sketched and scribbled nonsense across two pages of his notebook, Shego began to shift uncomfortably across from him. She sipped her soda, unsure if she was free to go yet. After a couple minutes, she was about to slip off the barstool and leave him with the glove, but he spoke up again.

“Can you produce this energy from anywhere else?” he wondered without lifting his attention from the notebook.

That was an invasive question if she’d ever heard one.

Shego narrowed her eyes at him, leery once more. The deep-rooted fear of becoming a lab rat and subjected to studies reared its ugly head, but she beat it back. This guy had been bullied out of the driver’s seat earlier and could be pressured doing her bidding with stupid threats like breaking the seals on his hoard of pickles if he didn’t drive her to Cow-n-Chow. So if he thought he could turn her into a test subject, he had another thing coming.

In any case, if she was hoping to make anything of this stint with the rogue doctor, then complying could work in her favor. Especially if he was willing to engineer custom gear for her.

She swore she’d spat fire at him before, a long time ago, but she couldn’t be sure. She was tempted to try coughing up plasma-laced phlegm to see if that would jog his memory or at least answer his question, but she resisted. If nothing else, the spoken truth would have to serve as a warning that her fists weren’t her only weapons.

“I can,” she said vaguely, and held out her bare hand again to show him her palm, sans glow. “My hands are just convenient.” Channeling the energy to her hands was second nature to her now, and over the years they had become the only area completely desensitized to the fire aspects. Although she still had all her nerves intact, and she still felt it when he reached out for her hand. She fought the impulse to jerk it back as she let him have a closer look, unsure what he expected to find.

His mouth twisted into a frown as he inspected her smooth fingertips and palms, much more interested in the faint old scars and lack of identifying fingerprints than her freshly-painted nails. “Does it hurt?” he ventured. “The glow, I mean.”

She was becoming increasingly aware how rough his hands really were in comparison.

Shego shrugged. “Used to. Now it kinda just tingles. But I mean, the first time it happened – that was yow.” She laughed a little nervously at the recollection of blacking out from searing pain and the bandages she’d worn for some time afterwards. Discovering her power in a hospital ward in Global Justice’s custody wasn’t a fond childhood memory. “It took time for my body to adapt, but I got used to it.”

The rogue doctor gave another thoughtful hum. “How did you even acquire this glow?” he asked, dumbfounded.

Her smile was brittle and crumbled away even as she quipped, “Y’know, you’d know all of this if you’d stopped to read my file.” She otherwise refused to answer.

The geeky man must have realized by now that she wasn’t so open to talking about it, because he mumbled a sheepish apology for prying and released her hand he’d probably only just realized as well that he’d hung onto for way too long. He quickly shifted his attention away in favor of her glove and the notebook.

It was another moment before Shego spoke again. “So, you’re gonna upgrade my gloves?” she asked carefully, and when he nodded, she willingly forfeited the other. Folding her arms over the counter, she leaned forward and chewed on her lip as she watched him compare them briefly for any differences beyond color.

Shego couldn’t help smirking. “You could have just asked for the specs,” she snickered lightly, and tapped on the notebook where he was brainstorming some gibberish in the tiny illegible scrawl of a doctor. She hummed wistfully after another moment, musing, “I used to think it would be totally rad to have, like…claws. But it didn’t fly with big brother.”

“Claws,” Drakken echoed in disbelief, looking back up at her finally. “Isn’t that…I don’t know, a little tacky?”

“Says you. Those goggles and that polo shirt? Yeesh.”

Drakken grunted. His face was tinged with a funny shade of purple. “You want claws, I’ll make you claws,” he sighed agreeably.

“Seriously?” She considered telling him it was a joke, but was curious now if he’d deliver. A smirk quirked her lips. The whole thing was probably a huge waste of his time, but it might be fun to see how much of his time she could waste.

“Sure,” he groaned, and removed the magnifying goggles to rub his eyes and push his usual glasses back on.

As the man squinted down at his notebook, Shego caught herself staring, inwardly musing that he might be more intimidating without his nerdy spectacles – but that was only logical. The small accessory advertised a form of weakness, however trivial and necessary, which wasn’t conducive to aspirations of being feared and respected. “You should lose the glasses,” she announced flippantly, and acted before she could think twice about snatching them off his face.

“Excuse you!” he barked, reaching across the counter for them, but she held them out of range. “I need those. They aren’t a toy.”

“I’m tellin’ ya,” she twittered as she inspected the snatched eyeglasses and then him. “You’d look badass without them. It shows off your scar better.” As she slipped them on herself, she wondered inwardly if it was the same warped and clouded vision he experienced without them. She peeked over the rim at him squinting peevishly at her.

“I’d say you look cute, but I can’t be sure,” retorted Dr. Drakken dryly, as if it were meant to be offensive. “Unfortunately, I still need them, so fork them over.” He held out a hand, fingers beckoning for the return of his glasses.

She obliged reluctantly, and he finished a couple more notes before peering back up at her, his inquiring gaze lingering a little too long for comfort while she sipped on root beer. “How long have you been like this, anyway? How did it happen?” he wondered, though it felt more like idle chitchat now. She almost answered until he added, “Team Go sprang up just a few years ago and it was short lived, but—”

Guard shooting back up, Shego snatched her gloves back and fixed the startled man in a heated glare. “Where you snooping?” she accused, paranoia rising.

“Easy, Shego, easy. I wasn’t snooping,” Dr. Drakken defended calmly, hands up in peace. “It was on the news. I’m entitled to watch the news.”

It took a long moment balancing on the precipice of distrust before she backed away from that ledge. He had a point there. She couldn’t hold it against him, no matter how much she detested the thought of him knowing anymore about her than she was willing to share herself. It was information the general populace of Go City already knew anyway.

Shego set the gloves back down and breathed deep, but still didn’t answer his question.

Thankfully, Dr. Drakken didn’t press it. “I was only making small talk,” he muttered, and it seemed he was ready to drop the subject altogether now because he was tucking his notebook into the pocket of his trousers and circling around the kitchen island to rummage around in the freezer.

Shego relaxed slightly, sitting back down and swiveling in her barstool to watch his back and sip her soda as the quiet blue man tasked himself with preparing a TV dinner. Looking to the favored frying pan gathering dust up on the wall with all the others, she wondered when he’d last cooked a real meal for himself. Not that she was about to do it for him.

Watching him ignore her, she considered a bargain long and hard before she finally spoke up again. “I’ll tell you,” she called over. It wasn’t like that information hadn’t already been leaked anyway. Nonetheless, Drakken glanced over his shoulder inquisitively. “If you tell me what your deal is with the all the blue.” And if he tried to tell her it was because he had the blues, so help him, she might just hit him with plasma.

He turned to face her fully and just stared curiously for a moment. “You want to know why I’m blue?” he asked dumbly, as if no one had ever asked the obvious before.

She gave a halfhearted shrug in confirmation.

The man leaned back on the counter and frowned, rubbing his neck as if the subject was a sore spot, but he chewed it over and took a deep breath before giving her the gist of it. “Classic tale of an experiment gone wrong,” he said with a moody huff. “It wasn’t even mine. I was an intern at a research lab owned by some big shot, Gemini. Some damn top-secret experiment malfunctioned, I got caught in the crossfire, and there you have it. I’ve been reduced to just the blue freak ever since.”

“Gemini?” Shego uttered, blinking at him. Hearing that familiar name shouldn’t have been so surprising. Still, it was unexpected. She tilted her head questioningly. “Did he have a personal vendetta against the director of Global Justice?”

“Bingo.” He shot a finger gun at her. “How many Gemini do you think there are?”

Shego eyed him suspiciously for another moment, until the man began to shift uncomfortably. She racked her brains, connecting the dots, and took a wild guess as to the picture it formed. “You don’t happen to have superstrength, do you?” she asked with a small incredulous laugh, but Dr. Drakken only gave her a funny look. She took that as a negative. “Do you know what he was trying to do?”

The man’s brow furrowed at her, as if he was the one ill at ease now. Good. “Not a clue,” he said slowly. “It wasn’t my post. Why?”

