#(plus now that I’m no longer in source. and all that trauma is like. Less. I wouldn’t kill them. I’d definitely exile them but yk)

[odysseus-of-ithaka]

Wait, Antinous and Telemachus are dating? How do you feel about it? What does Penelope think?

Not officially. Antinous has become much nicer when I got back (I’m fairly sure his father pressured him into trying to be king, I wouldn’t put it past him.) He’s still incredibly obnoxious and he knows that if he tries anything I will NOT hesitate to beat his ass. But Telemachus likes him. Penelope just wants Telemachus to be happy and she isn’t too concerned about it because she knows I’m gonna protect Telemachus if anything happened. Definitely unconventional but I don’t have too much of a personal vendetta against the suitors, it’s generally just something that happens when a king is gone for as long as I was.

[ashenpages]

Current Projects & Emoji Voting Key

Quick disclaimer: I’m a romance writer in all aspects of the term, so most of my works will contain mature content. Engage at your own risk, you know the rules, you’re responsible for curating your own experience of the internet, blah blah blah.

This post serves as a current mock up of fic ideas I’m either actively working on or considering working on next. You can drop me an ask about any of them, or just vote via the emoji combo I’ve assigned them.

Voting lets me know you’re excited about an idea and makes it more likely I’ll actually work on it. You can vote anytime, there’re no deadlines or winner announcements, just me gauging your interest by what I see in my ask box most often.

You can also ask me about the original stuff I’m working on currently. The current WIPs are Medusa centric and the emoji for them is: 🐍

Support my original work on Ko-fi and Patreon.

- Lupin: 🤑🤠💍  These are all oneshot ideas, between 5-15K each. If you want to vote for a specific idea, send me the emojis and the number of the idea.

Born from the idea that Goemon and Zenigata probably couldn’t be an item, my brain decided to come up with how I could write for them. Goemon’s teaching an ikebana class as part of his training, and Zenigata shows up as a student on forced recreational leave for his health from the ICPO. Zenigata wins the samurai’s heart through flowers. But what happens when Lupin and Jigen find out? (Only good sexy things, I promise. These beans are in a healthy polycule--be gay, do crimes) (WIP)

Jigen/Lupin, but it's Jigen deciding to seduce Lupin while wearing his own Lupin disguise. The thief is waaaaay too into it, and some artistry is taken with the sex so that they don't mess up the disguise too much during their encoutner.

Jigen/Zenigata/Lupin where Jigen has some fantasices about Zenigata, but is pretty sure they'll never happen. Tells Lupin about them. Suddenly the fantasies are coming true, in the middle of a heist, and Jigen doesn't what to do except get swept up in the moment and enjoy. Plot twist, it's Lupin dressed up as Zenigata granting all his gunman's dreams. Plot twist again, Zenigata catches them at it.

Zenigata/Lupin, where Lupin keeps doing good things in illegal ways and Pops has to find a way to punish him for it. Good thing for Pops Lupin's a masochist?

Trans!Lupin and Trans!Jigen premise: Jigen cares for Lupin after the master thief has top surgery, since Jigen has Been There and Done That. Caring, sweet, and a little sexy. Lupin is a much better patient than Jigen.

The one time Zenigata caught Lupin in an alley and kissed him and it was Jigen in disguise. Things get sexy anyway, and Zenigata has crushes on two thieves now. Lupin and Jigen "kidnap" him later for an evening of taking care of their inspector.

The background plot of Jigen's Gravestone where we see Jigen think he's done for and try to leave Lupin. Our thief has none of it, and we get to relish in the inherent eroticism of Lupin sitting in sniper fire, knowing Jigen's got his back. This is the moment I think Jigen finally believes he can be with Lupin forever.

I love the idea of something longer and more plot driven like a Lupin special where Lupin ends up in hot water and Jigen and Fujiko have to work together to save him. Jigen and Fujiko have such an interesting relationship. They're both partners of Lupin, they don't really like each other, they constantly screw the other over, but when it really matters they take care of each other. I'd like to see that highlighted a little more and also give them space to call each other out and bicker. Nothing sexy between them, but maybe a really interesting threesome with Lupin and Fujiko in a strap on once they save their boy.

- Sonic Vampire Novelist Coffee Shop AU: 📚☕💐

Shadow is an immortal vampire who has seen the world change for the worse too many times. These days it feels like he only lives for his coffee dates with Rouge, another immortal who loves each new era they encounter, warts and all. He has to admit that the book series she got him into speaks to him, at least. If someone in this era can understand him without meeting him, it can’t all be bad. But he hardly expected the goofy blue barista at the new coffee place to understand him the way those books do.

This is a novel length romcom romp with some big feelings about what it means to watch as things change, grow, and die. Expect lots of Big gothic feelings from this one, emotionally charged kissing, and overly-adoring sex. But also expect shenanigans from everyone in the coffee shop, which include Rouge, Amy, Tails, Knuckles, Cream, and more.

- Sonic Blazamy, "Like the Sun": 💖🌸💎

Amy Rose has been in love with Sonic for a while.

Or has she?

When the Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, Shadow, and Silver are trapped as the fuel sources for Doctor Eggman’s newest evil scheme, Amy teams up with Blaze, Rouge, and Cream to save them. With Sonic out of the picture and Amy fulfilling his role, was she ever really in love with him? Or did she just want to be like him?

This is a novel length epic romance with lots of competent women and lots of romantic Blazamy content. Expect flowery hopes and dreams, badass self-actualization, and glancing hand touches that give way to cuddly and sweet sex.

- Persona 5: 🗡🍛☕

After bringing down the Metaverse twice, Ryuji didn’t think graduating high school and figuring out what to do with his life would be so hard. Akira’s back in town, and the gang’s more-or-less all in Tokyo, but everyone else seems to have a plan while Ryuji just floats. How’s he supposed to change the world when he’s not a phantom thief anymore?

This is a novel length fic that addresses how powerless one can feel being just one person in the face of all the corrupted systems and bigotry the world has to offer. It’s about holding on to what you believe in, working through the doubt, and fighting your way to a better tomorrow with the power you do have. The whole gang is queer, featured relationships being Mako x Ann, Ryuji x Akira, Futaba & Yusuke as platonic life partners. Akira is polyamorous and omnisexual, Futaba’s asexual and aromantic while Yusuke is demisexual and very romantic, Makoto’s a lesbian, Ann and Ryuji are bi, and Haru’s pansexual, demisexual, and aromantic. They’re one giant band of queer Phantom Thieves, and even if they’re not really doing the Metaverse thing anymore, they’re still gonna save the world!

Also, I’m gonna make Makoto not a cop. That super didn’t age well. Zenkichi and his boss can work on making them better/abolishing them for other better organizations.

- Hades Game: ❤️‍🔥💀

Oneshot. I just really need to elaborate on the threesome you can have with them in-game, okay? Healthy and canon poly relationships are so few and far between, so often I have to do a ton of groundwork to explain why it’s working in the fic, but NOT WITH THESE KIDS!

Get ready for Meg helping Zag and Than be better at expressing their feelings, lots of kissing, and probably pegging.

- Castlevania Animation Trevor/Sypha/Alucard: 🧛🏰🛌

Castlevania gave Alucard a threesome last season, and I just really need S4 to give me him being taken care of by his partners. They’re probably not going to give it to me, so I’ll need to do it myself. This is just an everybody loves Alucard oneshot, with the gang’s signature banter (to an extent), Sypha being sexy, and Trever being remarkably sincere. This fic is gonna feel like that Ann Hathaway picture with Trevor kissing Alucard and Sypha holding the end of Trevor’s whip while she leans her head on Alucard’s shoulder adoringly.

- Devil May Cry Nico/Lady/Trish: 💋✨😈

Nico’s gay, okay? Like really, really gay. And Lady’s bi and not into men who make her pay bills, but very into women who make amazing guns for her and demonesses with hearts who fight by her side. Trish is ace, but loves people and is pretty attached to Lady at this point. Plus it’s cute when Lady blushes and says nice things like they’re insults. I don’t have super solid ideas for them yet, and I envision these more like a polycule where Lady’s with Nico and with Trish but they’re not with each other more than seeing it as a threesome, but who knows what might happen. This is probably 1-2 oneshots depending on ideas, but might turn into a series of oneshots if people are interested (or I can’t control myself and inspiration strikes).

- Post FMA:B Blind Roy & No Alchemy Ed: 👀👑🙏

This is actually an old novel-length fic I wrote ages ago and didn’t post that didn’t turn out well because I was new to writing sex when I first wrote it. The plot is good, and is all about Roy learning to work with his blindness to reclaim his ambition of being Fuhrer and changing the system to something that actually cares for its people. He and Ed reconnect, fall into bed, and both set about working through their respective traumas about being “useless” having lost their sight/alchemy. They go to Xing as an ambassadorial party to offer Amestris’s collaboration on Al and May’s Alkahestry experiments--and uncover a plot that might threaten both kingdoms.

- Age of Calamity continuity Mipha x Revali: 🦚🐟💘

The first time Revali noticed Mipha, it was in the heat of battle. She stole his mark, taking them down with a flurry of quick blows from her spear. Violence rained from her like water--and then she healed him on her way to her next battle. No questions, no conditions, just pure kindness. The usual need to measure himself against those around him was quiet in her wake. And Revali couldn’t understand it. But how to get to know more about her? A fish and bird may fall in love, but where would they live?

This fic could be a oneshot or novel length depending on how far down the hole I fall. I need it to cover time, but it could be done in linked vignettes or with actually covering events in detail. I may elect to do a oneshot just to get it done and out of my system faster. So much fic to write, so little time.

Expect trans!Revali, polyamorous Zoras, scary competent Mipha, songbird Revali, love confessions that are made up entirely of berating Link for not loving Mipha the way she wants him to, and breaking these characters a little outside of their assigned roles in BotW and Age of Calamity. Background Link x Zelda, and Urbosa x Zelda’s Mom.

- Epic desert romance about Urbosa and Zelda’s mom: 🏜🏝⚡

I just think Urbosa should kiss women and Zelda’s mom should get more development and maybe a name or something. Also, lightning imagery/metaphors/play.

It also went way over my head that Riju wasn’t Urbosa’s daughter the first time I played BotW, so now I want to write about the Gerudo queen who refused to produce an heir. The Gerudo are fascinating and have a very interesting cutlure, but I think it could be examined from a nonbinary perspective that rejected pregnancy and wanting to find a husband. Not in like a hateful way, but in a way that examines if that’s really right for everyone. There’s that shop in town that sells Voe armor, after all. Maybe finding a husband and having children isn’t something you have to do if you don’t want to. And Urbosa really doesn’t want to.

[amanda-glassen]

My Love, My Life

For the “My Love, My Life - ABBA” square of @storiesofsvu​ fall bingo.

Characters: Olivia Benson, Serena Benson

Serena reflects on the past 18 years the night before Olivia moves to LA for college. (The Wonder Years universe)

Serena woke up to her four-year-old daughter’s hand on her face for the second time that night. They knew Charlie was old enough to sleep in her own bed, but Jamie didn’t have the heart to say no to her whenever she stood in the doorway clutching her Chucky doll and asking if she could sleep with them. Charlie may have looked like Serena and acted like her, but she and Jamie had a bond that Serena felt she wasn’t always a part of. The closeness Jamie had with Charlie is what Serena had with Olivia－her big baby as she affectionately called her, her big baby that was leaving home in less than eight hours.

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, Serena kissed her sleeping daughter on the cheek and walked down the hall to Olivia’s room. There were two large pieces of luggage and a carry-on bag propped up against the wall, ready for her flight. Olivia was only taking her clothes and the plan was to buy everything she’d need for her dorm when they were over there. Her room would remain the same and Serena didn’t know if that was a source of comfort or if she’d spend hours crying on Olivia’s bed when she was gone.

Olivia may have been eighteen and going off to college but when Serena saw her fast asleep that night holding onto her stuffed t-rex, all she could see was the little girl who would give her kisses when she tucked her into bed each night. 

I held you close to me

Felt your heartbeat and I thought I am free

Oh, yes and as one are we

In the now and beyond

Nothing and no one can break this bond

Scenes from Olivia’s childhood started playing in her mind and, when she closed her eyes tightly, she could swear she had been transported to their old apartment. It was small and humble but that tiny apartment held the happiest moments of Serena’s life because as long as she had Olivia, she had all she needed. She could smell five-year-old Olivia’s strawberry-scented children’s shampoo and feel her heart beating fast as she held onto her. Her little girl had had a nightmare and was depending on her for comfort and protection. 

“It’s okay, baby,” Serena told her as they sat in the rocking chair and she attempted to rock Olivia back to sleep. “Mommy’s here. I’ll always keep you safe.”

Her tiny hand clenched Serena’s tank top as she started to calm down. “Mommy, I’m a big kid now. I don’t wanna be scared like a baby.”

“Everyone is afraid of something, Ollie girl.”

“Even you?” her daughter looked at her, wide-eyed.

“Even me,” Serena smiled.

“Are you afraid of the boogeyman?”

“No,” Serena tickled her, causing Olivia to giggle. “The boogeyman and I are best friends. I send him after your uncle Kyle all the time.”

“Mommy,” Olivia continued to giggle. “What are you afraid of then?”

“Hmm,” Serena gently bit her lip as she tried to think of what she was afraid of. “You know that really grouchy professor who gave Mommy a bad grade? I think I’m afraid of her.”

“What about the monster under the bed?”

Serena absentmindedly twirled one of Olivia’s curls around her finger. “Oh that monster. Remember that time we went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house by Lake Tahoe and I sprayed you with that stuff to keep the mosquitos away? Well, how about if I make something for you to keep the monsters away?”

“Okay.” Olivia laid her head on her chest. “Mommy, can I sleep with you tonight? And tomorrow we can make monster spray?”

“You can sleep with me anytime you want, baby.”

That night she cuddled Olivia close in her bed, making sure to stay awake until she knew her little girl was fast asleep. “Mommy, you’re my hero,” her daughter said in a sleepy voice. “You’re the most bravest mommy in the whole world.”

But thirteen years later, as she stood in the doorway of her daughter’s room, she no longer felt brave. What her daughter couldn’t comprehend during the conversation they had when she was five was that Serena’s biggest fear was the day Olivia grew up and left home. 

I am invincible, how could this go wrong?

No, here, here's where we belong

I see a road ahead

I never thought I would dare to tread

For the first time since she became a teenager, Serena climbed into bed with Olivia and held her as close as she could from behind. Instead of strawberry shampoo and bubble bath, she smelled the remnants of Olivia’s cologne and some Dove men’s lotion.

“Mom, are you sniffing me?” Olivia asked, half asleep.

“You don’t smell like my baby anymore, but this scent is still comforting,” Serena said as she nuzzled into the back of Olivia’s neck. 

“Mom, I’m eighteen now. This is weird.”

“Olivia Margaret!” Serena raised her voice. “Do you know how long I was in labor with you?”

Olivia turned around to face her. “You see, I asked Grandma about that and she said you actually weren’t in labor that long and once the drugs kicked in, you were practically numb from the neck down. You can’t use that on me anymore. Charlie was the difficult labor. Why don’t you use that on her instead?”

“She’s only four,” Serena chuckled. “There’s no fun in guilt-tripping a four-year-old. She already believes everything I say. Your sister is in that innocent phase of life where she believes in Santa and the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. Give it five years. I’ll start guilt-tripping her then.”

“That’s some A+ parenting, Mom,” Olivia said jokingly. “Why do I feel like Charlie and I will be explaining all of this to a therapist someday?”

“Because you will, Olliegator. Just like I did and my mother and grandmother did before me. Face it, baby. Crazy runs in the family. That and alcoholism.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Olivia rolled her eyes. “And, Mom, you’re still cuddling me.”

Serena held her even tighter. “It’s your last night at home. Either I cuddle you now or I walk into your dorm room when your roommate is there and say ‘Where’s my Olliegator? Where’s my kisses?’ in a really annoying tone of voice.”

“I’d like to think you were bluffing, but I know you’d do it, so I’ll just let you cuddle me.”

For a few moments, Serena was able to bask in the feeling of holding Olivia one last time before she moved. Finding out Olivia had gotten a softball scholarship was one of the proudest moments of Serena’s life until she realized it meant her baby would have to move to LA. Her parents lived in Beverly HIlls and her sister lived in Santa Monica, neither of which were far from Olivia’s school, but even if she knew they’d watch out for her, nothing would ever compare to her knowing Olivia was safe in her bedroom down the hall.

“I’m worried about you living on your own. Grandma and Grandpa live two miles from your school, why don’t you just live with them? At least I know you’d be safe. What if your roommate is some crazy person?”

Olivia scoffed. “As opposed to the crazy woman I live with now?”

“Smartass.” Serena playfully pinched her.

“Ow!” Olivia rubbed her arm. “For a tiny woman, you’re really strong.”

“Strong enough to lock you in this room so you can’t leave me?”

“Mom!” Olivia groaned.

“I’ve had eighteen years to prepare for this and I’m still not ready,” Serena admitted. “I know you’re an adult now and you’ve worked so hard to get where you are, but I don’t want you to leave home.”

Now it was Olivia’s turn to hold her close and she couldn’t help sobbing into her daughter’s shoulder. “Mom, I know this is hard, but everything is going to be okay. Remember when I had that really bad nightmare and I called you the bravest mom in the world? I still think that’s true. Everything I’ve accomplished is because of you and how brave you are. What you went through when I was conceived. Dealing with that trauma plus preparing to have a baby when you were only 21. You graduated from college and then went on to get your PhD all while being a single mom. For the first twelve years of my life, it was just the two of us and I still don’t know how you managed to do it all. You’ve taken care of all of us; let us take care of you now.”

“I love you, Olliegator.”

“I love you, too, Mom,” Olivia said as she placed a kiss on her cheek. “And, yes, I’m leaving home but I’m never leaving you.” 

Flying to LA was like flying home for Serena. Her mother picked them up from LAX and they stopped at a store to shop for bedding and a few things to get Olivia through the first day in her dorm.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go shopping for some decorations and some other things to make the place feel like home, okay, Ollie?” Olivia’s grandma told her.

On the drive to Olivia’s school, they passed by all of Serena’s favorite places to visit as a child. The little bakery where Olivia had her first ice cream sandwich was just a couple of blocks away from the campus and, when they drove by it, Serena had to swallow hard so as not to cry. 

“Mom, can we get an ice cream sandwich sometime before you fly back to New York?” Olivia asked, which made Serena feel like she was gonna cry all over again.

“Yes, of course, Olliegator. We can go anywhere you want.”

There were three generations of Benson women in Olivia’s dorm room; Serena and Mrs. Benson took to making her bed and organizing her desk while Olivia unpacked her clothes and hung them up in the closet. They were there for two hours, mostly stalling for time until they could no longer put off the inevitable. There was another fifteen minutes of goodbye hugs and kisses on the cheek with Serena trying her hardest not to let Olivia see her cry.

“I’m still gonna see you tomorrow before you fly back, right?” Olivia asked her with that same pleading look she had as a child.

“Just call me whenever you’re ready.”

“And you’ll be back next month for Parents Weekend?”

My baby already misses me. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything and I know your sister is gonna put on the hoodie you bought for her as soon as I get back and ask if it’s time to go to your school,” Serena said as she held her close. “If you ever feel lonely, your grandparents are just a couple of miles away and your aunt Lexie is in Santa Monica and you can always call me. I don’t care what time it is, Ollie. Just call me whenever you need me.”

When they were outside, Serena couldn’t help turning around to look at the building her daughter would call home for the next nine months. It was so full of life and Serena knew her daughter was going to have a good time and make a lot of friends, but this building wasn’t their house and Serena wanted nothing more than to get Olivia and take her back to New York. I can’t do that to her. She worked so hard to get here and I owe it to her to let her be happy.

Yes, I know don't possess you

With all my heart, God bless you

You are still my love and my life

“It’s okay to cry, Ser Bear,” Mrs. Benson said as she hugged her. “I know I did. What you’re feeling right now, I felt 22 years ago when I dropped you off at Columbia. I kept asking myself why couldn’t you just go to UCLA or USC or, hell, I’d have settled for somewhere in northern California, but you worked for years to get into Columbia and you were so excited. I know I broke your heart so many times when you were growing up. I didn’t want to add that to the list and letting you go ended up being the best thing for you. Look at the woman you’ve become. You’re excelling in your career, you’re a wonderful mom, and you met and married Miss Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”

Feeling the comfort of her mother’s arms made Serena unable to stop her tears from flowing. “What if she never comes back?”

“No matter how old she gets, she’s always gonna need you,” Mrs. Benson said as she dried her daughter’s tears. “Kids always come back, baby, even if it’s just for a while. You just have to let them know there’s always a road that’ll lead them back home again.”

[captainkappa]

Fanfic:: What the Water Gave Us

Din can tell something is wrong the minute he walks off the ship. Luke and Grogu meet him on the landing pad as always, but there’s something in the way Luke holds himself, the simple way he says “Hey.”

Din doesn’t run down the gangway, but it’s a near thing. “What’s wrong?”

In which Din and Luke deal with some of Grogu’s more recent trauma, Din gets wet, ripcords are abused, and both of them are trans.

So this was supposed to go up for dinluke week day 6... and then day 7... and now it’s now ^^; BUT I’m still really excited for it and I hope yall are too!

Title inspired by Florence + The Machine’s What the Water Gave Me

AO3 Link

-=-=-=-=-=-

Din can tell something is wrong the minute he walks off the ship. Luke and Grogu meet him on the landing pad as always, but there’s something in the way Luke holds himself, the simple way he says “Hey.”

Din doesn’t run down the gangway, but it’s a near thing. “What’s wrong?”

“I-” Luke sighs. “Nothing’s wrong, I’ll tell you later.”

“Tell me now.”

Luke doesn’t say anything as he passes Grogu to Din, letting Grogu get settled in his arms before continuing, “Grogu is fine, there was just… an incident. He fell into the lake and got… really scared.”

