#but despite all those times he backslid and every time he did a bad thing

[marchlione]

another bone i have to pick with atla fic writers, writing katara in a way that makes her out to be a totally unreasonable bitch who goes out of her way to hurt zuko or refusing to treat him is completely ooc. katara, no matter how much she hates someone, always tries to help, it is the core of her character, no matter how angry she is, no matter how much she can hate, she always, always, chooses compassion and forgiveness. This is a choice she makes even when confronting her mother's murderer. She could have killed him or done any number of things to him, but she didn't. In her own words, Katara will never, ever turn her back on someone in need. That is Katara's greatest strength and what makes her my favourite character.

In the beginning she, like Sokka, is helpless to the dangers her tribe faces. When she, Aang and Sokka travel to the North Pole, she is yet untrained, and if caught or attacked, she doesn't have much in the ways of defending herself, but despite this, she goes out of her way to try and help other victims of the war in any way she can. After being trained, she has the power to defend herself and others. She even gains the ability to blood bend. With all this power that she didn't have before, she could have gone the way of Jet and exacted her revenge in anyway she could, without considering how it hurt innocents. She could have done a lot with her bloodbending. But she didn't. She draws a line in the sand, she chooses "good", she chooses to be compassionate, even when it would be so much easier to hate, and hurt, even when it would make far more sense to turn someone away. Katara is the first person to give Zuko a chance, despite the fact that he has been chasing them from the moment Aang came out of that iceberg. Zuko had been pursuing the gaang the way Azula hunted them for far longer, even if he didn't deprive them of sleep. He at one point caught her and tied her to a tree. Katara had so many legitimate reasons to hate him and turn him away and not trust him. And we know she is capable of hate, we know she is capable of hurting. But she doesn't. That's the point. That is who she is.

So making her a petty bitch going out of her way to cause bodily harm to poor baby zuzu, is extremely disingenuous. We, as the audience, know Zuko's arc, we've seen his journey, we've watched him realize the harm the fire nation causes, the atrocities they've committed and resolve to no longer be a part of that and eventually accept that he has to actively make the world a better place. We know that his betrayal under Ba Sing Se was him backsliding, and was ultimately what sealed the deal in terms of him coming to realize the full extent of the fire nation's corruption. But their world didn't sit around "waiting for him to switch sides, and had to plan for a future where he didn’t" (quote from 'There Within' by Avataraccount on ao3). And a direct consequence of Zuko's betrayal was Aang's near death and destruction of the Avatar cycle. Katara was the one who worked tirelessly to keep Aang alive, to keep the world's last hope alive. She was the one who had to directly face the devastating consequence of her choice to trust Zuko in the caves. So when Zuko comes back and reiterates the spiel he gave her (albeit with stronger and firmer conviction but that makes no difference to someone who has heard a version of it before and watched him go back on it), Katara is well within her rights to not trust him. Making her distrust seem like it is childish or selfish is ridiculous. As is trying to justify it as her "character flaw". Katara is learning from what she deems as her mistake from before. In fact, she's making the smart decision!

[uselesslilium]

Whoops I wrote a bunch about ShMk and kink. This is less a coherent post and more just me trying to feel my own thoughts out so. Rambling below the cut.

I get the impulse to flip the power dynamics at play between Shu and Mika because of course Shu's controlling, domineering behavior and Mika's willingness to submit to that wound up resulting in an extremely dysfunctional dynamic that Mika still hasn't 100% recovered from. HOWEVER. I personally think that it's way more interesting to keep Shu as the dom in the relationship and Mika as the sub in spite of that.

For one, that dynamic was something they each initially wanted. Shu craves control over his environment - he's gotten better at letting things go and accepting the people around him for who they are rather than try to shape them, but he still has 'the heart of a puppeteer'. He dislikes situations where he's at someone else's mercy, he enjoys knowing exactly what's happening and what he's doing, and he wants to take care of the people he loves in a way that easily can become overbearing. Mika, for his part, is blatantly, flagrantly kinky. He enjoys feeling fear and unease in a safe context. He loves it when Shu is imperious and strict with him. He's comfortable when he's following Shu's commands and doing exactly what Shu wants him to. Being in that position feels safe and secure to him. He is not subtle about this, and has only gotten less subtle since we entered the ES!! era and he's started letting himself feel things more fully. There's also canon precedent in Raison d'etre for Shu accepting Mika's darker impulses and desires and finding safe, ethical ways to fulfill them.

Those things aren't, in and of themselves, bad. There's nothing wrong with wanting to feel in control, or to enjoy a lack of it. It's a matter of figuring out how to do it in a healthy way. And it's because they've failed at that in the past, that I find it really interesting to think about them actively working on it rather than just tossing everything kink-related out of their relationship altogether, or making Mika the dom and Shu the sub instead. Especially in conjunction with Shu's fears of repeating mistakes and hurting his loved ones - his natural impulse is to deny that part of himself and his own desires, fearing that he might hurt Mika again if he doesn't. Meanwhile, Mika has only become more open and vocal about enjoying that part of Shu's personality, because he's been allowed to develop his autonomy and self-actualize.

And that's a very interesting conflict! For Shu to actually face his desires for what they are instead of denying or subverting them, first means allowing himself to want. Similarly, denying himself also means denying Mika's wants as well. Their desires do align in this case, but because Shu is so adamant about Being Different now, he can't accept that Mika sincerely enjoyed parts of their prior dynamic. But he did! Despite all the hurt, Shu did do a lot to care for Mika, and that made him genuinely happy.

I feel like there's a tendency to think that it's the 'easy solution' for Shu and Mika to embrace their natural inclinations. That there's more challenges and potential development for them if they do the opposite or avoid it altogether instead. But I don't think there's anything easy about Shu actively engaging with his dom tendencies, or Mika with his sub, with the weight of how badly it went the first time handing over them. There's potential for backsliding, Shu would have to grapple with his self-loathing and guilt, Mika would have to gain better awareness of his own limits, and most of all it would require a level of honest communication they haven't achieved yet. But if they can find that right balance, there's every reason to believe that it would be an incredibly fulfilling form of intimacy for them.

And this isn't even getting into my own personal read on Shu being asexual and how that interacts with his dom inclinations. That's a whole other post lol.

[gotshadowbanned-feralfungii]

I dunno if anyone else had this experience growing up but as a kid with a mental disability, I often found that adults seemed to consider accommodations to be akin to training wheels. Like, if they just let me get used to the task I was struggling with while using accommodations, they could eventually take those accommodations away and I'd still be able to perform the task. I feel like it's redundant to say that was never how it played out. (Putting the rest under a cut bc this got longer than intended.)

For example, I always struggled to keep things organized, keep track of items, times, events, anything. That was one of my symptoms, though just about every adult treated it as a willful lack of care or deliberate disrespect for their time. At one point, my school hired an additional guidance counsellor to take time out of class with me and other students who struggled with this to help us keep track of things.

And the thing is: It worked. While he was helping me, I lost things less, my papers and textbooks and bag were more organized than they'd ever been in my life, and I was doing really well with the accommodation provided. Having someone who would check in with me daily about the things my brain just couldn't hold onto made a world of difference, and it was such a relief. I wasn't being yelled at about it anymore, I wasn't losing things, and I wasn’t getting frustrated with myself.

The problem is, the school and my parents didn't consider this to be a result of accommodations making things doable for me. They saw it as the accommodations "teaching" me how to do all this myself, despite the fact that the way my brain was structured meant I literally could not achieve these successes to such a degree by myself no matter how well I understood the strategies. So, they took the accommodation away once they saw the improvements, figuring that meant I didn't need them anymore.

I backslid right back to square one. Only worse, because now I knew what it was like to be able to keep track of things better, and I was even more frustrated than before. I kept buying into what the adults were telling me, that if I did it with the counsellors help then that proved I should be able to do it on my own if I just tried hard enough. So, I tried, and tried, and tried, and I failed every fucking time. Every time.

And the yelling started again, the same lectures as before, only now with an added layer. "You were doing so well when he was helping you, and now you've let yourself fall right back into the same bad habits! You need to be more mindful! You'll never amount to anything like this, you'll never be able to function properly in the real world!" And yeah, functioning in real world would be just about impossible for me... without accommodations, and medication.

I still do really, really well when I have the accommodations and medication I need. I still end up back where I started when I don’t have those accommodations or my meds. Now, as an adult, I have more control over those accommodations, but as a kid they were entirely under someone else's control, and they just took them away when they personally felt I no longer needed them without ever talking to me and asking me how I felt about it. My perspective was never once considered.

Like I said, I don't know if this is a common experience for people who grew up with disabilities that were severe enough to impact their life but could be chalked up by the adults around them as just a failure to put in effort. I hope not, since I know how bad it fucked me up. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. I spent almost two decades after that experience hating myself, furious with myself, demanding of myself why I couldn't just do better like everyone insisted I could. I felt like a failure, and instead of coming to terms with the limitations of my disability and learning to work around them, I started to consider my disability to be a personal failing, something I had done to myself and could stop at any time if I just tried hard enough.

I even started insisting I didn't have ADHD, even when my doctor insisted I matched up with way too many symptoms for it to be a coincidence. I bought into the narrative I'd been sold, that the fact I was able to perform certain tasks with help meant I didn't really struggle with ADHD, no, it meant that I was lazy. I used other reasons to back up this idea, I had bad side effects to the very first medication I was tried on and convinced myself it was proof that my teachers and parents had been right and it wasn't really ADHD, just a personal flaw. The logic was absolute nonsense, but I was young and knew nothing about how mental conditions and medications work.

I allowed myself to be medicated for depression and anxiety, because my symptoms there were so drastic that none of the adults around me could claim I didn't need help. I was unwell in a way that was obvious and easy to see and easy to recognize as unwell. Not to mention, I was old enough by the time those two diagnoses came along that I no longer took to heart everything people around me said. Yes, it still had a negative impact on me if people acted like I could just cheer up or calm down, but there's a difference between insecurities developed as a teen and deep-seated seeds planted as a child.

So, I kept trying to white-knuckle my way out of ADHD until this year. I am currently 26. I spent almost two decades denying treatment and insisting I could overcome my issues by sheer force of will. I struggled to hold down jobs, I barely managed to get a college degree, relationships were negatively impacted, my other conditions were made worse by it, and the whole while I held onto the belief that it was all my own fault to begin with and so I shouldn't take resources from people who "actually" struggle with ADHD.

I don't know how much longer I would've kept that up, if my therapist hadn't convinced me to make an appointment with a specialist. Now, I'm on a different medication than the one I'd tried as a kid, and it makes a world of difference. Now, I know what sort of accommodations I need to be able to function as closely to "normal" as I can manage. Now, I have systems to help me with my memory, and while I'm still disorganized my medication makes it easier to keep things in order. All of these things that made my life hell every single day for almost twenty years, and it was all entirely treatable.

I kind of got off track here but yeah, I don't think children's struggles are taken seriously enough, accommodations shouldn't be treated like training wheels that you can just pull out from under someone when you decide they probably don't need it, and both of those issues can cause significant harm for huge chunks of a person's life. Almost 20 years ago I did well with help, had the help taken away, and was told it was my fault that I started doing poorly again without help. I trusted the adults lecturing me and for almost 20 years, I punished and scolded myself for symptoms instead of treating them, because punishment and scolding was what I had been repeatedly told would "fix" me.

Listen to kids when they say something is beyond them, as even if it isn't beyond them, the fact that they feel like that is important and could alert you to a deeper cause of their struggles. If you want to alter or take away the accommodations a child is receiving, maybe actually discuss it with them first no matter how convinced you are that they don't need it. You aren't them, and no matter how hard you try, you won't always know best. And if you had experiences like this as a kid, I'm sorry. If you're like me and you internalized the idea that you don’t need help but you just need to stop being a fuckup... Please know, you aren't a fuckup. You aren't just lazy. You deserved help then, and you deserve help now. I hope you can eventually access the sort of assistance that was kept from you.

[simplepotatofarmer]

technoblade: a takedown pt. 2

(not clickbait) (okay maybe a little)

aka i go over every argument people make against c!techno one by one and determine whether they’re valid, false, or a mixture of both. i rewatched every single stream/video, including those on his alt channel, so i could approach this with the most information possible. i’ll be breaking this up into parts because there’s just too much otherwise. all about the characters unless stated.

techno has a victim complex - false

this is one of the first takes i saw in fandom and it’s always baffled me.

a victim complex is when someone holds the constant belief that they’re a victim, that everything is being done to specifically hurt them, and that no one else feels as much pain as they do, if they acknowledge that other people are hurt at all. that’s the clinical usage. (i know this, on a personal level, because my grandmother was told by two psychologists that she had a victim complex. she left both of them, saying they were trying to paint her as a bad person.)

techno has never shown a constant belief he’s a victim. in fact, he often shrugs off a lot of the things that’s happened to him - when talking to quackity about the execution, he says ‘yeah, that’s fair’ when quackity points out what techno did. 

when techno had his ‘dang, the whole world is against me’ moment, it was in a moment when there were wanted posters for him, propaganda against him. he’s valid in feeling that way and that feeling didn’t even last for long. 

expressing his hurt at tommy’s betrayal (and whether or not you believe it’s a betrayal, techno thought of it as such. i’ll address that in another point.) doesn’t mean he has a victim complex. techno felt hurt. there is a difference between feeling hurt in a messy situation where both parties felt pain and having a victim complex. or being angry at an unfair execution in which your friend is also hurt.

this isn’t a constant thing that techno does, either. he struggles with expressing himself despite being an emotional person. his paranoia that someone will try to kill him is not unfounded and also not something that he brings up constantly. and it’s the constant part that really takes away from the idea that techno has a victim complex. this isn’t his world view. he doesn’t think everything is done to hurt him. he doesn’t believe everyone’s actions are targeted at him. and that is the key components for a victim complex. 

techno killed the bees in new l’manberg on doomsday - ehhhhhh mostly false 

now, i’m not going to say that the bees wouldn’t have been killed regardless. they probably would have.

but the idea techno did it on purpose (which is bizarrely a take i have seen) just isn’t true. 

like, it sucks. bees are my favorite. but take it up with philza minecraft. techno might have given phil the wither skulls but he didn’t tell him to summon them on top of the bee house. 

techno should have been more upfront with tommy: valid

first and foremost, i want to state that techno did tell tommy what he intended. he told tommy that he could ‘sit it out’ when he destroyed l’manberg. he was upfront with tommy but he never truly pushed the issue and he should have. one of techno’s biggest flaws is his lack of communication skills. 

techno betrayed tommy by teaming up with dream: complicated but mostly false

this one is difficult because tommy did feel as if techno had betrayed him and i don’t want to discount what he feels; tommy is valid in his feelings, they’re real.

so the question here is, are they objectively true? did techno betray tommy? 

the simple answer is ‘no’.

techno teamed up with dream after tommy had left him for tubbo. (which i always feel like i have to clarify i think was the obvious outcome and i don’t blame tommy for that.) at that point in time, tommy had already broken their alliance. techno had no obligation to tommy at all. the partnership that they had was based on the two of them not being aligned with new l’manberg. once tommy went back to tubbo and sided with new l’manberg, techno was no longer on his side. there was no betrayal in that. 

the other point that’s often brought up is that teaming with dream, specifically, was a betrayal because of what dream did to tommy. 

there’s two issues with this: first, techno himself said dream is not his enemy. he said this after tommy had moved in with him in his ‘becoming incredibly rich’ stream. techno was only opposed to dream because he was teamed up with tommy. he had no personal grudge with dream. second, while techno certainly knew that tommy was afraid of dream and that dream had done something, he didn’t know the details. yes, the way tommy was acting probably should have been a clue - and probably would be for anyone else - but techno is notoriously bad with people.

now, tommy was certainly hurt by techno teaming up with dream and that’s the reason i don’t list this point as completely false. 

techno has never apologized for what he’s done: mostly true 

but not valid.

the words ‘i’m sorry’ have certainly been uttered by techno and specifically to tubbo before he killed him during the red festival. he has apologized and later explained himself to tubbo, who accepted that reasoning. 

apologies, much like forgiveness, are not owed. they can be deserved, they can be the right thing to do, but it’s not something that a person is required to do. not even to become a good person.

the best indicator of that is changed behavior and techno has changed since doomsday. he’s acknowledged that he hurt people, despite not apologizing, and changed his tactics.

techno has never considered that he could be wrong or reflected on what he’s done: false

if you haven’t watched techno’s pov completely, i can understand why you would think this is the case. 

but techno has reflected on what he’s done. he’s even admitted that not only is he not the best example of anarchism but that he’s not the best person. 

he tells niki that he’s been a bad example and that he’s trying to change that because he wants to lead through example. and this is an important conversation because she’s the first person he seeks out. he knows she’s been affected by what’s happened and by what he’s done.

in the turtle stream, he tells phil that he’s ‘trying to be a better person’. 

this is a point that i see used against techno often and, like the point above, is one of the ones that frustrates me the most. because, again, it is understandable but upon watching techno’s pov, you can see that it isn’t accurate. not only has techno reflected on his past actions, he’s come to the conclusion that he was wrong. his tactics were wrong and he has said as much, has demonstrated that he understands that and is working to change. 

he still believes in his ideals, he still believes that government is inherently corrupt and - this is conjecture - i have no doubts that he wouldn’t resort to violence against a government, in the same way he used violence to help take down the eggpire. violence isn’t inherently cruel. it’s a tool, one that techno used to wield without thought (or because he believed it was the only way he would be heard) but now it’s one that has been tempered. if techno is a weapon, he used to be a crude one and saw that instead of cutting out the rotten bits, he was leaving a jagged scar and changed. 

that doesn’t mean he won’t use violence again, it doesn’t mean that he won’t backslide or that someone won’t be hurt, but it does mean the idea he has never reflected on what he’s done is incorrect. 

techno reflected on what he’s done and realized he was wrong, not about his beliefs, not about anarchy or even violence as a whole, but his tactics. 

if you read this far, thank you. i know last time i said i would be tackling the butcher army but that has been requiring a lot of vod watching from other perspectives to be able to speak on it accurately. and adding it to this would honestly make this post disgustingly long (part one was almost 2k words, rip)

[skellebonez]

Because I'm sure this is going to be inevitable, how about some angst for the Chaos Trio (Mei, Jin and Yin)? With 61 and 52

Oh I have been looking forward to Chaos Trio angst since you sent me this, anon. Despite how they act in show... I think Jin and Yin are not exactly harmless. Especially if you mess with people they start to consider family.

The Cursed AU and the Chaos Trio in it come from @winterpower98!

Warning: blood and head injuries, enemy demons limbs (not detailed).

That is not a good hiding spot./I am a really bad actor.

Things had been going pretty well, all things considered. Jin and Yin had no problem getting Mei to join them in a little bit of... let's say "competitive insurance" as it were. They had to make sure they were secured in their own little tech related ventures, and after some financial setbacks they needed extra fallback. They’d planned the whole thing out with her help, more than 2 steps and everything! She was good at that.

The problem was that someone got a lucky hit.

They would have made it out with no problems, if they all hadn't decided going on Mei's motorcycle as a group (which, now that Yin thought about it, was probably incredibly dangerous and illegal with 3 of them on it... not that they cared about legality for themselves but somehow when it came to Mei that suddenly made them concerned). But nope. 1 bike. 3 people.

One lucky shot to the rear tire.

The three of them went flying, Mei landing very impressively on her feet whole Jin and Yin bounced on a bush and thanked anyone listening that demons were sturdier than humans. They didn't thank anyone for the pieces of bike that came flying at them all, and they were certain that they heard a piece make contact with something hard, maybe the nearby light pole, but couldn't be sure.

By the time they looked up they just knew they had a group of very angry demons that were pissed they stole and then wiped their code for... something, didn't matter to the twins what it was. They just wanted their competition out of the way. For solely selfish reasons. Nothing else. Not like they wanted it to see what it was and maybe figure out a counter attack so that certain overpowered people with monkey motifs would have an easier time in the future.

Not a chance.

As they fought off the attacking demons they insisted to themselves they didn't care that much.

"That is not a good hiding spot!" Jin yelled across the battlefield as Yin ducked behind crates. "Just chuck it for now and beat em with the blunt end of something else!"

"Just give me 2 seconds, I can fix it!" Yin yelled back, trying his best to reassemble a part of his sword hilt that had broken off.

"Come on, these guys ain't so tough!" Mei laughed out, easily dodging projectiles and backsliding and slicing and dicing as she went. No one was actually killed, but they were lucky because the only reason for that was the young woman wasn't exactly out for blood. They'd be feeling every single hit well into morning though! She was doing much better than the two of them. "Grab a pipe or something! Wish I had MK's magic building power though, I'd rather not be here all-YIN!"

