#itty bitty friends network

[itstheghostofmypast]

Loyalties

Kim HongJoong x (f) Detective Reader

Summary: He held her itty bitty heart in his bloody palm and she knew that, but did she love him enough to let him win his little game everytime? Did he love her enough to risk her safety?

Genre: Hurt/Comfort Fluff

Warnings: Joong's a perv (Idk okay), mention of gunshots, strong language.

Word Count: 2.5K

Read Time: 12 min

Rating: nc-17

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels

She hated him, no she despised him, no she loathed that disgusting, horrid, weasel of a man. She despised his cheap ass fur coat, his unnecessary bling and those pants! Her blood would boil at the mere name of that demonic, immature moron, she despised every little detail about him; his angular face, his sharp eyes that would glimmer like the stars swirling with pure mischief, his light chuckle that would ring in her ears like the voice of an angel, oh and she really, really, abhorred the way he'd look at her, with the warmth of pure love - NO!

Mentally slapping herself she cleared her throat, rehearsing the first stanza of hatred that ran hot in her veins for the infamous leader of MATZ. Technically it was just two men, boys who were usually called in for petty crimes turned into men who were now challenging the system- a knock-off of any vigilante out there. Batman, Daredevil, even the Punisher, see these men had class and style- MATZ, well, they had style...but perhaps the fact that explaining how her once high school friends are now notorious criminals or wannabe Robinhood would be a bit difficult. Perhaps this little fact only added to her current presiding problem, one she had mentioned to her lover, explicitly mentioning her concerns; for the safety of his life and her professional career. Once again, that bastard let his deflated ego in the way, her words bouncing off it without ever reaching his useless, dysfunctional brain.

So, here she stood, in front of her captain, watching him go on and on about the need for order and justice, the need for law and police work, and more importantly the need for loyalty. Loyalty, a trait that was of importance, though her's was being questioned.

"Where do your loyalties lie detective?"

"With the force, Sir" With a salute she looked dead ahead, not at him, no, through him, trying to figure out the answer to this very question. Where did her loyalties lie?

"Then how is it, you've been leading the task force to capture MATZ for three years and each time you are close they miraculously slip away!" his large, meaty hands slammed on the table, her partner beside her flinching, though not a jerk left her bones. Instead, her eyes flickered to his face, instantly scanning his form, this man looked like anything but eh definition of justice, safety and security - if anything, he looked more like a criminal than that moron of hers.

"I assure you, Sergeant, my loyalties lie where my heart has ever since I was a little girl. My friendship with Joong- " pausing she cleared her throat, ignoring the way he raised a brow at he before glancing at her partner as if hinting at something "MATZ, both Kim Hongjoong and Park Seonghwa ended as soon as they started this life of crime."

"I don't trust you an ounce detective, not one bit." slumping back in his seat he stared up at her, "But the Captain trusts ya for some reason, believes you a good egg- I just think you're a cracked egg, too far gone for anything else- so I'll tell you this, I'm on to ya, I'll be watching you, listening to you, from the moment you step into his precinct ill be watching your every move."

.

"Well, that was something." Jongho muttered, closing the door behind him, "Do you...want to grab a bite or something?"

"I'm good." giving him a small smile she sat back at her desk, sifting through the papers, not a word written processing in her already occupied mind. The traffic of thoughts only stopped when a hand rested on hers, "I may be younger than you, but we're partners, and my mentor has always told to me trust my partner. "

His soft words, followed by his cute smile had her sigh in defeat, sitting back down and nodding, "Some mentor you have, huh?"

"She's the best of the best." Puffing up his chest with pride he placed his hands on her desk, "Now, what can I do, to make my mentor feel better."

"Nothing, really Jong, I- " her words caught up as she noticed something. Her eyes caught the way her system was on, the screen lit up, the mouse icon moving on its own, she was being - shit. Instantly reaching for the cable, she pulled the plug on the CPU.

"Um...did you see what I just saw?"

"Jongho, get Yunho and tell him to track whatever the hell that was."

"Yes, Ma'am."

.

The door slammed shut, the darkness just adding to her anger, of course, he wouldn't turn on the lights, no lamp or bulb, choosing to sit on the small balcony - maybe she should just push him off, the idea extremely tempting at this point.

Placing her badge and gun on the table she made her way to the small balcony at the other end of the living room, making sure to turn on a lamp on the way out. Sliding the door open she sighed, the cool breeze prickling her warm skin, a shiver running down her spine as she stepped out completely, barely missing the small table as she made her way to the seat her boyfriend was currently sprawled on, limbs extending like the roots of the potted plants behind him. His head lay against the cushioned headrest, turning his head to face her, an easy smile making its way to his face, the warm glow of the fairy lights from the wall beside him only adding onto his beautiful face, making him appear oh so soft and lovable.

"Hey babe." his words barely above a whisper.

"Joong~" she sang, slowly getting on top of him, making herself comfortable until she was fully straddling him, his hands automatically finding their place on her back, holding onto her tight, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, "Did you miss me?"

"You bet your pretty ass, I did," he mumbled, eying the way she moved closer, her chest pressed against his, fingers playing with the hair at the base of his head.

"Aw~ baby" she pouted before gripping onto the ends of his hair and tugging hard, his head tilting back as a whimper escaped him, damn, his girl was in the mood- or so he thought.

"I didn't you f*cker." her grip tightened, tilting his head further back with another tug, his own fingers digging into her sides, trying to keep some form of control.

"Why~" whining with his eyes closed, he treasured the burning sensation, his princess knew how to play and he liked it so very much.

"Did you get Youngie to tap into my system? Do you want me to get fired? Or do you want me to shoot you in the d*ck?"

"Aw baby~ it's just work." his eyes finally snapped open, standing up without warning as a high-pitched squeak left her lips, arms instantly locking around his neck, much like her legs around his waist, staring up at him wide-eyed.

A chuckle echoed in the dark of the night as his hands finally gripped her close, "Don't worry doll, I'd never let ya fall." Walking them into the apartment he looked down at her frowning, "Did someone piss off my princess ?"

"Joong, " sighing she glanced away, letting him carry her around like she weighed nothing, like she was a mere muse he was addicted to, clinging onto him, onto his fur coat- wait God, he was wearing the orange one, she hated it.

"Yes, love?" slowly setting her down on the bed he shrugged off his jacket, going to the cupboard to hang it, his precious baby wasn't cheap!

"I can only protect you if you trust me, but if you hack into my system or pull shit like that and they fire me, who knows what- I- I just can't lose you" her words clogging up in her throat, the burning sensation all too evident behind her eyes, " what I mean is" sighing she paused to rephrase, his casual attitude just adding to the frustration as he walked towards her, swaying like a cat, stopping right in front of her sitting form, "Hongjoong, I'm serious, with me, it is just a game of cat and mouse but if I get replaced, if its someone else, it'll be serious and they might even-"

"Shhh..." placing a finger on her lips he hushed her, his hand caressing her cheek, admiring how she nuzzled into his palm, "You know love, " he whispered leaning closer till their noses touched, "I am a very dangerous man, I am more than just your lover."

"But-"

"I'll lay off your system," brushing his lips against hers, "Detective." Pulling back he smiled down at her, admiring how she looked up at him with teary eyes filled with nothing but love and worry, letting his intrusive thoughts win and squishing her cheeks with one hand, laughing at her whining in protest.

His other hand pulled out something from his back, showing her the shiny metal toy of his, "If it were someone else, other than you, that f*cker would already be dead, you're the only reason why I haven't torn this system down to shreds." with one last kiss to the forehead, her lovable idiot of a man once again promised to stay out of her way, at least for a while.

.

"This is team two, The ground floor is clear."

He did it again, he must've done it again, no way in hell did he not do it.

"Team three reporting from floor 1, all clear."

"Boss" Jongho mumbled beside her, turning off his comm, "Did you tell him?"

Sighing she adjusted her bulletproof west as the two walked into the basement, "Yes, I told that bastard, my system wasn't tapped, I double-checked." Of course, her junior knew about her little relationship, she did teach him that a mentor and mentee should have no secrets, even ones like these. It didn't take him long to accept it either, saying something along the lines of, "Is he really that bad if he's fighting against a system that has failed us?"

"Because Yunho just texted me saying your phone was tapped instead. "

"I hate him."

"Team two reporting, roof's all clear boss."

"This doesn't look good," he mumbled, trailing hot on her heels as the two entered the basement, a parking lot with two entrances. They were going to split up, "We can't go empty-handed, we need something at least."

"I know. Let's split up, and be on your guard."

With that the two parted ways, her footsteps echoing across the empty parking lot, the scraping of her boots muffling the jingle of her gun, one that was aimed and ready to shoot. A low chuckle caught her ear.

"STOP RIGHT THERE." She yelled, turning to aim at the fool, his smirk pissing her off even more, "Don't.Move."

"Hey doll." the deep voice from beside her alerting her senses, "You should go check up on your partner, baby bear's knocked out like Goldilocks." Seonghwa chuckled, making his way to stand next to Hongjoong who had his hands up for a show, the smug look never leaving his face.

"Aw, come on detective, just let us go and we can call it a night."

A loud bang, followed by a series of bangs, resonated across the entire parking lot.

"ALL UNITS TO THE BASEMENT, NOW!"

.

"You okay?" she asked, pressing the icepack against the bump on his head, "Told you to wear the helmet."

"Are YOU okay?" he asked, others around them looking at their head's bulletproof jacket, staring at the four shots right across it. Though that's not what he meant, he was definitely asking about something else.

"Yeah, great actually." Patting her head she turned around when someone called her name, eying the office who handed her a phone, "It's the sergeant, detective." rolling her eyes she pressed it against her ear, "Hello?"

"Detective. I heard about the encounter but didn't think you had it in ya to shoot him. Glad the bulletproof vest worked though, you're a good agent, we can't risk losing. I take it back, you have my trust and support. Get home safe."

.

Slamming the door shut she sighed in relief, kicking off her shoes she made her way into the living room, oh? The lights were on, what a pleasant surprise, wonder what happened?

"Hey honey how was work?" she smirked, leaning against the wall, arms crossed as she watched her shirtless boyfriend glare back at her, both ignoring the other man in the room who was tending to the gunshot wound.

Raising a brow, he scoffed, "Oh great love I got shot today by a bitch-"

"I'm still holding my gun Joong, don't test me"

Slamming his hand on his thigh he yelled "YOU SHOT ME- you SHOT ME IN THE SHOULDER!" hissing in pain as Seonghwa clicked his tongue, mumbling a stay still as he patched up the hole. This was all he could do before Yeosang could come over and have a proper look at it.

"YOU TAPPED MY PHONE"

"WELL YOUR SERGEANT WAS GETTING TOO COZY WITH YA- man's a perv, I know it" he spat back, shoving Seonghwa out of the way with his free hand, earning a curse in return.

"HONGJOONG, HE WAS DOUBTING MY LOYALTIES!" she explained and pointed at herself, "AND YOU SHOT ME TOO!"

A dramatic gasp echoed across the room followed by a hand placed on his chest - his heart, mind you-, causing Seonghwa to roll his eyes, here we go again, he should've never befriended these two in high school. Mumbling to himself about their idiocy he walked out to the balcony, deciding to smoke instead of listening to these idiots.

"First of all, YOU shot ME first and" he yelled and turned to point at the balcony, "That motherf*cker shot you, not me! I agree four times was a bit excessive but hey you were the one who kept going on and on about us being too soft on ya." Turning to her with raised brows, "And loyalties? Babe, come on, I mean, you and I- like we like- I've been in you multiple times, day or night and-"

"CAN YOU NOT!" she screamed, gesturing at the open door of the balcony.

'I don't care, pretend I'm not here, that's what I'm pretending too!' was all they could hear from the balcony, causing her face to resemble a tomato, though her shameless boyfriend was as nonchalant as ever, continuing his little speech, half naked in the living room.

"All I'm saying is, I don't question your loyalties because I know you've got the hots for me like I completely get it, I'd wanna sleep with me too, but your creep of a boss knows his soggy sausage aint worth your time and-"

"I should've aimed for your d*ck"

"Would you really though? Cause I know you loyal to my d-"

"And this conversation is over." with that she stomped away, speed walking when she heard the loud cackles of Seonghwa followed by the laughter of her own idiot of a man. No, boys, they were still the same shameless teenage boys, she accidentally had the unfortunate fate of meeting in school, when she was nothing but a victim of loneliness, turning her grey dull days into chaotic, colourful ones pulled out of the ass of the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland.

[son1c]

i can't stop thinking about fibula being a beast on the court. that basketball court. cuz he's so tall (4 feet STRONG), he would have an advantage over all the other itty bitty mobians. sonic who? get your 3'3" butt out of here!

there exists in my mind a saturday morning, cartoon network-style episode where sonic and friends have to go up against the bad guys(TM). the stakes are some juvenile shit like who gets to hang at the skatepark on fridays. and, far from a battle to the death, the conflict turns into a basketball game.

knuckles gets fouled immediately for punching the ball and popping it. everyone has to find another ball to use and no one is happy about it. shadow straight up refuses to "play such a game" so he's on the sidelines with cream, who somehow convinces him to root for the hero team. "hoo-ray" type shit, you know? until the game progresses far enough and he actually gets really into it, going as far as to say "sonic. you must defeat them. for all of hedgehog-kind" and shaking one of the pompoms that cream manifested out of thin air.

the best player on the hero team is amy cuz she has the strength and the skill. she's fibula's nemesis on the court. pink hedgehog vs pink hedgehog. it's intense. it's dramatic. fibula tells amy she'll never be ballin'. then amy steals the ball from him and he falls flat on his face.

at one point they end up using orbot as a ball (he is not happy about this one bit).

in the end, despite the hero team's determination, i think fibula would win thru trickery and typical saturday morning cartoon hijinks. and also cuz he's just gotta stick it to those shorties. but this is NOT the end! tune in next week to see sonic's revenge... on the soccer field!!!

[flyingspicerack]

Inside Job Pt2Ep3 Myc Analysis Pt1

ALRIGHT FUCKERS! AS THE OFFICAL CEO OF MYC ITS TIME i GIVE YOU MY BREAKDOWN ON EP 3 BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE WILL!!!!!