“Oh.” And Din immediately realizes the reason for that. When he had first gotten his quest, his focus had been on finding Grogu a teacher and he hadn’t considered the long-term effects of the events of Trask. Whenever he wakes up from dreams of water pooling up under his helmet, he considers it a good night and waits for sleep to claim him. He hadn’t considered…

But Luke is still talking.

“…so, I feel the easiest way to help him would be to teach him to swim but…” and now Luke looks embarrassed. “I can barely tread water and Grogu is so scared so… would you be able to help?”

“How?”

“I think you being there to show the water is safe would do a lot. Plus, if you knew how to actually swim, that would just seal the deal.”

“I… don’t.” And there are a lot of reasons for that. The main one being the Creed. All those years ago, Xi’an had made a quip about beskar bikinis and… yeah, the crew wrote a lot of terrible jokes. The second reason is that buying specific swimwear for him was never a priority. They had felt like a frivolous expense in the face of the Covert’s financial situation. As the covert’s bounty hunter and main source of income, he had limited all expenses on himself.

“But,” he continues before Luke’s expression can crumble further, “I want to help.”

“Okay that… that’s good. You’re not afraid of water, are you?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll be good.”

“I don’t think it’ll take that much to help him. We could try tomorrow? Forecast says it’ll be hot, we could go to the lake after lessons?”

Din nods. “Sounds like a plan.”

He smiles like the sun. “Great, let me show you to your room.”

Din knows where his room is, he’s been here a couple of times, but he doesn’t comment as he follows the Jedi.

-=-

As he gets ready on the next day, for the first time in maybe ever, Din thinks about what he’s going to wear, which is a futile effort. He doesn’t exactly have… clothes, just beskar and flight suits. He leaves the armor in his room save the helmet. He’s been slowly trying out not wearing his helmet in front of people, but he only lasts maybe a half hour around people and situations he knows, so the helmet stays on.

Midway through zipping up the flight suit, he pauses, considering his compression top. Wearing it wet is never fun, but he also doesn’t need to disappear in his head when he’s trying to help Grogu. He keeps it on, figuring he’ll just endeavor to stay dry above the waist. Most of his weapons he leaves behind as well, except one blaster and a knife. Weapons are still his religion, even if he’s spending most of the day at a lake.

The sounds of Luke and Grogu leaving the Temple filter past his window. It’s a normal routine; Luke and Grogu doing their lessons, leaving Din to putter about for the day, and then they rejoin for the evening. He and Luke agreed he could come for some lessons, but Grogu should learn to control his powers independently of Din being there.

Thankfully, there was enough broken in the temple to leave Din’s hands busy. By the time he’s gotten the basement lights to stop flickering, Luke has lunch packed and Grogu in a sling at his side.

“I figured we could end lessons early to go to the lake,” he explains. Din nods, trying to take in the words and not be distracted by how Luke looks in a birikad.

It’s a longer walk than Din expected to the lake. It’s less than an hour away from the school, but between maneuvering the wild forest and the sun beating down, he’s actually looking forward to going for a dip. He guesses it wouldn’t make sense to have a large body of water near little kids.

When they arrive, Din can’t help but take a moment to admire it. The lake is a dark blue color, nearing green by the rocky shore’s edge, but the sun still makes it sparkle. Low hanging branches edge over the lake, casting shadows in the water. There are some large rocks to the far side as well as other clear pieces of shore.

They settle on a dry part of the shore, putting both picnic basket and Grogu down. The child immediately toddles towards Din, one hand gripping his flight suit, looking warily out at the water. Din leans down to scoop him up.

“It’ll be okay, ad’ika,” he says, “The water can’t hurt you.”

Luke chimes in, “Your dad’s right.”

Grogu doesn’t seem convinced yet.

With lunch set away, Luke pulls off his robes and then his tunic and oh- Din hadn’t been expecting that.

The other man looks up at him, suddenly sheepish. “Sorry, I hope you don’t mind? I’m baking under all those layers.”

Din stumbles through telling him it’s fine, hoping Luke doesn’t realize his gaze is at the twin incision scars on his chest, somehow drawing his eye more than the fractal scars that span the rest of his chest. It’s not a rarity to find others like Din in this wide galaxy, but it’s an unexpected familiarity, especially to find with his son’s teacher.

Luke pauses, still holding his tunic. “Are you okay? I don’t want you getting heatstroke either.”

“I-I’m fine!” he stammers out. Maker, he’s met other trans people before, why does it feel so different with Luke?

“Well, don’t feel obligated to take anything off,” Luke says, folding his robes. He pauses to look Din up and down. “Well, maybe your shoes if you plan on going in.”

Din takes the opportunity to set Grogu back down on the rocks, forcing himself to tear his gaze away. He kneels down to fumble his way through untying his laces.

“So, what is the plan?” he asks, gaze firmly on his boots.

There’s a thump of fabric. “I figured we could start by just getting the two of us in the water, show him it’s safe. Then we’ll just… play it by ear?”

Din looks up once he has his boots off and flight suit pulled up to his knees. Luke looks… nervous? That’s not the word, but there’s something in the expression that Din recognizes as Luke picks up Grogu, speaking softly to him and pointing across the way at the lake. He wants to get this right.

Grogu is still looking at the water hesitantly, big brown eyes threatening to wobble, ears pressed tight against his head. Din walks up and strokes one of them.

“Grogu,” his son picks up his head to look at him, something Din doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of. “I’m going to go in the water, but I’ll be fine, okay? You can just watch.”

He tilts his head, considering him for a moment and when there’s no resistance, Din walks into the water.

He bites down on the curse threatening to escape when his bare feet touch water. It’s cold, despite the sun beating down. He looks behind to see Grogu staring at him wide eyed.

“I’m fine, ad’ika. See?” He waves his hands in what he hopes is reassuring.

He walks deeper into the lake, water halfway up to his calves before he hears Grogu’s whimpers. He turns, but his foot catches on a rock and suddenly the ground isn’t firm beneath his feet. The world goes sideways as he loses his balance and cold water is pouring through his helmet.

He scrambles up into a seated position, thankful beskar doesn’t rust. His chest feels tight with the compression top soaked though, which he files away to take care of later. He lifts the helmet just enough to spit out the water, to catch his breath. It’s only then does he hear the kid’s cries, Luke’s attempts to settle him.

“Grogu, Grogu, I’m okay, see?” But something tells him Grogu doesn’t care about his words right now. He sighs, soft enough for it not to be picked up by the voice modulator, and gets out of the water. He slogs through the water, happy that his son doesn’t seem to be reacting in any more dramatic way beside crying.

That is, until he reaches shore and the tide comes in with him. He sits none too gently besides Luke and his son. Grogu immediately holds his arms out to him.

Din takes him, only considering for a second before taking off his helmet. His son touches his face none too gently, grabbing and pinching with those tiny nails of his.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m safe, Grogu,” he says, softly.

He doesn’t rush Grogu, letting him touch his face, feel the breath escaping his lips, touch the wet flight suit. He doesn’t think about Luke being right there, able to see this moment between them, able to see his face.

Grogu settles in his arms, head tucked between his shoulder and chin. Din turns just enough to catch Luke’s eye

“Call it a day?” Din asks, not being able to calm the annoyed feeling in his heart.

Luke shrugs. “We still have lunch.”

They do, so they settle a couple feet farther from the shoreline, Luke offering his robes by way of a blanket. He hands out the food he made for them. Grogu still seems scared for a couple of minutes, but then he’s wolfed down his food and found an insect to follow in and amongst the trees. Din knows he should stop him from then trying to eat the creature, but he doesn’t have the heart. Neither, it seems, does Luke.

The two of them eat in silence, eyes on the still lake or Grogu running around. Din can’t help but berate himself for such a simple slip-up.

He sighs, no longer hungry, as the question that had been on his mind since yesterday bubbles over.

“Did Grogu show… Did you see…?” He doesn’t understand the Force enough to begin to ask the question, but Luke, whether because he’s a Jedi Master or just a good person, seems to understand.

“He… showed me what happened. He was unharmed, but I think he was just… scared.”

“I should have realized he would remember that.”

“You had – have a lot on your plate.”

“But he’s my kid.”

“And I’ve met plenty worse fathers than you,” Luke says with an easy smile that betrays the weight of his words. “But really, you were trying to get him to safety. If we’re going to play a game of what ifs, then I should have gotten to the cruiser faster.”

“You got to us just in time,” Din says, the hint of a question in his tone.

Luke shrugs, “I was too far away. If I was closer, I could have stopped him from experiencing all of that fear and anger.”

Din’s heart clenches, remembering those few days between losing Grogu and getting him back, those sleepless nights, unable to think of anything but the worst possible scenarios.

“Maybe we should stop asking these questions.”

“I agree.”

The conversation dies down after that.

With his heart marginally calmer, Din finds himself better able to appreciate the space around him. The sun’s rays feel like a physical thing against his face. Has he ever had a moment like this? Was this what he was missing when he never took off his helmet. Can he say he missed it when this is the first time that he’s experienced it?

Grogu walks back a little later, dirty with an insect leg poking out between his teeth. Din and Luke share a look before they start packing up.

When they get back to the temple, Din is suddenly made more aware of his wet compression top, clinging to his skin like a vice. He also suddenly doesn’t feel like wearing his flight suit, like a too-small second skin.

Luke seems to notice some of this, because when they get back to the temple, he scuffs his foot on the cobble and asks, “Do you need a change of clothes? We’re not exactly the same… build, but I should have something that fits.”

Din thinks about how long it would take to dry out his clothing, whether he’s even done the laundry yet.

He shrugs. “Sure.”

Luke nods, beckoning him forward to a set of rooms he hasn’t been to before. They’re no bigger than the rest of the temple’s rooms, they honestly might be smaller, but that might be the clutter of droid parts scattered around the floor with every flat surface available covered in objects of strange shapes and yellowing books. It’s not at all what Din expected, but that seems to sum up his entire experience with Luke.

He stands there as Luke pushes aside machinery to open a set of closet doors. He roots around in there before pulling out a couple of black garments.

“These will probably do fine! Just let me know if they don’t.”

Din takes them and thanks him, but he stays where he is, a battle warring in his throat. He’s hyperaware of his chest and while he knows the robes will probably flow well enough to hide, he still feels the need to say something. He knows he doesn’t owe Luke or anyone an explanation, be he wants to.

“I… Back at the lake, I wasn’t staring at you… I mean… I’m trans too.”

“Oh, okay,” his smile is bright enough to fill his chest. “Will you be fine while Grogu and I finish up his lessons?”

Din nods and his heart feels a little more at peace.

The robes are indeed too short, leaving his wrists and ankles completely exposed. He’s not used to the extra layers, how it flows behind him, but the layers help hide his chest, so he’s able to get through the rest of the day.

Any initial discomfort is worth seeing Luke’s face when he comes back in from afternoon lessons. He tries to hide it, but Din spots how he pauses in the doorway, looking straight at Din as he cleans his armor. It only lasts a second before Luke is distracted by Grogu again, so Din files it away for later and goes back to rubbing out the lake smell from his helmet.

-=-

It’s the day before he has to go, but Din feels more restless than normal. Every day since they went to the lake, it’s rained, a downpour that soaked them to the bone if they had to leave the temple for anything.

Din turns to watch Luke and Grogu out the window, meditating in the rain, twin domed force shields above their heads to stay dry. His HUD lights the two of them up in bright reds and yellows as compared to the calm blue of everything else.

He turns back to the lamp he’s been trying to fix for the past hour. He just can’t stop thinking about that day on Trask, how he hadn’t seen the obvious trap, how he’d been unable to rescue his son, how his son still remembers that.

He has to make it right.

When the two come back inside to start their lessons, Din unceremoniously takes Luke by the elbow and brings him into the kitchen. Starts thank Luke, he doesn’t question the sudden detour and just stands there, waiting for Din to put his thoughts into words.

“Can… I borrow Grogu?”

Luke gives him a look. “Of course? He still has time between lessons so, yes?”

“No, I-” Din sighs, “I need both of you… for something.”

Luke tilts his head to the side and Din explains, haltingly, not knowing if this is the right course of action, but it feels necessary. Luke just smiles.

“I think it’s a great idea, and I’d be honored to help.”

They wait until after dinner, when they’ve cleaned up. Grogu just looks at them as the tree of then sit on the couch in the common area. Din’s heart has been jackrabbiting since he and Luke agreed to this, most of his afternoon taken up by what exactly he was going to say, what would happen if it went poorly.

He takes off his helmet, setting it on a side table. Grogu looks up at the movement and is already reaching for him. He can’t help the smile as he lifts him up. He glances over to Luke, who gives him an encouraging nod.

“Grogu?”

He looks into his eyes at that and Din feels his heart break a little more.

“I… I don’t want you to feel bad for being afraid of water. It’s understandable considering… everything. Luke and I will help you be less afraid if… if you want. I should never have put you in danger like that on Trask. I will always prioritize your safety. Ni ceta. Can you forgive me?”

Grogu stares at him with those big brown eyes before reaching for his face. Luke’s ungloved hand comes up and touches his son on the back.

Luke opens his eyes and gives him a smile.

“You were already forgiven.”

Din pulls his son in for a tight hug. If tears form at the corner of his eyes as he thanks Luke for his help, Luke doesn’t say anything.

-=-

The next day was supposed to be Din’s last day, but early that morning, when he wakes up and sees the rain has stopped, he calls Bo-Katan. What he wants to say is that he can come here to collect the damn darksaber because there’s nothing more he wants to do than stay here. He doesn’t say that, but he does tell her he’s staying a few days more. He hangs up on her before she can reach a fever pitch.

At breakfast, he just tells Luke he can stay longer. Then he recommends they try going to the lake again.

The walk to the lake isn’t any more tense, but he can feel Grogu curl up tighter against his chest as trees give way to the lake. The lake is bigger than last time, much of the coast now disappeared under the water.

“Why don’t you go in this time?” Din offers.

Luke smirks at him, “Now are you afraid of water, Mando?”

On instinct, forgetting he’s at a bright lakeside and thinking he’s in the sewers of Nevarro, he punches Luke’s shoulder like he would’ve Paz’s. Luke goes careening to the side, only barely keeping himself on two feet. His expression is shocked and there’s an apology on Din’s tongue until Luke bursts out laughing.

“Maker, if you wanted me in the water that badly, you only had to ask!” Luke says, punching Din back. The flight suit lessens the blow, but Din still feels as knocked over as Luke was.

“S-Sorry,” he manages to get out.

Luke waves him off, still smiling. “If I couldn’t take a punch like that, I’d never survive being Han’s friend. You just surprised me.”

He removes his robes again and Din is thankful he thinks to avert his gaze beforehand.

Luke walks in, hissing at the chill. He only goes up to his ankles, before kneeling down, black pants growing darker by the second as water laps around him.

“See, Grogu? The water’s fine.” Luke splashes his hands gently in the water, creating little ripples.

Din looks down at Grogu, still in his arms. His head is ducked into Din’s shoulder.

Din kneels down so they’re more at eye level.

“Grogu? Look, what’s Master Luke doing?”

The child turns and watches. Luke has the same kind smile on his face the whole time. Grogu watches, ears twitching the whole time.

And then a different expression comes over Luke’s face. He shifts his position, now sitting with legs crossed, his hands held out above the water and eyes closed. Din is just about to ask what he’s doing when the water around him moves and rises.

Individual balls of water lift into the air, surrounding Luke. A couple are as big as Grogu’s head, some are as small as a pebble, a multitude of sizes. Sunlight reflects off their surface so that it looks like crystals. Then they move, gently circling around Luke.

Luke cracks open an eye before smiling. “See, Grogu? Water can be scary, but it can also be beautiful.”

Din can’t get his mouth to work, still trying to put these two images together, of a man with a bright laugh and a decent punch, and this ethereal wonder.

He manages to break his gaze and look at Grogu, who for the first time this whole visit, looks at the lake with awe instead of fear.

-=-

The next time Din is able to make it to Yavin IV, after a long quest to retake a minor city in Mandalore, he’s met with smiling faces at the end of the ramp.

“C’mon!” Luke says with no preamble. “We have something to show you!”

It’s not the first time Luke has led with that. Grogu likes showing his progress and Din is the best audience, being impressed with whatever Grogu has to show.

Instead of the Temple or the usual outside training ground, Luke heads straight for the lake. As he follows, Din can’t help but spot how there’s more of a path worn in through the grass and plants. He can even see straight to the dirt in some areas.

The lake looks the same as ever, clear water, low hanging trees, a rocky coast.

Luke doesn’t bother shucking off his robes, just walks in the water with Grogu still in his arms and kneels down. Luke lowers Grogu down into the water and Din is glad his helmet doesn’t pick up his gasp when Grogu doesn’t fuss. He just stands there, waist deep, looking up to his teacher.

“C’mon, Grogu,” Luke says, smiling, “like we practiced.”

Grogu nods before taking a deep breath and blowing out air before slowing lowering his head into the water. Small bubbles escape the water where his mouth is. It feels like Din’s heart has grown in his chest.

“Good job, Grogu!” Luke exclaims as Grogu stands up straight.

Din rips off his boots before joining the two in the water. Luke picks Grogu back up so he’s not overwhelmed by the waves Din makes. He settles in beside Luke, sides brushing as he takes a knee.

“That was really good, kid!” Din exclaims, picking up his son and holding him tight.

Grogu burbles happily. Luke catches Din’s eye and he can’t help but smile more.

-=-

Trips to the lake become a regular occurrence when Din visits. Yavin IV is temperate, so if the sky is clear and the day warm, the three head out to the edge of the lake. Grogu is happy to chase frogs near the edge, less scared of falling in now, especially with more lessons in blowing bubbles and painstaking lessons in floating.

Din has since picked up swimwear of his own, after he couldn’t get the lake smell out of one of his flight suits. It’s a tank top that still functions as a compression top and board shorts. He still brings his helmet with him, but he finds himself wearing it less and less by the lake, especially when he gets in the water.

It’s… nice. It’s one of the nicest things Din has had in a while. It’s a sanctuary from the stresses and pain of life in the galaxy, something for just the three of them, even if three sometimes becomes four when Artoo gets bored, and sometimes four becomes seven or eight when Luke’s friends make supply runs and then linger after. Even still, Din thinks of that spot as “theirs;” him, Luke, and Grogu.

The thought frightens him sometimes.

What also frightens him his how his heart rate continues to skyrocket when Luke takes off his robes to bask in the sun, this time not because of that twinge of familiarity at seeing the incision scars. His heart also can’t calm down on the day when Luke explains how he feels more attune to the Force when he feels the sun beat down on his bare skin, how it almost feels like home.

Din doesn’t know how to respond, especially when he realizes in some way, he understands, so he can only nod.

-=-

Late one day, when Din is underneath his ship, tightening up a part that got loose the last time he jumped through hyperspace, he hears the familiar pat of feet against the launchpad.

“I was out by the lake late at night,” Luke says.

Din grunts in response.

“It was really beautiful. Felt like there were thousands of lightning bugs out there.”

“I bet it was.”

“I’d like to show it to you… tonight… alone.”

That gets Din to roll out from under the Crest.

“What about Grogu?”

“The Temple has a state-of-the-art security system and Artoo can keep watch.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Tonight.”

“Yeah, once it gets dark enough.”

And suddenly anticipation fills Din’s stomach for the rest of the evening. He doesn’t know what “dark enough” means, the sun’s barely set by the time he’s done with the Crest and he can see two lighting bugs blinking by the Temple Garden. Luke waits until after dinner and after Grogu is fast asleep to walk Din out, gloved hand in gloved hand, even though they both know the way there. Neither of them makes a move to disentangle themselves.

The lake is both gorgeous and terrifying at night. There are just as many lightning bugs as Luke promised, lighting up the area. Even still, the water is as dark as space, and looks just as infinite.

Din is thankful he kept his helmet on. He’s glad Luke doesn’t comment on it. In fact, Luke doesn’t seem to mind at all.

They only go up to their knees in the dark water, looking out at the dancing light show and just talking. Their hands keep finding each other, after taking off their shoes, after releasing a lighting bug that’s landed on one of them, after righting oneself after nearly slipping.

Din tries not to think about how perfect this feels.

-=-

It’s a couple of days later that they are able to go back to the lake. It’s another washout, but none of them particularly mind. Din finds himself bumping into Luke more and more, the physical contact a welcome novelty.

Neither of them talks about the night at the lake. They don’t have to.

Once the rain stops, they wait a couple of days for the waterline to recede before going back to the lake.

And he has to assume it was because of being cooped up in the temple for a couple of days that causes Luke to ask him, “Have you used some of those tools for… non-bounty hunting purposes?”

Din tilts his head in Luke’s direction and takes longer than necessary to respond. He knows its rude to watch Luke squirm under his gaze, but after a question like that, he has to.

“What do you mean?”

“I just… see that tree branch?”

Din looks in the direction where Luke is pointing and spots a tree hanging over the lake. He nods.

“I bet you could use your ripcord and swing into the lake.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Seems fun, I assume kids who grew up around water would do that. Seems like the kind of thing.”

It does, like when he and the other foundlings would climb the pipes in Nevarro before an adult found them out.

“I don’t want to be a bad influence.”

Luke gives him a look. “Grogu has seen you fly out of the mouth of a greater krayt dragon, which I still need more details on.”

Din snorts, before considering it. All of these days by the lake means he actually is a somewhat passable swimmer. He can’t swim fast, but he can hold his breath and maneuver pretty well.

Plus, the more he thinks about it, the more it does sound like fun.

“Fine.”

“What?”

“I’ll do it.”

“I mean… don’t feel pressured.”

“Nope, I have to now.”

Luke looks at him before cracking into a smile. Din just shakes his head as he divests himself of unnecessary gear. He takes only the gauntlet that contains his ripcord, leaving his helmet and everything else safely on the coast before walking in the direction of the tree.

