#which is partly why i think all the issues surrounding it are so frustrating to everyone. like we all want to be excited about it!

[decepti-thots]

Ask meme: Rodimus (idw)

one aspect about them i love: Rodimus has this really fascinating combo of being extremely unselfaware in the moment and then excruciatingly self aware after the fact that you can dig into a lot if you feel like it. That really horrible sense of 'I know I keep fucking it up but I can't actually manage to STOP it' which I think explains a lot about him. There's an idea of like, just knowing about the problem isn't enough to fix it. The trap of self awareness is that you can get stuck in a position where you see the problem and how it IS a problem, but you mistake that for actually making progress on it, which I think is where Rodimus is at when we start MTMTE, and it's… a very frustrating place to be in. And because he's surrounded by people firmly in the 'that's just how he is and we Manage him' mindset, he has very little obvious motivation to try and approach it from any other mindset. Yes all this is a GOOD thing, I love him.

one aspect i wish more people understood about them: Rodimus is not just accidentally callous, though he can be. He is absolutely inclined to genuine pettiness and even cruelty. Any version of Rodimus which assumes he is only ever accidentally cruel is, to me, an incomplete one. He's a very compassionate person deep down, but that's just why that inclination towards pettiness bothers him. I think it's really important that this be something he has to work against- because when he does work against it, that means something.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character: Rodimus partly has so much antagonism towards Whirl because Whirl is terribly good at seeing through Rodimus' bullshit and when he wants he can cut Rodimus down with absolute precision. We actually see Whirl be quite astute about Rodimus a couple of times in canon and it just seems like he'd be very willing to deploy a frustratingly on-point observation of Rodimus' worst issues when it pleased him. Usually even when people do call Rodimus out, they don't do it correctly, they see an issue but not the correct origin point under all his posturing- but Whirl does, and Rodimus deeply resents him for it. For this exact reason, they would be shockingly good friends under other circumstances, in their own way.

one character i love seeing them interact with: Magnus! I fucking love their s1 interactions. I love that there's a sense of them having known each other before and how even though they're so antagonistic, they still demonstrate a sort of frustrated familiarity with each other. Rodimus always feels like he's the only one on board with the context to know Mags is acting out of character during the early issues, and Magnus is one of the only people in the comic to ever seem like he expects more of Rodimus sometimes. Their interaction at the start of 'The Sound of Breaking Glass' is one of my favourite in the whole series, when they discuss Rodimus wanting to change, and how Magnus thinks maybe it's a good thing Tyrest's portal broke. Or the bit after Overlord, where Rodimus talks about why he was ignoring Magnus' memos, and we see Magnus had tried to get Rodimus' help with his breakdown. They're almost... resigned to being a little more honest with each other? I love them.

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more: Rung. I love the bit we get in the aforementioned post-Overlord scene, where Rung reads Rodimus bang to rights and at first Rodimus gets angry, but later is like. Yeah, you were right actually. I appreciate the honesty. Come help me out on Luna-1? Like, it's such a telling scene. Rung understands Rodimus in some ways and completely doesn't in others, because he knows what Rodimus' real problems are but he doesn't understand Rodimus needs something other than gentle sympathy. And then I think Rodimus has the potential to be... surprisingly insightful about Rung's own issues, his loneliness. I can imagine him seeing through Rung's impartial front quite shrewdly. It would be an interesting dynamic.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character: Rodimus is the only other person on the ship except Tailgate who is interested in Cyclonus' old Cybertronian songs and such. Because, well, he's interested in the "golden age", he wants to hear about a time before Cybertron was as he remembers it, i.e. on its way to being fucked. And Cyclonus remembers that time in a way that makes it sound better, the actual truth aside. He's very embarrassed about this fact and tries to cover it up under a layer of irony or whatever but he sometimes sidles up to Cyclonus at the bar after a couple drinks and. Prompts him. To talk about stuff. And just sort of tries to look bored even as he's listening. Cyclonus will ramble on without the need for much encouragement after he's had a few, it turns out.

[omnipah]

re: your tag - tell me more about why D&D is a bad ttrpg! I get so frustrated with people trying to mod D&D for different settings & campaigns when there are so many other systems out there that might do exactly what they're looking for and better!

Okay so first of all, disclaimer needed: I’ve only played dnd before, all my experience of other systems is from actual play (please I’m begging u to listen to Friends At The Table), but even that level of exposure is enough to see how dnd is, uh, Very deeply flawed and only gets by on the fact that people don’t know that better stuff exists (or, they do but they don’t wanna try it on principle, I guess).

My main thing is, and this is a matter of both the mechanics and the culture surrounding the game, that dnd is very bad at doing what a ttrpg sets out to do. Which is, a ttrpg is supposed to be a way of generating story in a way that’s spontaneous and collaborative, and of course there are a lot of ways to do that, but everything about dnd is designed to resist that drive. The amount of power the dm holds (both socially and mechanically) automatically sets them against the character players, and creates a space where the other players are encouraged to be completely passive and allow the dm to essentially have final say on what does and doesn’t go. Obviously this is partly an issue of who you’re playing with and whether they know how to be respectful, but the game leans into it by encouraging the dm to do all worldbuilding work themself and often hold secrets about it, and also through the way the dc of a roll is always the dm’s discretion. It doesn’t matter how well you rolled, at the end of the day, they can just say you failed, and if they’re smart they’ll just never tell u that they changed the dc behind ur back, but they’re perfectly capable within the rules and culture of the game to just change it based on what they like. This, needless to say, does not exactly cultivate good faith.

This is what I was saying in my tags: the issue of character players being passive and expecting to have a story told at them is a real problem, yes, and those players should engage and take responsibility for their part in generating plot and characterisation, but it’s an artefact of an extant (and now cyclic) problem, wherein the players with different roles aren’t encouraged to communicate or work together.

Like, one of the other things that feels really overlooked in dnd circles is the idea of consent and negotiation, the idea that the players should be able to, at any point, say to each other that they don’t want to touch a topic, or that they’re uncomfortable with where the story is going; a lot of people seem to implicitly think that it’s just not a big enough deal to actually talk about those things, or, at best, they assume you’ll say something without encouraging you to. There’s this assumption that if you don’t like something it’s your problem, rather than a collaborative effort to create a space in which everyone feels secure, and trusts the other people at the table enough to speak up without fear of getting dismissed.

That also leads into the issue of excessively built-out combat mechanics, with disproportionately little by way of anything else. It’s never encouraged by the rules to set boundaries for what kinds of violence you’re willing to see or commit in-game, or discuss the implications of depicting those things; and it’s assumed that combat is the main thing you’re there for. Combining that with the shocking level of bioessentialism in the lorebooks (whether overt fantasy racism or subtler stuff), it makes for a very narrow, and colonial, band of stories available to tell without excessive hacking, and hacking is excessively difficult because of how number-crunchy it is, in that, if you change anything or add anything, it’s very possible you’ll just break the game statistically.

The crunchiness also is something which can work and I’ve seen work well in other systems, but the way dnd does it actively discourages creativity on the character players’ parts. Other systems codify types of actions, and types of success and failure, which deliberately have wiggle room so that the mechanics can be massaged to take whatever weird and wonderful thing u wanna try to do, and they do it in a way that makes failure an interesting outcome that drives plot forward; dnd wants every single possible action to be codified in one specific way, or else not be accounted for at all (see previous, you also then can’t hack it in without several hours of work), and failure, as I’ve said, is a matter of dm discretion and whether they personally want to hinder you, which is something that’s honestly terrifyingly prevalent.

Also, in terms of longer campaigns, there’s no real structure to the game other than just an assumption that the numbers will get bigger, which is an incredibly false and boring way of attempting to raise stakes. Like, if your health has increased, AND your damage has increased, AND your ac has increased, AND all of those things have also increased for your enemies, what has actually changed in terms of how it feels to play the game? This is why so many people end up multi-classing, because it’s the only codified way to force some kind of lateral progression out of the game. Even then, nothing changes as you progress, except you’re maybe more terrified about killing off your own character in a way that you still have no control over, because again the character players have no control and are expected to just take it when they’re told something they don’t like. The attitude of ‘well, the dice said so’ is not a bad one, as long as you’re careful, but it’s acting as if the matter is out of the players’ hands, which is patently false; it’s a narrative that YOU are constructing, and you can and absolutely should make it a narrative that is safe for the people making and consuming it.

This comes back to the idea of ‘spontaneous and collaborative’. Dnd is viscerally opposed to any kind of actual working together, either between dm and character players, or between members of the party, but it’s also forcing the worst kind of spontaneity, in that ‘the dice said so’, while still codifying in advance everything you’re ‘allowed’ to try to do, and encouraging the dm to prep so hard that there’s nothing going on in the world that they don’t know about, which again puts all the onus on them for story- and world-building. You literally cannot do real collaboration if you have this attitude, and vice versa, you cannot have real spontaneity if you insist on setting yourself against the others.

Tl;dr: dnd is a game which goes out of its way to be hostile to the people playing it, and even when those people actively resist the competitive mechanics and culture, the story they end up making is just plain boring, and has a ton of unaddressed, unanalysed colonial baggage.

[intrulogical]

Enough

author’s note: remember when i said i wasn’t going to write ever again? well, i lied. here’s another long fic about remus and logan being personally attacked by the other sides, lmao. this is a somewhat sequel to my fic worthy and reading that would help me a lot because some stuff in this fic is only explainable if you read that one first. anyway, this fic is more romantic, softer, yet angsty all at once, and i hope you enjoy it. special thanks to the logang discord for your help again, especially to orb, aj, jem, remy, kei, el, anders, lo, rem, and raph! (to those i didn’t mentioned, i still love u ok <3)

pairings: Remus/Logan (this time it’s more romantic)

warnings: remus typical stuff, swearing (remus says fuck a lot), religious talk (remus and logan do not have good experiences with thomas's catholic upbringing and i'm self projecting), morally gray light sides (they do not appear but logan and remus dislike them), light sides negativity (again, logan and remus hate them), self-esteem issues, and slightly nsfw comments coming from remus.

word count: 7242

summary: His relationship with Remus was difficult to describe, to say the least. Logan recognized that Remus was probably the closest thing he had to a genuine friend in this hell of a Mindscape, but at some point, there was a definite shift in their relationship, and Logan couldn’t find a proper word to describe it.

But even if they were close friends, Logan wasn’t sure if he was able to provide everything a stable friendship needed. He just wasn’t used to it. Moreover, his inability to defend Remus during the argument earlier just proved that he was— dare he said it— a worthless friend.

Logan picked up the pace of his mug-tapping as he buried his face further onto the table, his arm resting underneath his head. 

Why did everything have to be so complicated?

or,

After an argument between Thomas and the "Light" Sides, Logan and Remus seek comfort in each other. Plate throwing and discussions of their relationship ensues.

(ao3 link)

Logan numbly prodded on the mug he borrowed that stood useless on the kitchen’s counter. 

(He was literally able to prepare the hot chocolate with jittery palms, but how come every time he tried to take a sip, his glitches decided to betray him and let the hot liquid spill onto his shirt?)

Grumbling to himself, he clenched his hand as certain parts of his palm began to twitch and dematerialize, transforming into odd shapes of flashing colors. Logan knew digging his nails into his palm wouldn’t have done anything to make the glitching vanish, but at this point, he was so frustrated in himself that he didn’t really give a fuck.

He was just so foolish for believing in Thomas, so foolish for thinking that Thomas would have stopped ignoring him. Thomas has neglected him continuously for the past thirty years and Logan was just so tremendously stupid for thinking it would have all ceased now. Admittedly, Thomas was peer pressured into agreeing to the other sides’ reasoning over Logan’s during the argument earlier, but Logan still felt immensely infuriated that Thomas didn’t acknowledge his points despite being presented with multiple facts coming from Logan.

Logan should have just remained pessimistic from this point onwards. Thomas’s neglect for him has never changed and never will, and it would have endlessly persisted if Thomas’s unconscious bias for the other three “Light” Sides remained.

With Thomas’s growing neglect, Logan’s dilemma would have only worsened further. Initially, Logan’s glitches would have only been triggered if he was in his room, but the situation has gotten so severe that Logan didn’t even need to be in his room to experience them. Logan considered discussing the issue more prominently with Thomas, but there was a niggling feeling inside of him that made him hesitant to approach Thomas altogether. Logan abandoned the idea of discussing it thoroughly with the rest of his “FamILY” as well, as they have openly shown their distaste towards him constantly. Logan even feared that the others wouldn’t even be concerned about his wellbeing unless he has reached rock bottom, but he really didn’t want to imagine a corrupted state of himself that was overridden with glitches and errors.

This left Logan in a figurative loop where he will constantly be disregarded which, in consequence, would have worsened his glitches, and that cycle would’ve been repeated until he would be stripped of the “Light” Side title. Logan from the past would’ve been fearful of being pushed into the darkness, but as he lamented about his problems daily, he exasperatedly accepted his inevitable demise.

The “Dark” Sides had a more stylish interior anyway, so maybe it wasn’t all that bad. After all, he was currently staying in their kitchen to escape the chaotic, sporadic glitches that have invaded his own room. 

(But he also was there for another reason, of course.)

But even if he had grown accustomed to the idea that he was becoming a “Dark” Side, he was still uncertain if they were going to accept his presence with open arms. He and Orange still loathed one another to an unhealthy amount, while the friendship he shared with Janus was extremely… odd. They had moments where they were fond of each other’s company (poor Janus has been living with lunatics for most of his life) but at times, Janus gave him the cold shoulder, and Logan was unsure if it was him simply joking around or being genuine.

And Remus. 

Logan tapped nervously on the mug as he thought of the boisterous yet lovable maniac.

His relationship with Remus was difficult to describe, to say the least. Logan recognized that Remus was probably the closest thing he had to a genuine friend in this hell of a Mindscape, but at some point, there was a definite shift in their relationship, and Logan couldn’t find a proper word to describe it.

But even if they were close friends, Logan wasn’t sure if he was able to provide everything a stable friendship needed. He just wasn’t used to it. Moreover, his inability to defend Remus during the argument earlier just proved that he was— dare he said it— a worthless friend.

Logan picked up the pace of his mug-tapping as he buried his face further onto the table, his arm resting underneath his head. 

Why did everything have to be so complicated?

“Fuck,” he heard a voice coming from the staircase behind him, “Hey asshat, sorry I’m late!” the voice continued, sounding partly enthusiastic and partly exhausted as they hurriedly descended the flight of stairs. 

“Remus, you’ve dubbed these little meetings ‘Late Night Hangouts’— they’re supposed to be late.”

“Hardy fuckin’ har,” Remus replied as he shoved his hands into his hoodie’s pockets while approaching the kitchen. Despite looking incredibly ragged (to be fair, when was he never?), he still managed to maintain his flamboyant saunter. “Okay but, seriously though. Orange was being such a fucking prick, and that argument earlier wasn’t helping. I just— I’m just fucking—” Remus inhaled sharply, “God. Tonight was too fucking much.”

Logan’s eyebrows knitted together worriedly as he eyed the green-clad side, “I… apologize. I should’ve been able to mitigate the situation earlier but I foolishly allowed my temper to cloud my thinking.” Logan said with a guilty expression as a constricting feeling wrapped around his throat. Remus responded with a confused look as one of the tentacles that protruded from his back began rummaging through the cupboards. Logan assumed he was getting a drink for himself as well.

“Ironic how those bastards wanted you to show your emotions but when you finally get to do it, they get pissed.” Remus said exasperatedly as he took a seat on the kitchen table rather instead of grabbing a stool for himself, “It’s like that one episode with the puppets where they act like everything is your fault when you literally aren’t one to blame—“

“But I—“

“—’But I handled the argument badly, yadda yadda,’. Yeah, no, Logan, this isn’t your fault.” Remus said sympathetically as one of his tentacles rubbed Logan’s shoulder to provide comfort. 

“‘M still sorry,” Logan said faintly and Remus’s eyebrows knit together.

“Hey, it’s alright, dork,” Remus said calmly, “I know you won’t stop apologizing, so I’m gonna make this loud and clear— I forgive you.” Remus said, enunciating the latter part of the statement dramatically, causing Logan to snort. Remus grinned at the logical side, proud at himself for being able to make Logan crack up. He then added, “It’s not all your fault anyway— I should’ve grabbed my morning star and popped in before Janus had the chance to pull me away. Fuckin’ Janus,” 

Logan chuckled before replying, “To be fair, Janus was probably correct for restricting you from participating. Judging by your sullen cheeks and reddened eyes, I predict you wouldn’t have lasted long arguing before you break down sobbing in front of the others.”

One of Remus’s other tentacles slammed a mug on his side while another started mixing in the instant hot chocolate powder and the hot water from the pitcher. Logan could only quirk an eyebrow at him, “Hey, I thought you were here to be my source of comfort, you traitor.” Remus replied with a pout.

Logan let out a smirk, “I still am, and I’m saying that you listening to Janus’s advice was a commendable move, so you're not the one to blame.” Logan said, earning a huff from Remus, “But are you okay now?” asked Logan.

Remus pursed his lips before replying, “Better now, but I don’t think my state isn’t as bad as…” Remus gestured at the glitching particles surrounding Logan, “...that.” Remus continued, and this time, it was Logan who huffed.

“Believe me when I say that I’m completely fine,”

“Yeah… no, you look terrible.”

“Same as you.”

“I aim to look like trash anyway, so…” Remus retorted but Logan looked at him incredulously, “What, do you want me to vent?”

“I believe it was you who said, ‘Venting’s like blowjobs, Logan, it makes you feel good and have some sort of release’.” Logan stated, giving a scarily accurate impersonation of Remus, which consequently made the impersonated side cackle loudly, “You seemed to have encountered an issue with Orange right after your talk with Janus, so I am certain you still have some bottled up frustrations within you.” 

Remus took a sip of his hot chocolate and rolled his eyes, “Fine, okay, you’re right. Frankly, I am still pissed at S— Orange,” Remus quickly corrected himself, “But if I vent, do you promise on your dead body to open up to me as well?”

“I assure you I’m—”

“Logan ‘Logic’ Sanders,” Remus said scoldingly, “You act as if I totally did not hear your outbursts a while ago. Moreover, I thought we were over the whole ‘keep secrets from one another’ thing? I admitted to you that the snake infestation in the Mindscape was entirely my fault and not Janus’s and— and I also told you about that time I decided to be a bit cynical and bury my beating heart under the floorboards just to scare the shit out of Virgil and Roman, so it’s unfair if you keep any secrets from me when I could literally be arrested for confessing all of my crimes to you! If, y’know, this was real life, but whatever, you still understand what I’m saying here, right?”

Logan sighed tiredly, “I suppose you’ve a point.” Logan said, and Remus looked pleased for a moment until Logan continued, “But, while I still insist that I don’t have much to— er, ‘vent’ about, I will only do it if and only if you go first.” 

Remus immediately looked annoyed by Logan’s offer but merely sighed in acceptance. Logan, on the other hand, smiled at him smugly. “Fine, whale penis,” Remus said, taking a dramatically long sip of his beverage, “You promise?”

Logan nodded, “We aren’t children, Remus, but yes, I promise.”

And with that, Remus set his mug aside next to Logan’s unused one and rested his hands on the table. He gazed upwards as he seemed to ponder where he was going to start as Logan merely stared at him intently. Eventually, after much pondering, Remus began, “Y’know, sometimes I wonder if Orange hates me.”

“What makes you think of that?”

“Well, we both know he represents Thomas’s beliefs, right? Superstitious, religious, supernatural, whatever, but let’s focus on the religious part of it.” Remus explained, “When Thomas’s Catholicism is ever discussed, he gets so weirdly aggressive and powerful and blunt about his feelings. Like, I love harsh honesty as much as the next person but he literally won’t shut the fuck up about how disgustingly ‘sinful’ I am.”

“That’s a bit… rude.”