THIS IS GONNA BE A BIGGUN AND PRETTY MUCH A PLAY BY PLAY SO STRAP IN!!!

The way he's clinging to the rope here? Oh so cute. But also! Very telling of how he's able to distribute his weight? Body and tendrils seem much like.... idk squid/octopus like? Also in this scene, all of the insults he throws around <3 He's such a catty little bitch I also love that Gigi is the one he doesn't insult the most through the ep? Like I know everyone is like OMG ANDRE AND MYC are such good 'friends' and all that (yes i am one of those too) but we see in pt1 that Myc and Gigi hang out a fair bit and I like to think he's got like, a respect for her? Idk

The fucking way the little itty bitty orb inside his orb gets smaller when the flashlight from the security guard hits him is so brief but oh so important to me, oh my GOD this little bit of detail has me HGFUIEOHGFOI:SGHJIO

HHHHH OK FIRSTLY! Reagan tells Myc to, and I quote "Spurt on that guy!" And he refers to himself as a soft serve machine that needs to warm up and cannot just jizz on command, which definitely makes sense. He also says for no one to look at him so.... hes shy

SO THAT leads me to believe, that his jiss doesn't actually need to be processed at all to become the stuff they put in the memory erasing guns, so, they can just erase minds... SO what does that mean for sex with humans, as well as that one time Andre licked Myc's flagella on the yacht during the wedding, he didn't get erased.... thoughts thoughts thoughts

REAGAN YELLING AT HIM AND CALLING HIM A WASTE OF SPACE FUCKING HURT ME

OH MY GOD BABY! NO DONT CRY!!!!!!! UAOGH WHAT THE FUCK

Reagan: Okay I was not ready for that" ME NEITHER BITCH????? MYC CRYING????? WHY WOULD HE CRY????

WAS ANISE RIGHT ABOUT EVERYTHING IN THAT MYC IS ACTUALLY A DWEEB???? UH YEAH?????? IM AS SURPRISED AS YALL ARE

god ok you guys im never gonna stop talking about this, we got so much mushroom lore, we have so much mushroom plot, we have so much MYC LORE AND I AM HERE FOR IT!!!!! AND IM WRITING IT ALL DOWN IN ONE PLACE!! RIGHT HERE!!!

Myc LIED about how old he was prior to this. In Pt1Ep3 we see his RightSwipe profile says 4041 for his age, but this here is his 5000 year reunion, so he's says he's younger than he really is.

He's from "A million year old mushroom hive cluster from the center of the earth" MILLION!!!!!! HES OLDER THAN WE CAN EVEN COMPREHEND

FIRST he apparently lied and said that everyone was jealous of his "huge dong" and he left, THEN JUST IN THIS SCENE, he says that they kicked him out because he was too much of a rebel, AND THEN AT THE END OF HIS RANT he finally comes clean and says that he never went to prom, graduation, AND no one signed his yearbook BECAUSE HE WAS A FUCKING DWEEB THAT LOOKED LIKE THIS:

(yeah honey i'd hate you too)

he was .... a fucking DWEEB! HE WAS A NERD!! THE BRACES?! THE PIMPLES! THE.... somehow.... FACIAL HAIR?? The hat.. yeesh boy ouch

WHEN HE LEFT HE WANTED TO PROVE HE COULD BE SOMEBODY! oH MY LORD!!!! HE CALLS HIMSELF A SINGLE MIDDLE AGED LOSER.... HOW OLD IS HE IF HES MIDDLE AGED IM GOING INSANE OVER HERE!!!!!!!!!

also his name, can we take about the name we have a real full name for him its not Magic Myc, its fucking MYC CELLIUM im going feral here and frothing

This uh.... this makes me..... hes so.... PATHETIC!! He's crying!!! HES FUCKING WHIMPERING AND CRYING AND SNIFLING CAUSE HES SO ASHAMED ABOUT GOING TO HIS REUNION LIKE WHAT THE FUCK HES LITERALLY BABYGIRL I DONT UNDERSTAND???????????????????

why are you so moe? WHY ARE YOU THE CUTEST GUY EVER! HIS GASP! Also like, Reagan, you REALLLY think this dude is never gonna insult you again? I thought you were a super genius? How can you literally be this stupid.

SORTA MUCUS SORTA JIZZ CALLED JUCUS!!!!!!!

I think it is SO AMAZING that the hole down to the mushroom hive is in Oregon, cause like, the worlds biggest mycelium network is under there.... hehe

FRUITY FLAILING ASS BITCH!!

OK If you go to 4:40 and look in the bg, you can see Myc get on the elevator down and he is fucking TREMBLING!! HE is SO nervous!! IM FUCK NGKJENSfewtgfwsg

Myc confirmed leftist, so thats a W but an L for thinking u can ge a nobel prize in podcasting... then again hes a mushroom and doesnt care so he is always a W in my heart

Look how far his flagella can stretch

HOLLOW EARTH! OH ITS SO LOVELY! AND I HAVE A LOT TO SAY ABOUT IT

I am very curious to know, if when Myc tells the hive to put a 'psychic metaphor' over the place, is that... only for the characters in the show or is it also for the viewer? It has to be, because we are also human and therefore wouldn't be able to comprehend the societal differences of mushroom dynamics! RIGHT?! SO I will also touch upon things as they happen later with this mindset.

FUCK!! RIGHT HERE!! Myc's asking Reagan if his BREATH smells bad!!!! He touches the top little frills and then puts his tentacle under Reagan's nose!! Does he... His scent glands?? WHAT?? AHHHHH I DONT KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS???

... I got one thing to say about stem-mantha... myc sure does love pink bitches .... makes eye contact with anise

LOOK AT HIM ALL.... NERVOUS!

Okay so then... Stem-Mantha asks if Myc was the guy who did puzzles with her parents so she could go have sex... SO, yes, the fucking mushrooms DO fuck each other, AND they have like, parents They dont just grow?? (As seen from Myc wanting to be a mommy in Pt2Ep7)

THEN Myc gets fucking pelted with a goddamn football and we are now included on the information that Myc ran out at graduation before everyone merged consciousnesses and became assimilated. SO It is OH SO interesting to see that each of these mushroom clusters are there OWN individual personalities but THEN they all are joined and have a shared consciousness thats a part of the hive!

Stem-Mantha then asks if the gang are Myc's parole officers, so does that mean that everyone was under the impression he went to like, jail topside after he left hollow earth??

HIS TENDRIL HEART IM FUCKING LOSING IT AHHHHHHH

ALRIGHT!!! FUCKERS FIRSt things first. Yes he wore that stupid fucking "NO FAT CHIX" hat but are we talking about it? NO, well YES, in that he wore it because he was in denail thats it thats the story thank you very much

SECONDLY here is were I'm touching upon the psychic metaphor thing again right here. I am thinking waaaay too deeply about a silly little cartoon and i feel very much like 'charlie pepe silvia meme' right now in idk how meta this whole thing is supposed to be? Like I don't think Myc was actually into dragon ball Z considering it was 5000 years ago and dbz didn't exist then, and we're just supposed to believe dudes was the mushroom equivalent of a little itty bitty pathetic nerd with pimples and acne, right??

but im also crazy coo coo bananas insane in thinkiing how fucking funny would it be if dbz was some kind of true space epic and myc is like, the equivalent of a greek mythology nerd in that hes a little fanboy.

THIRDLY. MY MANS GOT EXTRA STRONG POWERS THAT MAKE HIM EXTRA SENSITIVE?????? HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO NURSE

His fucking signature babygirl i loooove you its so cute what the FUCK!! and look at how he carried himself like a fucking .... beanie babie, hes full of beans or whatever, i just love how this fucker carries his weight its so cool to look at wtf

HES NERVOUS AGAIN IM JUST GFJHEL"GSGJ"LG I KNOW ITS NOT IMPORTANT BUT IT IS TO ME

They are SO fucking mean to him. But also this scene, you can see that not everyone is on board with Reagan doing this, like they're all really uncomfortable when she pulls this picture up, and Brett isn't even there

Why is there so much jucus... was he tearing up about getting found out? OH LAWDY I HOPE NOT ILL FUCKING CRY?????

HAHHA SO this post has gotten waaay too long so i think i'm gonna make it two parts, so part 2 will be post assimilation!!! Also because posts can only have 30 images and we at the max babes

[silvrflowr]

08212024

I often have to remind myself I have the privilege of slowing down in *this* moment. Sometimes the only force that will stop me is death, and alhamdulliah, that’ll be the end. Im okay. Im really grateful.

Im at the airport right now. Had a sip of a C4. Was not good. Tasted like sugar. Recently I've been really scared of sugar. I feel like going sugar free. Regardless - I feel really lucky right now. Im sitting here, tippy tapping away on a computer. With a cold drink. In a matching outfit. And I look good. I feel good. Im just happy to be alive dude. So grateful. overflowing with good vibes

I went out for a fancy dinner with my friend. Stupid expensive. But a great experience. I was glad I did something memorable with her.

I found my journal from earlier this year. Read it with minimal challenge. Im surprised how little progress I made. I am set on changing that.

some itty bitty goals I have for myself to accomplish by December

[ ] Maintain a 4.0 GPA

[ ] Get 400 hours of Lab Experience (PAID)

[ ] Learn to swim, surf, and skateboard

[ ] Join some clubs, branch out, make new friends

[ ] Take care of my body in the gym, the kitchen, the bed, and the bath

[ ] Get on a research project I'm genuinely passionate about

[ ] Create a passion project (maybe a research project or club?)

[ ] Foster my familial, platonic, and spiritual relationships

[ ] Get on track to graduate ASAP

[ ] Find national acclaim through like a scholarship maybe

[ ] Build my med school stats (network, leadership, shadowing, clinical experience, personal statement, leadership, volunteering, community outreach)

[ ] Take time out for my interests and hobbies

[ ] Shadow work

excited 111

[lazyliars]

So c!Slimecicle and c!Quackity's relationship is specifically engineered to kill me, specifically.

How DARE they give Quackity a morality pet. This is unacceptable and it will unarguably break my heart into little itty bitty pieces.

It's almost comical how hamfisted their dynamic is to lend a softer, sweeter facet to Q when all of his other relationships are darkening so severely, but it works.

cc!Charlie is playing the childish newcomer SO WELL and c!Quackity doesn't feel out of character when he's so proud and excited to show him capitalism and gambling, and how genuinely scared he seems when Charlie was on the ledge.

Seriously, he was offering to lessen Charlie's debts and PAY HIM not to endanger himself.

His promise to protect Charlie? Reads wholly sincere. And Charlie responding that he would protect Q too, like everything else he says, is also devastatingly honest.

"I take care of the people who take care of me."

Yeah. Yeah.

But on the other hand, this is also kind of horrible.

It's unclear how much of an "adult" c!Charlie is - it's implied that he's hundreds of years old(?) and the form he's taken isn't childish. But his understanding of human beings, and humanity in general, is so limited and not fully formed yet.

While I don't want to infantalize him, I think it's also worth keeping in mind that his agency in this situation is... tenuous. He has his own logic and understanding of the world, but it's not one shared by others.

Further more, Quackity directly refers to him as "not old enough" and Connor seems to view him as younger when he humors him - not in an insulting way, but in the way you might if a child was helping their parent at work and trying to be independent.

All of this means that the power imbalance present in their dynamic is dangerous, for both of them.

Quackity is spiraling hard right now, and it bodes very badly for him that the person he vocally describes as his "best friend" is a slimeguy he met a week ago at most, who is, among other things, deeply impressionable.

Now, we've only had two proper lore interactions, so I ask this next theory be taken with a grain of salt...

But in thinking on it, the relationship between c!Quackity and c!Slimecicle could be leading into a parallel to c!Tommy and c!Dream in exile.

Now, I know that seems waaaaaaay off, I really do. And Quackity hasn't done anything to hurt Charlie, and nothing that he has done to him reads to me like abuse. I am not saying that I think anything in the situations are morally or even physically equivalent, because they aren't.

The worst Quackity does is put Charlie into debt, which we'll get to-- But it doesn't have the same tone as any of exile - it's not treated in the text as "bad" in the same way.

But when I say "parallel" I mean that it echoes certain qualities. Quackity is already having an arc that parallels Dream's in some ways - cutting out/losing attachments, doing darker and darker things for reasons that are esoteric to the viewers, and manipulating multiple people who are in dark places.

And in that vein, one thing that Dream was always adamant about was that he and Tommy were friends. He went so far as to say that Tommy was his only attachment.

In watching Quackity and Slimecicle have this funny, sweet friendship, it's easy to forget that Charlie isn't just his best friend, he's his only friend. Quackity has lost or privatized all of his meaningful connections to other people.

And that's hardly fair to Charlie, who is brand new to humanity and doesn't have the tools to recognize the drastic power imbalance between them, or the support network necessary to help him if he loses Quackity. Quackity is also the only thing that Charlie has.

And Quackity happily putting Charlie into debt so that he can make him work for him, I'm sure was originally a purely practical idea to net him a useful pawn, now reads as more desperate; the actions of a man who was painfully reminded of what friendship feels like and wants to keep this one little connection he's made.

If Charlie is in debt, he has to work for Quackity, which means he has to stay. He can't leave him, like everyone else. (Nevermind the fact that Charlie would have definitely said "yes" to helping Quackity without any debts or payment involved.)

Through this lens (and again, we only have two interactions, so grain of salt--) it does mirror Dream viewing Tommy as his "friend" to the point that he wanted them to become "immortal" together.

While Quackity has sunk pretty low, I don't think he'd ever sink that low, and even if this parallel IS the direction they're going, I don't think they'll take it there entirely - I feel like it would be more likely that Charlie might be the thing that pulls Quackity back from the edge, if he does indeed hurt him and realizes it soon enough.

All of that is just my personal impressions as to where the story might be going. It could be completely different from what I'm expecting, I really don't know.

And none of this is to say that the relationship developing isn't genuine - I think it really, really is, and that's what is so heartbreaking about this; Quackity is still on his villain arc, he's still spiraling, but now we have this stark reminder of the caring person he used to be-- and still is, deep down.

This is going to hurt so fucking bad. I'm hype.