He climbs through the thrush, glancing over to make sure Luke is still looking at him. Why does he care that Luke’s looking at him?

He has to circle back to find the tree Luke had spotted. He steps around roots poking out through the soil and into a flat rock. The tree itself bends over him, a couple of lower branches nearly skimming the water. He jumps up and grabs into the tree, making sure it can hold his weight and won’t snap when he’s airborne.

It feels solid enough, but he pulls on a few branches before spotting what looks to be the best for the job. He lets out the ripcord, tugging on the branch before disengaging the chord from the spinning mechanism.

He glances to the shore, where Luke and Grogu are watching him. Din shakes his head, why does he feel so nervous for something like this? Then he gives it a test swing, gripping the rope and running to the edge of the stone before jumping off.

He doesn’t let go just let, more focused on making sure the branch doesn’t snap as he swings back and forth. He lands back on the rock, firm ground beneath him.

He looks at the window of clear blue surrounded by leaves and trees. Something flies through his heart like hope, like joy, and he doesn’t think anymore. He grabs the rope, runs forward, swings out and lets go.

A whoop comes unbidden from his chest and soon he’s flying, but unlike those precious moments where he had the jetpack, he can feel the wind flow around all of him. He crests in the air and the weightless feeling lingers for a moment longer before he’s being pulled back down to the lake and is suddenly plunged into cold.

He takes a moment just to let the cold settle over him before searching out the light of the sun and kicking off a rock to shoot upward toward the surface.

He breeches the surface to twinned cheers and rapid beeping. He shakes the water from his eyes, peeling curling hair out of his eyes to see Luke cheering, with Grogu clapping on top of Artoo’s head. He waves, the grin on his face threatening to break.

Maker, he wants to do that again.

But with the buzzing on insects, the gentle lapping of the water around him, and the sun beating down above him, he can’t help but roll onto his back and float, his eyes sliding shut as the sun lands on him with warm pressure.

It only feels like a few seconds have passed when a loud and clear voice rings out tough the clearing.

“Look out below!”

Din opens his eyes and sees Luke, mid arc. He’s stripped off to his basics and he is soaring, arms spread wide, whooping and hollering as he flies.

He crashes into the water mere feet from Din, the waves he creates overturning Din. He tumbles briefly in the water before he’s able to resurface, coughing out a small mouthful of water.

Luke is beside him, golden hair clinging to his forehead, chest glistening, and absolutely beaming.

“Having fun?” Din asks, voice rough from the water swallowed.

“We have to do that again.”

“Where’s Grogu?”

“On the shore, being watched by Artoo.”

Din looks and sure enough, Grogu has attached himself to one of the droid’s legs.

“Race you back?” Luke asks, already turning in the direction of the rock.

“Wait!”

Luke turns back, an eyebrow raised.

Din pushes himself to close the small distance between them. “Can I kiss you?”

Luke smiles. “Yes.”

Din could count on one hand the number of kisses he’s had, and he’s definitely never been kissed while treading water. Their legs bump against each other and Luke has to steady himself on Din’s shoulders. Both of them taste of lake water and it’s hard to get a grip on Luke’s torso, but when Din lets himself forget about how they’re probably sinking a little, and just enjoy the press of their bodies, the glide of their lips, it’s everything he didn’t know he needed.

[gaycism]

// incoherent rant time

sorry to plague your timelines with this but here goes.

since i graduated from college in 2017 i've been feeling pure exhaustion from a multitude of sources: years of unresolved family issues and trauma, academic burnout, the loss of friendships, and the all-consuming specter of good ol Capitalism. these things were only exacerbated by the pandemic, prior to which i was feeling motivated to move forward and tackle the next step in my life. getting over the initial culture shock of the pandemic, i had to address these things all over, but deeper. as mitski once said to her fellow libras (paraphrasing): "ask yourself if you really want that thing."

i moved back home after graduating in 2017 and i'm starting to find some truth in the idea that "living at home with your parents seems nice at first until you realize the cost is your sanity." this is something i feel is mostly related to capitalism. if not for the requirement that one must find a career to be able to pay for necessities, i feel that more parents would be less hellbent on reminding you of that. this is what seems like the center of my issues. i have a degree, but careers with my degree require higher education (four more years) PLUS years of training at a low salary. this means that not only would i have to take out loans in the years of grad school to pay for tuition, housing, etc (i won't be able to work during school), but i would also have to take out loans in the years of training where i would be making a low salary. the jobs i can get now are mostly 9-5s at a lower end wage. my mom doesn't understand the conditions of the job market and says "you're not making enough money for someone with a degree," which, if anyone here knows, couldn't be further from the truth in today's age. we see the stories of harvard graduates with 100s of thousands in debt working at starbucks, which i'm not trying to suggest is shameful, it's just how the job market is. no matter how many times i try to tell her this, she says "trust me, i'm your mother, i know these things." so not only do i have some debt now, but if i were to go to graduate school and beyond, it would only become more and more insurmountable.

during the first two years of the pandemic, three very traumatic events happened in my life, only few days apart. they rendered me numb for months, although i couldn't articulate this before. my mom often asks when i'm going to apply to grad schools and i've tried discussing the aforementioned barriers and how the pandemic affected me with my mom. she responded with "i don't understand how that could affect you applying to grad schools" and simply saying "ok." at times she has even told me "i don't think you're giving it enough effort" despite me expressing my overall exhaustion. i was shaken. and just typing it out brings tears to my eyes. what do you say to that? what do you say as someone who also does not understand how you (I) could not power through not one but three traumatic events and "just get it done" as my mom bluntly says so frequently? am i supposed to just shove away things that affect me emotionally? do i just accept the fact that i could never be accepted to grad school, but if i do manage to accomplish that, just accept decades of debt hoping for a miracle to be able to pay it off? how do i just take the chronic fatigue to the chest and "just get it done"?

my mom is a virgo in the truest sense, she's a go-getter. if something affects her, she's able to compartmentalize and accomplish what she set her mind to despite... really anything it seems. i thought i was similar, but i was wrong. i try to deal with all things at once, and while i'm still able to work and do things i like to do, at times i'm just tired. i don't want to place the entire blame on my mother, it's not her fault that i got myself in this mess, however her stubbornness is just something i can no longer deal with. and the lack of compassion and empathy just makes me feel worse about my situation (also side note my dad can catch heat too, but he's not as involved in my life).

despite all this, today i feel like i am in an even better place than i was just before the pandemic started, but it's taking everything out of me to reach this realization. i've had to accept that everyone is on a different timeline to their goal, and that's ok. i've had to accept that there are things i cannot change, wounds i cannot heal alone. generational trauma that i can't fix backward, only forward. recently, living "at home" is starting to feel like a narrowing corridor i must escape at all costs, even if that means being placed in overbearing financial debt.

/ end of rant

[brave-clarice]

“Clarice” Liveblog: Episodes 5 & 6

Since these are extraordinarily late, I tried to keep them more concise/focused than before. I’m sorry for how long it’s taken me to (almost) catch up. And to the handful of you who’ve enjoyed these and encouraged me to do them: thank you!

Episode 5, “Get Right With God”

the music at the beginning of this episode might just be in the maintenance guy’s headphones(!) but it was still a…Choice.

there’s something so tragic about watching Clarice be unable to use her legs… :’(

this whole scenario feels like a twisted parallel universe version of the end of Hannibal.

glad to see Ardelia finally has her priorities straight and is going to fight for her best friend! let’s forget her Episode 4 subplot ever happened.

good: the warrior finding a weapon even in the direst of circumstances!

bad: those damn moths are back. at least this time they might be drug-induced.

“she worked Bill alone” no, she didn’t. not really. (Hannibal: I’m right here.)

stop trying to make Likable Paul happen, it’s never going to happen!!!

I HATE the “Reesey” nickname, y’all. HATE. IT.

plus, we know that her dad called her “Baby”?

her father’s appearance doubles down on the end-of-Hannibal vibes...Not Sure If Want.

wow, Clarice is being literally tortured? thanks, I hate it!!!

really doubt that Clarice’s Pinto used to belong to her father (who drives a truck in the books??)... weird flex.

and how would she even have gotten it? her mother would either have driven that car into the ground out of necessity or else have sold it for the money the Starlings needed so desperately.

Pintos also weren’t super high-quality cars and were definitely not built to last ~20 years.

Clarice already being able to chat with her father whenever she needs to really undermines the therapy Hannibal will eventually give her, but…I guess they’ve already accepted they’ll never make it that far?

“you’re trying to get in my head” yeah, and she’s doing it, too–’cause she learned from the best!

“you get an answer, I get an answer, Felker.” she’s Hannibal’s girl all right.

this episode’s had flashes of brilliance before diving back into…whatever tf watching one of your favorite characters of all time being tortured is.

I really wanted Ardelia to say that no, but Clarice was like a sister to her.

it took FIVE episodes to get some lamb imagery, but we’ve been looking at moths for the entire season?!

oof, Clarice voicing her own insecurities about her childhood abandonment and using them to twist Felker’s arm...painful but smart.

HANNAH!!!

I would die 4 baby Clarice

after all that, Clarice is going to apologize to Ardelia about last week? this episode SUCKS.

Good: Clarice playing mind games with Felker like Hannibal did to her; Ardelia going to bat for her bestie, lamb flashbacks, baby Clarice, and HANNAH!

Bad: So much. Clarice being medically tortured multiple times, moth hallucinations, the several-years-premature (imo) Daddy-as-Guardian-Angel plot device, “Reesey”...did I mention Clarice getting repeatedly tortured?!

Ugly: Krendler backstory + making out with his wife. Ew.

Wow, this episode was a hot mess, and I kind of hated it. I loved Clarice’s really Hannibalesque approach to Felker, and I’m so thrilled that Hannah got mentioned at all (tho...did they need to be so heavy-handed with the helmet and gun and everything?) Also nice to see Ardelia behaving much more in-character. That said, it was sickening and imo totally unnecessary to further traumatize Clarice the way they did. To make her almost helpless.

Clarice, and by extension Rebecca Breeds (who is fantastic and deserves better), has been given very little range so far. She’s frequently been shown as miserable, afraid, desperate, traumatized, angry, resentful, but I also want to see her joyful, laughing, silly, relaxed...something else that will give her depth. Her life wasn’t miserable 24/7, 365. It was just unfulfilling. We got glimpses of this in the first two episodes. PLEASE bring it back!

And rn I’m questioning how Clarice’s career can possibly drag on for another six years after this. Her apparent PTSD is already interfering with her job performance as it is--this experience is only going to make it worse. Her “body count” in Hannibal was around five, iirc, and that was enough to slap her with the “Death Angel” moniker. In the show at least four people have died in close proximity to Clarice in the space of like...a week. How does she come back from that, even as the savior of Catherine Martin? It’s a PR nightmare for obth Clarice and the FBI.

They’ve also sort of forgotten that the Martins existed while continuing to flesh out Krendler’s (?!) character? It’s weird.

I almost don’t even want to watch Episode 6 after that. But here goes...

Episode 6, “How Does It Feel to Be So Beautiful?”

the freaking MOTHS again, I hate them!

frankly, yeah, Clarice should be on leave.

Clarice’s nondescript monochrome suits and constant ponytail are just so boring. in the book she’s described as never having to put effort into making her hair look good--so why is it always pulled back in this show?

I’m not sure it’s very in-character for Clarice, at this point in her career, to go over her boss’s head to get out of admin leave (one she really needs to take tbh) even for the sake of solving a case

lol what the actual hell @ AG Martin guilt-tripping Clarice, who was very recently tortured and almost died, for not calling Catherine back? Clarice is not Catherine’s therapist!

THIS is what my Vogue-reading heroine with burgeoning great taste wears for a night out? so disappointing.

never in my life did I think I’d be sitting through Krendler’s personal drama in a show ABOUT CLARICE STARLING.

her costume sucks and her hairstyle’s from years in the future, but dang does Clarice look gorgeous.

and I love thinking of her getting a taste of the luxury she’ll enjoy with Hannibal. :)

you know what? I think I was actually fine with them forgetting that the Martins were in this show.

whyyy is Krendler being made so sympathetic?!

now Catherine Martin “loved to sew” just like Frederica Bimmel? hmm. (tbf, maybe this is in the novel, and I’ve just forgotten.)

her gift for Clarice is sweet, though.

so beautiful, indeed

Christ on a cracker, that confrontation between the Martins was painful to watch (not a criticism). this show’s AG and her daughter are very much two of a kind in terms of emotional manipulation.

I stan one (1) doofus

now either Catherine’s gaslighting Clarice...or Clarice’s trauma (over BILL! again with this!) is so pervasive that it’s twisted her memories. either way, I hate it.

so Krendler’s lawyer is dirty and that’s why he’ll (probably) turn against Clarice? but WHY? why can’t Krendler just suck?

Good: Clarice looking gorgeous, Ardelia continuing to fight for Clarice, female characters in positions of authority everywhere

Bad: Clarice’s underwhelming costumes, Clarice’s primary/worst trauma apparently STILL being Buffalo Bill & having Clarice break down crying again (and NOT over what happened last week, which would tbh make a lot more sense).

Sad: Shaan’s backstory about his wife, everything involving Catherine

Ugly: Krendler subplot. Ugh.

I just don’t know how I feel about this installment. Wish I cared more about the overarching conspiracy plot, but I’m really only here for Clarice and Ardelia. And while no show can stand on the shoulders of a single character, for a show about Clarice, there seems to be quite a bit of screentime devoted to her bosses, Martin and Krendler, and even to her team members. And all without Clarice herself getting much character development. They don’t seem to be exploring much of her character other than her traumatic backstories, and I’m no longer very hopeful that she’ll be much more fleshed out in the last four episodes, either. It’s a bummer. I really think Rebecca could shine like Jodie did if she were given a chance.

Most of the scenes with the Martins were visceral and felt so real that it was hard to watch. That said...the AG Martin/Catherine content all strikes me as being somewhat detached from the rest of the show, as if the writers are making it up as they go along with no real end goal in mind.

Man...these two were rough going. Very little humor or warmth and absolutely no joy. Of course the source material is dark, so a somewhat dark crime drama is to be expected, but I really think the show needs a slightly less intense, bleak and (dare I say it?) unpleasant episode. But they writers have really dug themselves into a hole by zeroing in on Clarice’s PTSD. And unlike in Hannibal, there’s no love interest with whom she (and by extension, the audience) can flee her misery and pain. 

I'm cautiously optimistic about the rest of the season. A lot of the ingredients are there, and despite my many criticisms, it’s been great to spend time with a character I love. Fingers crossed that they finish strong!

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome To Backwater ch.6 (spicyhoney)

Summary: There are some strange happenings in this little town, is Stretch about to get some answers or only more questions?

~~*~~

Read Chapter Six ‘It’s All Academic’ on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

The store was still a good block away by the time Stretch’s legs decided they’d had enough of doing all the heavy lifting today and would he mind finding a place for them to park his ass for a while, thank you ever so much.

His youthful escorts started drifting off right around the time he got into town proper and his sneakers hit sidewalk. Probably outsiders weren’t as interesting without the possibility of imminent disaster and the kiddos started back to their abandoned bikes and hopscotch squares, leaving him to stagger on.

By then, the wobble that had infected his knees before he even got out of the cornfield was working its way up to a full-out gelatin jiggle and his mouth was filled with the taste of the sweat that ran down his skull, bittersweet salt heavy on his tongue. The sun overhead was bearing down on him, the heat scalding through his t-shirt and shorts right down to his bones.

He wasn’t gonna make it to the store, Stretch realized with dismay, and flopping down on the sidewalk would be about as comfortable as hopping into a greasy skeleton-sized frying pan. Ending the afternoon charbroiled was somehow even less appealing than going back for s second visit with Edgar Allen and Stretch gave his surroundings a slightly desperate look.

The library. He hadn’t been inside yet, but it was right there, not ten unsteady steps away. A small ‘open’ card was in the front window and it was sure to have air conditioning, plus a place to sit and tally up what remained of his scattered wits.

Stretch gathered up the last of his waning endurance and headed for the door. It opened easily, no cowbell here to mark his entrance, and the blissfully cool rush of crisp air against his sweating skull the moment he opened the door confirmed all his hopes and dreams. He managed to close the door behind him and then staggered back a step to lean against the solid wood. Hopefully, no one else was heading in to swap out their latest reads for something new because he needed about five good minutes before he was prepared to even try moving.

Now that he was out of the heat, his mind was clearing a little and he was able to give the library a good look around. It took a minute longer for his vision to adjust; compared to the bright sunshine, this room was like stepping into a shadow, dim and mysterious the way libraries should be, even ones that weren’t in weird little towns.

Huh. It was bigger than it looked on the outside, big shocker there, another little surprise of Backwater’s to add to his growing list. Only one room, sure, smelling musky despite the air conditioning, but the bookshelves were tall, towering even over his head and Stretch was on no one’s short end of the scale. The walls were lined with those shelves, and more stood independently, every one of them heavy with all kinds of books.

There were also a couple of small wooden tables and for the first time, Stretch noticed he wasn’t alone. Someone was sitting at one of the tables with his back to the door and unless there was yet another skeleton Monster hanging around town that Red hadn’t bothered to introduce, it had to be his brother. Couldn’t be sure, of course, all Stretch could see was his back, but he was willing to lay down a bet on even odds.

He’d left off the jacket this time, a wise choice in Stretch’s opinion given the ever-rising thermometer outside. Instead, he was wearing a thin black t-shirt and without the bulk of the leather jacket, his shoulders were narrower, putting him at only a little broader than Stretch’s generally scrawny condition. A crimson scarf was neatly wound around his neck, adding a splash of bright color not only to him, but to the shadowy room.

His spine was poker stiff, only his neck bent as he perused whatever book was in front of him, and his voice was that same rich chocolate tinged with battery acid from their first meeting as he spoke without turning around.

"Choosing to broaden your horizons with reading instead of wasting all your time at the movies, my, what will my brother…say…" the skeleton trailed off as he turned his head enough to glance at him. His head whipped around to give Stretch the full force of his startled gaze. The chair screeched on the floor as he shoved it back, climbing abruptly to his feet, his sockets narrowing as he looked Stretch over. It was not a sudden outbreak of overwhelming lust in that crimson gaze, more’s the pity, but stark concern as he asked sharply, "Are you all right?"

"yeah?” Stretch said uncertainly, and why was the world so unfair that he sounded like a croaking frog with developing case of laryngitis in comparison to that roughly silk voice? Worse, he still didn’t actually know if he was okay, might be better not to fully commit to an answer. Considering he was still covered in dirt and cornsilk, and felt like his bones might actually melt into a mess on the floorboards, he probably looked even worse than he sounded.

Red’s brother didn’t seem to buy it, either. He leaned over to rummage through an open backpack by the table leg, pulling out a bottle of water. Those heavy boots were surprisingly quiet on the wooden floor as he stalked over and thrust the water bottle into Stretch’s hands. He drank it gratefully, the cool water soothing on his parched tongue, only to nearly choke on a drenched yelp as wincingly brisk hands started dusting him off.

The other skeleton plucked free a straggly leaf that was clinging unknowingly to Stretch’s sleeve and held it up like an accusation, stating flatly, "You went in the corn field.”

Wow, this guy managed to fit a whole lot of disapproval into one sentence. He must’ve taken lessons at the same place as Blue. Probably aced the class.

“yeah,” Stretch admitted. He left off that the kids tried to stop him from going, always better to plead ignorance while you still could. “kinda got lost."

The other skeleton made a sound that was an honest to bits harrumph. He gave up on Stretch’s clothes, to be honest they hadn’t been in top form before he went into the corn field, and instead, holy shit, started poking at his actual bones.

Already the whole incident seemed more like a bad dream than reality, and now he was falling back into another dream, only this one was of a wet variety. It was really hard (heh) to stay traumatize with a guy this gorgeous unhesitatingly feeling him up. He was probably looking for injuries like a good Samaritan and an outside source needed to firmly (heh heh) tell Stretch’s bones that, because they sure weren’t listening to Stretch on the matter.

Hands skimmed down his ribs, sharp-tipped fingers cautious as they slid lower, ghosting over his shorts and the femurs beneath them. He crouched down to reach Stretch’s dirty sneakers, gently gliding over the delicate bones of his ankles and leaving behind a heat that was nothing like the sun’s.

Stretch took another long swig of cold water, nearly as desperate as his first but for entirely different reasons, and tried not to think of the skull that was currently level with his fly. Okay, he didn’t exactly want this to stop but he really, really, needed it to. He hoped the guy chalked up the renewed croak in his voice to lingering trauma. "um, thanks, but i’m okay. this scarecrow guy helped me."

“Ah, did Edgar Allen help you back out?” the guy said approvingly. “Good.”

Stretch tried not to look disappointed as he stood back up, seeming to decide there was no permanent damage from his unexpected ‘field trip’. At this point, any lingering aftereffects weren’t from the corn, and he took a shaky breath, sternly advising everything below the waist that systems were not at go, launch not in progress, abort, abort.

A distraction was in order.

Okay, so, no one in this town was at all surprised by the sentient scarecrow. Stretch didn’t pretend that he knew everything about the surface world, okay, this was his first time out of Ebott, but he was pretty sure that if this were the worldwide norm, he’d’ve heard about this once or twice; on the news, TMZ, twitter, something.

“edgar allen, right. um…soooooo, what is he?” Stretch asked.

That got him an impressively scornful look. “He’s a scarecrow.”

Yeah, okay, that was true, but Stretch wasn’t about to pretend that the scarecrow part of Edgar Allen was the debated issue right now. “scarecrows aren’t supposed to move. not on their own, anyway, and they really aren’t supposed to be able to offer opinions on the corn.”

“No?” The other skeleton waved a negligent hand as he turned away, heading to his chair as he tossed over his shoulder, “What should he be able to offer his opinion on, Paris fashions?” He settled into his chair, bending back over his book. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell him your personal theories on his condition, he doesn’t need that kind of negativity right now.”