The younger twin looked up from where he had been crouched, eyes widening as he saw the form of a much larger demon hulking over him and ready to batter him with a club.

Things had been going well. All things considered. Then someone got a second lucky hit.

Right as Mei dove in to push the younger silver twin out of the way.

For a second the fighting stopped. There was just the sound of wood hitting hard plastic and fiberglass as the club was sliced in half by her sword and the lopped off half continued it's trajectory and slammed into Mei's head to lead to her crumbling on top of Yin. Jin stood on too of a pile of crates, watching as a line of red seeped through a crack in her visor and stained the white of her suit.

And then his entire vision was red as he lunged at the demon and sliced, sending his arm flying in the opposite direction.

The demon screamed, holding the stump that was his arm from the elbow down, backing away as quickly as he could. "W-what the hell!?"

"Mei," Yin said softly, carefully clicking the emergency release button to make her helmet digitize away. Her eyes were closed, blood dripping from a slice running along her scalp... but as far as he could tell it was from part of the helmet being cracked and cutting her. She was most likely knocked out from the impact, breathing odd but steady in her unconscious state. "You... we're going to get you to the hospital."

His tone hardened as he carefully laid her on the ground, standing tall as he grabbed his broken weapon and a nearby piece of broken steel.

"You. Are going. To pay for that," Yin said coldly, stance no longer lose and half playful as it had been the whole battle. His stood tall, eyes wide and cold and the demons surrounding them felt a chill run down their spines.

Jin stood in front of him, blood from the other demon splattered across his face and chest in a stark contrast to his orange visage.

This... this wasn't the pair of Gold and Silver Demons they had heard about before. They were known for not taking almost anything seriously, making bad deals and pacts and weird blood oaths they wasted on bizarre favors. They were known for being good at tach but not much else, most demons in the area knew vaguely of their history with the Monkey King but even that ended in failure. Their plans were half baked, goofy, and lately they'd heard they'd gotten roped in with the Monkey King's successor and renewed flame of the Six-Eared Macaque.

The two standing before them did not look like the demons they'd heard about.

Mei hadn't wanted to seriously hurt anyone. The demons heard her yelling as much on the battlefield. But now Mei was hurt.

And the twins did.

It happened fast. They wanted to get it over with quickly. Mei had also not wanted to kill anyone at the very least the twins could do was keep up their promise from earlier in the day to avoid that. And they did.

That didn't mean there weren't lost limbs. Hands and arms. A leg or two. More than a couple eyes were lost. Someone lost an ear. Another a tail and horn.

Injuries they could recover from meant as warnings.

All it took was 3 minutes and the entire storage area they crashed in was a mix of grey and brown and red. Demons holding their injuries or running off.

The one who had attacked Yin and hurt Mei stood in awe and fear, looking down at the smaller twins who has decimated an entire group so fast.

"I-how!?" He yelled, backing up slowly. "This isn't possible, you're not this strong!"

"Who told you that?" Yin asked slowly, tilting his head and watching as the demon realized... he'd never heard they couldn't fight. "We don't fight like this because we don't want to. Never meant we can't."

"Why?"

"We are really bad actors," Jin said, wiping the blood off his weapon on an unconscious demon's shirt. "Why bother trying to hold back when we can just hide it by not trying?" He turned to the demon, glowering coldly as he watched his brother pick Mei up carefully. "Tell anyone who asks nothing. We'd like to keep it that way. Unless you want a round two where someone else doesn't hold us back."

And then they were gone.

~

"What in the actual hell happened?" Macaque asked in an even tone. Practiced even. A dangerous even.

"Well-" "You see boss-" "we kinda-" "-there was-"

Jin and Yin tried to think of a reasonable excuse, faltering as everything they thought of sounded worse and worse in their heads.

The two sat in Mei's hospital room, towels draped around their shoulders. They’d been smart enough to stash Mei's bike somewhere safe and wash off in the ocean before coming to the hospital, less covered in demon blood meant less scared humans when they rushed in with Mei in tow, and it was easy to make the nurses believe them.

Simple bike accident, friend hurt, help please.

With Macaque staring them down with his patented death glower, shadows growing and warping around the room in response to him, it was infinitely harder.

Of course Mei's emergency contact was MK. Of course MK could call Macaque before her parents (who were apparently on their way back from some kind of dragon family business trip when they learned). Of course Macaque would show up almost immediately and begin asking questions.

"It was my fault," Mei chimed in, voice slightly off from having awoken with a nasty concussion. "I thought it'd be fun to go on a joy ride late at night, I've done it before without issues! But, uh... I've never had two passengers before... and we hit something. Don't be mad at them?"

Macaque looked like he believed Mei as much as he believed Tang would lose interest in the Monkey King and switch his field of study to obscure methods of basket weaving. Which is to say: he didn’t. But he sighed, giving Mei a small smile as the shadows returned to normal.

"Ok," he said softly, tone much more gentle with the dragon descendant as he reached out to brush loose hair out of her face. "I won't be mad at them. I'll be very disappointed-" his tone hardened for a second at those words as he turned to the twins with a glower again. "-but I won't be mad. Do you need anything?"

"Maybe a candy bar from the vending machines outside?" Mei asked with a smile.

"Sure," Macaque laughed and shook his head, moving to the corner of the room. "I'll be right back."

He sunk into the shadows, a cool trick that the twins would always be impressed by, and they breathed a sigh of relief at knowing they were alone. For now.

"You didn't have to do that," Jin said, frowning at Mei in concern. Maybe it was just because he was now the eldest in the room, but some kind of protective feel pulled at him.

"I know," Mei said with a tired laugh, laying back into her pillow. "But you guys are like... my bros. I gotta stand up for my bros."

And that made both Jin and Yin pause. They looked at each other, eyes widening as they both came to a realization that was probably a very long time coming at that point.

"Yeah..." Yin said, a soft smile forming on his face. "We'd do the same for you... you know, if you didn't take that hit for me you probably would have kicked everyone's ass way better than us! We barely got out by the skin of our teeth!" A full truth and a blatant lie, but he hoped Mei wouldn't pick up on that second part.

"You know it, boi!" She didn't.

It was odd for him in particular. Yin had never really thought of himself as an older brother before.

First time for everything.

[firelxdykatara]

Rumple I liked his character but the narrative did him dirty like trying to portray him not fighting hook as cowardice when he had a bad leg he couldn’t beat hook if he tried to fight he would have left bae fatherless not to mention the other things

I don’t think that’s where the narrative failed wrt Rumplestiltskin, anon. I just started a rewatch so his origins are fresh in my mind (I haven’t gotten to s2 and hook yet, though I do remember more or less how that whole thing unfolded), and Rumple being framed as cowardly in his interactions with Hook isn’t terribly different from being framed as cowardly in his interactions with the soldiers who were going to take Baelfire away to fight in the Ogres War. It’s actually pretty difficult to watch, even with my apathy towards Rumple that settled in after the fourth or fifth time he backslid and then Belle just took him back for no discernible reason, because human Rumplestiltskin? He didn’t deserve that sort of treatment. No one does! And it’s definitely difficult to see a grown man reduced to sniveling and kissing a soldier’s boot because he’s a desperate soul willing to do anything, even debase himself, to save his son.

That said, Rumple was a coward, through and through--not just because of the times he backed down against stronger opponents who could easily have killed him (the soldiers in his backstory episode, Hook, etc), but because once he had that power, he was terrified of losing it again, even after it cost him everything he cared about. His son, Belle, the chance at a semi-normal life--none of that mattered to him anymore, because if the choice came down to someone he loved or power, he would choose power every time.

And he never grows from this. That is where the narrative truly failed.

I have much less sympathy for Rumple in this regard than Belle, who was trapped in a toxic relationship with him and who was forced by the narrative to take him back no matter what bullshit he pulled, no matter how many times he lied to her face, no matter who he was willing to hurt or kill for the sake of his own power. I was actually really fucking excited when Belle finally put her foot down and said no more, but of course the show couldn’t let her move the fuck on with her life, and instead contrived a situation to force Belle to take him back yet again so that, no matter how many times he deliberately flushed away his chance for a happy ending, he got handed one anyway.

There were so many times when Rumple was literally handed a solution to all his problems. He could have stopped being the Dark One--he literally had the Dark One spirit ripped away from him and he wound up taking it back anyway! (Thus rendering Emma and Killian’s sacrifices and pain absolutely pointless for no fucking reason, but that’s a whole other rant.) And that time when he was offered a choice to show trust in Belle and prove that he was willing to give up his power by giving her his dagger....... he gave her a fake dagger because he couldn’t even exhibit that much trust in her or willingness to let go of his power for her sake.

Rumplestiltskin, like Regina, kept paying lipservice to wanting to be a better person, but his backsliding was arguably even worse, and the show constantly and consistently refused to acknowledge the fact that he was proving, over and over again, that he was never going to change. Power was always more important to him than anything else--than love, than friendship, than family. And despite proving that, to her directly multiple times, Belle was never allowed to put her foot down and refuse to be trapped in the same cycle of abuse forever--because even when she did, the narrative forced her to take him back! Again!!!!!! And then Rumple got his happy ending at the very end of the show for no other reason than, I guess, there was a three-for-one deal on redemption arcs and they had one left over with a ‘get out of consequences free’ card attached (there must have been two of those, bc Regina got one too), and the net result was just. Very, very sloppy writing, which no one came out of smelling particularly nice.

(Incidentally, the ‘anti rumbelle’ and ‘anti rumplestiltskin’ tags on my old blog are a Treat. I got very incensed, especially in later seasons lmfao. It’s kind of funny to look back, because I remember actually shipping Rumbelle when Skin Deep first aired, but looking back now, like. The writing was on the wall the whole damn time.)

[diddlydarndoodles]

More brainstorming for the Change your mind AU

Steven recognizes White’s gaslighting/abuse as such cause he knows what healthy relationships are like/has a frame of reference he can refer to, so it’s easier to work through it. He also assurance that he is not Pink Diamond, and one(1) friend there with him, so he’s not entirely without support.

None of that makes it any easier—this entire situation plays directly to all of his insecurities, and spending every second of every hour of every day trying to justify your existence to an Alien Tyrant while she bombards you with thinly veiled verbal abuse is incredibly exhausting.

Steven starts to hate White Diamond a little after she kills Connie, and his resentment builds slowly over time. He first noticed during a convo where pink Connie was venting her own anger about White, when he caught himself mentally agreeing with her. He immediately felt illogically guilty about it.

As the constant back and forth with White drags on, it gets harder for Steven to find the words he wants to use to explain his points, and White pounces on his every little slip up, and makes a fuss over minor mistakes and derails his entire argument as he struggles to keep up. It gets so frustrating and exhausting that talking becomes too difficult/painful for him to handle sometimes.

Connie was badly affected by the experience as well. White didn’t pay much attention to her, but when she did she treated her like an toy or pet, and used her presence to belittle Steven. “Aw, don’t you think you’re too old for comfort items, Pink?” It’s degrading and humiliating, and Connie’s self worth takes a bad hit. She’s completely powerless in this situation, and it’s hard not to fall into despair. She finds that focusing on Steven makes it easier. She can actually help Steven, even if it’s little things like telling him stories to cheer him up, and she doesn’t have to think about her own tumulus emotions. Because of this she starts neglecting herself. She almost slips back into the mindset Pearl instilled in her in ‘Do it for Her/Him’.

Steven and Connie don’t immediately think of contacting Lars after Connie turns pink because they’re both busy fending off the constant mental barrage White is heaping on them. It’s only after white attempts to mind control Steven that the fear and anger overpower the exhaustion and doubt enough to let them focus on one thing—getting the hell away from there.

Also at first Steven tried to convince himself that he had to stay and put up with this to save his friends and help White/out of a misplaced sense of responsibility for his mother’s actions/to take the attention off Connie, always dancing around the lingering doubt that persisted in spite of everything, that maybe he deserved this, that maybe what white said was true.

Connie and Steven are able to escape because White’s shock over her powers failing on Steven distracts her long enough to give them an opening.

Lars managed to sneak back in to the palace to rescue Peridot, lapis, and Bismuth, who had all been poofed.

White still gets redeemed, because tbh there’s no possible way Steven could win this otherwise. He’s got Connie, Lars, The Off colors, Lion, his dad, nephrite and the barn residents with him and White has multiple bioweapons, both Blue and Yellow under her control, and an army. However, it’s a longer and much more arduous process to redemption here because Steven, justifiably, Very Much Does Not Like White, whereas in canon he was more neutral towards her.

This means that Steven’s goal wasn’t to reason with her or convince her to stop, he was trying to deal with a threat and rescue his friends. This also means she came to the conclusion that what she was doing was wrong on her own, and the one to offer the olive branch.

Despite his anger, Steven accepted her peace offering because he was tired and scared, hated fighting and knew he couldn’t win. However, he and his friends refused to make any sort of agreement with White until she released the other diamonds and the Crystal Gems from her control.

Connie and Lars bond over being pink zombies.

Steven and Nephrite are both now ‘off color’ and so are immediately adopted into the Off Colors

Connie, Nephrite, Lars, and Greg co-found the Steven Quartz Universe Protection Squad. Lion is the mascot. All of Steven’s friends eventually join.

White mentions Spinel to Steven and Connie at one point, so they are able to find her and explain things way earlier, and with some Trusted Adults present as back up. The events of the movie are avoided.

Steven is also more motivated to check up on White’s other victims, and gets to know Pink Pearl a bit better than in canon.

After a long time and a lot of trial and error, Steven builds a fragile rapport with Blue and Yellow. However, he avoids white like the plague unless it’s absolutely necessary.

Blue and Yellow distance themselves from her as well, because when you mind control someone for a month they tend to get angry.

Blue and Yellow try a lot harder to better themselves, because now they’re not just doing it to get on Steven’s good side or atone for their treatment of Pink. Now they know what it feels like.

White tries a lot harder to atone after seeing how her actions have alienated her entire family and caused them to distance themselves from her. She never really mends those bonds, but she makes new bonds with new people. She doesn’t let ‘earning my family’s forgiveness and approval’ be her motivation for improving herself.

The thing that white struggles with the most is understanding that she hurt more people than just Steven and the other diamonds, and that their pain is equally important.

After everything is over, Steven and Connie seek therapy.

Garnet helps them with that once she’s free

Effects this has on steven: selective mutism(sometimes talking is a bit too much for him), still outgoing and social mostly but requires periods of solitude, cares more deeply about establishing boundaries for himself and others, has a harder time emphasizing with people(he has a severe emotional breakdown once this is pointed out to him; it takes him a while to recover and realize that this isn’t necessarily a bad thing)

Effects this has on Connie: separation anxiety, for a while she can’t handle even playful teasing because it reminds her of white’s insults. As stated earlier, she almost backslides into her toxic mindset in ‘Do it for Her/Him’. With white her only goal for a while was to protect Steven no matter what it took, and she started to view her own life and self as worthless. She represses and ignores a lot of her own trauma because she doesn’t want to think about or discuss it—when she’s just talking normally she can talk about herself and her interests freely, but when asked about homeworld she always focuses on Steven, because (it’s easier than thinking about her own experience) it wasn’t THAT bad, she wasn’t THAT affected, and what Steven went through was worse.

Lars snaps Connie out of it by replying it wasn’t that bad?? You died!”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Word Twisters || Morgan & Rebecca

Shelves upon shelves upon shelves of books and not one of them has the right answer. guess they'll have to talk :/

Contains: brief mentions of abuse

@exorciseyourspirit

Morgan felt guilty meeting Rebecca at Riio’s special scribe hideaway without him, but it had been a communal space before, and it could be so now, if she was going to help Rebecca find a way to get Mike under control before he came back and ruined everyone’s life again. She’d brought her folding grocery cart with her so they wouldn’t be limited by what  they could fit in their arms, but the strange rustle of the wheels on the old floors was uncanny, like one of those dreams where you turn a corner and find yourself in a different memory, as a different person. Everything felt like an odd mish-mash and Morgan felt herself floating through her existence more than usual. Perhaps it was seeing Rebecca again, hitting the books again, almost like nothing happened. Shopping for solutions. She scanned the pines more longer than usual, wondering if there was a book on shocking some feeling back into a zombie body. What’s the fix for not being able to feel or process magic? Morgan looked sidelong at Rebecca, uncertain how to act after how angry she’d been in most of their conversations online. “So,” she said, “I guess even asking ‘how’s it going’ is a loaded question, huh?”

The hallways stretched out before Rebecca and for a moment, she felt trapped. In that weird, this place is too large and too secluded way. It felt like she was back in that hollow place, where everything was the same yet different. Where the kitchen clocked beeped and only Theo’s voice could reach her. She’d been able to astral project before, and had done it a few times, but never subconsciously. And that place...it was different. As if the world constructed there was pulled straight from her mind and placed into the plane. Morgan’s voice broke through her thoughts and echoed in a way that reminded Rebecca that this place was solid, and that this place was real. She put out a hand to the shelf, letting the wood ground her. “It is,” she said back after a moment, taking down another book, “but you can still ask it.” Held out the book for Morgan’s cart. She understood the wariness she held-- they’d argued angrily online and never truly coalesced their feelings about that before moving on. “Only if I get to ask it back, though. With none of those niceties as an answer.”

“R-right, sure,” Morgan said, giving the most casual shrug she could summon. She took Rebecca’s book and added it to the pile, followed her for a few more paces in the strange quiet between them. “That’s fair. I uh...I’m still dead. Still having to count putting on clean clothes and keeping up with laundry and showering as a win.” She flopped her arms at her side. Whatever was between them, however it shook out, Morgan felt at ease enough to wear her new usual of dark sweats and sweater, hair half scrunchied back to hide how fluffy it wasn’t. “Still kind of maybe fighting with my best friend, but they turned me, you know, to ‘save me,’ so. And I’ve got my girlfriend, still, somehow. I’m...adjusting. I’m getting out of bed. I’m trying to be a good...whatever.” Some of the words turned sour as she spoke them. She had been doing okay, sometimes better than, but every night was another fight not to backslide, every dead moment a silent plea to take a minute. Fall a little. And Morgan, despite her alleged stamina, felt tired with the whole thing sometimes. Today, for some reason, especially. She met eyes with Rebecca briefly, unsure how much she still understood, how she might feel, or judge her. “So…” she said quietly. “How’s it going with you?”

Rebecca quieted as she listened to Morgan. None of it was truly good news, but she supposed she should’ve expected an answer like that. She didn’t have much to say about it, either. She wished she did, but all her words were just words. They would provide no comfort. “Trying is all you can do right now,” she said finally, “and that’s good enough.” She paused another moment before turning down another aisle and picking through the books there. “Well,” she sighed, “I found out that my dead wife is a ghost, and she’s been living with Blanche. And she’s mad at me for like the millionth time since I found out, because I’m not good enough at asking for help and don’t want to put the only other exorcist in town aside from the grumpy old groundskeeper in danger of dying.” She tossed a book lamely into the cart. “I think I’ve been subconsciously astral projecting into a different plane while the Dybbuk is in control and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. And I’m too afraid to try and perform an exorcism again because I’m pretty sure he can tap into my power.” She turned, then, to face Morgan. “So...you know.”

“I ate a person’s brain,” Morgan burst out. She hadn’t expected Rebecca to lay that many cards out on the table so frankly, she suddenly felt guilty for holding back. “He was already dead. And I kind of liked it, and kind of didn’t but not because eating-humans-bad. Also, I’m...maybe coming out of a really, really danger-bad low. But, um, with that all out there--” She reached for the first book that had something useful sounding in the title (Secondary Theory of Astral Universe Epistemology) “Your dead wife is here? The love of your life dead wife? And you’re fighting? Or you and Blanche are fighting? Are--” You okay? They were kneejerk response words, what every helpless person said. And it wasn’t even what they meant. They wanted to know how bad the damage was. What was the proximity between where they were, ‘okay,’ and ‘natural disaster.’ “How are you even dealing with all that. Are you...is she different? Are you different? With everything that’s happened to you?”

“Did it taste good?” was the first thing Rebecca asked. She understood how zombies operated, just as she did vampires, although zombies had a much more sustainable way of life, if lived cautiously. Theodora was mostly a vampire hunter, though zombies caused quite a ruckus as well. “As long as you didn’t kill the person for the brain, I don’t quite see the harm. Did you assume part of the person’s personality? I heard that’s a thing that may happen.” She shuffled aimlessly for a moment, before deciding she’d need to sit for the rest of this conversation, and circled back towards the table. “She’s a ghost. So I can’t even see her. Sometimes I still think I’m just making it up, but then she messaged me on a fucking computer and I can’t help but remember she’s here. I’m not fighting with Blanche, no.” She sank into a chair and fetched a book. “I’m not dealing well, if that’s what you’re asking. Of course we’re different-- she died and I was alone and possessed for two years. She notices that I can’t call her lover anymore and it hurts, but also knowing that I’m going to have to lose her all over again hurts me. I never know what to say to her. I can’t give her reassurances like I used to, tell her it’s all going to be alright, if we just believe. Because it’s not, and it won’t be.” Sighing, she opened the book. “But it’s not a contest, Morgan. And I’m sorry you’re still suffering.”