She only smirked and waved dismissively. “Nothing.” She didn’t need any more details anyway to convince her that the whacked-out twin brother of Global Justice’s head honcho had been trying to recreate Team Go. Had Gemini ever succeeded, she was sure she’d have known about it.

Dr. Drakken made a pleading sort of whine and tapped a foot irritably, and he didn’t need words to convey he was displeased that she clearly knew something about his condition that he didn’t.

She denied an explanation though, instead scoffing to herself and shaking her head in amazement. She might share her suspicions later, if she was feeling nice. “Small world, that’s all,” she mumbled.

“Indeed,” grumbled Dr. Drakken. He spun around and slumped over the counter to watch the microwave, as if there was really something of interest was going on in there. “Your turn, Shego.”

But Shego smirked wryly, leaning back on the counter and crossing her legs, giving her foot a bounce. “I said I’d tell you. I never said when I’d tell you,” she teased.

Drakken groaned. “Of course.” He hung his weary head, though it was counterproductive in trying to rake his hair back as he ran his hand through it. He waved dismissively at her, ordering, “Be gone, then. Dementor is bound to want payback, so go watch the surveillance or something.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” she said, hopping off her barstool and leaving her gloves and a smashed soda can behind. She had more engaging company to track down.

Shego had to mindfully keep her pace in check until she was out of Dr. Drakken’s personal living quarters, and from there she all but skipped through his workshop and down the twisting flight of stairs. She didn’t even pause to check the surveillance feed, taking the shortcut through the office to hit up the rec room in henchmen’s forbidden domain.

She’d found a routine over the course of the first week, the scenario quickly becoming part of her daily ritual. Dr. Drakken would unwittingly put her on surveillance watch, and while he was busy tinkering in his lab or vanished into the depths of the lair, Shego might order some pushover henchman to the CCTV desk in her place while she occupied herself with the rest.

They were all threatened to keep her prohibited visits on the down low, though she sensed threats of knuckle sandwiches weren’t what kept them quiet. More likely, the thugs just didn’t want her ban being reinforced. She was fine with that, to an extent.

It was unfortunate she wouldn’t have the enjoyment of breaking the tantalizing rule of don’t mingle with the henchmen for much longer. By day, she made it her business in the lab to annoy Dr. Drakken at regular intervals with trivial things like mocking how creepily engrossed he’d become over a stupid pair of gloves, or by refusing to budge from his cushioned computer chair when she was ordered to come test the effectiveness of new adjustments. He would be sick of her by evening and tell her off, usually shooing her down to the office, when she could slack off and go join the guys.

Eventually, she was caught red-handed.

++X++

The special order had been a welcomed distraction from the monotony of constructing power staves of a short life expectancy and shorter warranty for a villainous client. After several days of several scrapped prototypes to give him grief, Dr. Drakken at last finalized what he hoped would the last set of custom gloves he slaved over for a while.

Just as he applied the finishing touches, something missing began to nag at him. He poured over a mental checklist and looked over the new-and-improved gear, but that wasn’t it.

He was ready to proudly present the polished product of his handiwork when he discovered he was alone.

Which shouldn’t have been so damn disheartening.

Over the past couple weeks, he’d begun to get used to not being the only soul in the lab, whether he liked it or not. If it weren’t for the aloof subordinate’s nitpicking or devotion to being a nuisance, he might say he enjoyed the company, even if she wasn’t much for conversation. There was something relieving about having someone other than himself to divulge his process to at least, even if it did go in one ear and out the other with an occasional scoff or snarky remark he had to decipher as feedback.

So when Drakken turned around to call for her, the name died on the way out as he scanned the hollow cavern of his lab. He pulled back his sleeve to check his watch, brow furrowing. It wasn’t even noon yet, and he couldn’t recall dismissing her. The subordinate wasn’t duty-bound to stay by his side though, so he shook off the undue disappointment.

He checked his living quarters, expecting to find her scrounging up a lunch in his kitchen or lounging on his couch watching television. When he didn’t find her there, he prowled across the lair to her bedroom and rapped on the door, ready snip at her if he found she was napping, but he received no response. Boss or not, he grudgingly accepted the potential for repercussion if he were to invade the volatile woman’s privacy by simply opening her door to steal a peek.

His next course of action was to stalk down the hall and to his office to scan the surveillance feed in hopes of pinpointing where the elusive woman had strayed off to.

When he did find her, he was none too pleased with where.

Skipping the intercom, he set off at once, winding deep into the lair, to order her back to the lab in person. It was good to show his face to rest of his subordinates once in a while anyway – to at least remind them who the boss was around here.

Drakken stepped out on the catwalk that ran through a spacious man-made cavern serving as the gym, and glared harshly down at the scene below him. His frown quickly dissolved as he stared, puzzled.

For a minute, Dr. Drakken wasn’t sure if he was watching interpretive dance or a genuine quarrel among the four involved below. The swings and kicks of the henchmen held a very real force behind them, but the former superhero ducked and dodged with fluid movements and feline grace. She must have had the situation under control, because when she held up her hands to signal for a timeout, the men froze and allowed her to go along physically manipulating stances and chiding them before they resumed at her goading – or order? – to come at her like they meant it.

By the bruises and welts blemishing their faces, Drakken surmised that this wasn’t the first time they’d had such a session, but what began as a sparring exercise escalated as the men became increasingly frustrated with the newcomer continuously besting them. Drakken watched as their demeanor began to slowly change as their tempers rose, and he gripped the guard rail as he waited with baited breath for some sign it was time to intervene.

In a maneuver that made Drakken wince, he watched as Shego dove at one goon and flipped him over, pulling a backbend to slam the brute on his head. She proceeded to bounce away in time to evade another henchman charging at her with his fists flying. She laughed meanly as he stumbled over his fallen comrade, and she turned to try catching the third to attempt the move again, perhaps to test if the bumbling idiots would fall for the same trick twice. This one had wizened up and avoided her hold, but while she was dodging his punches and kicks, she managed to slip behind him, and even Drakken was surprised when she seized him by his belt and wife-beater, hoisting the thug clear over her head to toss him into another.

Even without her glow to aid her, she was stronger than she looked. She must have a touch of superhuman strength too, Drakken decided as he studied the woman jeering as his men, coaxing them onto their feet to attack her again. The sparring carried on for a few more minutes, the newcomer smiling and laughing in delight every time she got the better of the henchmen she toyed with.

Shego was rather enjoying herself. The henchmen, not so much.

And strange as it was, Drakken might have been enjoying it a little bit too, because he folded his arms on the rail to loiter, watching the show with profound interest. True, there was some shame seeing his men defeated with such ease, but he still smirked at the flicker of glee to have someone better than them on his team.

Some minutes later, two men still left standing managed to get the best of her. While one distracted her, the other swept a leg under her heels from behind, her reaction time just an instant too slow. As she fell back with a startled yelp, the men closed in, one of them snatching her arms so she couldn’t catch herself and bounce back up, and the other grappled for her ankles. Her smile was replaced with a disgusted sneer. Shego’s amusement had vanished as they fought to pin her down while she writhed and gnashed her teeth at them as she swore orders to let her go.

One henchman on the sideline nursing a black eye shouted at the active players to watch out for her hands, but the fools didn’t heed his warning as they scrapped with her on the floor.

Drakken couldn’t believe their impudence as the henchmen’s objective became crystal clear. One kept a secure grip on her wrists and the other fought past her thrashing legs to her belt. She was clearly not enjoying the roughhousing anymore as she spat a final warning at them to back off or else. Orbs of plasma were charging up in her hands when Drakken whistled sharply for attention.

Everything halted, if only for a split second.

The startled men released her and backed off abruptly when they finally realized they were being watched, and Shego hastily leapt to her feet, stumbling as she whirled on the men to discharge her plasma blasts at them as they scrambled out of the way. By the shouts of alarm, the two oafs having a go at her hadn’t known about her superhuman gifts.