“wha—of course i won’t, why would i…?” For a moment, Stretch felt absurdly guilty for his preconceived notions on scarecrows, then he shook it off because seriously? He went to the table and pulled out another chair, turning it around to straddle the battered seat. The other guy didn’t even look at him, right, right, he was a dick, how quickly a little unintentional petting made Stretch forget.

“is he a monster?” Stretch asked. That would sort of make sense, not that Stretch knew any Monsters who’d willingly sit in a field all day long. Then again, he guessed it depended on the hourly rate and what kind of signal you could get on your phone.

The other skeleton licked the tip of his finger before turning a page and it was seriously embarrassing how that little flick of crimson tongue threatened to make Stretch forget all his questions again. But what he said snapped Stretch back out of it. “Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“okay. hang on right there.” Stretch set his water bottle down and propped an elbow on the table. He rested his face in one hand, pressing a knuckle between his eye sockets where a headache was starting to form. “what does that even mean? what the fuck is up with this place?”

“There is nothing up with this place,” the other guy said, testily. Whether that was from Stretch’s questions or the fact that he was interrupting his reading was up for grabs. “This is normal here and if you’re having difficulty with it, then the problem is yours, not the town’s.”

“i don’t have a problem with it, i never said it was a problem…!” Stretch blew out a frustrated sigh, “look, i’m just trying to understand!”

The other skeleton still didn’t look up, his crimson eye lights focused on the page in front of him. His mouth curved into a smile that was almost bitter and a stern reminder of who he was because in that moment he looked very reminiscent of Red. “Understanding Backwater is a fool’s errand and I suggest you get used to not.” His eye lights flicked up briefly. “If you recall, I tried to get you to leave. You’re the one who wanted to stay.”

“i…yeah. i did. i still do,” Stretch said, defiantly, “wanting to understand doesn’t mean i want to leave, you know.” He left off the ‘asshole’; if this guy didn’t already know he was one, Stretch wasn’t gonna waste his time trying to tell him “edgar allen really helped me out, i was losing my shit out in that field.”

“That’s his job,” the guy said. See, that right there, that was an extra piece to the puzzle Stretch was struggling to make. Helping people out of the cornfield was Edgar Allen’s job as a sentient scarecrow, good to know, even if one of the townies might’ve wanted to bring it up before Stretch took a stroll through the stalks.

“his job. okay, i get that, but not in a paycheck sort of way, right?” No answer and Stretch hesitated, drumming his fingers on the table as he considered, “wonder if he gets bored out there, hanging out all day long in the corn. think he'd like a magazine or something? maybe a farmer's almanac?” Not like it could hurt to add a scarecrow to his friends list, but how could he get it to him, leave it right inside the field and give him a shout? Maybe the corn would give him a heads up, it sure seemed chatty when it wanted to be and—

He abruptly realized that the other skeleton was staring at him, but not in a scornful way this time. It was a little softer somehow, those sharp eye lights assessing.

“what?” Stretch asked, a little defensively.

A beat of silence, then, “He's usually sleeping if no one is in the field,” the skeleton said, finally, “But that's very thoughtful of you.”

“never hurts to repay a favor. how do you know so much about edgar allen, anyway? do all the locals know or are you special?” Stretch gave the room another quick glance; there were two other tables with their own chairs, the faded floral pattern on the cushions barely visible in the dimness. Tucked into one corner was an old-fashioned card catalogue and next to it was an ancient computer, the monitor showing only bright white text against a black screen and a blinking cursor. Only one table had any books on it, the one Daddy Long Legs here was using, and that was it. They really were alone in here and now that Stretch thought of it, that was kind of weird, wasn’t it? Should be at least one other person here, unless— “are you the librarian?”

“No,” the skeleton scoffed, “There is no librarian. And as to what I know, I simply pay attention. Simple observation can be very informative.”

“it hasn’t helped me out much yet.” Stretch leaned forward a little, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “you know, i still haven’t heard your name.”

“That would be because I haven't said it." But the skeleton gave him a faint smile and it was miles different than those past sardonic ones, soft and secretive. It shouldn’t have been fascinating, watching those sharp teeth curve warmly. "But if you ask, I may give it to you."

"for keepsies and everything?" Stretch teased, ignoring his slight breathlessness, seriously, he was not this hard up, he really must’ve gotten too much sun. "okay, how can i resist. what's your name?"

Crimson eye lights met his, a brief flicker, then back to the book. "You can call me Edge."

Stretch ignored the fluttering trill of delight in his soul, it was a name, for fuck’s sake, not an invitation. "edge,” he repeated, curling his tongue around that single, stark syllable. “that's some careful phrasing there, edge."

"Yes. It is,” the guy, Edge, agreed. “Nonetheless, that is what you can call me."

“edge,” Stretch said again, just to say it, “i like that."

Just in case Stretch got any ideas that he might not be a complete dick, Edge made sure to say as dry as glass of desert sand, “Wonderful, I've been waiting with bated breath for your reassurance. And if you want to know more about Edgar Allen, I’d suggest talking to his creator. You have a few weeks left, the scarecrow will be around until harvest time.”

Stretch frowned in confusion; what the hell did that mean? “what happens after harvest time?”

“He ceases to exist,” Edge said, matter of fact, “like all the scarecrows before him.” Yeah, because everyone knew that, right, who didn’t, that was probably kindergarten shit around here.

Only Stretch obviously hadn’t been around for that class. Stretch lurched backwards, accidently knocking over the water bottle and almost tipping over his chair as he blurted out, “what? he dies??”

Edge caught the bottle before it could roll onto the floor, setting it back upright. “He’d have to be properly alive to die. As I said, if you’d like to know more, ask his creator.”

“who, the wicked witch at the end of the woods? no thanks,” Stretch shook his head, which was still reeling from the knowledge that the guy who’d save him this afternoon was going to go kaput before Halloween. It wasn’t enough time, not at all, he hadn’t even figured out how to get him a magazine, how to properly thank him. Just another incident of ‘not fair’ to add to his lifetime, “i already had my children of the corn adventure, i’m not interested in adding any red riding hood to my agenda. doesn’t really go with my work schedule.”

Edge only arched a browbone, “On the contrary, his creator is my roommate.”

Wow, this guy really did like dropping puzzle pieces into Stretch’s lap, didn’t he, if only he’d do other lap-related—stop it, he told himself, then aloud, “oh, so you do live someplace. your bro wouldn’t tell me where.”

“A remarkable astute choice on his part.”

“i mean, you're already living rent-free in my head." Shit, shit, Stretch knew he didn’t mean to say that, but apparently his mind hadn’t sent the memo down to his mouth yet that Red’s sexy brother was off-limits, caution tape engaged.

"I…what?" Edge only looked confused and yeah, okay, dipping his toe into the flirting pond was only gonna give him wet feet. Tempting as a fling might be, Red was against it and Stretch didn’t really blame him. Just because Edge was single didn’t mean he wanted a starring role in Stretch’s shitty Hallmark movie and a fling was all it could be, a quick little rebound fuck, and his boss/landlord’s little brother was not the right choice for it, nope, nope, nope.

But, oh, honey, those hips—

“never mind,” Stretch said hurriedly, “what are you reading, anyway.”

“I’m doing research.” Dismissively, a pretty big clue that Edge was done with this particular chat. Stretch’s knees were doing a lot better, it was probably time to head out back to the store and surely Red could put him in touch with Edge’s roommate if he was really curious about Edgar Allen. He should go, should, but.

Stretch didn’t want to leave yet. Stupidly, he really wanted this guy’s tally mark on Doris’s side of the friendship list. Red was over there now, Edgar Allen was hovering in neutral territory, and Mitch was still firmly on the other side of the page, and hey, if a fling was off the table, friends might still be up for grabs, right?

“yeah?” Stretch craned his neck, squinting at the page, “maybe i could help.”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

Stretch ignored that, “come on, i know how to research.” Stretch grabbed one of the books from the stack and flipped through, pausing to frown down at the page. “uh. what language is this?” He wasn’t even entirely sure it was a language.

Edge almost ripped the book from his hands, snarling out, “What it is, is from the restricted section and none of your business!”

Stung, Stretch looked around the library. It was literally one room, not so much as an extra door in sight, not even a restroom. “restricted section? where? do you keep them locked up on the roof?”

Edge took a long, deep breath in through his nasal cavity, then ground out through gritted teeth, “Do you mind? I’d like to get on with it. I do not need your help, I don’t need anything from you!”

“sorry, sorry,” Stretch mumbled, cringing inwardly. He just had to push it, didn’t he, every fucking time, Blue always tried to tell him that slow and easy was the way to go, but, no, couldn’t do that, now could he? Stupid, so stupid, always, and Stretch slid clumsily off the chair to his feet and headed for the door. Even then he couldn’t help adding, “see you around.”

Guess he could add this guy’s name beneath Mitch’s in the ‘hates me’ column.

He wasn’t two steps away when a soft, “Wait,” stopped him.

Stretch turned back around, hardly daring to let the hope well in his soul. Edge was sitting sideways in his chair and he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his skull, fingers clattering against the smooth bone, “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

“it’s fine,” Stretch said hurriedly, “i’m the outsider here, right?”

“Yes.” Edge said, a simple agreement. “But that’s no excuse. You’re very fond of questions, perhaps you’d care to answer mine. Tell me, why are you here?”

Stretch hesitated, then shrugged. Not like Red didn’t already know. “broke up with my boyfriend. it…kinda sucked, and i wanted to get out of my hometown for a while.” The memory was enough to finish cooling off any of his overheated jets and almost absently he rubbed his sternum, right over the faint, lingering ache where his soul sat.

Edge frowned, his sockets narrowing in irritation, "If you’re not going to tell the truth, then you can just say you don’t want to talk about it."

Huh?

“hold up, what?” Stretch asked, bewildered. Like he needed any other confusion today.

“That’s not why you’re here,” Edge said decisively, with enough arrogant confidence to grate over Stretch’s already raw nerves.

“uh, yeah, it is,” Stretch said, his own irritation rising, why did he want to be friends with this guy again? “i think i’d know better than anyone.” He ignored the taste rising at the back of his throat, faint bitterness that refused to be swallowed away, and yeah, okay, maybe, it wasn’t the entire reason, but like Edge’s name, you took what you could get.

“Then you don’t know yourself as well as you believe.” Edge stood up then and walked over the shelves and Stretch followed him, more to watch the sway of his hips than to see check out the local dewy decimal layout. Hey, if he was going to deal with the asshole outbursts, he should at least get to enjoy the view.

Edge barely had to search before he pulled one off the shelf and held it out. “You should check out a book. As I said, there’s no librarian, it’s all based on trust. Write the catalogue number on the record and have it back in two weeks.”

Stretch looked at the book Edge was holding out. It was a thick, hardback novel, heavy enough to use for self-defense or maybe against alien invaders with a lethal allergy to paper cuts. “nah, i think i’ll stick to the movies.”

“Read this book,” Edge said and there was a certain urgency in his voice, in the way he held the book.

Stretch sighed inwardly and took it. This guy was hot as hell, yeah, like the town, and just as peculiar. He turned the book over and read from the spine, ‘An Informal History of Backwater.’ He looked back up. “what, is the formal history too posh for me?”

“Just read it,” Edge said, impatiently.

“yeah, okay, i can do that,” Stretch sighed. It had to be better than nightly ‘Wheel of Fortune.’ Then, because he was an idiot and always liked a chance to prove it, he said, “so, if you think i need to talk to your roomie about edgar allen, does that mean you’re inviting me over to your place?”

“No, it means you need to do your own research and find them,” Edge smiled then, suddenly, wide and bright, “But if you happen to find your way down the path, I may feed you when you get there, Riding Hood.”

Stretch stared helplessly at that smile. All his irritation melted away as he tried not to see the way it changed Edge’s entire face, suffusing those sharp angles with softened warmth.

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, and it wasn’t exactly the kind of dinner invitation any normal person might’ve hoped for, but then, Stretch was starting to learn that if he wanted normal, he should’ve stayed on the bus.

“okay, then,” Stretch said, trying for something at least slightly above inane, “i’ll, uh, start looking for grandma’s house.”

“You do that.” With that, Edge went back over to the table, sitting back down in front of his book, and Stretch knew he was dismissed.

Okay, well, not exactly a friend yet, but he was still adding this one to the tentative win column. First, read the book and then he’d start on the new puzzle of finding out where Edge and his roommate lived. He wasn't as good at puzzles as his brother, sure, but Stretch was pretty sure he could manage that.

He did hope the whole Riding Hood gig was a joke, though. Stretch wasn’t really interested in meeting the big bad wolf right about now.

tbc

[kill-your-authors]

I want to talk about Booker,

Even though by now I’m sure everyone in the fandom feels as though he’s been talked about to death. To be clear, this isn’t a post about how I think the hundred year exile is too harsh, or that Booker doesn’t deserve it. What he did was inexcusable, and even he knows he deserves the hundred years, or he wouldn’t have been anticipating more. 

What I want to talk about is the line, “You and Nicky always had each other, right? And all we [he and Andy} had was our grief.” 

I don’t like this line, I’ve decided, because to me, it makes it sound like the reason Booker did what he did was because he was lonely - not just lonely, but romantically lonely. As if, the reason he wants to die so desperately he’d put the lives of the rest of the Guard in danger, is because he doesn’t have an immortal significant other like Joe and Nicky. 

It feels like it entirely misses the point, and pretty much defeats the purpose of the scene Booker shares with Nile, when he talks about losing his kids. 

Booker had three children and he witnessed all of their deaths! And every single one of them resented him when they died because they’d discovered his immortality! In this scene, Booker doesn’t even mention a wife. For all we know, each one of these kids had a completely different mother. For all we know, each one of these kids was born in completely different decades. Or, they could have all had the same mother and they could have all been born before Booker even died for the first time. We don’t know! But one thing we do know is: He is not grieving over the loss of a wife. He is grieving over the loss of his kids. 

And as far as we know, none of the other members of the Guard have had children before. 

I know the fandom has more or less come to the consensus, that compared to the other members of the Guard, Booker being the youngest, has somehow therefore lost less than all the others. He’s often compared to Andy, who has undoubtedly lost hundreds of friends and lovers and of course her own parents and sisters, as she said, since her birth, just by virtue of being as old as she is. And of course, Nicky and Joe have lost many too. 

But I think it’s fair to say that nothing really compares to the loss of a child. I know older people who have lost spouses, who move on and love again. And while sure, they always miss their late spouse. They always mourn. But they’re okay. On the other hand...it is not at all unusual for a parent’s life to be completely and utterly destroyed by the loss of a child. It’s not at all unusual for a parent who lost a child to never recover. Sure some do. But even the ones that do are never really  “okay”. 

There is no pain or loss that compares to it, I think most people can agree. And Booker lost three. He lost three kids who resented him and hated him just before they died, and now Booker must continue living for an indeterminate, but undoubtedly long period of time, without his children. Without even making peace with them. 

And think about what it’s like for Booker being younger than the others with this specific type of pain to carry around. Andy has only just lost her immortality and she has been alive for thousands of years. Nicky and Joe are a thousand years old and still going strong. Quynh has been around even longer, and not even dying every minute or two for the duration of five hundred years was enough to kill her for good. And yet here Booker is, with a measly two hundred and fifty years under his belt. He has only just gotten started. He, like Nile, is too new. When he dies, unlike Joe and Nicky and Andy - there is no wondering if “this is it.” He knows he’s too young. He knows he’s coming back. 

I just think it really paints things in a different light, and it makes me wish that line in the lab had been rephrased. I believe it was written the way it was so that Booker could include Andy - because, whether we think Booker is a selfish piece of shit or not, we know he believed he was doing this for Andy too, who does not, presumably, share in the grief of losing children - in the grief he’s talking about. 

But I really think it should have been rewritten so as to remind Nicky and Joe, who have never had kids and presumably, never will, that they’ve never lost children. That whatever they’ve been through, however much pain they’ve endured (which is undoubtedly still a lot!) they have not lost children, and so they cannot put themselves in Booker’s shoes and honestly say they’d have done different. 

Plus, this would change something about fandom’s perception of Booker that I also don’t like: This idea that Booker resents Nicky and Joe’s love, that he hates seeing them together, or the even more absurd theories that Booker is homophobic. 

I don’t think Booker resents their love. Certainly, maybe it hurts to see them, but I think that’s more because it serves as a reminder that his own loved ones weren’t immortal. Otherwise, I think he is probably very happy for Joe and Nicky, and very glad they found each other. 

Anyways, like I said. I don’t think the exile was too harsh or that Booker should have been forgiven or that he did nothing wrong. I just think that between that one line in the movie which in my opinion doesn’t accurately represent the source of Booker’s grief, and the fandom’s perceptions of Booker’s motives as a result has made it so that everyone thinks of Booker as, well, essentially a selfish piece of shit who’s pain doesn’t remotely compare to the other’s when...

I don’t think anyone has it worse than Booker. Not even Quynh. 

Because I really believe that Booker would rather have spent five hundred years drowning in a cage at the bottom of the ocean than watch three children die one after another and then be forced to face thousands of years separated from them and unable to make amends. I really do. I think he’d rather face any degree of pain or trauma against himself if it could mean he didn’t have to lose children. I think...for most parents...who genuinely love their children the way they’re supposed to...that’s usually the case. You’d literally rather face anything than face losing a child and that was true for Booker, who lost three. 

Or if Booker doesn’t have it the worst, I at least don’t blame him for acting as though he does. 

[veronicamarsconfessions]

When Hulu announced it was reviving the cult favorite Veronica Mars for an eight-episode fourth season, the new episodes were initially referred to as a limited series. But in the year 2019, the phrase "limited series" also holds no meaning. If a show is successful enough, a network or streaming service will find a way to bring it back. Veronica Mars creator Rob Thomas has been vocal about his desire to continue Veronica's story beyond this new season, which Hulu refers to as Season 4, while series star Kristen Bell would be happy to play the show's eponymous sleuth until "until everyone in Neptune is dead." And for most of Season 4, that felt like a real possibility.

Although the show may never again reach the exciting highs of that first season, for a little while, simply being in Veronica's orbit again was enough to keep viewers happy and entertained. However, in the wake of the shocking, and frankly unnecessary, death of Logan Echolls (Jason Dohring), whom Veronica married in the finale and who was a key part of the show's enduring legacy, it's difficult to see how the show can continue with the same level of fan support that twice brought it back from the dead. And yet, Thomas is still hoping it will.

"The hope we have going into these eight episodes is that we get to do more of them. And my belief is that those will be better with Veronica Mars as the lead of a noir detective series who does not have a boyfriend or a husband," Thomas explained to TV Guide. "In order for us to keep doing these, I think it needs to become a detective show — a noir, mystery, detective show — and those elements of teenage soap need to be behind us. I sort of viewed these eight episodes as a bridge to what Veronica Mars might be moving forward."

Thomas said he wants to continue Veronica Mars as a Sherlock-esque series, one that can hopefully return with new seasons whenever Thomas and Bell can make their schedules align. This hypothetical version of the series would find Veronica solving different cases around the country, and a significant other for the show's heroine apparently doesn't fit into that plan. But the power of the Logan-Veronica relationship and what it meant to fans of the show should not be underestimated. To assume that viewers would even be interested in a Logan-less Veronica Mars almost feels like a fundamental misreading of the fandom.

Of course, this isn't meant to suggest that Veronica Mars cannot exist without Logan — that would be to belittle Veronica and her many achievements; although Logan clearly left an indelible mark on her, Veronica has accomplished plenty on her own without him, and she will no doubt find similar success in the future, especially if she stays in therapy and learns healthy methods of coping with her trauma. But at the same time, Logan is still a major character who was both deeply loved by Veronica and greatly beloved by a number of the show's fans. His sudden death and the reasoning behind it feels like a betrayal that becomes even more painful when you consider Logan's secretive military career would have been an easy way of writing him out of future installments without piercing the hearts of fans everywhere.

Further explaining the difficult decision to kill off Logan, Thomas revealed he worries that whenever a show reaches a romantic conclusion — like, say, a wedding — it also reaches a finale of sorts, and he's not ready for Veronica Mars to be over. This argument not only feels a bit dated, but it also feels a little misguided when a show like Friday Night Lights has already proven that a happy couple in a lasting, loving relationship can make for compelling television, or when series like Bones, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and Parks and Recreation have shown us that will-they, won't-they couples can get together without signaling the end of the road.

Knowing this, Logan's death feels needlessly cruel like it was a narrative decision seemingly meant only to further torment Veronica and leave her cold and isolated. While you can argue it serves to once again show just how resilient Veronica is in the face of adversity, how she always gets back up after the world has knocked her down, how much pain and heartache does Veronica have to go through before saying enough is enough? It's honestly exhausting. So, if fans are tired of seeing Veronica constantly having to endure a painful existence to somehow prove she's a great heroine and they choose to no longer watch the show because of this latest development, it's perfectly reasonable. And if fans are angry that Logan is dead and choose to no longer watch Veronica Mars because of this, it is pretty understandable too. However, even if fans can somehow stomach the idea of a Veronica Mars without Logan Echolls, Thomas' vision for the show's future raises more issues. Mainly, new seasons would find Veronica alone, separated from the town she knows and the people who call it home, and this would mean erasing yet another fundamental part of the show.

For four seasons (and a movie), Neptune and its inhabitants have added depth to its rich and rewarding story. Creators love to describe the location of a series as if it's a character in the story, and this is most often a frustrating sentiment that has lost all meaning through overuse, but Neptune is truly an example of a location that has played a major role in shaping not only the show's characters but also its ongoing narrative. Although the town is no longer the same as it once was — the class war and accompanying social commentary that dominated the series from the start is over after these eight episodes, as the town's wealthy elite have succeeded in pushing the working class out — that doesn't necessarily mean the best course of action is for Veronica to skip town and solve cases around the country. Like many shows before it, Veronica Mars is the story of a specific place, and if the show is to continue beyond these eight new episodes, it probably should remain committed to telling the stories of Neptune — at the very least Southern California — if for no other reason than the fact the show owes a lot to the exceptional supporting cast that calls it home and has brought its story to life since 2004.