“Wow. That’s...weirdly chill of you. You’re like the third person to normalize this for me. I thought you’d think it was a bigger deal. And I did, become a little like him, that’s the only part I didn’t like, but we don’t have to...go there, if you, well...” Had more than enough to worry about already. But rather than wrestle with that confusion, Morgan pulled up a chair and sat near Rebecca, gripping the edge of her seat for lack of a better idea. “Look, with the not being able to talk like you used to, sometimes it’s just like that when you’re adjusting to being something else. I know you’re still technically you, but knowing Mike’s around probably makes everything feel different. And your wife, she’s a ghost. I can’t even imagine how much worse that would be than being a zombie. These are things that words don’t reach, and there’s words you can’t get to, even though they might be true. Sometimes it takes a lot of time, more than a few weeks. I couldn’t tell Deirdre I loved her for a while, after I came back. And what we’re going through is so different, we were only apart for a little while. But being honest helps. Even if it hurts.” She sat back, holding herself as she settled in. “Yeah, sure,” she muttered. “Me too.” She wanted to help Rebecca, she wanted to be here, but something about Rebecca’s apologies still stung her bitterly.

“You’re a zombie now, Morgan,” Rebecca answered smoothly, a bit of her weariness in her voice. Perhaps years ago she would’ve been appalled, but the years had worn her down, and her losses had jaded her. “It’s just what you do. My spirituality doesn’t cling to the body, it savors the soul. As long as you’re not killing people for their brains, then I see no harm in it.” She tried her best to focus on the book, but the conversation had a hand up on her attention, so she simply closed it and looked across the table at Morgan. She was stiff and avoiding Rebecca’s gaze and her apology. Rebecca sighed. “Death is death. The hardest part is not being able to see her, I suppose. It feels wholly unfair that she can see me and know me, but I don’t get that in return. In all honesty, I wish she weren’t here, and she knows that, but it doesn’t help,” she muttered, quiet suddenly, as her heart grew heavy, “nothing helps.” An admittedly low point for her, caving in front of someone. The only person she’d ever truly been vulnerable with had been Theo, and her heart ached to be that way with her again.

“She doesn’t have a body, Rebecca, she doesn’t get to know you like she wants to,” Morgan sighed. “I’ve wound up on the floor over not being able to recognize or feel a touch. Not feeling anything at all is...I don’t even want to think about it. And looking at you while you can’t see her, probably also not fun.Not that it isn’t terrible for you, I mean--one half of you being screwed is bad, but you’re both hurting. You’re both in the pit.” She looked over at Rebecca, struck by just how tired, how done she looked. It was all too painfully familiar and she hated it. Why should she help in the first place? Why should she bother? Rebecca had bailed, and it was supposed to be okay because she cared. Not enough to help her, not enough to keep her alive, but sure, she cared. But stars, Rebecca’s hurt was so awful to see. Morgan’s insides twisted bitterly, but she didn’t think she could make it worse on purpose. “Sometimes things are just awful,” she said quietly. “And you have to keep pushing until you get used to the weight. And maybe pushing doesn’t look like much to other people, or it means Theo doesn’t get what she wants sometimes. If she loves you, it won’t really matter in the end. You grab onto whatever reason you can, however small or stupid, and you just...you go, even when you’re tired. And I know, Becca,” her voice turned soft and heavy. “I know how tired you must be. It’s the most exhausting thing there is.”

Morgan was right and Rebecca resented that a little bit. She was supposed to be the one giving sagely advice on how to deal with whatever life threw at you, but at some point, she supposed, everyone grew tired. She’d been strong for so long, the burden of that weight was heavier now than ever before. It had always been easier to carry with Theo next to her, but now, it almost felt worse. How easy would life be if she could just let go. But she’d promised he would not win, and she’d promised she’d live to fifty, and she promised she’d fight. And so, Morgan was right. “When’d you get so wise?” she said after a moment, sitting up a little straighter, a little less weary. “But I suppose you’re right. The only thing to do is just...keep moving forward, isn’t it? Because we can’t take the other option,” she said simply, as if it were a fact. She was well aware that they’d probably both thought of it, but would never admit it, even if the sentence itself was an admission. Her eyes, cool and blue, met Morgan’s. “I am sorry, you know,” she muttered quietly, as if the softness of her voice could finally make Morgan believe her. “For everything.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t take a beat now and then. Or that you’re not allowed to say it hurts. You’re always allowed to say it hurts,” Morgan said, digging her fists into her skirt, trying to reign herself in. She felt like she was opening a raw nerve. Even the silence, even the confidence of Rebecca picking herself back up again made it snap with pain. “The undead don’t sleep. Gives you a lot of time to think. Or go off the deep end.” She stiffened, shrinking in her seat as Rebecca leveled that soft look at compassion at her. That look that she had believed in, that had turned out to be not as true as she’d wanted. She pursed her lips thin in a vain effort to keep them from trembling. “Don’t,” she said. “You’re not, not really, so--what’s the point? Constance killed me while I was getting ice cream. Maybe it gave her enough of a good time that she crossed over happy. You don’t have to worry about me anymore,” she shrugged, stiff and looked away as her thin reserve began to cave.

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I’m sorry that you died?” she said, suddenly a chill in her voice. “You think I don’t blame myself, even a little? Even if I think he’s lying about what he did or didn’t do?” she leaned back in her chair, folded her arms over her chest. “I know we don’t truly know each other that well, but what ridiculous stories have you made up in your unsleeping nights to convince yourself that someone would want this for you, Morgan?” she snapped. She was tired, so tired, of all of this. “I am not the thing inside of me. I would have done whatever I could to have helped you. To have tried to save you. My fault was in thinking I could do that without help of my own, I know that now. That’s what I’m sorry for. And I’m sorry for your death. I grew up around death, I steeped myself in it when I left home. Do you think I don’t mourn every soul I pass on? Every spirit I see? Every life ended short, every undead, every grave? What do you think being connected to souls means, exactly, Morgan? Please, tell me, I’d love to hear your thoughts.”

“I didn’t say you were him!” Morgan snapped, suddenly too upset to mind she was crying. “But you--I asked you, I told you what it would take and I asked you, and, wouldn't you know, it was too much. Again! It always turned out to be the one thing no one wanted to do, no matter what stupid idea I was trying. Everyone feels bad and wants to help, until I actually need something. And then you disappeared, so I guess that was the story of my whole life! What else was I supposed to think? The last thing you said to me was no! Maybe you’re sad for me like you are for everyone else, just one more sad person, but I don’t want that, I don’t need that! I wanted you to try and help me anyway!” The way the words hurt on the way out, Morgan knew they were true. She scrubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. She was past saving face but she couldn’t help but try. “I wanted you to try something, anything, even if it was hard! It’s not like I wasn’t aware that everything about me gets hard if you stick around long enough. I knew. Curse and all. It always got too hard, and too much, no matter who I asked. It was too much for me too, but I didn’t have a choice to bail or not! I just wanted it to be different this time.” She took a gasping breath, struggling to clear the sobs in her throat without letting them out, her voice cording tight as she whispered “How am I supposed to know you would’ve done any different? It’s over; what am I supposed to learn from that?”

Rebecca listened. And waited. She understood, somewhere, why Morgan would feel the way she did. Perhaps the way she’d grown up, always looking over her shoulder, losing friend after friend, town after town, person after person. Perhaps it had been something drilled into her by a mother trying to protect her only to be the true cause of her pain. Or perhaps it was simply her subconscious, trying to save her from another painful realization. Whatever it was, Rebecca simply listened as Morgan belted it out. It was the least she could do. When she was done, Rebecca sat forward, hands neatly crossed in her lap, and said, “Are you quite finished?” in that tone Theodora often used for her during her rants. It always seemed to work. She waited a moment longer, her eyes never leaving Morgan’s face. “I am sorry,” she said evenly, “but I will not compromise my morals for you, Morgan. This is how I feel and what I would have told you even without this thing inside of me, tearing my soul apart slowly.” She drew in a breath, still in that chilling way mother’s sat when you came home past curfew. “I did not say no because it was hard, or because you were too much. And I didn’t even say no to you. I said no to an idea. You are a grown woman, Morgan, and whatever misgivings your past has left you with, it’s up to you to parse out what people say and what people mean. If you truly thought that I did not want to help you, you would not be here now. I would not be here now. You’re not supposed to know, you’re supposed to ask. And you’re supposed to believe.” She stood up, then, and made her way around the table, slowly, watching Morgan struggle with her sobs. She stood next to her, crouched down, looked her square in the eyes. “I would have given my life if it meant helping you, Morgan, but I will not give my soul and I will not give my morals. They are the only things I have left. Surely you can understand that much.”

Morgan deflated, chastised into a fit of choked hiccups as she struggled, hand clamped over her mouth, for composure. She scrunched up in her seat like a guilty child, eyes screwed shut until she heard Rebecca come closer. It was awful, and unfair--so unfair that her hopes should have rested on someone who had lost so much too, who couldn’t afford to give up the last thing she had left in the world. What kind of fucked up universe pitted them against each other like that? What bullshit balance put Mike inside Rebecca’s body, just to topple everything over for Morgan, for both of them. She nodded, leaning into Rebecca until her head came to rest on her shoulder. “It’s not fair,” she sniffled, shoulders shaking as she spoke. “I hate this, I hate how it’s all so unfair.” Sniffled again. “That sounds stupid, I know it does,” she tried to breathe through the knot in her chest, and sobbed anyway, laughing at the absurdity of a zombie trying to solve anything by breathing. “And I don’t mean you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I needed you, and you had your evil ghost, and everything was so awful and fucked...it’s just been hard. It’s not your fault I couldn’t catch a fucking break from my stupid curse and the stupid universe shakes out like this for me.” She pulled away, wiping her face again. “I’m sorry. That you hurt like I do, or anything close. That’s why I came. Just so you know.”

Rebecca let out a long breath when Morgan laid her head on her shoulder, wrapping an arm around her, patting her back gently. “I know,” was all she said. Because for all the words she was always able to find, there were no words in any language, that could make what was happening to either of them fair or okay. “I wouldn’t say stupid, no,” she mumbled, laying her head on top of Morgan’s as she searched the shelves, wondering if they could tell her how to undo the unfairness of the universe. “But it only wins if we back down in the face of it, this unfairness. Which is unfair in itself, but, I suppose...that’s just the lot we were dealt,” she went on, looking back down at the table when the books provided no answers. “Misery loves company after all, doesn’t it?” She sighed again. “Perhaps it’s just nice to know we’re not alone.”

Morgan shifted closer to Rebecca as she brought her head to rest on hers. “It’s still the fucking worst,” she mumbled. “I mean, I was cursed, but what did you ever do? What did any of us do, you know?” She let go of her arms and leaned in, muttering, “You can tell me if I’m too cold,” as she scanned the shelves around them. So many words, so much work, and not a single page that could crack why they had to suffer this way. With her curse gone, she was supposed to have an easier time, but even this new body, this new life scraped and stitched together ramshackle style from the bones of the old one felt just as hard. Different kind of hard, but still. When the quiet had stretched out long enough not to hurt anymore she said, “You’re not. Alone, I mean. I get it, how you can’t stop even when you sort of want to. How even having something you want can still hurt. And I’ll help make sure you’re okay. If there’s a way for that to happen. I seriously don’t recommend the zombie escape hatch. It’s not much of a party. So...whatever I’m still good for, let me know. I’ll do it.”

“When I was younger, I thought I might be cursed,” Rebecca said softly, giving a sigh. “I didn’t even know magic existed, but what kind of a world would leave a child with grandparents who hated her? Who put locks on doors and bars on the windows. But I figured out, pretty quickly, that it’s not the universe that curses us,” she adjusted slightly, sighing, “it’s people. And places. And those things? Those things we can beat. Eventually. No matter how unfair.” At least, she hoped. As she cast another glance at the shelves, she decided in that moment that they had to be true. Otherwise, what was there left to believe in? “I know, Morgan,” she responded quietly, “I know I’m not. And neither are you. And, you know, we’ll make it through. Somehow. But we will.” She looked at the stack of books on the table, and although they were nothing compared to the shelves around them, they still somehow felt insurmountable. Rebecca let out a long breath. “We’ll be okay.”

[letswritefanfiction]

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“I’m borrowing this!”

“Wait, hey, that’s my bike!”

“I’ll give it back someday!”

No!

-x-

“Listen, I’m sorry about your bike, but I’m gonna need some time to make things right.”

“No way! I fell for that last time!”

-x-

“Are you following us?”

“No! This just happens to be the quickest way out of the forest!”

-x-

“I’ll tell you what, Ash. If you ask really nicely, I’ll help you out.”

“I don’t need any help.”

-x-

“They say if two people fight, they really care about each other.”

“Me care about her‽”

“Me care about him‽”

-x-

“Really? Since when did you decide to worry about me?”

“Not you! I’m concerned about Pikachu!”

-x-

“They’re not mature enough to admit it, but they really like each other.”

“You know what, it’s exactly the same thing with you and Ash.”

“…”

“YOU MUST BE CRAZY!”

-x-

“That’s great, you finally got your bike back! Now you can get home fast.”

“Whoop-de-do.”

“Why are you so grouchy?”

“I’m not grouchy—why don’t you just leave me alone!”

-x-

“I could have managed without your help, you know.”

“Yeah, we know.”

-x-

“Will I see you again?”

“You will. I swear.”

-x-

“Are you sure you’ll be okay without me, Ash?”

“I’ll be fine.”

-x-

“I guess you guys should go now.”

“Okay, take care.”

*     *     *

The video phone’s screen flickered to life as the call connected, leaving Ash near giddy on the other side. Even in just the past couple years, video quality had gotten so much better—he could see ever detail on the other side of the screen, almost like he was there.

“Hey, Ash, long time no call.”

“Heh, sorry about that, Mist.”

In the couple years since Misty had left the group, Ash had realized just how bad he was at maintaining contact with people. Truthfully, it was any wonder he hadn’t gotten a good tongue-lashing from his mom on that very topic years ago.

“Congrats on the Sinnoh League,” she said, a big smile on her face.

“Aw, it was just top four—nothing too exciting.”

“But that means next year it’ll be top two! And the year after that…”

“I’ll win!”

“Maybe. If math is on your side. But I know math isn’t exactly your forte, so you might have to get studying to pull it off.”

Ash frowned for half a second before he let it go. Misty was grinning on the other side of the screen—making fun of him seemed to bring her joy like nothing else—and he just couldn’t frown for long like that.

“Well, I was going to ask you a question, but now I’m not sure if I want to. You’ll probably just be mean.”

“Try me.”

“Can Brock and I come visit you for a few days before we go home?”

Misty paused for a second. She’d probably expected him to ask—well, actually, he didn’t quite know. But probably what she really thought of the match or maybe something about Water Pokémon. But he didn’t usually ask her those kinds of things. She would tell him before he ever even thought to ask.

“Of course you can,” Misty replied, surprise evident in her voice. “Where is Brock anyway?”

“Where’s Brock?” Ash asked wryly. He tilted the screen—these new screens could tilt!—in the direction of the front desk at the Pokémon Center, and there was Brock, mooning over Nurse Joy. Dawn was standing off to the side, looking embarrassed and Pikachu was shuffling from his position on the desk closer to her.

“Hmm, maybe I should rethink my answer…” Misty said dryly.

“Nope! Can’t! No take-backs! You already said yes!”

Misty smiled again, this time mostly in her shimmering green eyes. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

*     *     *

“You have to catch me one!”

“No! What if I don’t see one?”

“Oh, please. Ash, tell me one Pokémon you haven’t seen in person. In fact, Dexter, tell me one Pokémon Ash hasn’t seen in person.”

“There are hundreds of Pokémon—”

“In regards to the regions he’s already been to!”

“No data.”

“See! You’ve seen literally—”

“It just said ‘no data’! It probably has no clue what you’re talking about!”

“It does! Dexter has become very advan—”

“Okay! I will try to catch a Skrelp for you!”

“Thank you. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Try. Emphasis on try.”

The two were lounged on Misty’s couches, days before Ash was to leave for Unova. They seemed to have grown a habit of having Misty on the couch facing the TV with Pikachu and Ash on the one perpendicular to it. Most of their time spent at the Gym—when not hanging out with the Water Pokémon which, admittedly, was a lot of the time—was spent on these two couches, just like this. Ash was slouched so that the middle of his back was where his butt should have been, and Misty had Pikachu in her lap, idly stroking the Pokémon. Ash and Pikachu had spent last week or so in Cerulean after a similar duration in Pallet. This was not the first conversation about Skrelp and Dragalge to come up.

“I just need to know about any Pokémon that starts as a Water Type and then loses it!”

“I’m sure if it had a choice, it wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I know that.”

Then the couch fell quiet. That was always the nice thing about their friendship, Misty thought. Whether with Ash or Brock, the conversation could always die away and they’d simply be happy in each others’ company. She supposed that had to be the case when you spent every single hour together for three or so years. Such was not the case with everyone else in her life. Since returning to the Gym, she’d realized how many thought that when a conversation lulled it truly died. How uncomfortable people were with a bit of silence. Truth be told, she felt it too now, acutely, whenever it happened. But not with Ash. With Ash it was easy.

So the minutes passed like that until she had something else to say. And then a few more while she worked up the courage to say it.

“You’re not going to call less, are you?”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Ash answered with a shrug as he sat himself up a little more. “Hadn’t really thought about it. Why?”

“Well, you’re going to be a in a very different time zone now,” Misty started. “And you’ll have more people to juggle, what with me, Brock, May, Max, and Dawn. And your mom, of course.”

“…Maybe I should have thought about it.”

“It’ll just take a bit more effort and foresight now, that’s all,” Misty said, trying to disguise how concerned she actually felt.

“My strengths, of course.”

“Well, effort is. Foresight, not so much.”

“You know what? It’ll be fine,” Ash said. “The habit’s been formed, right? That’s a thing? So I’ll still want to call you and so I will.”

“Wow, sweet and mature. I’m shocked.”

“Don’t say you’re shocked, or Pikachu might want to prove you right.”

“Hardy har.”

“Pika,” Pikachu chirped, though she wasn’t sure whose side he was on.

There was another slight pause and then Misty said, “You’ll call in a week?”

“I’ll call in a week.”

*     *     *

Misty’s theory had not held up. Somehow, Ash had backslid and landed in eighth place in the Vertress Conference. Nevertheless, Ash seemed to be in rather high spirits.

“Apparently Kalos has a lot of Pokémon from Kanto too, so it’ll be really cool to see them in a different environment—maybe they’ll look different like in the Orange Islands? Hey, you know I could catch a Caterpie again! I know, I know, you wouldn’t be excited about that, but you came around on Butterfree in the end, didn’t you?”

“Do you wanna go out sometime, Ash?”

That question stopped Ash’s rant dead in his tracks. Suddenly, he wasn’t thinking about Kalos at all anymore, but rather a hardly-lucid whaa…huh?

“Wha—do you mean like…like when we went out yesterday for pizza? Do you want pizza again today, because I was kind of thinking cheeseburgers.”

Misty blinked. “Yeah, kind of like that. Only it doesn’t matter so much where we go but why. I’m talking like a date, Ash. I’d like to go on a date.”

That was very clear. Ash suddenly became very aware of the muscles in his throat. It was maybe the first time he’d ever considered that his throat even had muscles. But suddenly they were all tense and seemed much larger and warmer than they had a moment before when he hadn’t been thinking about them.

“Oh.”

“Feel free to think about it,” Misty said flippantly. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, so it’s only fair that you have some time to consider it before you say something. So, do you want to keep talking about Kalos or do you want to be quiet for a minute?”

“I want to be quiet for a minute.”

He’d already gone quiet, to be sure. His raspy voice was suddenly devoid of all tone and was little more than a whisper. Perhaps that was connected to the strange throat sensations—he didn’t really know much about these things.

Pikachu had been on Misty’s lap—as was his habit during these Cerulean visits—but he trotted over to Ash on the other couch and leapt onto his shoulder, as if hoping the familiar weight would even Ash out a bit. Even out his thoughts or something. It was as sweet an effort as Misty had ever seen.