The livid young woman turned her back to all, her head down and mane of hair sparing her from having to look at anyone for a moment while she fixed her belt and checked her zippers. She took a moment to calm own, heaving and visibly reigning herself in as she flexed her fingers, glow flickering erratically until it ceased.

She didn’t thank Dr. Drakken for the intervention, oh no. Instead she glared at him up on the bridge above, her lips pulled back over her teeth in displeasure as if he were the one in the wrong here. “I didn’t need you calling off your dogs!” she snapped indignantly up at him. She spat in their direction for good measure as she retreated up the staircase to join him, the steel rattling with each hasty stomp.

“Oh, I know you could destroy them if you wanted,” Dr. Drakken said airily, hoping to let it go for the moment. Though it did give him an idea for cruel and unusual punishment. He glared down to the henchmen returning to their exercises, but they didn’t look terribly shamefaced for attempting to assault the new recruit. Something about the grins the two instigators exchanged was enough for Drakken to go with his gut and write them off.

“Don’t disappear on me,” Drakken called to the newcomer’s back as she made for the exit ahead of him. “I need you in the lab.”

“Whatever,” she snorted.

Drakken almost snipped at her to watch her tone when speaking to him, but thought better of it.

On the way back to the upper level, the woman slowed her stomp. She combed her fingers through her hair and smoothed down her uniform, and double-checked her belt to be sure everything was in perfect order. Finally she threw a glare over to Dr. Drakken as they entered his office, and he knew the elephant in the room hadn’t disappeared just because they’d left the henchmen back in the gym.

“Here’s the deal, Doc,” she ground out bitterly. “If you wanna keep me around, you’ll get rid of them.”

He blinked over at the tense scowling woman stalking alongside him. He might have already planned their dismissal on impulse, but the subordinate’s command still surprised him and elicited an obstinate reaction. “What makes you think you’re more valuable than them?” he retorted in reflex, not especially happy to be bossed around to such degree.

Shego scoffed. “Because they’re a bunch of Henchschool dropouts and have to tag team for more than an hour just to wear me out enough to knock me down,” she answered, following him up the stairwell. “I’m not working with sex offenders that are gonna try pulling some sleazy shit on me. That goes for you too.”

“Understandable,” Drakken grudgingly grumbled, and he swore he could feel the daggers gouging into the back of his head. He’d have to brush up on everyone’s records. “Whatever happened to them being a bunch of pansies? I thought you wanted to hang around hardened criminals and lowlifes.” If it had been an attempt to lighten the mood, he’d failed miserably, quickly realizing she didn’t find his teasing humorous when he peeked back.

The woman snorted again and sneered, “Not the kind that are gonna turn on me like animals.”

He shook his head, grimacing. “It comes with the territory, Shego. If you had stayed away from my men like you’ve been told, they wouldn’t be a problem,” he argued weakly, but suddenly she was a step above him, looking down at him as she poked him hard in the chest, her glare burning into him. She could push him down the stairwell to his demise if she wished. It was pretty steep, and he was suddenly all too aware he’d never had a handrail installed.

“It’s me or them, Dr. Drakken,” she seethed venomously. “This is nonnegotiable. I mean it. They go or I go. What’s it gonna be?”

Dr. Drakken held up his hands in peace. “Okay, you,” he hastily agreed before he could overthink it. “I choose you. Henchschool dropouts, as you put them, are dime a dozen, but there’s only one of you. I’ll review staff tonight, if it makes you happy.”

“Good,” Shego said arrogantly, and turned back up the stairs, leaving him to tug his collar and hope she hadn’t seen the sweat on his brow. “You know, if you didn’t have that kind of criminal on your team, maybe you wouldn’t have to worry about them acting out of line.”

“What can I say? They’re cheap,” Drakken admitted unhappily behind her. “It was never an issue before.” It wasn’t like there was a foolproof way of weeding out such seedy fellows, but he wasn’t about to argue the matter here on the staircase, no matter how tall the order.

Shego peered back at him with a withering glance that told him she would be holding him to his word, but for now that was the end of the discussion.

++X++

Back up in the nerdy tech lab littered with scrap fabric and half-built staves, the rogue doctor wasted no time in handing over the new and improved pair of gloves.

The old pair from Global Justice was looking rather shabby in comparison, fiber frayed around the knuckles, and signs of wear around the palms as well. Shego was happy to toss them aside. Inwardly thrilled that the self-proclaimed mad scientist had actually come through for her, she kept a lid on her eagerness as she pulled on the brand new custom pair.

The new set looked slightly less like dishwashing gloves, with lightly padded knuckles, and sleek and slim-fitted over the fingers for dexterity. Seamlessly incorporated into the tough specialized fabric at the fingertips were the so-called claws she’d requested in jest and had tried to tell him so repeatedly. Though she was sure he’d added them to remind her to be careful what she wished for, she was still pleased by the surprisingly natural feel of the unobtrusive extensions.

More importantly, the hand protection didn’t hinder her glow at all – and most shockingly of all, her glow was indeed amplified to some degree, just as promised though she wasn’t even sure how he’d managed the feat. It only took one flare up to find out that much.

The new set of gloves fit like a dream to boot, but she knew that much from earlier prototypes. It was still something else to see it all come together in a finished product.

Depending how they held up, she might have to finagle more out of him.

Shego’s smile fell and she jumped when the blue man cleared his throat behind her. Wearing a strange sneer that almost passed as a smirk, he suggested she take the new gear out back to put them to the test. She hadn’t been outside in days, not even for a smoke break, and the thought of fresh air – along with releasing pent-up energy and getting a feel for what her new liberating gloves were capable of – was effective in bringing the smile back to her face.

She expected Dr. Drakken alone to accompany her. She was wrong.

He stopped before he could exit the lab with her, humming as a thoughtful look crossed his face, and turned back. She was told to wait outside for a surprise.

She wasn’t sure if she liked the prospect of a surprise, but she wasn’t kept waiting or guessing for long. As much as she itched to blast something while she waited, she resisted taking it out on the parched pines climbing up the slope beyond the expanse of blacktop wrapping around side of the oversized garage.

When he joined her, she was sure she didn’t like the surprise, whatever it was. Not keen on being made an exhibition, it had her frozen with a sort of stage fright as his crew of henchmen marched out from the side-door of the garage after him. Approximately a dozen rugged men – she didn’t stare long enough to count – congregated, all in red jumpsuits. The masks that usually concealed the better half of their faces were removed, but the broken dress code was the least of Shego’s concerns.

Dr. Drakken came to stand beside her, giving her a wry smirk, and motioned for the gangliest of his crew. The youngest henchman scurried out hastily to set up a row of plywood dummies for target practice and retreated back to the audience just as quickly. The rogue doctor then gave Shego’s back a small push and curt words of encouragement, “Go on. Show them.”

Her fists balled at her sides. She wasn’t so sure about being put on display like this. She’d spent enough of her life being a spectacle.

The chief must have read her hesitation, because he frowned at her and then turned to address his crewmen with biting authority, pacing like a drill sergeant with hands gripped behind his back. “There seems to be some confusion lately. It seems some of you think our newest addition is a secretary, or here to be your plaything,” he barked at his crew, dripping with derision as he issued a warning. “Make no mistake. A lovely little thing she may be, Shego here is your superior, and may God have mercy on the next man to lay a hand on her.”

The booming tone of his reproach was jarring compared to the softer indoor voice used whenever he wasn’t worked up or hollering across the lair. It surprised her for a second, but she reminded herself he was an aspiring villain after all, and most had to put on a mean show if they wanted to be taken seriously, especially by a bunch of thugs as underpaid henchmen tended to be.

“Flatterer,” she hissed under her breath. Her face was hot. It was an underhanded way of goading her on, even if superior sounded nice. She took it with a grain of salt though.

Returning to her, Dr. Drakken narrowed his eyes and impatiently ground out through his teeth, “Hurry up and light some fire under their asses, Shego. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Her reservations aside, Shego swallowed and nodded despite the onlookers watching her back. As she had so often in Go City, she tried to pretend they weren’t there as she let her clenched fists ignite. Four throws was all it took to reduce four dummies to a mess of splinters and flaming debris. It was overkill. Without her medication and old gloves, it was too easy to overcharge the blows, but the gloves held up. She’d really have to practice discipline now, she realized.