After all, if Veronica leaves Neptune, where does that leave her father, Keith (Enrico Colantoni)? Thomas said the character may not make an appearance in hypothetical future seasons of the show, and that almost feels incomprehensible. Veronica's relationship with her father is the bedrock upon which the series has rested since the pilot. Even when the show was at its most uneven you could count on Veronica and Keith's powerful family dynamic to ground the story emotionally. And although Veronica is now an adult in her 30s, their relationship is the single most important relationship in her life in the wake of Logan's untimely death. To remove him from the equation entirely threatens to disrupt far more than the status quo, which is what Thomas's intention is by taking Veronica on the road. A Veronica Mars without Keith's stabilizing presence would make for a shell of a series, one that would only be further harmed if Veronica's chosen family — Wallace (Percy Daggs III), Mac (Tina Majorino), and Weevil (Francis Capra) — were to suddenly disappear from her life as well.

Now, the show hopes to minimize this instability by essentially skipping over Veronica's grieving period. As Thomas said, one of the reasons the season includes a flash-forward is so the series doesn't have to spend time actually depicting Veronica's grief. "Our bread and butter is being quick and funny, and I'm not sure it'd be to our benefit to living a year in Veronica's grief on our show," Thomas said, noting that by the end of the season Veronica is actually getting her feet back under her.

But even if Veronica has recovered from her latest trauma, Logan's death is still raw for viewers, and it's painful enough without having to consider that every familiar source of comfort could be ripped away at once in the potential next season. Even beyond the show's core supporting cast, Veronica Mars is home to a memorable motley crew who have brought Neptune to life, and their presence in future installments, no matter how small, would be a cool balm on fresh wounds. Plus, what does the show look like without them? Ryan Hansen's self-centered party king Dick Casablancas, Max Greenfield's charming Leo D'Amato, Ken Marino's skeezy private detective Vinnie Van Lowe, and Daran Norris' reliable public defender Cliff McCormack have all become fan favorites. They each play a necessary role in the show's ecosystem, much like the Fighting Fitzpatricks or the PCHers have done over the years.

Veronica Mars has excelled at building out its little corner of the world by populating it with unique but believable characters, and it's not to suggest that a version of the show that exists outside the world of Neptune won't be able to successfully reach the same depths or recreate that magic in the same way, but it will have to work a lot harder to do it, especially if future seasons once again have a limited episode count. Furthermore, even if new seasons turn out to be good, the truth is that a Veronica Mars outside of Neptune, one without any familiar faces in sight, would feel like a very different show, one that threatens to not feel like Veronica Mars at all.

Veronica Mars helped to usher in the tidal wave of revivals and reboots that is still washing over Hollywood some five years after the fan-funded feature film hit theaters, and when this second revival was first announced last year, I wrote that the show should also be the series that puts an end to that trend too. It was a plea in favor of originality at a time when original ideas felt about as impossible as a unicorn. I still believe this should be the end of the revival trend, but now it's because this is a classic case of the writers thinking so much about whether or not they could do something that they didn't stop to consider if they should. In the end, we got eight more episodes of Veronica Mars, but it came at a deadly cost, and now we live in a world where Logan Echolls is dead and Veronica Mars is leaving Neptune. Was it really worth it?

[mydorkycreations]

for the love language asks, could I ask for Jasper, Friday, Hiroki, Aaron, Forest, Winter, Candace, and Tiffany? OH, also Gretchen and Amadeus, if u don't mind??? I jst. Love all of them.

You CAN ask for them all of them! I’ll kinda do this by ranking of most preferred to least preferred :)

Also this got very long I’m sorry

Jasper:

Quality time-- he loves being around people he likes, and feels neglected/misses people if they don’t spend time with him for a while

Gifts--  he loves to give things and get things, especially if it’s involving food, and he has a mental list of things that he knows his friends like/dislike that he just kinda always has in the back of his mind

Touch-- he’s not overly touchy, tbh. Like, it’s nice and all, but it feels a little less personal than like spending actual time together or giving someone something in general

Words of affirmation-- as odd as this may sound, he doesn’t really need a hype man or verbal affirmation. He can figure things out on his own. Compliments are nice, though, and communication is important, so he puts some effort into this one even if it isn’t necessarily his thing per se

Acts of service-- he appreciates someone making an effort to make his life easier and generally tries to do the same, but he considers it more of a being polite thing rather than an actual act of affection. Plus, he can be particular about some things (especially with the way the kitchen is organized) and so sometimes the help isn’t always as helpful as the helper thinks

Friday:

Words of affirmation-- she tries not to show it, but words have a major impact on her, both positively and negatively. A compliment can make her day and a rude comment can just as easily ruin it. She’s very shy about saying nice things to other people, though, in case the compliment is rejected

Touch-- she’s insecure about it because it’s something her mother actively discouraged, but she ADORES physical affection. Once she’s comfortable enough with Jasper someone to feel like she can without getting in trouble, the poor soul is in near danger of being smothered in it

Quality time-- it’s an acceptable, straightforward way to show affection that’s more difficult to pull off when ulterior motives are in play, and she appreciates it for that

Acts of service-- someone??? did something NICE for her??? Unrealistic. She tends to think of this more as someone trying to like get her attention than be nice

Gifts-- this one is Odd because she hates getting gifts, but gives them all the time because she’s rich and has money to throw around, so I’m putting it on the bottom

Hiroki:

Touch-- Hiroki is INCREDIBLY tactile, possibly because of the way his powers work as extensions of himself. Unless there’s a reason not to, he’s touching his friends almost constantly, and can recognize most of their silhouettes by feel when he’s using his powers to sense people. He’ll pick up on any sort of unusual response to/rejection of contact immediately

Quality time-- listen, when you’re an introvert, deciding someone is worth spending time with is A Big Deal, especially if it’s one on one, and he doesn’t hand it out lightly

Acts of service-- to do something for someone so they don’t have to, and then have them do the same for you, is that not an incredible thing? He certainly thinks it is. It would be #2, but there is also Extreme Mental Trauma associated with this one and it’s demoted to #3 as a result

Gifts-- he appreciates gifts (especially if they’re useful), but by and large his habit of knitting things for other people stems from the fact that if he made everything for himself he’d have probably filled his entire apartment with knitted things by now than any real fondness for the gift giving or receiving process

Words of affirmation-- by and large, he thinks that words are cheap. Ironic, because he was an English major, but still

Aaron:

Gifts-- Aaron loves getting gifts. Aaron loves giving gifts. Aaron will spend money he doesn’t have to get people gifts because gifts are important

Words of affirmation-- he’s not really confident enough for you to be able to just let him read between the lines and make a judgement himself, and thrives at praise and clear verbal communication. Will tell you exactly how he feels and how fond he is of you at the drop of a hat

Touch-- physical affection is nice. Not his favorite but not bad by any meansit’s

Acts of service-- yes, okay, people doing things for you is nice and all, but people go and do things or give money to charity for the warm fuzzy feelings while not giving a single flying fuck about the people who are really impacted by it, it’s not really a surefire sign that they like you

Quality time-- like, yes, it’s nice spending time with people but it doesn’t really vibe with him as an affection source. Like you could spend every day hanging out with him and he’ll still be like “but do they like me?”

Forest (I went with young Forest here-- I’m still getting to know older Forest a bit):

Quality time-- I once read a theory that your love languages are defined by what you lacked in your youth. This is very true in this instance. You can instantly tell who Forest gravitates towards by looking at who leaves with him at parties

Touch-- grant it, touch is just a Bigger Thing culturally in the magical realm (given that physical contact between some kinds of magical entities would be physically painful for one or both parties), so maybe that disqualifies this, but yeah touching is a very major thing

Words of affirmation-- he loves to verbally flirt and be flirted with, but aside from that very specific scenario he doesn’t really care all that much 

Acts of service-- acts of service and gifts are probably about the same, but you could kind of classify Winter catching his attention by sparing his life an act of service, and then they fall in love, so I’m putting this one at #4. The bastard is in a laughably wealthy ruling class, he just expects people to do things for him, so that’s not a big deal to him (although actually doing something for someone else kinda is)

Gifts-- again, rich and politics Grant it you could call some of those gifts bribes but that’s an ugly word, don’t you think?

Winter:

Acts of service-- the need to look after and help people he cares about if they ever need it is literally what’s kept him alive, and putting it anything other than first would be a disservice. And he takes on so much that any effort made to make his life easier means the world to him

Quality time-- why do you think he never just forged Candace legal documentation and sent her to normal school or daycare? Why do you think he’s so prone to be lonely? He needs time with people

Gifts-- he loves receiving gifts in particular. They’re something to remember people by once they’re gone and parting with them would be terrible for him. But he gives gifts, too. They’re less often physical objects and more often advice or stories, although that changes with Candace as he gets old because he knows he likes having physical things to remember people by so maybe it’ll help her, too

Words of affirmation-- he still appreciates them, don’t misunderstand. And he doesn’t skimp out on telling his kids he loves them. It’s just not his favorite way to receive or show affection

Touch-- again, Magical Realm’s touching is a much less casual of a thing and it’s not really as needed as it is with humans. Between that and his lack of body heat being unnerving to a lot of humans that aren’t used to it, he just... didn’t, really. At all. Like touch was for sex and otherwise he kept little to no physical contact. It’s a big regret he has raising his earlier kids, because he just didn’t know that humans are so innately touchy feely. He probably raised at least one touch starved human on accident (he also adopted a hugging schedule later when he realized “oh shit I’ve fucked up” until he got used to casual contact)

Candace:

Quality time-- if you like someone, you spend time with them? It just makes sense to her (although that doesn't make her immune to the classic "Daaaad leave me alone" complaints)

Acts of service-- you care about someone, you look out for them. Winter’s taught her that very well

Words of affirmation-- she doesn’t need it constantly, but if she does something she’s really proud of she craves validation for it, and will go around showing everyone her new sword that she figured out how to make shoot lightning until someone’s like “wow nice work”

Touch-- she’s not very into casual touching, but if you become a level 5 or above friend you unlock the Cuddle Feature and that is nigh unstoppable once it starts, she’s like a goddamn cat

Gifts-- she’s a dichotomy of loving to give gifts and not really enjoying getting them because she herself isn’t very materialistic (unless you’re giving her swords. Or daggers. Or shields. Or, uh, old school style weapons in general).

Tiffany:

Quality time-- I hesitate to use the word “clingy,” but, uh. There is a definite “pay ATTENTION TO ME” bit of her personality if you leave her on her lonesome for too long

Touch-- Tiff is just a cuddlebug. There isn’t much of another way to describe it. Fortunately her and Candace have been over level 5 friends since they were both knee high to a toadstool

Gifts-- if you give her something, she’ll cherish it forever, and she loves to find things for her friends to give them (even if most of the time it’s cool rocks from the bottom of whatever body of water she’s currently living on with Amadeus)

Acts of service-- she doesn’t think much of it if she does something for somebody else because that’s just how she was raised, but if someone helps her out? She’ll remember it forever

Words of affirmation-- like, okay it’s nice to be verbally appreciated but she doesn’t need it

Gretchen

Quality time-- time is growing less important to her the longer she lives-- immortality can have that effect on people sometimes-- but time simply spent together is still something she heavily gravitates towards

Words of affirmation-- there are few words she loves better than “I’m proud of you” or “good job.” Loves that sweet validation

Acts of service-- she’s very devoted once she grows attached to someone, although sometimes she thinks she knows best when she really doesn’t

Touch-- touching is,, fine. Not great, but it’s okay

Gifts-- she’s immortal. What need does she have for trinkets?

Amadeus

Gifts-- do you think that them not charging Winter for an ounce of booze he’s drank for centuries is an accident? It’s not. They know it’s not really in his best interest, but they can’t bring themselves to deny him a way out of his own mind for a while

Acts of service-- this primarily surfaces in a sort of hovering/annoying parent sort of way. They’ll fuss over anyone

Words of affirmation-- words aren’t as good as something tangible, but still nice. Amadeus has a tendency to be almost transactional in their relationships. They do things for Friend, Friend does things for them. That’s what friendship is 

Touch-- eh, it’s fine but they don’t get the hype. Probably because they’re living water

Quality time-- ironic, I know, but they can almost be absent, some of the time. They’d rather do things FOR you than just spend time with you without a purpose

[nicostolemybones]

Of Birthday Disasters and Bi Disasters

Tw: sensory overload, meltdown, self injury (Not cutting), ghost stories/light horror

“I don’t wanna wake up,” Will groaned, burying himself in the covers, “it’s my birthday, let me sleep!”

A loud, definitely deliberate clarinet squeak sounded right by Will’s ear, sending a splitting pain through his ear and his head. “Austin, please don’t,” Will pleaded, covering his ears with his quilt. Kayla started bouncing on his bed, shaking him, and Will felt panicked, trapped, and overwhelmed. “Guys, don’t,” Will protested, but they seemed intent on waking him up. They didn’t realise just how overwhelming the situation was for Will- he buried himself deeper under the covers, wanting the noise and bouncing to stop. However, the longer he stayed under the covers, the louder Austin played wrong notes, and the more violently Kayla bounced. 

Will panicked, shoving as hard as he could and running to the bathroom, bolting himself in and instantly dropping to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. It was too bright- the small round studio lights overhead were disorientating, pure white light blaring down unrelenting, no dimmer switch, each light a new assault on his senses from a different direction, making it near impossible to process anything else- his senses were already overwhelmed. Then there was the yellow strobe lights around the mirror, each light a needle boring into him, and then the mismatch of orange, yellow, and red fairy lights hung around the room for at night, each light a bullet, each tiny movement of Will’s head blurring the lights, dizzying, disorientating. Will clamped his eyes shut, hoping to block it out.

Then the insistent banging on the bathroom door began, each loud pound a jolt of pain to Will’s ears. Every knock seemed to be sharper and louder and more painful than the last, and then of course, the shouting began, shrill voices yelling his name and trying to get his attention. Will was unable to process what they were saying- it was too loud, too much, and it hurt. And to make matters worse, Will didn’t have his headphones, so he settled for clamping his hands over his ears, but it only seemed to amplify everything, so he jammed his fingers as deep into his ears as he could get, painfully so, until the outside sounds muffled and all he could hear was the low groaning and creaking made my every minute twitch of his fingers, and the blurry rush of his pulse.

Everything was too hot suddenly, and the feather light touches of his cotton pyjamas only irritated him, his skin pricked with sweat and every small movement he made shifted the fabric and added more to the overwhelming cacophony of overloading sensory assaults. Will just wanted pressure, weight, a constant comforting force to make it all better. He rocked, the motion comforting, helping him to focus on the motion of rocking and not the sensory assault he was under.

The final straw that broke the camel’s back was the smells. Will had always been particularly sensitive to smells, more so than anything else. And there were many smells. There was the earthy smell of fresh cut grass, of the smell of the soil wet with rain from the night before, the smell of the heat in the air, the humidity. And then there was the smell of the cleaning products, sterile, but strong bleach, nauseating and dizzying, so clinical but so chemical, the smell of artificial pine scent, far too strong, far too much. The lingering smells of aftershaves and perfumes and deodorants from the morning, each scent overlapping and clashing and harmonising horribly, assaulting his nose with burning chemicals, making him sneeze. Then there was the slightly more muted smells of the soaps, but there was still the slight smell of caustic soda from the soaps and detergents left on the towels. There were the musky smells of sweat, even blood, from the towel rail right next to Will, all different body odors adding onto the already overwhelming smells. But the worst for Will was the still ever-present smell of faeces and urine from the toilet- smells lingered, even if most people didn’t notice them, and Will was sensitive to smell, and of course, the smell of human waste was nauseating. Will felt the bile rising in his throat, just about managing to crawl to the toilet and throw up. The smell of vomit and the choking feeling and the acidic bitter taste was more than enough to make him panic and overwhelm him further, and he found himself throwing up again. 

Desperate distressed sobs wrenched through his body, unable to take deep breaths through the crying, because he couldn’t control it. Eyes open and fingers out of his ears, and every sense was unbearably overstimulated, a suffocating panic and need for it to end only adding to the overwhelming mess. He felt dizzy and hot, so he stripped to his underwear, clawing at his skin to try to make the itching suffocating feeling from the sweat go away. He pulled at his hair and his teeth and his ears and anywhere he could grab, as though he could loosen his skin or make it stop. He screamed out, as though it would stop the panic in its tracks, and because he was frightened, it all wouldn’t stop and he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t process it all, and everything was suffocating him. Eventually, he resorted to hitting his head off the wall, because his head hurt, and it felt like he needed to break it out, he just wanted it to stop and he couldn’t breathe, it was all too much-

“Will?”

That was Nico’s voice, Nico knew how he was feeling, he knew Nico could help him. He forced himself to stand and open the door, and Nico lead him to the far corner of his cabin, the space by the bathroom where most cabins had book shelves or a dresser. Instead, the corner had thick curtains to block out the rest of the light from the cabin. Nico helped him to sit down and wrapped him in a weighted blanket, giving Will his headphones. It was quieter, darker, and far less overwhelming, and Will could focus enough to talk himself through calming down, to take slower breaths. Nico sat beside him, hugging his knees to his chest and reaching out to take Will’s hands, gently rocking. Will rocked too, following Nico’s comforting pace, the quiet music from his noise-cancelling headphones the only sound he could hear, and the music felt how he felt, hectic, and with each song change the music calmed, allowing him to slowly work through each emotion he was feeling and unwind them all. The alcove was only lit by a dark purple lava lamp, a stark contrast from the brightness outside, and the light was a soft glow, from one source, no reflective surfaces for it to bounce off. It was soothing to watch the bubbles, something he could visually focus on without feeling overwhelmed. The pressure of the blanket he had was comforting, heavy like a hug, grounding him nicely. The smells were muted here- it was cleaned, but without the use of strong chemical products. Plain smelling soaps were used to wash all the cushions and blankets that made the alcove so cosy, so the only smells were his own mild sandalwood and lemon body wash and peony shampoo, and Nico’s pomegranate shampoo.

Will wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he felt a lot calmer, and everything was muted enough. He switched his headphones for earbuds so he could hear more and assess his surroundings, glad to only hear the chirp of birds and distant laughter. Nico looked up at him- or at least, somewhat towards him. Nico struggled with eye contact, and Will would be lying if he said he wouldn’t find eye contact overwhelming. “Are you feeling okay now,” Nico asked quietly, and Will took a few deep breaths to assess how he felt. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t manage to force any sounds out, so he nodded instead. “Is there anything you need?” Will thought for a moment, and gestured vaguely that he needed water and hugs if Nico was okay with it. Nico seemed to understand what Will was trying to communicate, leaving and returning with a bottle of water for Will, pulling him to his chest and gently running his fingers through Will’s hair. Will was able to relax, sitting there quietly with Nico.

Will wasn’t sure how long he was sat there with Nico, but he felt Nico gently push at his shoulder. Will reluctantly released Nico, mouthing ‘sorry’. 

“It’s okay,” Nico explained quietly, “I just… too much physical contact.”

“That’s okay,” Will managed to reply, glad he hadn’t stayed non-verbal for long enough for it to be a barrier of communication with anybody.

“I’m sorry,” Nico said softly, “I just…”

“Overwhelming, kinda like you wanna rip your skin off?” Unlike Will, who was touch-seeking and tactile, Nico was rather touch averse, partly because he was touch-sensitive and partly because of all his trauma. He’d described physical contact he didn’t want as uncomfortable, like when a bug flies into your face and it still feels like the bug is there, but intense and everywhere, to the point it made him want to scrape his skin off.

“Yeah, that,” Nico replied, and Will reached up to one of the shelves of stim toys. He picked out a tub of glittered sunset amber slime and scooped it out, squeezing it between his fingers. It felt cold and squidgy, but it was quite a dry slime, and it wasn’t sticking to his fingers, which he appreciated because it was murder to get from behind his nails. The glitter, however, Will figured, he’d be stuck with for a month at least. He kneaded the slime in his hands, squeezing it and stretching it and squashing it, feeling it warm up. He folded it and held it up and watched it slowly stretch out and droop, catching the slime in the palm of his other hand. It was oddly soothing and entertaining.

“I forgot… it’s my birthday,” Will said quietly, pressing the slime into his palm.

“You never told me,” Nico replied, and Will shrugged.

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured to get me anything. Plus I kinda still don’t know if you see me as a friend, and I didn’t want to scare you off like before.”

“I like to think we’re friends,” Nico replied quietly, and both boys blushed. Nico reached into his pocket and pulled out a ball of tangled pipe cleaners. “It’s not much but… I kinda made this for you when I had to help out in the arts and crafts building... you like rough textures, right? I uh- I made this for you. I thought you could fiddle with it when you’re trying to focus or feeling overwhelmed, and maybe the texture would help you to calm down.”

“That’s so thoughtful,” Will blushed, putting the slime away in favour of gently taking the pipe cleaner ball from Nico’s hand and tangling the ends around his fingers, tying knots in them and shaping them in his hand. “Thank you, Nico, I think this will help me better than the bandage I wrap around my hand.”

“That’s uh- that’s what I thought,” Nico replied awkwardly, “we missed breakfast.”

“That’s okay,” Will said quietly, “I’m not hungry anyway, I threw up this morning.”

“If you’re feeling ready to face the day now, you should get dressed and showered ready for today. I’m gonna leave you to get ready now, I’m still in my pyjamas because Austin and Kayla woke me up to come to you. I wanna help out at the infirmary today, but I’ll grab us some sandwiches so if we get hungry we have something to eat. I know you like yours as plain as possible because spice and strong flavours and smells make you gag, so not egg, maybe cheddar cheese or chicken?”

“Thanks, Nico,” Will smiled, “and I remembered you don’t like too many textures or clashing flavours in your food, so I got some better snacks in the infirmary that you might prefer over the granola bars.”