“I know right! Beyond rude!” Remus exclaimed, “And most of the time, it doesn’t bother me, but that mixed with Thomas and the other three White Sides—”

“It’s ‘Light’ Sides—”

“Whatever, white people suck and they suck too, so technically, I’m not wrong.” Remus grumbled, earning an amused half-smile from Logan, “But back to the point— I just don’t understand why people like to— uh— like to paint me as—” Remus took a sharp yet shaky inhale, “—as a villain. I mean, yeah, I know I’m gross and lewd and everything God would condemn, but it wasn’t— it isn’t my fault that I’m like this. Do they…” Remus swallowed thickly, “Do they understand how cruel the first ten years of my life are? The hate they have for me does n-not compare to the hate I had for myself for most of my life. Even now, I— sometimes I—” 

Remus wasn’t able to finish his sentence as lip trembled harshly. With Remus’s eyes becoming glossier by the second, Logan decided to muster enough courage within him to raise his hand and put it atop Remus’s, thumbing soothing circles in the hopes that it’ll provide him some comfort. Remus blinked twice before intertwining his fingers with Logan instead, holding it dearly as if it was a lifeline.

“Why is it so hard for them to understand that while Thomas’s Catholic upbringing could be good, it’s also so…”

“Detrimental? Harmful?” Logan offered.

“Yeah, that, thanks.” Remus said, chuckling at Logan, “And even if they wanna defend it, why do they have to drag me into every damn conversation? I’m not the side that represents sin, thank you very much. Sometimes they all just act like Karen’s to me. What’re they gonna do next, blame me for Thomas being vaccinated? I bet Patton is this close from forcing Thomas to drink some radioactive mushroom-citrus essential oil.” Remus joked with a broken smile, but with one stern look from Logan, he reverted back to what he was originally rambling about.

“Sorry, I just— do they not understand the fucking work I do so that Thomas wouldn’t experience intrusive thoughts 24/7? Do they forget that without me, Virgil or Roman or, shit, even Patton could have their fair share of intrusive thoughts? Why do people think that all I do is fuck everything when I’m so much more than filthy jokes and violence? I just wanna— I just want to be viewed as their equal, is that too much to ask?” Remus finished his rant with an extremely peeved yet heartbroken expression, his lips forming a thin line as his nose crinkled sourly. Despite the tone of finality, Remus’s fingers still had not stopped fidgeting within Logan’s grasp. 

Logan understood that Remus also had his fair share of troubles concerning intrusive thoughts— Logan even thought that Remus’s dilemma was vastly more horrendous than Thomas’s situation. One visit to Remus’s room was enough to convince Logan that Thomas’s situation was absolutely nothing compared to Remus.

Logan also understood that out of all the other sides, Remus was the most misunderstood; it’s something they both have in common. While Remus is described to be naturally uncaring and crass, he understood there was much more to him than what meets the eye. He was relentlessly vigorous, but he was also fragile and delicate. He was described as stupid and excessively foolish, but deep within, he’s brilliant and passionate, yet no one seems to credit him for that. 

Lastly, Logan also understood that Remus was the only side that saw something in him. He had a genuine fondness and affection for Logan, and while they didn’t like putting labels on what they had, Logan cherished it nonetheless.

(And Logan also knew that while he was content with where they were now, moments like this reminded him that he also feared about not being enough for Remus. But of course, he didn’t want to say that.)

“Remus,” Logan said, “One or two?”

Logan developed a helpful method to use whenever one of them is feeling low. It was simple: one meant you’d want the other party to say something to comfort you, and two meant you didn’t need to be told anything and you just needed the other’s presence to help you calm down.

“One and a half.” Remus said unhelpfully.

“What?” Logan said, getting caught off-guard, “Rounded off, that would be two.” 

Remus pouted, “Nerd.” and Logan shrugged as if he was saying ‘and what?’. “What I mean is, I’d prefer one, but like, a bit toned down? I don’t need an entire powerpoint presentation like what you did last time.” 

“Then you should’ve said zero point five, or simply referring to it as one-half would do as well.”

“I’m gay, Logan, I don’t fuck with math!”

“We’re both gay, Remus.” Logan retorted. “But back to the topic at hand: you’re valid for who you are, Remus. What the others say about you doesn’t matter at all when they literally don’t have much evidence or experiences to backup their claims. You are generous, caring, and quite frankly, tremendously fun, and while I cannot specify every occasion to support this claim because you wanted me to be as concise as possible, you know you should believe me more than any other side in this Mindscape. Besides that point, words cannot describe how grateful I am for you. I wouldn’t exchange who you are now for anything else.”

While desperately trying to compose his sudden quickened heartbeat, he chanced gazing at Remus’s direction. Remus appeared to be less crestfallen but the glossiness in his eyes returned for a different reason. The hand that was gripping Logan’s tightened as Remus raised one of his tentacles to wipe a tear that escaped his eyelids.

“Remus… are you alright?” Logan inquired, and Remus rapidly nodded his head with bubbled cheeks in an attempt to restrict more tears from falling.

“Yes, one hundred percent, doing absolutely fine.” Remus replied, “You’re such a fucking sap that I could literally eat you alive,” added Remus, gaining a bemused look from Logan.

“I am unsure of whether to be terrified or flattered but thank you…?” Logan replied, “I wasn’t aware I was being a sap— I was simply being intellectually honest with you.”

Somehow, that made Remus even more emotional. Logan internally panicked, thinking he had done something incorrectly, but then, one of Remus’s tentacles wrapped around his neck, slowly pulling his head closer to Remus’s chest. As Logan’s forehead leaned against Remus’s hoodie, he smiled fondly at Remus’s sudden affection. Even Remus’s tentacles couldn’t help themselves as they began combing and playing with Logan’s hair tenderly. “You’re too precious, I can’t believe you.” Remus said.

“Well, you’re quite welcome, Remus.” Logan replied, “I’m not quite sure what I said in particular that would elicit this sort of reaction from you. While I do know you are a touchy-feely kind of person, you do not typically get this affectionate with every conversation…” Logan paused, “But I do like it. Keep doing it.”

Remus laughed at Logan, somewhat impressed by his appreciation, “You sound like you’ve never been hugged before.” 

“Well… I receive them, but just rarely— Patton and Roman used to be my main sources, but they’ve barely given me any offers nowadays. On the rare occasion that they do, their offers would come off as disingenuous, so I usually decline them.” Logan explained, trying to disguise the hurt he was feeling. But somehow, Remus saw through it, just like he mysteriously, always does.

“Sounds like you have something you want to talk about.” Remus said, slowly releasing Logan from his tight grasp. Despite the loosened grip, Logan still willed to remain physically close to the other side. Something about Remus provided him with an unfamiliar yet soothing feeling of warmth and ease. If Logan were to be ‘sappy’ like how Remus dubbed him to be, he would have described Remus as a figurative atom as Logan would’ve been the electrons surrounding him. There was something so compelling about him, something so magnetic, and Logan couldn’t help but be pulled closer to him, couldn’t help but revolve his entire being around him.

(There was also a meddling feeling within him that nagged that this metaphor meant Logan was also someone who was “negatively charged”, but in Logan’s defense, this was the first time he ever tried using a metaphor— cut him some slack.)

“Well, sorta kinda,” Logan replied, not letting his thoughts distract him. He sighed before continuing, “I mean, mentally, I think I’m utterly drained.”

“We been knew, sis,” Remus replied.

“Is that— what does that mean?” Logan’s eyes narrowed. 

“Oh, uh, it just means like, ‘we’ve known that for a long time’.” Remus explained, “I forget that you’re literally the most boomer person I’ve ever met, but nevermind that, just go on.” 

Logan sighed and continued, “It’s difficult for me to recognize if I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown, mostly because I have not allowed myself to be thoroughly acquainted with my emotions, but ever since you’ve assisted me in understanding how my feelings work, I’ve suddenly realized that I have… not been okay for most of my life. Despite having your support, I still feel deeply terrified because I am usually uncertain of how horrendous my problems have gotten.

“And the fact that the others dismiss me nonchalantly doesn’t ease my troubling thoughts either. I don’t know if I’m overthinking, but I’ve noticed that their interactions with me are borderline manipulative. At times, they like to coax me into thinking that they know what’s best for me, or they accept me for who I am, but then a few moments later, I learn that they’re only being courteous because they want to utilize me for a certain issue they want to resolve.”

While fiddling with his fingers in an attempt to alleviate the unsettling emotions that arose within him, Remus spoke up, “Is that what happened a while ago, and why you got all pissy at them?”

Logan nodded with a disheartened expression, “It isn’t the first time this happened, so of course I’d be pushed towards my breaking point. I practically had to voice out my frustrations even if I know that they won’t listen to me anyway.” Logan stated, quite agitated, “It also distresses me to no end that they frequently add Thomas into these conversations. I know Thomas’s intentions are pure but when being told something repetitively, Thomas would eventually believe in what they say over what I say.”

“But doesn’t that, y’know, worsen…” Remus gestured to the flickering polygons encircling Logan, “this?”

Logan hummed, “While it doesn’t bother me as much as it did the first time around, it unfortunately delays my work schedule. Moreover, the others are still oblivious to my dilemma, and I’m… scared to confront them about the issue. There’s really no telling with them, especially if I confess that I’m on the cusp of becoming a ‘Dark’ Side. They’re going to paint me as a villain, similar to what they did to you, and I don’t— I don’t think I can handle hearing all of that.”

“I already have… an abundant amount of insecurities that I cannot seem to rationalize and it’s only worsening for… obvious reasons. You already understand I’m quite the perfectionist, so when someone informs me that I’m ‘mistaken’ or decides to disregard my contributions entirely, I feel— I feel like—” Logan shakily inhaled before continuing, “I feel worthless. Pointless. No matter what I do, it will always be deemed as useless, and I can’t help but hate myself for it.”

“Hey Logan?” Remus said softly, raising one of his hands to cup his cheek. “Breathe for me.”

Logan didn’t realize how quickened his breath had become until Remus pointed it out, and as he tried to ignore the suffocating feeling that was crushing his chest, he followed Remus’s instructions obediently. They breathed together silently, Logan attempting to not let himself cry embarrassingly in front of Remus once more. 

“Hatsune Geek-u,” Remus spoke, “one or two?” Remus asked, lowering his hand.

Logan averted his gaze from Remus, thinking before he should’ve replied to his question. “Uhm,” Logan said, “While I’d like to say I’m leaning more towards two, I still feel unexplainably frustrated for some absurd reason.” Logan said wearily.

“So… a one and a half?” Remus replied comedically, and Logan failed to suppress a snort.

“Dick.” Logan rebuts, causing Remus to gasp audibly.

“Logan, this is a Christian household, don’t be a sinful little bitch,” Remus whined and Logan delightedly laughed at him.

“I didn’t realize we were holding a ‘Who can impersonate Patton the best?’ competition.” Logan joked, but then he returned to the main topic at hand, “In all seriousness, I still cannot comprehend why I feel so aggravated. Venting usually uplifts me but I suppose everything, even certain coping mechanisms, will stop working after a certain point.”

“There are other things we can try out.” Remus explained, “Before we were friends, there were a lot of things I did in my room and in the Imagination that helped me calm down. Not every problem of mine could find a solution through venting so Janus recommended that I should channel my emotions into doing something physical.”

“That actually… makes a lot of sense— considering you’re a very active and energetic person and all.” Logan said, “But I’m vastly dissimilar from you in a physical sense, Remus. I can barely lift a single Encyclopedia book without toppling over.”

“God you are a weakling, but that doesn’t matter! I’m not your gym instructor, dork, I’m still your local rat bastard and I have some… fun plans up my sleeve.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, “What are you suggesting?”.

“Okay, hear me out—”

“Oh God.”

“It’s going to sound a little weird—”

“That was to be expected.”

“But hear me out.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Plate throwing.” Remus suggested, slightly starry eyed as if what he said was the most magnificent thing on earth. Logan, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern as his lips thinned in disapproval. That didn’t dissuade the more chaotic side from summoning multiple sets of plates on the table, all stacked neatly, ready to be used.

“Remus,” Logan spoke sternly. “It’s late.”

“And?”

“We might disturb Janus and Orange.” Logan explained, “Considering Orange’s unhinged state and how exhausted Janus must be, I don’t think it is the smartest idea to throw plates.”

“I promise you, the other two won’t care.” Remus told him, “Orange literally plays Catholic praise songs all the fucking time— he won’t notice anything that’s going on outside of his room. And Janus? He soundproofed his room because… well, there’s this one time I did an experiment with horny foxes and lemme tell ya— he did not like that. After that, he literally wasn’t bothered by anything else. I once decided to test how soundproof his room was by blasting Megalovania on ten thousand speakers but he didn’t hear anything. Nothing at all. Zip. Zilch. Nada—”

“Okay, okay, I understand.” Logan said, still quite reluctant to participate, “Why do you even have these plates?”

“Well, remember the art project I was doing where I decided to make a replica of the town from that horror manga using weird materials?” 

Logan’s eyes lit up, “The one of Junji Ito’s Uzumaki?”

Remus snapped his fingers with a grin, “Bingo.” he affirmed, “I’m almost finished with the thing save for this entire area with like, bones and er, I can’t really explain it well but imagine human bodies made out of concrete.”

“A very comforting image.” Logan remarked sarcastically.

“I know, right?” Remus replied jestingly, “I thought broken, ceramic plates would be a fun material to work with— not because it seemed like an appropriate material for the rubble but I just thought breaking plates would be fun to do. I was going to do it on my own but it seems like you’re willing to break a few plates for yourself. Y’know, as a release.”

Using one of his tentacles, Remus chucked a plate at Logan who caught it accurately. “Remus, you know I love you very much, and I do want to help contribute to your wonderful art project, but this is somewhat too childish for—”

Interrupting Logan’s spiel, Remus snapped his fingers loudly. Logan blinked twice in bewilderment, unsure of why Remus did that in the first place, but then, he noticed that something behind Remus had changed. The dark hardwood cupboards had some pinned banners on them with each depicting one of the three “Light” Sides. What intrigued Logan the most were the giant red circles that surrounded their faces; Logan guessed that they were painted on by Remus. The circles that enveloped the sides made it seem like Logan was supposed to target them as if they were—

Oh.

Oh.

“Remus,” Logan spoke.

“Yes?” Remus said chipperly.

“Am I supposed to—?”

“Go for it.” Remus insisted, giving Logan a nod of encouragement.

Logan glanced at the plate he carried in his glitching palms, noticing how his fatigued expression was shining back at him due to how clean the plate was. Like always, his eyebags were incredibly pronounced, and it seemed like a new wrinkle had developed on his forehead. And… were those white strands of hair tucked behind his ear?

Logan grimaced— how long has he been this tired?

He raised his head and looked at the three pictures of the other sides. All three pictures developed a sense of dread within him. Besides the fear that was eating him from the inside out, there were several other side effects like the sweatiness and unsteadiness of his palms, the dryness of his throat, and the sudden urge to rip the banners off the cupboards and tear them to shreds. 

Logan bet Remus deliberately made each picture show the others at their highest, all of them smiling and laughing mockingly at Logan. At weak, frail, useless Logan. 

Logan looked down at his plate again. The same weary expression stared back at him.

And when he looked back at the cupboards, each of the sides were still smiling in blissful ignorance. They fucking knew Logan was exhausted, they knew he was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

And yet, they laughed anyway.

Just like that, something buried deep within Logan cracked. Raising the arm that was handling the plate, he ferociously hurled it towards the cupboards. The suppressed wrath he has forcibly ignored for years seeped out all at once, and for the first time, Logan let it happen, he let himself be angry. 

And honestly, with how many times they viewed Logan as a controllable utility, with how many times they’ve figuratively stabbed him in the back, with how many times they’ve dumped all the responsibilities on Logan without asking if he was alright— Logan deserved to get outraged.

An earsplitting, loud crack was heard, its sound reverberating across the “Dark” Sides’ living room and kitchen. 

The plate precisely hit the cupboard with the picture of Patton, its pieces exploding right at the center. It was incredibly scary how Logan was able to execute a perfect and direct shot at Patton despite how his glitches made him constantly spasm. 

“Holy—“ Remus spoke as Logan withdrew his hand. Logan let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, quite astonished at his accuracy. “Holy shit.” Remus remarked proudly, the large grin on his face suggesting that he was extremely impressed by Logan.

“Holy shit indeed,” Logan murmured, similarly as stunned as Remus. “That was… surprisingly exhilarating.” Logan stated, a smile creeping unto his face. 

“Fucking yes,” Remus grabbed two more plates from the stack, “I feel like a proud mother watching their child graduate,” Remus remarked, and before Logan could have commented on how strange Remus’s statement was, Remus aggressively chucked the two plates he carried towards the pictures of Roman and Virgil. His movements were so quick that Logan could’ve sworn he felt a cool breeze brush past him when Remus threw the plates.

“That’s what you get for abandoning me, fuckin’ assholes!” Remus hollered, emitting an impressed laugh from Logan. 

“I think the best word to describe what I feel is ‘Mood’.” Logan responded, snatching a handful of plates for himself. 

“Glad you understand, but if you really do relate, then you should keep throwing your plates, Invader Simp.” Remus stated, “And whatever you do, do not hold back.” 

Logan didn’t need to be instructed twice before chucking his plates mercilessly, unleashing all the rage and energy he possessed within. Every time he heard a vicious crack or the sound of the ceramic pieces colliding with one another violently, an overwhelming, thrilling sensation washed through him. Remus wasn’t exempted from this feeling either, his face expressing pure ecstasy and enjoyment, and that only increased how entertained Logan was.

Additionally, the countless insults and jabs they had for the other sides only enthralled Logan more, making this experience oddly therapeutic.

“Quite unfair of you, Virgil, that your asshole demeanor is always glossed over by Thomas and his fans when you’ve threatened to cut my air supply on camera. Oh, but of course Patton insists you’re a sweet, harmless, angelic—”

Another crashing noise, “To be fair, Patton’s pretty fucking stupid.” Remus interrupted, throwing another plate at the worn out picture of Patton, “Plus he has ten Minion posters in his room.”

“Eugh.”

“At least he isn’t like Roman. Stupid Roman who acts as if everything Thomas does is his doing.” Remus grabbed an excessive amount of plates, throwing at Roman’s photo, “Last time I checked, it was me who helped Thomas when he was cast in Heathers—”

“And it was me who helped Thomas schedule all his auditions.” Logan commented irritatedly, “They act as if I didn’t contribute anything to Thomas’s theatre career, act as if I’m the villain, when it was me who had to adapt to a sudden change in Thomas’s career. They say they hate me for wanting a different future for Thomas when they were the first ones to change Thomas’s life plans without my permission!”

“Say it louder for the people in the back, sister!”

“Wait, ‘people in the back’...? Is someone watching u—”

“Shit, wait, I forget you are a literal boomer, sorry,” Remus said, “What I mean is, you’re abso-fucking-lutely right.” he added, and while doing so, he decided to put some of his tentacles into good use. Picking up an entire stack of plates, he tossed them one by one at each picture. The table was getting emptier now, with only one stack of plates left, “All of them are massive hypocrites and it’s starting to piss me off.” 

“Agreed,” Logan affirmed. Slightly jealous Remus was hogging all the plates to himself, Logan challenged his physical strength by grabbing the entire last stack of plates for himself to throw. While this earned some concerned look from Remus, Remus didn’t protest against Logan’s decision. This was enough encouragement for Logan to hurl the dishes relentlessly against the cupboards, creating a clamorous noise as every single plate shattered into uneven pieces. 

“Woah,” Remus said in awe as he casually chucked the last plate he was holding, “I would like to see this feral side of you more, Logan.”

Logan cracked his knuckles, feeling oddly satisfied after that session of plate throwing, “Thank you,” Logan told Remus, “I’m thinking you’ll get to see it more when I have fully converted into becoming a ‘Dark’ Side.”

“Oh, it’ll match with the ‘Dark’ Side aesthetic we have, I’m sure of it.”

“Good,” Logan said.