Nonetheless, she took a deep steadying breath and stared in wonder at her own hands. Her lips quirked into a smile, which Dr. Drakken caught and mirrored tenfold.

The man got his grin under control as he came to stand perhaps a little too close and fearlessly considering he’d just watched her obliterate targets with ease. “Well?” he pressed, lowering his voice to keep it between them. “How’s it feel?”

It was a stupid question when the answer was written on her face already. Between the new liberating gloves and having prescribed suppressant out of her system, she felt glee bubble up and escape in a small laugh. “Amazing,” she confirmed a little too happily. If she weren’t suddenly aware they were being watched by an audience, she just might have hugged the man for making such freedom possible – but she quickly locked that notion away. Such gratitude would be unbecoming of her now.

He was sidestepping away anyway, clearing his throat. He fixed the crew in a deep scowl. “Any questions?” he called out brusquely, but the crew remained silent. He stroked his chin as he paced along the row, and picked out two men from the crowd, beckoning them forward with a finger rather than by name. Either of the men could have flattened Drakken if they so wished, yet they humored him with hateful glares he appeared to willingly overlook.

Shego’s stomach lurched as she glared back at the loathsome men who’d made an attempt to rough her up mere minutes ago. Sure, she still burned with malice, but she couldn’t help flicking a disconcerted glance to the blue man presenting them to her as if they were gifts. Dr. Drakken’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he raised his brow expectantly as he nodded to them.

She had a hunch what was coming, but she was done. Demonstrating her capability on wooden dummies for the ignorant crew was enough. Still she had the gut-wrenching suspicion he had every intention of pushing it further. There was no reason to push it further, and yet—

And yet, Dr. Drakken was speaking loud and clear again. “Since they thought they could have their way with you, why don’t you return the favor and have your way with them, hm?”

Both humiliated and put on the spot, her skin crawled as she studied the grave mask of malevolence Dr. Drakken wore as he shoved the larger of the two men roughly toward where the incinerated targets had stood.

Shego stared at the new dummies standing rigid in their place. Live dummies.

Even if they deserved a lashing and she had reason enough to bear a grudge against the men, she wasn’t sure about raising a hand to them as they were. She would have wailed on them in the gym minutes ago had Drakken not interrupted, but now they were just standing there among the cinders and ash, doing nothing more offensive than giving her ugly looks.

Shego glanced to Dr. Drakken again, waiting for him to laugh and say it was all a twisted joke, but the stoic man stood to the side with his hands behind his back, reminiscent of a bailiff watching men on trial.

She was frozen like a deer in the headlights, stunned with disbelief at what was expected of her and entirely unsure how to proceed with dishing out punishment. Her fists curled as she weighed how badly she wanted to see them hurt.

After another moment, Dr. Drakken stalked back to her, shaking his head in exasperation, and grabbed her roughly by the arm. She almost twisted away. “Shego,” he hissed quietly. “You’re making me look bad. Show me you can be merciless.”

“But—,” but she was interrupted before she could articulate an excuse.

“Need I remind you, had you been any ordinary girl, these men would have hurt you. Horrendously. So punish them already and get it over with. Kill them if you want. They’re expendable.”

“Kill?” she uttered in surprise. She’d been at least partially responsible for deaths before – by mistake – in the heat of the moment – but it couldn’t be proven she was to blame for the casualties. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see the goons on display pay after what they’d tried, but murder might have been a touch too severe.

Suddenly one of the men on trial made the dire mistake of calling the bluff, and not in a particularly clever way. “Pussy,” the thug coughed under his breath. The man was cracking. The moron must have decided to let his mouth go unchecked if he was on death row for a little misconduct. “What’s wrong, boss? You sore the mistress is a slut?”

Like she hadn’t been called names before.

Before Shego could roll her eyes, the crack of a gunshot split the air and the offender jumped, crashing into the other at the spark of a bullet striking the asphalt where he’d stood a moment before.

“Do something to them, Shego, or I will,” Dr. Drakken snarled over to her, only lowering his revolver slightly. She recognized it. So it wasn’t just for show.

“I thought you were above using those,” Shego snapped, stepping back from him. She could understand now why the henchmen avoided stepping out of line.

Dr. Drakken waved the gun in a dangerously flippant manner. “Well sorry if it’s tactless!” he drawled bitterly. “It’s effective, and this isn’t the time to argue about villain tradition. Show these men you are not to be reckoned with, Shego. That’s an order.”

“What do you expect?” shouted the moron who was lucky to still have toes at the moment. “You hired a hero!”

Nasty names she could handle. Nastier idiots mistaking her for an easy target she could handle.

But like a magic word, it was that accusation that set her off, and she didn’t need any more encouragement than that. If the vile thug wanted a fight, he could have it. She’d show them just how much of a hero she was.

Letting a furious scream rip, Shego lunged into action to make an example of the offender before Drakken could shoot the fired henchman himself. Hand blazing hot – too, too hot – she let the swipe come down before the goon could dodge, connecting with the man’s torso with enough power to shred through his overalls and carve into the unthinkable beneath. A hot knuckle sandwich and the heel of her boot weren’t the taste of her they’d wanted, but it was what they got as they tried and failed to fight her off. One tried to flee, but he didn’t get far – as one plasma shot to the back and he was down for the count. He was the luckier of the two.

This time there was no intervention in the brawl, not that it lasted long enough for anyone to try.

Her brothers were thousands of miles away, but in her head, she could hear them screaming at her to stop over the roar of blood and her own scream in her ears.

Once the men were down, her fury died as quickly as it had been kindled. In no time at all, she’d overdone it, and she didn’t stop to wonder how many teeth she’d knocked out as she leapt back from the whimpering bloody pulp she’d been laying into.

Shego left the battered men sprawled on the ground as she abandoned the brutal scene without a glance back. She examined her knuckles as she went. The new gloves were sullied and in need of a good wash, but otherwise they had held up well, and the sharpened tips served a function after all, though she didn’t want to think too hard about it or that Hugo had been right that they weren’t too conducive to hero work.

Dr. Drakken barked an order for the offenders to be taken care of, and then he wasn’t far behind her, although he kept his distance.

[whisperingoffwhitepinstripes]

My American Idol - Extended Edition Part 2 of 3 (Brendon X Reader)

-//- (Your POV)

Seven hours later…..

“Tonight we are victorious, Champagne pouring over us, All my friends, We’re glorious, Tonight we are victorious….”

The alarm was singing what you wanted to happen tonight to wake you up and it made you smile. You grab the device and head for the kitchen. Instead of pressing the button to make it stop, you let the song play as you take a few minutes to go through all the notifications you know are waiting on your social media. You hit the Twitter icon just after grabbing a bowl of cereal. The spoon stops halfway to your mouth, almost dripping milk on your screen, as you see the tweet from Brendon.

@brendonurie: Words can not explain how @your_twitter_name moved me with my own song. #ThisIsGospel #MyAmericanIdol #reallysuperproud

Ho-ly crap! He loved it! Once the shock wore off, you were dancing around the kitchen, your breakfast forgotten on the kitchen counter.

You arrive at the theater at 8 am sharp. You're joined by most of the crew, who still have a lot of preparation for tonight’s show. It's 3 hours long, only because it's the finale. That thought alone brings your mind into focus. All your hard work over the past 3 months, no, most of your life are paying off. Top 2 on American Idol…. hell, just making it on the show had been a dream of yours since you were a kid.

It's 8 hours till show time and 11 until you find out if you have won.

Once you get settled in, you look over the songs you have to perform tonight. You notice that for your encore song, the judges have chosen ‘This is Gospel” for you to play again. You smile to yourself as Brendon's words played over in your head from his tweets. You decide that for the results, that you'll wear that dress, blue pumps and all. You begin doing your warm-ups to really get your day started.