“Thanks,” Nico smiled, leaving Will to get ready.

The rest of the day went by relatively quickly- the familiarity of routine felt comfortable, and the unique challenges of every patient, demanding knowledge recall and practical applications, keeping his hands busy, took just the right amount of focus for Will’s comfort zone, calm in the chaos of injuries. When he felt stressed or overwhelmed, or when he was trying to keep his focus on lengthy discussions with a patient, trying to stay on topic, he instinctively fiddled with the pipe cleaner ball. He found it to be much more effective as a stim than wrapping and unwrapping a bandage on his hand, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him think of Nico. Nico was thoughtful and kind, although he hid that behind layers of sarcasm and defensiveness. However, all of those defences had dropped the moment Will respected his boundaries without question. Sure, sometimes Will missed social cues and misread Nico, but he always immediately rectified any mistakes when Nico voiced his discomfort. Nico’s defences dropped because Will didn’t treat him like he was different, or stupid, or weird. Will didn’t tell him to stop talking if he info dumped about mythomagic. Because, despite all of their differences, they were the same, and they both understood things about each other that other people simply didn’t seem to understand, or make an effort to understand. 

Later at the campfire, everybody had gathered, and Will knew that there was going to be cake, much like on every camper’s birthday. Will was quite a sociable person- and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like all the attention. He’d received a pair of light blue denim cuffed jeans from Lou-Ellen, a fellow bisexual, which he was more than happy to wear. Cecil had gotten him a bi pride pin, which Will happily wore on his red turtleneck. And of course, he already had his trans converse from Clarisse. Kayla and Austin chipped in to buy him a ukulele, which was just about the only instrument Will could play. Will spent the afternoon socialising, walking around to talk to all the familiar campers, introducing himself with finger guns and peace signs like a true disaster bi, because this was his home and these people were his friends. He felt at home here at camp. He hadn’t seen Nico all night, but he figured that Nico wouldn’t turn up anyway- after all, crowds and people were two things where Nico would rather stick his eyeballs in a blender than endure them willingly. He was a little disappointed- mainly because of his probably-more-than-a-crush on the boy, which is why Will couldn’t contain his grin when he finally saw Nico, stood at the sidelines, swinging his arms gently by his sides and turning from side to side, a stim of his that he always indulged in when he thought nobody was looking, not forcing himself to socialise and remaining in his comfort zone.

Eventually, the camp settled down into seats, and Nico sat next to Will on the smallest log- that way, he wouldn’t have to share with anybody else. Will didn’t bother to hide the blush on his face- after all, he didn’t think Nico would look up at him given Nico’s strong dislike for eye contact, which is probably why he didn’t realise that Nico kept looking to him and blushing, smiling happily. Toasting marshmallows went as usual- campers scrambled to find a stick, Will and the Aphrodite kids pointed out that sticks on the floor were disgusting death sticks, Chiron handed out clean kebab skewers, and Nico ignored everybody’s protests and summoned a broken femur bone to use instead of a stick. 

Ghost stories were Will’s favourite part of any campfire, and of course, Nico loved to tell ghost stories. That was, once the younger campers had taken slices of cake and gone to bed. “So,” Nico began, a small grin forming on his face, which Will found adorable, “twenty years ago today, some of the Ares kids were on patrol in the forest and they found a deer carcass. Which is nothing unusual, of course, because it’s a deer carcass, animals die. But the weird thing was, it was fully decomposed to a dry skeleton, and it hadn’t been there the night before. Now, Artemis and her hunters had been at camp, so naturally they blamed the hunters, but Artemis herself confirmed that it couldn’t have been her hunters. Now, interesting fact, I swear it’s relevant, if you’re going to dump a body, the decomposition will mean more nutrients like nitrogen for the grass, so the grass will grow greener. So if you place an animal carcass over a body dump, it’s less suspicious. If you bury the body vertically, at least six feet of space above the head, it’s unlikely they’ll find the body. But because of the sudden appearance, they excavated and found, shock horror, a corpse of a boy nobody remembered at camp. Now, these deaths kept happening every two years, except each animal carcass represented an animal that represented each cabin, going in order of the cabins. But nobody remembers anything about who the campers were, at all. No memories, no nothing. But we know from marks on the spines that all of the bodies were decapitated, strangled, or had their necks snapped, or hung. But there is no physical evidence, none at all to point to a human killer, plus no demigod has been at camp long enough to be responsible for all the murders, apart from the ghost boy, whose head is backwards from where his neck was snapped. He seeks revenge, and he refuses to communicate with me. In fact,” Nico smirked, pointing over to a spot by the forest, “that looks like an animal carcass right there.” Some campers screamed, but Will laughed- Nico was so very obviously bullshitting. “If you give me ten dollars each, I’ll make sure you’re not next. I can do that. Or he might possess me right now and you’re all doomed because he could use me to control the dead and make all the skeletons choke you-” Nico summoned a skeletal hand, and everybody ran. Will laughed lightly, and Nico blushed, looking somewhat proud of himself as Chiron rounded everybody up and reminded them that Nico’s ghost stories weren’t real and not to give him money, because he was now certainly not getting his allowance.

The tone lightened with some singing, which Will loved but was terrible at, and Nico hated but was amazing at. Campers finished off the cake and everybody shared happy stories for a while, or complained about their parents, although the highlight of the campfire was probably the appearance of bats from the trees. Pipistrelles, it appeared, according to Nico, which weren’t native.  Nico immediately started bouncing, flapping his arms and grinning wildly. He loved bats more than he loved mythomagic, and Nico’s pure happiness and excitement seemed contagious, and Will found himself joining Nico in his flapping- it felt good and he was easily excitable, and besides, who the fuck would judge them for being happy?

The highlight of Will’s evening, however, was when everybody had left, and it was just him and Nico watching the campfire, still slightly buzzed from seeing the bats. They just sat in silence for a while, enjoying the cooler night’s air, enjoying watching the way the flames danced, the heat keeping them just warm enough to stay outside for a little while longer. It was Nico who spoke first. “So… did you enjoy your birthday?”

“Apart from this morning? Yeah, I did,” Will smiled, looking to Nico. Nico looked nervous, like he was building up the courage to say something. 

“Uh- Will?”

“What’s up,” Will asked carefully, turning in his seat so he could see Nico better.

“I uh- I’m gay,” Nico said quietly, his voice strained as though he’d forced the words out.

“Thanks for trusting me, Nico,” Will said delicately. He reached out to touch Nico’s shoulder, but decided against it- Nico was jittery, and Will didn’t want to startle him. 

“And I think I like you,” Nico blurted out, picking at his shoelaces and bouncing his leg nervously, chewing his lip. Will hadn’t expected that. He took a few seconds to make sure he’d heard correctly- his crush was gay and into him. Nico liked him. Or at least, Will hoped Nico meant he liked Will in that way. What if Nico meant as a friend?

“Nico,” Will began gently, “can you clarify what you mean by that for me, so I can respond appropriately?”

“I mean uh-” Nico cleared his throat and swallowed, and Will chewed the inside of his lip nervously. “I mean I… think you’re cute,” Nico blushed, “as in… I’m attracted to you…”

“Oh,” Will replied, trying to think about how to respond without jumping up and celebrating like an excitable puppy. “I… I like you too!”

“I know,” Nico replied quietly, and Will froze. He hadn’t expected that at all. “I… I know I’m bad at social cues, but… I- I’m good at analysing things, I mean- I play chess and mythomagic, you have to predict the next five moves at least, so- anyway, I… I noticed I make you blush, and you spend a lot of time with me, and I notice you staring at me when you think I can’t see you, and you’re always doing sweet things, so I asked Lou-Ellen, and she gave me a whole speech about how cute we apparently are.”

“Oh wow,” Will replied, taking in the situation. Nico liked him, and he knew Will liked him, which was probably why he told Will he liked him back. Which meant he was either going to ask they stay friends, or ask they date, or ask they part ways. Will hoped it was the second option. He got his answer when Nico moved his hand across the space between them, carefully intertwining their fingers together.

“I want to try to kiss you,” Nico admitted, before turning to face Will, looking at the log beside him, “but I don’t know if I’ll be overwhelmed or not, so I don’t want to get your hopes up,” he continued, “But… I’d like to try to kiss you, if you’d be comfortable with that.”

“I uh- I would,” Will replied, cheeks flamed pink, the tips of his ears red, “are you… are you sure you’re comfortable with this?”

“Yeah,” Nico replied, meeting Will’s eyes briefly, for a few seconds, and Will felt like Nico was looking into his soul, his heart fluttering as his eyes instinctively closing. Nico leaned close, and gently pressed his lips to Will’s. Nico gasped in surprise, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Will’s hair, and Will felt breathless, because Nico was kissing him, and he was kissing back, and nothing had ever felt so real before. Nico pulled away slowly, flushing puce and looking away. “That was… nice,” he admitted, and Will could see the smile tugging at his lips, “Happy Birthday, Will.”

“Wow,” Will laughed happily, “that’s the best birthday present I’ve ever had,” he grinned.

“Goodnight, Will,” Nico said softly, looking into Will’s eyes one more time with a coy smile before dissolving into the shadows. Will gently touched his lips with his fingertips, the cool tingle from where Nico’s had moved against his still there. His birthday had actually turned out okay after all.

@solangeloweek day 5- Birthday (it's a little late at 4:30am but oof)

[unluckyxse7en-moving]

Can I ask a question? I have been wondering stuff about myself and in the panel where it says "before 'me' disappeared." it stuck out to me. I've never had a good grip on who I am and figured I had to build it. Idk hat that is. Nor do I expect you to answer that. My question is, could you explain it more?

Yes, absolutely, you’re totally welcome to ask! and idk how well I can explain it but I’ll do my best based on my current personal understanding and experience! obligatory disclaimer, many systems have unique experiences and it’s not always consistent or cut and dry from system to system, but if something about this does hit home I encourage you to look into researching it more as you feel comfortable! Also a heads up, I’m going to probably overexplain terms and concepts since I’m not sure what you do know, plus if someone else reading this isn’t familiar I figure that may help them too, so bear with me! ^^ (this got incredibly long and incredibly personal, I hope that’s ok! We’ve found hearing about personal experiences from others always helped give us a way to compare our experience better in ways that medical definitions don’t help with, so we got detailed in hopes it’ll be helpful to someone. heads up, there’s some references to feelings of unreality.)

Gonna try to put this under a cut since it got so long, let’s hope tumblr cooperates!

So admittedly, I was intrigued when you sent this line in, because while I’ve reread this comic a couple times before posting it, I didn’t remember writing a line exactly like that. As it turns out, the writing was meant to say “when ‘He’ disappeared” but it’s really oddly unclear whether it’s an H or an M at first glance compared to the rest of the script? If I’m honest I actually prefer your interpretation better, especially because the ambiguity lends more to the comic’s meaning in retrospect. I’m not gonna say something like ‘oh one of my alters must’ve done that on purpose’ because back then our handwriting was just an inconsistent mess in general and the most involvement we could probably credit to the alters was just one person tried to write that H in their handwriting when someone else was supposed to be writing it. But I thought that was an interesting case of serendipity so I couldn’t help pointing it out lmao 

 That said, I think your reading actually makes just as much sense in the context of the comic, and is a phenomenon I think I can readily explain that I have had a little experience with. Currently, my system setup is a little bit like an archeological dig. The alters that have surfaced the most, who have been the ones in charge of actions/words/emotional responses/etc, aka ‘fronted’, are all the ones who have formed in more recent years. The ones from years past are further back, and harder to access because we’ve developed a protective setup where the newer alters act as barricades to keep the older ones from being more exposed to trauma, or anything else they can’t handle. At its core, that’s what the function of a system is - to develop other alters who can handle situations more vulnerable parts can’t - but not all systems are built with an onion-layer setup like mine either, so just keep that in mind.

That said, since I’m built with an onion-layer setup, that means most of my system experience is based upon those older alters being shielded and walled up. When you add enough layers, we can’t dig them out again and for us that’s where most of our ‘disappearance’ comes in that we know of.  There’s another phenomenon that could cause the ‘disappearance’ effect but we’ll touch on that in a moment. In our case, we just eventually feel so distanced from who “I” was supposed to be, whoever that is. Very few of the ones who have been out in recent months are from older times. We’ve had a small handful who are from our high school years (we’re 25 now), and maybe caught a glimpse of alters older than that once or twice. We very rarely remember much of the time from that far back, and what we do remember feels incredibly detached. Almost more like we saw it in a first person pov movie rather than actually been there. We’ve gone through name changes a couple times by now, and I highly suspect that those name changes are further reflective of our archeological layers and who we decided to try to model our collective behavior around, to try to seem like one whole person. 

“Erika” was a girl who behaved one way. “Erin” was someone who behaved another way. and “Cleo” has been our current blueprint for who we’re supposed to be on the outside when being incognito. And what’s interesting is that you mentioned feeling like you had to ‘build’ yourself, because while it’s not so precise or in our control, we’ve approached it much the same way. For each name change it was like different models. out with the old model and in with the new, now introducing Cleo v2.0, with these personality patches and old bugs fixed. Around the time we changed to Erin, we had firmly decided we wanted to put our ‘old self’ behind us and improve ourselves. We had come out of toxic experiences eyes open, and we were terrified of reflecting that internalized toxicity outward. So we took ourselves to the metaphorical workshop, and spent many many years scrutinizing who ‘Erika’ was under a microscope for our faults, our flaws, what made us work that way, so that we could iron out the kinks when introducing ‘Erin’. As we took ‘Erin’ for test runs in college, we would find different flaws and faults that needed fixing, so once we’d accumulated a comprehensive list of those we took Erin in for workshopping and shortly after we dropped out of college, out came Cleo. Our entire life experience from the outside has been a long-running fixer-upper project, and for a while we were proud of ourselves to see the long strides in improvements we’d made upon “myself”, for being so quick to see our flaws and find ways to manage them. 

But what was really happening under the hood was, we weren’t actually changing as an individual, cohesive person.  We were adapting and forming new alters, or at the very least reassigning them based on who handled what better - so if we had become sick of our short temper, we swapped that alter out so that what normally caused them to respond, would instead elicit someone less volatile and slower to anger. If one of us froze up at the sight of blood, they would be swapped out of the front for someone who had no problems with it. This is why we ended up onion-layering ultimately, to lower the risk of the other alters being in front at poorly timed moments.

So tl;dr for us, a lot of our ‘Disappearance’ of our selves was us trading them out or hiding them away, and most likely encouraging a state of alter dormancy - when alters become inactive for long periods of time. (for some of us we describe it like sleeping - I think it tires us out on a physical level if one alter is active too long, it probably works certain parts of the brain more depending on the alter, but that’s all speculation.)

Backtracking a little - there is another experience that would cause a more definite and permanent��‘Disappearance’ effect. We haven’t experienced it since coming out as a system to ourselves. But we’re pretty sure we experienced it once, or twice, way back when. It’s formally known as Fusion. Fusion is what happens when two or more alters end up “physically” (for lack of a better word) merging together. They cannot separate, and they become an entirely different alter. The new alter often has some elements of their components in terms of personality traits and memories, but also isn’t a complete merging of everything. Memories and emotional attachments can often get lost in the process. This is where the other Disappearance can occur.

We know it happened to us at least once. Somewhere around middle or high school, for no apparent reason, we had developed an acute awareness and fear of Amnesia, and the identity death that would inevitably come with it. We were always scared, what if we hit our head and lost our memory? What would we remember, if anything? Would we get it back? Media always dramatizes amnesia, where amnesiac characters have some twinge, some spark, where they get drawn to things super important to them from before the memory loss. Would that happen to us? What if it didn’t? What if we never remembered the things that mattered so dearly to us? Would we even be the same person anymore?

If you compare that to the concept of fusion, it’s almost uncomfortably spot on. But we had no idea about systems or fusion back then. Which can only mean we had experienced a fusion, and somehow that caused a disturbance in the system that led to that latent fear to hang over our heads, along with the constant feelings of unreality and dreaming that followed us all through high school.

But somewhere along the line, just as suddenly as that fear developed, it just. Dissipated. It’s still a terrifying concept for us. But we no longer obsess over it like we did back then. We also suspect that’s probably related to another fusion of sorts. We have no clue who they were, or who they are now though. 

So to tie it all back in, in the comic the ‘Me/He’ disappearing would be parallel to an alter going dormant, or possibly fusing. The characters the protagonist and Tormenter are built around were originally part of a storyline of two separate identities that ended up ‘fusing’ to form a different whole, and while I can’t say the comic is faithful to the scientific or actual experience in a system, since I didn’t know about it at the time, I’m pretty sure it was based on what I had picked up on in my subconscious, so that’s the implications there, inaccurate representation though they may be.  I have heard from a few sources that fusion is often the result of a necessary function, to help protect or help an alter that can no longer function or cope the way they have been by creating a new alter that can cope better, so with this understanding, and the direction of the comic, it makes a sort of sense. 

These are my thoughts in regards to your question about ‘disappearance’ in the context of the comic based on my personal experiences, I hope it helped! Feel free to ask more or send in followup questions or statements, hopefully now that I’ve given a lot of context I won’t be quite so long-winded haha

[ladyoutlier]

A Demon’s Demons

In which Crowley recounts the Fall.

[Read on AO3] | [Chapter 1]

Chapter 2: How to Fall

There is good reason that the majority of religious folk picture Heaven as an airy, cloudy plane with Pearly Gates and sunny 72 degrees Fahrenheit weather. This is because, in the beginning, Heaven was just that. The sleek, angular office building it became only developed as such to match the growth of humanity. Before there were humans, there was nothing except the natural world, and that’s what Heaven mimicked. Or rather, the natural world mimicked it. 

It was in this warm wonderland where only peace existed that a certain redheaded angel found himself wondering quite a bit. Much of which he didn’t keep to himself because there was no reason to, and secrecy was still a foreign concept. So word around Heaven spread about a curious angel that wouldn’t stop asking questions, and not just any questions but prying ones. Questions he very much didn’t need to be asking that involved one very much unheard of word: why.

Such a word implied knowing rather than accepting, and most angels didn’t understand the point of that. In fact, it seemed a rather bad thing to be asking. To demand the inner workings of anything seemed absurd. That was for God to know and share at Her own leisure. To make the effort to find out on one’s own instead of waiting for Her to grant the knowledge—well, some would go as far to say that it was simply unangelic.

However, there was one angel that took particular interest upon hearing these rumors. An angel the red-haired one knew by the name of Lucifer who had been around since before almost everyone else. Although age was little more than an arbitrary system of ranking, an audience with an angel of Lucifer’s caliber was not to be ignored. And plus, the redhead had spoken to him quite a few times before. 

In the times he had talked to him, Lucifer had seemed like less of a stickler for the rules than most other angels which made the red-haired angel rather fond of him. So the angel met with him one day out on the cloud fields far from were the rest liked to congregate. Most of Heaven looked the same despite the odd gazebo here and there, but this spot was so far out that the clouds lacked their puffiness and laid rather flat. Perhaps, it should have been a gloomy day considering, but there were none of those up in Heaven.

The redhead had showed up last to the meeting, having chose to walk to the destination rather than fly. He was not unlike any other angel with his pure white wings that stretched from his back. He easily could have flown like Lucifer had done, but he enjoyed being late to the party.

Lucifer, with a smirk on his face, didn’t seem that bothered by the delay. Perhaps this was because time still had no real purpose even though the Archangels insisted otherwise. Or perhaps, it was just a quirk unique to Lucifer to not seem bothered by such trivialities. Either way, the redhead respected his relaxed reaction.

“Glad you decided to join me,” Lucifer began. “Word on the grapevine is that you’re seeking answers? I can help with that, especially for an angel like you. You’re a real go getter.”

The redhead crossed his arms and flicked his wings about. “So you’re not going to tell me to bugger off like everyone else has done so far?”

“Course not. What’s the harm in a few questions? God made you curious in nature, so how could it be wrong?”

“Pfft, all the others seem to think it is. Say I’m questioning God. Big no no. Personally, I don’t think I’m questioning God at all. Rather just showing an interest in what She’s doing.”

It was never dark in Heaven, but it was also not always bright. Although, the sun in the sky wasn’t the actually sun—that one was still being made—the sun of Heaven still set, only to quickly rise before darkness could take over. Such a sunset was happening now, and the whites of Heaven took a more pink tone.

“Would it really be so bad if you were questioning God? Why does She deserve to be free from judgement?”

“Woah, Lucifer, I wouldn’t go that far. I just want to know why She’s doing what She’s doing.”

“But why would you be interested in that if it wasn’t to form an opinion on the rightness of Her actions?” Lucifer leaned toward the other angel. His wing wrapped around the redhead, subtly pulling him closer.

“W—well, you see, I want to know so I can better help Her be successful in whatever end game She has planned for all this.”

“I don’t think God needs any help with that. Her plan is ineffable. It will come into existence with or without you knowing the details. Based on that previous descriptor, likely without. No, you want answers for other reasons.”

Really, the angel didn’t know why he sought answers. He was just pulled towards them. Had been since day one. He didn’t have any intent behind it at all. Simply, he just wanted to know to know.

“Look, if you’re just going to tell me off for asking like everyone else has, I’ll just be on my way. Have a few more star systems to make.”

The angel made a move to leave, but Lucifer loosely grabbed his wrist, pulling him back.

“I’m asking questions too. In fact, darling, there’s quite a few of us thinking the same things as you. With so many of us, the Almighty will have no choice but to listen.”

“So what, you wanna go in demanding answers?”

“That’s a way of wording it, yes. If we’re successful, we’ll have a lot more than answers.” Lucifer’s grip reached further up the redhead’s arm.

“And what might that be?”

“A voice.”

“Please elaborate.”

“Let’s just say we won’t have the issue of being ignored after that.”

“Uh huh.”