There was a comfortable silence exchanged between both sides as the adrenaline began to wear off. It was only at this moment they realized how much damage they’ve created outside the broken plates as the cupboards are now embellished with multiple scratches and chipped off wood. Additionally, some of the broken ceramics were scattered on the other countertops, and it seemed like some of the appliances nearby were also caught in the crossfire. Logan should’ve known that once the banners have started ripping, they should’ve halted their plate throwing to examine the safety of the other equipment in the kitchen.

Ah well. He still didn’t regret participating in the activity anyway.

“This should be enough.” Remus said, sweeping the plate remnants up with his tentacles. Each appendage was seen efficiently picking up the fragments, dusting off specks of dirt found on them, and delicately placing the pieces on the countertops. Logan doesn’t understand why Remus decided to choose the countertops over the tables, but he doesn’t make an effort to inquire about the matter.

“That is… more than what I expected.” Logan mentioned, “I suppose we got too carried away with our endeavors.”

“Doesn’t mean it was a bad thing,” Remus told him, and somehow, he was holding a nail filer. Logan assumed he was going to polish the shards using the filer to precisely imitate the sculptures and skulls from the book.

“While I did admit we were a bit overwhelmed by the thrill of the activity, I did not specify it being a horrible experience.” Logan corrected him, “In fact, I actually… enjoyed it. And it’s rare for me to find physical activities like these exhilarating.” 

“See? This is why you don’t doubt The Duke,” Remus said, leaning against the table as he let his tentacles do all the cleanup work, “And you’re welcome, Elpha-bae Thropp,” added Remus, and somehow, that nickname made something in Logan’s heart swell. Swell in a positive or negative sense, he didn’t know.

“That is an upgrade from ‘Swell-phaba Thropp’.” Logan replied.

“Ugh, don’t even remind me of that atrocious nickname.” Remus said, nostrils slightly flared.

“I won’t, but the nickname has very close ties to some memories I hold dear, so pardon me if I ever bring it up again in the future.” Logan said, referencing the first time he and Remus had shared an intimate moment with one another. He was glad to see Remus’s expression soften as he seemed to have recalled it as well.

“Aw, you’re being a sap again,” Remus commented, leaning his chin against his hands as his arms were propped atop of the table. He gazed at Logan dreamily, “That suddenly made me hate the nickname less now.”

“I didn’t say it was a good nickname,” Logan retorted with a smirk.

“You hurt my pride, love, I am wounded,” Remus said, putting a hand dramatically on his chest. 

Logan almost sputtered upon hearing the nickname but only managed to raise his eyebrows. Remus typically coated his nicknames with a joke, or some kind of atrocious pun but this was something different, and Logan couldn’t have helped but feel flustered because of it. “‘Love’?” Logan murmured, and immediately, he felt the atmosphere of the room shift. 

Remus immediately looked apologetic, and Logan could’ve sworn one of his tentacles almost dropped one of the plate fragments it was holding, but Remus was quick to defend himself, “Ah, my apologies, I know you don’t want to rush things and I’m— well, I am Remus, so words just slip out of my mouth and—”

“No it’s— it’s quite alright.” Logan instantly corrected him, “I apologize too if I, uhm, swiftly dismiss your acts of affection. I know I’m not—” Logan’s voice decided to betray him and crack involuntarily, “I’m just not well adjusted to, er, romance, and anything of the like. It’s— it’s not that I don’t enjoy it, per se, I genuinely appreciate the relationship we have now,  but I just… do not know if what I’ve been giving back to you is enough to satisfy you? I understand I’m quite monotonous and stoic so I’m not always— I cannot find— I’m trying to—” Logan sucked in a breath as he shut his eyes, “I’m just… very awful at this kind of stuff.”

Logan should’ve known Remus was still going to be compassionate about his problems, would’ve still been unexplainably considerate despite how Logan is the way he is, but a single pesky thought lingered in his head, whispering how Remus might decide to just end it, how Remus might just tell Logan to forget about everything they’ve ever done. 

(Logan really had forgotten that his insecurities about being worthless to the other sides are different from the insecurities about not being enough for Remus, huh. Calming down those intrusive thoughts obviously paved the way for other ones to take over, and unfortunately, those ones all involve Remus in one way or another.)

There was a troubled expression on Remus’s face, and Logan was bracing himself for the absolute worst thing to come out of Remus’s mouth. But then—

“Logan, you know I love you, but what on earth are you talking about?” Logan stared at him blankly, thinking he misheard what Remus said, but Remus still appeared to be extremely baffled. “Logan, you do know that you can’t measure affection, and even if you do, you’re damn good at providing it.” Remus stated, leaning closer to Logan with arms planted on the table, “More than anything, I feel like I’m the one doing something wrong here.”

And now it was Logan’s turn to look perplexed, “You? Remus, you’re the more romantic and affectionate one—”

“That is exactly what I mean!” Remus exclaimed, making Logan appear to be even more confused. “What I mean is, I feel like I’m taking things too fast when I know we promised to let this… thing we have to be more gradual. I know we’re allowed to be fond with one another, I’m not that stupid, but I’m kinda scared that I’m being too gross or intrusive or quick or—”

“Remus.” Logan cut him off before he would inevitably begin to spiral downwards, “Out of everyone, you told me to love myself for who I am. And I admit, I do struggle a bit sometimes, but you need to take in your own advice as well.” Logan said while Remus gazed at the table, lips curved downwards, “You’re not gross, nor are you someone who’s ‘too much’. You’re enough for me, Remus, and I admire all the efforts you make to show your fondness for me.”

Remus then began to look up, directly gazing at Logan, and his frown softened. Like the chaotic side he is, he jumped on the table quickly and pushed himself forward to move closer to Logan. They were then in the same position they were in the first time they met tonight, Remus sitting cross-legged on the table as he loomed above Logan who leaned close to him.

“Thank you, dork,” Remus said, “I could also say the same for you, though. You can’t say you’re doing ‘too little’ when you’ve literally done so much for me. Even small things like listening to me rant about my gory fantasies make me feel happy. Or loved. Or appreciated or wanted, but you get the point. Don’t you ever think that you’re doing less than stellar when literally everything you do is enough for me. You’re enough for me too, Logan.”

“Remus,” Logan gazed at him, and this time, it was him with the glossy eyes, “I’m getting too emotional and it’s almost 3AM,” Logan told him, “but that… that means so much to me. Thank you so, so much.”

“You sound like you’re on your deathbed.” Remus said, earning a chuckle from Logan. “But you’re welcome, love.”

This time, the nickname made Logan flush crimson, and Logan didn’t last long before he leaned his forehead against Remus’s chest once again, wrapping his arms around the green-clad side like the flustering idiot he is.

“Aw,” Remus said, bringing his hand to pat the logical side, “You actually like it when I call you love.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I almost hate you.”

“And I love you too.” Remus replied, kissing the top of Logan’s hair lovingly.

And that sums up their relationship well, doesn’t it? Their insecurities forgotten thanks to their fondness for one another. A weird yet lovely symbiotic relationship that made Logan feel genuinely happy— something he hadn’t experienced much since Thomas’s teenage years. Logan always thought he never deserved experiencing joy anyway— but Remus showed him that he did, convinced him he was worthy enough. Logan would’ve never thought this gore-obsessed, chaotic trash man made his heart swell the way it does now, would’ve never thought this trash man would have helped Logan overcome his insecurities using the oddest of methods—

But Logan wouldn’t have it any other way.

[marjansmarwani]

Secret Smiles 

[Ao3 Link]

Characters: Paul Strickland & TK Strand

Word Count: 2203

Paul knows TK is hiding something. He even knows that it has to do with a mystery man he's seeing, but he cannot figure it out past that. Until a night at a bar when a certain officer of the law shows up, that it.

This one was taken from one of @lauraperfectinsanity‘s Tarlos prompts (it’s number 2). I changed it a bit, but I think it’s still pretty close to the spirit of the thing, which was Paul figuring out that TK is secretly seeing Carlos. 

------

Paul hated not knowing things.

Knowing things was kind of, well, his thing. Often it meant situations; who did what and what caused that. Sometimes it was just simply facts – he can’t help that he was a voracious reader with a memory like a steel trap. But it also meant people, and his friends and teammates were certainly included in that.

When he first started at the 126, Paul had been on his guard. Each of his new teammates had been subject to his own threat assessment. His brother had always chided him for it – telling him he needed to have more faith in people. But faith in people could get you hurt, so Paul instead chose to be strategic. He decided who it was safe to share information with and how much detail each person could be entrusted with.

It wasn’t easy, but it had kept him safe.

So, he examined and observed each member of his new crew in turn. Captain Strand and TK had been first, and he began his analysis the moment he entered the room for his interview. He quickly deduced that the Captain was sincere, that he harbored Paul no ill-will. TK was quiet during the interview, but when he mentioned identifying the people who wanted to hurt him before they did, he noticed a small smile that spoke of understanding and comradery. Paul allowed himself to relax – neither of these men were a threat to him. In fact, TK Strand might just be a kindred spirit – someone else who had faced hate because of who they were. In the end, it’s a large part of the reason he accepts the Captain’s offer – he knows that he will have allies in this journey; he won’t have to fight this particular battle alone.

The rest of the crew is easy to read, and soon he feels comfortable; at home. Within the walls of the firehouse things are safe, he can let his guard down. Not that there is too much to analyze anyways. The general rule is openness: they’re a family, they tell each other things.

Which is why he almost doesn’t realize TK is hiding something, at first. He’s not sure exactly when he notices but once he does, he picks up little hints everywhere. Maybe it was the first time he heard him abruptly change the subject. Or the time he noticed that the tale he told Judd about how he had spent his night off and what he told Marjan were slightly different. There were small inconsistencies in the details. In Paul’s experience, that usually meant it was a lie.

First, Paul is concerned. He can’t help but wonder if TK is in some sort of trouble, if there is something wrong that he doesn’t want to share with the rest of the team. So he watches, looking for signs of trouble and quickly comes to a very different conclusion: TK has a secret boyfriend.

It’s glaringly obvious once he knows to look for the signs: secretive texting under the table, small smiles when he checks his phone, late-night phone calls when he thinks everyone else is asleep. All the times that he disappears when they go out as a group, or when he makes excuses and doesn’t come out at all – especially when he is far too tired the next day to have actually gone home to sleep as he claims to have done.

He has a secret boyfriend, that part is obvious. What’s not obvious is why this is a secret. TK doesn’t generally come off as a secretive person. He knows it’s not an issue about coming out – TK is very open about his sexuality. Maybe the other man is not fully out? Maybe it’s someone TK feels like he shouldn’t be dating (Paul can’t imagine why that would even be a thing, but stranger things have happened, he supposed).

It wasn’t until a few weeks later and a conversation in the gym that Paul finally got an answer. He was stressed and anxious and feeling very out of his comfort zone with this whole Josie thing, and he hadn’t meant to snap at TK. But he was frustrated, and he took it out on his friend – his friend who was being a hypocrite because he was seeing someone and not shouting to the world about it yet here he was lecturing Paul about taking risks, about putting himself out there. He snaps out the jab about what TK would know about rejection without even thinking. He regrets it instantly – it wasn’t fair. He didn’t know what TK’s experience with coming out was. He didn’t know anything about his history. But it’s out there and he can’t take it back.  

TK’s answer, when it came, surprised him. He sat up and fiddled with his necklace as he spoke, “116 days ago, when I asked my soul mate to marry me and he moved in with his trainer instead.”

Paul froze, for just a moment. He wasn’t even sure how to respond to that, how to acknowledge the level of vulnerability TK had just shown. “That’s rough,” he settled on, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” TK agreed grimly, “that was not my best day.”

The conversation moved on and TK gave him some surprisingly sage advice. Paul took that advice, but he also took some answers. One: TK had been burned by love and was probably hesitant about diving back in. Two: there was more to the story than he had shared. The fact that he knew exactly how many days it had been showed that in spades. Maybe, Paul reasoned, TK didn’t want to share this relationship because he was scared. Maybe he wasn’t ready to take that step, to make things official. Given what he had just learned – and what he assumed, Paul couldn’t blame him.

That didn’t mean that he stopped trying to solve the mystery anyways. Partly because it was just what he did, and partly because TK was his friend and he wanted to make sure that whoever this mystery man was, they were not someone who was going to break TK’s too big heart again. He was more subtle about it – never asking any blunt questions or drawing conclusions. He simply watches and observes.

He’s watching one night when they are all at the bar and Officer Reyes meets them at Michelle’s insistence.  He almost doesn’t notice at first. They are good at hiding it – far too practiced in the art of not drawing attention to their closeness. But there are still tells, little, unconscious things that they do. The things they probably can’t even help. The private glances when someone makes a joke, the small smiles. The hands that linger when they cross paths – the fact that they cross paths more often than is strictly necessary. It’s almost as if there is a magnetic pull between them and they are unable to stay more than an arm’s length apart. As he watches, TK crosses to the bar for another round, slipping behind Carlos, laying a hand on his hip as he passes. Carlos glances over his shoulder at him and gives him a smile that is far from casual.

Oh. Oh.

The realization hits him suddenly. He takes a sudden sharp intake of breath and somehow TK hears and turns towards him. Their eyes meet and Paul can tell that TK knows he knows. His eyes widen in panic and he slips away, heading not for the bar, but to the door. Paul sets his glass down, makes an excuse he doesn’t think anyone even hears and follows him. He finds him outside leaning on the railing of the porch, hands clasping the railing so tightly his knuckles shine white in the dim lighting. He comes to a stop next to his friend and waits for the other man to speak.

“You know,” TK says lowly, bluntly.

Paul nods, “Just figured it out.”

He waits, but TK doesn’t say any more, so he continues, “Is there a reason you don’t want anyone to know?”

TK sighs, releasing one hand from the railing to run it down his face anxiously, “No, not really,” he says uncertainly. “It’s not like we're not both single and out. Christ, we don’t even work together – there is no actual reason to keep it a secret.”

“Then why do you?”

“I don’t know.”

Paul scoffs, “Yeah, you do.”

TK glares at him and Paul raises an eyebrow. TK rolls his eyes but concedes his point, “Okay fine, I do.”

Paul waits, allowing TK the time he needs to gather his thoughts. The sounds from the bar drift through the windows, fighting for dominance with the sound of the crickets surrounding them. When TK’s voice breaks the silence, it nearly startles Paul.

“You remember how I mentioned that my last relationship ended badly, right?”

Paul made a sound of affirmation and TK continued, “I just…I wasn’t ready to jump into another relationship so soon. I was pretty sure I was never going to be ready to jump into another relationship again, actually. This thing, with Carlos, started as a hookup. I figured it would be a one-night stand, we’d both burn up some energy and frustration and move on, but he was stubborn. He wanted more and he pushed. I tried to resist, tried to stay away, but I couldn’t. Now, here we are – and I’m even sure where exactly here is.”

Paul studied his friend. His expression was tense, but even in just speaking about Carlos, his body language had relaxed. He may claim that he didn’t know what they were, but Paul would put good money on how exactly TK felt for the officer.

“Is that why you didn’t tell anyone?” he asked instead.

TK nodded, “I don’t really know what to tell, but there is also this part of me that just feels like once it’s out there – once it is no longer ours – I won’t have control of it anymore, and I won’t be able to deny what it is. I’m just…not sure I’m ready for that yet.”

Paul took a step closer and leaned on the railing next to TK. He chose his next words carefully, “I’m not going to tell you what to do or what to feel, but from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re already there, and I think that’s a good thing. You seem lighter when he’s around, even when you’re just talking about him. You care about him and if I had to make a bet, I’d bet he cares about you to. So, I’m not going to say you have to make a big announcement or anything, but maybe just keep that in mind. Maybe start letting go of the reins, just a bit and see what happens.”

TK turned to face him and raised an eyebrow, “is there where you tell me something about nothing that is important is without risk or something?”

Paul scoffed, “Nah man, I don’t do clichés.”

TK laughed lightly, and Paul continued, “I’m just saying, maybe see where this goes. I don’t know Officer Reyes that well, but I don’t think he’s a bad guy and I know he doesn’t want to hurt you. It’s going to be scary, but maybe let it play out. Besides, if the worst does happen, you have people to lean on.”

It was quiet for a long moment before TK responded; his voice soft, “That was good advice.”

Paul nodded seriously, “I don’t do subpar advice. Besides, I owe you. You helped me out with the Josie thing, and that’s what family does, right? Look out for each other.”

TK turned again, a soft smile on his lips, “Yeah, I guess it does.”

They stood in companionable silence for a few more minutes before Paul spoke again, “So, do we wait and go in at separate times, or do we go in together? I’m new to this whole clandestine relationship stuff. I am not familiar with this life of intrigue and secrets you’ve been leading.”

TK rolled his eyes, “Stop exaggerating, we don’t need to hide anything. If people draw conclusions well, maybe a conclusion needed to be made.”

Paul raised an eyebrow at the implications, “are you saying you’re going to come clean? Tonight?” he shook his head, “Man, I know my advice is good, but I didn’t think it was that good.”  

“I’m saying,” TK said over him, “that maybe I should be a little more open. I feel bad lying to family, after all.”

“Do I get to say told you so?”

“You do not.”

Paul shrugged, “I’m going to anyway.”

TK shook his head and patted his shoulder before heading back into the bar. Paul smiled, and followed suit.

If for the rest of the night he noticed TK standing closer to Carlos, leaning into his space, giving him wide and open smiles, he said nothing. If the others started to notice as well and raised eyebrows before asking outright questions, that was really none of his business. He was content to quietly sip his drink and watch everything play out around him. When TK shot him a grateful smile as he grasped Carlos’s hand, he returned it.

Paul hated not knowing things. And this, this was a good thing to know.

Like it? Come leave a comment on Ao3!

[allicekitty13]

Snow Removal

A secret Santa submission for @itsnotpluggedin

Alice wakes up in a bad mood thanks entirely to a blizzard.

Read On Ao3

Read On FFN

People had been discussing the coming storm for days, canceling plans, calling out of work, stocking up on the off chance they may be snowed in. Having all this information on hand before she went to bed, however, did nothing to prevent the rage and frustration Alice felt upon waking up that afternoon.

Despite having turned up the heat in preparation, the room was far too cold. Unwilling to deal with the snowy situation just yet, Alice promptly snoozed her alarm and curled the thick quilt tighter around her body in a desperate attempt to hold in the warmth for just a few minutes longer. She lay in bed with her eyes lightly closed, going over every extra issue that would need to be dealt with today before her shift at the coffee shop. She would have to fight her dog, Bowser, to come inside once she let him out. The energetic springer loved the snow and would gladly spend hours running around, throwing himself into drifts. Alice would have to lure him in with the good treats today to pull his attention away from the excitement of the snow.

She would also need to let her car warm up and brush all the snow piled up on the surface of the Lumina. A time-consuming task that required stomping through the unshoveled snow to reach every inch of the vehicle. Even with her warmest winter boots on, Alice just knew her toes would be frozen by the time the task was over. She also still needed to stop at the local dollar store; snacks and caffeine would be desperately needed to tolerate her shift. Working at a coffee shop, the most common source of caffeine, coffee itself, was, of course, in abundance. Alice, however, liked a more fruity sort of pick me up gravitating more to energy drinks than the dark bitter beverage she spent most of her days serving to customers.

Alice wanted to remain in bed just a little while longer and avoid the unpleasant tasks. Bowser, though, was tapping at the door asking for bathroom access while time was up on the snoozed alarm, which now blared its annoying tone through the room. With no other choice, at least if she wished to remain employed, the agitated woman untangled herself from her quilt and set off about her day.

---

Having completed her morning routine despite the extra hurdles, Alice was now standing in line at the dollar store. She was dreading arriving at her place of business just a few blocks down the street. Once out of bed and outside with Bowser, the woman had been able to see for herself exactly how bad the storm was. Usually, she would have left her dog to his own devices while she went about her morning. The snow, though, was coming down hard and fast, the wind blowing so hard the petite woman struggled to retain her balance under the force of the gusts.