Many minutes passed. These ones less comfortable than most. Ash was fidgeting, and Pikachu was uncomfortable because he had to work to keep his balance in the midst of Ash’s fidgeting, which dug his claws into Ash’s shoulder which must have been uncomfortable for him as well. And Misty, despite her calm façade, was very anxious as well. She had laid it all out, after all. Well, more or less. Needless to say, none of them were doing well.

“Let me just say a couple things that might simplify this,” Misty said finally. “And maybe I should have led with these. It would just be one date. Not a relationship. Not enough would be different to have to make things uncomfortable between us—certainly not in the long term. It’s not a commitment of any kind. It’s an experiment.”

There was a pause before Ash continued. And what he continued with was: “Like a science experiment?”

Somehow, Misty managed to laugh a little. “Yeah, like one of those. But don’t worry, there’s no data to record. It’s just how you feel about it. Well, how we feel about it. And if either of us is uncomfortable, then it’s a failed experiment and that’s fine. But I’d really like to see what would happen.”

Ash looked at her uncertainly. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It can be,” Misty said with a light shrug. “Maybe I sound naïve, but I’d like to think that it could be.”

“How much time will you give me to decide?”

“As much as you need.”

“Forever?”

“…I guess you’ve backed me into a corner on that one. Sure, Ash. Sure.”

“You wouldn’t kill me?”

“Truthfully, I’m not bound to kill you anyway, Ash.”

“We can try it.”

Misty balked a little, but hoped it wouldn’t show. “Wait, really?”

Ash chuckled. “Did you expect me to say no?”

“I was just trying to keep my expectations low,” Misty said honestly.

“Well, the answer is yes. Yes to a trial run.”

Misty smiled, the disbelief still rippling over her face—a lip twitch here, an eyebrow raised there, but a smile nevertheless. “I’ll take it.”

“Can I ask…why you asked?” Ash said hesitantly.

“No,” Misty replied. “We’ll save that for the date.”

*     *     *

“So…did you have a good time?”

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t too awkward?”

“No.”

“…Would you want to do it again?”

“Sure.”

“…Okay.”

“Okay.”

*     *     *

The truth was that nothing much in the next year or so changed between Ash and Misty. They couldn’t hold hands or give chaste pecks through a computer screen. If you were looking closely, the only real change was a great deal more blushing and uncertain words shared between the two. But it was good. Surprisingly good.

Then the year ended and Ash was back in Kanto. Then things changed. Well, they had to, didn’t they?

It started when he finally came to Cerulean. In the past, he’d always knocked on the door, she—usually Misty, though sometimes it was a sister or employee—would answer the door, say something and invite him and Pikachu in. They’d head into the living room—via the kitchen, of course—and then proceed to hang out. For the day, at first, then a few days, then a week.

But now…none of that seemed right.

Without thinking much about it, Ash knocked on the door, same as usual, and when Misty answered, they both realized with wide eyes that everything was different. Perhaps surprisingly, Ash acted first.

He brought her in for a hug and Misty breathed a sigh of relief. Not so much because Ash had made a move, but because it was so nice to see him. In the flesh. To feel him, warm and three dimensional.

“It’s good to have you back,” she said.

“You too,” Ash replied.

And Misty didn’t know if Ash had the same thought, but she suspected in that moment the same thing occurred to them. As things were going, over the next however many years they decided to stick this out there would be a few instances of having each other back. But there would be very few times at all that they would indeed have each other. And that didn’t bode well.

This wasn’t about ritually meeting up with a friend anymore. This was about their futures. And while Misty’s was pretty set at the moment as Gym Leader, Ash’s was totally up in the air.

When they pulled back, Ash looked at her and, for a moment, Misty thought he might kiss her. But instead, he asked: “Something on your mind?”

“No. Er, well, yes. But not right now. I’m sure you’re famished, and the last thing I want to do is try to talk to Ash Ketchum on an empty stomach.”

Ash had the courtesy to laugh. “Can’t argue with that. Yes. Let’s eat.”

*     *     *

It was after they’d eaten and recounted events of the last year—even things they had maybe already spoken about—that the time came to settle the thing that had been on Misty’s mind. Ash saw it on her face immediately.

“Is now the time?”

It was funny how even a question like that sent pleased tingles down Misty’s spine. It was a glimpse at Ash’s growing maturity and empathy. The things that were making him into a better partner than she ever would have hoped for years before. So, barely able to hide the smile his question brought to her face, she said, “Yeah, I think so.”

Ash threw an arm behind the couch, framing himself a little closer to her. Yes, they were now on the same couch with nothing but Pikachu in between them. They weren’t touching save for at their knees, but the gesture still made things feel a little more intimate. “So? What’s up?”

“Well…I just thought that sooner or later we’re going to have to talk about your plans for next year.”

It was strange. Even when they’d traveled together, she’d never been a part of the decision-making progress for where Ash was going. She’d been keen to go along for the ride at that point. And for the next many years she’d not had a place to contribute to the conversation. But now she really did—she hoped that Ash thought the same.

For all Misty’s apprehension, Ash seemed to have none. He grinned and rubbed his hands together, bouncing a little bit on the couch cushion. “I’ve actually already thought about it and kind of come to a decision.”

Misty’s heart sank a bit. It took every bit of restraint in her—and a bit of fear helping her along—only to say: “Oh, is that so?”

“Yes, and it’s going to sound crazy, but hear me out: I’m going to school.”

Misty waiting a moment for the ‘gotcha.’ Or the rest of the ‘out’ that she was supposed to ‘hear him.’ But he was looking at her expectantly, as though it was her turn. But she could only restate. “You’re going back to school?”

“No! Not back to school. Bleh. Not math or, I don’t know, spelling and all that. No, Pokémon school!”

“Like Pokémon Tech?” Misty asked, still a little lost.

“Not that either,” Ash said, almost bubbling over with excitement. Pikachu, too, looked rather excited by the prospect, which was surprising. “This is a practical school. Hands-on. Lots of Pokémon Battles, lots of field trips, really exciting stuff! And it’s only for people with proper credentials, like, oh, I don’t know, scoring high in internationally-recognized Leagues. Like, say, runner-up in the Kalos League.”

“Sounds elite,” Misty said, unsure of what else to offer.

Ash puffed up a little at that. “It is. But you know what else?”

“What?”

“It’s a new extension to Celadon University.”

“Ce…” The syllable came out as little more than a breath. “Celadon University? As in, in Celadon City?”

Ash grinned, and Misty realized she’d been fooled. Fooled, but in the most delightful, thoughtful, wonderful way possible.

“Yep. I know it’s still a bit of a trek to get to and from Cerulean—”

“It’s perfect, Ash!”

Misty all but fell forward onto him, knocking Ash back as her arms wrapped around his middle and leaving Pikachu to jump for his life onto floor to keep from being squished.

“Pikachu!” Ash exclaimed reflexively.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Pikachu!”

Luckily, Pikachu was quick to forgive. He climbed back onto the couch but looked at the couple warily and found a spot on the back of the couch to perch on.

It would still be something of a long distance relationship. Neither of them had cars and it would take some time to figure out how and when to visit each other. But it was realistic for them to see each other every weekend this way. Or at least every other weekend. After years of only seeing each other in person once a year…this was a dream come true. The more Misty thought about it, the harder it was to keep from squealing.

“So you’re on board with all of this?” Ash asked, an arm around Misty’s back while her face was pressed into his stomach. She could feel the rumble of his voice.

“Yes. So on board. So very on board. Thank you, Ash. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mist. Anything for you.”

*     *     *

They were lying in bed one day. Ash had moved to Cerulean permanently some time earlier and was—to the surprise of everyone—taking the steps to become a teacher. He was at the Gym for the night, as had been becoming more and more frequent in recent months. Misty was on her back, reading by lamplight while Ash was on his side, rubbing her shoulder and her arm.

“Do you wanna get married someday?”

“Of course,” Misty murmured, flipping a page as she continued reading.

“Okay,” Ash said, kissing her shoulder. “I’ll try and find a ring tomorrow.”

Suddenly, Misty dropped her magazine. She was listening. “What?”

“To make it official?” Ash said, sounding a little confused.

“To make what, exactly, official?”

“Our engagement!”

“Whoa,” Misty said, suddenly sitting up very, very straight. “Woah, woah, woah. I said yes to the abstract idea of getting married someday in the future. You said, someday! Not, like, in the next year or two, telling our families next week, shopping for a dress next month kind of yes. And not even to you! Necessarily!”

“Well, you should have said that!”

“Nooooo, if one of us needed to be more clarifying, I’m pretty sure it was you.”

“So you don’t want to get married?”

“Ash, I—”

“If I proposed right now, would you say yes?”

Misty paused. She’d considered the idea, of course. Ash had been her endgame for a longtime now. But it had never been a detailed fantasy. Never anything real. But, at the same time, it was the only future she could see right now.

The answer was meek. It was quiet. But it was: “Yes.”

“Okay,” Ash replied, looking slightly victorious. “Then consider us engaged.”

“Ash,” Misty whined. “I’d always imagined my proposal as being something…a little more romantic.”

“Well,” Ash said, nuzzling into her neck. “I can’t imagine anything more romantic. You and me. Here.” A few kisses to her collarbone. “Pikachu in the other room…”

Ash pulled back and looked at her with a smoldering expression he seemed to have mastered in the last couple of years. And in a moment, he’d sold her on his point. This was something that, at a certain point in her life, she’d given up on having with him. But now she had it.

“You’re right,” she whispered—something she’d only moderately gotten better at telling him in the past years of their relationship.

“Yes, I am,” he agreed. “But I’ll try and do something more romantic after I get the ring.”

She hoped he would. But, at the same time, she knew that he wouldn’t be able to top this.

*     *     *

The wedding was on the beach. It was exactly the atmosphere Misty wanted. Not to mention the fact that Ash would have been antsy wearing a tux in a church, with everyone near and dear to him staring at him. The beach’s vastness—and all the Pokémon all around—was comforting. To both of them.

Professor Oak was officiating. Gary had offered, but Ash had quickly shut that down, even though the two were friends now. Friends to the point that he was standing at the altar with Ash, behind Brock, Cilan, and Clemont, but before Tracey, Kiawe, and Sophocles. Meanwhile, on the other side, Misty had her three sisters, and May, Lana, Dawn, and Iris. Perhaps the girls were more Ash’s friends than hers, but Misty had become close to all of Ash’s traveling companions over the years.

The ceremony was nearing its end—kept on the short side anyway, due to Ash’s aforementioned antsy-ness—and Professor Oak only had two more questions to ask.

“Misty, do you take Ash to be your lawfully wedded husband for as long as you and he so choose?”

“I do.”

“Ash, do you take Misty to be your lawfully wedded wife for as long as you and she so choose?”

“Yes! No, wait—I mean…oh gosh—I mean, I do!”

Misty only resisted putting a hand to her forehead because both her hands were already in Ash’s and she didn’t want to pull away. It was a strong urge she only managed to satisfy with a strong eye roll that she made sure he saw. But still, she laughed.

Professor Oak, too, chuckled. “Then I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

It was a sweet kiss. Nothing prolonged or gratuitous, just a romantic, perfect kiss. Then they pulled away and both whooped to the crowd of their friends and family.

At the reception later, Brock came up to the two, sure to bring them both small plates of the food they were missing out on from having to talk to all the guests, and said, “Married! I can’t believe you two are actually married!”

Ash and Misty took the plates gratefully. Pikachu had been snagging them a few things here and there, but now was off at the Pokémon table that all the walking Pokémon were hanging out at while their Trainers were busy.

“I still can’t believe Ashy-boy is a teacher,” Gary said, coming up from behind. “Married I could have imagined for him—though maybe more like when he was forty, not twenty-three. But a teacher? You guys didn’t see this kid in class growing up, but I did, and he was lucky to come out even able to spell the word teacher.”

“Have to give me a hard time even on my wedding day?” Ash asked good-naturedly as he shoved his face with the amazing appetizers Brock had been able to score for them. Ones Cilan and his brothers had catered themselves.

“Of course,” Gary replied, then gestured to Misty. “Red here probably won’t, since she’s all aglow with being a wift, and since she gives you the hardest time of all of us, I’ve gotta make up for it old school-Gary style.”

“That does only make sense,” Misty agreed.

It seemed most of their core group had managed to migrate over to where the newlyweds were. May, with Drew in toe, said, “I, for one, am surprised you managed to get him to settle down. I thought that Ash would be traveling forever.”

“I think you’re confusing Ash with yourself, babe,” Drew said.

“Hey, I’m settled!” she exclaimed. “We just…also travel a lot.”

“I still do too,” Ash said. “I don’t just teach, like, one class in one university. I give lectures, teach short courses—Misty and I have started classes at the Gym. And I can go on sabbaticals to take time to travel.”

“I’ve been trying to tell him that they’re not really sabbaticals if he’s not regularly employed,” Misty said. “But it’s hardly the hill I want to die on.”

“Not worth risking your marriage on?” May let out a small squeal. “Aw, it’s so cute I can say that now!”

“Okay, okay, I need to talk to the couple!” Bonnie, now at eleven years old was all knees and elbows shoving through the group, a camera in hand.

“Bonnie!” Clemont exclaimed breathlessly as he stumbled up to the group. “Sorry, I tried to stop her.”

“It’s okay,” Misty said now that a camera was being shoved in her face. “What’s the camera for, Bonnie?”

“Posterity!” Bonnie explained. “I know when I get married I want the whole thing recorded.”

“When you get married?” Clemont asked. He was ignored.

“Okay, what are we supposed to say?” Misty asked.

“Don’t worry, I have questions,” Bonnie said as she adjusted her framing to get both Ash and Misty in the shot. “Number one, how are you feeling?”

“Happy,” Misty said at the same time Ash said, “Hungry.”

“Er…what she said,” Ash said, backtracking.

Misty rolled her eyes, but smiled, elbowing him in the ribs, just out of frame of the camera. Though the camera didn’t miss Ash’s reaction.

“Okay, next question,” Ash wheezed.

“Number two, why wasn’t Clemont the best man?”

“Bonnie!”

“Just kidding, just kidding, gosh, big brother. Number two, when did you know each other was the one?”

Ash started. “Hmm. Probably after our…second date? I don’t know, exactly when. Just whenever it started to make sense that I could think of Misty romantically…I knew I always would.”

Bonnie nodded, satisfied. “Misty?”

“I knew that I wanted to marry him probably when he moved back to Kanto.”

“But when did you know he was the one?”

“Isn’t that the same question?” Ash asked.

“No,” Bonnie drawled, before pointing accusatorily at Misty. “She knows what I’m talking about.”

Misty sighed, her face turning a little pink. “I guess I always thought that. Since…like a month or two after we met.”

Ash turned away from the camera and stared at her. “Ever since then?”

Misty looked down for a second before meeting his eyes. “Yes.”

“You’ve liked me,” Ash clarified, the question sounding more like a statement.

“Yes.”

“For all that time.”

“Yes.”

“You waited.”

“Yes.”

“For me.”

“Yes.”

Ash smiled. “Sounds like I’ve got some catching up to do.”

Misty’s smile mirrored his. “Yes.”

“I love you,” said he.

“Yes,” said she.

They kissed and suddenly seemed to be in their own little world, oblivious to all their closest friends standing around them.

“I still have more questions!” Bonnie said, but her brother put his hands on her shoulders and led her away.

“Ask them later, Bonnie,” Clemont said. “You’ll have all the time in the world.”

[alexsmitposts]

UK: Everyone Now Drowning in Enoch’s Rivers of Blood The Prophet Enoch is a well-known figure in the Old Testament. Consequently his name has been popular as a personal name at certain periods, with parents of Jewish and Christian backgrounds naming their sons after him. The name never used to have any significance, except in reference to the biblical figure, other family members or some minor celebrity used to be the fictional character “Aynuk”, who features in comic dialogues with his mate “Ayli” (Eli) in local humour from the Black Country, the industrial area to the west of Birmingham – if you can understand the dialect. But nowadays it is a very brave person who dares give their child the name Enoch. It has developed connotations so disturbing that no one wants to be associated with it. “Enoch” is an insult you give to a particularly nasty, bigoted, narrow minded racist who is happy to be that way, regardless of the harm it causes. Call someone that, and you expect a violent or verbally aggressive reaction, a lot of other people joining in, and probably several trips to the hospital. So why has the man who destroyed the reputation of this name come back into the news? In the UK, where he did his evil deeds, there was no story. But the rest of the world has noticed his resurgence for the same reason they do when former Communists gain votes in Eastern bloc countries, and the German and Italian far right make comebacks. These countries are supposed to have got over all that nonsense, but here they are, backsliding into the bad old days. For over fifty years, British political life has tried to move beyond Enoch Powell. Now he is being looked back on with fondness by the most extraordinary constituency. What he represents has gained a new respectability – and this is as frightening as any nuclear bomb, or deranged US president, when you realise why this has happened, and how easily it can happen anywhere else. Beyond fame One of many ironies in this story is that he wasn’t even supposed to be an Enoch. The notorious former Conservative and then Ulster Unionist MP was christened John Enoch Powell, and therefore not expected to use his middle name in everyday life. Powell was always known to be intellectually brilliant. He was a classical scholar who university contemporaries remembered being very much a loner, simply because he couldn’t find anyone of his own level to talk to. Even near the end of his life, when accused of agreeing with something outrageous in conversation at a dinner, a witness to the event commented: “He wouldn’t remember because he is always in the clouds above us. He was probably speaking Aramaic at the time.” Yet despite his many gifts and accomplishments, Powell lives in history as a result of a speech he made in Birmingham in 1968 in which he attacked mass immigration from the British Commonwealth. This is known as the “Rivers of Blood” speech, because although he didn’t actually use those words, he quoted this line from Virgil’s Aeneid: “As I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding; like the Roman, I seem to see ‘the River Tiber foaming with much blood’”. This astonishing attack on people of colour by a senior politician got Powell sacked from the Shadow Cabinet (the opposition party’s alternative ministerial team). But they struck a chord with many people who felt that the UK was being overrun by “foreigners” (non-white people), and they were becoming strangers in their own land. Though hardly anyone in a public position wanted to be associated with Powell thereafter, his views were shared by many voters, who thus considered themselves a persecuted underclass, being robbed of what was rightfully theirs by a liberal elite incapable of representing them. Exactly the same arguments used by the Brexit cult and its supporters today. Down the pub, in safe environments, you could admit to agreeing with Enoch Powell. In places regarded as “respectable” and “establishment,” his views and supporters were beyond the pale. Yet now, in a poll by the radio station of The Times newspaper, the most “establishment” journal of all, 16% of respondents have stated that Enoch Powell, out of a long list of historical figures, would have made a good Prime Minister. That is the third highest number. Just imagine how loved someone must be to be the third most desired leaderin any country’s history. Powell died over twenty years ago. But his racist rhetoric, and general outspokenness on other subjects, are still part of the UK’s political legacy. Everyone still knows who Enoch was, and why he’s famous, and has an opinion on him. Far from softening his reputation, time has magnified it beyond the many failures Powell endured after his notorious speech. So have the many attempts, at every official level, to declare him and his views unacceptable., because these are so obviously political in nature, dictates from above. When consulted by people in authority about other issues, people who agree with Powell think they are being spoken to as fellow human beings. If they mention race issues,they feel they are talking to a dictated opinion, imposed upon the people who repeat it as much as them. This sends them running to anyone who can treat them with respect, but still hold these abhorrent views. But Brexit has taken the sad rehabilitation of Enoch Powell to another level. Leaving the EU remains as it always was: the mantra of those who feel dispossessed because they have the “wrong views” on immigration and many other matters. Winning that argument has made the “Enochs” feel they are now in charge, and can behave however they like. BoJo the Clown and his circus have made this acceptable, and they pride themselves on doing what no other government has dared to say or do, because that in itself makes them heroes to people who just want someone to listen to them. All this has made Enoch a Prophet once again. For some he is a martyr to political correctness, the forerunner of Farage who suffered for being on the side the Brexit referendum has now proved right, in its own eyes. But most of us never deal with anyone like Enoch Powell. We don’t have a framework to see him within. This isn’t because it doesn’t exist, but because it does – and makes us all look so stupid, we wish it didn’t. Beyond point Powell has had several biographers. Each one has soon discovered that Powell had very clear positions on a wide range of topics, each meticulously argued, often in the face of intellectual disapproval. For example, it is generally agreed that although Saint Matthew’s Gospel is placed first in the New Testament, Saint Mark’s Gospel was written earlier. Powell spent decades trying to prove the contrary, with a supreme belief in his own understanding backed by wide and deep scholarship few can ever have equalled in this field. The big task for a biographer is to work out how all Powell’s different positions fitted together, and what this tells us about the man. Each one has made a point of saying they have done this. But by the act of doing so, they make clear that there isn’t a definitive understanding, and that what they think may be their personal conclusion, but there is room for argument. As a result of the horrible views he expressed, no one wants to bracket Powell with other great geniuses. But he was undoubtedly a major figure in the political life of his day, even when he no longer had any chance of office, or even a party he could call his own. Major figures do have one thing in common. Everyone who is good at a particular thing is very different from all the others who are good at it. Think of artists, car makers, sportspersons, newsreaders – if they are good, they are distinct, and do what only they can do. Brilliant people have the next dimension up. They can only function by being not only different, but the opposite. They cannot accept the arguments everyone else finds persuasive. They can only exercise their brains by arguing the opposite of what everyone else accepts, simply because only people of their intellectual level can do that successfully. Enoch Powell was an early exponent of what later became known as monetarism. He developed his views at a time when Keynesianism was the accepted logic, backed by powerful political and social forces which declared all non-accepters to be morally maladjusted, unable to grasp the rightness of the new, post World War Two classless society. In time, professional economists started drawing the same conclusions as Powell. Most of these probably never knew that Powell had had the same ideas first, and wouldn’t have wanted to admit it if they had, because he was a layman in economic terms. But when Keynesianism ran its course, politicians such as Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher, like Powell conservatives who gloried in seeming extreme, adopted a lot of Powell’s own economic thinking as if it were their own. Most thinkers in such circumstances would be glad to be proved right. But Powell was rather upset, insisting that these people didn’t really understand his arguments. What he meant was, if his arguments were so poor that his inferiors could understand them, they weren’t as good as he thought they were. The mere fact that his views had been accepted meant he had to reject them as unworthy of his superior intelligence. This is the one common thread in Enoch Powell’s outrageous and contrary bucketful of opinions. They were so wrong that only a brilliant man would be able to think and argue them. Powell needed the power of his own argument, which was always more important to him than believing a word he said. Maybe Enoch Powell really did believe his evil rhetoric. But that wasn’t important. The point was to gain intellectual stimulus by trying to make the impossible true. It’s the way brilliant people operate. But doesn’t it remind you of anyone else? Beyond acceptance Donald Trump and Boris Johnson are in broadly the same part of the political spectrum Powell was. Neither is regarded as anywhere near as brilliant as Enoch. But they attract the same sort of visceral adoration from the same type of people: those who feel excluded for having the “wrong views,” who feel these wilful outsiders represent their interests and no one else does. Both Trump and Johnson are regarded by many as pathological liars, and with considerable justification. This is often considered, rightly or wrongly, to be par for the course for politicians. What makes these two different is that they don’t seem to care, or understand why anyone else should. Trump is so associated with lying to his back teeth that people began counting his lies even before he had been elected. Since then, this has become a cottage industry, and has produced disturbing data. But Donald doesn’t care, and neither do his supporters. All that matters is that he makes the argument he wants to make, no matter how wrong and downright dangerous it is. He doesn’t feel any need to believe a word he says, or have anyone else believe it, it is all about how he says it. BoJo was sacked for lying when he was a newspaper columnist, and has made a long string of offensive statements about every segment of the population, in print and in person. Thousands of these are also well-documented. When this was brought to his attention, he told everyone to ignore whatever he might have written or said. It was all show, people shouldn’t conclude that he actually believed anything he’d ever said or done in his whole life. Those who buy into the racist rhetoric and wilful contrariness of Enoch Powell, Donald Trump and Boris Johnson do so because they believe in what these men say. It matters to them, it’s important. But those who say it are only interested in advancing an argument to convince themselves they can get away with it. They don’t have to believe it themselves, and aren’t interested in whether they do. Maybe we want someone to con us so we don’t have to admit we’ve conned ourselves. We all know, deep down, that conning ourselves leads to nowhere good. We don’t want to put ourselves in that place, or our friends and family. So we let Enoch and Donald and Boris do it for us, in public, and let them take the blame for what we have chosen to become. This is what these people represent, and as Enoch isn’t alive to disappoint anyone, he always will – if we let him, by continuing to let his successors get away with it.