[garblegox]

• Humpty Dumpty Elegy 8 | five books on 🦊POWER🦔 •

When I was an eleven year old boy, a very wise squirrel said something I never forgot:

Insecurity is the one thing that never goes out of style. And I am proudly outdated

He's a good lord and master, that Foamy the Squirrel. Taught me an embarrassingly large number of good ideas. Embarrassing, mostly because it exposes my obvious fatherlessness.

But hey, I'm a man of many dads. I got OG Gaydad (plus a step-Gaydadmother + their fuccboi), Realdad the Deaddad, Stepdad the Notyetdeaddad, Trinidad Deaddad, Partially-lobotomized Mohawkdad, new Trinidad dad (alive), plus Doug Stanhope, Aesop Rock, and everyone's LORD AND MASTER Foamy (My mom hasn't banged the last three, yet). A real Papa Johns Buffet.

My mom's got a nice book for you, it's called, "The Ethical Slut" by Dossie Easton. Sounds cool. Wasn't cool hearing her and my Grandma discuss it at the dinner table. Yuck.

So what are we in for today? What's the topic du mois?

POWER

I knew this was coming, and even though Humpty's not actually reading any of this, I wanted to make sure I put books on being a solid person, before I recommend books on being a powerful one.

Readers definitely care more about power and influence, than ethics and morality, or god forbid, narcissism. Which I completely understand; who the fuck am I, anyway? But I'm playing with fire here, giving a wannabe serial/spree killer/rapist books on power.

But now, with all the medicinal shit out of the way, time for the delicious stuff. Topics that are way more fun, like psychedelics, stupidity, "monkey brains", the soul, etc. Should be mostly free of moralizing from now on.

Fuck it, say the rock can't hide you, the river's bleedin', and the sea's boilin'. Sinnerman, you're going to need power. Pa-ha-ha-hawah!

• #1 The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell •

Lets start off small. I say Humpty's something, if only an empty shell with room to fill. Humpty says he's nothing... period.

Pick something you find insignificant, and he'll diminish himself beyond that. A mote of dust? Too big. An atom? My, that's generous. Sub-atomic particle? Close, but still too energetic to be his match.

The self-hate is so cartoonish you have to wonder if he's just putting on a show. Even Wednesday, with his actual life of pain, at least sees the fact that he survived it all as some measure of greatness. But Humpty? Well we all know how he works at this point. It's a short script.

So lets humor him. He's itty fuckin bitty. Who cares? Who isn't? We're all ants, hoping a good hill will emerge from us. Thing is, hills don't emerge from one ant; ants are pretty pathetic specimens all alone. But as a group, they can eat an elephant, brain first, and elephants know it.

This book is like Atomic Habits, for hills and hives. No person of influence or significance ever made it to our awareness alone. They came crowdsurfing in on a swarm of apes, tossed about like a beloved beachball.

It's easy to get misled into thinking there's only one correct role to play in society, and that you just ain't it. Maybe you find that the most legendary people are the ones who can convince people of anything, or have a vast library of info in their head, or an expansive network of powerful acquaintances. Maybe you're daunted by the idea that you have to be all three at once to accomplish your dreams.

Pick the one that comes to you most naturally, nurture that side, then search for the other two, and befriend them. Geniuses occupy multiple categories. But hey, fuck being a genius, don't be a narcissist, move on. We is what we is. Intelligence has diminishing returns, and the vast majority of an individual's intelligence is stored in their peers, not their brains.

Malcolm calls these three "Salesmen, Mavens, and Connectors"

I used to get down on myself, for spending so much of my free time alone, hammering useless factoids into my head. It seems I prefer reading about humans over interacting with them. Meanwhile people like Wednesday and my brother hunger for new connections 10x harder than I do. I just siphon friends from them.

However, as much as I envy their drive to connect, they envy my ability to be comfortable alone, and the knowledge I've independently accumulated over the years. They've both referred to me as a major resource for information, that's given them an edge in their own life.

After reading this book, I finally recognized that I'm fine as-is, and so are they. In fact I've always had a pretty good thing going, despite my reclusiveness. I'm a maven, they're connectors. The only thing we're missing, is a salesman and a mission. Then we can finally start that cult we've been dreaming about. wat?

Now, Malcolm focusses on how these three combine to make HUGE things happen, and gives the slight impression that they're rare people. But that's not true. The scale doesn't matter, whether you're looking to put together the next Amazon, or just make a fond name for yourself in a little pissbunk town of eighty people. Humans all generally fall into these categories. If you're wondering what your calling is, it's good to start by asking yourself whether you're a connector, a maven, or a salesperson.

Greatness is not a highway with just one fast lane. It's a heavy ass carriage that needs three horses at a time. Figure out what kind you are, find the papers and scissors to your rock, harness up, and get pulling.

[p.s. Malcolm infamously promotes the "broken windows policy" in this, which has been debunked. Big cringe. But it plays a very small role in making his overall point. Don't let it distract you too much.]

• #2 The Square And The Tower by Niall Fergusson •

What does power mean to you? When do you feel that taint-tingling, goose-bumping, buckle-swashing feeling that you are in the presence of something truly powerful?

Me, I'm less spooked by kings and their coterie. Likely a form of stupidity on my part. But I always see hierarchs as the middle of the hierarchy. Because above, below, behind, and beyeet them, lie networks and conspiracies. It's networks that chill my bones. Like the neat little gang of psychics I spotted in New Orleans.

I've seen the power of them my whole life. My mother is a member of the largest conspiracy in the Great Lakes/New England region: Barbershop singers. She's got connections from Salem to Sault St. Marie. She even sang with one of my principals as a Sweet Adeline which got me way more mercy than my misbehaving ass ever deserved. One of her other friends even got me a job working at Camp Rock (aka Camp Kilcoo) for a summer, living in a cabin next to a lake, making bacon and eggs for some delightful little punkass kids. That place taught me to shake hands like a man.

I exaggerate, but really, a mere barbershop network is like hammerspace for human potential. Reach in, pull something out for free. Even weirder, my mom's known by hundreds of people by a single letter. I can say "You know X?" And people go "Oooooh! So YOU are X's son!!"

If you want to keep an eye on power, you have to know what you're looking at. Now, it's a mistake to put hierarchies and networks on a continuum of opposites. Power can coagulate, or it can dissolve. Any Satanists out there?

Networks can act as hierarchies, and hierarchies can network. The best analogy is in the name: Hierarchies are vertical like towers, networks are horizontal like the market square beneath them. Some shit is a bit diagonal.

Historians are absolutely terrible at piecing together networks throughout history, because they leave measly paper trails. Either they're non-existent, or so vast and full of noisy data as to be encrypted to history.

Niall first does a great job of drawing clear lines between how hierarchies and networks operate. Then for the rest of the book, he gives a variety of examples of both, throughout history.

I didn't realize till I reread these books, but this one pairs perfectly with The Tipping Point. Niall discusses network nodes, and the importance of a node's "centrality". It all becomes extremely familiar when he gets into the three different kinds of centrality:

"Degree centrality" = The number of edges radiating out of a node. Like how many doors a room has. A room with many doors has high degree centrality. With humans, it's a measure of sociability. Or as Gladwell might put it, the node is a "connector"

"Betweenness centrality" = The extent to which info and influence passes through a node. It could be a room with few doors, but those few doors are where huge amounts of traffic and data flows through. Not a high quantity of doors, but a high quality. These are the "maven" nodes.

"Closeness centrality" = The number of steps it takes for one node to reach another. The Kevin-Baconiness of a node. The fewer the average steps from one node to all others in the network, the higher the closeness centrality.

For anyone who has read You Are Not So Smart and were left wanting to learn more about Dunbar's Number, these first two books both cover the concept pretty well.

I could go on, this is a very dense book, packed with cool information. How do poor people and rich people network? What are the "7 great insights of network theory"? What makes weak ties so strong? How come the rich get richer? Davos Man? Illuminati? Technology? Jungle warfare? Would the world be better without hierarchy? When is it time to be a non-conformist, or to integrate?

I'm afraid you'll just have to read this big thicc bitch to find out.

• #3 On Grand Strategy by John Lewis Gaddis •

You used to have to join an Ivy League school to get what this book offers. How fancy.

If there's one thing I absolutely love, it's a book on harmony. Taking two powerful and compelling opposites, finding the hip that joins them, and exemplifying those who can harmonize both sides into one effective point of view.

What are you, a fox, or a hedgehog? A map, or a compass?

As the analogy goes, the fox searches for food everywhere, and everywhere finds a new challenge to overcome. Life is uncertain. The fox is willy, creative, and dynamic. Whereas the hedgehog sits in one bush, and waits for his food to skitter and wriggle right up to him. Threaten him, he just balls up and waits. The hedgehog lives a simple life of certainty and stasis.

It's maybe unsurprising that Sonic is the de facto mascot for autism. Even though he's super fast, he moves in straight lines, and instead of staying still, he absolutely never wants to stop. A real linear fella, with a roguish fox-like veneer.

Many people make the mistake of trying to adopt just one form. But you need both. The other great analogy Gaddis uses is the topographical map vs the compass. One needs both to properly navigate. The compass points you north with certainty and straightforwardness, but it won't warn you of the swamps and cliffs, like a good map will.

With the basic dynamic laid out, Gaddis then loads you up with some choice examples throughout history, of foxes and their hedgehog foils, as well as people who embodied both styles with great harmony and success.

There are some fascinating pairs to think about. Machiavelli and St Augustine, Queen Elizabeth and King Philip II, Tolstoy and Clausewitz, Lincoln and Douglas, Jackson and Hamilton, etc. the respective foxes and hedgehogs of their times.

"Grand Strategy", according to John, involves combining one's inner fox and hedgehog, adapting to incompatibilities, keeping your self rooted with your head out of the clouds where platitudes swarm, and making decisions that can overcome the constant changes in time, space, and scale.

• #4 The 48 Laws Of Power by Robert Greene •

This is the book that started the Humpty Dumpty Elegy, officially. Scoffing at You Are Not So Smart was Hump's biggest single insult. But this got me in motion. I never planned on sharing this one with anybody. It even says to keep plenty of your best knowledge secret. But power crystalized into a topic, and without this, there were only four out of five books. Well sheeit.

Looking at the reviews, just the existence of a book like this upsets people. In fact, I was guilty of a similar attitude. I only read it after letting it sit in my library for more than a year. I figured only creepy douchebags and prisoners would read something like this.

But thanks to Chrissy Chaos blabbin' about it everywhere he went, I decided to give it a shake. And I'm so glad I did.

Now I'm upset at whatever put that bullshit in my head. Anybody who tells you not to empower yourself is your enemy. There's nothing to gain from being weak. Nothing for you, that is.

And if you think tough men are dangerous, wait until you see what weak men eggs are capable of -- Jordan Peterson, 12 Rules For Life

I should have known better. Repressing your shadow is one of the most effective ways of turning yourself into a neurotic psycho. You oughta be out there, vice signaling.

There were a number of rules that pointed the finger at Humpty, saying, "get this bastard out of your life!" But the one that obviously sealed the deal was,

Law 10: Infection, avoid the unhappy and unlucky.

Now, "unhappy and unlucky" describes Wednesday to a T. So I cracked a joke at him saying, "Sorry dude, my book says ya gotta go. Time to giddy the fuck up on out ma life, beitch!" We laughed, but I worried he might actually be thinking that the creepy power book I'm reading is saying mean things about him behind his back.

So I thought about it, and wondered what I might say to make it clear that Mr. Greene wasn't referring to my powerful and inspiring friend Wednesday. In case Wednesday happened to catch real feelings about it.

"He wasn't talking about you, he was talking about Humpty Dumpty."

🤯⚡💡

When I said that in my head, a lightning bolt fired off in there, all these neurons waiting to connect finally did, and Humpty's scheme unraveled in my mind from beginning to end.

Now, I'd like to reiterate, I never advocated for kicking Humpty Dumpty out of our little group. I merely told them that I was 100% done with his crybaby bullshit, and that I was planning on doing things differently for my own peace of mind. But The Twelve Days Of Christmas began, without me needing a single power law to guide it. I just wanted to bore him, and ignore him.

But aaah well fuck him, he's not reading this. All this guilty conscience shit has got to be getting boring.

When the book wasn't describing Dump as cancer, it actually described him as a dude with remarkable control over his life already. It's just that he laments everything that makes him powerful:

His intentions are obscure; He always says less than necessary; He's got a great reputation, outside of the Discord; He effortlessly courts attention towards his fake pitifulness; He gets others to do work for him; He's can be disarmingly honest and generous; He knows to appeal to people's self-interest or self-image; He's never committed to anyone; He played a sucker to catch a sucker (Wednesday and I); He's the living embodiment of the "surrender tactic"; He played on our need to believe; He can control your options, dealing only the cards he wants you to play with; All grapes are sour grapes to him; He IS a compelling spectacle; And though he behaves like others, he thinks like nobody else.

The fun part of reading this book is finding what things you actually do quite well. We learn plenty of these laws naturally, as kids, and it's validating hearing them in a book like this. Humpty's not helpless, no matter how much he insists. After reading this, I just can't buy it from him.

It's not just validating, but overall refreshing and unique. Robert wrote this out of frustration, as he apparently writes all of his books. He found nobody was writing anything practical or honest about power. Everything else avoided delving into the human shadow, or just telling it like it is when it comes to the ego.

"Amoral" is a fair word for this book. It is not gonna help you find eudaimonia, or fulfillment. It has no advice on what to do with all your newfangled power. So keep that in mind. Try my other recommendations.

But are you an anxious person? Why? You don't just have anxiety. You are anxious, about something. It's not a cold, nobody just sneezed it into you. Everyone's anxiety is their own complex tangle of knots for themself to unravel. So what's got you anxious?

I'd be willing to bet one major thread in that ball of knots is a feeling of powerlessness. From times you held power, and knowingly let it go. To times where you didn't know you had it till it was gone. Maybe you're another person who feels guilty about your own will to power, so you concealed it, from everyone first, then yourself. Maybe you had power before you knew it could corrupt, and you misused it, and don't think it belongs to you anymore. Don't let "power" be something ineffable to you like the idea of "cool" or "success"; It's a thing with definite properties.

This book is considered an absolute lifesaver for people in exploitative, political environments. Known as "the most popular book in prison", it's best usage is in the hands of those subjected to power, not the ones wielding it over others. 99% of people using this book are doing so defensively, not offensively.