Having to stay outside with her beloved dog had added to the time spent preparing for work that morning. She continuously glanced at her watch as the minutes ticked by. She'd left the house later than usual, she was already grumpy in regards to the weather, and now the woman two spots ahead of her in the line was taking her sweet time checking out. Alice knew it wasn't the woman's fault that there were only five minutes left until she needed to be at work; still, she left the shop slightly more enraged than she'd entered.

Jasper, the only one ever scheduled to open with her, much to her chagrin, would have a field day. Jasper was the source of the vast majority of her stress that day. Alice hated snow, loathed being cold and wet. It should surprise absolutely no one to hear that she hated shoveling. She just knew that when she arrived at the coffee shop that the back parking spot, the front sidewalk, all of it would be covered in untouched layers of fluffy white snow.

Jasper's twin sister Rosalie, who owned the shop, asked him to come up with his snowblower every winter and take care of it. Every winter, Jasper would conveniently forget, and Alice would end up going outside with a shovel to take care of it.

So when Alice pulled into the small parking lot located behind the shop, she was in disbelief. She sat in the car for a moment, allowing herself to take in her surroundings as Taylor Swift played out through her vehicle speakers. The lot was completely devoid of any snow piles. When she finally stepped out of the car, grabbing the yellow plastic grocery sack containing her two Monsters and bag of chips, there were no snowdrifts to step in.

Key in hand, Alice made her way to the shop's back entrance, unlocked the door, and stepped into the blessedly warm building. Setting her purse and her purchases from the dollar store onto a counter, she tentatively headed to the front of the store to peek out the large glass windows overlooking the main street. Her jaw dropped open upon seeing that the sidewalks had also blessedly been cleared.

When the back entrance opened again, Alice rushed to the kitchen where Jasper had just walked in. "Oh. My. God. I'm so happy I could kiss you!" She exclaimed with an enthusiastic smile as she stopped in front of the man.

Jasper played it cool, leaning back against the now shut door as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Not that I don't love to hear it, Ali, but you've been refusing to go out with me for two years. Why the change of heart?"

"God, you're insufferable. It's an expression jackass."

"Still," The man stepped away from the doorway to place his backpack on the table next to Alice's belongings continuing their daily banter as he moved. "You're in an unusually good mood."

"You actually moved the snow for one." Her statement came with an eye-roll as if that were the most obvious thing in the world."

"Oh." He stopped his motions of preparing the shop for opening, an expression of consideration forming on his face as his eyes darkened as though he were thinking about something very carefully. "Yeah, that wasn't me. I lent the snowblower to Peter."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Silence hung heavy between the pair as Alice took in the information that Peter, owner of the bar next door, had been the one to remove the snow. That Jasper had not had a change of heart. She would have to thank Peter, considering he wasn't obligated to take care of any business other than his own. It was an exceptionally kind thing for the man to have done.

"I'll take that kiss anyway if the offer is still on the table." Jasper, who had apparently moved past his moment of contemplation, called out, interrupting Alice's thoughts.

"Get fucked, Jasper."

"Oh Alice," The man smirked, making his way to the front of the building to unlock the doors. "Can't you see I'm trying?"

---

Two weeks late, another snowstorm hit. Once again, Alice repeated her morning trials of getting ready despite the snow, albeit a little faster than she had during the previous storm.

There was one significant difference this time around. When the woman arrived at the coffee shop to begin her shift, the majority of the snow was still in place. Only one singular parking spot had been cleared out, and in the distance of the lot, Alice could see none other than Jasper Whitlock bundled up with his snowblower.

She rushed inside, partly to get out of the harsh winds but mostly to check the sidewalks. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw that once again, they had been cleared. The side of her mouth raised in a soft half-smile at the knowledge that Jasper was trying.

Maybe, just maybe, one of these days, she would agree to that date.

[citylightsbooks]

Listening as an act of love: Marie Mutsuki Mockett in conversation

This is an excerpt of a free event for our virtual events series, City Lights LIVE. This event features Marie Mutsuki Mockett in conversation with Garnette Cadogan discussing her new book American Harvest: God, Country, and Farming in the Heartland, published by Graywolf Press. This event was originally broadcast live via Zoom and hosted by our events coordinator Peter Maravelis. You can listen to the entire event on our podcast. You can watch it in full as well on our YouTube channel.

*****

Marie Mutsuki Mockett: You don't see me talking about love or the importance of love very much. Maybe I would have a larger Instagram account if I constantly put up memes about love. I should probably do that.

I consider [American Harvest] to be an investigation of something that I didn't understand and that I thought was important. So I asked questions and wanted to try to answer those questions by talking to people who were very different than I am. To sit with them and find out what their genuine experience in the world is, and then see if I could answer some of the questions that I have.

I did not tell myself, "This is a book about love," or "You must employ love." I also didn't spend a lot of time saying to myself, "This is a book that's going to require you to be brave." I just really was trying to focus on the questions that I had and on my curiosity. I was trying to pinpoint, when I'm in a church, when I'm in a farm, when I'm around a situation that I don't understand, what's actually happening. And that was really what I was trying to do and how I was trying to direct my attention.

Garnette Cadogan: But love comes up a lot in the book. And for you, a lot of it has to do with listening. In many ways, this book is a game of active listening, and listening--as you've shown time and again--is fundamentally an act of love.

You decided to go and follow wheat farmers and move along in their regimens and cycles and rituals, and not only the rituals of labor, but rituals of worship, rituals of companionship, and issues of community. When did you begin to understand what is the real task of listening? Because in the book, time and again, you remind us that there are so many places in which there is this huge gap, or this huge chasm, in our effort to understand each other.

Marie Mutsuki Mockett: Well, that is where love comes in. Because that is the only reason why you would spend time listening to people or talking to people. What would be the motivation for trying to be open to others? Why should you be open to others? We don't have to be. So why should one be?

And you're right that things do get reduced down to this question of love. I had always heard that Christianity was the religion of love. And that love was one of the things that was unique about Christ's message. I didn't really grow up with any one religion. Also, my mother was from Japan, so I also grew up always hearing about how for a long time, the word love didn't really exist in Japanese. There really is no way to say “I love you.” Linguists still debate whether or not you can say "I love you" in Japanese and there are ways in which people say it, but it doesn't have the same history, and it doesn't have the same loaded meaning that it does in Western English.

So I was aware from a really early age, because I heard my parents and other people talk about this, that this question of love was very much a part of Western culture and that it originated from Christianity. And I really wondered what does that mean? And if it means anything, is there anything to it? And if there is, what is it? And there's a scene in the book where I talk about my feeling of disappointment that no one had ever purchased me anything from Tiffany, the jewelry store, because if you live in New York City, you're constantly surrounded by Tiffany ads. When you get engaged, you can get a Tiffany box. And then on your birthday, you can get a Tiffany box. And then in the advertisements, the graying husband gives the wife another Tiffany box to appreciate her for all the years that she's been a wife and on and on. I know that that has nothing to do with love. I know that that that's like some advertiser who's taken this notion of love and then turned it into some sort of message with a bunch of images, and it's supposed to make me feel like I want my Tiffany ring (which I've never gotten). That's not love. But is there anything there? And that was definitely something that I wanted to investigate.

I think I started to notice a pattern where I was going to all of these churches in the United States, and I'm not a church going person. And the joke that I tell is that I decided to write American Harvest partly because I wasn't going to have to speak Japanese. I could speak English, which is the language with which I'm most comfortable. But I ended up going to all these churches, and I couldn't understand what anybody was saying. I would leave the church and Eric, who is the lead character, would say, "What do you think?" And I would say, "I have no idea what just happened." And so it took time for me to tune in to what the pastors were saying, and what I came to understand is that there were these Christian churches that emphasized fear, and churches that didn't emphasize fear. And then I started to meet people who believe that God wants them to be afraid and people who are motivated by fear or whose allegiance to the church comes from a place of fear, in contrast to those who said, "You're not supposed to be afraid. That's not the point." That was a huge shift in my ability to understand where I was, who I was talking to, and the kinds of people that I was talking to, and why the history of Christianity mattered in this country.

Garnette Cadogan: So you started this book, because you said, "Oh, I only need one language." And then you ended up going to language training.

Marie Mutsuki Mockett: I needed so many different languages! I mean, even this question of land ownership that we're talking about: I feel like that's a whole other language. There are places in the world and moments in history where people didn't own land. It didn't occur to them that they had to own the land themselves. So what's happening when we think we have to? Like with timeshares. I'm really serious. What need is that fulfilling? And you don't need to have a timeshare in Hawaii, where you visit like one week out of the entire year, right? So what need is that fulfilling?

Garnette Cadogan: Rest? Recreation? I’m wondering . . . has the process of living, researching, and writing this book changed you in any way? And if so, how?

Marie Mutsuki Mockett: I mean, absolutely, but it's so hard to talk about. I think that I have a much better and deeper understanding of the history of our country, and a much greater understanding of the role that race plays in our country. A deeper understanding of the tension between rural and urban, and also of our interdependence, which is something I sort of knew, but didn't completely know. And why just kicking out a bunch of states or getting rid of a bunch of people isn't actually an answer to the tension that we've faced. And it's because there's this great interdependence between people. So understanding all of that and realizing how intractable the problem is, oddly, has made me feel calmer about it. Because I realize it isn't as simple as if I just do "X" everything will be fine. I think, when you feel like, "If I just master the steps, if I can just learn this incantation, then everything will be fine," I think when you live that way, it's very frustrating. And I realized the problems are deeper than that. And some of the problems the United States is facing are problems that exist all around the world. I mean the urban rural problems: it's a piece of modernization. It doesn't just affect our country, it affects many countries.

Garnette Cadogan: You know, we've been speaking about land, God, country, Christianity, urbanity, and in this book, a lot of it is packed in through this absolutely wonderful man, Eric, and his family. Part of what makes it compelling and illuminating is we get a chance to understand so much through this wonderful, generous, and beautiful man, Eric. For those who haven't read it yet, tell us about Eric, and why Eric was so crucial to understanding in so much of what you understood, and also some of the changes that you went through.

Marie Mutsuki Mockett: He's a Christian from Pennsylvania. He’s a white man who’s never been to college, but has a genuine intellectual curiosity, although not immediately apparent in a way that would register to us. Because we're at an event that's hosted by bookstore. So when we think of intellectual curiosity, probably the first thing that any of us would do would be to reach for a book, right? That's not what he would do. He wouldn't reach for a book, he would find someone to talk to. He's a person who is very much about the lived experience. But he was very open to asking questions and trying to understand other people's experiences and how the world works, and he was very concerned.

He was the person who told me in early 2016 that he thought that Trump would probably win, when none of us thought that this was possible. And he said this is because we don't understand each other at all. And he's a very open-hearted, very generous person. And you see him change over the course of the book.

He called me the other day. He said, "I've been hearing a lot about violence against Asian Americans." He's met a couple of my friends. He wanted to know, "Are they all right?" And then he said, "I just want you to know that we talk about racial justice all the time in church," because of course, that's the way that he processes life's difficult questions: through church. And I was kind of moved by that, because one of the points that American Harvest makes is that these difficult questions don't get talked about in church. And he said, "I just want you to know this is something that we talk about." So you see him really develop and change as a result of his exposure to me and to seeing how I move through space versus how he moves through space. And it's a big leap of imagination for people to understand that other people have other experiences that are legitimate and real. It seems to be one of the most difficult things for people to understand, but he really made a great effort to do that. And I think that’s kind of extraordinary.

***

Purchase American Harvest from City Lights Bookstore.

[kuuderekun]

"There's not gonna be any fireworks"

https://jaredmithrandirolorin.blogspot.com/2020/08/theres-not-gonna-be-any-fireworks.html

For 8 years I have held the position that The Dark Knight Rises is a great stand alone film but a crappy sequel to Nolan's first two Batman movies.  But that latter criticism was always expressed as merely nerdy whining that it contradicted what I felt The Dark Knight was saying was gonna happen after the credits rolled. However I have come to terms with having a deeper ideological issue with TDKR even as a stand alone film, that has also shown how it's in my eyes incongruity with Nolan's prior Batman films had more substance then even I thought. The Dark Knight Rises becoming it's endgame made the Nolanverse quite possibly the most Pro-Cop and Anti-Anarchy interpretation of Batman ever.  And perhaps that was always where it was destined to go, Batman Begins has all this Police Corruption stuff taken from Year One and The Long Halloween, but it was kind of always implying this is unique to Gotham and why Gotham uniquely needs The Batman.  And then TDK had the sonar plot that I've grown more conflicted on how it was handled.  But still the first two movies can be authorial intent or not read as pretty Anarchistic and here's why. For all the talk about Ledger's Joker being an "Anarchist" his view of Human nature is one actual philosophical Anarchists reject, when he says "when the chips are down, these civilized people, will eat each other" he is expressing a Hobbesian view of Human nature.  Watch the Jack Saint video on Post Apocalyptic fiction for a primer on what that means. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jwVN95XfOPM BTW in this movie of the scenes where The Joker is at least seemingly explaining his world view and motivations, what he says to Batman is where I think he's most honest, Batman is who he sees himself as making this argument with.  He lies to Batman about a basic statement of fact by switching Dent and Rachel's locations, but not about his goals and philosophy.  What he said to Dent was I think partly honest but also designed to "push" Dent where he wanted. At the climax of the movie comes the scene which provides the title of this post, where all of the sudden Batman of all people is the DC character who sounds like an Anime protagonist expressing faith in the innate goodness of humanity.  And he is proven right and The Joker is proven wrong just like in The Killing Joke. However there is a frequent take that the fall of Harvey Dent means The Joker did win, which is how The Joker saw it, he wanted to think he already had Batman in a no wins scenario.  But from an Anarchist perspective what does that actually prove?  The one person corruptible enough for him to corrupt was an agent of the state, Gotham's second highest ranked politician.  And he needed to vindicate Dent's distrust of two corrupt cops to do it.  Even The Joker's victory vindicates actual Anarchism more then it does Hobbesianism. But then comes The Dark Knight Rises with it's Tale of Two Cities inspired plot, Bane's plan is a Statist's perception of Anarchism much more so then The Joker's was.  And thus this film suddenly is vindicating a Hobbesian view of the unwashed masses while glorifying The Police with a heroic last stand. However let's return to the Sonar plot of The Dark Knight.  The common cynical reading of the film is that it's saying this was okay in this extreme circumstance since it did work.  First of all I think arguing an authoritarian measure shouldn't be done because it doesn't work is the cheap way out.  You can argue all day long that the death penalty isn't a good deterrent and torture doesn't get people to tell the truth and I would not consider you wrong, but I also feel those methods are inherently amoral even if they did work. The Sonar did work for Batman at first, but it also glitched out and caused him to lose the actual physical fight with The Joker.  The fact is the people on those ferries are who actually defeated The Joker and not just ideologically, since The Joker probably wouldn't have been caught so off guard by that glove trick if he hadn't been frustrated by there being no fireworks. The one thing that was always going to need to be a part of the third Nolan Bat-Film was for the truth about Harvey Dent to come out and for Gotham to move past it's idealization of a fallen idol.  However everything surrounding what TDKR did with that undermined what the prior two films had built.

[moodboardinthecloud]

Your ‘Surge Capacity’ Is Depleted — It’s Why You Feel Awful

Here’s how to pull yourself out of despair and live your life

Tara Haelle

Aug 16·13 min read

https://elemental.medium.com/your-surge-capacity-is-depleted-it-s-why-you-feel-awful-de285d542f4c

Itwas the end of the world as we knew it, and I felt fine. That’s almost exactly what I told my psychiatrist at my March 16 appointment, a few days after our children’s school district extended spring break because of the coronavirus. I said the same at my April 27 appointment, several weeks after our state’s stay-at-home order.

Yes, it was exhausting having a kindergartener and fourth grader doing impromptu distance learning while I was barely keeping up with work. And it was frustrating to be stuck home nonstop, scrambling to get in grocery delivery orders before slots filled up, and tracking down toilet paper. But I was still doing well because I thrive in high-stress emergency situations. It’s exhilarating for my ADHD brain. As just one example, when my husband and I were stranded in Peru during an 8.0-magnitude earthquake that killed thousands, we walked around with a first aid kit helping who we could and tracking down water and food. Then I went out with my camera to document the devastation as a photojournalist and interview Peruvians in my broken Spanish for my hometown paper.

Now we were in a pandemic, and I’m a science journalist who has written about infectious disease and medical research for nearly a decade. I was on fire, cranking out stories, explaining epidemiological concepts in my social networks, trying to help everyone around me make sense of the frightening circumstances of a pandemic and the anxiety surrounding the virus.

I knew it wouldn’t last. It never does. But even knowing I would eventually crash, I didn’t appreciate how hard the crash would be, or how long it would last, or how hard it would be to try to get back up over and over again, or what getting up even looked like.

Psychiatrist and habit change specialist Dr. Jud Brewer explains how anxiety masquerades as helpfulelemental.medium.com

How to Live When Your Mind Is Governed by Fear

In those early months, I, along with most of the rest of the country, was using “surge capacity” to operate, as Ann Masten, PhD, a psychologist and professor of child development at the University of Minnesota, calls it. Surge capacity is a collection of adaptive systems — mental and physical — that humans draw on for short-term survival in acutely stressful situations, such as natural disasters. But natural disasters occur over a short period, even if recovery is long. Pandemics are different — the disaster itself stretches out indefinitely.

“The pandemic has demonstrated both what we can do with surge capacity and the limits of surge capacity,” says Masten. When it’s depleted, it has to be renewed. But what happens when you struggle to renew it because the emergency phase has now become chronic?

By my May 26 psychiatrist appointment, I wasn’t doing so hot. I couldn’t get any work done. I’d grown sick of Zoom meetups. It was exhausting and impossible to think with the kids around all day. I felt trapped in a home that felt as much a prison as a haven. I tried to conjure the motivation to check email, outline a story, or review interview notes, but I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t make myself do anything — work, housework, exercise, play with the kids — for that whole week.

Or the next.

Or the next.

Or the next.

I know depression, but this wasn’t quite that. It was, as I’d soon describe in an emotional post in a social media group of professional colleagues, an “anxiety-tainted depression mixed with ennui that I can’t kick,” along with a complete inability to concentrate. I spoke with my therapist, tweaked medication dosages, went outside daily for fresh air and sunlight, tried to force myself to do some physical activity, and even gave myself permission to mope for a few weeks. We were in a pandemic, after all, and I had already accepted in March that life would not be “normal” for at least a year or two. But I still couldn’t work, couldn’t focus, hadn’t adjusted. Shouldn’t I be used to this by now?

“Why do you think you should be used to this by now? We’re all beginners at this,” Masten told me. “This is a once in a lifetime experience. It’s expecting a lot to think we’d be managing this really well.”

It wasn’t until my social media post elicited similar responses from dozens of high-achieving, competent, impressive women I professionally admire that I realized I wasn’t in the minority. My experience was a universal and deeply human one.

An unprecedented disaster

While the phrase “adjusting to the new normal” has been repeated endlessly since March, it’s easier said than done. How do you adjust to an ever-changing situation where the “new normal” is indefinite uncertainty?

“This is an unprecedented disaster for most of us that is profound in its impact on our daily lives,” says Masten. But it’s different from a hurricane or tornado where you can look outside and see the damage. The destruction is, for most people, invisible and ongoing. So many systems aren’t working as they normally do right now, which means radical shifts in work, school, and home life that almost none of us have experience with. Even those who have worked in disaster recovery or served in the military are facing a different kind of uncertainty right now.

Americans are faced with more risk than ever. Understanding how the brain navigates this new reality can build…elemental.medium.com

Life Is Now a Game of Risk. Here’s How Your Brain Is Processing It.

“I think we maybe underestimate how severe the adversity is and that people may be experiencing a normal reaction to a pretty severe and ongoing, unfolding, cascading disaster,” Masten says. “It’s important to recognize that it’s normal in a situation of great uncertainty and chronic stress to get exhausted and to feel ups and downs, to feel like you’re depleted or experience periods of burnout.”