-//- (Brendon’s POV)

The producers had requested that you arrive at the back of the theater 3 hours before the show started to help keep your presence a secret. They also requested that you bring a couple changes of outfits so they could make sure what you’re wearing goes with Y/N’s. Walking into your closet and glancing around, you decide to keep it simple. Choosing your iconic black leather pants and black tee with a few of your favorite jackets. As you place the final article of clothing in the garment bag, you make the quick decision and add two of your favorite suits.

After gathering everything that is needed, Zach loads it all in the car. After grabbing a bite to eat, you arrive at 1 pm on the dot. One of the assistants is waiting for you at the back door of the theater. She is quick to guide both of you into the building and to a dressing room just around the corner from the entrance. It happens to be the furthest from the stage but it's a necessary evil.

Thirty minutes later, there are three light taps on the door. Zach walks over to the door and cracks it to see who it was. When he sees the stylist, he allows her to come in. “Hi, I'm Lina, Y/N’s stylist.” You grin at the slight blush in her cheeks. “The producers sent me to make sure you have something to compliment Y/N’s ensemble.”

“Hey there, darling. I'm Brendon.” You reach to shake her hand while pointing with your free hand, “and that's Zach.”

“Okay,” Lina says, shaking her head, “what did you bring?” The blush is still there slightly but a professional air has taken over the girl.

You point to the garment rack on the far side of the room. “I brought several…”

“Oh, my goodness! This is perfect!” Lina cuts you off as she pulls out the cranberry colored suit. “I love this!” She continued.

“Yeah, that's one of my favorites.”

Setting the chosen suit to the side, so she can take it to be steamed out, Lina notices the other suit that you have chosen. “What is this?” The suit was a white double-breasted suit coat matched with black slacks.

“Oh, I got that for an event and have only worn it that one time. Thought I might be able to get another chance to wear it.”

You see that “I’ve got an idea” look on Lina’s face. “I just got a super fantastic idea.” She says, confirming your deduction. The smile on her face looked like it was going to split her face.

“I'm intrigued, do tell.”

“Well, the judges have an encore song choice on every results show and they picked Y/N’s cover of “This is Gospel”. What if we get the producers to allow you to play and sing with her? Then you can wear this for that performance to go with the black and white that she'll be wearing.” The words tumbled out of Lina's mouth so fast that you almost have a difficult time keeping up but you got the jist of it.

Your face lit up like it was Christmas morning and you had gotten everything you had asked Santa for. “Go! Get the producers. I wanna make this happen,” happily pointing at the door. Lina hesitated at the door for a moment.

“She's gonna kill me for this,” Lina whispered to herself before turning back to you. “You didn't hear this from me but she's got a huge crush on you. Okay, bye.” Lina quickly escaped the room and ran to find a producer.

You turn to Zach with a confused look on your face. “Did she just say that Y/N has a crush on me?”

-//- (Your POV)

“Welcome back to the finale of American Idol! We have a treat for you now, performing one of her favorite songs from one of her favorite bands, here's Y/N!”

Wait, what? Did he just say I was doing this solo?

The band leader starts the count to start the song and you jump back to reality and start the song.

Climbing out the back door

Didn't leave a mark

No one knows it's you

Miss Jackson

Found another victim

But no one's gonna find

Miss Jackson, Jackson, Jackson

The backup singers come in while you move from your place just out of the wings toward center stage. You prepare to sing the first verse when Brendon pops out from the opposite of the stage and starts to sing the verse. You stop dead in your tracks when you see him.

He's here.

As you stare at him as he continues to sing the verse, your brain finally breaks the fog that your heart created at the sight of him. You visibly shake your head to clear your mind so you can continue the song. You start singing with him and you notice that he's giving you what looks like a shy smile. So, you offer one back and his face widens to a grin. Then, he really bursts into performance mode. And that makes you grin as well and you join him at center stage.

It's getting close to the bridge and, you know from videos of live shows, he usually does his signature backflip. You're hoping he does. As you start singing the bridge, he slowly begins moving toward a monitor that he can stand on to perform the infamous move, but it's at the edge of the stage. So, you slowly make your way over toward where he is. You've been wanting to see this up close since you first saw a video of it.

He steadies himself on the edge and grins at the crowd. Just as you finish the last line, Brendon looks at you, winks and completes the backflip beautifully. Your fangirl comes out as you double fist pump and scream. He bows as he continues the song and you jump right back in with him.

After he finishes the last line, you scream into your mic, “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Brendon Urie!” He glows as he bows to the crowd. Before either of you could say anything else, Ryan ran on stage and asked if this was a nice surprise. You blush, “Singing with my favorite artist? You just knocked an item off my bucket list.” Brendon grins at your side. Ryan, then, turns to Brendon, “So, how'd our girl do?”

“She killed it. I mean, if that was me and my favorite artist walked on stage to sing with me and I didn't know it was coming, I'd probably lose my mind. So, kudos to you, girl.” He lifted his fist for you to bump and you gladly complied.

As Ryan prepping for a commercial break, you and Brendon headed off stage. “I can't…” “You were…” You both started talking at the same time and it caused the laughter to bubble out of you both.

Before your giggles can even stop, Lina has shown up at your side. “Okay, I know you two wanna talk but you both have to go get changed.” She turned to Brendon, “The producers loved my idea.” He looks pleased.

“What idea?” Your head oscillates between them.

Brendon opened his mouth to say but Lina was quicker. “You've only got 5 to 7 minutes to change.” She pushes him in the opposite direction. He sighs and turns to head to his room, you supposed. Lina begins pushing you to yours, but you plant your feet.

“Lina, what did you do?”

She tsked. “Girl, we don't have time for this. Let's go and I'll explain when we get there.”

[thenightling]

When fandom becomes... Just dumb...

A few months ago I said that the fandom for Neil Gaiman’s Sandman was probably the nicest, warmest, most inviting fandom I had ever become a part of.  And this is still true now.

I was also in the Lucifer TV series fandom.  The show is what made me finally decide to give Sandman a chance last June. (Better late than never!) 

Ever since the cancellation however I have seen the Lucifer fandom kind of deteriorating...

Before Lucifer was canceled, the dumbed thing I had seen in the Tumblr fandom was bearing the occasional “headcanon” that Lucifer and Chloe would one day rule Hell together as King and Queen and they would live happily ever after in this way.  I have tried to rebuff this, explaining why I don’t believe Lucifer would want to go back to ruling Hell and why someone like Chloe could never rule Hell, also using quotes from the shows star that it’s “the ultimate redemption story.”  this all indicated to me that there was no chance Lucifer would go back to Hell. But explaining this perspective earned responses of “They have a right to their opinion!”  Yes, and I have a right to disagree with that opinion and to counter it with my own.  Having a right to your opinion does not mean it cannot be disagreed with. “Right to my opinion!” is not a magical shield that protects you from the opinions of others.  I hate when people use that to shoot down or dismiss discourse.

Yes, you can have your own “headcanon” but I’m just explaining why I don’t think it really works with the canon as we know it.  And I have a right to feel that way as surely as you have a right to feel contrary.   

No one can tell you what you can or can’t imagine.  That is always your choice but I have a right to explain why I don’t share your vision.  I have a right to disagree with it and imagine things my own way.  That’s what right to opinion actually means, it doesn’t mean “I get to make anyone who doesn’t agree with me shut up forever.”  I get to disagree with you, you get to disagree with me. That’s freedom.

Ah, but that was the worst of it for a while.   Nothing too serious really.  But then... Then the show got canceled.  And I made the mistake of joining several “Save Lucifer” facebook groups. And... things got dumb quickly.

First there were / are people who literally reply to everything with #SaveLucifer and #PickupLucifer.  And they even write it on meme pictures... Because Somehow Twitter can read a picture you posted on Facebook now?   

Besides the general lack of understanding of how hashtags work there were a few people out-right discouraging mentioning the source material.  “I ignore any post that mentions the comic strip.”  If you try to explain the difference between a comic book and comic strip you’re told you’re “Butt hurt.”  One woman with utter authority decided to say “Show fans are not comic book fans and fans of the show would never read a comic book.”  Umm... Excuse me?