“We’ll get you the answers to your questions. Not a secret will be left in all of God’s creation that you won’t know.” Lucifer’s grip softened as he used his thumb to rub the redhead’s arm in a rather comforting manner. “All I ask is that you stand by my side when we go collecting those answers for you.”

“Course,” the redhead answered without much thought. “Whenever you do that, I’ll be right there. Want to hear the words from the source. Not through a game of telephone.”

“Lovely,” Lucifer replied, releasing the angel and taking flight. “It was a real pleasure talking to you, *******.”

The sunset reached its lowest point. The pinks had become reds. As Lucifer flew off, his wings looked much too dark to be white. If the redheaded angel named ******* took the time to look at his own, he’d notice they didn’t look so bright either. But that had to be just the light. All angels had white wings after all.

In a quick moment, the sun would begin to rise again, climbing from where it had just sank instead of appearing on the other side of the horizon. It would be a new day, but it would be backwards from the day before it, and very different than all the ones before that.

*

At some point in the re-telling, Crowley sprawled himself out on the couch he had been sitting at, and Aziraphale had miracled himself a cup of tea. The tea leaves at the bottom of the cup signified a reading that either his true love was closer than he thought or that a major life hurdle would be overcome by looking inside. Whichever one was accurate didn’t matter. Tea leaf readings were a load of poppycock. If his horoscope had said one of these things, now that would be a different story. 

“So you were one of the first to be smooth talked by the Devil?” Aziraphale asked, setting aside his cup.

“Eh, wouldn’t say that. He had most of his army by that point.”

“But those were angels that agreed with him.”

“And I agreed with what he told me.” Crowley sat up against the arm of the couch.

“Yes, but I can’t help but feel as though your case is different.”

“Because you know me. Because you heard me tell it.”

“No, because you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t have malicious intent whatsoever.”

The demon sneered. “Didn’t you say you were going to be judgement free?”

“I’m hardly judging you. I’m defending you.”

“It’s still a judgement even if you think it’s in the positive direction.”

“Crowley, what you told me hardly seems like an issue to, um, Fall over. You had a conversation with Lucifer where he was being purposefully concealing. Where are you at fault?”

“Look, that’s not all of it. That was just the start of it all. Just allow me a moment to deal with revisiting these blasts to the past before I tell the rest, would ya? It’s… straining.”

“Oh, yes. Quite sorry. I’ll give you a moment.”

“I know you don’t have any age old trauma to dig up, but I’ll tell you, it’s not a fun thing to disturb.” Crowley rubbed his temples with one hand and a bottle of brandy appeared in his other. “Oh, I told you this was going to be a real mess.”

“More for you than me I’m afraid, dear.”

“Yeah, well that’s better than the alternative.” He took a swig from the bottle and offered it to Aziraphale, who took it after a moment of consideration. “You don’t have any reason to deserve to feel like shit.”

“I’m not convinced that there’s a reason that you should deserve to either.”

“Fine. You know what? Fine. Give me that back.” He took the bottle back and downed far more that a few shots worth. “I’ll just tell you now since you’re so impatient.”

“Crowley, I didn’t mean that at all.”

“No. Can’t stand having you not understand. Worse than me just telling it. So I’m just going to do that so you can stop acting like I’m so innocent.”

*

The Civil War of Heaven took place on a day that was shaping up to be just like all the ones before it. Angels went about business as normal, taking records that would eventually evolve into complicated paperwork in the far future. There was talk and laughter and something that would come to be known as peace. It was a word that had never been needed because it was a state that never changed. There was always peace. Existence was peace. There was no need for both terms. But on this day, existence was no longer that, so with the birth of havok also came the birth of peace even though the term would never take precedence in Heaven again.

******* had met with Lucifer earlier that day. When he casually strode into their meeting spot, he had been surprised by quite a few more angels being there than just Lucifer. Quite the gaggle of them were there. Another redhead. One with black hair. One with blonde. And one that was about a foot shorter than the rest of them. That one stood closest to Lucifer.

The air felt strange. There was a tingle to it, and all the other angels seemed to feel it as well. No one seemed capable of standing still. In fact, they all seemed rather eager for something. The calming nature of Heaven had taken a rather electric tone.

“Today’s the day, *******,” Lucifer said as the redhead approached. “Today Heaven takes a turn for the better.”

“It’s just some questions,” the redhead replied. “Don’t know if it’s that big of a deal.”

“Oh, it’s far more than questions. It’s a call for justice. To stand on equal grounds with God. To show we deserve to know as much as Her.”

“That seems a bit more extreme than what we talked about.” ******* took a step back. “I just want to know what the point of those humans She’s making is. Things like that. She just does things and has us do things without a clear purpose. Why am I throwing creation dust into the sky? What’s the point of that?”

“All great things to ask. She keeps us in the dark because She doesn’t think we deserve to know. She is above us, so only She can hold the answers. For Her to share, we’ll have to prove otherwise.”

“Look, I thought this was just going to be a nice little appointment with the Almighty. You’d use the favoritism She has for you to put in some good words for me, and maybe I’d come out a bit more knowledgeable. Really, wasn’t expecting all this.”

“You already gave me your word, *******. Said you’d be by my side through this. We are stronger together. The others can’t quiet all of us. She can’t quiet us.”

“That’s nice and all, but I’m not looking to cause any trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“Stir up anything. Cause drama. That kind of stuff on a small scale, I’m all for. But this looks like something way too serious for me. You lot are not going to be having such a good time by the end of all this.”

“You’re one of us whether you accept that now or later. An angel’s word holds a lot of weight. I imagine you’re no exception to that.” Lucifer stared the redhead in the eyes—eyes that wouldn’t look like that for much longer. “But I understand your concern. Voicing an opposing opinion to what’s accepted is scary. This isn’t some little issue like when Sandalphon accidentally turned the charming little mosquito into a buzzing bloodsucker. This is two sides of a coin. But half of Heaven stands behind me. There’s no need to be afraid. The voice of half of Heaven isn’t something to berate.”

“Berating seems like the least of the worries.”

“Here. How about this? You promised me that you’d be at my side when we went to get you the answers you seek. Do that for me. Join us as we go to confront the others. Once we’re there, you can decide whose side you’ll stand on. That way you stay true to your word.”

******* chewed on his lip, contemplating Lucifer’s suggestion. He had given his word. That much was true. Frankly, he wasn’t that bothered about fulfilling it. He didn’t value that kind of stuff as much as other angels did. He understood that someone could feel like swinging one way, and then the next day, have changed their mind to something else. 

Still, Lucifer was a bad bridge to burn. And if half of Heaven stood behind him, that was half of Heaven that wouldn’t be too fond of ******* if he did back out. And it was just a walk. Lucifer had left him with his choice. If things went south, he could always jump ship.

“Fine,” the redhead replied. “That sounds fair enough.”

The center of Heaven was where everyone liked to congregate. It was a nice spot to meet up with other angels because no matter where anyone was, the hike to the center wasn’t that long of a walk. As such, this is where ******* and Lucifer headed, followed by an army of angels that continued to grow in numbers as they marched.

Word spread fast, and when they reached Heaven’s center, the majority of the other half of Heaven was already there. The events of Heaven tended to be on the rather mild side. Announcements of a new creature coming into existence or of a new continent on Earth finally being finished. Just words. Actions did not happen in Heaven. But then again, this wasn’t a normal day in Heaven.

“What’s going on here?” asked an Archangel whose name the redhead knew this day but would not the next.

“We’ve come to be heard,” Lucifer replied. “We’re tired of living beneath God, and shall no longer do so. She may have spawned all creation, but why must that mean that She is better than all of it?”

The Archangel took a sharp breath and straightened up. “Lucifer, is that what you really think? That God finds Herself superior than us all? All that She does is for Her creations. She lives to serve us as much as we live to serve Her.”

“I see why you would believe that, Archangel. Your position alone puts you closer to Her than any of us. But your words simply aren’t true. She could make us as equals to Her. Grant us the power to do as She does. Share with us the secrets of the universe. And yet, She chooses not to for She believes only She alone deserves the title of God.”

The Archangel turned to the redhead. “You, *******, do you believe this as well? Is this where your questions have led? To you standing here against God?”

The redhead cringed. “Against God is a rather harsh judgement.”

“But one that is completely accurate,” the Archangel continued. He turned back to Lucifer before ******* could further clarify. “I can’t let you continue on. Not with an army of angels that aren’t willing to compromise. Disband them and let us talk. I’m sure you can see the greater good still.”

“No. I believe it is too late for that.”

As the words left Lucifer’s mouth, he produced a dagger from his robe. The blade burned, not with fire that the redhead would later see on a sword in Eden but with fire that was much more angry. He plunged the dagger into the Archangel’s chest, twisting the weapon as it went in.

A horrible gurgle escaped the throat of the Archangel as he fell to the ground. His being quickly dispersed into a million glowing orbs. The Archangel was gone, and a new word had been invented. Murder.

Another word quickly followed that one. Revenge. One half of Heaven leapt upon the other. Angels of both sides pulling their own weapons into existence. They didn’t burn with the flames of Lucifer’s dagger. Where he got such a fire, nobody knew. But every other angel’s weapons glowed with flame nonetheless.

Robes were torn and celestial bodies were injured. Brother and sister were pitted against one another. The shorter angel that had walked with them, leapt at those that were at the Archangel’s side. War was not invented on Earth by humans, but rather up in Heaven by angels. Some took to the skies in airborne combat, swooping down to the fights below to take strikes. Some quickly fell and found the fights of many, trampling them.

The redhead didn’t engage, but rather stood staring at the chaos that had broken out in front of him. Everyone knew everyone in Heaven. There wasn’t a faceless angel in the crowd. Now was the time to pick a side, but the redhead didn’t. Merely he watched it all play out, unable to move one way or the other. How could one choose between two sides of the same family?

The fight raged on, and ******* found himself pushed to the side and down to the ground. In a battle of this caliber, no one had time to consider the angel that wasn’t fighting. Whether there were any other casualties than the Archangel, the redhead didn’t know. The only thing that was clear, was that a great deal of those on the ground right now were in a great deal of pain. The Archangel would have been a much needed help.

A sudden change overtook the battleground. The light grew dim in Heaven although the sun was still high in the sky. God had made Her presence known even though She didn’t take form. All fighting immediately stopped. 

The clouds of Heaven became wispy, becoming little more than water vapor in air, and Lucifer’s army could no longer stand on them. The condemned angels sank through the floor of Heaven while the rest looked on from Above. They were not smug or arrogant in appearance, but rather wore expressions of pity and exhaustion. They hadn’t wanted to fight their brothers and sisters, but it was too late for that now. There was grieving to be had. God had stepped in as referee, and Lucifer’s army was no longer welcome.

******* watched as they slipped away. He had stood—or well laid—in the middle the whole fight, not taking up arms against angel on either side. He could’ve fought if he wanted too, or at least, he wanted to believe that. It was simply that he couldn’t choose whose side to join. He didn’t want to choose a side. He wanted to be on both—to have the best of each side—but now here he was. His inaction had decided for him. He was left in Heaven while Lucifer and his half of angels slipped away to somewhere else. And that wasn’t something he felt all that good about.

That thought only lasted a moment before the redhead found himself sinking in the very cloud he now stood on as well. His eyes grew wide, and he scrambled to pull himself up, but he only grabbed fists of air. 

Why him? He hadn’t done anything? Just let things happen without his input. Had his few talks with Lucifer incriminated him by association? Was it his inborn curiosity? His failure to stand on God’s side? None of that meant he was on Lucifer’s!

Even still, he was asking questions—the very stupid thing that had got him in this situation. He couldn’t just accept God’s punishment. He had to question it too. Maybe that’s the real reason he was here.

This tangled mess of thoughts didn’t last long as the redhead Fell through the clouds and started his saunter downward that really wasn’t a saunter at all but an alarmingly fast tumble with wind cutting his face. The light of Heaven faded above him along with all the warmth it had, replaced by the burning of his wings and the hollowing of his chest. The angel named ******* was dead, and now all that was left was a demon who was equally bad at sticking to one side.

*

“There. Now you get it?” Crowley asked, gesturing in the air. “Hardly all in the right, am I? Just stood there when Lucifer murked an Archangel, and didn’t even fight against him or anyone else when the brawl broke out.”

“I can’t say any of that changes my opinion,” Aziraphale replied.

“And why not? How do you falsely justify that?”

“For starters, dear, I couldn’t bare to pick up arms against any angel during that spat as well.”

“W—wait. You were there?”

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I have been? All of Heaven was there.”

“I, um—I guess I always figured you didn’t exist yet at that point.”

Aziraphale’s face scrunched up, and he fell back against his chair. “Really? Why would you think a thing like that?”

“Well, because I didn’t recognize you in Eden. Don’t think I would’ve ever forgotten a face like yours.” Crowley, realizing what he just said, quickly jumped to the next sentence. “A—and you seemed less than competent with that sword. Swinging it about. And then by the time I got to you, you didn’t even have it anymore. Didn’t seem like a thing an angel that lived through that would’ve done.”

“I suppose that’s a logical deduction to have made,” Aziraphale replied rather mindlessly. He was still more than caught up on the first part of what Crowley said.

A short silence followed, teetering on the side of awkward, before Aziraphale spoke again. “Crowley, do you think this perhaps has nothing to do with God’s forgiveness but rather with your forgiveness for yourself?”

Crowley let out a laugh that sounded a bit too forced. “No. I didn’t make myself Fall, did I? God did that all on Her own.”

“Yes, but even just from the way you’ve been talking about it now, you seem quite guilty about it. And as you described it, you were the last one to Fall.”

“I fail to see how either of those things are relevant to one another.”

“Perhaps, you felt like you deserved to be punished, so God entertained your wish.”

“If that’s the case, that’s a pretty cruel thing to do. Not really a crime fit the punishment type scenario.” Crowley stood up. “Hardly the actions of a God that’s supposed to be all kind and loving. Feel regret? Well, maybe you won’t if every atom of your being is on fire. Can’t feel much other than that at all!”

“This is the same God that instigated the whole Noah’s Ark situation,” Aziraphale replied.

“If I didn’t know any better, angel, I’d say it sounds like you’re talking poorly about the Almighty.”

“I’m allowed my opinions as long I have faith in God’s Plan. I’m merely stating that the stipulations for your Fall might have been different than the others’ amongst Lucifer’s ranks.”

“So what’s that mean then, Aziraphale? How’s that supposed to solve the whole Sin problem?”

“Well, it gives us a goal. You need to move on from that whole ordeal, so it no longer weighs you down.”

“Uh huh.”

“Crowley, please. Don’t shut yourself off to this. Just humor me.”

“Oh, I do find this very humorous.” Despite saying that, Crowley wasn’t laughing at all. “Really didn’t think me telling you that whole story would result in you trying to fix me.”

“I’m not trying to fix you. You’re perfectly fine the way you are.” Aziraphale eyes widened for a moment as those words tumbled out. “I, um, just want to help you be happier. And in doing that, perhaps it solves the Sins problem.”

“This isn’t something I just snap my fingers and get over, y’know,” Crowley replied, trying very hard to not read too much into the first part of what Aziraphale had said. “Spend over six thousand years attempting that, and, well, haven’t made that much progress.”

“The difference is that now you have me helping you.”

“Not to downplay your abilities or anything, but I’m not sure having you on the team changes all that much.”

“It most certainly does. Just in this evening I’ve gotten you to talk all about your, uh, issues and view them through a new light. I will say, I’m not exactly sure how to handle the whole moving on process, but I’m sure if we put our heads together, we could formulate a plan.”

“You brainstorm all you want. I’m going to sleep on it. That is if you don’t plan on leaving this room. Had some of my best ideas sleeping.” Crowley smothered a throw pillow over his face.

“Yes, I suppose it is getting rather late, and considering the more than exciting evening we’ve had, I don’t blame you for being tired. I, on the other hand, much prefer to think in full consciousness although I will remain in here.”

“Lovely.” The reply came out quite muffled from beneath the pillow. “‘G’night, angel.”

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

The lamp on Aziraphale’s desk dimmed to the brightness of a nightlight. Still, Crowley rolled towards the back of the couch away from it. A few long moments passed before Aziraphale caught himself staring at the sleeping demon. He had found himself thinking his own questions, and not all of them related to solving the Sins dilemma. 

The angel turned towards the contents on his desk. It’s not like anything there would aid him. He greatly doubted his books on philosophy and human history would hold the key to demonic therapy. This problem was going to require some good old fashioned brainpower. But at least when turned to his desk, he could focus on the task at hand. 

He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Although it made the softest of taps in the otherwise silent room, Crowley didn’t seem all that bothered by it. In fact, if he wasn’t curled into the back of the couch, the faintest of smiles may have been visible on his face.

As the evening grew to an end in this Soho bookshop, something much more horrific was occurring elsewhere. In a hallway in the depths of Hell in the room belonging to a certain exiled demon, the wall linking it to an adjacent room burst open. As bricks hit the floor and dust filled the air, the dark spirits of the cell next door flooded into the abandoned room.

Sins may have been wild and chaotic, but they also knew how to critically think. The door from which Crowley’s Sins had been released had remained open as Beezlebub and Dagon returned to the levels of Hell above. In was a small act neither of them had thought much of. But to the Sins that had been desperate to escape since before the dawn of humanity, it was quite the opportunity. 

A door boarded up with a hundred planks and a thousand locks might have been enough to contain them, but a thin wall connecting their cells was not. So the Sins of many other demons began to pour out of the room Beezlebub and Dagon had opened, and set to work on freeing those still barred on the other side of the hallway. Pandora’s box had been opened, and now, more demons than just Crowley were going to pay for it.

[Chapter 3]

[ourceliumnetwork]

Been a while since I went on and on about my family.

Probably because shit’s been kinda crazy in my life and frankly there’ve been other things to consider.

I have very, very complex feelings about my family.

I love them, dearly, with all my heart. They claim to do the same to me, and sometimes they do things that prove it. Sometimes they say things that make me think if I ever were to open up completely to them I would no longer be loved. They have helped me and protected me during rough times in my life and I will be forever grateful to them. They have also caused me harm and trauma and seeded deep seated anxieties and complexes that will cause me distress for some time yet as I work my way through all of it. They are also, undeniably human, and for that I cannot find it in me to dislike them for their faults. Much.

Because of the trauma and hurt I’ve been through - whether sourced from them or not - it is incredibly easy for manipulative people to latch onto my insecurities and my anger and turn that into something they can use to isolate me from the people I am closest to both genetically and emotionally, thus making it easier to hurt me differently, more.

This has happened at least twice that I’m aware of. Once with a former best friend who I don’t know intended to be as manipulative and abusive as she is/was but intent doesn’t really matter I suppose. The second time was with my ex-partner I left this past April. 

To my eyes it always appeared that my younger sister was the favorite of my parents, and to my sister I appeared the favorite, so we were essentially pitted against one another in a competition we never signed up for - and I believe this was done completely unintentionally. The constant struggle to be “good enough” for our parents’ approval placed us in the unfortunate position of being 2 hormonal teenagers within 3 years of age difference stuck in the same house 24/7. We were constantly fighting - screaming matches designed to hurt. Wild swings meant to intimidate but not connect because if I connected there’d be hell to pay. (I connected a punch at least once, and that’s just the one I remember because it was relatively traumatizing not only to her but to myself because I never actually wanted to hit her). She and I have mostly gotten through the misunderstanding of our motivations from that time period. She struggled because I was the “good kid” who never did anything wrong - even though she knew better. And she was talented and beautiful and got compliments on everything - even though I saw her handheld through some of the things I was forced to do on my own. It was very fraught, and honestly there were things that should have been done better but none of us knew what we were doing.

My parents meant well with everything. They tried not to play favorites but they were both older children determined not to let their oldest child feel like they had - and in doing so had caused their youngest to feel ostracized and like she would never be enough because I had the benefit of the doubt on my side. Confirmation bias - the oldest kid wasn’t in the wrong all the time, which meant I was never in the wrong because they hadn’t been in the wrong all the time (they thought). This was the wrong way to handle it but I don’t think I would have done any better.

They took us out of Public Schooling to homeschool when I was 12 and my sister was 9. They meant to make sure that we were getting the attention we needed in order to succeed. I’d been in the gifted program and was still bored, and my sister was being sidelined because she was placed in That classroom of her peers - the one filled with all the kids who were constantly in trouble, and with the teacher who probably didn’t need to be a teacher anymore. So they thought they would do a better job. My dad worked full time initially so he was gone a lot. My mom tried to teach but she is not a teacher. She is an excellent scholar and does very well with knowing things. If you know things on the same level she does? Great to talk to and debate with. If you’re not there yet? Forget it, you’re going to have to find someone else to teach you. My sister required a lot more attention as she was the squeaky wheel - she wouldn’t read because she finds it incredibly difficult (I’m pretty sure we’ve got some level of dyslexia, and hers is worse than mine). She was very good at math though, which my mother loved because my mother loves math. She picked my mom’s favorite foreign language to learn because it was relevant to her own interests and my mom latched on. 

I could read 5 books in a week, write pages and pages of stories, and would research like no one’s business. But I could not figure out math, I wouldn’t put the research into a paper, my stories were not for parental consumption, and I didn’t want to read the books I was supposed to be reading (they were incredibly boring, I stand by my decisions). But none of this interested my mother except in telling me how I was failing, so I was left to my own devices, sitting alone in my bedroom surrounded by my schoolbooks and doing nothing I was supposed to. It was a very artistically productive time in my life. When I got a laptop later in my teens, forget school work at all, nothing got done. I technically did not graduate high school and I only “passed” the assessment tests because I test incredibly well.

So I was alone for a very long time during the day until “my” parent got home from work. Cause I was Dad’s kid and my sister was my mom’s kid, as described above. But I couldn’t get into computers and programming the way my dad wanted me to - my sister was actually into more of the same interests as him, but they Do Not get along. Yes present tense. They do well in short periods of time but they are not ever going to be close-close. My mom and I are cut from the same nerd cloth and I thought at one point I’d maybe found a way into her heart by starting her going to a local comic convention with me. We did an annual day out just the two of us for a good couple years. I think I learned something the one time she tried to bring my dad and sister with us (neither of whom was in any way shape or form excited about the endeavor, and in fact both hated it immensely). We stopped going as regularly after that and haven’t been back since. That...that one still hurts so I’m going to try not to pick open that scab right now.