[mistystarshine]

I went off and wrote a meta. Fair warning, I wrote this on discord and am copy and pasting it directly from there, so do not expect perfect spelling and grammar. Also, be warned that this post gets heavy, dark, and at times, personal.

Unpopular opinion, but since Horikoshi isn't making everyone instantly forgive him or writing it that they're obligated to forgive him, and as long as he continues to do so, I'm really happy that Endeavor is getting this character development. Abusers are horrible and do terrible things, but at the same time, they are multi-faceted human beings. And a lot of media portrays them as really one-dimensional. This is understandable; they're villainous characters and the authors don't want to come across as excusing abuse or making them too sympathetic. But the thing is, always portraying abusers as one dimensional in media actually does real-world damage. It makes it harder for people to identify real-world abusers or even recognize when they are being abused, because hey, guess what? The abusers they encounter won't be one-dimensional caricatures. They'll be real-world people.

"But Misty, they should be able to recognize them anyway! People know what abuse is, there are people to tell them about it!"

Not necessarily. Abuse is not a comfortable topic and not everyone has someone to approach them and lay out what it is or, if need be, point out when they're being abused. That is especially true of people with extremely strict, protective, or possessive parents or guardians. Whether it is a well-intentioned desire to protect their kid from the dark aspects of the world or because they themselves are abusive and don't want their charge turning against them, in some cases, the media is all there is. And if they look and only get examples like the Dursley's (for an example that isn't direct physical abuse) and constantly-angry-and-vicious child-beaters, it's all too easy to end up thinking 'well, X isn't abusive. They can't be, they aren't like that.' 

Personally, I started watching BNHA when I was doing chores and wanted something to listen to it in the background, but the thing that got me into it was when Shigaraki appeared and, right from the get-go, displayed some of the same abuse symptoms that I did a while back, ones that I had never seen displayed so prominently in a fictional character before. I saw that and thought 'huh. You know, it could have really helped me if I'd had this series back then.' It isn't exactly the same, but the same general premise applies to being glad that Endeavor is becoming more fleshed out, someone that people can look at and recognize someone in.

"But Endeavor's improving - doesn't that ruin the point?"

Yes, he is. And not necessarily. For one thing, that level of recognition still remains. For another, sometimes abusers do try to improve. Many backslide, most, even, but not all of them. And when they do, it is hard on the victims of that abuser. They wonder if they were being overdramatic, if they have to forgive them now, and maybe feel like a bad person if they're still angry. Or weak and pathetic if they do forgive them. That's why I really like the range of reactions we're getting from the Todoroki siblings; it provides a degree of validation to anyone who may have been in a similar situation.

We tend to focus a lot on Natsuo and Touya, which is valid. Touya is an ongoing interest to all of us and Natsuo was in a precarious position where the writing could have gone very sour very easily if Horikoshi tried to force him to forgive Endeavor. But I feel like including Fuyumi and Shouto's reaction really is important too. There are abuse victims who, if their abuser tries to change, will latch onto the opportunity and be incredibly relieved and hopeful. Sometimes they just want things to get better going forward, and if the abuser is genuinely improving and doesn't backslide, that's not necessarily a bad thing.

It may not be healthy for one individual (but at the same time, might be for another) and no one is obligated to forgive someone. But if no one ever forgives anyone, those backslides become that much more common, and if forgiving someone really does make the forgiver happier, more power to them. And Shouto's reaction, his conflict where he's slowly sliding toward potentially forgiving Endeavor, despite how badly he hurt him, and isn't happy about it but can't force himself not to, is a lot more common than people might think. Using myself as an example again, my abuser said they were going to improve many times. And backslid. A lot. And until I snapped and left, I forgave her and gave her another chance every single time. Now, narratively, I don't think Endeavor is headed for a backslide and this is Shouto's first time in this situation, not his third or fifth. But those feelings can absolutely still be there for that first time. And they feel horrible. Even outright forgiveness, where the forgiveness feels good for you, can hurt, since there may be people who don't want you to forgive and it feels like you're betraying them and anyone else this person hurt.

Not everything seen in this arc can apply to everyone's lives, it should not be used as a 'how-to' guide, and Horikoshi isn't obligated to spoon-feed life lessons with his writing. But. Reading stuff like this, letting people see that other people have felt this way as well, even through fictional characters, can help people feel less wrong for their emotions. And for all the discourse and controversy, that, in my opinion, makes it worth writing.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

The Bottom: Part 2 of 2

A/N: This was originally supposed to go...very differently. But then I had a revelation in the shower this morning, and everything changed. And I guarantee you’ll like it better this way. If you’re curious about the original ending after you read this bad boy, pop into my messages and i’ll tell you all about it. 

Warning: descriptions of overdose, drug use 

Word Count: 4841

When Logan’s name flashed across the caller ID, Juliet answered without a second’s pause, expecting her brother’s tone to be bright and warm as it had been for the better part of two years. He probably wants to meet for lunch. There was a time when meeting her brother for lunch was in a completely different realm of impossible. There was a time when seeing his name appear on her screen brought a chill to her chest and a dizzying headache as her heart began pounding in her brain; a time when a call from Logan meant that he was in some kind of trouble, or that he’d been rushed to the emergency room, or that he was contemplating filling his veins with enough poison to permanently curb his pain. But his recovery had been going so well, and he’d been working so hard to uncover the light that he’d lost inside of himself, that those feelings of dread, that conditioned, involuntary response had become just a memory. 

 “Hey...Juliet? Can...can we talk?... I’m at the hospital and-”

 And just like that, those memories came speeding back to claw at her lungs and tear through her mind. Logan’s face; cheeks hollow and covered with too many days worth of unkempt growth, dark eyes completely matte and dull, pupils so small they were barely there, rimmed in grayish purple circles that only made his pale complexion seem more colorless. His skin; sweaty and clammy and thin beneath her fingers as she hoisted him onto his side, saving him from choking, arms and legs dotted with bruises and blotches. That slow motion sound to his voice, the small cracks and tired quality. The things he would say and how little sense they made, how not a thing from his mouth was credible- none of the promises could be believed, none of the apologies or threats or curses really meant anything at all. How he’d swing from livid screams of “Fuck off, Jules, I fuckin’ hate you!” to desperate, pleading, painfully sorrowful sobs of “I’m sorry, I’ll be better, Jules, I promise…”

 Hearing him say those words- “I’m at the hospital”- made her heart rate triple and her eyes grow wide. She stood abruptly from her desk, manicured fingers clutching her phone in one hand and grabbing her keys with the other. No. Not again. Please don't make him go through this again. She wasn’t sure who she was pleading with, but the thought of Logan falling back after reaching such a peak, after the rigorous climb to sobriety that he’d made, filled her heart with lead and sent it dropping into her stomach. 

  What? Logan? What happened? Are you…” she paused, swallowed, clamped her eyes shut against the dizzying question whipping around in her skull: Are you relapsing again? Even though he hadn’t backslid in over two and a half years, that was where her terrified mind went. “Are you sick? Logan? Are you hurt?” The words were tumbling out and over one another too quickly for him to answer, too quickly for her to stop them, their bitter taste leaving her tongue numb.

 “Hey, no, Jules...I’m okay. I’m here because…” she listened to his tone- not bright and cheerful, but not broken or slurred. He sighed and it sounded heavy, but it had the distinct weight to it that only came from carrying someone else’s burden. She knew that sigh well, having emptied her own lungs in that same soul shuddering way plenty of times. I swear, if this is about… “Jules, I’m here because someone needs me to be here.”  

 Juliet froze halfway to her office door and spoke your name into the phone. It wasn’t a guess, she was sure he was talking about you. Her stomach churned uneasily as she exhaled through semi flared nostrils. I thought I made it clear to her that Logan didn’t need- 

 “Yeah… yes. It’s, fuck. She… Jesus, Juliet. She called me because she thought she was fucking dying. And… and I think she wanted to...at least, at least last night I think she did…” 

 He sounds so...so sad. “Is...is she okay?” Juliet regained a normal, even tone from the relief of knowing that he was still safe, still healthy. But he’s still in pain. Why does it have to be her, Logan? She adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag before meticulously fixing the few errant strands of her dark curls, letting out a painfully patient sigh. 

 “She’s...stable, yeah.” He sniffed and cleared his throat, and when he spoke again it was anything but clear. “Jules...when I saw her…” he swore and his voice lurched with the distinct unevenness of uncontrolled breathing. “When I saw her, Jules… I- I realized what it was like...what I was like when you… shit.” She heard a rustling sound and imagined that he was rubbing his hand over his face, knowing that this wasn’t easy for him. “Juliet I’m...thank you. I love you, Jules.” 

 Juliet could taste her heart on her tongue and forced her eyes shut. “I love you too, Logan. You don’t have to-” 

 “No. I do. I know I said it before. But now I know. I know what you...what you saw, what you felt.” No, Logan, you can’t have any idea. You’re my brother. She’s just…  “and how you...what you had to do and… And I know now, Jules.” There was a deep understanding in his tone, as though everything he’d been through- overdoses, hospital stays, rehab, withdrawal, the meetings, the back slide, sobriety- all of it was punctuated with a final level of acknowledgement now that he’d seen it from the other side. 

 “I hope you never have to see it again, Logan.” Her own voice had lost its sharpness, and though she was far from your biggest fan, the sincerity in her words was genuine; she truly hoped with every bone in her body that Logan wouldn’t have to go through anything like what he must have spent the last several hours going through- what she’d spent too much time going through herself. 

 “I’m gonna help her, Jules.” He sounded more resolute than she’d ever heard him sound, even in the boardroom or in negotiations, when he could be a downright cocky son of a bitch. But… help her?  What did he mean by that? “I want to… she’s… I need to help her.” 

 “Logan are you-” Are you sure that’s a good idea? I’m not. What if she can’t be helped? Are you thinking straight? Does she really mean that much to you? “Are you still at the hospital? I’ll meet you there.” And to think I thought we’d be meeting for lunch when this call started… 

 “Yeah...yeah, I’ll be here until they release her. Don’t want her to be alone, her family’s out of town and she… fuck even when they are in town she’s got no one, Jules.” 

 Juliet left her office and strode down the hallway, heels clicking against the hardwood. “Okay. I’m on my way now. Be there in about twenty five minutes, okay?” And then we’re going to talk about this help. 

 “Yeah, okay Jules. Thanks. Thank you for coming.” Tired, determined, hopeful, scared… he was all of those things and she completely understood… and she completely hated it. 

 “Of course, Logan. I’ll see you soon.” She hung up and pushed her phone down into her purse, passing her assistant’s office. From the corner of her eye she saw him spring up from his desk like a jack-in-the-box, darting out to follow her. 

 “Ms. Delos, do you need a car? Should I call you a driver? Make any arrangements?” Juliet didn’t slow her steps or even turn around. 

 “No, Jeff, thank you, I’m going to drive myself.” Don’t want anyone to know I’m meeting Logan in the ER. “Just cancel all my afternoon meetings, please. Reschedule them for any time after Wednesday. Thank you, Jeff.” She raised her right hand in thanks as Jeff stopped following and returned to his office to start contacting the several clients and vendors that were likely already on their way to meet with her. Turning down the hallway that lead out to the parking garage, she kept her brisk pace until she reached her sleek black convertible, getting in and pulling out towards the highway. He needs to make sure he knows what he’s doing...Oh, Logan… why does it have to be her? 

 .  . .  .  .  .  . .  .  .

 When you woke up again after the doctor had been in to check on you, everything ached. Parts of yourself that you didn’t know you had, parts of yourself that you didn’t think still had viable nerve endings, parts of yourself you thought you’d already damaged beyond repair, were burning and throbbing, dull and hot and well past the pain level that you were comfortable with. Nausea rose in angry waves, corrosive bile eating at your stomach lining, your esophagus, staining the inside of your mouth. Your lungs felt tired despite the oxygen tube beneath your nose and around your ears, the plastic rubbing against your skin with the sensation of tiny sawblades, and with each breath you felt yourself grow closer and closer to the sleep that your pain kept you from.You raised your right hand to try to move the offending tubing, but you were stopped. Realizing that you’d had your eyes closed this whole time, you struggled greatly to open them and found Logan’s long fingers wrapping gently around your hand and pushing it back down to your side. You felt his forearm against your own, his skin warm and soft, yours thin and cold. 

 “Hey, nope, you need that, leave that there, okay?” There was a patience in his tone that you never would have associated with Logan Delos. He was used to instant gratification; demands, not requests, confidence, not uncertainty. Clearly, more had changed since the last time you had seen him than his sobriety. You weren’t delusional enough, even in your current state, to think that he was simply this patient and understanding for you. 

 You let him hold your wrist down against the sheets until you nodded and he was satisfied that you wouldn’t try to disrupt your oxygen tube again, and even then he didn’t take his hand back. Instead, he moved his thumb back and forth against your prominent wrist bone, protruding like a marble from the base of your hand. “Just hurts,” you mumbled, trying to explain why you wanted to move the tubing. 

 He inhaled shakily through his nose and nodded. “I know. I know it does.” His dark eyes narrowed briefly and he swallowed before your name fell from his lips- lips you could still feel all over your body even years later, lips that had always indulged whatever whim you were on, lips that were now set in a firm line to keep from quivering. “Do you...did you hear what the doctor was saying before?” 

 You shook your head as much as you could, no recollection of a conversation with your doctor. 

 Logan’s fingers curled around your wrist again and tightened in a brief squeeze as he sighed. “You need to stay overnight again tonight. You had… there must have been… there must have been something else in your stuff...some additive or, or whatever but it caused some blood clots- small ones, but they were near your lungs so… so they just want to be sure that they dissolve before you can go home.” 

 So that’s why it's so exhausting to breathe. You watched him wince as he explained what you’d done to yourself, and immediately you felt guilt add itself to the roiling waves of withdrawal nausea in your stomach. He shouldn’t be here. This isn’t fair to him. 

 “So you need this,” he brought his free hand up to your face and traced the line of plastic tubing over your cheek and around your ear. “I know it hurts. But you need it. Need to leave it alone so you can get better.” He combed his fingertips through your hair, grazing the top of your ear, featherlight before his palm conformed to the side of your head, cradling it against the pillow. “You need to get better. You will.” He swallowed again and you closed your eyes as the lips you remembered found a spot on your forehead. You felt a tingle spread out from where he kissed you, like a protective aura had been cast over you with that kiss. If only it were that simple. 

 “Logan,” your voice was raspy and your throat felt like you’d swallowed box cutter blades, but what you had to say was important so you pushed through the pain. “Logan, I’m sorry that I called you last night. I...you shouldn’t be here.” One had was still tucked against the side of your head, the other still holding your wrist, thumb brushing the skin beneath the plastic bracelet with your intake information. Why doesn’t he see that? 

 “What do you mean? Don’t apologize. I’m...I’m so glad you called me. What if-”  The look of confusion on his face was yet another new development. The Logan you knew was always sure, even when others weren’t. He shook his head and a few pieces of hair fell out of place. 

 “No, Logan, I am. I’m sorry because,” you took a breath. “Because you’re clearly doing so...so well and I didn’t mean,” another breath, “to bring you back into this and…” you exhaled, coughing and he tried to silence you but you shook your head through the cough and took another breath. “You don’t need to be here with me, Logan. You’re not...obligated or…” 

 “Stop.” There he is. Finally, the Logan you remembered showed up, voice full and commanding. “I know I’m not obligated. I’m here because I want to be here, and I want to be here because I...care about you. I always have...I-” the sureness wavered again but he gathered his eyebrows together and rallied the command back into his tone. “I know you cared about me, too, back then. I...I know we did a lot of...of fucked up shit together. And I know it was fucked of me that I never reached out to you after I got clean. And, no, stop-” you had tried to raise your hand under his touch, tried to cut him off and speak, but he didn’t let you. “Let me...please let me say this?” You nodded feeling tears dripping from the corners of your eyes. “I should have. I know Juliet told you to stay away. I know. And I know why she thought that was best. And maybe it was for a little while. But...but I know that I should have reached out to you. I... even after everything...I missed you. You… you always saw me, you know? You saw me for more than what was wrong with me. You saw that I was trying… you saw that I wanted to be better...you… we were just… it wasn’t good timing before. We couldn’t help each other because we were both drowning. But the truth is, I would have drowned a lot sooner without you- without knowing that there was someone who knew me like you do. Maybe Juliet was the one who finally pulled me up, and for that I owe her everything. But you… you were important, too...are. Are important. And… and it doesn’t have to mean anything now or right away or ever. Even though I…” his tongue came out to wet his lips, a flash of pink before it disappeared behind his teeth. “Even though I care about you...I never stopped caring about you...but more than that… I want to help you. Someone helped me. And now I can do that for you. Please...please let me.” 