Research on disaster and trauma focuses primarily on what’s helpful for people during the recovery period, but we’re not close to recovery yet. People can use their surge capacity for acute periods, but when dire circumstances drag on, Masten says, “you have to adopt a different style of coping.”

“How do you adjust to an ever-changing situation where the ‘new normal’ is indefinite uncertainty?”

Understanding ambiguous loss

It’s not surprising that, as a lifelong overachiever, I’ve felt particularly despondent and adrift as the months have dragged on, says Pauline Boss, PhD, a family therapist and professor emeritus of social sciences at the University of Minnesota who specializes in “ambiguous loss.”

“It’s harder for high achievers,” she says. “The more accustomed you are to solving problems, to getting things done, to having a routine, the harder it will be on you because none of that is possible right now. You get feelings of hopelessness and helplessness, and those aren’t good.”

That’s similar to how Michael Maddaus, MD, a professor of thoracic surgery at the University of Minnesota, felt when he became addicted to prescription narcotics after undergoing several surgeries. Now recovered and a motivational speaker who promotes the idea of a “resilience bank account,” Maddaus had always been a fast-moving high achiever — until he couldn’t be.

“I realized that my personal operating system, though it had led to tremendous success, had failed me on a more personal level,” he says. “I had to figure out a different way of contending with life.”

That mindset is an especially American one, Boss says.

“Our culture is very solution-oriented, which is a good way of thinking for many things,” she says. “It’s partly responsible for getting a man on the moon and a rover on Mars and all the things we’ve done in this country that are wonderful. But it’s a very destructive way of thinking when you’re faced with a problem that has no solution, at least for a while.”

That means reckoning with what’s called ambiguous loss: any loss that’s unclear and lacks a resolution. It can be physical, such as a missing person or the loss of a limb or organ, or psychological, such as a family member with dementia or a serious addiction.

“In this case, it is a loss of a way of life, of the ability to meet up with your friends and extended family,” Boss says. “It is perhaps a loss of trust in our government. It’s the loss of our freedom to move about in our daily life as we used to.” It’s also the loss of high-quality education, or the overall educational experience we’re used to, given school closures, modified openings and virtual schooling. It’s the loss of rituals, such weddings, graduations, and funerals, and even lesser “rituals,” such as going to gym. One of the toughest losses for me to adapt to is no longer doing my research and writing in coffee shops as I’ve done for most of my life, dating back to junior high.

“These were all things we were attached to and fond of, and they’re gone right now, so the loss is ambiguous. It’s not a death, but it’s a major, major loss,” says Boss. “What we used to have has been taken away from us.”

Just as painful are losses that may result from the intersection of the pandemic and the already tense political division in the country. For many people, issues related to Covid-19 have become the last straw in ending relationships, whether it’s a family member refusing to wear a mask, a friend promoting the latest conspiracy theory, or a co-worker insisting Covid-19 deaths are exaggerated.

Ambiguous loss elicits the same experiences of grief as a more tangible loss — denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance — but managing it often requires a bit of creativity.

A winding, uncharted path to coping in a pandemic

While there isn’t a handbook for functioning during a pandemic, Masten, Boss, and Maddaus offered some wisdom for meandering our way through this.

Accept that life is different right now

Maddaus’ approach involves radical acceptance. “It’s a shitty time, it’s hard,” he says. “You have to accept that in your bones and be okay with this as a tough day, with ‘that’s the way it is,’ and accept that as a baseline.”

But that acceptance doesn’t mean giving up, he says. It means not resisting or fighting reality so that you can apply your energy elsewhere. “It allows you to step into a more spacious mental space that allows you to do things that are constructive instead of being mired in a state of psychological self torment.”

Expect less from yourself

Most of us have heard for most of our lives to expect more from ourselves in some way or another. Now we must give ourselves permission to do the opposite. “We have to expect less of ourselves, and we have to replenish more,” Masten says. “I think we’re in a period of a lot of self discovery: Where do I get my energy? What kind of down time do I need? That’s all shifted right now, and it may take some reflection and self discovery to find out what rhythms of life do I need right now?”

She says people are having to live their lives without the support of so many systems that have partly or fully broken down, whether it’s schools, hospitals, churches, family support, or other systems that we relied on. We need to recognize that we’re grieving multiple losses while managing the ongoing impact of trauma and uncertainty. The malaise so many of us feel, a sort of disinterested boredom, is common in research on burnout, Masten says. But other emotions accompany it: disappointment, anger, grief, sadness, exhaustion, stress, fear, anxiety — and no one can function at full capacity with all that going on.

Recognize the different aspects of grief

The familiar “stages” of grief don’t actually occur in linear stages, Boss says, but denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance are all major concepts in facing loss. Plenty of people are in denial: denying the virus is real, or that the numbers of cases or deaths are as high as reported, or that masks really help reduce disease transmission.

Anger is evident everywhere: anger at those in denial, anger in the race demonstrations, anger at those not physically distancing or wearing masks, and even anger at those who wear masks or require them. The bargaining, Boss says, is mostly with scientists we hope will develop a vaccine quickly. The depression is obvious, but acceptance… “I haven’t accepted any of this,” Boss says. “I don’t know about you.”

Sometimes acceptance means “saying we’re going to have a good time in spite of this,” Boss says, such as when my family drove an hour outside the city to get far enough from light pollution to look for the comet NEOWISE. But it can also mean accepting that we cannot change the situation right now.

“We can kick and scream and be angry, or we can feel the other side of it, with no motivation, difficulty focusing, lethargy,” Boss says, “or we can take the middle way and just have a couple days where you feel like doing nothing and you embrace the losses and sadness you’re feeling right now, and then the next day, do something that has an element of achievement to it.”

“Our new normal is always feeling a little off balance, like trying to stand in a dinghy on rough seas, and not knowing when the storm will pass.”

Experiment with “both-and” thinking

This approach may not work for everyone, but Boss says there’s an alternative to binary thinking that many people find helpful in dealing with ambiguous loss. She calls it “both-and” thinking, and sometimes it means embracing a bit of the irrational.

For the families of soldiers missing in action in Vietnam that Boss studied early in her career, or the family members of victims of plane crashes where the bodies aren’t recovered, this type of thinking means thinking: “He is both living and maybe not. She is probably dead but maybe not.”

“If you stay in the rational when nothing else is rational, like right now, then you’ll just stress yourself more,” she says. “What I say with ambiguous loss is the situation is crazy, not the person. The situation is pathological, not the person.”

An analogous approach during the pandemic might be, “This is terrible and many people are dying, and this is also a time for our families to come closer together,” Boss says. On a more personal level, “I’m highly competent, and right now I’m flowing with the tide day-to-day.”

It’s a bit of a Schrödinger’s existence, but when you can’t change the situation, “the only thing you can change is your perception of it,” she says.

Of course, that doesn’t mean denying the existence of the pandemic or the coronavirus. As Maddaus says, “You have to face reality.” But how we frame that reality mentally can help us cope with it.

Look for activities, new and old, that continue to fulfill you

Lots of coping advice has focused on “self-care,” but one of the frustrating ironies of the pandemic is that so many of our self-care activities have also been taken away: pedicures, massages, coffee with friends, a visit to the amusement park, a kickboxing class, swimming in the local pool — these activities remain unsafe in much of the country. So we have to get creative with self-care when we’re least motivated to get creative.

“When we’re forced to rethink our options and broaden out what we think of as self-care, sometimes that constraint opens new ways of living and thinking,” Masten says. “We don’t have a lot of control over the global pandemic but we do over our daily lives. You can focus on plans for the future and what’s meaningful in life.”

For me, since I missed eating in restaurants and was tired of our same old dinners, I began subscribing to a meal-kit service. I hate cooking, but the meal kits were easy, and I was motivated by the chance to eat something that tasted more like what I’d order in a restaurant without having to invest energy in looking through recipes or ordering the right ingredients.

Okay, I’ve also been playing a lot of Animal Crossing, but Maddaus explains why it makes sense that creative activities like cooking, gardening, painting, house projects — or even building your own imaginary island out of pixels — can be fulfilling right now. He references the book The Molecule of More, which explores how dopamine influences our experiences and happiness, in describing the types of activities most likely to bring us joy.

“There are two ways the brain deals with the world: the future and things we need to go after, and the here and now, seeing things and touching things,” Maddaus says. “Rather than being at the mercy of what’s going on, we can use the elements of our natural reward system and construct things to do that are good no matter what.”

Those kinds of activities have a planning element and a here-and-now experience element. For Maddaus, for example, it was simply replacing all the showerheads and lightbulbs in the house. “It’s a silly thing, but it made me feel good,” he says.

Focus on maintaining and strengthening important relationships

The biggest protective factors for facing adversity and building resilience are social support and remaining connected to people, Masten says. That includes helping others, even when we’re feeling depleted ourselves.

“Helping others is one of those win-win strategies of taking action because we’re all feeling a sense of helplessness and loss of control about what’s going on with this pandemic, but when you take action with other people, you can control what you’re doing,” she says. Helping others could include checking in on family friends or buying groceries for an elderly neighbor.

Begin slowly building your resilience bank account

Maddaus’ idea of a resilience bank account is gradually building into your life regular practices that promote resilience and provide a fallback when life gets tough. Though it would obviously be nice to have a fat account already, he says it’s never too late to start. The areas he specifically advocates focusing on are sleep, nutrition, exercise, meditation, self-compassion, gratitude, connection, and saying no.

“Start really small and work your way up,” he says. “If you do a little bit every day, it starts to add up and you get momentum, and even if you miss a day, then start again. We have to be gentle with ourselves and keep on, begin again.”

After spending an hour on the phone with each of these experts, I felt refreshed and inspired. I can do this! I was excited about writing this article and sharing what I’d learned.

And then it took me two weeks to start the article and another week to finish it — even though I wanted to write it. But now, I could cut myself a little more slack for taking so much longer than I might have a few months ago. I might have intellectually accepted back in March that the next two years (or more?) are going to be nothing like normal, and not even predictable in how they won’t be normal. But cognitively recognizing and accepting that fact and emotionally incorporating that reality into everyday life aren’t the same. Our new normal is always feeling a little off balance, like trying to stand in a dinghy on rough seas, and not knowing when the storm will pass. But humans can get better at anything with practice, so at least I now have some ideas for working on my sea legs.

[evakuality]

Episode six: one in which not a lot is different in terms of storyline and things that happen, but in which the wide gulf between these two characters is really highlighted.

Previous episodes can be found here:

Episode one   Episode two   Episode three   Episode four   Episode five

It’s the similarities of the stories that are really highlighted by the differences, and there are some significant differences in how the start of these two episodes play out.  First, of course, is that Isak went awol for a week and we didn’t see him for that hiatus time.  So by this stage he’s been in this state for quite a while, and he’s forced back into contact with people because of school which is still ongoing.  Matteo, on the other hand, moves straight into the next week but he’s able to isolate himself very effectively because his phone is damaged and there’s no school, just exams.  Poor Isak tries hard to pump himself up, make the exposed walk across the schoolyard into something ‘cool’ - like he said to Even way back when they first really talked, he listens to this type of music when he wants to feel cool and confident.  He needs every ounce of that this day, and yet it’s undercut by the kid who bumps into him.  The confident, cool Isak is a fragile facade and it breaks very easily.  He looks pale and washed out and anxious anyway, let alone when his attempt to settle himself fails and his bubble is burst.  Matteo is deep into a weed-fogged haze.  He hasn’t changed at all since Friday and has presumably been doing some variation of lying around smoking ever since he got home that night. He clings to his phone despite not being able to use it and the messages that pour in but which he’s unable to access are symptomatic of his growing isolation.  The things he’s surrounded himself with are things that remind him of David (the picture, cheese sandwiches, though not toasted and not filled with disgusting extras), and that’s all he’s doing.  Blunting the pain with weed while presumably thinking about David.

The rest of each of these scenes plays out differently too.  Partly because of the difference in situation with school vs exams for each, but also partly because of the people who step up at this point.  Jonas is there for Isak in a way that Amira isn’t for Matteo because their friendship goes back further and is more filled with understanding of what is going on in Isak’s life.  Isak approaches Jonas in a very conciliatory frame of mind and he even apologises for how he’s been behaving.  He isn’t yet ready to admit what’s really going on, but he does mention his sleep issues and explains why he’s been so aggressive recently.  Jonas offers at this point to ‘talk about it’ if Isak wants to.  Matteo’s Jonas already offered this, but as I said in my communication meta, he picks the wrong things to focus on: Sara and Matteo’s mother.  So, while they both offer and they are obviously both there for Isak and Matteo, Matteo has a bigger problem making himself talk about it with his Jonas.  Not to mention that he doesn’t lash out at his friends until after Jonas offers to talk, whereas Isak and his Jonas are making an uneasy peace here.  Matteo can’t be sure after the way he spoke to his friends, if Jonas would still be willing.  So, for him it’s not Jonas who talks to him at this point and it’s not his choice.  

This leads to a much different conversation.  Gone is the soft, accepting vibe of Jonas (no-one’s mad at you, we’re just worried) and instead we have Amira and some hard home truths (you have to do something about it, Sara is fucked up because of you etc).  Home truths Matteo isn’t really ready to listen to as yet.  He’s apathetic and uninterested, preferring to stay in his own little bubble of weed and angst rather than try to study effectively and trying to make light of the situation which only alienates her further.  Because his phone is broken and he’s been out of contact he wasn’t expecting this meetup even though Amira did let him know she was coming.  But it means he’s not in any mindset for building bridges and making amends.  Which, we should remember, is partially because he had a week of things looking good and feeling great and it all came crashing down on him just a day or so back.  He came from a depressed place into something bright and hopeful and now he’s been dumped right back into that space.  It’s no wonder he’s not ready to come out of this yet; it hurts and it sucks to feel those good things and lose them.  As he says later, this numbing by the weed makes it all more bearable.  Isak, on the other hand, has been slowly sinking into this for quite some time after a long period of stability where he was at least content with his life, and so at this point he’s ready to start reaching out and making amends with those he’s treated badly.  He’s been in a good place with everyone recently and he wants that back; the bad space he’s in isn’t a nice cocoon for him the way it has been for Matteo.  It’s not something he’s chosen for himself and so he really wants to find a way out of it.

That makes the next few days for him even harder.  He can’t sleep and we see his anger and frustration over that (though I still say his aggression here is totally justified; Noora is being extremely inconsiderate), and then the heartbreak of his meeting with Even, where everything is awkward and no-one has anything particularly helpful to say to each other.  He wants to reach out and connect but he’s exhausted and heartsick and has no idea how to go about building those bridges he so obviously wants.  So in the end he just gives it all up and walks away; that’s easier than trying to make awkward small talk with this person with all the things that are still hanging between them.  Matteo meets up with his friends again, or more to the point they come to see him, and clearly try to help him work through whatever is going on with him with all the talk of spas and thermal baths and wellness etc.  Matteo is still not in a frame of mind to be accepting any of this though; he’s so tuned out from their conversation that his only response to their talk is that he’s going to put on some music.  Then the problem gets bigger again.  They make it obvious that they’re here because they think his funk is because of Sara when for him that was never the problem.  Breaking up with her was a relief to him and this whole ‘Sara’s feeling badly’ thing that everyone (including David) has been piling on him just pushes him further away from wanting to talk.  It’s not even what the boys are doing here )(they’re more focused on him) but because he’s heard it so often he’s getting really sick of it.  They’ve got such a disastrously wrong end of the stick with what’s going on with him and of course it culminates in his outburst that they only care about whether he was having sex with her.  They say he doesn’t talk to them and his indignant response is that’s because they have one track minds.  It pisses him off that everything is reduced to that (and when looking back he’s right; a LOT of what they talk about is sex related, even in this conversation) and none of it is based on anything really going on.  To the point that they have no idea of what that is.

What actually turns things around for Matteo, and serves as his own Isak-and-Jonas bridge building conversation, is when he talks with Hanna.  Unlike the other people who try to get through to him, she’s open and vulnerable herself, admits to feeling overwhelmed and anxious and so he’s able to be open himself.  It’s a moment where he gets to have some clarity and because she doesn’t push at him, he’s far more willing to accept what she’s saying.  It’s not over yet for him, of course, but her quiet acceptance of him and her admission that just because he’s done some shitty things it doesn’t mean he’s an asshole goes a long way to helping him start to turn himself around.  Moving this scene from the final party to here really fits for Matteo, I think.  He needed this here in a way that Isak, with his friends who have been more of a solid presence for him throughout the season, doesn’t.  Matteo really needed to hear that what he did to Hanna has been forgiven and that he can still have worth to other people, and he needed to hear it now when he was at his lowest and when he really felt like he’s an asshole with no hope of redemption.

The conversations they each have directing them to talk to other people otherwise they’ll end up like Ibiza are ostensibly very similar.  But they go to these people for different reasons, and expecting different results.  Isak’s desperate to be ‘normal’ again and to get over his sleep issues.  He wants pills to fix him and make it all feel better.  Matteo just wants more weed to blunt the pain and make everything more bearable.  I don’t think he feels like he can be fixed as such, but he’s keen to keep doing what has been ‘working’ for the last little while.  The people they speak to are both weird and unlikely bearers of the advice they give, though Isak’s doctory person at least tries to get him to see a professional.  Interestingly, he gets quite anxious at that idea and she backs off (probably because she’s not a ‘real’ doctor).  But the outcome for both is that they figure out that they need to open up and talk to people.  For Isak, that’s a scary thought because he’s still worried that telling people about Even will end up in rejection and isolation.  And we’ve seen over this last little while how much isolation is something he doesn’t enjoy at all.    For Matteo, the thought of talking to people is confronting because he still thinks he’s an asshole and he doesn’t want to put himself out to be with people and mend bridges in case they don’t want to mend them back.  I think for Isak it’s more about losing what he has so he doesn’t want to put himself out there, and for Matteo it’s about risking rejection if he tries to reach out, so it’s better to self isolate than to attempt it.  Both, however, are at the end of their tethers at this point and so they both make the decision to contact their Jonas and try to work through it.

The actual coming out conversations are again similar.  They both have a lot of love and support from their Jonas and they both feel relief when they’ve told him and it goes well.  The one big difference is how effusive Matteo is when he talks about David, and the way he describes their time together.  And the conversation Isak has with his Jonas beforehand is much more lowkey, just random talk about silly stuff that’s happened.  Matteo’s Jonas talks about how when he felt bad he did things to make himself feel better and more clear.  This again goes to each of their personalities and what they’re each afraid of.  Isak’s afraid he’ll lose this normal casual relationship with his friends and this conversation is there to assuage that feeling and when Jonas carries on being exactly the same after Isak tells him it’s such a relief for him.  You can see it in his face and hear it in his voice.  Matteo, on the other hand, feels like he’s different and not the same as anyone else so for him the relief is in hearing that Jonas was feeling this way before and that he was able to get out of it.  Like with Hanna, he gets some sort of comfort from knowing that he’s not the only one in this boat.  His ‘I scare away my friends’ to the dealer is so heartbreaking because he honestly thinks this is what will happen if he tries to connect because he’s been so shitty both in the past and recently, so to have Jonas do this in this moment allows Matteo to be easier with being open.  It’s also probably relevant that he had his little boost from David’s picture before he talks to Jonas rather than after like Isak.  The fragile knowledge that David isn’t completely lost to him does fuel a lot of what he says in that conversation with Jonas.

The two boys, while ending up with the same result (coming out to their best friend and being accepted), are so different in the ways they deal with the situations.  It’s still fascinating to me that Matteo is based off Isak and that their stories to this point don’t diverge that much, and yet they are such different people with such different outlooks on life.  You really couldn’t slot either of them into the other’s story and have it work; their motivations and reactions are just too different.

Episode seven can be found here

[thank-you-phipps]

Review: The Lawrence Browne Affair by Cat Sebastian

I’ve read this book maybe three times now? It’s one of my favorites which basically puts is squarely in with the rest of Cat’s books. She’s pretty good at keeping it fresh with each new release, and I’m freaking out about Two Rogues Make a Right, which my libby app tells me will be ready in six fucking months. Not happy about that.