If there's one great way to describe Humpty Dumpty, it's as a former prisoner. He's got all the markers of an animal, broken by an institution. Like Camus says, if prison changes you, it doesn't change you into a philosopher, but a dimwit or a monster.

My #1 goal with this series is to empower people (at the expense of one douchebag). I feel like I've always had a headstart on that in life, thanks to my parents and their unique attitudes. I think the most destructive people I've ever known were exemplars of weakness, not strength.

These are not absolute laws. There's no sane reason to worry about following all 48 laws at once, 24/7. Unless you can stomach the solitude of a pimp, which nobody really can, not even pimps. My workplace, for example, is very low on exploitation and politics, so I save a lot of energy and don't worry much about these laws each day. But if you have a goal, there are 48 definite things you can do to ensure you reach it.

And remember, there ain't no rest for the wicked. If you're looking to make a better world to live in, you gotta beat the bad guys to it.

• #5 The Dichotomy Of Leadership by Jocko Willink and Leif Babin •

Look at you, you powerful motherfucker. You did it. You're the boss now!

Alright now WAIT HURRY DON'T FUCK IT UP AAAH OH MY GOD WHHYYY!🔥⚠🦴🌊⚡💥☠

Ooooh way to go, you dick, everything's broken, people died, tisk tisk

Power and leadership ain't something to fuck around with. Nobody knows that better than our two Navy SEAL friends, Jocko and Leif.

I said I love books on harmony. This here is one of the best. Especially since these authors epitomize the idea of "skin in the game".

Not only did they successfully learn and apply these principles in war, they proved through their consulting company, Echelon Front, that they're applicable broadly, in all realms of leadership.

Jocko & Leif's first book, Extreme Ownership (or as my brother calls it Insane Responsibility) was a smash hit, and changed a lot of minds for the better. But that name, "extreme", broke many people's brains. So they followed it up with a book on balance: The Dichotomy Of Leadership.

Their goal was to empower through humility. But some bosses thought it all meant "micromanage with rabid zeal." And by doing so, they negated the ownership of everyone beneath them. People weren't allowed to make choices, so extreme ownership up and down the pecking order couldn't be achieved. Nobody was getting paid to think, and things would begin to get rigid, fragile, and collapse.

It was clear, that with responsibility out of the way, the next most important key to leadership is finding the healthy medians among the "countless dichotomies of leadership".

The ultimate dichotomy, to them, comes when a leader has to put their people's lives/livelihoods at risk, for the sake of the mission. But that's just the hardest one to stomach. Beyond that, they cover eleven more powerful dichotomies a leader must always keep in mind.

How do you own it all, while empowering others?

When does resolute become overbearing?

When do you mentor, and when do you fire?

Where's the line between training hard, and training smart?

How do you stay aggressive without being reckless?

How do you stay disciplined without being rigid?

How do you hold people accountable without holding their hands?

When should the leader follow?

You must plan, but when does it become overplanning?

Can you be humble without being passive?

How do you stay focused, but detached?

That's a whole bunch of shit, isn't it? Each one makes the hair holding Damocles' sword seem just that much thinner, and the sword that much sharper.

It's a whole lot more than just foxes & hedgehogs, maps & compasses, Hellenists & Hebraists, Squares & Towers, etc. All those seem adorably theoretical compared to everything in this book. This is Tolstoy, Clausewitz, AND Bonaparte, all in one. Plus enthralling stories of urban combat from the people stirring it up.

This book isn't just written for the bosses and supervisors of the world. Since only a tiny fraction of any group is in charge, and it probably won't be you. Their whole philosophy is about decentralized command, and instilling leadership qualities into every unit down the chain.

For me, since I haven't been in a leadership position since reading this, I have just been using it to size up bosses, and do my best to make myself immune from their misbehavior. I get my work done admirably, no complaints, no excuses, nobody ever cracks a whip at me; Nobody's gonna steal my table of knickknacks.

Growing up, I used to worry I'd be like my father, chronically quarrelling with my bosses. But with Jocko and Leif's gravelly voices in my head, I'm at the point in my life where I know my employers are lucky to have me, and I'm not afraid to remind them. Politely.

A huge factor in one's quality of life, is the quality of their workplace. These books can help you recognize, in a single week of work, whether you're in a place worth working in at all.

Judge your leaders on all this stuff. Do they take ownership of the mission, or blame others? Do they balance these dichotomies well? Do they waste precious leadership capitol by pulling rank? Are they afraid to fire carcinogenic coworkers? Do they prefer wishcasting over forecasting? Are they good teachers?

If they don't hold up, don't try to fix them, QUIT. High staff turnover is often the only leverage against a bad boss. I say the same thing every time a coworker tells me they handed in their two weeks:

"Congratulations!"

But if the mission matters to you, and quitting isn't an option, this book equips you with the knowhow to make the best of bad leadership. Ride out that high-turnover rate with grace, while your naughty boss capsizes. Or better yet, maybe it's time to start your own mission?

• End Bit •

Well, that was a pretty intense month of reading. I originally didn't read these books consecutively; these are some of my oldest and newest ones. But this month, I lined up the five most powerful ones I had, and snorted them right up my ass. It's been quite a rush.

In retrospect, I could have just as easily made the topic this month "harmony" because they all focus just as much on that. Which says a lot to me about the nature of power.

Even 48 Laws Of Power provides reversals to every rule, except for a critical handful which have no reversal (like there's NO benefit to ignorance of other people, PERIOD). With all the caveats and reversals, it's closer to 100 laws for you to ponder.

Ask yourself, who in your life would prefer that you didn't have power? I mean people that wince and cringe every time they spot you displaying strength. To some of you, that may sound paranoid and absurd. But I know people with peers that drag them down like crabs in a bucket; tall-poppy-types. Mostly women, if I'm being honest. One of the downsides of empathy and agreeability is how hard it makes getting rid of toxic "infectious" friends. Particularly ones who so casually throw around threats of self-harm.

If you keep an eye open though, you'll see there are a lot of people out there who don't want anyone to find strength or confidence. Their rationales vary from disgusting to pathetic, but the point is, some people are to strength as puritans are to joy. They find agency, efficacy, and potency to be egregious and profane. I fucking hate these people.

Their favorite targets are kids. There's something sacred to them about the insecurity we develop in puberty. They see the natural heroism and genius of children as evil, and seek to rid them of as much of it as possible.

When I was a kid, my favorite movie was Matilda. This scene set my whole brain on fire:

Uh oh! Here come the tears of anger!

I've met maybe a hundred adults like DeVito's character, in my life. I've always wondered if some people watch that scene, and envy the power Mr. Wormwood has, like "Aaah, yes, one day I'll have the privilege of belittling kids when they show good character. Mmmmmm."

Meanwhile, I still want to snap his finger off and do horrible things to him with it. I think part of me lives to spot people like Mr. Wormwood and Ms. Trunchbull, and try to make them feel small when they do this to others.

That voice does not belong in your head. You are not dumb, you are not little, you are not wrong. You can do incredible things with that human mind of yours, including imprisoning it within itself.

Maybe it's hack to reference the Allegory Of The Cave, but these are my top five cave-escapers. I saw Humpty as a man who needed help to escape the black hole of lies he grew up in, like I did. He played on some megalomaniacal Prometheus complex I didn't totally realize I had till I dealt with him.

There's a whole world out there of sweetness and light, begging for your enthusiasm, and I know a lot of people are missing it. It's easier to put the thought of it out of my mind, to get through the day. But when I stop and truly think about it, it breaks my heart and fills me with rage.

Come on out of that Chokey.

Unlearn helplessness!

See you next month! Five more books! What'll they be about?! When does it end?! I miss reading new things!

[ahlectos]

                                        “ i am clawing myself into negative                                         space, a creature of only absences. ”

cis female / she/her. ┊ if you’re looking for ALECTO CARROW, you’ll probably find HER in the RAVENCLAW dorm with the rest of the SEVENTH years. they’re the TWENTY ONE year old PUREBLOOD who looks kind of like HANDE ERÇEL. they seem POISED, SHARP, & RESOURCEFUL to me, but apparently they’re also OVER-CAUTIOUS, DESIROUS, & PROUD. maybe that’s why they remind me of jeweled daggers tucked into frothy skirts like a secret; gilt edged pages on well worn books; a cold shiver on the cusp of winter, hidden with a smile ( no one can know you feel anything ); a collection of delicate, sharp edged things; beautiful jewelry draped across your throat, as if anything could protect your weak spots. 

WARNINGS:  death of a family member, discussions of war, parental neglect, manipulation, alcohol mention ADDITIONAL MATERIALS:   alecto’s playlist, stats page, & pinterest board  

i.

the carrow family had amycus, so it wasn’t a total let down when alecto ilse carrow was born and was born a girl. but if everyone was being honest, there wasn’t any real thrill there for her either. if they loved her, it was in a rote way and if they cared for her, it was in a rote way. their distance and cool removal from her life spoke more than anything they ever did for her. 

later, there would be attempts to pit brother and sister against each other; and there was at least a passion of feelings in that bloodthirsty desire. alecto imagined that was the closest thing to love she ever got from them. 

the carrows, historically, were not the most refined when it came to the most sacred. sure, they were one of the best families  —  but their machinations never seemed to be the sort that won the hearts of a people; their plans, never the ones put to action. they had wealth and connections enough, bloodlines going as far back as any of the other twenty-eight’s; but they were not half so perfect.

alecto didn’t like people not expecting perfection from her. her parents saw so little when they looked at her, and it grated to see the same lack from the people they were surrounded by. so she made changing that expectation her mission at, in all honesty, too young an age.

they thought carrows weren’t the ones to beat. fine. wasn’t she one to beat all on her own? wasn’t she enough to change the tides of her family’s reputation?

she’d decided this at a precocious eight years old after a particularly disastrous dinner party. her parents, they were darkly amused; let her try, for soon she’d realize that she was a girl, and would always, always fall short of expectations. at the time, this mission of hers started with presenting a flawless front to anyone looking at her expecting another carrow wildcard. she’d always been precocious; she knew what game they were all playing and just how to play it.

( didn’t they all know how easy it was? to become like them? )

ii.

around the same time she reached this decision for the path she’d tackle the rest of her life, her aunt dulcinea died and crushed alecto’s heart.

aunt dulcinea and uncle anatole were distant carrow relatives and in alecto’s weaker, punishable, childish moments   —   she’d wished they’d been her parents. she wished it stupidly, in place of wishing for her own parents to love her.

at the reading of her aunt’s will, alecto received dulcinea’s wand  ( 12 ¼", griffin feather and aspen, quite flexible and carved with a loving hand ).  and though she wasn’t of an age yet to use magic, her uncle practiced dueling with her using sticks found in the gardens on the carrow estate. even before she could legally utter a single spell, alecto was a skilled duelist. she tucked this into her back pocket like a secret; would let out shining peals of false, childish laughter if ever anyone asked about those dueling lessons. her, dueling? no, no, no. she was itty, bitty, and ladylike, faint at the very idea of fighting. her uncle anatole had simply been indulging her silly games of make - believe.

maybe all he thought was that a husband in their circles would like a wife with some use in the war effort. but alecto liked to imagine he thought she was worth teaching as just alecto, not someone’s future betrothed. 

iii.

she made friends greedily as a child; ostensibly so she could have the connections, the network, that was so vital to the lives of adults in pureblood society. but the small truth was that alecto just fed on human connection. she loathed how much liked people to like her and resented that she needed people at all. but it was true, and it could be useful.  

she tried, at times, unthinkingly, to imitate the distance her parents had with her. she loved talking and hated talking all at once, but she did pride herself on being able to fill hours of conversation with no substance at all. and it better cemented the idea that she didn’t actually desire the friends or acquaintances she had   ---   if every interaction was hollow, what could prove she thrived on them? how would anyone know much she relished the meandering words?

she could be very cruel to those around her   —   not necessarily on purpose, but also not not on purpose. there was a threshold, where acquaintances shifted into someone alecto would trust with her life. at that threshold she tended to turn mean, to turn people away, and it was a horrible habit and one she wouldn’t break.

but all the feigned distance in the world couldn’t keep her from finding actual friends, and she would kill for those she cared for. reckless all or nothing thinking like that was just the carrow way. true,

fierce friendship was an earned thing, but a warm-looking smile from dear alecto cost her nothing at all.

iv.

she was sorted into ravenclaw; perhaps it would have disappointed her family, if they’d had expectations high enough to disappoint in the first place. when alecto was fourteen, and wrote home with news of the sorting, she knew she’d lost any chance of being the favorite   ---   slim as the chance had ever been. oh, her parents had indulged her goal of making a name for herself. she was their daughter; clever enough, pretty enough, to indulge. but they’d never seen that indulgence yielding anything, and her sorting only confirmed it for them.