 This was it. He was laying it out and you had to decide if you were going to let him be there for you, let him help you. You knew you’d have to take this seriously if you let him, knew you couldn’t let him down. It was hard to believe the things he was saying- that he cared...that he always did and still does...that even in his drugged out haze of years past, he knew that you cared, too, knew that you saw inside of him then the man that sat beside you now. What difference could there have been if your father or brother had done for you what Juliet had done for Logan? They’d both given up on you years ago, writing you off as the black sheep with issues, probably hoping you’d just hurry up and off yourself so they wouldn’t be burdened by your destructive cycle. You had no idea where they even were at the current moment, or if they knew where you were, and honestly, you didn’t care. You’d read once about how important it was to distance yourself from the people who you were close to when you were trapped in the repetition of heroin use disorder. You always thought that referred only to suppliers and people that you used with. But you realized now that it included enablers, too, and that in their absence, they’d enabled you to believe that you had no one. But that wasn’t true. You looked up through your tears at the man beside you. You had Logan; he was right here, and he was telling you that you weren’t alone. For the first time in years, you weren’t alone. 

 “Okay.” It was all you could muster, but you felt so much more than those four letters could hold. The pain and exhaustion were still the most prominent things that you felt, and you knew that what you were feeling was only the tip of the iceberg, but maybe...maybe if you had Logan...maybe you could get through it. 

 “Okay?” His eyes widened and you saw them lighten a few shades. “Okay? Yes?” You nodded and his sigh of relief changed the set of his face back to the relaxed, quiet expression he’d been wearing when you woke up. He leaned down and kissed the same spot on your forehead again. “Thank you,” he whispered. You felt the tip of his nose buried in your hair, and his scratchy facial hair brush at your temple. “Thank you.” When he pulled back and sat up again, he took his hand away from your head and wiped at his eyes. 

 You twisted the wrist he’d been holding so that your palm could slide over his wrist instead, fingers not making it all  the way around the way they used to. It was hard to keep eye contact with him- your eyelids each weighed a ton, your tears were flooding your vision, and the emotion in his eyes was near blinding, but you locked in as much as you could. “I’m gonna get better, Logan.” 

 “Yes. Yes you are. I promise you. It’s worth it.” 

 Looking at him now, able to sit here and watch you struggle, able to sit next to you and know the pain that you were in, know how every cell in your body felt swollen and sore, know how all you wanted was to sink back under the warm surface and float all the way down to where the pain couldn’t reach you, and still say that it was worth it, meant everything. If he can do it, I can do it, especially if he’s helping me. And if he’s helping me… I have to do it. 

 You were going to say something else, but there was a knock on the door and you both swiveled your heads towards the nurse who stuck his head inside. “Mr. Delos, there’s someone at the nurses’ station for you.” 

 Logan turned away from the nurse and back to you. “That’s Juliet.” Your heart thudded out of rhythm. Oh. She’s not going to be happy. Your anxiety must have shown on your face, because his fingertips were back on your forehead, brushing soothingly across your clammy skin. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle everything. Rest, okay? I’ll be back.” He kissed that same spot one last time before crossing the room. Upon reaching the door, he looked back at you and gave you a tired smile, ecstatic that you’d agreed to let him help you, before disappearing out into the hall. 

 Juliet is going to be pissed. You tried not to dwell on how your involvement in Logan’s life would shake up his relationship with his sister, trying to remind yourself that she was just concerned about her brother, and that he wanted to be here with you, and that neither of those where bad things. 

 .  . .  .  .  .  . .  

 Juliet chewed her thumbnail, a habit that she hated, but one that came out involuntarily under stress. She stared at the same reproduction painting in the private waiting room that she’d stared at time and time again, thinking to herself, I could paint that. I’ve looked at that ugly thing so much now… I could paint it with my eyes closed. The sound of the door opening broke her out of her artistic contemplation and she turned, dropping her hand to her side. “Logan,” she exhaled his name and crossed the small space to wrap her arms around him. Turning her face to kiss his cheek, she squeezed tightly and felt him squeeze back before she pulled away. He’s okay. He looks okay, just tired, just sad. 

 “Hey, Jules,” he responded before letting out a long and ragged breath. He found the arms of a chair and gripped them before lowering himself down into it. 

 Juliet crossed her arms and shifted her weight to her back foot. “How’s...how is she doing?” 

 Logan blew out another breath, this time not as shaky, coming out in a spurt through his lips. “It was rough for a minute… and she’s… she has to stay tonight, maybe tomorrow, too. I didn’t tell her about tomorrow, but…” he shook his head, messy hair flopping against his brow. “But she,” he looked up then, and the smile that lit his face shocked her. “She agreed to let me help her, Jules. She’s gonna go to rehab… she’s gonna get clean and-” 

 Juliet quickly spun to take the seat next to her brother and reached for the hand closest to her, which was still gripping the arm of the chair. “Logan. This girl. How...how can you be sure that she means it? Any of it? How can you trust her, Logan?” She felt her eyes fill with concern and hoped that’s how her questions came across. Juliet’s worst fear was that he’d get involved with helping you, and either he’d fall back into old habits, or you’d relapse… you’d OD and die and leave him hurting worse than ever. It had to be her, didn’t it? Nothing you do is easy, is it, Logan? 

 Logan surprised her by sitting up and leaning forward in his chair. He didn’t rip his hand away, didn’t raise his voice or use an irritated tone. “Jules, let me ask you something.” 

 “Okay…” 

 “When you dragged me to rehab. When you found me, choking to death on my own puke, eyes rolling back and-” Juliet looked away. “Hey, no come on, look at me, please.” She pressed her lips together, held her eyes shut for a few more seconds and then obliged and opened them. “When you found me like that, Jules, how did you know it was going to work? Did you trust me when I said I would try?”

“I...Logan, you’re my brother. I knew it was going to work because I believed in you. I trusted you because I believed that you could do it.” 

 Logan nodded. “That’s right. You believed in me. Dad thought you were nuts, remember? And William?” 

 “Fuck William, Logan, he-” 

 Logan held up a hand, dismissing her hatred for her ex-husband. He hated him, too, fucking prick, but that wasn’t the point. “Agreed. Fuck him. But he thought you were crazy to believe in me. To want to help me. Remember?” He opened his arms and spread his fingers. “But you did. And here I am. I made it because you believed in me when no one else would. Because I wasn’t alone. I had help. I had you. Jules, I know I wouldn’t have made it without you. I know that. And now… now I get to do that for her. She’s got no one like you, Jules. Her family doesn’t give a fuck about her. They’re not even here. They’re not even coming. But I want to be here. I believe in her, Jules, in what she could be and do when she’s out of this. She’s smart. She’s bright and I know that’s hard to see but...but even back a few years ago...it was about more than the drugs with her, Jules, I...I didn’t know it then, because it was buried under everything else...but I loved her, Juliet. I couldn’t...I wasn’t able to see it, but even in the numbness...it was there. It’s still there. I love her. I don’t really know what that means yet, and I know it can’t mean anything until she’s healthy again… until she’s clean and can focus on other things...but… but I'm not just going to let her drown.” 

 “Logan...I’m scared for you.” 

 “I know you are, Jules. I know. I know you probably thought that I was strung out again when I called you earlier.” She made to protest even though that was exactly what she thought, but he tilted his head and held up a finger as he finished. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you. But you believed in me once, right? You believed that I could get clean and be healthy and get better, right?” 

 “Yes. Yes, Logan, of course, but-” 

 “So I’m asking you to believe in me again. Believe in me one more time, Jules. Believe that I can help her without falling back down. I know I can. I just need to you know it, too.” 

 Juliet hadn’t realized that she was crying, but the fact was that the changes that Logan had made in his life went far beyond health and habits. He’d let go of the resentment and the selfishness. He’d made room for compassion and love and a desire to do good. He’d become exactly what she always knew he could be, and she couldn’t stand in his way. “Okay, Logan. Okay. I trust you. I believe in you...and in her. I… I love you…” 

 “Love you too, Jules. It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be great. It’s gonna be hard but it’s gonna be great. You’ll see.” He got up then, and the smile that he kissed her cheek with felt like a swath of sunshine on her skin, his happiness contagious as she felt her own lips curve upwards. 

 It’s gonna be great. I believe you, Logan. 

 .  . .  .  .  .  . .  .

 Ten months later, you stood next to Logan with about twenty more pounds on your frame, a significant shine to your hair, a healthy complexion, and light dancing in your eyes as the Delos Philanthropic Fund opened The Door- a rehab and wellness center funded entirely by Delos Destinations. Beside you stood Juliet and her new husband Tony, and the four of you stepped down on ceremonial shovels to break ground for the center’s new facility. A few months ago there was no way that your frail and failing body would have had the strength to shovel sand, but you felt the blade of your shovel bite down into the hard packed dirt and scoop up a large rock. This rock can’t stop me. This rock’s not gonna stop anyone. This center is going to help so many people… and I get to be a part of it. I get to be a part of it because of… 

 You looked left and saw that he was already beaming at you. He held his shovel in one hand after the official ground breaking scoop, reaching out to wrap the other around yours. I get to be a part of it because of him. You looked to your right, where Tony had his arm around Juliet. And he gets to be a part of it because of her… Help. Everyone needs help sometimes. And now you’d be a part in making sure that others got that help. The past ten months had been the hardest in your life, and you knew it wasn’t over. But you remembered what Logan had said to you in the hospital, and you turned back to him. 

 “Logan? Remember when you said it would be worth it?” 

 He nodded, eyes on you and smile climbing up into them. 

 “You were right.”

    @something-tofightfor  @its-my-little-dumpster-fire@suchatinyinfinity @agent-bossypants @lexxierave @ymariejp @songtoyou @skwriddle @thesumofmychoices @obscurilicious @ilkaeliseb @belladonnarey 

[legrandepapillon]

3 Times James Madison Hated Himself [And The One Time Thomas Wouldn’t Let Him] (jeffmads)

Summary: James’ jokes have been getting darker and darker lately, and Thomas is growing steadily concerned. Prompt: ‘Look I know your self-deprecating humor isn’t jokes do you need a hug? A therapist? You’re a great person don’t feel that way’ Author’s Notes: tw: Suicidal thoughts, self-deprecating humor, suicide attempt

1.

Early autumn evenings were Thomas’ favorite kind of day─especially when he was spending them with his best friend. James had been putting off this coffee date for weeks in favor of working from home, but Thomas had finally triumphantly convinced him to come out for some fresh air and sunlight. It was too often that James let his sickness and depression eat away at him, holed himself up and away from the world so that no one would see him at its worst state. Things got better after he separated himself from his homophobic father and had gotten that prestigious job he’d been gunning for. But lately… lately James had been backsliding something awful. And Thomas simply wouldn’t stand for it.

“Ain’t it a lovely evening?” Thomas asks, after retrieving their coffees from the barista and setting them on their table. He’d gotten a lovely booth near the window that allowed the sun to filter in. He can’t help but notice at the way it made James’ dark skin glow. “Perfect for a walk in the park, don’t y’think?”

James sniffles quietly─recovering from a cold, the colder seasons tended to do that to him─and attempts to pull his coffee cup closer to him. Instead, he accidentally backhands Thomas’ cup─sending the coffee tilting and splashes against the table, Thomas’ new jeans, and the floor. After the ensuing yelps of pain from the taller man, and James hurriedly running to get napkins to get the hot coffee off his best friend’s skin, the two manage to settle down. The throbbing pain slowly but surely subsides in Jefferson’s leg, and James eventually returns with a new drink for him─looking both disappointed and angry, though neither seem to be pointed at the man seated across from it.

“Heh. I’m such a fucking clutz, I can’t even grip right. I’d be a great sidekick,” James chuckles after about twenty total minutes of silence, barely noticing that Thomas isn’t partaking in the ‘joke’ with him. Jefferson looks up from where he’d cleaning the last of the spilled coffee from the seat, brow furrowing. “I’d just run around tripping over all the bad guys, like some bumbling idiot.”

“I s’pose. It’s not that big of a deal, Jemmy, y’know it’s just a dollar cup of coffee, right?” Thomas asks hesitantly, taking a few napkins and dabbing at the mess. “And I’m not even really hurt. See? Just a little burn, probably, nothin’ that some Neosporin won’t fix.”

“Yeah, sure. It was just a joke, Thomas.”

2.

The second time is on the roof of Jefferson’s house, at nearly midnight. James doesn’t know what came over the taller of the two of them to climb a fucking house, but that’s exactly what Thomas comes knocking on his door at eleven in the evening to do─luckily, James hadn’t been sleeping much so he’s awake and able to accompany his far more outgoing friend on another ‘wacky adventure’. After picking up James from his apartment and driving the 50 miles to the outskirts of town to his perfect three-story home, Thomas grabs some blankets and snacks and uses a ladder to make the trek up.

Thomas’ house is far taller than James remembers. Or it must be, because his eyes keep cautiously darting to the edge─where, should anything ‘accidentally’ happen, there’d be nothing but a cement driveway to break a fall.

James voices this exact thing─in the middle of Thomas attempting to point out the Orion constellation─and it sends his best friend to a grinding halt. With all his blabbering about stars and belts, Thomas hadn’t noticed that James had been slowly shimmying towards the edge of the roof so that his feet dangled just slightly over it─it would just take a nudge forward, a slight lean, to send the boy tumbling down to the hard concrete. His hands grip the edge of the roof tightly─so tightly that his knuckles visibly pale a bit─and there’s something dark in his eyes. Something that Thomas had only seen once before, when a girl he’d liked had smiled at him in the hallway.

Longing.

“Dare me to jump? I bet you five bucks I could let on my feet,” James whispers, a faint bit of joking tone coating the edges of his voice─but still not quite there.

“No… because, you wouldn’t, James. You’d die,” Thomas splutters. This seems to snap his friend out of whatever trance he was in, because James looks up and lightly socks him in the shoulder─though the look of longing doesn’t disappear.

“I know that, stupid. It was a joke. Don’t get all butthurt.”

3.

Thomas almost isn’t sure about the third time. They’re hanging with friends─something that had taken three months for James to allow Thomas to plan─and for the first time in a long time, it looks like James might be doing a bit better. He’d showered that morning, and had slept a full eight hours last night─both of which were better than the pattern he’d been keeping up for the last six months. Some of the bags under his eyes were gone, and his eyes were twinkling.

James just needed to get out more… didn’t he? That must’ve been it. Depression was only a state of mind after all, and once someone started putting their mind to it, it could be cured. All he had needed to do was cheer up a bit.

Or at least, this is what Thomas tries to convince himself all night while controllers are passed around─each person trying to beat James’ current winning streak in Injustice 2, and failing miserably. James was wiping the floor with every one of his friends, and it seemed like he was having a fairly good time.

At least, until Peggy got hold of the controller. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that Peggy gamed professionally─she had a very popular Twitch stream, and an even more popular YouTube account. There wasn’t a game someone put in front of her that she couldn’t beat on the first try. Hell, she had even started a gaming channel with other gamers that discussed every aspect of games and did co-op gameplays. She was very good at gaming─as she had to be, it paid her bills.

When Peggy begins winning against James, much to the utter amusement of Alexander─who James had Flawless Victory’d in twenty seconds─the young man becomes visibly frustrated. Though not in a sore-loser type of way, just in a way that someone who couldn’t beat a particularly hard level would become.

And when Peggy finishes him with the Harley Quinn super move, James laughs and tosses the controller to Aaron─who was next up on the rotation to play.

“Ah, I’m garbage. Just gotta throw the whole James away, start fresh,” he jokes lightly, stepping over Angelica’s legs to get over to the kitchen. The comment earns a few chuckles from John─but for the most part, everyone in the party just looks… concerned. The relaxation that Thomas had been slowly allowing to ease into his bones dissipates, and he worriedly searches James’ face for any sign of truth to the sentence. Was James going to do something ‘throw himself away’? Or was it a silly passing comment?

“You alright, Jemmy?” Thomas asks, stopping the young man on his way to get another beer. There’s a brief flash of sadness in his eyes, but James shrugs Thomas off in place of saying whatever he was going to. Instead, he calls back,

“Don’t be a worry wart! Loosen up a little!”

(1)

Usually, Thomas would work through lunch on Friday’s─cramming in as much work as possible in order to have the best possible weekend. He didn’t want Martha calling him in the middle of one of his binge watching sessions to review a new advertisement design or put together a presentation for one of their products─he’d rather just get it all done and be able to kick back for the entire weekend.

However, he hasn’t seen James in going on two weeks and he has to admit─he’s becoming a bit worried. It’s not entirely his fault that he had abandoned his best friend, there had just been too much going on. There were those interviews for the companies Fall Fashion line they showcased, and then the catalogues needed to be finished and sent out and he had to make sure the catalogues were being shipped to stores on a good publishing date. Then there was that company stalker scandal that he had to scramble to distract the media from… he’d just been far too busy to check in on his friend like he usually would. Working PR for a big time fashion line was hard work, and besides─Jemmy would be fine, wouldn’t he? It wasn’t like his depression handicapped him─if he needed someone, he knew how to call Dolley or Martha.

Even despite this mantra repeating in his head, Thomas can’t stop the gnawing guilt that eats at him during his work day. So much so, he doesn’t even have the energy to insult Alex’s terrible fashion sense. All he can think about is if James is okay, and what would happen if he isn’t?

As the clock strikes eleven, he simply can’t take it anymore. Calling to Martha that he’d be taking an early lunch, Thomas snatches up his jacket and hurries as fast as he can out of the building. The second he gets behind the wheel, he goes as fast as he can without getting caught─which, with the noon traffic, isn’t very fast at all. Every second seems to tick by, going faster than Thomas can keep up with.

It takes a total of twenty-one minutes and thirty-four seconds for Thomas to properly get inside of James’ apartment, and just a second more for him to locate his best friend curled in a ball in the center of his bed─certainly looking worse for wear. Its obvious─if judging by the trash can by the side of the bed is anything to go by─that he’s been vomiting, and for a second Thomas thinks he’s simply got another stomach bug. And oh how he wishes it were just a stomach bug. But then the glaring orange bottle of painkillers on the nightstand catches his eyes, along with the bottle of vodka sitting half-empty beside it.

Approaching the bottle, Thomas’ prayers to God go unanswered when he finds the bottle of medicine is indeed empty. James had tried to kill himself, and now his body was rejecting the medication.

“James…”

“Hush, Thomas, save it. I already know. I’m such a fuck-up, I can’t even kill myself properly.” The joke comes out dry, it definitely falls short of landing. Sighing in both exhaustion and deeply seated sadness, Thomas grabs the young man by the shoulders and lifts him up so that he can rest against the headboard. After double-checking to make sure there are no more pills within arms reach of James, he heads into the adjoining bathroom to get a warm towel.

The entire time, Thomas finds he’s unable to fight the urges that bubble up inside of him. The urge to yell at him, the urge to slap him, the urge to leave. He’s angry. And don’t get him wrong, Thomas knows that’s not the appropriate response. He should be comforting James, holding him, assuring him that everything will be alright. But… Thomas is at the end of his rope, and if he had lost James, he doesn’t know what to do.

“Mads… I… are you purposefully stupid or just blind? Killing yourself? What the hell would that solve, huh? You… that’s… it’s selfish! I could’ve lost you, forever. And if I had… if you hadn’t of failed,  I─” Thomas cuts himself off as he sits on the edge of the bed beside him, wiping the vomit, tears, and general grime from his best friend’s face. James’ expression softens with each word, until he’s eventually leaning into Thomas’ touch with his eyes closed.

“You don’t think I know all that, Tommy?! I get it, okay, I’m a selfish piece of shit and I don’t deserve how good you are to me. I get it!” James’ voice is helpless as he says that, filled with a pain that Thomas had never heard before. Mads was exhausted, and all his actions did was prove just how much so.

“That’s not what I meant, James, I’m just… I’m just angry. Okay. I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to help you and that frustrates me. I know you’re going through a lot but I don’t… I don’t wanna lose you. So do you want to see a therapist? Do you need to be on some more medication? What do I do?”

“Just… hold me, for now? Don’t leave me.”

And so, Thomas obliges him. He wraps his arms around James’ slight figure, pulls him close against his chest and holds him. He doesn't move when his lunch is over, or when the sun begins to set. He doesn’t move when James begins snoring, he when he needs to pee. He stays. It’s the least he could do.

They’d figure this out. They’d get through it.