Although I’m very fond of most of her books, they all lack some subtlety. It’s not that she doesn’t “show” enough. The love is apparent, and I think Georgie’s character development was well done, if a bit ham-fisted. But the book doesn’t ask much of the reader. If you couldn’t read the hidden meaning behind a character’s actions, if a tone of voice is lost on you, Cat will jump in and make thinks crystal clear. This is a pet-peeve of mine that has lost some of it’s power since I’ve started devouring historical romances. Sometimes I actually appreciate it because it means that what I want to be true (what I want the character to be thinking, what I think such and such and action is meant to convey, etc), is actually how things are, and I can now fully revel in that knowledge. I only mention it because it’s a bit more pronounced in her books.

I like the romance in this one because it has something that sets it apart from others, and that is it’s built on familiarity. Yes, there’s an attraction at first, but that isn’t really given much attention for a while, or at least isn’t given much weight. There’s give and take, active loving with good deeds done, and a sort of exclusive camaraderie that is set before the airier feelings are laid on top. It’s a more humble romance than what I’ve read in the past, with emphasis put on companionship, and an appreciated dearth of alpha displays.

I’ve been reading all Lisa Kleypas’ books recently, so the lack of alpha males was rather jarring, but a relief I can tell you. In fact, of all romance heroes, Lawrence is one of the least testosterone drenched of the bunch. He’s a recluse due to his extreme anxiety, and struggles throughout the book because of it. But he overcomes himself when he must be a father to Simon (partly for Georgie’s sake and at his earnest request), and again when he ventures all the way to London from Cornwall to save Georgie from Mattie Brewster, which entailed all sorts of harrowing interactions, and unfamiliar surroundings. No bread and ham to be found, and he longs to be back in his hole.

That’s not something you see often in rom-coms; when someone must be better for the sake of the love interest, and struggles with it. Lisa Kleypas would never dare risk a bond with the substantiality of cotton candy on anything so trifling as self sacrifice.

I did say that it was a romance built on familiarity. They work in close proximity and with not an insignificant level of intimacy. Georgie is his secretary, so he reads all Lawrence’s notes and correspondence with his partner in science. Lawrence comes to rely on Georgie quite a bit, and soon it becomes clear that he is indispensable to Lawrence both for his own sake and as a helpmate to Lawrence’s tinkering.

Cat could have delved further into that dynamic. The two of them collaborating, together working at solutions to short circuits, Georgie getting a chance to become invested in Lawrence’s experiments, could have been a great stage to develop a more intimate sense of partnership. This is a pet-peeve of mine: rom-com authors skimming over the aspects of a relationship that actually build the familiarity and appreciation of each other’s company. It happens quite a bit in Red, White, and Royal Blue (please, God, don’t smite me) which rankled. Casey just tells us, after sampling a few measly conversations, that the pair continue these interactions for weeks and weeks. In other words, the readers aren’t privy to the freaking bonding part. We like that part! That’s why we picked up the book. But I digress.

To be completely honest, I love it when authors give one character a flaw that prompts a surplus of compassion from the other player. The fact that we get to see Georgie being soft with Lawrence when he’s panicking, or being sensitive to his needs even before he has to ask, is just uwu porn at its finest, and a total guilty pleasure. And yet I am counting it as a flaw that Cat picked for Lawrence such an easily surmountable imperfection (in Georgie’s eyes) to conduct their falling in love. I am not saying anxiety is easily surmountable. Definitely, definitely not saying that. I only mean that it is easily surmountable as an obstacle in this relationship, and in fictional romantic relationships in general. Anxiety isn’t usually something romance authors insert into their books for the purpose of creating strife in the relationship. More often it’s a shortcut to intimacy. It’s easy to be compassionate to an anxious person, relatively speaking, even prompting some co-dependence a la Mr. Rochester + Jane Eyre, and God how I love the smell of co-dependence in the morning. But it doesn’t really give us anything new, and doesn’t challenge the pairing in any real way (quite the opposite). In this case, they needn’t grow or learn anything about themselves so that they might be more compatible; there are no bridges that need building if the relationship is to be a success (at least the way Cat writes anxiety), and if nobody is challenged, the relationship hasn’t much foundation. I’m always more convinced of a pairing when it’s brought to the table with some less romantic issues that are then ironed away throughout the book. (Love Lettering by Kate Clayborn makes for a nice example.) I like to think they could be convincing by some means other than they happen to like kinky sex. Let me be clear, me pretending sex is the main conduit of feeling in this book is way oversimplifying and overstating the problem to get my point across, but in my defense, sex is an apt punching bag. The tendency is for characters to put a lot of meaning into sex because they think that they are learning all the important things by intuiting it all, while emotions are running high but not much is at stake. I’m not knocking great sex. That counts as bonding, at least in my book. But the love could be so much deeper if we got to see them arguing, crying in frustration, being resentful and then figuring it out, kissing and making up with maybe some handcuffs and rope to sweeten the deal.

[cravingcrazewriting]

Run Away For A Little While {Galaxy Gals}

It was happening again.

What started off as a peaceful dinner quickly erupted into a fight about Connor and how Larry wanted to switch his meds up again, but Connor fought it, because they were actually working, and they outbursts the school reported only happened once. But Larry wasn't buying it, insisting that the medication wasn't doing what it had to.

Yeah, that really pissed Connor off.

Screaming matches became less of a routine within the Murphy Household, but when they did happen, they were still very explosive, with a dose of a refusal to listen, and added with stubbornness. It was the perfect recipe for disaster. Of course, there was still another factor that added into it, which was family dinners. Why Cynthia kept pressing for them could only be determined by trying, Zoe thought, because it was a regular occurrence, every night.

She was persistent, Zoe would give her that, but it really didn't feel worth it for the arguments that ensued.

That was why she was sitting in her room, shaking as the screams of Larry and Connor booked throughout the house. Zoe kept one hand over her ear, and her phone pressed firmly against her ear, simply wanting to drown them out with other noise.

"Zoe? Is it happening again?" Alana's voice rung through the iPhone's tiny speaker, which was annoying, but Zoe was too stubborn to get a new phone because she just really liked the current one she had.

She swallowed shakily, "Yeah. Yeah it is." That was all she could really say. The details were fazing from her memory, and she felt dull and numb from all the screaming. She couldn't stop her body from shaking or the heavy breaths escaping her lips. It was way too much, and she just needed an out.

"Okay, I'll come get you. I'm sure my dads will understand," Alana was shuffling around a bit on the other end, probably throwing a coat on because it was only November but they'd already had a thin layer of snow on the ground.

"I'll be outside," Zoe shakily got up, and started to back a bag with necessities. Unlike Connor, she could slip right out through the front door, and no one would notice her leave (they always wasted their energy on Connor, anyways).

She was aware that the smaller the bag, the better it was to get out. She'd even learnt how to pack tight, which while she didn't utilize on family trips, was still useful to know.

Once her small drawstring bag was packed, she put on a jean jacket, threw it around her back, and silently made her way out of the house.

At this point, Cynthia was trying to diffuse the argument, which was pretty pointless, because it should've stopped long before this point. But it did some good, as both Larry and Connor's attention were on her and her speech on communication, and before Zoe stepped outside, she could hear Connor scream, "I am 'communicating'!!!"

She kept the door handle turned to avoid it clicking when it shut, but she released it when outside in the frosty, dark night, as she saw Alana's car pull up into the driveway.

Alana drove a silver Subaru that was about seven years old, but she loved with all her heart. Zoe never complained about it, because she thought Subaru was a good brand of car (she still heavily preferred her Jeep, though).

Zoe piled into the passenger's seat with a huff, leaning back against the seat. Despite being out of the house, she was still shaking and on edge, hence why she opted not to drive herself to Alana's.

"You can put on whatever you want," Alana gestured to the radio. It wasn't like she didn't care, she was just trying to distract Zoe from the issue until she felt calmer. It was what she usually did to help, and most times, it really did help.

Zoe nodded silently, pressing a few buttons to go to the popular music channel and turned up the dial to drown out any silence. She let her hand drop by her side.

The latter let her hand drop from the steering wheel to place on top of Zoe's. She didn't keep it there long, but settled to rub her hand over her knuckles. It was a small, soothing touch.

"We don't have to talk about it till you're ready," Alana had a really nice, soothing voice. Briefly, Zoe wondered if she worked with people during their panic attacks (the more likely reason was that they knew each other so well).

She just nodded, taking the time to relax as Alana drove back to her dads' house. She really liked it there, because in her opinion, they were the perfect family. Alana always argued that the 'perfect family' didn't exist, but her dads hardly ever argued, and even when they did, they weren't as extreme compared to when Cynthia and Larry fought.

When they arrived, Alana carried in Zoe's drawstring bag and held her hand with her free hand, swinging their arms freely to try and put a smile on Zoe's face. It sort of worked, even for a little bit, but the feeling left when Alana's dads asked why she was there.

"Sorry, Mr. Beck, Sr. Beck, it's just- my family fought again," Zoe admitted, trying to fight the knot of anxiety in her chest. It was like it was retangling again, no matter how hard she tried.

"Zoe please, I told you to call me Zach and my husband Antonio," Zach assured her. He was like any other white guy, skinny and tall, wearing a nice dress shirt and pants. It appeared that he had a rose tattooed on his forearm.

"You're welcome here whenever you want, Zoe. I just wish your family didn't fight so much," Antonio was Latino, and his dark brown hair was growing into a mullet at this point. He was wearing a designer's jacket and shirt, along with jeans. From what Alana told her, Antonio was a graphic designer, mainly working on build boards and stuff like that.

Zoe sighed, partly in relief, and partly out of gratitude. "Thank you, Zach, Antonio..."

"Of course, we're glad to have you," Zach rubbed the back of his head, smiling sheepishly. "I mean, not under these circumstances, obviously. It's just nice seeing you. You're a really nice young lady, and really great for Alana."

In the not so distant background, it was clear that Alana was blushing.

"She's good for me, too," she glanced back at Alana, "Tonight proved that."

After assuring Zach and Antonio that she'd had enough to eat already, she heads up into Alana's bedroom. She's still a bit nervous from before, but she's settling down now, knowing she's safe. Alana's room is nice and tidy, the walls colored with beautiful shades of purple that Zoe absolutely adores. Her bedsheets are a darker blue in contrast, and the blankets are random jumbles of color, from either Zoe impulsively buying her a big, fluffy blanket, or just a blanket she's used since her childhood.

Alana goes to set up the bed, making it into a cute little dune shape surrounded by the numerous amounts of spare pillows she has, and a few blankets to lay on. Teen magazines are laid beside it with markers to circle contradicting things inside, a tub of nail polish and a bottle of rubbing alcohol with a few cotton balls sit beside it, a few face masks Alana talked about trying, but the absolute jewel of it all was Alana herself, settling into the space she'd just made and opening it up for Zoe to join her.

Zoe wastes no time climbing inside, cuddling up to Alana immediately, who grabs the magazine and markers, and together they start flipping through the magazine.

"Do you think things will ever get better?" Zoe asked when they were halfway through the magazine.

"I mean, if they tried to actually listen then yes, but I'm not sure that'll happen," Alana always tried to be honest, and if she didn't know what could happen, she tried to be optimistic.

"I don't think they will,.." Zoe crumbled the bedsheets into her palm, holding back frustration and anger.

"All you can do is wait," Alana leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. "Just wait and hope that things will get better."

"What can I do until then?" Zoe smiled weakly. There were days where she couldn't stand being inside her own house, or hanging out with Connor. There were days where it all became too much.

"Then you can come here, and run away for a little while," Alana smiled at her, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

There'd always be bad days, but at least Zoe knew she had another home to run to.

A/N- Why does Alana have two dads? Because that's my head canon and I can do whatever I want.

[celestinaruns]

The river valley exacted its revenge--and it was definitely angry

At 4 am on Sunday morning, the sun was already rising in Edmonton. I had kept my curtains open, partly not expecting the light to be streaming in so soon, partly hoping for it because I thought I would sleep in. Silly, really, because I was tossing and turning all night.

I had packed everything I needed the night before. Correction: everything I thought I would need to take on the 50 km course at the Canadian River Valley Revenge, Summer Edition. I had done some research, fully expecting a 50 km trail race to be a whole other monster in comparison to the road marathons I was used to. This wouldn’t be some marked course I could breeze through, after all, and that extra 7.8 km was going to hit me hard.

Of course, even with my own nerves, I hardly knew what I was in for.

The race debrief at RVR was friendly and realistic. It actually calmed me down to hear the race directors tell us that, honestly, this course was no joke. It would be tough--but we would be fine. My favourite part of the debrief was when they discussed how much they wanted their race to be as sustainable and environmentally friendly as possible. No plastic markers on the course--just ground spray and sparing use of ribbon markers in the trees. No cups at aid stations. No single-use material. After spending the last month thinking on how to make my hobby of running less impactful on the environment, it almost felt like I was right where I was supposed to be. But that’s a topic for another blog post. (Spoiler alert?)

Just standing at the start line, I could tell that this was a race unlike any other I had run before. Fellow runners were friendly and conversational, despite the fact that it was 6 am and this was a race. It was very clear to me before we even started running that there was a sense of humility you can’t quite find at big city road races.

And then we were off.

The course started out fine. It was hilly and narrow and very technical, but I was feeling good. And even when I hit my first massive hill and found myself breathless, I reached the top and just stopped for a moment. The sun was still rising and there was a fog settling on the water. After that, with every view I got to see and every step I took, I started to care less and less about my time and my pace. I was having fun, despite the burning in every muscle in my body.

The fog, of course, came to bite me in the ass later in the day. The moisture turned a very narrow cliffside trail into something like a slanted wall of mud that I had to scale, stretching for 2 miles. That alone took me 50 minutes. By the time I got to the end, though, I stopped again, looked out onto the water and down at myself, covered in mud from my thighs down, with a realization finally setting in.

Today wouldn’t be about speed and pace records and other road race jargon. It was about surviving the adventurous trails of the river valley and enjoying my surroundings.

The course didn’t suddenly get easy just because I had decided to run for myself and not for anyone else, of course, but it did become a lot more enjoyable. For those that have never experienced the Edmonton river valley, it’s something else. Almost entirely undeveloped, the terrain is anything but kind. The trails have been shaped by adventurous mountain bikers, trail runners, and cross-country skiers that came before, and a lot of them have their own little quirks. I found myself smiling as I was ducking and leaping over logs, and I didn’t hesitate to use my hands whenever I reached a hill that was so steep it may as well have been vertical.

I paid big time, physically speaking. Aside from the muddy wetness in my shoes and socks, I also had splinters all over my palms and cuts on my legs and arms. I ran out of water a couple of miles before the first aid station, underestimating the heat and the exhaustion my body was enduring. But I made it there, I chugged back some cola like I had never tasted it before in my life, and I took a breather.

I hadn’t opted to drop off a box of extra things at the aid station the day before because... well, I had underestimated the course, despite all of my planning. “Just 50 km, why would I need a change of anything?” had been my thought process. As I stood under that tent, though, my wet socks squelching under my weight, I resolved that I wouldn’t be making that mistake at my next ultra.

Just over halfway through, and there it was! Already, the words “my next ultra” were passing through my mind. I must’ve been going crazy.

As I left the aid station, I realized that I felt... really good. In pain, yes, but I wasn’t nauseous or anything--and that was a big deal. Nausea while running intensely has been a huge issue for me in the past, but something about that race sat well with me. Maybe it was the solid food, or maybe it was the perfect combination of sugar, caffeine, and carbonation from the cola that settled my stomach. Either way, I was bouncing happily along Old Tramp on my way to get a poker chip to prove that I had been to the mysterious trampoline in the middle of Edmonton’s river valley. 

I loved that, too. Not the trampoline, specifically, but the hidden gems of Edmonton trail running, which includes the trampoline-- as well as Golfball Alley, with its audience of golf balls spectating your run, and Six Shooter, with its hidden plastic revolver that I have yet to find (one day). All trash, in anyone else’s eyes, but quirks and traditions that remain untouched and unmoved by everyone that makes their way through the treacherous terrain.

It was when I doubled back on Old Tramp that I missed a marker that cost me an extra 4 km. Not something I gave much thought, though. In a road race, I would have been frustrated at myself for the time loss. I remember being delayed a couple of minutes at Red Deer and muttering angrily to myself for the next few kilometres. Now, though, I simply shrugged it off. “Just part of the adventure, we live, we learn,” I told myself easily.

The race hit a lot of exposed areas after that, just as the hot sun started shining its brightest. I had just gotten my second poker chip on the other side of the river when I found that my water was already starting to run quite low, and it would be a while until the next aid station. Next time, I would get the 2 L hydration bladder, I had resolved. Next time!

In a miraculous turn of events, an unmanned water station had been set up along the route passing EPCOR, by some of its employees. It had been at the perfect time, just when my water was completely out, and that was enough to get me to the next and final manned aid station.

In a moment of inspiration, I filled one of my bottles with half cola half water, and the other entirely with water. For whatever the reason, the cola had sat well with me once before, so I thought it would help me get through the rest of the day. Only another 12 km, after all. Hardly anything in comparison to what I had just run.

Once I had my fill of some fruit and got some of my more painful splinters out, I was off once more. Again, there was an unmanned aid station along the trail where I filled up on my cola and water. It was set up by a man and a woman living in the area, both of them ultra runners, both content with spending the day helping us out. The only other time I had seen something like that had been at Boston, but this was different. I felt like I had the time to stop, take a breather, and actually chat with them. The atmosphere wasn’t filled with the same frenzy and madness one finds at packed road races. I could hear the crickets in the tall grass and had a beautiful view of the river. 

That was easily one of my favourite stops, not only because of how kind the people had been, but also because my stomach and I discovered that rice, apparently, sits very well with me in the middle of a race.

After that, the route wasn’t quite as bad. It wasn’t until I finished the race that I found out I ran another extra 4 km by taking a loop that had been intended only for the 50 and 100 mile racers. It was a mistake that many of the 50 km runners had made, though, and in the moment of racing it hadn’t clicked in my mind at all--I just couldn’t understand why the last 12 km was definitely not 12 km.

The route was fine, though, and almost too easy--which should have been the dead giveaway. The last 2 miles of the course brought me into the deep woods once more, traversing creeks and roots and fallen logs with an ironic combination of carefulness and hurriedness. Every once in a while the trail would get closer to the city and I could hear the cheers from the finish line, and then it would dive back down into stubborn and aggressive ravine. My quads were starting to give out and my feet dragging. At this point, my knees were doing most of the work and I’m convinced it was that last kilometre that gave me most of my scratches.

A brutal last kilometre, one we had been warned about that morning. The fastest finish time for it had been 15 minutes. I had taken about 21 minutes, and that alone had actually made me very proud of myself. As soon as I realized that I was near the top, I was scrambling up and running as fast as I could to cross the finish line.

And then it was over, just like that. I received my medal and my free beer. I walked around aimlessly for a bit, too scared of sitting down in case I wouldn’t be able to stand up again. Honestly, I don’t even remember if I got my burger before or after I changed into dry clothes, but I did get it at one point. I also remember defending salt & vinegar chips as the best chip flavour to a skeptic across the table from me. The rest is a bit hazy.

Even at the end, the words at my next ultra were still running through my head. Yeah, I was destroyed. Still am. My legs and arms are covered in scratches. My ankles are bruised. My fingers are still sore from the splinters that were stuck in there for hours. I have a tan line that I’m 99% sure could be turned into a meme, and so much chafing that I had to resort to wiping my body with wet wipes instead of having a full shower. But it was fun.