( she suspected they wrote to her brother more, while at school. no, of course she never asked him. she was a ravenclaw, smart enough to know that some doors need not be opened. )

imagine: a little carrow in ravenclaw tower, all alone amongst peers of all blood statuses and backgrounds. she thrived there, much though she hid that fact from her parents. they certainly never imagined her thriving. she had her aunt’s wand and her uncle’s scattered owls, friends she made cautiously and recklessly in equal measure, a feeling of total abandonment gifted to her by her parents’ abandonment. it was heady, and dangerous.

she kissed people her parents would have been scandalized to know she knew at all, linked arms with girls from families her father had long disparaged over breakfast. joined the quidditch team and shared sportsman-like handshakes with any opposing player she could hunt down after matches.

her grins were sharp and wicked and her laughter soft and surprised and she knew   ---   she knew!   ---   that the home she felt in the castle could never last once outside of it.

it was a home, and that word just didn’t mean anything for girls like her.

alecto was just a girl, darling little thing. the carrow daughter with a whip-sharp mind   —   that she made sure to only show in carefully curated fields, that was a problem all the same. she could picture her mother’s disapproving look as she caught alecto reading one evening, told her that the mind on her made it hard for the family to imagine setting up an enviable match. she would never find it easy, being a trophy hanging off someone’s arm. she tried. alecto always tried.

her parents may not have cared for her any more than they had to, but they knew her better than she ever thought they did. she did not bend or bow to anyone for all that she acted like she could, and that would make her life harder than her parents thought it had to be.

the lives of pureblood daughters could be easier than breathing, in the new world they had hopes of cultivating. if only alecto would let things be easy.

v.

her parents might have thought she had an allergy to the simple route. and maybe she did; maybe they were right, and she was wired all wrong. her mind was a tricky place   —   all those forbidden books snuck into her lap, they had an impact. perhaps on a stronger carrow they’d have been nothing when compared to the things her family had told her all her life. perhaps she was weaker than she’d ever cared to admit. but she acted like they were no stronger carrows, and pretended like the act didn’t cost a thing.

when her parents and their cohort went and joined a dark lord who whispered of war, alecto learned to pretend like lots of things cost her nothing at all. after a lifetime of such acts, she could even pretend to herself that pretending cost nothing.

at night, in ravenclaw tower, she dreamed of a world where she didn’t have to pretend.

little alecto, the sweet-talking carrow daughter, blossomed into a young woman who had high hopes of an easy life. she dreamed bigger than that; of a room of her own tucked with books and cauldrons and coin she earned of her own mind, family that consisted of no one but her brother. alecto always dreamed impossible things. 

but she lived in reality. and reality had studying her heart out for a million jobs she’d never apply for. it had her learning to enjoy the refined burn of shots worth more galleons than some would ever see. she learned to love glittering adornments, and tossing her hair, and beguiling with a single flash of her pearly-white fangs like it was all she was good for. she lived as if school would never end, as if the real world wasn’t just about to knock at her door. she was good. except when she was bad. and loathe though she was to admit it, she could still find enough ancient carrow in her to be very, very bad  …  when she so chose.

badness could very easily be written off as youth, except by those who shared alecto’s youth with her. to them, well, it was her typical carrow tendencies coming out to play. it was her growing tired of the never-ending act she’d started years and years ago. it was her doing very reckless things, perhaps unknowingly   —   or perhaps awaiting the mess she’d leave in her wake. she’d have to fix the mess, of course, and in that fixing would lie the cool reminder that while she looked like any of the rest of them, she would always be a carrow. and carrows are too sharp, too much, and so alecto is, too.

( the secret was she was too much alecto to be anything, really )

vi.

she didn’t even like pureblood society that much; up close, it didn’t glitter like she’d imagined as a child, on the outside looking in.

she resented the idea that she’d have to marry some man eventually, who she likely wouldn’t care about and who likely wouldn’t appreciate her for all that she was. but if she wanted to be more than a wife or mother she knew she’d have to show her hand   ---   reveal that she had a mind for strategy, that she knew a thousand wicked things. sign herself away to the war for a side she didn’t believe in. it would surprise no one to learn that both action and inaction held steep consequences.

but alecto didn’t want to fight; and in the meantime, no one was asking her to, not really. she threw herself into her school work and talked about a boring future, gushed of jobs that required little wandwork and received little notice. uncle anatole gave her questioning looks when she continued to act as if battle terrified her, as if she didn’t have ambitions. but the rest of her family continued ignoring her, most of the time; neglecting to see any real usefulness. and there was safety in that   ---   she might yet make it to a disappointing marriage without any blood on her hands.

in a perfect world she could lay down in neutral ground and not move a muscle for either side. not have to enter some loveless future, either. but what would that make of her family loyalty? the last thing she wanted was more disappointment from her parents. more proof that she’d never been what they wanted. for all that she despised them, she couldn’t help but want her parents to love her; and deserting their side would not inspire love.

this was, of course, no perfect world. alecto was not the sort of girl who lived in happy endings. so while she didn’t want to join the war, had no desire to loan her mind to the dark lord’s cause   ---   she knew she would. she would have to. she was a carrow, and so of course she’d join the fight.

the plain and simple fact of the matter was that there was no possible path for her that didn’t beat her heart into bloody submission. so that life, that planned future, was better than nothing at all. right?

vii.

alecto couldn’t be paid to give two shits about blood status. she knew her family fought tooth and nail along with all their peers for the glory and triumph of blood purity   —   and regrettable as it was to dwell on, it was background noise she would ignore because she could afford to ignore it. just because she could care for, or befriend, a muggleborn with no internal struggle didn’t mean she’d ever actively do anything to help them. this was the life she’d chosen.

she didn’t have much exposure to people of other blood statuses as a child and that’s when she set her heart on winning at life in pureblood circles. sometimes goals like that were hard to let go of. so while her stomach curled at the lack of intelligence she saw as inherit in blood purist ideologies she could never actually  …  fight the fact that pureblood circles were run on purist ideologies. life was just easier if she didn’t fight it.

she’d rather break her heart and throw herself into a cause liable to kill her than become her own person separate from the life she’s wasted years building.

viii.

no one needed to know she hated this; softness was worse than wildness, in alecto’s eyes. her wildness couldn’t be helped, but she’d die before anyone saw her weak. let them see a ruthless game-player with a heart carved from crystalline ice. let them see a girl, damnably neutral while she still could be, cards always held close to the chest.

the almost-war for blood purity waged on as it always had, with new challengers rising every day; it was as unchanging and constant as the warmth of ravenclaw tower still was, in her last year in its embrace. as the consequences of adult life began to fall around her, alecto shut her eyes and plugged her ears and imagined a world where she could stay on the sidelines. she shut her eyes and plugged her ears to the whispers of how useless a dainty carrow daughter was, too.

for a little while longer she could pretend she wouldn’t prove them all wrong sooner or later; it was a kind thing to pretend.

but a kind mask was still a mask. and alecto knew masks, could pluck one from her shelves and put it on in her sleep. it was easier, after all, to not think; some part of alecto had always known this, long learned how to turn off her racing thoughts, her conscience, her heart, in order to do what needed to be done. she hated it. but she did it.

sooner or later alecto would give in  ---  in a way that could never be undone. or, perhaps, she’d come to hate feeling her family’s belated pride resting on her head like poisoned laurels. prove even herself wrong and desert them and their pitied crowns.

( she prays for the former and hopes for the latter, with her wicked, traitorous heart. )

[acarrow]

        “ what separates the wolf from the sheep is not a matter of good or evil.              we all have teeth   —   but only some of us are willing to use them. ”

( danielle rose russell, twenty, cis-female ) my goodness, is ALECTO CARROWback? it’s been a while since the PUREBLOOD has been around the castle, but i’d recognize HER anywhere. rumor has it the SEVENTH YEAR spent the year aligned with the DEATH EATERS. but I hear they’re still POISED & SHARP and OVER-CAUTIOUS & DESIROUS. and the RAVENCLAW still reminds me of jeweled daggers tucked into frothy skirts like a secret; gilt edged pages on old books; perfume pressed to pulse points like a shield; the cool, lonely whisper of dead leaves on marble steps. well, then, I guess some things never change.  ( zoe, 21, cst, she/her )

WARNINGS:  discussions of war, parental neglect, familial death; alcohol mention, weapon mention, manipulation  ADDITIONAL MATERIALS:   alecto’s playlist, stats page, & pinterest board    

i.

the carrow family had amycus, so it wasn’t a total let down when alecto ilse carrow was born and was born a girl. but if everyone was being honest, there wasn’t any real thrill there for her either. they loved her in a rote way and cared for her in a rote way and their distance and cool removal from her life spoke more than anything they ever did for her.

they would tell strangers, of course we love our daughter. but alecto herself couldn’t recall ever hearing them tell her they loved her, not to her face.

the carrows, historically, were not the most refined when it came to the most sacred. sure, they were one of the best families  ---  but their machinations never seemed to be the sort that won the hearts of a people; their plans, never the ones put to action. they had wealth and connections enough, bloodlines going as far back as any of the other twenty-eight’s; but they were not half so perfect.

alecto didn’t like people not expecting perfection from her. her parents saw so little when they looked at her, and it grated to see the same from the people they were surrounded by. so she made changing that expectation her mission at, in all honesty, too young an age. 

they thought carrows weren’t the ones to beat. fine. wasn’t she one to beat all on her own? wasn’t she enough to change the tides of her family’s reputation?

her parents, they were amused; let her try, for soon she’d realize that she was a girl, and would always, always fall short of expectations. she’d decided this at a precocious eight years old after a particularly disastrous dinner party; at the time, this mission of hers started with presenting a flawless front to anyone looking at her expecting another carrow wildcard. she’d always been precocious; she knew what game they were all playing and just how to play it.

( didn’t they all know how easy it was? to become like them? )

ii.

around the same time she reached this decision, for the path she’d tackle the rest of her life, her aunt dulcinea died and crushed alecto’s heart.

aunt dulcinea and uncle anatole were distant carrow relatives and in alecto’s weaker, punishable, childish moments   —   she’d wished they’d been her parents. she wished it stupidly, in place of wishing for her own parents to love her.

at the reading of her aunt’s will, alecto received dulcinea’s wand (  12 ¼", griffin feather and aspen, quite flexible and carved with a loving hand ). and though she wasn’t of an age yet to use magic, her uncle practiced dueling with her using sticks found in the gardens on the carrow estate. even before she could legally utter a single spell, alecto was a skilled duelist. she tucked this into her back pocket like a secret; would let out shining peals of false, childish laughter if ever anyone asked about those dueling lessons. her, dueling? no, no, no. she was itty, bitty, and ladylike, faint at the very idea of fighting. her uncle anatole had simply been indulging her silly games of make - believe.

iii.

she made friends greedily as a child; ostensibly so she could have the connections, the network, that was so vital to the lives of adults in pureblood society. but the small truth was that alecto just fed on human connection. she loathed how much liked people to like her and resented that she needed people at all. but it was true, and it could be useful.  

she tried, at times, unthinkingly, to imitate the distance her parents had with her. she loved talking and hated talking all at once, but she did pride herself on being able to fill hours of conversation with no substance at all. and it better cemented the idea that she didn’t actually desire the friends or acquaintances she had   ---   if every interaction was hollow, what could prove she thrived on them? how would anyone know much she relished the meandering words?

she could be very cruel to those around her   —   not necessarily on purpose, but also not not on purpose. there was a threshold, where acquaintances shifted into someone alecto would trust with her life. at that threshold she tended to turn mean, to turn people away, and it was a horrible habit and one she wouldn’t break.

but all the feigned distance in the world couldn’t keep her from finding actual friends, and she would kill for those she cared for. reckless all or nothing thinking like that was just the carrow way. true, 

fierce friendship was an earned thing, but a warm-looking smile from dear alecto cost her nothing at all.

iv.

she was sorted into ravenclaw; perhaps it would have disappointed her family, if they’d had expectations high enough to disappoint in the first place. when alecto was eleven, and wrote home with news of the sorting, she knew she’d lost any chance of being the favorite   ---   slim as the chance had ever been. oh, her parents had indulged her goal of making a name for herself. she was their daughter; clever enough, pretty enough, to indulge. but they’d never seen that indulgence yielding anything, and her sorting only confirmed it for them.

( she suspected they wrote to her brother more, while at school. no, of course she never asked him. she was a ravenclaw, smart enough to know that some doors need not be opened. )

imagine: a little carrow in ravenclaw tower, all alone amongst peers of all blood statuses and backgrounds. she thrived there, much though she hid that fact from her parents. they certainly never imagined her thriving. she had her aunt’s wand and her uncle’s scattered owls, friends she made cautiously and recklessly in equal measure, a feeling of total abandonment gifted to her by her parents’ abandonment. it was heady, and dangerous.

she kissed people her parents would have been scandalized to know she knew at all, linked arms with girls from families her father had long disparaged over breakfast. joined the quidditch team and shared sportsman-like handshakes with any opposing player she could hunt down after matches.

her grins were sharp and wicked and her laughter soft and surprised and she knew   ---   she knew!   ---   that the home she felt in the castle could never last once outside of it.

it was a home, and that word just didn’t mean anything for girls like her. 

alecto was just a girl, darling little thing. the carrow daughter with a whip-sharp mind   ---   that she made sure to only show in carefully curated fields, that was a problem all the same. she would bring no heirs, and the thought of the mind on her made it hard for the family to imagine setting up an enviable match for her. she would never find it easy, being a trophy hanging off someone’s arm. they may not have cared for her any more than they had to, but they knew her better than she ever thought they did. she did not bend or bow to anyone, and that would make her life harder than her parents thought it had to be.

the lives of pureblood daughters could be easier than breathing, in the new world they had hopes of cultivating. if only alecto would let things be easy.

v.

her parents might have thought she had an allergy to the simple route. and maybe she did; maybe they were right, and she was wired all wrong. her mind was a tricky place   ---   all those forbidden books in her common room, all six and a half years, they had an impact. perhaps on a stronger carrow they’d have been nothing when compared to the things her family had told her all her life. but she acted like they were no stronger carrows, and pretended like the act didn’t cost a thing.

when her parents and their cohort went and got her home blown up, alecto learned to pretend like lots of things cost her nothing at all. 

see, the pretending was easy: she just had to strap her knives and wand to her thigh with pretty little garters, the better to flash the steel beneath silk skirts and lace robes. the beauty of the muggle weapons caught her eye and held it   ---   she heard someone whisper it was a sign of her cruelty, that she could imagine wielding something so primitive. heard someone else whisper she was pretty as one of her daggers, and twice as sharp.

oh, how she hadn’t missed full immersion in pureblood society. at night, she dreamed of ravenclaw tower. 

in her years away from school, she learned to enjoy the refined burn of shots worth more galleons than some could ever see. she learned to love glittering adornments, and tossing her hair, and beguiling with a single flash of her pearly-white fangs. she was good. except when she was bad. and loathe though she was to admit it, she could still find enough ancient carrow in her to be very, very bad  ...  when she so chose.

badness could very easily be written off as youth, except by those who shared alecto’s youth with her. to them, well, it was her typical carrow tendencies coming out to play. it was her growing tired of the never ending act she’d started years and years ago. it was her doing very reckless things, perhaps unknowingly   ---   or perhaps awaiting the mess she’d leave in her wake. she’d have to fix the mess, of course, and in that fixing would lie the cool reminder that while she looked like any of the rest of them, she would always be a carrow. and carrows are too sharp, too much, and so alecto is, too.