[therobincastle]

Go Mad For a Couple Grams || Self-Para

TW: Drug Use

ur comin tonight right?

havent seen u in forever

where r u ???

dont bitch out on me dude

Robin chewed his lip, staring down at his phone and all the incoming messages. Some of his old “friends” who worked on the same studio lot as Daemon Above were having a get-together and word got out that he was back in town. They had all been texting him nonstop all night and even though Robin was yet to reply, he hadn’t completely ruled it out. Maybe this would be a good thing. He was back in the real world finally, and what was wrong with going out with the people he used to go out with? Other than the probability of him falling back into his old habits...

Deciding to just throw away any leftover inhibitions he had, Robin grabbed his dagger from underneath his pillow and strapped it into his belt, throwing on a long shirt and jacket to cover it. He texted their family driver to meet him at the end of the drive and grabbed his wallet and keys before slipping out of his room, shutting the door quietly behind him. The lights were all dimmed in their unneccessary-because-there’s-literally-two-people-living-there-three-story house on the beach, Robin’s steps slow and careful so he could sneak out without getting caught.

“Robiiiiin,” Dove’s slow drawl rang out from the hallway behind him. Shit. He turned to see his mother exit from the kitchen, frowning at him with a glass of almost-finished wine in her hand. “Sweetie, where are you going? It’s late.”

Robin resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and he refused to look guilty, even knowing that his mom could always tell when he was acting. “I’m going out. Is that a problem?”

She sighed heavily, leaning against the wall as she sipped at her glass. “Who with?”

“Just some friends,” Robin shrugged.

“Which. Friends?” Dove asked slowly, her usually pretty features screwing into something more pained. “Robin, we talked about this.”

“Bullshit,” Robin sighed. “I need to go out, Mom. How else are people going to think nothing’s going on with me if they know I’m back in town but not even allowed outside of the house?” It was sound logic, more to a manager than a mother. Robin hoped she was swaying more to the former tonight. “Come on, I’ve wrapped on Buddy Holly, can’t I enjoy my time back in LA?”

“Baby...” Dove pouted, walking over to him. She ran her fingers through his curls, tugging worriedly at his ears. “I want to trust you... If I let you go, you have to promise me you’re going to make good decisions, and that you’ll be home before your new curfew.”

Robin flashed a cheeky grin. “Three a.m.?”

She gently smacked the side of his head. “Two. I want you back before two. And you leave your cell phone here and off. You have Drachma, so Iris Message me as soon as there’s an emergency,” she kissed Robin all over his face until he managed to wriggle free, crying out in embarrassment. He jogged down the long driveway, entering the code to their gate so he could slip out into the neighborhood. His driver was smoking a cigarette in front of the SUV.

“Hey, Maurice,” Robin greeted as the man opened the back door for him. “Why don’t we sit up front together?”

The man looked slightly surprised but smiled and shut the door, now offering him shotgun. “Good to have you back, kid.”

They pulled up to the apartment complex, Robin promising he’d be back out front by 1:45 so they could get home and that he’d have his mother call him if he ended up needing to go home earlier than that. He could already hear music blasting from the loft as the elevator doors opened on the correct floor, the door unlocked. There were about fifty people all hanging around the apartment. Robin’s appearance had a ripple effect, people too high, drunk, or both to notice his arrival right away. Slow yells of recognition rang out, varying jeers and rough hands giving him a greeting. He recognized some of the people but didn’t know them by name, looking around for the kids he did know. There was a pile of them all sitting on a king-sized bed on the floor in the corner of the room.

“Rob, man, you made it!” Flynn, cried out, jumping off the bed to grab him. “Holy shit, you got tall! You’re looking skinny too,” he grabbed at Robin’s arms and gave them a shake.

“Yeah, yeah,” Robin brushed him off, kind of annoyed because he thought he was starting to build a little muscle thanks to camp.

Flynn flung an arm around Robin’s shoulders, dragging him over to sit on the bed. “You remember Arissa, Vic, Marnie, Jules?” he pointed out all the people and Robin nodded despite not really remembering them at all. They were all in their early twenties, none of them actors like Flynn, just friends he made through the scene. “Dude, Jules got the nastiest shit bro, you gotta try it, it’s life changing,” He leaned over the nightstand and grabbed a razor blade to make a line of whatever mix of cocaine and probably Adderall on the table for him. Robin felt ill just looking at it.

“Ah, actually man, I’m not really down for that tonight,” he scratched the back of his neck.

Flynn scoffed. “Don’t be stupid, Robin. This isn’t like last time when that shit messed you up for two days. We got this from a way better guy, not shady at all,” he finished up the line and pushed a straw into Robin’s hand. He tossed it aside on the bed, Flynn flashing him an annoyed look. “What the fuck, man? Next you’re going to tell me you don’t what a shot of top-shelf tequila next.”

“I don’t,” Robin said stiffly, standing up now. “Listen, man, I just came here to hang out, I don’t... I don’t want anything.”

“They allllll say that,” one of the girls, Arissa or Marnie, he wasn’t sure since these Instagram models all started to look the same to him. “You’ll change your mind after you try it.”

The other either Arissa or Marnie sat up now where she had been draped over the edge of the bed. She wasn’t wearing a top and her make up was smeared. Robin decided to focus his attention on the false eyelash clinging onto the corner of her lid for dear life. “Didn’t you guys hear? Lil birdie here has been locked up,” she slurred.

“What, like house arrest?” Flynn scoffed before snorting the line he had just insisted Robin take. He started making another two immediately.

“Rehab,” the girl corrected before bursting into a fit of laughter.

“No shit,” Flynn said with wide eyes, looking at Robin. “That true?”

“Of course not,” Robin scoffed immediately, crossing his arms. “Just been working on personal projects right now.”

“That why you get kicked off that dinky zombie show?” the other guy on the bed snickered. A few other party-goers had wandered over, all vying for more of whatever these drug-mongers had holed up in the corner. More of their attention was starting to shift to Robin, as blurry and incoherent as it was.

“I wasn’t kicked off,” Robin denied with a clenched jaw. “I left. It was a mutual decision.”

“Lay off him, guys,” Flynn crowed in annoyance before looking back at Robin. “Listen, kid, I believe you!” He starts prepping a needle now, one of the girls climbing over and sitting next to him like a patient lining up for her flu shot. “If you’re not one of those bitches who gets sucked into that rehabilitation bullshit, then take a hit.”

Robin shook his head. “I’m just gonna leave if this is how you’re gonna be, you dick.”

Flynn stared at him coldly, looking him over again. “This ain’t a good look for you, Baby Boy.” He turned to everyone else on the bed as he injected the girl sitting next to him. Robin watched the way the needle sank into the skin, wondering how many collapsed veins the girl already had. He watched the plunger sink down, hardly hearing what Flynn was saying until he came back to himself. “...what happens when you go to rehab, folks.”

“I wasn’t in rehab!” Robin shouted over the music. “What the fuck is wrong with me just trying to get clean?” He crossed his arms uncomfortably over his chest. His faded track marks were starting to itch just watching the administration in front of him. People were staring now, the interaction sobering them up somewhat. Robin could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his ears going red. “Whatever. Just get me a fucking blunt if that will get you guys to lay the fuck off,” he groaned. He had cut himself off cold turkey, and the strong stench of marijuana hanging in the air was like a secondhand high that his body craved more of.

It’s not that bad. A puff or two isn’t that bad. You’re not backsliding. No one at camp will have to know and these people will keep their mouths shut.

“No,” Flynn chuckled, reaching out to stop one of his friends who was holding a roach out to Robin. “No, no, no. You wanna prove you weren’t in rehab?” He scraped together another line. “Bump this shit.”

“I already said--”

“I know what you fuckin’ said,” Flynn interrupted. “But I know it’s a fuckin’ lie if you’re gonna stay up there on your high horse now that you’re too good for a little fun.” He held out the straw again. “Now shut up and snort the damn coke, pussy.”

Robin angrily snatched the straw from him and bent over the table, immediate drunken cheers of approval coming from the onlookers. Robin hesitated, looking at the dusty little line of coke. He thought about what happened when he was angry and frustrated with someone. How easy it would be to turn one deadly look on Flynn and make him wish he hadn’t tried to threaten Robin’s life, his career. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted to make him pay-- teach him a lesson. Use his powers to drive Flynn to be locked up in a place much worse than rehab. He deserved to have his mind turned inside out, that dark impulse sneaking up on Robin’s clear and sober mind.

Then he thought about his mother’s face, covered in tears as he shook him awake, a needle still poking out of his arm. Melody’s kind smiles every time she helped him work through the withdrawal symptoms. Penny screaming at him almost two years ago that he needed to quit. Dean and Aaron’s endless support no matter how frustrating or annoying he was.

The burn felt great.

“Atta boy,” he heard Flynn mutter under his breath as Robin stood back up, wiping his sleeve across his nose.

“Yeah, whatever,” Robin dropped the straw to the table and walked away. It would be a matter of time before the reality of his situation sank in on him, but Robin didn’t mind. The high was supposed to be fun, right? It was the calm before the storm, and Robin did feel calm. Sated enough to forget how close he was to using his powers on Flynn.

There wasn’t really anywhere to go in the studio apartment, but he managed to slip outside where another group sat on the balcony, all smoking weed. They greeted Robin with lazy waves and grunts, not paying him any mind as he sank down. He stared out blankly at the city below, a beautiful and ugly place. His hands were trembling now, Robin lowering his head between his knees. “Fuck, I can’t believe I just did that,” he breathed softly. “Fuck me. Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit!” He kicked his foot out angrily, his sneaker colliding with the railing with a metallic shudder.

The group glanced over at him at he turned his face away, embarrassed by his outburst. “Yo, kid,” one of them called over to him. “You look like you could use some of this.” Robin didn’t need to look over to see that he was being offered some pot. 

“I’ll pass,” Robin said, swallowing back the bile in his throat. He didn’t like how hard it was to say no.

“You sure?” someone else asked. “It’ll help. I’ve got, like, a vape if that’s-- Shit, kid, your face.”

Robin looked fully at them now, brow wrinkling in confusion. He suddenly felt a warmth pooling against his shirt collar and turned to look at his reflection in the glass sliding door. Blood was gushing from his nose and he hadn’t even felt it. “Shit--” An irony tang sat on his lips as he scrambled to his feet, holding his sleeve over his nose and mouth. He stumbled back into the apartment, looking around for a bathroom. There were people milling around outside of it, a couple of girls doing more lines on the bathroom sink when he burst in. There were cries of annoyance asking him to knock, their irritation going ignored as Robin yanked on a toilet paper roll to get enough to mop up his bloody nose. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he said as a soft mantra, clutching it to his face. The girls quickly hurried out of the bathroom, leaving the sink open. Robin clutched the stained surface to hold himself up, slowly lifting his head to look at his reflection.

Crimson was still smeared across his nose and chin, Robin running some water to try and wipe it away. “You’re a fucking moron, Castle,” he muttered to himself. The anxiety from before was coming back tenfold then, Robin’s eyes welling with tears. “Why did you do that?”

He knew exactly why. It wasn’t the peer pressure. It wasn’t the stupid double-edged threat of having to snort coke just so other people wouldn’t find out about his addiction. It wasn’t even the difficulty of recovery.

He did it because he wanted to.

Robin emerged from the bathroom, grabbing hold of the first guy he saw with a roll of something lit on the end. “Can I?” he asked dryly. The guy just nodded and pass him the joint, letting him take a pull. He coughed on the smoke, feeling his eyes sting as his lungs protested the sensation they hadn’t had to feel in a while.

Getting high won’t fix this.

You’re making it worse.

Stop now, you can still get home and sleep this off.

Mom’s going to hate you.

Robin sat outside of the apartment, back against the wall. No one paid him any mind as they came and went, a few dirty looks from neighbors who weren’t happy about the party inside but weren’t going to call any cops about it. It must’ve been 1:45 because as he sat there in a daze, he could feel a large man pick him up and sling him over a shoulder to carry him downstairs and put him back in the car, letting him lay down in the backseat. “Oh, kid...” he heard Maurice’s voice as a distorted echo, the world around him blurry and confusing even as he was helped into his house.

“Mom?” Robin called out in a weak voice. No answer. He closed the door quietly behind him and shuffled into the kitchen to get some water. There was no comfort food to be found, not in their kitchen. Robin caught his reflection in a hallway mirror as he made his way for the stairs. There was still some blood on his shirt and his eyes were bloodshot, hair messy. “Idiot,” Robin muttered, ascending all the way to the top step before he heard his mother’s voice from below.

“Robin?”

She sounded sleepy. Maybe she had stayed up after all. Robin contemplated rushing to his room. How was he supposed to face her like this? Still coming down off his high, throat raw and face pale. He backed up slowly, peeking into the den to see her lifting her head up from behind the couch, an empty wine glass tipped over on the glass coffee table.

“Robin, sweetie, how was your night?” she asked sleepily, yawning as she rested her cheek on the cushion. “Come here, baby.”

“I... I’m really tired, Mom,” Robin said, lip trembling. Fuck, his voice sounded so shaky.

“Just come here,” she requested again, softly. Robin turned and walked the rest of the way down the stairs, slowly going over to her. She looked at him sleepily, a slight frown clear on her face that would probably look more severe had it not been for the botox. He stood stiffly, feeling dead on his feet as she reached out to hold his hand, her own grip lazy. “I’m so proud of you, darling. I know how hard this has been and I’m glad to have you home.” A warm smile.

He flung himself down into her lap before he could stop himself, immediately bursting into tears. You stupid fuck up. He sobbed against her for what felt like hours, Dove rubbing his back and carding her fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he cried into her chest, heaving to catch his breath as he wept. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, baby,” she mumbled, hugging him tightly against her. “You don’t have to be sorry. You got home before curfew,” she pat him on the head before sinking back onto the couch, letting him curl up into her. She doesn’t get it. “I know it’s tough but I knew you could do it. I knew that camp would be good for you,” she yawned and rested her chin on top of his head, quickly falling back asleep. She has no idea what you’ve done. “And I’ve been thinking... I think you’re ready to come stay here for good.”

Robin had been waiting to hear those exact words for months, but now it just put a bad taste in his mouth. He didn’t deserve this.

Robin didn’t sleep well that night, and it wasn’t because he was curled up on an aesthetically pleasing and wholly uncomfortable couch with his mother. He woke up fully and alone sometime around ten. “Mom?” he croaked, looking around their open concept home. There was music playing softly from another room, but that didn’t mean much in their household. Robin eventually made his way upstairs, his poor decisions last night weighing heavy on his heart.

Without really thinking through the motions, he grabbed his largest duffle bag and started packing. He threw his dagger in last before hooking the huge bag over his shoulder. As he trudged down the stairs, he was mumbling to himself, trying to figure out the wording of a note he needed to leave for his mom... Maybe he wouldn’t leave a note at all. Just disappearing would be easier on the pains in his chest. Maybe he could make some bullshit up in a week about how he missed camp or something. 

Maybe she’d even pretend to believe him.

Robin’s hand was on the front door knob when he heard footsteps behind him. “Robin?” his mother inquired softly, rounding the corner from the kitchen. “Where are you off to? I was about to make breakfast-- or maybe we could go out? How about that gluten-free bagel shop you like so much? We should get you nice, well-balanced meal before your photoshoot today--”

“I did coke last night.”

Dove stood there, frozen. Robin almost couldn’t bear to meet her eye and be subjected to the heartbreak written across her face. “Are you joking, sweetie?” she asked softly, her voice breaking delicately over the question.

Robin chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling a tingling prickling at his ears. There was a phantom burn in his nose, a reminder of his transgressions from the night before. He shook his head and turned away from her. “I’m gonna go back to camp for a while.”

She didn’t reply, and her silent disbelief was too much. Robin wrenched the door open and didn’t look back.

[jrsechelon]

Pat-a-cake, Pat-a-cake, Baker’s The Man

Frigid temperatures plunged into single digits with swirling winds of 30 miles an hour. Fort William Stadium, Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada was the sight of raw emotion. These moments we relish in football are the ones that we tend to remember long after the game and even the season, following the stunning win over The Canadian Cripplers in what possibly was the coldest clash between two teams in Elite Fantasy League history, Baker Mayfield exuded calming leadership. VanillaGorillas are going to need more of that from their quarterback. Mayfield, who has played much better the past three weeks after a slow start to his second EFL season, displayed an established veteran’s poise in the hazy postgame following Monday night’s sequence when the defense held down Melvin Gordon for the win. During a live TV interview before leaving the field, Mayfield managed to find the right balance by calling the team almost blowing the game “inexcusable” while also supporting his teammates. It was a delicate moment, one handled by the 24-year-old Mayfield, who hasn’t always shown such maturity. Earlier this season, he stormed away during an interview after objecting to a line of questioning regarding him being benched. But in a far more mature situation, Mayfield shined and has shown he is coming into his own as the leader of this team after the early season drama of being benched in favor of Trubisky. "It’s was a tough spot," VanillaGorillas guard Joel Bitonio told reporters following Wednesday’s practice. “It's such an emotional game anyway, he has shown us all the maturity level over the course of the last few weeks. He's done what he's had to in order to allow us to win each and every week. It's been ugly at times but with him commanding the huddle we've all been able to rally and do what has to be done. He's handled the adversity like a leader and you got to believe we all respect the hell out of him.”

For Mayfield, it’s part of the gig. As the unquestioned face of Chicago's franchise, Mayfield carries the burden of performing on the field while handling non-football duties off it. It’s a strange mix of player and public relations spokesman he's had to endure and even when Trubisky was leading this team, the reporters were always around Mayfield. He's got that charisma that is contagious, you are drawn to him furthermore that's why VanillaGorillas coaching personnel deserves applause going back to Mayfield after trading away Travis Kelce to Evolution for Mitchell Trubisky. At 6/5/0 VanillaGorillas sits in first place in the Shula division. The last three weeks have been games that have established the character of this squad and with a three-game stretch against division rivals, this team recognizes what needs to be executed toward shocking the league. Capping off a division title in a year that at one point saw this organization at the bottom of the ladder

Baker Is Maturing Before Our Eyes

“Obviously, it starts with not turning the ball over – knock on wood with that. Just taking care of the ball. Putting our guys in the best position to win. Getting the ball out quicker. Extending plays when we have to but ultimately just doing my job of being a distributor, getting the ball in their hands and letting them make the plays. We are all doing our job better because we are more focused on doing the little details right. It starts with me. We need to continue to improve each week. I think we have improved a little bit each week, but as I said after last week's game, we still have a lot of room to improve. I think that is the best part about it is even though we have had success and we have won two in a row, none of that matters. We have to improve. We have to do our job each time we get out there.”

As for his play, Mayfield is looking much more as he did a year ago when he broke the league’s rookie record with 27 TD passes. He’s making better decisions with the ball, staying in the pocket and delivering passes with accuracy. Baker has come into his own again. He had some unlucky turnovers early in the season and that kind of carried over a little bit. But he's looking like himself more and more. He made a few plays with his feet, made some throws, even ran the ball one time on the quarterback sneak. Mayfield is extremely focused right now and with a big division game against Balls Deep VanillaGorillas will need this brash, confident and humble Baker to step on the field Sunday.

“I would not say that I am made for this moment. I think just think the things that I have gone through a lot in my life of what do you do when adversity hits? It has made me a little bit more knowledgeable about things like this. Nothing specifically that I have done is exactly this moment, but I have had experience facing adversity and a lot of these guys have, as well. Somebody in this locker room has always faced adversity at some point in their life. It is just about being that person every day that this team needs in the position I am in being a captain and showing the way and setting the standard, like the things I have been talking about. I would not necessarily say that I am made for this moment. I think I was made to come here to the Windy City and try and set the standard and culture each and every day.”

As Baker and company get set to travel to Sunny California in a divisional clash, Balls Deep is in the Playoff hunt but Jared Goff is holding them back from greatness. At 6/5/0 following a Sunday Night Football victory over HellbentKronik eliminating them from playoff contention, Balls Deep somehow remains in the EFL playoff picture but with a regressing liability at the sport's most important position. Jared Goff, who entered Sunday as the EFL's sixth-lowest-rated passer, completed just 11 passes against HellbentKronik. Under his tutelage, Balls Deeps offense managed just 13 first downs, three third-down conversions, and a win in a dud game that was closer than it looked. Woeful HellbentKronik failed to make Balls Deep pay for two first-quarter turnovers, HellbentKronik failed to score on four of their five drives that crossed Balls Deeps 40-yard line, and Balls Deep couldn't pull away from a struggling opponent until scoring an insurance touchdown late in the fourth quarter.