A few “Most people don’t know it’s a comic.  I only know because my kids told me.”  It’s in the opening credits of every, single episode.  Do you cover your eyes when the text is on the screen?  

Then there were the constant sharing of express(dot)co(dot)uk articles, no matter how many times you tell them they’re a clickbait tabloid.  Stories that distort simple things like Tom Ellis doing an interview with BBC News and twisting it into “Is BBC Entertainment buying Lucifer?”  The trusting of Express is still on-going.

One posted about how in the Lucifer comics he doesn’t even quit Hell.  I tried to break it to this person that they were reading the wrong comics and he most certainly does quit Hell.  They have to read Sandman first and then Lucifer’s solo comics by Mike Carey.  He quits Hell in Sandman.  Later They posted something similar (about how Lucifer doesn’t even quit Hell in the comics) a few days later.   When I, again, tried to tell them that they were reading the wrong comics, they replied with “Are you done trying to spoil the whole story?  I’m not reading replies because I don’t want spoilers.”  

What part of…

YOU ARE READING THE WRONG COMICS

Do they not accept?  If someone knows this person please break this to them.

One recent incident I had was trying very hard to explain to an “expert” that the two Lucifer bonus episodes are NOT leftovers from Season 2.  That the season 2 episodes held over for season 3 had aired much earlier in the season.  Though I had linked a Q and A with Dan’s actor (director of one of the episodes) and a recent question response I saw on Neil Gaiman’s Tumblr, also confirming that the filming had been relatively recent- this person insisted they had done their “Research” and was refusing to accept that they were confusing old, several-month-old stories about the season 2 hold over episodes, and the two bonus episodes actually filmed for season four. 

People like that had been confusing and misleading fans and even commenting on articles about the bonus episodes because they couldn’t grasp that episodes filmed in season 2 and used for season 3 are NOT the same episodes shown AFTER the season 3 finale. They were shown after the finale because they weren’t actually intended for season 3. 

Here’s the common sense thing:  Season 2 Lucifer was filmed in Canada.  You can spot the Hold-over season 2 episodes easily because they are still using the Canadian sets and passing Vancouver off as LA. Those bonus episodes are using the authentic LA sets.  It’s not that complicated.   

   It would be one thing if this was just one person but several people were making this mistake and or repeating the misinformation.  Claiming, with absolute certainty, that those bonus episodes were filmed back in season 2.  Despite the fact that those two bonus episodes were still being sound mixed only days before they aired and were always intended as “stand alone” episodes for season four.  That’s also why the show had ended on a cliff hanger. They had thought they were definitely getting a season four. 

This particular one argued fiercely, this on particular “researched” person, and tried to explain away why she wouldn’t click the links I’d provided and wouldn’t read my ‘essay long” replies “because (she) has a life”.  Yeah, it became “That” kind of an argument.  

And there was at least one comment of “I wish Morgan Freeman had voiced God and not some random British guy.”  (That had earned sixteen likes...)

Then there were those who insisted Fox was going to buy Roseanne, that they had proof Fox was buying Roseanne (Satire articles and random Twitter posts from strangers) and that Roseanne would replace Lucifer.   After that came the conspiracy theorists that “One Million Moms got it canceled.”  One Million Moms was protesting Lucifer before it even aired.  If they were successful it would not have had three seasons...

Then came those that posted screen grabs of the show now airing on Mondays at eight.  Saying “This is what they replaced Lucifer with!”   Umm... I shouldn’t have to explain this to grown ups.  The season was over.  That means even if Lucifer had gotten a fourth season, that show currently in the timeslot, would be there.  That’s called a “Summer replacement” or “Summer filler.”  But again, it wasn’t just one or two people. It was lots and lots of people all saying things like “This is why I’ll never watch Fox again!”  “I can’t believe they think THIS will do better than Lucifer.”

One poor girl suggested that she would have liked it if Azrael dressed like a Goth girl like Death of The Endless only to get horrible responses of “lol I think Angels predate Goth.”  Yeah, and?  Angels predate Nightclubs, Armani suits, and Piano too.   And “No, I like her nice and sweet.” and “No, I like her nerdy.”  What exactly do they think Goth means?  Due to so much anti-Goth commenting the girl eventually deleted her post.  

Some of the weirder ones (that feel like they never watched the show) are people talking about how they’d happily go to Hell to be with Tom Ellis as The Devil.

And a few posts saying “I’d sell him my soul” with several agreements.  But in the comics and TV show he repeatedly says he does not buy souls.   You were told this IN the show.  He doesn’t like this sort of thing.  He’s all about free will, remember?

 In the two weeks I’ve been in these groups I’ve seen more obnoxious fanwank than nearly any other fandom I have ever been a part of.   I had never seen fandom so bad in such a concentrated way.     

But the last two days I’ve seen the worst of it...

First I witnessed one of the head writers ask William Shatner if he’d be willing to play God if the show comes back. (This happened on Twitter and then spread everywhere.)  This bothered me a little bit since I had just heard Neil Gaiman would be happy to return to voicing God.  Apparently Neil had even said “Just try and stop me.”  

 Now if it was another “Dad is possessing someone” story, sure. I could have accepted it but it still didn’t sit right for me.   And it was the comments that followed that really got under my skin.  “Yay!  I didn’t like Neil Gaiman as God anyway!” and “Good. Neil Gaiman sucked as God.”   Wow...  Such nice fans. so polite about the guy who created the thing they love. 

Neil Gaiman has stood behind SaveLucifer along with William Shatner.  And suppose this was a temporary “possession” thing (as I was starting to suspect it would have been) and Neil Gaiman was set to come back after that?  You think posting that he was awful is a good idea?  This should be common sense but  bashing the voice of the man who created the character is rude.   

I know she (the writer) was trying to rile up the fans at the exciting idea of William Shatner making a guest appearance but immediately after Neil Gaiman said he’d happily come back, and not giving context to how “Dad” would be Shatner caused problems in the fandom, not unity and cheering.  And weird, senseless, sudden insulting of the man who created the character.  I really don’t like that.

The writers have made some really horrible decisions in trying to manipulate fan reactions. That drawn out “Will Chloe ever learn the truth’ and then last minute cliffhanger come to mind.  Along with the whole “Will Chloe choose Pierce(Cain)?”  NO!   Of course she won’t pick Cain!  Tom Welling told everyone who interviewed him that the role was temporary.  Everyone knew it wouldn’t last. 

My experiences today though top the cake.

An anonymously created fan art is circulating of a fake season 4 poster.  “One Man.  Two faces.”  And it even says #SaveLucifer ON the poster but there are fans mistaking it as real.  It’s a fan art photoshop job not even of the tone of the first three season posters!  It literally says “#Savelucifer” on the poster!  It looks almost like a poster for a low budget horror movie.  But they are mistaking it as real.

And finally, there is mild- very slight- not taken too seriously, rumor that Neil Gaiman’s Sandman might finally be adapted.  I know what triggered this rumor.  It’s because Matthew Cable is going to be in the new Swamp Thing series for DC’s streaming service.  And today Matthew is more well known for his role in Sandman than Swamp Thing.       

And for the first time in my entire experience in the Lucifer fandom I saw true anti-Sandman comments.  Not anti comics (I was starting to get used to those even if they felt like 1950s level ignorance), but actual anti-Sandman. 

 “If they do Sandman but not Lucifer their streaming service is gonna fail!” and “Boycott Sandman!”  “It’s our Lucifer or no Lucifer!”  You don’t even know what’s IN Sandman!  You might even like it!  It’s not a competition.  The Sandman didn’t make Lucifer get canceled.    

They don’t even realize some of their favorite lines IN the Lucifer TV show are direct quotes from the Sandman comics that they are now bashing!

When the fans start bashing the character’s creator, and the source material I tend to lose interest.  It’s like when I saw that the director of Victor Frankenstein had said the Mary Shelley novel was “as dull as dishwater.”  Yeah, how’s that working out for you, pal? 