I spent a lot of time alone. I was trying to figure myself out. I was about 16 when I realized I was not a Girl. I’m actually still fairly certain my initial assessment is correct and actually I am a guy. I just...can’t do anything about it right now and honestly I’ve gotten used to existing as I am so I’m just going to keep on keeping on. It might change again, it’s been known to do that. I don’t know if it’s a natural thing for me or if it’s something that is induced by outside stressors but I’ll just continue existing and we’ll see how it goes.

My mental illnesses were ignored for the most part. Teenage Angst was what my depression was, I’d grow out of it. Normal was what my anxiety was determined to be (hmm, my Super Anxious mother saying my anxiety is just normal life? sounds fake but okay). ADHD? That’s something that kids with less attentive parents have, and since mine were super attentive - I was being homeschooled after all - I clearly could not have that. Plus it was fake, and if I wasn’t so lazy and unmotivated I wouldn’t have a problem. Also I didn’t know anything about ADHD so that was definitely not something I had. The fact that I definitely wanted to kill myself and frequently wanted to die and didn’t think I’d live past 18? I didn’t talk about that. No one knew because depression wasn’t real and if I said anything I was just “crying out for help” and clearly that was only what whiny brats did when they felt the world wasn’t being handed to them on a silver platter. 

I self-harmed intentionally for the first time at 14. I have done so infrequently since then. When I reached drinking age, I developed a mild problem - but I didn’t think anything of it because it was encouraged and supported by my family who didn’t know I was using it to cope with the fact that I still felt like dying but now was older than I ever thought I’d be and didn’t know where my life was going. I used pot as a way to escape with my first IRL friend in 7 years. She used it against me as a way to make me easier to manipulate and keep complacent. I let her.

I spent 4 years in a weird haze of things I don’t really remember very well or remember extremely clearly. I was constantly anxious and upset, and I still felt like dying but at least I wasn’t alone anymore. She constantly berated my sister (which I hated and promised never to let anyone else do ever again - which I then broke later but, well, I’m going to be better now). My family didn’t like her, which she used to pit me against them saying they only wanted to isolate me from others again. This is the same time I came to Tumblr and started learning about abuse cycles and signs. It took me a while to stop only attributing them to the way my family worked (not always abusive) and start comparing the lists to her behavior towards me (usually abusive). 

I finally realized something was wrong with all of it when I was introduced to a group of people in whom I found several new family members. If you’re reading this, you’re statistically one of those people so you already know what I’m talking about. This ex-friend of mine introduced me to the group and I was shocked at how people could positively support one another and be genuinely interested in my health and wellbeing and also the things I enjoyed all at the same time.

I met a guy through them and with his support and everyone else’s I left the manipulation and abusive behavior of this ex-friend behind. The relationship with the guy lasted 6 months and honestly I’m impressed we got that far now that I think back on it (note to self, if he’s named himself after war machinery it probably won’t work very long). It was the longest I’d ever been out with anyone, my previous record being 2 weeks. 2 months after the end of that relationship and I met my now ex-partner.

I won’t rehash that disaster. It was 4.5 years of slow build up to the shitshow that actually started in December of last year and culminated in April of this year. He used the same tactics against me as my ex-friend did. Slowly pull me away from my support system (who I was already farther away from than I’d been with Her). Remind me that they’d hurt me and that their attempts to hold on to me were to keep me away from others. Hide that he was trying to do the same himself, isolate me from my support system and give me a support system that already backed him up and would side with him no matter what. Use physical intimidation (whether intentional or not he did it, and it was new so I wasn’t prepared) to remind me that I was not in any position of power. Berate my sister, avoid my family, use their attempts to show me that he was in the wrong to prove they were in the wrong.

I swear to god the very next time someone else calls my sister a bitch I am throwing hands and getting the fuck out immediately because I Will Not.

It’s happened twice now and I’ve let it happen both times. It’s not fair to her and honestly it’s not even true. She’s...difficult to deal with, and sometimes she does things in a manner that doesn’t...make much sense to me but she’s not a bitch. She’s a woman who is extremely opinionated and has very strong views on How Things Should Be. She’s not bigoted or hateful which frankly is a surprise considering our upbringing. But she’s not a bitch.

Speaking of our upbringing, I guess I should mention I was raised in a politically conservative, right-wing household. There are certain radio talk-show hosts whose introduction jingles make me think of summertime and relaxation because that’s when I’d be listening to them the most thanks to my mom always having them on the radio during their broadcast times. The Liberals (tm) were Bad and the Republicans were the only hope our country had. The Gays were an evil to be endured but god forbid they get any rights or freedoms, and also women are completely equal to men and racism was abolished before my dad was born so it’s fine now. 

We weren’t super Christian - not until later anyway. We went to church on Sundays, and even then Dad took several years off where he just never went to a service. We listened to Punk music and pretended we were on the right side of things, and sometimes we listened to heavier stuff because Satan was bad but not that bad and also probably not real because Christianity isn’t a big deal it’s just important because Reasons (tm). We only prayed before big holiday meals and even then it was more lip service than anything. A tradition of Things You Do. I had friends who were way more performatively Christian than my family and I didn’t really think anything of it.

Of course now my dad’s part of one of those neo-baptists mini-megachurch cults (my bad, I did introduce him to it after I spent a summer in Louisiana) and he’s become weirdly open to things like Neurodivergence and Mental Illness but has regressed on the trans* and gay issues to, like, all the way back: “He’s just confused why does any guy want to wear a dress” and “she’s got a wife and I guess that’s fine because she’s an alright person but gay people shouldn’t get married or exist”. I vaguely know their stance on reproductive rights because we never actually discussed sex despite my dad and I communicating frequently in bawdy jokes and quotes from movies I shouldn’t have seen as young as I was when I saw them, but I told them at one point I was on birth control and I think my mom had a mini aneurism because she just kind of froze for a minute. It’s definitely not a favorable view but I mean...I can’t convince them to care about people who aren’t them and who experience the world differently from them so I mean

Mm and they’ve recently become gun owners which was a surprise. We never owned a gun, we never really talked about guns or gun ownership except as a political thing. Dad kinda mentioned it a little bit sometimes? that he’d one day like a gun but it was always a distant future sort of thing. And now they both have concealed carry licenses, my mom has a purse with a hidden compartment and a lock, they go out to the shooting range for dates together, and my dad went on his first deer hunt this year for a work retreat thing (?????? don’t ask me, I honestly don’t know or understand why that was a thing). 

I held a gun one time and it was horrible and I hated it. It wasn’t loaded or anything but it was heavy as fuck and I was so uncomfortable I immediately handed it back as soon as its owner was done with whatever he was trying to prove to me (it was first boyfriend war machinery name guy...again, every time i look back at that relationship I still don’t know how we managed to keep our shit together for 6 whole months. it was not my best decision but considering the other decisions i’ve made regarding relationships, I suppose it could have been worse). 

Anyway, I forget where I was supposed to be going with all of this. I think I was just explaining that my feelings about my family are complicated and uncomfortable? And I think the main thing I got out of this (which is a good thing, don’t worry) is that I am not going to let anyone else in my life determine my relationship with my parents and my sister ever again and anyone who tries to manipulate that (even with good intentions, it’s still none of their business) is a bad fit for me and needs to go.

Oh yeah, I guess this is also me coming out to y’all who are reading this: I think I’m a guy. I’ll let you know if my pronouns or anything change but right now I’m pretty much still coming to terms with the gender bit. It’s been a while since I properly explored my gender shit so we’ll see how it goes.

[northshorehealthandfitness]

[caption id="attachment_36456" align="alignnone" width="620"]Photo: Pond5[/caption] This guest post comes from Daily Burn 365 trainer, running coach and three-time marathoner Cheri Paige Fogleman, NASM CPT (pre- and post-natal certified). The opinions expressed below are her own, and should not replace medical advice. After giving birth, it’s recommended to get medical clearance before beginning any exercise/training program. In so many ways training for a marathon is like being pregnant. Your sleep suffers, and yet all you want is more time in bed. Your thirst is off the charts, despite drinking water non-stop. You try to eat more (because you need more calories), but your belly just can’t handle it. You’d really like a glass of wine, but you know you shouldn’t. Your every movement is also an attempt to protect your body from injury. You prepare for months for something that scares the crap out of you, and while you just want it to over with already, you are also still so terrified (so really, let’s not rush things). Your body is totally uncomfortable and achy and you hurt in weird places, but you know that it’ll all be worth it, and you’ll be filled with joy once the big day comes. So, why once you’ve had a baby would you want to run a marathon? Well, on Sunday, November 5, there I was — jammed into the corral at the start of the 2017 TCS New York City Marathon. Would my race be perfect? No. Would it hurt like heck at times? Probably. But, like most big and scary life events, I had a sneaking suspicion it would all be worth it in the end. And seeing my little girl at mile 25 reassured me of that. Here are a few things I learned along my post-baby journey to 26.2, which might help other new moms, too. RELATED: 17 Tips from Real Moms on Finding Time for Exercise

9 Things No One Tells You About Running a Marathon Post-Baby

[caption id="attachment_63206" align="alignnone" width="620"] Photo by Catherine Martin[/caption]

1. Take advantage of your superhuman body.

The first thing my OB said to me at my first visit: keep running throughout your pregnancy. Postpartum, you’ll be able to get back to running quicker and you’ll still be able to take advantage of all the cardiovascular changes that happen to a pregnant body. These changes include increased cardiac output (up to 50 percent more than pre-pregnancy), increased blood volume (also as much as 50 percent more than pre-pregnancy), and an expanded ribcage (which offers more volume of air in one breath). Basically, during pregnancy, oxygen circulates through the body more efficiently, and with increased efficiency, the body can perform better — and with greater ease. And, because a woman’s body doesn’t just snap back after delivery, it can take a year for the postpartum body to operate “normally” again (depending on breastfeeding). But that means we can take advantage of that so-called superhuman body for a while. My OB’s advice: Plan to qualify for Boston just shy of a year, postpartum. It’s nice when you can get a running coach and an OB all in one, yes? RELATED: The 30 Best Marathons in the Entire World

2. Anticipate a drop in breast milk production.

Possibly because of dehydration, maybe because of physical stress, I found that my breast milk production tapered dramatically once my training picked up. If you are exclusively breast feeding and are less than six months postpartum, a few things can help. Oatmeal, for instance, is high in iron, which is believed to promote milk production. Some experts also suggest performing a series of power pumping sessions (as in milk pumping, not pumping iron). This method encourages over-production going into your training so you’ll have extra in the freezer in case you’re coming up short and the little one is hungry. For me, consuming more gels and drinking more electrolytes (e.g. Gatorade and coconut water) while training also helped keep my production from dwindling.

3. Give your feet special attention.

Because it can take about a year for hormone levels to return to normal after giving birth, be cautious of over-stretching and putting excess strain on your feet. The hormone relaxin is present in the body during pregnancy to allow tendons and ligaments to loosen and the skeleton to make space for the baby. If your feet grew during pregnancy, that same hormone can now cause your feet to shift even more. Avoid minimal shoes (unless you’ve been wearing them all along). And don’t skimp on calcium, which has been shown to help protect not just the bones in your feet, but your entire skeleton. Plus, it fuels your body’s energy production — so make sure you fill up on sources like milk, yogurt, spinach and kale. A postpartum body (and a breastfeeding body) is often calcium-deficient due to “mining” calcium from the mother’s bones to provide for the growing baby. RELATED: 9 Things I Wish I Knew Before I Started Running

4. Heed the advice about changing up how you hold the little one.

I was told to switch up which hip I hold my daughter on by more than one person. And I’m a trainer, so I should know better, right? (I have even given that same advice to clients for years!) And yet, when life happens, I have been 100 percent guilty of slinging her on my left hip while scurrying around the kitchen slinging eggs and coffee and oatmeal. It wasn’t until my 15-mile training run that my back started to feel a little twinge…and then my hip and then my hamstring and then my calf. A few weeks later, after an 18-mile long run, I couldn’t walk. A trip to my PT revealed that (due to holding my daughter only on my left hip) my right lower back and the muscles that run up the right side of my spine had all called it quits. That lead to a chain reaction of pain and suffering down my left hip and leg. Which brings me to…

5. Whatever amount of core training you’d normally do, multiply that by four.

During pregnancy, abs have a tendency to stretch or even separate (aka diastasis recti), and if you had a caesarian, the trauma can be worse. This has an effect on not just your ab strength, but also your back stability and the integrity of your entire kinetic chain. As a pre- and post-natal certified trainer, I recommend planks, side planks, bird-dogs, bridges and supermans. And if you can, make an appointment with an MAT (Muscle Activation Technique) therapist. A MAT therapist can determine where muscle weakness might be causing problems. Next, he or she will work to bring that strength back by palpating muscles, then prescribing specific isometric exercises to continue on your own. It’s been a game-changer for me. RELATED: 6 Core Exercises for New Moms with Diastasis Recti

6. Make it worth it.

In my before-child days, I never realized I was taking for granted the freedom to run at any time and for any distance. But now I know. The acrobatics of juggling childcare for training has meant driving 45 minutes to my brother’s house to drop off my daughter, squeezing my long run into two hours, and then rushing back home for her nap time. It’s meant waking up in the pre-sunrise hours to run and get home before she wakes. I joined a gym specifically because it has childcare. And, I went out and bought a jogging stroller. While there is a certain amount of peace and quiet that I’ve thoroughly enjoyed while running, the extreme inconvenience of every single run is unavoidable. Whereas my biggest decisions were once which leggings to wear, or which route to take, now it’s: where my daughter will be, if she’ll need food or milk, and when she'll take her next nap. Because my better half, my brother and sister-in-law, my friends, my wallet and even my daughter have all made sacrifices for the sake of my training, my performance on November 5 was more important than ever. It took a village to get me to the starting line. For their sake, I could not let the village’s efforts be in vain. RELATED: How to Run (And Watch!) the NYC Marathon Like a Pro [caption id="attachment_63205" align="alignnone" width="620"] Photo by Janice Lancaster[/caption]

7. You're stronger as a mom.

There’s no way around it: Hitting the wall sucks. But the sudden fatigue caused by depletion of glycogen stores is something all endurance athletes have to learn to push through. As a running coach, one of the ways that I familiarize clients with that “wall” feeling is through repeat speedwork. (Think: repeat 400s, 800s and miles.) It’s brutal, and it perfectly recreates that hopelessness and defeat as your legs feel like they are going to fall off or melt and you crumble into a pathetic heap on the ground. The “good” news? I now know that the first three months of my child’s life was just hitting the metaphorical and literal wall over and over and over again. I went weeks on mere hours of sleep and then managed to not wake her as I cradled her, stood up from seated on the floor, tripped over the cat (and a pacifier), and finally lowered her into the bassinet. That is pushing through the wall! I now know that motherhood makes you an expert on perseverance. All of my training on the road and the treadmill prepared me for the marathon, but it was my training as a mom that prepared me to win it.

8. Your little one will help you recover faster.

Don’t worry for a second about how you will run 26.2 miles and then be able to squat down to tie your baby’s shoes. You already do daily functional training in the form of squatting, bending, twisting and lifting with your little one. So, as you add on miles, you will naturally continue your feats of strength and acrobatics. In fact, in my before-child days — when I’d allow myself to lounge around after a long run with my feet up — recovery actually took a bit longer. But, because blood flow (from movement) encourages recovery, and a toddler doesn’t allow days off from chases through the apartment, my muscles were surprisingly chipper the day after long runs. They even felt pretty great the day after the marathon! RELATED: 5 Scientifically Proven Ways to Reduce Muscle Soreness

9. It’s no longer about you.

One of the overwhelming takeaways of running the NYC Marathon is how spectacularly the spectators cheered. Their emotional shouts of encouragement contained something more than inspiration. I felt a very strong sense of appreciation that I was achieving this marathon goal for them — on their behalf. While that’s a humbling duty I’m honored to carry out, I’ve begun to think more about how my every action impacts my child. It’s cliché, but true: Having a daughter has made me want to be a better version of myself. And more than ever, I’m aware of how I can lead by example. I want my little girl to see that setting your sights on a goal and working to achieve it are key to excelling in life. And, for me, running 26.2 miles through the five boroughs of New York City was achieving a goal on my daughter’s behalf. It was my way of showing her that she has the necessary stuff in her genes to power through the seemingly impossible. That she can achieve things beyond her wildest dreams. Read More Why I Started Running — And Never Stopped How 10 Runners Beat Their Marathon Personal Best 5 Yin Yoga Poses Every Runner Should Do

The post 9 Things No One Tells You About Running a Marathon Post-Baby appeared first on Life by Daily Burn.

via Fitness – Life by Daily Burn

[johnmauldin]

These 3 Events Will Create a Perfect Storm for Europe in Early 2019

Last week my British friend Jim Mellon sent me a fascinating article with an alarming title: “News from Euroland—Recession Imminent.”

Now, I am not one who falls prey to click-bait headlines (nor is Jim). And I’m also well aware that Europe’s economy is weakening. I would not have said recession was imminent but reading this article left me more than a little concerned.

The author, economist Victor Hill, ties events together in ways many haven’t considered.

Hill begins the piece this way.

Across Europe, and particularly in the 18-member Eurozone, the economic news is sobering. It’s now clear that the credit crunch in emerging markets which has played out over most of this year, plus the slowdown in China, are having negative consequences in Europe. Yet, despite the ongoing trauma of Brexit, the UK is cruising along relatively smoothly—for now.

A number of critical events are about to coincide…

Let’s look at them…            

Monetary Drug Withdrawal

The first such event is the impending end of the European Central Bank’s quantitative easing “Asset Purchasing Programme.” The ECB has been buying bonds, stocks, and anything else that isn’t nailed down wholesale. Asset prices, in turn, have gone up.

Mario Draghi and his crew borrowed our Federal Reserve’s plan and made it even crazier. You can see in the chart they have been stepping down purchases. The pace should reach zero in early 2019.

Source: European Central Bank

This means the Eurozone will soon lose a monetary drug on which it has grown highly dependent.

But those 18 nations will not be the only ones affected. The larger EU needs a thriving core to stimulate growth for the whole continent.

Hard Brexit, Which Is Very Real

Hill’s second “critical event” is Brexit.

As of now its prospects look dim, at least without changes that the EU side says it won’t accept. That may not be true. As we have learned, European officials are masters at vowing inflexibility and then bending when forced.

Regardless, it is highly uncertain what happens next.

The UK gave formal notice it would leave the EU on March 29, 2019, whether terms of separation are reached by then or not. A “hard Brexit” would be chaotic, to say the least, as it would leave businesses trying to operate in a legal vacuum.

World Trade Organization rules might serve as a backstop in some matters but the massive trade volume between the UK and EU would certainly slow. Can they walk that notice back? Fudge a little bit on the date? This is the EU. They can do anything they bloody well like. Damn the rules and full speed ahead…

On the other hand, remaining in the EU would enrage the millions who voted to leave and probably bring down the May government. Where it would go from there is anyone’s guess.

It is hard to even imagine “democratic socialist” Jeremy Corbin as Prime Minister. So both economies are probably in for a shock unless some miracle produces orderly separation terms in the next three months, which seems unlikely.

Culture War

The third critical event, says Hill, is the growing Italian crisis.

Now banks in Italy are having trouble refinancing their bond issues. That is forcing them to curtail lending to an already-weak private sector. Rising mortgage rates are cutting into consumer spending.

Italy is arguably already in recession but the situation looks likely to get worse. And that is a big problem for its creditors, mainly Germany.

But Hill notes, I think correctly, that the Italian crisis is no longer just economic, if it ever “just” was. It is a culture war that is pitting anti-immigration populist movements against “elites” they believe are hostile to their interests.

As happened elsewhere, unemployed and working-class people are losing faith in the system. We’ve seen this most recently in the violent gas-tax protests in France.

This protest movement has an altogether different feel when you pay close attention. It is not just about higher fuel taxes. It is about almost half the country being angry at the educated, city-dwelling elite—all while the brunt of increased taxes falls on an increasingly burdened rural middle class.

The French government now consumes 46.2% of GDP. It’s now the most-taxed OECD nation.

Source: Mish Shedlock

Even a slight tax increase affects the working class disproportionately. And when it increases taxes on something like diesel fuel, which is critical in rural areas, it is particularly hard.

Breaking Point Is Near

In Europe and around the world, we see this pushback against what is seen as an elite group at the top (the “Protected”). They pay no attention to the problems of the less successful “Unprotected” class. And this class is demanding attention.

This “morality play” is spreading through Europe. We now see German political patriarch Wolfgang Schauble backing a candidate to replace Merkel as head of the CDU (Christian Democratic Union).

He is openly courting the same voters that have left their party and gone to the anti-immigration and populist Alternative for Germany (AfD). That means a conservative push for Germany and a more populist approach for mainstream parties.

The common thread running through these events is the idea of a united Europe. This idea was a driving force in the foundation of the European Union. It’s also common in the establishment and/or “elite.”

Up until a few years ago, the idea was popular across the political spectrum but support has weakened as economic times changed. It was never particularly feasible, but the effort made sense for a continent so damaged by centuries of repeated wars.

The problem is that the EU can’t achieve its goals unless it gets stronger, and much of the public has had its fill of centralization. I don’t know how they can solve this. Brexit, if it happens, may turn out to have been the test case for a full dissolution.

How that will unfold is hard to predict. For now, there are more immediate problems. Victor Hill thinks “a disorderly Brexit will be the spark that sets the Eurozone tinderbox aflame in the first half of 2019.”

The tinderbox is already full in Italy and France. It won’t take much heat for that kettle to boil over.

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