In the end, my wrong turns cost me an extra 8.2 km. I finished my 58.2 km in 9:21:23 on a course that was intended to be 50 km with a 10 hour time limit. I was far from speedy and definitely nowhere near the top, but I hadn’t trained on most of that terrain. I hadn’t even thought that it could get that intense, so I had mostly, and naively, kept to well-groomed trails. Once during my training, I reached a somewhat scary trail and simply turned around, thinking that it couldn’t be that bad. That trail ended up being one of the easiest singletracks on the whole course. I hadn’t known what to expect in terms of my nutrition and hydration needs. I hadn’t thought to leave changes of clothes and shoes at the aid stations. There was simply so much I wouldn’t have considered until actually running the race.

Despite the fact that I was far from my usual speedy, confident self that people see in a road race, and despite everything I hadn’t thought to do, I still just felt so happy to be there and to have been able to accomplish this amazing, insane feat. My body had done that. And yeah, my time needs work--but then I thought about how slow I had been when I first started running cross country in high school. Really slow. I didn’t quit, though, and simply just kept running whenever I could. Each step made me a little better, and the same thing applies to ultra trail races.

I feel like I’m on the cusp of a new chapter of my life, but not quite ready to leave the last one. I still want to make it to Boston in 2021 and I still have that need for speed that only road races can really satisfy. At the same time, though, I have found something I never knew I needed or wanted in ultra marathons and trail races--or adventure races, as the brutal terrain is affectionately dubbed. I think, for now, the one thing I truly want is to find a healthy, sustainable way to keep both of these in my life.

Most of all, though, I need a damn massage.

[halfgap]

This is such a tiny (& likely pointless) quibble that’s been bothering me for a long, long time, way before I got into CR. Basically writers and fandom (esp. recently) are really, really into the whole “found family” or “families of choice” trope, and like. So am I, 100%. But a lot of the thought/language surrounding it -- in all areas of fandom -- tends to veer in a direction that almost always makes me uncomfortable.

Below the cut bc this got rambly & senseless fast lol

Like... it’s sort of this popular fixation on assigning kinship terms to each individual or non-romantic relationship within the “found family” unit. Like, “oh this is the dad of the group, this is the mom, this is the weird uncle, these two are siblings, etc.” And obviously in some cases it’s very appropriate or even comes directly from the writers/characters (which is another issue of its own tbh but.. later). But it bugs me that so many people are so keen on categorizing these relationships through this rigid kinship terminology in the first place. 

(And I know I’m looking at this from a very unfortunately Eurocentric perspective, since there are so many cultures that don’t base their ideas of “kinship” on biology at all and don’t automatically prioritize blood relations as “true” family, which is why my weird specific quibbles on this may be entirely pointless, and I’m open to hearing thoughts. But I also suspect that most of the people participating in this popular trend/habit I’m talking about are coming from a similar cultural perspective as mine...)

Anyway, I can’t really articulate why this has always annoyed me so much other than to say... I feel like people refuse to let the word “friends” just be, and be important & valued? And it’s good that people are re-defining the word “family” so that it can function independent of any blood ties, but this obsession with like, “dad, siblings, the vodka aunt etc” to me still feels strongly tied to the older ideas of kinship through blood & marriage, basically this.. strictly defined family tree sort of deal. If people want to push forward the idea that the platonic bonds we choose & create for ourselves can be just as important or even more important than biological bonds or romantic/sexual ones, then why do we have to insist on these older kinship labels that both implicitly continue to privilege older ideas of family (by people “upgrading” relationships from “friends” to “siblings/parents/etc”) and also bear the same limitations? Like, a great fucking thing about these chosen bonds are that they don’t have to be defined or boxed into any one predetermined social role, they can be amorphous and intense and transcend the language we currently have access to.

Like, when people kept asking Ash and Taliesin on TM if Yasha and Molly considered themselves siblings... That made me uncomfortable, especially after they both conclusively said “no.” Ashley’s made it clear that Molly was the most important person in her life after she left Xhorhas, he’s a soul mate and a friend and a confidant and a buddy but she clarified that Yasha doesn’t see him as “a brother, exactly..” Partly I think it’s because there is a potential dimension of some form of romantic bond within their intense platonic love, but even with that they’d never consider themselves dating or anything like that, either -- or they can also ‘just’ be read as 100% platonic past & present & future, depending on where you’re coming from. Like, it’s ambiguous & amorphous & intense & loving & good, and I like that it defies categorization, I like that the best way to describe them is “they’re very close friends” and that doesn’t mean less than if they were lovers or “adoptive siblings” or whatever. The whole circus was kind of the same way, and Tal even said that Molly didn’t consider any of them a “parental” figure when fans asked about Gustav, but decided that Gustav was the closest to that role if we had to look at things that way. But we don’t!!!!

People also asked several times if Beau and Molly considered themselves siblings -- again, no!!!!! (But I feel like that’s probs bc the cast are also largely used to the idea we get from so much media & stories where a friend/comrade is “upgraded” to a “brother/sister/whatever” after a certain degree of trust/intimacy that Beau and Molly didn’t have yet... but still, I don’t think Beau and Molly ever needed to develop into siblings in the first place!! Ahhhh!!!) Weirdly a funny related example I can think of is that one Community episode when they were like “This study group is like a family!!” but then a lot of hidden trysts and scandals and feelings were discussed/debated, and at the end Jeff admitted that maybe they weren’t like a family, exactly, maybe it was more complicated than that. And it is!!! But that doesn’t mean that group bond matters less than family!!! (Also the ‘wholesome as the family on the Brady Bunch’ -> ‘incestuous & dysfunctional as the cast of the Brady Bunch’ joke is hilarious).

Also!!!! In Leverage when people are so fixated on calling Nate the dad, Sophie the mom, Eliot & Parker & Hardison the kids, or like one weird youtube comment I saw acknowledging how Parker & Hardison are dating, well, now Hardison is just the daughter’s boyfriend!! Like ?????? What? Nate has really dad-like interactions, Sophie sometimes has really mom-like interactions, and I love it all and it’s funny, but they’re not equivalent to a mom & dad. Sophie flirts with Eliot, Nate & Sophie can both be really dumb & competitive with all of the other 3.. Eliot has sibling-like interactions with Hardison and Parker sometimes, and he also has love interest-like reactions, and he also has Best Friend-like interactions, and they’re all good & important & only part of a greater, harder to define whole that forms their bond.

And like, I realize that y’know, ultimately all these words aren’t real, like.. language is constantly evolving because all the ‘meaning’ (denotive & connotative) of these words are something we construct as a society in an effort to best reflect what society perceives as reality/truth... And that probably every individual gets a slightly different meaning in their mind when any given word comes up anyway.. Which is why ‘family’ now doesn’t really frustrate me as much when used in the same contexts as I was just ranting about with ‘mom/dad/brother/sister/etc’ but I dunno. I’m just suspicious of what feels like people trying to re-imagine these bio-family words so they can encompass non-biological bonds, rather than maybe instead trying to just? Keep words like friendship and platonic and whatever and push them until they gain a connotation of importance as much as ‘family’ (& related terms) and ‘spouse’ or whatever has? Because if we don’t want bio families to take precedence over chosen families in any way, then I think our language has to reflect that, and people need to stop fckin dismissing friendship in the first place. It weirdly reminds me of some people trying to get literary arts & humanities etc added to “STEM” bc they believe science shouldn’t be viewed as more valuable than the arts, but then in those very attempts to ““elevate”” the arts, they’re just??? Already playing into this assumption that STEM is higher, more important etc?? And treating arts as some form of science just limits it & removes a lot of the dimensions of art that makes it valuable - & different from science - in the first place? Which was what I was saying before about people trying to cram relationships like Yasha’s & Molly’s into a defined familial one?

Okay I realize this is just incoherent unhinged rambling at this point but I’m just trying to parse my inexplicable frustration on the go here lmao. If anyone who might have perspective on this wants to?? Help me out here, it’d be great to hear your thoughts. Am I just being overly suspicious & nitpicky??? Maybe!!!!! But that’s why I called it a quibble!!!!

anyway tl;dr the M9 are a group of friends, best friends even, and that can be just as important & prioritized as family/romantic partners, but if you really want to say the M9 are ‘like family’ or a family then I guess I’m ok with that too, but for some reason anything more specific than that tends to grind my gears bc I’m Weird

[locktobre]

1-20 for Barbie of Para-Den

Under the cut!

1. What does their bedroom look like?

A mess! At least, it would be, if she didn’t have bots cleaning up after her. However the time between her tearing through her room for something and the bots cleaning up is very Hurricane Barbie Was Here.

2. Do they have any daily rituals?

Feeding the animals on Para-Den, practicing her powers, hoverboarding, and looking at her mom’s locket. This is just based on what we see at the beginning of the movie, bc I don’t think she really has routines so much. But she would greatly benefit from one, as she learns on Oppa-Irri.

3. Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

If hoverboarding counts as exercise (which it absolutely does), then all the time. She’s on her board a lot.

4. What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy

She’d go out? Or wait? I don’t really understand this question, there’s lots of ways around this.

5. Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

She is not organized, at all, until Constantine gets involved. From personal experience, so many organization methods are so frustrating and feel hopeless because it never sticks, but Constantine helps her find solutions that work for her, even if they are inelegant. Other than that, she showers daily since she is usually sweaty and grimy by the end of it, what with all the animals and hoverboarding.

6. Eating habits and sample daily menu

She loves to try new things, and she is not particularly picky. I don’t really like talking about food so I don’t know anything specific she would eat besides ketchu-cream (disgusting of her).

7. Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

I don’t think she really believes in time being wasted, she just has fun in the moment. Playing with Pupcorn and hoverboarding could be viewed as time-wasters but she would never think that.

8. Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

She loves sweets, especially candied fruit, and if left to her own devices would probably eat them for every meal. (This is why she can’t be left to her own devices.)

9. Makeup?

She doesn’t wear any day to day, but thinks it’s fun to try on once in awhile.

10. Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

Idk if this counts but thinking that people hate her (such as Constantine in the film), she is worried a lot about what people think and living up to others’ expectations. This is partly due to her father talking about her mother in such elevated terms, so she feels like she has a lot to do to carry on her mother’s legacy.

11. Intellectual pursuits?

I hate this term, first of all. Second of all, I think Constantine would try to teach her the ancient game of chess but she wouldn’t like it at all and he would give up. They play checkers instead.

12. Favorite book genre?

She likes historical fiction and books about animals.

13. Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

She’s bi and in the future times it is a total non-issue.

14. Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)

She is deaf in her right ear and wears a hearing aide on that side, she has ADHD and she’s autistic.

15. Biggest and smallest short term goal?

I think she would want to beat Sal-Lee in hoverboarding. Doesn’t have to be in a formal race, she just wants to be able to say she beat her once.

16. Biggest and smallest long term goal?

Discovering what really happened to her mother, as well as learning more about her star powers and what she can do.

17. Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

She likes casual clothing she can move around in, with pockets she can put things in and shoes she can actually walk in. She thinks of function over fashion, but she still likes to be cute, too.

18. Favorite beverage?

She loves fizzy drinks, they tickle her nose.

19. What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

She thinks about her mother, and misses her. Before the movie, she thinks about the stars going out and worries about it. After the movie, she thinks about how she brought them back and what that means.

20. Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

She has never been sick, ever, because of her star blood. So really the lack of illness is the story there.

[zaney-hacknslash]

Death Note - Void Pt2

Ide

               Lunch rush packed the restaurant; customers clumped in the lobby so deep and thick, I could hardly elbow my way through to ask how long the wait might be. Servers and hosts flurried around with menus and congenial smiles, careful, always, to bow and greet everyone who came through the door, despite the fact that the grating sound of the doorbell sounded off every few seconds.

             Thirty minute wait. I checked my watch.

             Lunch rush hadn’t been part of this equation, honestly. I’d thought I could come sit down, alone, with Matsuda, for a handful of minutes, ask him a couple questions, and get back to headquarters in less than an hour. The time of day had never occurred to me.

             This was his favorite place right now, loud and hopping. Pop music blasted, the chairs were too close together, even on a slow day, and it always seemed just a degree or so to cold.

             Beside me, moody Matsuda stood glaring at the floor with his arms folded, like a little kid who’d gotten dragged against his will into an adult dinner party. Once or twice, I heard him sigh, a bit heavily, but the usual enthusiasm that swept him through his day-to-day life showed no sign of reemerging.

             If he hadn’t been so upset, I might have turned around and walked right out to find somewhere quieter to eat.

             I tried, several times, to say something to him, opening my mouth, and then immediately glancing at the other guests jammed in at my shoulder. Matsuda had no filter when it came to expressing himself, so I doubted the presence of strangers mattered, but I’d purposely brought him here to get a little privacy. I kept thinking he’d say something, even if it was just to complain about how long it was taking to get a seat, but he hardly looked up.

             “I didn’t expect it to be so crowded,” I admitted, at last.

             “It’s lunch time, Ide,” he muttered, more than used to my pickiness.

             “Yes, but I had no idea this place was so popular.” At least, I didn’t understand it. The furniture was garish and cheap, and imitation art of American movies stars from decades gone by cluttered the wall, along with vintage knick knacks. One or two photos of Elvis Presley and a single replica of Marylin Monroe’s famous white dress would have done the trick. This place tried entirely too hard to look like an American diner from the 1950’s.

             “This was your idea,” he reminded me.

             Even so, if we left now and went down the street to a place I liked better, he might not be as comfortable. He might not find anything on the menu he wanted to eat. Getting lunch with me might turn out to be something that merely added to his frustration, when all was said and done, especially since I’d more or less forced him to come along when he didn’t want to in the first place.

             Besides, anywhere else might be just as crowded, and if we had to start our wait all over again, not only would Matsuda be annoyed, everyone at headquarters could get mad at me.

             “It’s fine,” I assured coolly, though the doorbell going off over and over was getting on my nerves, like a bad song I couldn’t turn off, and the gentleman at my shoulder kept accidentally brushing against me and muttering, “Sumimasen,” right in my ear. He had bad breath.

             “Normally…” I pressed closer to Matsuda, trying to get away from my neighbor, “we eat kind of early.”

             Normally, he couldn’t stand to sit at headquarters past ten, so there was usually a break to get him coffee or some kind of snack. Either way, he always started whining about being hungry an hour later.

             That hadn’t happened all week, though. I’d barely seen Matsuda eat at all, in addition to hardly talking. Hopelessly, I stared around at the wild, uncomfortable atmosphere, struggling to tune out the door bell and the man coughing on the back of my neck, skeptical that such an unsettling environment could possibly restore Matsuda’s good cheer.

             Finally, a fresh-faced kid jaunted up to us, bowing. “Gentlemen, so sorry for the wait. If you would, follow me, please,” and then he hustled us through the crowded dining room, to a small table set for two, where he turned to smile at us. “Here we are. I hope this suits you.”

             In my opinion, he’d chosen the worst possible location for us, jammed at a tiny square at the center of the room, surrounded by a sea of people, but without Matsuda to assure him everything was perfect and thank the man, it was up to me to muddle through the polite talk.

             The host promised we’d receive timely service, and ran off again. Matsuda threw himself down in one of the chairs, grabbing up his plastic menu to immediately hide his face behind it; I barely got a glimpse of his slanted brows and down-turned mouth.

             I sat down too. The table wobbled, and the vase of flowers at the center was too big, crowding in on my space. The woman seated behind me was so close, I might as well have sat down in her lap, and the doorbell buzzed again and again.

             “You like this place, right?” I asked, lighting a cigarette and studying him.

             “Yeah. It’s my favorite.” The music was just loud enough to make it hard to hear him. That was new, too. Matsuda was normally so loud, he would have just screamed over the noise to make himself heard.

             Shuichi and the others seemed quite committed to letting him be, hoping his issues would resolve themselves, but I couldn’t bear to keep sitting by and watch him be unhappy. I’d do anything to relieve it.

             Just this once, I told myself, and then I never had to eat here again.

             “What’s good?” I wondered, finally picking up my menu. The food sounded just as bad as the atmosphere, the lunch menu cluttered with things like the Elvis Favorite, Marylin Monroe Patty Melt, and James Dean Fries. Absolutely ridiculous. Most of it was hamburgers anyway, but, at the very bottom they’d crammed in a few traditional Japanese dishes, for the old timers who got dragged in here by their kids.

             Although he’d normally rattle off for five minutes, issuing an exhaustive list of everything that looked good and everything that sounded gross, making recommendations, Matsuda just shrugged and sighed, like food had become an annoyance.

             Just once, I reminded myself again, and tried to focus on what I’d come for.

             I’d never seen him this way.

             Even before I really knew him, he’d always been that guy. The one who smiled all the time and greeted everyone he passed, never forgetting his honorifics, never remembering anyone’s name, the guy who always looked like he was about to blow a brain cell every time he had to sit down, be quiet, and do actual work for a minute or two. Back when he first joined the department, some people had sneeringly nicknamed him Nikko-san, partly after his uncle, who’d gotten him the job, and partly because he was Mr. Sunshine, but definitely not out of affection.

             After Chief Yagami and the others left to work with L, plenty of those same people had laughed good and hard about how lucky the task force was to have Mr. Sunshine working with them.

             When I rejoined the task force, I hadn’t been surprised at all to find Matsuda acting just as unprofessional and ridiculous as ever. I’d even asked Aizawa, “How have you dealt with that kid for so long? He’s driving me crazy already.”

             My old friend had frowned, almost as if the words had offended him, and he’d taken his time to answer, much more carefully than I’d expected, “Well…he’s not as bad as he seems.”

             The response had floored me. Here I’d been expecting Aizawa to grumble at least a little about what a pain Matsuda was—we were friends, after all, and pretty used to bitching to each other—but based on his reaction, it had seemed like the kid must have gotten under his skin, and I’d even detected a slight thread of protectiveness in his tone, or at least some disapproval of my talking bad about Matsuda.

             “I’m thinking about taking a day off,” I announced, laying my menu aside. “If I can.”

             Matsuda didn’t bite.

             “Yeah. You know. It’s been a long time since I had so much as an uninterrupted weekend.”

             Normally, he’d be all over that, more than ready to whine about working himself to death, eventually coming around to how important the case was, how we had to do what we could, and then back to how tragic it was to be young and single, carefree and restless without the time to sow his oats.

             Today, he simply muttered, “Yeah.”

             Behind him, I noticed a baseball bat hanging on the wall, supposedly signed by Babe Ruth himself, and steeped in a million vinyl records that had been plastered against the wallpaper. These people couldn’t actually think that enthusiasts of retro American culture would find this charming. They certainly couldn’t believe an American tourist would ever even miss home so much that he’d stumble through the door.

             “I think I’ll catch a ball game. The season’s almost over, and the Swallows are playing the Giants.” I dragged on my cigarette, hopelessly waiting for him to pick up his end of the conversation, if only to save me from the torturous sounds around me.

             He didn’t really like baseball, I remembered, or rather, he didn’t understand it. It moved too slow, he said, and he got bored fast, but I knew he enjoyed the novelty of garbing himself in home team colors, filing into the stadium with all the rabid fans, drinking a beer, eating a hot dog—like a “real American”—having a blast with old friends, and making new ones out of the people sitting near him. I liked going with him myself, because he always screamed loudest about the things he didn’t understand and got himself into interesting situations, or he hung off my every word when I explained, for the umpteenth time, how the game worked.

             “I doubt that workaholic Aizawa will want to go.” Even if Shuichi allowed himself to do something as sporadic as take a day off, he’d prefer to spend it with his family than with me at the ballpark, arguing about which team was better this season. “Wanna tag along?”

             Matsuda never answered, leaving me to sit there like an idiot, wondering why this new attitude of his bothered me so much.

             It hadn’t taken long for me to see how he’d gotten past Shuichi’s angry bear exterior to his cuddly teddy center. Matsuda had a likeable way about him, and where most of the detectives I’d met tended to be taciturn, cynical, and even pompous, his bubbly way of thinking out loud, laughing in the face of difficulty, and admiration for the rest of us made him a breath of fresh air.