Goff's Struggles Continue

While a win's a win, this served as a reminder that it isn't the Balls Deeps' year. Not with Goff, who has completed just 57 percent of his passes in his last six games. With that line in shambles as a result of injuries and Kamara no longer as productive coming off his own injury, Goff's glaring limitations have been exposed. He hasn't thrown a touchdown pass since Week 8, and he's lucky to have just three interceptions the last two weeks. That doesn't bode well for his or his team's chances next week against the red-hot VanillaGorillas and their surging, opportunistic offense. Balls Deep needs this game just as much as VanillaGorillas, with a minuscule margin for error in a loaded playoff race, those dynamics could leave the first-year franchise sidelined come playoff time. If Goff and company hadn't bullied weak opponents like the Rainelo Hawks, Straight Edge Society, and The Busy Killers in September and October, the numbers would be a lot uglier. But even still, Goff's broad backslide dating back to last December when he found himself on Black Hole Son. He entered that month last season with a 26-to-6 touchdown-to-interception ratio, a completion percentage of 67.7 and a passer rating of 113.5. In 15 starts since then, he's thrown 17 touchdown passes to 16 interceptions, completed 59.9 percent of his throws, and his passer rating is 79.7. Throughout what essentially amounts to a full season, he's been one of the worst quarterbacks in the EFL. He's a wildly inconsistent and unreliable deep passer who is comically inaccurate under pressure, and he had the league's worst qualified bad throw rate through 11 weeks. It's a good thing Balls Deeps defense has gotten its act together after a rough start to the year, although the defense is playing up to their talents it almost seems inevitable that Goff will spoil it all for that defense, and that's a shame, as is the fact that Balls Deep is all-in on Goff. Balls Deep remains a contender despite their franchise quarterback, and that's not a recipe for success in this day and age. The trade deadline is Friday, if this team wants to pull the trigger on getting an elite decision-maker they better do it now otherwise it's Goff or bust, and the way VanillaGorillas is playing it might be bust real quick if they stick with Goff as we suspect.

As Balls Deep attempts to rally around Goff, there is one team who has been in playoff mode all year. Black Hole Son is on a roll, to put it mildly. They’ve won seven straight games for the first time in the franchise history - Not only has Black Hole Son beaten a number of fellow contenders in the last month, but they’ve done so in convincing fashion. They’ve won so convincingly, in fact, that national media members are seriously asking if there’s a new best team in the EFL. Black Hole Son is still far from a consensus choice. While their body of work is impressive and no team in the league is hotter - the next-longest active win streak is tied between LilShupeScoresBIGPoints, Straight Edge Society, and VanillaGorillas with two straight - it’s easy to question if this run will last. Many analysts question the team’s experience come playoff time, giving the ultimate edge to teams with more experience like Evolution, LilShupe, and even Yuba City Sultans. One analyst points out Black Hole Son's defense has struggled at times this season, though the offense is so difficult to prepare for. Thanks to their schedule, Black Hole Son has had and will continue to have plenty of opportunities to lock the number one seed and secure the road to Super Bowl XIII going through Oakland.

Black Hole Son Riding High

They’ve already beaten Yuba City Sultans, and though their schedule hasn't been the most difficult they have risen above the hardships when the game has been on the line and shown us why they aren't the same old franchise we've been used to watching. Black Hole Son has the juice to run the table and win the Super Bowl. A sentence one would never imagine coming out of one's mouth, but this is the truth. Analytically, the defense has been stout but paired with the offense, Black Hole Son has made themselves perhaps the most complete team in the EFL.With Black Hole Son surging headed into the home stretch of the season, there’s ample evidence to believe that as of Week 12, they’re the most complete team in the EFL. Showcasing their talent each week they will host Hyrule Empire who needs this game far more than Black Hole Son. Russell Wilson will look to regain control of his MVP season and right the ship for his team. After a week that saw him taking personal time off Wilson is poised to give Black Hole Son all they can handle.

“They look really really good their defensive line is really special, their linebackers are playing well. You think about their secondary and what they’re doing. And then you got Marshon Lattimore over there, who’s been playing great all season too as well. They got a great defense. And Marcus Williams the rookie, he’s not playing like a rookie. He knows how to get to the quarterback, cause havoc and make plays. It’s gonna be a great game. It’s going to be a tough battle, and we’ll have to play our best football.”

Wilson ever focused, ever confident in the task. He always believes his guys can prevail. He has a conviction unlike anyone else in the league - this week is a must-win for his guys.

Wilson Ready For The Challenge

The Shula division is ever tight as we've already touched on and there is no way any team can afford a slip-up. Last week's loss to Thunderbuddy4Life damaged Hyrule Empire forcing them into a must-win scenario every week. For a team that held onto the Shula division almost all year, they can find themselves outside of the fold come seasons end. They are going to need Russell Wilson to emphasize that confidence and MVP play the rest of the season. It begins this week as a consequence there is no bigger test, but let's face it, Wilson wouldn't have it any other way.

"I look forward to these moments, it's clutch time. This is when we separate the men from the boys. You either want it or you don't and believe me - we want this."

We look forward to it too. Another thing we look forward to is the suddenly soaring team out of Cincinnati. Straight Edge Society has rallied off two-straight and will have their toughest test yet. Lamar Jackson has awoken this team albeit possibly a little too late, they are still holding onto hope and as long as they take care of what is in front of them they'll have a shot at getting into the second half of the season. You can also like many are beginning to do speculate whether his tools and maturity have the ability to usher in a new era of quarterbacking; one where he and Patrick Mahomes shine brightest as figurehead stars capable of piecing together dueling Hall of Fame careers. I’m not sure we’ve actually seen anything like Jackson, he’s different. He checks every single box that you hope for. I know it’s early in his career, but he checks every potential Half of Fame box. He is a leader; he’s dynamic. He screws up the defensive coordinator’s game plan because it’s hard to find somebody to be Lamar Jackson in practice. You need like four of five different guys to try to replicate him. He’s a rare breed. He is the type of guy that can put this league on his back for the next decade and a half him and Patrick Mahomes. Lest we forget, Jackson is 22, so there is a long way to go here. But the reason why so many are able to see a glittering future is that there has been precious little to suggest otherwise. Now he’s in the running to be the MVP of the entire league and as his rookie deal eventually winds down, it won’t be long before he’s being talked about in conjunction with a dazzling new contract.

Lamar Jackson Gives SES Hope

Elite QBs make big numbers, and Jackson is firmly in that company now. With Lamar, the only person in football who can argue he is playing as well as Lamar is Russell Wilson. But is he the best player in football? Probably not. Is he having the best season of anyone in football? It’s him or Wilson, and I will not accept another answer. For a hot minute, Daniel Jones gave glimmers of hope to beleaguered Crippler fans. Rainelo Hawk supporters began to grow out their Gardner Minshew mustaches. Mahomes and Deshaun Watson were the glamor duo seen as having the greatest likely stackability. And Jackson was thrust into that mix somewhere; not as an afterthought, but just as one of the guys. No longer. Straight Edge Society is riding high and backed up by a remorseless defense and an outstanding offensive line, he is leading the charge. There will come a time when there is cause to pump the brakes on the lionization of Jackson. While we have grown used to a consistent collection of esteemed veteran QBs these past years, someone has to follow them. Why not Lamar Jackson? The caveat is that no one attains greatness without a few bumps in the road. How he handles them will be crucial. Monday, Straight Edge Society plays the Sultans, which serves as some sort of a QB-hype cautionary tale in itself. Aaron Rodgers is electrifying as ever and looking like his career has been revived with a new coach and a fresh franchise. What makes the greats great is that big performances come as a matter of routine the norm, rather than the exception. Jackson is on that path like Rodgers has been on and there will be greater challenges ahead. But for now he has a lineup willing to anoint him for long term superstardom, and with a big game against the Sultans this week it'll give us clarity if Lamar Jackson can lead his team to a possible playoff opportunity. Rodgers, of course, will look to end the chatter of the Lamar hype, Straight Edge Society has got to start fast because you know Aaron Rodgers is going to come into this ballgame wanting to beat Lamar and company, not just to silence the crowd and end Straight Edge Society's playoff hopes but to maintain a chance to claim the number one seed.

Rodgers Will Be Ready For Lamar

With the loss several weeks ago to Black Hole Son, Yuba City Sultans has been sitting as the second-best team - but do we believe that narrative? The Sultans have a dynamic team and with a field-general like Rodgers leading this group you have got to think that they have just as much strut to their walk as Black Hole Son does. These teams are similar and almost mirror images of one another beside one major difference. Yuba City Sultans has an elite quarterback. The Sultans aren't worried about the loss against Black Hole Son, they consistently do what they need to get better and believe me, when and if these two teams meet again Yuba City Sultans will be better prepared against Black Hole Son. As for their Week 12 match-up against Straight Edge Society, they apply their focus on getting better each week which gravitates them to the victory nine times out of ten. Rodgers will be ready for Lamar Jackson, they won't stand around in awe of the young kid - they'll do what they can to leave Lamar in awe of number 12.

We can't imagine a season without Thunderbuddy4Life and Rainelo Hawks not squaring off as we've been accustom to seeing it several years now. Since the change in divisions, we wondered if we'd get to see this rivalry which has became a classic. Luckily for us, we get it this week.

Old Man Rivers

Both teams are fighting for their playoffs lives and with Rainelo Hawks holding on by their fingertips you've got to wonder can they uphold a competitive level of play against this defense? With the news out of Seattle that the Hawks are electing to bench Philip Rivers though we shouldn't have been surprised. Altogether, Rivers is just 14-of-37 with zero touchdowns, four picks and an 11.7 passer rating in the final two minutes of the last two games it's hard to wonder who will replace him and how they will handle this tough defense led by Richard Sherman and Nick Bosa. Whoever is going to get the green light in Seattle will have a true test on their hands on Sunday. Thunderbuddy4Life is fighting for a chance at a three-peat while Rainelo Hawks is just fighting for a playoff spot. Both teams are on the outside looking in but with a tight division race in the Shula division, Thunderbuddy4Life has a much better opportunity to find themselves in the postseason.

TB4L Defense Is Key For Postseason Berth

Undefeated in the own division, they will have to get a win in Seattle and in the process, eliminate their once fierce divisional rival from playoff contention. The Hawks are still hoping for a miracle but realistically they are looking at the future and wondering where to go from here. In a season that had high hopes with Rivers returning to the Emerald City, they have only had struggle and disappointment. Rivers isn't the same quarterback that once laced up his cleats, he is making rookie mistakes and leaving his team in bad situations. The defense is constantly having to try to bail this team out and this is why the move to move on from Rivers is one that needed to be done. 2020 will look a lot different for these Hawks and with the reality that Rivers and the Hawks will part after this season and with questions hovering over this organization at who will lead this team in the future, a loss against Thunderbuddy4Life may not be the worst thing that can happen to these usually tough Hawks'.

With Week 12 on the horizon the questions aren't just hovering over the Rainelo Hawks but other teams in jeopardy of missing out on the postseason. BroncosTillDeath and The Busy Killers, two teams who were deemed as Super Bowl-caliber teams are in danger of falling short from even gracing us with their presence. 9 and 10 respectively in the seeding, these two teams have been on a downward spiral stumbling over themselves and opportunities.

Watson Can't Do It All

Deshaun Watson got his leg caught underneath him on a sack late in the first half Sunday. He stayed on the ground, but trainers never came out. Watson apparently tweaked his ankle on the play and with this team putting the load on Watson's shoulders it's no surprise the injury wasn't more devastating. Sacked six times during the loss, Watson remained in the game. One day later, he was listed on the injury report as a full participant. As they sit with three-straight losses now, BroncosTillDeath is like many others trying to maintain that chance to grasp a playoff spot. With a quick turn around against LilShupeScoresBIGPoints, they are going to need once again Watson to shoulder the load. This team is unable to move the ball and without consistency, Watson isn't able to play up to his standards. Dak Prescott quietly has taken the reigns for Patrick Mahomes in Dallas. The Busy Killers are 5/6/0 just like BroncosTillDeath and with both teams playing against Walsh opponents, it's this week that is a make or break contest. Evolution was shellacked by LilShupeScoresBIGPoints last weekend, but we predicted that with Wentz not having a full week of practice in a new system, this week we'd forecast a much closer and combative contest.

Josh Allen Finding His Stride

LilShupeScoresBIGPoints may be playing superior than everybody out there right now and Josh Allen is building a case for the best Sophmore season. BroncosTillDeath and The Busy Killers were alleged to meet in Super Bowl XIII according to Mr. Sanders and many other gurus - rather, they might be meeting each other on the golf course if they're unable to find a way to win their respected games. Evolution and LilShupeScoresBIGPoints are in the thick of a battle with PURPLEHAZE. All three of these teams can still win the Walsh division, even BroncosTillDeath can if they can get their train on the tracks again. PURPLEHAZE has is in the driving seat and has an extremely high chance to win the division and in the coming weeks even end up at the one seed if all things play in their favor. This week though will have to be filled with some Fitzmagic. Cousins and squad aren't with the team due to the adenovirus which has been affecting the Twin Cities. Luckily for PURPLEHAZE and their players made up of a cast of people we'd see in a movie like The Replacements they will host Buds Bums the worst team in the league. While one Chicago team is riding high the other is sinking low. This spot is all too familiar for Buds Bums who in a combined six seasons they have finished last in three of those. This can be four. It's been harsh for these Bums and without any answers, another former division rival will look one-sided come Sunday. Even with Brady leading the team now you can't believe that Buds Bums is going to have a shot to play for even pride. Brady statistically is having his worst season ever, it's no wonder BroncosTillDeath released him without a second thought. The one glimmer of hope for Buds Bums is PURPLEHAZE has their replacements playing this weekend. The problem here though is Ryan Fitzpatrick was cast as Keanu Reeves. If we know anything at all about how the movie The Replacements goes, we'll see Fitzpatrick usher his team in a victory with a huddle of guys we've hardly ever heard of. I know this isn't Hollywood and football isn't scripted but let's face it - Buds Bums is in disarray and their organization is a scattered wreck once again; PURPLEHAZE is not losing this game.

As we wrap up this Week 12 article we have got to go full circle and talk about the loss the Cripplers suffered against VanillaGorillas. Losing by one-point is rough, to lose in a game that you should have won is exceptionally unpleasant. Melvin Gordon has not been what this team had hoped for but Le'Veon Bell has been even worse. With the news coming out of Canada after the loss of Bell's dissatisfaction not just for his role in the offense but the fact that he was tested five times in Week 10 for HGH (human growth hormone) - Bell seems to have had it with the league as a whole. His heart isn't in it. He isn't lighting it up as he used to and he has seemed to be distant from the rest of the team leading up to games. It started last year when he held out all season and even though he has shown up each week and has done what he's had to when his number has been called, the effort has to be questioned. Melvin Gordon who held out several weeks and returned later in the season has gained more yards than Bell has all season.

Bell Has Lost 'IT'

Many believe the Bell experiment will come to a halt after this year The Cripplers still have a chance to grab a playoff seed but with the loss last week in the frosty temperatures it is going to be a complicated route to the postseason. Luckily for them, they have a direction to the playoffs still even though it's ever so slim. They have to win out that is evident. They have three divisional games and they need to go 3/0/0 and 4/2/0 in their division. The math is perplexing after that but if they find themselves on the verge of a three-game winning streak come Week 14 the experts will reveal their path to the playoffs. If they fall to any of their divisional foes they will be eliminated from the postseason. Drew Brees has done remarkable with his return from the thumb injury but the lack of help in the backfield has really harmed this team. Looking back in August when we saw Bell and Gordon in the same backfield we all felt the Cripplers would be one of the top teams in the league, instead due to selfishness between both players they have shot their team in the foot. The Cripplers have had a rollercoaster season and even if they end up 7/7/0 and missing out on the postseason they shouldn't hang their heads in defeat. They have risen above more set-backs and adversity than most teams face in three seasons let alone one. Their opponent this week is known for playing spoiler. HellbentKronik always gives The Canadian Cripplers a difficult time. With HellbentKronik eliminated from the playoffs,they will just look to play spoiler. Kyler Murray has been playing with a high caliber skill level lately but with Brissett taking over duties this week to see what they have in Brissett as he is set to be a free agent, HellbentKronik wants to see if they'd like to sign him long-term to help guide Kyler on his path to being an elite quarterback. Brissett has the tools to be a starter in the league but when you have Kyler on your roster, obviously you're going to go with him. This week though is a rest and maintenance week for Murray who tweaked his elbow in the final minutes last weekend against Balls Deep. HellbentKronik has the confidence they needed all year against the Cripplers so whoever they put in there at QB will have an edge against their long-time rival. Brees knows they let one slip away last week, he knows how bad they needed that win and with a trip away from the freezing temperatures to the not so cold yet bitter climate of New England it'll be a welcoming away game that the Cripplers need.

Week 12 is shaping to be a great week with a lot of implications on the line. If you love a season that has the shaping of the 3 through 8 seeds being decided in the final week of the season, this 2019 season is for you! While we're not at the end of the year yet, we're almost there so let us savor the ride and enjoy the fight to the finish.

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[mothric]

because I’m a masochist who likes to make things unnecessarily difficult for myself, I’m studying Hebrews 6:4-8 for my Hermeneutics class. but it’s not just because I wanted to choose an intentionally controversial passage for kicks; it’s also intensely personal.

during junior high and high school, I suffered from an extremely intense fear that I wasn’t really saved, that I’d somehow gone too far and I was going to hell. that I could live my whole life in pursuit of Jesus, loving Him, serving Him, dedicating all I could to Him, bearing ‘good fruits,’ but in the end find out I was never saved at all. I feared I’d permanently fallen and nothing could redeem me.

let me tell you, that is a hard, hard fear to shake. it’s a fear that kept me shaking. literally. (‘work out your salvation with fear and trembling,’ Paul wrote. lemme tell ya, I am exceedingly, uncomfortably familiar with trembling.) the reason it’s so gripping is because it feeds itself. if you fear you’re deceived, you can go to great lengths to find out the truth, but then what if you’re deceived about not being deceived? and so the cycle of doubt carries on endlessly.

Hebrews 6:4-8 was not the passage that sparked my dreadful “pure-O” OCD descent (I know now that’s what it was), but it certainly exacerbated it. I couldn’t read passages like that without triggering a full-scale anxiety attack. my stomach would turn, my mouth would dry out, I would tell myself “you’ve been over this, Bry, you know it’s not true” but I was already gone, and would stay gone, shivering and rocking back and forth trying to drown out the Bad Thoughts for hours. I can think of no other period in my life where I felt so completely unstable. I couldn’t trust myself or my perception of anything.

despite all that, I continued to pray. despite fearing God would reject me, I strove to love Him. despite fearing He would curse me, I filled my prayers with praises to Him. I read the Bible despite fearing it would change nothing in me. even if Hell is my true end, I thought, I still want to know Jesus and show others who He is. I was so afraid of death, but if I turned away from the only One who could give me life, what else was there?

today, I have a better grasp on the Scriptures. I have a pastor dad, a mom, and a sister who patiently prayed for me and explained to me, multiple times, the issues of conscience, the real evidence of apostasy, and God’s power over fear. I finally started to snap out of it when a Christian mentor told me “you’d have to have a spirit of anti-Christ to do what you fear you did. you are literally the worst at being the anti-Christ I’ve ever seen.” 

God did answer. I don’t have panic attacks about it anymore. I can read those passages without disconnecting from the world. I look back now and clearly see the evidence of OCD and rejection-sensitive dysphoria that had its roots in a shaky parental relationship and a genetic predisposition to worry. despite the mess that was my brain, Jesus never once abandoned me, and I know that with a lot more certainty than I did back then.

but if I’m honest, my brain is still kind of a mess. there’s still this niggling but what if...? hiding out in the back. domesticated but ever-present, it still drives me to seek answers, just to be certain. just to make sure. sometimes I still catch myself saying, maybe I’m still going to Hell, but I’ll press onward and upward to Christ til the day I die anyway, because He’s better than giving up.

but I’m beginning to think that attitude--not the going-to-Hell part, but the rest--maybe that’s what the writer of Hebrews was trying to get at in the first place. maybe that was the point of his warning. to keep looking to Christ, no matter what our fears tell us. it would be all too easy to give up hope, to turn back instead of continuing to struggle. we can debate the finer points of backsliding vs. apostasy and Calvinism vs. Arminianism and “did he really mean impossible” and completely miss the point: to keep pressing on while looking to Christ.

so if my fear tells me I can’t trust myself, well, fine. then I’ll trust in Christ. He’s more capable of saving me than any institution and any person, including myself. that’s what the rest of Hebrews is dedicated to explaining. my job is to keep trusting in exactly that truth, even if every conceivable dark force is screaming at me that it’s not worth it. Christ can do what I can’t.

and so I press on.