  At this point if Lucifer is saved I’m not sure I’m going to watch it.  

The facebook portion of the fandom is really rubbing me the wrong way.  And most are thirty-somethings acting like children or newbies to the Internet. 

 In closed (private) Facebook groups replying to posts with a nausea inducing chorus of #Savelucifer and #Pickuplucifer (and jpeg pictures of the hashtags as if that somehow works!) is not going to DO anything.  And many are literally replying to everything with those tags or adding it to every post and when people try to explain that is not how the hashtags work in a private group on Facebook they get angry and accuse the person of not actually wanting to save the show.  It’s demented.

I admit I was already a little bitter the third season of the show focussed on the “ships” too much and ridiculously stretched out the “Will Chloe ever find out the truth?” only to leave it on a cliffhanger, and the writing in season 3 felt inconsistent to me. - (Cain wants to be mortal and then after a very short conversation decides he wants to be immortal.  As if he never considered the pratfalls of being mortal in his thousands of years of life?  He “loves” Chloe but opens fire on her?  And don’t get me started on what they did to Mazikeen, or Trixie accidentally giving pot brownies to her elderly teacher until she couldn’t feel her legs.  And Maze “hilariously” - and treated like it’s no big deal- throwing male strippers into traffic...) -  but I was willing to fight to try to get the show a fourth season, in the hope that a fourth season could go back to the quality of the first two seasons.  However after all the stupidity, rudeness, and assholary I’ve witnessed in the last two weeks I don’t think it’s worth it.   I know none of them will read this as they seem allergic to “long” comments.  

I’m getting seriously burnt out on the behavior of too many Lucifer fans...

[snakecolumn95]

12 People On How They Got Motivated To Exercise Before They Felt “Fit Enough” For The Gym

For the past six months, I’ve been exercising more frequently than I have since I was a 15-year-old taking dance class for a dozen or so hours a week. I even put a little pink dot for each day I go to a pilates or step class because a) I’m a goober, and b) it’s incredibly motivating to see you’ve achieved some sort of streak, because you don’t want to break it. After tallying up my dots since January, I can see that I’ve attended about four classes a week on average so far this year.

It’s been difficult for me to pinpoint what exactly got me motivated to start going to more group fitness classes in the first place. An easy explanation is that I simply make more money than I used to, so it’s easier to cover the cost of a gym membership that includes classes than it would have been when I was 22 and broke. But while more budgeting wiggle room means I have more options, I know there are plenty of lower-cost options in the city that I could find (there are yoga studios founded on a pay-what-you-want basis, and the city’s recreation centers offer a fair amount of classes at a pretty low yearly membership cost).

Realistically, I know part of it is because I started off in decent-enough physical shape that the classes didn’t feel so difficult. To me, nothing is less motivating in an exercise environment than feeling like I can’t keep up. It doesn’t matter that I may not look as “fit” as the other people in a class — as long as I can get through each exercise, I have no problem getting through and returning to a class. But when I can’t get through a class being able to do at least some version of everything taught, I start to think, What is even the point? And I get really discouraged from returning. This time around, though, I started off on a slightly better foot: I had been going to yoga about twice a week for a full year. It wasn’t the same as more “difficult” types of exercise (and the vinyasa classes I was attending were decidedly not advanced), but because my body was already used to some regular physical activity, I could tell I was having an easier go of getting used to more rigorous classes.

I’m by no means a fitness expert, but I definitely recommend this semi-strategy of starting with “easier” classes and keeping with them for a good long time before trying something more challenging. I wanted to reach out to others who have managed to successfully adopt a regular fitness routine to see what motivated them in the beginning, before they felt like they were “fit enough” to be at the gym. (And I will say, it sucks that it’s so common for gyms to be discouraging of people who aren’t already considered “in shape,” but I think it’s really common to feel discouraged.) Some of their answers were really practical, while others quite came from a more emotional place — and all could be super useful for many people to hear. Here’s what they had to say:

1. “I started running because I needed to get healthy (per a doctor) and BECAUSE it was essentially free (I already owned shoes). I’m competitive, so adding different milestones motivated me, and then I realized it was a great hobby/oddly social thing (free running clubs!).” – Moira

2. “Ugh, I hate that I have become someone who loves fitness. Classpass is an excellent option, especially for those who do NOT work a 9-5 — as their classes are priced based on availability, and mid-morning/early-afternoon classes often cost 1/2 of rush hour classes!” – Mackenzie

3. “Starting a food Instagram! I didn’t really care about building an audience, just used it to scroll through healthy food + workouts, and then did daily posts/stories to keep myself accountable. Finally lost ~40 lbs after this change.” – Natasha

4. “I found a really great program with Barre3, which has a crazy affordable online program with hundreds of videos. They focus on strengthening the body and mind and have an energy that’s both hyped and calming??” – Jen

5. “My mentor died of a heart attack and then my dad had a serious stroke. I figured, if I can’t control anything that might kill me, it sure as hell wasn’t gonna be developing diabetes or high blood pressure (both run on both sides of my family).” – Yung

6. “I gained my ‘freshman 15’ as a senior in college and wanted to get back to what I was before, so I started running. That turned into half marathons, triathlons, trail running, yoga and strength training. I do not pay for any memberships. Home or being outdoors works for me.” – Megan

7. “What helped me work out more often was to kick diet culture in the metaphorical nads. Exercise is movement. What movement do you find fun and enjoyable? Or that makes you feel that rush of endorphins?” – Vix

8. “Save money on gas/be more sustainable = bike 11 miles to work. I run with my dog to exercise him, not because I love it. Six months in, I’m actually motivated to work out for my mental health and have a group workout I do with folks who live on my block in addition to the cardio.” – Giselle

9. “I track my macros and lift weights! I tried c25k but I’m lagging a lot haha. I’ve lost 20lbs so far. I started a fitness Instagram to hold me accountable, and I track my food with Lifesum and my workouts with the JeFit app! Both are free! I started getting into fitness because I  had an anxiety attack in the middle of the night. I felt like my life was spiraling and I had no control over anything in my life. I felt like my desire to eat was controlling me. So I made a conscious effort to hold myself accountable and start working out! Now I feel the best I’ve felt in a long time! Both physically and mentally!” – Sid

10. “Socialization! I knew exactly zero people when I moved here, and I joined a (free!) trail running group full of experienced ultra marathoners just to make friends. No one cared that I wasn’t in the same kind of shape they were. It was motivating, and I made lots of friends.” – Maggie

11. “I joined a boutique gym which is the only thing that works for me. I like the small and interactive classes. It was 1) to meet people and 2) mental health reasons outweighed the physical. I was miserable and the social interaction helped me bounce back. While not cheap, it paid for itself in the benefits not related to being in shape at all. I am planning on getting a bike now that I live somewhere much more conducive to using it regularly.” – Susan

12. “I love Lifetime Athletic if you have one near you. The entire gym is so inspiring and the teachers are amazing. Also, an outside space helps me and new workout clothes.” – Robin

Image via Unsplash

Like this story? Follow The Financial Diet on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter for daily tips and inspiration, and sign up for our email newsletter here.