( the secret was she was too much alecto to be anything, really )

vi.

she didn’t even like pureblood society that much; up close, it didn’t glitter like she’d imagined as a child, on the outside looking in.

she resented the idea that she’d have to marry some man eventually, who she likely wouldn’t care about and who likely wouldn’t appreciate her for all that she was. but if she wanted to be more than a wife or mother she knew she’d have to show her hand   ---   reveal that she had a mind for strategy, that she knew a thousand wicked things. sign herself away to the war for a side she doesn’t believe in. it would surprise no one to learn that both action and inaction held steep consequences.

but alecto didn’t want to fight; and in the meantime, no one was asking her to, not really. without her n.e.w.t.s, she was in a limbo. her parents and their ilk suspected how useful she could be, but had no final grades to prove it. it wasn’t worth the embarrassment, bringing a girl to the dark lord with no way of showing she had use. so she took up an easy job at some publishing house in diagon alley, something that required little wandwork. nothing flashy enough to catch the attention of someone who’d ask why she wasn’t putting that wand of hers to use. but something that let her escape her family estate and the stifling meetings conducted there. 

( she attended one here and there, when roped into it; the carrow girl on the sidelines, showing how much loyalty her father inspired in those around him. a less skilled actor than alecto might’ve gagged on the falsehoods and prejudice clouding the air. )

her family continued ignoring her, most of the time; neglecting to see any real usefulness. and there was safety in that   ---   she might yet make it to a disappointing marriage without any blood on her hands.

in a perfect world she could lay down in neutral ground and not move a muscle for either side. not have to enter some loveless future, either. but what would that make of her family loyalty? the last thing she wants is more disappointment from her parents. more proof that she’s never been what they wanted. for all that she despises them, she can’t help but want her parents to love her; and deserting their side of the war will not inspire love. 

this was, of course, no perfect world. alecto was not the sort of girl who lived in happy endings. so while she didn’t want to join the war, had no desire to loan her mind to the death eaters   ---   she knew she would. she would have to. she was a carrow, and so of course she’d join the fight. the plain and simple fact of the matter was that there was no possible path for her that didn’t beat her heart into bloody submission. so that life, that planned future, was better than nothing at all. right? 

vii.

alecto couldn’t be paid to give two shits about blood status. she knew her family fought tooth and nail along with all their peers for the glory and triumph of blood purity   ---   and regrettable as it was to dwell on, it was background noise she would ignore because she could afford to ignore it. just because she could care for, or befriend, a muggleborn with no internal struggle didn’t mean she'd ever actively do anything to help them; not with things as they were now. things had been different in school, and this damned war had ripped that from her too soon. 

she didn’t have much exposure to people of other blood statuses as a child and that’s when she set her heart on winning at life in pureblood circles. sometimes goals like that were hard to let go of. so while her stomach curls at the lack of intelligence she sees as inherit in blood purist ideologies she doesn’t actually  ...  fight the fact that pureblood circles are run on purist ideologies. for as much as she hates being tied to her parents, she’s loyal to the carrow name. if they’re not jumping ship, then she can’t either. she won’t be the only carrow stupid enough to leave.

she’d rather break her heart and throw herself into a cause liable to kill her than become her own person separate from the life she’s wasted years building.

viii.

no one needed to know she hated this; softness was worse than wildness, in alecto’s eyes. her wildness couldn’t be helped, but she’d die before anyone saw her weak. let them see a ruthless game-player with a heart carved from crystalline ice. let them see a wicked woman with a cold interest in the ways people could hurt. let them see a girl, damnably neutral while she still could be, cards always held close to the chest.

hogwarts opened back up and alecto was desperate for the chance to return  ---  and desperately happy that she’d retained her neutrality while outside its walls. damnable it might’ve been, but alecto hardly cared. her family and their pureblood peers could all assume she was on their side; assume that though ( tiny slip of a girl that she was ) she’d never taken up arms, she agreed with them. who the fuck cared? 

she was going back to her one true home, if only for one more year.

she could put off proving those assumptions true for a little while longer. 

she can pretend she won’t prove them true; it’s a kind thing to pretend. but a kind mask is still a mask. and alecto knew masks, could pluck one from her shelves and put it on in her sleep. it was easier, after all, to not think; some part of alecto has always known this, long learned how to turn off her racing thoughts, her conscience, her heart, in order to do what needed to be done. she hated it. but she did it. at least for one more year, she’d be turning off her racing thoughts, and her conscience, and her heart, for kind and selfish reasons. she so seldom did things selfishly, and there were worst last hurrahs. 

sooner or later alecto would give in  ---  in a way that could never be undone. or, perhaps, she’d come to hate feeling her family’s belated pride resting on her head like poisoned laurels. prove even herself wrong and desert them and their pitied crowns.

( she prays for the former and hopes for the latter, with her wicked, traitorous heart. )

[furiious]

          “ what separates the wolf from the sheep is not a matter of good or evil.               we all have teeth  —  but only some of us are willing to use them. ”

* ╰ danielle rose russell ; 17 ; she/her —— wow,  alecto carrow  sure has changed. i guess  she  is feeling isolated from the other  ravenclaw  members. guess you can’t really blame her. i still remember her being so  sharp & poised  now she just seems  cautious & proud  guess being a  pureblood  isn’t helping matters much either. i’m hopeful though. they’ll be just fine. ( zoe ; cst ; 21 ; she/her ) 

WARNINGS:  discussions of war, feelings of parental neglect, alcohol mention, weapon mention, manipulation   ADDITIONAL MATERIALS:   alecto’s playlist, stats page, & pinterest board    ADDITIONAL NOTES:  in a shocking move this intro was ALSO frankensteined from a series of old intros, apologies in advance for any nonsense

the carrow family had amycus, so it wasn’t a total let down when alecto ilse carrow was born and was born a girl. but if everyone was being honest, there wasn’t any real thrill there for her either. they loved her in a rote way and cared for her in a rote way and their distance and cool removal from her life spoke more than anything they ever did for her.

they would tell strangers, of course we love our daughter, she’s beautiful, she’s clever, what a gift to the carrow name. but alecto herself couldn’t recall ever hearing them tell her they loved her, not to her face. such was life. 

the carrows, historically, were not the most refined when it came to the most sacred. they were a good and righteous family, sure, sometimes zealots but seldom forgotten. they were still one of the best families. they had wealth and connections enough, bloodlines going as far back as any of the other twenty-eight’s; but they were not half so perfect. 

their history was a colorful one, not polished to a bland and shining silver. 

alecto didn’t like people not expecting greatness from her so she made changing that expectation her mission at, let’s be real, too young an age.

they thought carrows weren’t the ones to beat. fine. wasn’t she one to beat all on her own? wasn’t she enough to change the tides of her family’s reputation?

her parents, they were amused; let her try, for soon she’d realize that she was a girl, and would always, always fall short of expectations. 

she decided this at eight years old; so to start, this mission of hers meant letting her parents make her beautiful, set her hair with sparkling combs and dress her in delicate dresses. she presented a flawless front to anyone looking at her expecting another carrow wildcard. she’d always been very, very smart; she knew what game they were all playing & just how to play it.

( didn’t they all know how easy it was? to become like them? )

around the same time as she came to this decision for the path she’d tackle the rest of her life, her aunt dulcinea died and crushed alecto’s heart. aunt dulcinea & uncle anatole were distant carrow relatives and in alecto’s weaker, punishable, childish moments  —  she’d wished they’d been her parents. she wished it stupidly, in place of wishing for her own parents to love her.

she received dulcinea’s wand (  12 ¼", griffin feather and aspen, quite flexible and carved with a loving hand ) after her death, and though she wasn’t of an age yet to use magic, her uncle practiced dueling with her using sticks found in the gardens on the carrow estate. even before she could legally utter a single spell, alecto was a skilled duelist. she tucked this into her back pocket like a secret; would let out shining peals of false laughter if ever anyone asked about those dueling lessons. her, dueling? no, no, no. she was itty, bitty, and ladylike, faint at the very idea of fighting. her uncle anatole had simply been indulging her silly games of make - believe.

she made friends greedily as a child, ostensibly so she could have those connections, that network, that was so vital in the lives of adults in her society. but she also just fed on human connection. she loathed how much liked people to like her and resented that she needed people at all.

probably tried to imitate that distance her parents had with her with every new friend or acquaintance. she loved talking and hated talking all at once, but she did pride herself on being able to fill hours of conversation with no substance at all.

of course, all the feigned distance in the world couldn’t keep her from finding actual friends, and she would honestly kill for those she cares for.  

generally indiscriminate about the people she did make casual friends or acquaintances of; she let herself think this was because she a.) didn’t actually care about blood status and b.) needed to present neutral anyway, but it was probably because she just liked not being alone.

if she found someone she fit with, it was done. blood status was immaterial to that.

she could be very cruel to those around her  —  not necessarily on purpose, but also not not on purpose. there was a threshold, where acquaintances shifted into someone alecto would trust with her life. at that threshold she tended to turn mean, to turn people away, and it was a horrible habit and one she wouldn’t break.

alecto couldn’t be paid to give two shits about blood status. but just because she can care for or befriend a muggleborn with no internal struggle doesn’t mean she'd ever actively do anything to help them out. she didn’t have much exposure to people of other blood statuses as a child & that’s when she set her heart on winning at life in pureblood circles. 

so while her stomach curls at the lack of intelligence she sees as inherit in blood purist ideologies she doesn’t actually  ...  fight the fact that pureblood circles are run on purist ideologies. plus, for as much as she hates being tied to her parents, she’s loyal to the carrow name. if they’re not jumping ship and joining the equality train, then she won’t either. 

she’d rather break her heart and throw herself into a cause liable to kill her than become her own person separate from the life she’s wasted years building.

( this is what she tells herself. it is a lie, her biggest one: so she needn’t think on all the million escape plans and defections in her head. )

alecto just had to strap her knives and wand to her thigh with pretty little garters, the better to flash the steel beneath silk skirts and lace robes. she learned to enjoy the refined burn of shots worth more galleons than some could ever see. she learned to love glittering adornments, and tossing her hair, and beguiling with a single flash of her pearly-white fangs. she was good. except when she was bad. and loathe though she was to admit it, she could still find enough ancient carrow in her to be very, very bad  ...  when she so chose. 

badness could very easily be written off as youth, except by those who shared alecto’s youth with her. to them, well, it was her destructive tendencies coming out to play. it was her forgetting which line in the sand she was supposed to pretend to care about. it was her growing tired of the never ending act she’d started years and years ago. it was her doing very reckless things, perhaps unknowingly  ---  or perhaps awaiting the mess she’d leave in her wake.

she’d have to fix the mess, of course, and in that fixing would lie the cool reminder that while she looks like any of the rest of them, she will always be a carrow. and carrows are too sharp, too much, and so alecto is, too.

( the secret was she was too much alecto to be anything, really )

she doesn’t even? like pureblood society that much?? she resents the idea that she’ll have to marry some man eventually, who she likely won’t care about and who likely won’t appreciate her for all that she is. but if she wants to be more than a wife or mother she knows she’d have to show her hand  ---  reveal that she has a mind for strategy & knows a thousand wicked things, sign herself away to the war for a side she doesn’t believe in. neither option is a good one.

alecto didn’t want to fight; but she knew if she has to give in, she could get away with bartering her mind to instead concoct a hundred awful plans of attack. she’d never have to lift her own wand  ...  but she’d have to bear the reality of the things done under her advice. that might even be worse than letting herself be an unimportant soldier.

in a perfect world she could lay down in neutral ground and not move a muscle for either side. but what would that make of her family loyalty? the last thing she wants is more disappointment from her parents. more proof that she’s never been what they wanted.

this was, of course, no perfect world. alecto was not the sort of girl who lived in happy endings. so while she didn’t want to join the war, had no desire to loan her mind to the death eaters  ---  she knew she would. she would have to. she was a carrow, and so of course she’d join the fight.

the plain and simple fact of the matter was that there was no possible path for her that didn’t beat her heart into bloody submission. so that life, that planned future, was better than nothing at all. right?

no one needed to know she hated this; softness was worse than wildness, in alecto’s eyes. her wildness couldn’t be helped, but she’d die before anyone saw her weak. let them see a ruthless game-player with a heart carved from crystalline ice. let them see a girl, damnably neutral while she still could be, cards always held close to the chest. 

masks like that were simple. alecto knew masks, could pluck one from her shelves and put it on in her sleep. it was easier, after all, to not think; some part of alecto has always known this, long learned how to turn off her racing thoughts, her conscience, her heart, in order to do what needed to be done. she hates it. but she does it. 

sooner or later alecto will give in  ---  in a way that can never be undone. or, perhaps, she will come to hate feeling her family’s belated pride resting on her head like poisoned laurels. 

she prays for the former and hopes for the latter, with her wicked, traitorous heart.

[etherealangels]

some of my senior pictures 💐🤑

[go-diane-winchester]

Why Screenrant is a joke.

Dollface sent me this.  It was mindboggling how much Sara Schmidt sounds like a quintessential heller.  Everything she pointed at as proof of canon destiel, is fecal droppings found on Tumblr. 

10.  Uriel stating to Dean:  "He has this weakness. He likes you,"

There is so much wrong with this.  You could mean Dean, the Winchester brothers or mostly humankind collectively.  But no, the guy with no sex drive wants to bang Dean.    

9.  Meg calling Dean, Cas's first boyfriend.

The fact that Meg is a demon seems to be lost to this idiot.  Oh, but the demon said something that you like, so she must be right.  Sarcasm is lost on these fools.  And yet they will say the same thing about us critiquing Misha's humor. 

8.  Mistletoe

That's right, Cas and Dean shared a moment under the mistletoe! Did you miss it? While Bieber wasn't really playing in the background, some mistletoe could definitely be sighted hanging above the cuties during season eight's eighth episode, ''Hunteri Heroici''.

The episode features some of Cas's most adorable moments, from trying to be a detective and sniffing a body in the process to staying in the hotel with the brothers, saying another great line: "I'll watch over you." No, it's not a huge 'ship spoiler on its own, but within the context of all the other great one-liners it seems pretty romantic. Or stalkery. However you view it.

Those are the exact words.  Can you say fine tooth comb?  The funny thing is that she does give us an opportunity to pick a view and yes, I do view it as stalkery, because that is what Dean calls its.  He says its creepy and rapey.  Even if we take it as is, it proves Cas likes Dean and does not denote mutual attraction.  