             So, he’d gotten under my skin too. And, over the last couple years, he’d accomplished even more than that, becoming part of my life, effortlessly—my lunch mate, my drinking buddy, my sparring partner, my weird, little friend. Sure, he teased me endlessly about my love life and drove me crazy with his goofiness, but he never forgot my birthday, and when I had a bad day, he could tell. Even if I never told him anything very personal or serious, he had this way of reminding me things would work out any time I started to feel like they might not. Before long, I started to understand why even the chief let him tag along everywhere and overlooked so much of his silliness, because Matsuda was honest, simple, and even though none of us would ever say so to his face, really sweet.

  ��          Seeing him so unhappy for so many days in a row was beginning to have an adverse effect on the team: Shuichi was getting worried, and even Mogi seemed distracted, I’d noticed Light becoming frustrated. Long-suffering Chief Yagami alone proceeded with his work unbothered, but he had to be that way, as the boss.

             All of it really rubbed me the wrong way.

             “Well, anyway.” I squinted at the menu again. The lights were too bright and stark, and I wanted to order soon so we could get out of here. “I doubt Light will let two of us take off at once.”

             “Sorry about that,” Matsuda muttered, probably just for the sake of being polite. He must know he was acting weird, even if he didn’t realize it bugged me so much.

             I never planned on any of this, and I barely knew how my relationship with Matsuda had segued so seamlessly from coworkers to actual friends, I just knew that right after I came back to the task force, while the others were busy, he’d taken it upon himself to tell me the whole story of every crazy thing that had happened since I walked away from them outside the station that night. A lot of what he’d said hadn’t been particularly relevant to the investigation, but he’d been so familiar and laidback, like we’d known each other forever, I’d gotten caught up in my astonishment at how cavalierly he was treating me—me, Dai Kaze, the guy no one had ever liked, since at least middle school—like it was just no big deal at all to sit down and have a chat with asshole Hideki Ide.

             By the time he’d finished, I hadn’t really known what to say, but there’d been a few questions to ask, and a few comments to make—routine responses—and I’d never forget the bright interest that had gleamed in his eyes as we talked back and forth, like maybe he couldn’t believe it either, that he was talking so casually with a guy like me, let alone that I’d talk back.

             After being around grumpy, old Shuichi, and Mogi, who sometimes seemed incapable of holding a conversation, it was probably pretty refreshing for him, and he’d chatted with me a lot since then, any time he felt bored or wanted to say something out loud. Over time, I’d been able to intuit that he appreciated how closely I listened, and that, even if I didn’t always have something nice to say, I made him feel important by acknowledging that he had thoughts and ideas and feelings.

             The damn feelings had honestly annoyed me at first, and there’d been times when I’d gone so far as to suggest he keep a diary instead of bothering me. I didn’t like snapping at him like that. I didn’t want him to think I was an asshole and stop associating with me. None of it fazed him, though, he kept talking about whatever came into his head, and, in time, I just got used to it.

             Anymore, I assumed I had the most personal relationship with him, which made me the one he’d feel most comfortable talking to in this state of obvious depression, but it still shocked me that I’d come to care about him enough that I’d take time out of my day to actively try to get to the bottom of Matsuda’s deep well of sentiments.

             “Hey, Matsu-kun. Wanna tell me what’s wrong lately?”

             He sat slouched, now, cheek resting on his fist, staring disinterestedly at the centerpiece, and from the reluctant glance he slid at me, I gathered he’d been hoping I wouldn’t bring it up. But Matsuda wasn’t a liar, so he asked, “Really? You want to know?”

             “You said Sumi…”

             Wincing, he stared all the harder at the flowers.

             “…I’ve never seen you take a break up so hard.”

             Involved in a case as extensive as ours, there wasn’t much time for dating, but Matsuda had a tendency to fall into the clutches of beautiful but shallow women, the kind who just wanted to have fun. They saw a good-looking guy in a nice car, didn’t know enough about the NPA to realize a corporal detective didn’t make much money, and ran the kid around, buying crap with his credit card and saddling him with the bags, like a pack horse.

             It was a trap I’d gotten into a lot back when I was younger—there were a lot of things about Matsuda that reminded me of myself—it had made me cynical about women, and it pissed me off to watch it happening to him.

             But Matsu didn’t have much capacity for cynicism, and, usually, breaking up with a girl didn’t do much more than dampen his spirits for a day or two.

             “Did you really think she was the one?”

             Matsuda suddenly sat up and took a long look around the restaurant. “Where the hell is the server? Hey!” He banged his fork on the wobbly table. Water sloshed from his glass, and I jerked my elbows back into my lap. “We’re ready to order over here!”

             “Geez,” I hissed, mortified, and watched as a frazzled-looking girl ran over, apologizing and jotting down his order. She turned to me.

             “Ah, sorry about that,” I muttered, feeling like the music might drown my voice out anyway. I couldn’t understand why they’d be playing pop instead of American oldies, unless they just didn’t honestly know anything about that era. “I’ll just have…” I’d never decided, because none of it had sounded any good. “Soup, and a salad.” I shot a quick glance at Matsuda, and then at her. “Sorry, really. He’s not normally so… Well, we’re in a hurry, that’s all.”

             “Not at all, sir!” she beamed. “I apologize things are so slow today.”

             She took off, and he settled his cheek back on his fist, glaring at the centerpiece again. “You don’t have to be sorry, Ide,” he announced. “It’s their job to serve us, and we’ve been sitting here forever.”

             “Even Aizawa doesn’t bang his fork when he shouts at the staff,” I muttered.

             With a small shrug, he reached out to rearrange some of the flowers, and I tried to find a way to change the subject to something more lighthearted.

             “These flowers drive me crazy,” he admitted in a moment, listlessly, though.

             They were the only even slightly nice thing in the restaurant, but I asked, “Oh, yeah?”

             “Yellow and purple carnations?” He wrinkled his nose. “What are they thinking?”

             I glanced at the flowers myself. “What if they were pink and orange?” We’d been guessing for a while that the dork might be colorblind, but he got extremely offended any time someone so much as asked about it. “Would that make more sense?”

             Matsuda suddenly scanned the room, eyebrows tilting toward his hairline, as if he’d just realized none of the color scheme in here made sense to him. “Pink and orange,” he echoed. And then, evidently blind to the glaring palette of crimson, chrome orange, and hot pink in the room, he frowned at me. “Why are you being such a jerk today?”

             “I just asked if you’d like that better,” I corrected.

             Instead of arguing, he fell back into the maddening silence.

             “Come on, seriously,” I prompted, after a couple minutes. “Are you really in this bad of mood over a girl?”

             Eyes fixed on the bobbing ice, Matsuda turned his glass around and around on the table, a sure sign of disquiet.

             “Or is there something else?”

             He picked an orange flower out of the centerpiece and stared hard at it, like he was trying to understand why I’d lie to him about its color.

             “It might be a good thing, Matsuda. At least now you’re not wasting time with the wrong person—”

             “That’s all great, coming from a guy who hasn’t been laid in the last decade.”

             I cut off mid-sentence to frown mildly at him, but Matsuda just stuck the orange flower into his water glass and glowered at it.

             “Is that your problem?” I demanded, a little sharply. “You’re not getting any now, so you’re turning into a cranky bitch?”

             “That’s what happens, right? Everyone says that’s what your problem is.”

             I rolled my eyes. “Shit, Matsuda. With a mouth like that, how have you made it through life without getting your face busted in?”

             He just frowned at his flower.

             “Didn’t your parents spend hundreds of millions of yen on your damn teeth? I’d watch who you pop off to.”

             Obviously, he had no intention of answering, so I sat back and studied him a while longer. Once or twice, he’d crept up to that line of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, but he had to be tremendously irritated, and that just didn’t happen all that often. I couldn’t believe he’d say something so crass to me, a superior.

             The fact that I’d brought him to lunch as a friend rather than a subordinate made for a tricky situation. I probably should throw a fit, box his ears, and write him up, but I’d started this by getting so personal.

             That’s exactly why Aizawa and the others have been trying to handle this so professionally.

             Stupid ass me just had to go screw it up.

             Even being here as friends, it probably wouldn’t be out of the question to rescind my offer to buy lunch, get up, and go back to HQ without him. That’s probably even what he expected. For all I knew, he’d intentionally pushed my buttons to get me to leave him alone.

             Then again, what he’d said didn’t actually bother me that much; for one thing, it wasn’t true, and for another, it was the sort of thing I’d gotten used to, growing up with three brothers. I decided to forget about it.

             Besides, overly emotional Matsuda didn’t know shit about putting up walls.

             “Who do you want relationship advice from?” I wondered. “Light? Kinda weird, getting tips about women from a kid fresh out of college.”

             Matsuda’s scowl deepened, and I knew my insult hit its mark.

             “Aizawa? His marriage it apt to fall apart any second now.” I checked my watch. “I’ll bet Eriko’s filing divorce papers as we speak. That guy sucks at love.”

             The next glare was so fierce and disapproving, I knew he really didn’t like me picking on his hero.

             “The deputy director?” I suggested. “Now there’s a guy who hasn’t been laid in a long time, Matsu.”

             At once, the frown fell completely apart, giving way to a gaping, shocked mouth and popping, horrified eyes. He checked over both shoulders, like Deputy Director Yagami might be listening in, and I knew he’d forgotten all about his wall of sugar glass. “Ide,” he hissed, “you don’t just say stuff like that.”

             “No?” It was my turn to shrug. “Well, my bad, I guess. I’m just saying, not a lot of great options. If you’re gonna tell anybody what the deal is, it might as well be me.”

             “Oh, yeah right,” he barked, suddenly, in an acidic tone. “At least the others won’t make fun of me.”

             I blinked at him. “What? Why would I make fun of you?”

             His hard eyes glared at me, like he couldn’t believe I had the audacity to ask that. “Trying to trick me into thinking I’m colorblind—”

             “I think you actually might be—”

             “Dissing on my music—”

             “Not everybody likes—”

             “Acting like it’s ridiculous for me to get upset after Sumi cheated on me.”

             Bingo.

             Go figure, all it took was to get him talking a little, and the truth spilled.

             I had to work very hard not to allow a satisfied smirk to pass my lips. Instead, I pretended to be bothered, fumbling with my cigarettes and mumbling, “I didn’t know all that annoyed you so much.”

             Matsuda glared at me, quiet again, probably realizing he’d said something without meaning to.

             “So…” I lit my cigarette. “She cheated on you, huh?”

             “Yeah,” he sputtered, “yeah, she did. With some…loser biboi she met in a trashy club. I don’t think she was even drunk, she was just done with me because I’m so boring, working all the time, not paying enough attention to her, even after I’ve spent every yen I earned last year on her. She didn’t even bother to lie about it, just showed up one day to give back the key to my apartment and laugh at me.”

             Calmly, I ashed my cigarette. Wasn’t that the story of my life?

             “Go ahead and laugh, Ide,” he dared. “Tell me I’m stupid, I should have seen it coming, and my taste in women is terrible, like you always do. Tell me it was dumb to think she was the one, and all women suck, and that you told me, months ago, she was just using me. Because you did, and you love being right.”

             I’d never seen him explode like that, half-shouting, drawing the attention of everyone on our side of the room, face burning with shame, eyes fierce with outrage. I never would have guessed the kid had such a temper hidden beneath all the manners and cheer.

             “Settle down, Matsu,” I advised, lowly. “What are you, nine?”

             Outrage turned immediately to rage. “You—”

             “Knock it off,” I snapped. “I didn’t say any of that.”

             He threw himself back in his chair, seething, and probably the only thing that kept him from all-out screaming at me was the fact that I was higher ranked than him.

             “Jeez,” I muttered, when I’d given him a few moments to get himself together. “I’d hate to see you get really mad about something.”

             “I am really mad!” he professed.

             “Right. Look.” I put my cigarette out, not wanting the rest, and glanced around for our food, thinking it would be nice to have a distraction right now. “What do you think this is? Some victory lunch? Like I brought you here just to rub it in your face that your girlfriend cheated on you? Damn. Here I thought we were friends.”

             His breath hitched, and his eyebrows tilted up in a sulky expression. I guess I’d never called him my friend out loud before, but it wasn’t exactly the time for a big, stupid grin and a victory dance.

             “I just wanted to know what’s got your panties in a bunch. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you—you’re the one being a little prick, talking about the last time I got laid and saying I’m bitchy because I don’t get enough sex.”

             Shame colored his face.

             “So, could you just take it down a notch?”

             Matsuda scowled at the table, and I thought I heard him mutter, “Sorry.”

             “Yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t really care.” And then I looked around for the food again, but I was just about to give up and go somewhere else. “I’m just saying being a jerk doesn’t look so good on you.”

             Slightly, he nodded.

             “It’s fine if you’re upset,” I told him, after another moment. “What she did to you was really shitty. But I don’t like to think that you’ve been pouting because you think nobody would care.”

             “No,” he murmured, “It’s just not work talk.”

             “Nothing you ever say is work talk. Anyway, you could have at least told me. I know a lot about dishonest, heartless women.”

             A hint of sympathy shaded his eyes.

             “That’s why I said you shouldn’t let it bother you so much. Girls like that are cheap—you can pick one up anywhere—and they’re not very creative. Cheating with losers, bringing back the key just to laugh at you…” I shrugged. “They aren’t worth the trouble. They definitely aren’t worth ruining a perfectly good lunch your buddy buys just to cheer your ass up.”

             Bewildered, he finally met my gaze again.

             “So, come on.” I smirked at him. “If you’re gonna be pissed off and sad, let’s order some whiskey.”

             Whiskey helped a little. After the first round, he’d started talking a little more normally about the usual nonsense that occupied his mind, and then the food came, so he was quiet a while. Mine wasn’t very good—the soup was thin and the salad was gritty, so I mostly talked and smoked, trying to keep him distracted. Regardless, his expression showed me he still was unhappy.

             After the second whiskey, we left the restaurant. It was a relief to be out of the noise and harsh lights of the diner, but Matsuda seemed content with lunch at least. In a few blocks, he started joking with me, so I knew the anger had burned out fast.

             I doubted anyone would believe me if I told them about it.

             Outside the headquarters, he hesitated, staring up at the building to sigh, and then he admitted, slowly, “I know you’re right…but…I really liked her, Ide. I…I loved her.”

             He did have terrible tastes in women.

             “Yeah.” I squeezed his shoulder. “That’s how it goes sometimes, kid. Sometimes, you really love somebody, and they just don’t feel that way back.” That, too, was the story of my life. Suppressing a sigh, I gazed up at the building too, with all its sparkling windows and the roof that tried to vanish in the clouds. “It’s not your fault,” I murmured. “There’s only so much you can do.”

             “I guess not,” he whispered.

             “You can find someone else, though.”

             Swallowing hard, he nodded.

             “Just don’t get cynical about it, okay? They’re not all like that.” I said the words, but the only reason I could so much as bother to think it was because of Shuichi and Eriko. She’d stood by him through everything, possibly the most loyal and genuine woman I’d ever met.

             I’d just gotten incredibly unlucky.

             “You’re not gonna wind up like me,” I assured him. “It’s impossible.”

             “How can you be so sure?” he asked, quietly.

             So many reasons, some he might not ever understand, some I didn’t think I could ever bring myself to tell him.

             At last, I teased, “’Cause you’re so damn cute,” and slung my arm around his neck. “If I were as cute as you, I might have a chance, but I got screwed in personality and looks.”

             Matsuda smiled a little. “I don’t know, Taniki-tan. Your personality’s not that bad.”

[happiness-in-oblivion]

Personal Reflection

Hi. I don’t truly know why I am writing this. I guess I knew I should carve out time to try remembering how to write, something I used to thoroughly enjoy. And don’t get me wrong - I still thoroughly enjoy it. But it is not a regular habit for me anymore. What was once so innate and therapeutic now feels like another outlet for me, myself, and I to judge.

But enough of that. It is officially the new year of 2019 and I am surrounded by warmth. I would say it is also pitch black, but even with the sun being set, the snow outside causes a neat reflection that I can’t quite explain in words, or anything for that matter. 

(My sister just turned the light on, so the mood change is quite ridiculous.)

I’ve had a lot of time to think about myself this break. First college quarter is complete, and it was terrible and amazing at the same time. Surrounded by new things, people, and feelings, without the daily normality of dancing, I felt a bit lost. If I hadn’t been surrounded by amazing people, I would have become another cliché story about how a college student at a top university just didn’t feel she belonged. And for a while, I really didn’t think I did. 

My family drove to Austin over break. Just a quick stop that we like to take on our way down to visit family. We walked into a rustic bookstore, something that I now miss in the new, modern world that is my college campus. Walking around, I noticed a journal. Maybe 30 to 50 pages. I knew I was going to buy it, and touching the intensely soft and silky pages just sealed the deal. 

Waiting in line, I ran my index finger along the perfection of the texture, and I thought about what I would write. These incredible one-liners came into my mind, and I knew I had to find the perfect pen to write my thoughts. 

Except when it came down to it, picking up that perfect pen and getting ready to write down my ideas, nothing would come. I knew what I wanted to write, but I would not allow myself to write it on the page. A journal that was so perfect to me, and I would not allow myself to ruin it. To taint the pages with my thoughts. It took me a while to realize that I am not perfect, nothing is, and my thoughts are not mediocre.

Then when I opened my word document filled with four-page short stories, I came across the last page, written at the coffee shop during week 4 of my first quarter. I didn’t even have to close my eyes to remember me sitting at the table, trying to express and describe something in the past that I adored completely. I didn’t have to close my eyes to remember the disgust I felt as I wrote down the words, abruptly stopping. Now, reading over that one page, I am sad I didn’t see my own potential - the sentence I left unfinished will never be complete, and it is my own mind’s fault.

These are small things that I’ve seen develop in me. So, without further ado, let me get into how I truly feel about myself right now. 

I feel lost. I feel like I have no purpose. I feel boring, and useless, and burden-some. All in one. I don’t know how to properly explain how I feel, which is another issue of mine. Cute. My friend really helped me explain what I’m feeling.

My biggest insecurity is being forgotten faster than I can forget. This has happened to me a lot (at least I feel like it has), and combined with the fact that I haven’t bee-

(I think I am starting to cry. Partly because I am so frustrated at myself for not ever learning how to express these feelings, and also because I hate that I feel this way about myself. Cute.)

Another issue of mine. I’ve really been considering not posting this. I started this telling myself it was a way to write and learn to share emotions, and now I feel like it is a pity post. That it’ll seem like I just want attention and sympathy from others, which is literally what I hate.

1. Anyway, I’d say due to not dancing for a whole semester, I feel half-empty, without purpose, boring, and I have nothing about me that is interesting anymore. I am constantly surrounded by people I love and admire, people that have passions. And my passions have never been balanced. I have never been able to have all of my passions at the same time. And this time, I really had to give dancing up. And I don’t know what I am anymore. 

I think I have also developed slight body dysmorphia because I am not used to looking at myself look like this. The last year I was dancing was the best I had ever felt about myself. Ever. Senior year was actually the best I’d ever felt about a lot of things. 

2. I feel useless, especially in conversation. I am surrounded by amazing people that I admire so much, and I feel empty. So it turns into me being scared to interact because I have nit-picked things about myself to the point where I convince myself I have nothing to contribute to a conversation.

On top of that, the only time I feel like people are truly listening to what I am saying is when I am saying something really deep or personal, but something I know will gain me sympathy. So the only emotion I feel from someone is when they feel bad for me and I put myself in this box of I am not interesting except when I am damaged. This has turned into a constant cycle of me wanting to open up, but knowing that I seem like a pity-seeker, and it’s also me getting the wrong kind of attention from people I interact with.

3. I am not used to myself yet. I don’t think I can say anything else about that. I thought I really knew myself, but I really only knew myself when everything was right, when I felt confident and everything was great. Not when I had so much time on my hands and people that constructively question my thought-process. I am getting used to it to say the least.

I am really debating on whether to post this. But at the end of the day, I love proving people wrong, and this time it is time to prove myself wrong. 

Here’s to 2019, where I hope to open up to people that truly love me, especially myself. I hope I can allow myself to open up to myself.