Source: https://thefinancialdiet.com/12-people-on-how-they-got-motivated-to-exercise-before-they-felt-fit-enough-for-the-gym/

[ellenesh-blog]

It's not a financial windfall

The pressure is on. It's expected that over 300 million people will watch the event live and China Central Television will air it during prime time to a possible 1.2 billion Chinese viewers. Why doesn he just properly explain the jump: Through a 135 Meter wide arch, then down a 1 mile long gorge.

wholesale nfl jerseys from china So I was in my village mobility scooter and I went to go into her hospital room I couldn't get to ask them my mom's and I'm like okay everybody in my family is in my mom let me. nfl jerseys went home for my mom was sitting in her chair and she bandages from her surgery and she looked at me sitting in my chair and she says. Can I get at make you something to eat.  wholesale nfl jerseys from china

Cheap Jerseys free shipping Murray started the 2014 season like gangbusters as the Cowboys transformed into a rushing team after running the ball 36.4 percent of the time in his first three NFL seasons. He broke Jim Brown's 56 year old NFL record of six consecutive games with 100 rushing yards or more to begin a season with an eight game streak. Cheap Jerseys from china At the midway point of the season, Murray had 1,054 rushing yards and 1,293 yards from scrimmage, which put him on pace to break Eric Dickerson's single season rushing record of 2,105 yards by three yards and Chris Johnson's single season yards from scrimmage record (2,509 yards).  Cheap Jerseys free shipping

wholesale jerseys Are huge benefits to size, he said. Bank Caterpillar in like 40 countries. We can do a $20bn bridge loan overnight for a company that about to do a major acquisition. Whatever his reasoning for shouting "Omaha!" we should assume that Peyton's dramatic, wholesale jerseys from china loveable habit will be around as long as old 18 suits up for the Broncos. The word, like all that we know about Peyton, is already the "stuff" of NFL legend. Keep it going, Manning, we love "Omaha!" and everything else about your game..  wholesale jerseys

wholesale jerseys One decade after Charlotte finished sixth in the 2007 World University Games the Americans' last non gold medal performance the Terps will take on the world themselves in the Aug. 20 29 competition in Taipei. Players would be traveling soon to Rome, www.cheapjerseyschinatrade.com Florence, Milan and Lake Como, about which they knew poco (not much).  wholesale jerseys

HUGE congrats to the Dublin senior and minor teams, who both had superb wins since our last notes, and especially all the representatives from the club. We are all extremely proud of our club mates, and the whole county team. Please keep an eye out on the club's website and our Facebook and Twitter feeds for info on ticket requests for members for the upcoming semi finals.

cheap nfl jerseys "It's not a boon to the golf course or the Trump name. It's not a financial windfall," Noel said. "There's risk. Most stock quote data provided by BATS. Market indices are shown in real time, www.cheapjerseyschina8.com except for the DJIA, which is delayed by two minutes. All times are ET.  cheap nfl jerseys

wholesale jerseys from china What it's about: It is hard to imagine Julia Louis Dreyfus on TV and not think of Elaine Benes from Seinfeld. Well Seinfeld ended centuries ago, and she is back on TV with VEEP. The show is a political satire comedy in which Julia plays Selina Meyer, the Vice President of the United States.  wholesale jerseys from china

Cheap Jerseys free shipping Child soldiers have been profiled by journalists, and novelists have struggled to imagine their lives. But until now, there has not been a first person account from someone who came through this hell and survived. Ishmael Beah, www.cheapjerseysfromchinasale.com now 25 years old, tells how at the age oftwelve, he fled attacking rebels and wandered a land rendered unrecognizable by violence.  Cheap Jerseys free shipping

No change in the big picture. Telling development for a team that can do no wrong: Arizona takes some heat for the trade, and he bangs out 18 hits over a nine game span for the Diamondbacks. Dumb move of the week: With one out away from a two hit shutout, and badly wanting that complete game, A's manager yanks him because he's thrown 129 pitches.

Cheap Jerseys free shipping It's not. Ok some people let us down but in my opinion that happens in mose societys and you all need to grow up really and stop playing the blaming game and acting like toddlers. :DI do hope the figures are correct! and that! i have axperienced nothing but bad with the polish!!! in to many ways to mention they are thieves, rude, abusive, etc and very crafty with my experiences with them i could write a book! and i know some people will say it's only the minority.  Cheap Jerseys free shipping

All of this does add up. The cumulative effect of every one of these invasions can jeopardise our enjoyment of the sport. As the boundary ropes creep in, tightening around the playing area's neck, and as live telecasts get scrunched up on your television by two swathes resembling billboards at the top and bottom, the question to ask ourselves is not whether each of these intrusions can be justified as necessary or as necessary evils.

wholesale jerseys Franklin and his brother quarrelled, and in 1723 Franklin ran away to Philadelphia. After 18 months in London, Franklin settled in Philadelphia, establishing himself as a printer. He bought the 'Pennsylvania Gazette', which he edited and which became one of the American colonies' major newspapers.  wholesale jerseys

wholesale nfl jerseys from china You can contact your primary health care provider to inquire about taking a DOT physical exam. You also must pass a written exam, which measures your knowledge of relevant subjects, and a road driving test, which includes a pre trip inspection, a test on basic vehicle controls and a test of your on road driving skills. Before you can take the CDL test, you will need to obtain a Commercial Learner's Permit, according to the Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration wholesale nfl jerseys from china.

[songketalliance]

Taking a New Look at Goals

“Setting a goal is like making a promise: it's a declaration that I will corral resources, set aside time and come hell or high-water will direct my actions to a specific & measurable end-point until I stand triumphant upon it within the allotted time-frame.”

A contribution by Joshua Lim Sheng Ming

I don't really like goals. Or maybe I do. Some things in life are complicated that way.

Let me try that again: I like the idea of goals and what they represent. I think they're important to guide our activity towards certain desirable outcomes. That said, I don't like setting goals and the thought of having to do so stirs up a primal urge to leap out the nearest window like I was running away from a wolverine (or from Wolverine himself. Either way a scary thought).

Don't get me started on setting personal goals. Those are the worst because success is directly attributed to my efforts alone which means there's no one to blame. Mix in the common understanding that we're supposed to set SMART Goals that are specific, measurable and have a time-frame and suddenly all we've done is narrow the frame for success to a tiny dot at a specific point in time. That window is beginning to look mighty inviting.

Now here's the funny part: I'm a trained life coach. This means I'm not only supposed to set goals but help others set theirs as well. I love the thought of everyday people getting more out of their lives which, surprise surprise, kind of requires setting goals. Even so, I still don't like doing it.

Setting a goal is like making a promise: it's a declaration that I will corral resources, set aside time and come hell or high-water will direct my actions to a specific & measurable end-point until I stand triumphant upon it within the allotted time-frame. And if I don't achieve it, well that's kind of like a broken promise, isn't it? Broken promises can hurt if the promise was pretty big, and goals can be some of the biggest promises we make. Speaking for myself, I'm tired of people breaking their promises to me.

If a goal is a promise I make to myself then why would I promise myself something I'm not sure I can even achieve?

Before I fall down the spiral-staircase of despair I'm going to bring in some of my training here. Let's set aside this perception of goal setting and see if we can find a new way of looking at it that better fits our life. I have a couple ideas which combine into a veritable East-meets-West possibility.

Let's first look to the realm of Positive Psychology. In the book "Happier”, the author proposes a view of goals as means and not ends. In the typical goal setting method, goals are the end-point, the finality of our efforts. Goals can instead be seen as a way (i.e. a means) to free up our attention so we can enjoy the journey towards them. The point of goal setting therefore is to have a goal to work towards. In line with the title of the book, happiness and well-being are found in expending efforts towards the goal and not necessarily in attaining it.

From academia let's now look towards Chinese Philosophy. The book entitled "The Path" brings to light an assumption we make when we set goals: that we will be the same person when we achieve it. Instead, we all have the potential to always be changing. Think about the things you enjoyed as a teenager, how many did you leave aside as you got older? Because of our ever-changing nature, there is no guarantee that the goal we set will satisfy us when we achieve it. In fact, you're probably familiar with this very situation having either seen or been in it yourself. What the book proposes instead is to hold lightly to our goals while allowing ourselves to change with life's ebb and flow.

If you're like me and you're burned out on the goal setting methods you see on Facebook and Instagram, try taking a different view. Set your goals but loosen your grip on them. Enjoy the journey and your own development as you work towards them. Treat goals as means to keep you on course and not as ends to bring you happiness.

Like a ship on the high seas, set your course and raise your sails. And once you've done that remember to breathe in the fresh sea air and feel the warm sun on your skin. According to both science and ancient philosophy, that's where the magic really happens.

A contribution by Joshua Lim Sheng Ming

DONATE TO SONGKET ALLIANCE

Interested in contributing to Songket Alliance? E-mail us at hi@songketalliance.com with your ideas or article.

Like Songket Alliance on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.