7.  Hugging

''Fans of Dean Winchester know that he might have a reputation with the ladies but he sure isn't what you'd call a "hugger." Yet he seems to be falling into Castiel's arms quite often--and with much more gusto than he hugs his little brother, Sammy.It's not that Sam and Dean never hug; they two share many heartfelt brotherly moments on the show. But Dean seems rather eager to leap into Cas's arms as opposed to the reluctant, awkward back-patting that he exchanges with his own flesh and blood. We get it, Dean. We like hugging the people we're sweet on, too.''

Talk about subjective.  More gusto?  According to who, heller?  He is a hugger.  He hugs lots of people.  Jessica, his parents, Charlie, Jack.  But hold the phone when he hugs Dean.  SMH. 

6.  The profound bond

This is the same quote revisited plenty of times.  This is because hellers don't understand the character of the character they stan.  He doesn't speak ordinary English.  Cas is more Dean's friend than Sam.  That is what profound bond means.  Even if we take it as is, it proves Cas likes Dean and does not denote mutual attraction.  

5.  Dean was able to break to Naomi's brainwashing by saying ''I need you".  Naomi also said that she knew he wanted to "return to him," which sounds like she's alluding to a romantic relationship.

That bit I cannot get.  Cas is so useless to Team Free Will that you can write the last five seasons of SPN without him.  But Dean needs him, why?  Maybe Dean meant ''I need you to not kill me'', despite the fact that it turns on the hellers.  Of course, Sara Schmidt chooses to forget that Jensen scraped the ''I love you'' line.  Sorry hellers, Jensen does not want destiel to be canon. 

4.  I cant summaries this delusion in one line.  There is just too much stupid.

Speaking of that phrase, how many pairings are revealed when one character utters, "I need you," to the other? It's a classic line that's meant to convey more than one need, to say the least, and Dean and Cas tend to state it to one another over and over again to the point where it's a favorite fan quote used most often to support the unofficial couple.

What makes this line even more revealing is Dean's famous disdain for the words, or touchy-feely words in general, as he's repeatedly told his brother throughout the series. Naturally we still get plenty of those brotherly moments, but Dean seems to not mind having those saccharine sweet sentiments with Cas as much and has said this line multiple times.

3.  Balthazar tells Dean, "You have me confused with the other angel. You know, the one in the dirty trench coat who's in love with you."

Balthazar is a jerk.  Taking him seriously, is the dumbest thing anyone one would do.  Even if we take his words as is, it proves Cas likes Dean and does not denote mutual attraction.  

2.  The beard stroke" in Purgatory together

Yes, lets reach right into our arse to look for proof, shall we?  This twat reach right into season 8.  Poor thing.  His clean shaven friend grew a beard and he was amused.  It must mean Dean wants to boink him. 

1.  Dean keeping Cas's trench coat after he died.   

In her over-reaching, she dug up parallels from Ennis and Jack in Brokeback Mountain and how Ennis kept Jack's coat after he died.  Typical heller behavior.  Madame Heller forgets that Jensen laughed at the stupidity of it.  Even Misha laughed because Jensen brought it up right in front of his face.  So he had to agree but behind Jensen's back, Misha called Dean a pervert who was doing things with the coat.  But don't you bother your teeny, tiny, itty, bitty little head with facts.  Stick to your metaphor and parallel if it makes you smile. 

I asked myself if Misha was networking again.  And how come Screenrant writes such questionable material.  I scrolled to the end of the page and found this. 

Click on Write for Us, and fill in the form.  If you are a good writer, you get your drivel published and you get paid.  That is why there is so much heller delusion on Screenrant.  They have absolutely no journalistic credibility because who the heck is fact checking?  No one.  Does Screenrant care?  No.  They just look for traffic.  That is why its called Screenrant and not TVInquirer or something like that.  They don't care how they get views etc.  As long as they get it.  The sad thing is that TPTB on SPN will read the article and think that its the voice of all the fans of SPN.  So lets do something about it, shall we? 

Go forth people, and flood Screenrant with requests to write.  And write the truth.  Its the only way to level the playing field, because these hellers are extremely underhanded.  Their hope may be to bully Jensen into making destiel canon.  Write about the death threats.  Write about Misha's mugging.  Write about the Travis Aaron Wade scandal.  Write about what acceptable shipper behavior is.  Write about how you don't want to see the forcing of a ship, that will make the leads uncomfortable.  Write about mental illness and how, coaxing a suicidal person like Jared to kill himself, is downright evil.  Speak up for Jared, because these people trash his reputation.  Speak up about Nolacon.  Speak up about Jensen's homophobia and his aunt.  Speak about the academic work that revolves around Jensen's homophobia.  Speak up about the entitled hellers who destroyed SPN's reputation with queer baiting accusations.  And earn a buck while you do it.  I am going to do that too.  And I will do it for free.     

https://screenrant.com/supernatural-dean-castiel-destiel-moments/

[mynumenorean-blog]

Physics and Philosophy: Depression is Like Gravity

When a star runs out of fuel and collapses under its own weight, it super-compresses into an infinitely small and dense point called a singularity. We never see this because this itty-bitty singularity has an enormous gravitational field around it that’s so powerful, not even light can escape it. In fact, the only things that have escaped are select radioactive waves that will, in theory, eventually cause the black hole itself to dissipate into nothingness.

In a way, this is also what happens to people with clinical depression. We collapse under the weight of our mental and emotional burdens. Our personalities, passions, and interests super-compress to the point to where even we can’t see them, surrounded by a near-impenetrable field of unwarranted, all-encompassing sadness and pain. The light given by family, friends, and other loved ones becomes all but invisible to us, and anything we send out from this abyss is just as harmful to ourselves as to others.

Unfortunately, we’re no closer to permanently fixing depression than we are to turning black holes back into stars. While there are some of us who respond well to conventional treatment, many of us find that regular therapy and medication just don’t cut it. To make matters worse, those who are lucky enough to not have this condition find it difficult to understand; some even deny that it’s anything that exercise, vitamins, and a deliberately chipper attitude can’t fix. Anyone with a shred of decency who’s kept up with modern science knows that labor pains are real, being gay isn’t a choice, and white people aren’t fundamentally better than any other kinds of people. Why, then, are we still taking backwards, outdated approaches to mental illnesses?

Modern physics tells us that so long as you steer clear of a black hole’s event horizon (the outer boundary, and the only part of it we can really observe), there’s still hope of not being pulled in by all that nasty gravity. However, the closer you are to it, the greater the speed at which you’d need to be travelling to elude the black hole’s gravitational pull. Similarly, most who suffer from Major Depressive Disorder can remember the event (or series of events) that lead to the onset of their condition. The pain, anger, and misery they inspired bind themselves to the center of a person’s consciousness, and anyone who approaches them afterwards is at risk of this malicious miasma interacting with their own day-to-day routine. Like gravity, it can reach out and touch anyone or anything in the sufferer’s life, twisting and distorting their perception of even the most cherished pieces of their lives until they no longer associate any feelings with them at all. While in its throes, some find that they must distance themselves from the sufferer to avoid being slowly consumed by their negativity.

To put things into perspective, a normal person has “gravity” that’s no stronger than that of Earth; just the right amount of pressure to ensure healthy growth. Clinical depression sufferers typically have an excess of the stress hormone cortisol, which causes certain areas of the brain to shrink and others to enlarge. An excess of gravity, on the other hand, would cause many parts of our bodies to be squashed down towards earth while causing blood pressure and production to increase. If it continues to grow, then eventually, it’s, “’Pop’ goes the human.” Much like gravity, too much cortisol can make a person “pop” both physically and mentally, as it’s been linked to weight gain, emotional outbursts, and suicidal behavior.

Even one’s sense of time is affected by both depression and gravity. The latter of the two literally curves the fabric of space time, causing it to flow more slowly than it would otherwise have done. The stronger the gravitational field, the more sluggishly time progresses. There is also a sense of timelessness in the minds of the depressed; one’s perception of time becomes altered and they often have difficulty keeping up with the pace of life. They’re stuck at the fixed points wherein their “gravity” increased, and forward progression can often move at as glacial a pace as George R. R. Martin’s writing (I love you, George, but two thirds of the Star Wars franchise were finished faster than it took you to not finish ASoIaF). They often feel that they’re standing still in a world that never stops moving, which exacerbates an already profound sense of alienation. The greater the depression, the more pronounced the sense of timelessness.

So, what’s one to do with all this information? How will knowing this change anything? Well, if we continue to draw parallels between MDD and the universe’s most abundant fundamental force, then we’ll realize that neither of these things are linear forces. Gravity can be understood as a curvature in space-time, whereas Major Depressive Disorder could be considered a “curvature” in the neural network. Both represent deviations from what is typically observed. There are very real physical differences between the typical human brain and one afflicted with MDD. Stop telling people with the disorder to “just get more exercise,” “go outside more,” “get over it,” or other such tripe. While time outdoors and physical activity are seldom bad ideas, they’re not a cure for the condition, so stop pretending they’ll fix depressed people. A better course of action would be simply to offer love and support; show them that you accept them as they are and will always be there to help them in whatever way you can.

Let’s also remember that gravity works in direct relation to the mass of celestial objects; the greater the mass, the stronger the gravitational pull. Some clinically depressed persons find that they can reduce their “mass” through regular therapy, while others must take prescription medications to chemically reduce it. Many require both. What most therapists will agree on, however, is that one of the most crucial factors in learning to cope with MDD is having a strong support system. Finding the right therapist can be nearly as challenging as finding the right medication; what works for one person may fail in spectacular fashion for another. Personally, I’m one for whom my circle of support was the only thing that truly helped me manage my MDD. Happiness became a conscious decision I had to make every day, and experience has taught me which of my coping mechanisms are the most beneficial for me. The love and understanding of those around me aid in keeping my “mass” as low as possible, and when it reaches a critical point, I can always reach out to them for help.

No matter what method a person uses to manage their depression, if it’s not harming the sufferer or others around them, no one else has a say in whether it’s the “right” approach or not. Yes, I understand that some medications have rather nasty reputations for the side effects they can produce. However, if a person feels that their meds are a bigger help than a hazard, then don’t try to cram essential oils up their noses, vitamins down their throats, or sunshine up their asses. You’re only adding to their mass.

Unfortunately, some psychiatrists do more harm than good by trying to find the quickest way to manage the symptoms. They treat their patients like lab rats, prescribing the most “promising” (aka expensive) new medications that haven’t been tested nearly long enough to observe any long-term damage they could eventually cause. When they observe an improvement, they pat themselves on the back and consider the job done. If the patient reports a different problem than the one with which they presented, they push another miracle pill onto the patient without considering the idea that the first pill might be causing the new problem. So-called medical “professionals” like this who play the doctor equivalent of “hit it and quit it” with patients are a large part of why the American medical system has become such a joke in the rest of the developed world. If all doctors were as interested in resolving their patients’ problems as they seem to be in throwing a pill at them, employing the “wait-and-see” method, and getting to charge them for follow-up visits, the WHO might not have given the US health care system the rank of 37th-best in the world in 2018.

Okay, that last bit was a rant, and it’s over now.

In conclusion, I hope this has been an insightful look into the minds of those who suffer from depression. If not, then I hope that those who have the disorder found it relatable. In any case, the more people understand the difference between “feeling blue” and actual depression, the faster the misconceptions about this condition can be replaced with compassion. One day, we may understand enough about MDD that we’ll be able to find a permanent solution. Until then, the 300 million people around the world who have this illness ask those who don’t to be patient with us… we’re doing the best we can against an enemy that modern medicine still doesn’t fully comprehend.

[cjgilbertwebpro]

Know someone at risk of foreclosure?! My friend Alice has JUST released a book helping people with this exact situation! Would you please help her reach best seller status by grabbing her book today for only 99 cents ?! Your Amazing Itty Bitty® Guide To Save Your Home From Foreclosure: 15 Key Steps to Keep the Roof Over Your Family’s Head in These Challenging Times https://buff.ly/3S7ic9Q #smallbusiness #businesstips #business101 #startups #workfromhomedad #marketing #sales #customerservice #networking #virtualevents #virtualeventproducer (at Jungle Studios Website Design) https://www.instagram.com/p/Ci089q8PbxD/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[whoacanada]

NHL Bitty Interlude - Conflict of Interest

Jack, Eric, and Chris aren’t the only Samwell alums floating around the NHL. Holster spent a season or two in the AHL and decided it wasn’t for him, but he’s networked into something a little more his speed.

Feat. Linesman Holster, dirty Schooners, and a frustrated Eric Bittle.

Eric’s on his back with his legs in the air when the linesman skates by and says sternly, “I'm sorry, we can't allow this kind of reckless behavior before the game has even started.”

Eric rolls to the side and pushes himself up, ready to sass the hell out him, when he sees exactly what breed of asshole he’s dealing with. 

And it’s only the best kind.

“Holster!” He squeals, startling his teammates before launching himself into Adam Birkholtz’s arms. Even with the pads Holster is able to wrap his arms around Eric and lift him off the ice. 

“S’up, Itty Bitty!”

Carter swings around at the commotion. “Going to go easy on him, Birkholtz?” he asks, practically bouncing on his toes at the prospect of a penalty free game.

“Fuck, no,” Holster pulls a face and drops his hands to Eric’s shoulders, spinning him around to face his teammates. “Bittle’s been playing really dirty.”

“He’s kidding,” Eric says quickly, waiting for Adam to agree, but the moment doesn’t come.

“I’m really not, little bro.”

Eric’s stomach drops. “What?”

Adam taps a beat out on Eric’s shoulder pads, not quite soothing, more of a, “I’m your friend, and I’m about to give you some hard love,” kinda thing. 

“We had a full-on league meeting about you. None of the guys want to get labeled as homophobic for dishing out penalties, so you’ve been getting away with a lot.”

That’s...news to Eric. 

“Y’all have been going easy on me? I’ve just been defending myself.”

“Bro. There’s a reason Bob keeps using the hashtag ‘Bad Bittle’. You should have been ejected in Columbus.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Between you, Morin, and Forrester it’s pretty much ‘typical Schooners hockey’. But no worries, I told the higher ups I’d wouldn’t pull any punches.”

“Oh. Um, that’s...good? I guess.”

Holster shakes his head.

“Oh. Well, I guess I’ll have to be on my best behavior, won’t I?”

The Schooners lose. By a fair margin. On the bright side, it may be the most accurately called game in the last ten years. On the not-so-bright side, Eric spends a solid eight minutes in the penalty box. 

And every time Holster skates by the sin bin, he gives a happy wave.

The last time Eric climbs out of the box, he skates past Holster and says, “Hope your hotel has good security.”

Adam laughs, big and booming like Eric’s missed some joke. 

“Bitty, didn’t Jack tell you? I’m staying with you tonight!” 

[crzcorgi]

Negan and the wee girl

for @ladylorelitany‘s Monster Mash 2017 : A Negan Challenge

My prompt was Fae

Negan x Fairy OC

2500 words

Warnings ~ Negan’s language and a bit of sexual innuendo, it’s Negan!

This is a definite AU as I have very little knowledge of fairies, so I just winged it! 😂

This will have more to it

@negans-network

 The fucking ungrateful ball-less shitheads! I screamed out behind me when I realized the group of men that were with me had fucking hightailed it out of the woods we were in. But I had to get to the outpost we had hidden out here. And, like fucking always, I’m the only one with the fucking balls to do it.

  We’d been on the road for days, checking all our outposts and the communities we had taken control off. I was fucking tired, wanted to get back to the Sanctuary, I needed to fuck someone and fucking soon. And this shit outpost was in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

 We’d heard a strange noise when we first entered the wooded area.

 “Jesus, boss! What the hell was that sound?!”

 “I don’t know D, just keep the fuck moving!”

  “That was howling, but that ain’t like any dog I’ve ever heard before!”

 “If it ain’t fucking walkers, then you shitheads pay it no mind and keep on a marching!”

 We walked further into the forest, the sounds seeming to fade away. When we reached a clearing the howling appeared again, intensified.

 “I’m out of here!”

 “Me too.”

  And that was the last I saw of those fuckers. I didn’t have time to dwell on the assholiness of my fucking supposed Saviors. Marching forth thru the high grass I was suddenly knocked on my ass by a herd of what looked like small dogs. What the actual fuck am I seeing here?!

 I got back on my feet to see the tall grasses being parted by nothing visible to me. I followed the part, thinking it had to be those dogs(?) that had plowed me the fuck over. When I reached the edge where the grass ended and the woods once again started, I heard something else, music? What the fuck?!

 I made sure Lucille was secure on my shoulder as I slowly and quietly stepped forward towards the beat. Peeking around a tree, I saw it. But my mind couldn’t fucking comprehend the shit that was going down.

 It was a party of some sort, people dancing, music playing, laughter filling the air. On the edge of this circle of people were the small dogs I had thought I had seen before. They appeared to be keeping guard, their back ends facing the small crowd, ears pricked forward towards the surrounding area.

 Now, this was definitely a fucking strange sight in these days. But it wasn’t the party of people that made this occurrence strange. Fuck no! It was the fact that the partiers in question were no more than a few fucking inches tall. And no, I’m not fucking crazy.

 I felt dizzy suddenly, not sure exactly what the fuckity fuck I was witnessing. It’s the apocalypse, the dead are roaming the earth. Are tiny people so hard to comprehend?!

 Fuck, yes they are!

 I stepped back, looking for a place to sit my ass down before I fell down. As I sat on a fallen tree trunk, I stepped on a twig, a sharp “snap” heard by the massive ears on one of the dog sentries. Turning to look right at me, I saw one of the people jump on its’ back and then they both headed my way. Shit!

 When the dog reached me, the little person, a woman I could now see, climbed up onto the dog’s head, holding onto its ears for balance.

 “Hello sir!” I could hear her, as tiny as she was, she was fucking loud. “I’m LilithElle of Pembrokeshire. And you are?” She looked as if she was holding out her tiny hand to me.

Okay.

 “Uh, um, I’m Negan of The Sanctuary.” I placed my hand down towards her. She took both of her miniature hands, clasping onto one of my fingers, attempting to “shake” it. Damn if it wasn’t cute.

 “Well a good afternoon to you, Negan of The Sanctuary! And welcome to our gathering!” She gestured towards the circle of party goers. “And this here,” she leant down to pat her dog’s head, “is Dal, he’s my steed, and my best friend.” She gently stroked between his ears, sitting down, her tiny legs crossing.

 “So, good sir, what brings you here? Most of your kind cannot see us. Is there something you’re searching for? Something you need, desire?” She stood once again, straightening the little outfit she wore, which wasn’t much, an itty bitty leaf bra and some sort of flower skirt. Do these creatures have the same anatomy as humans? Does this little lady standing in front of me have little tits and a teenie pussy? And why the fuck am I thinking about this?! Shit.

 I was wiping at my face, feeling fucking flush, when I suddenly felt something, someone, lightly touching my knee. Looking down and just about to swat what I thought must have been a fucking spider away, I realized the little lady was now standing on me. I must have looked like what I felt, because she had a concerned look on her face.

 “Mr. Negan, are okay? I know this must come as a bit of a shock, a horde of tiny people living in the woods with corgi steeds and invisible to most.” She patted my hand that rested on my leg. “Ask me anything, Mr. Negan. I’m an open book!” Her mini arms opening wide. “But do you mind if I sit here a bit? I’m afraid my legs are a wee bit tired, I’ve had a might busy morning.” She let out a big yawn, stretching her arms over her head, and fuck if I didn’t check her out.

 Jesus fucking Christ, I’m going nuts, I must have hit my fucking head when I fell and now I’m dreaming about a tiny half naked lady with nice tits. Okay, that could definitely explain all this.

 I didn’t know what to say, what to fucking think. I’m sitting in the woods, death, destruction all around me. And I’m in the middle of some psychedelic fucking acid trip chatting it up with a tiny sexy fucking fairy tale creature.

 “Okay, doll, your name again?”

 She looked up at me and I could see her beautiful eyes, a fucking kaleidoscope of different colors swirling around. “Well, we faes have very long names, but are given shorter names once our personalities show. I’m known as LilithElle. Some call me Lil as I’m a bit wee sized.”

 She giggled, covering her mouth in embarrassment. “I guess to you sir, we all are a bit wee!” She stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned back on her hands. “So, next question?”

 “You said most people can’t fucking see your kind. So why can I?” She seemed to be contemplating her answer.

 “One of my elders might be better to answer this, but I do know this. Usually someone who believes in us can definitely see, but my mother once told me that so can humans that have a fairy soulmate. So, Mr. Negan, do you believe in fairies?” She sat forward, resting her tiny chin in her hands, a look of all seriousness on her face.

 “Well, I guess I fucking do sweetheart, cause I sure as shit am looking at you right now.” I laughed, making my leg shake.

 “Whoa!” I realized that any fucking movement I made, no matter how small,  was like a fucking quake to little miss tiny. She was holding onto my thumb with all her fucking might. “I think I’ll jump back over to Dal, Mr. Negan.” She giggled again, such a sweet sound.

 She stood back up, turning to head back to her dog. “Hold on teenie tiny, climb onto my hand, let me get a better look at ya.” I placed my hand near her, palm up.

 She stepped onto my hand, sitting down, crisscrossing her long legs. “Okay, but please move slowly, I’m not fond of heights Mr. Negan.”

 I carefully began lifting my hand, keeping it fucking level. When reached my face, I brought her closer. “Hello doll, now I can see you better. Now call me Negan, no need for the formalities.”

 “Oooh, I’m high up! Hey Dal!” She leaned over my hand carefully, waving to her dog below on the ground. He began barking, jumping up on my knee causing me to almost drop tiny tot.

 “Down boy! If you knock Mr., I mean Negan down, I’ll come tumbling down too!” She was pointing her itty finger at the dog, chastising him. And I couldn’t help but notice her tiny fucking ass was pointed right in my face.

Fuck man, get a grip! It’s not like she’s a fucking normal size woman. Nothing can come out of this.

 But why the fuckity fuck am I so attracted to her. It’s like I’m drawn to the little doll. Jesus, this whole experience is freaking me the fuck out.

 She turned around, her tiny hands suddenly placed on her hips. “Like what you see Negan?” She giggled, which turned into her whole body laughing. “I’m just kiddin’ with you!” She sat down again, patting my thumb. “Would you like to meet everyone? We’re a friendly bunch!”

 The little lady has a fucking sense of humor, fuck, I’m in love! Hey, no not really, I mean shit, she’s the size of my dick.

 “Okay, they aren’t gonna try to fucking tie me down or something are they?” I couldn’t stop staring at her, wasn’t sure if it was the fact that I was holding an actual living breathing very fucking human looking creature. Or was it because I found her fucking breathtaking.

 She had long dark hair, I’d say it was black, but when the sun hit it, it changed colors, purple, blue, red. Her eyes, almost the same. Dark, but when the light hit they turned shades of purple, blue, green. They looked to almost be emitting light on their own. Her skin was pale, but fucking glittering. And she felt warm sitting in my hand, it was fucking nice.

I had to shake myself out of my fucking crazy thoughts. I’m fucking attracted to a fucking fairy? Jesus if I didn’t need to get back to my wives and soon.

 “Oh no, Negan. My people are very cordial, we’re a welcoming bunch we are!” She stood up, her hands behind her back, just looking up at me. “But, you must have people waiting for you? A mate? Children?” She spoke softly, looking down at her miniature bare feet , as if she didn’t want me to answer.

 “No, uh no mate, or kids. Shit no, not in this world. Besides sweetheart, I’m not the most pleasant man.”

 She tipped her head at me. “Now, I found that extremely hard to believe, Negan. You’ve been nothing but a gentle sir with me. And you make me laugh!” She started laughing, her hands coming around to the front of herself, clutching her itty stomach.

 “Well, doll, I guess you fucking bring out the best in me!” I laughed, careful not to shake my hand. She looked up at me with the sweetest smile.

 “While that is incredibly kind of you Negan, you don’t need anyone to bring out your best. You do that all by yourself! I’ve not met many of your kind I’m afraid, but the stories I’ve heard, well…” She wrapped her arms around her small frame, shivering.

 I wanted to get her back to smiling so I quickly spoke up. “Okay sweet thing, how about you fucking introduce me to your family. Do you want me to place you back down on your little dogger?”

 She beamed up at me. “Perfect!”

 I slowly moved her to the back of her dog, placing her gently down onto her saddle. I watched as she settled in, grabbing her “reins” that seemed to be made from twisted vines. Her saddle a bed of leaves with flowers as trim. She began speaking to him in a language that I couldn’t fucking understand. She then began making clicking sounds, the pup turning around.

 “Ready Negan?!” She yelled up at me.

 “Lead the way doll!” I followed, thinking I would have to be fucking careful, taking tiny steps so as to not overpower them. But I needn’t worry, that little fucker could run fast on those 4 tiny stumps for legs. We were quickly back at the celebration. She jumped off the dog, quickly making her way over to what looked like a stage of sorts, made out of rocks and logs.

 “Excuse me everyone! I have brought us a new friend from far away!” Her voice was loud, carrying across the partiers and to where I was standing. I was concerned, believing that her voice could attract the undead. Which made me wonder how they fought them? Were they here, wherever here was?

 When I came out of my fucking thoughts I realized a 100 sets of eyes were on me.

 “Uh, hello. I’m Negan, and I’m not sure where I am, or why I’m here. But LilithElle has been so very accommodating to me.” I looked over the tiny party goers, seeing only what looked like welcoming faces, not an angry fucking scared mob that I was sure I would see.

 “Welcome Negan! You’re in Pembrokeshire, home to the Alban clan.”  I noticed little doll walking back over towards me, stopping to talk to someone. They both began heading over to me.

 “Negan of The Sanctuary, this is my mam, she birthed me many moons ago.” She giggled that sweet sounding song making me smile.

 “Good noon Negan of The Sanctuary! A friend of my dear Lil is a friend of us all!” She stretched her hand high like her daughter had done, so I crouched down to meet her. As she touched my hand, she jolted backwards, falling into doll, the both of them collapsing into a heap on the ground.

 As they struggled to get up, I offered my hand for help. They both stood, straightening their outfits.

 “Mam, what’s the matter? You almost crushed me!” She began laughing, grabbing onto my thumb to steady herself.

 Doll’s mother stood and came right up to me. “Good sir, do you know what your purpose is here?”

 “Uh, I’m afraid I don’t know. One minute I’m walking thru a fucking field. Next thing I know I’m looking at, talking to, tiny people. Yeah, I’m fucking lost here sweetheart.”

 “I know your reason for being brought to us.”

 Doll stepped over to the other woman’s side. “Please, do tell us!”

 “Negan, you kind sir, are my daughter’s soulmate.”

[jeritaylorswade]

I’m a Contributing Author of a New Best Selling Book!

The book is officially titled, ‘Your Amazing Itty-Bitty Book of Words: 270 words to educate and entertain your mind.’

“Susie Prudden approached me, and said she was the publisher of 62 best-selling quote and compilation books and had an idea. I was at a tradeshow as a vendor for a large annual convention for a networking organization when she walked up to me and my teammate, who was working in the booth with me,” said Taylor-Swade.

The Itty-Bitty ‘Book of Words’ started out as “just an idea” but Prudden said “I’m actually selling a space for you to choose your word and publish it. It will be a dictionary of sorts but each author will write the definition of the word he/she chooses, not necessarily as Webster writes it,” said Prudden. Immediately Taylor-Swade said “I want one!” She knew immediately what the word she wanted to use was. Her friend and teammate added “I want one too and I know what my word will be!” The deal was done right then and they waited months and months for the book to finally come out. This is the kind of book that you put on your coffee table, leave in the bathroom or keep on your desk-- so many ways to use it!

A fun way to use the book is to ask a question and see what word shows up when you open it. Reminiscent of a magic eight ball!

The book could be used to pick a word for the day-- a fun way to lighten your day while discovering a new word and a new meaning as well. Each definition comes from the authors, which makes it unique and fun! Each of the authors is highlighted in the book, published by Itty-Bitty publishing. Taylor Swade said, “It already is an international bestseller and I am so fortunate and blessed to have been in the right place to be able to be part of this fun project as a contributing author!”

Link to Facebook Video: https://www.facebook.com/JeriTaylorSwade/videos/10158222410348923/