#but the anonymity is mostly gone and a lot of that feels like really unfair to drop on folk out of the blue

[fooltofancy]

told myself i was gonna stop complaining abt money on tumblr.com so just gonna delete that and idk

[ijustwant2write]

Estranged-Fred Weasley x Malfoy!Reader

(GIF credit to @genterie​)

Tags: @obsessedwithrandomthings​

Masterlist

Prompts List

Requested by anonymous: 'Love your writing it’s amazing! I was thinking of a Fred Weasley imagine where he doesn’t die. And after the war, he falls in love with Draco’s twin. And like her parents accept it because all they want is for her to be happy. (They learned from their past mistakes)'

Characters: Fred Weasley x Malfoy!Reader, Molly Weasley x Reader (platonic), Lucius Malfoy x Reader (father), Narcissa Malfoy (mother)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Swearing, mention of death, mention of abuse/bad childhood, estranged family relationships, judgement, reconnecting, lots and lots of fluff

                                   *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

(Y/N) Malfoy felt people staring at her as she walked down the street, some in disgust, others just intrigued as to why she would show her face after all these years. Her platinum hair gave away her identity, as well as her fine clothes that were clearly expensive. She didn’t want to flaunt, but she had earned these items now, after working to build up a reputation again since...since the battle.

Why couldn’t it be normal for her now? Yes, she had been on the wrong side, but she and her brother, Draco, didn’t have a choice. Their last few years at Hogwarts had been miserable, all because their families had made ties to the Dark Lord. (Y/N) had always been quiet, almost mute when she was younger; although she wanted to speak up about many things, defend anyone her brother was bullying, explain how she didn’t agree with her parents views on wizards who weren’t pure bloods. But she was always too scared, she didn’t want her father to yell at her like he did Draco, or that one time she tried saving a house elf from a beating (that had caused many nightmares to occur). The only time she did use her voice was when she convinced her brother to spare Potter, to lie, to make sure that their fellow classmates could live; although taught from a young age that they were superior, she realised how wrong her families’ beliefs were.

Shops turned silent when she entered, conversations were only whispers, the shop keepers not serving her with the same warmth as everyone else. As usual, she kept quiet, quickly paying for her things then leaving. Deep down, (Y/N) had always known she wouldn’t be normal like anyone else, but she could try. 

As she left, keeping her head down again, someone bumped into her with such a force that it sent her flying to the ground. She yelped out, instantly feeling pain shoot up the arm she landed on, her shopping falling out of the bag and scattering around. No one helped her, they walked past as she struggled to gather everything.

 “What a bunch of twats.” someone snapped, and she recognised the voice.

Looking beside her, out of all the people in the world, Fred Weasley had bent down to help her.“Fred?”

He sadly smiled, helping her to her feet as he held her bags.“In the flesh. You alright?”

“Yeah.” she breathed out.“Thank you.”

“No problem. I haven’t seen you for years.”

She ducked her head.“Yes, it’s been a while.”

He sensed her anxiousness.“Are you sure you’re OK?”

She cleared her throat, ignoring the pain in her arm.“Now I am.”

“Hey, why don’t we go grab a drink? You know, catch up?”

She looked up in surprise.“Y-you want to hang out with me?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

Flashbacks to all the times her brother spoke down to their family, the moments where she didn’t stick up for them or tell Draco to back down. And when her family fought against the Weasley’s at the battle. She had heard from witnesses that Molly Weasley was the one to kill her aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange (although it didn’t sadden her, Bellatrix had always made (Y/N) uncomfortable and scared). Yet here Fred was, kindly offering a hand. Sensing her hesitation, he nodded, understanding now.

“I don’t hold grudges (Y/N), especially against those who haven’t done anything wrong.”

(Y/N)’s tense posture relaxed, thanking him once again as she went to take her bags from him. However, he retracted his arms, holding them away from her. 

“So, are you coming?” he grinned.

Surprisingly, (Y/N) nodded straight away, laughing as she tried to grab her bags again. He laughed with her, already walking away as she caught up. She recognised the route, they were heading towards Diagon Alley, soon stepping into The Leaky Cauldron. Luckily it wasn’t full of people, they had come at a quiet time, though she still chose a table in the far corner, slightly hidden away. Fred went to get their drinks, leaving her alone with her thoughts. He was being so nice, no one had been like that in a long time.

“I can’t believe how long it’s been.” Fred sighed as he settled back in his seat, handing (Y/N) a drink.

“I don’t really want to think about the last time we saw each other.” she mumbled, looking down at her hands.

“No, me neither.” he quickly changed the subject.“Well, what’s been happening in your neck of the woods?”

“Not much I’m afraid. No one wants to be around a Malfoy.”

“I’m here aren’t I?”

She bravely looked into his eyes.“You’re just being sweet.”

“What about your brother?”

“Draco is fine. He’s actually met someone, it seems serious.”

“Wow, Draco Malfoy is settling down?”

“Yep. I’m happy for him.” she asked the next question before she could think about it.“Have you found anyone?”

He scoffed a laugh.“No, still stuck with my brother at the shop.”

“You know, I only ever went in there once. Draco caught me, he dragged me out of there.”

“What a prick.” Fred closed his eyes, sighing when he realised what he said.“Sorry, just used to saying that.”

She giggled, making him smile.“No, you’re right. He used to be the worst at times. But he’s better now, more understanding. He has a lot more respect for people.”

“And you’re talking more.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“You used to be so quiet. I remember the first time you spoke, it’s all anyone ever talked about.”

“I had always been told to keep my mouth shut or face a consequence. It comes and goes, though I’m happier now. Much happier.”

“Me too.”

That first meeting turned into another, then one more after that, before they found themselves seeing each other every week. These ‘catch-ups’ became much more than that. (Y/N) had laughed more than she had in her entire life, and Fred found it easier to open up to her about the past. They no longer met up in public, Fred mostly visiting her small home (not the lavish Malfoy Manor he had heard so much about) as it was more private and further away from anyone else. Drinks phased into dinner, dinner moved onto staying the night; both couldn’t wait to wake up next to each other, loosely snuggled up before tightening their embrace as they stirred. 

They got away with keeping it a secret for months, except from one individual. George wondered where his brother disappeared to, teasing Fred when he came to the shop late and dishevelled. He dared to follow Fred one night, shocked when he saw (Y/N) kissing him. George gently brought it up, at first upset that Fred had been bewitched by a Malfoy. After the three sat down, George saw (Y/N) for who she truly was; she was scared about what George thought, though when he saw how they lifted each other up, he knew this was the right thing.

George had been accepting. But what about everyone else? (Y/N) had thrown up the day of meeting the Weasley family. Fred convinced his parents to not invite anyone else, just let it be the four of them. He also forgot to mention that (Y/N) was a Malfoy. She had to refrain from crying the whole way there, breathing deeply and thinking about something else to avoid a panic attack. She recognised the shock look on Mr and Mrs Weasley’s faces as she walked into the Burrow, their lovely smiles vanishing almost instantly. 

“Mum, dad, this is (Y/N).” Fred proudly said, not afraid to wrap his arm around (Y/N)’s waist.

“H-hello.” (Y/N) shakily said, desperately trying to stop her nerves from getting the better of her.

The sound of the poor girl’s voice made Molly’s heart break. Everyone knew of their quarrel with the Malfoy’s, but seeing such the young, intimidated and quiet girl made her forget all of that. It had been slightly awkward at first, but Fred helped ease everyone into conversation, and by the end of the night, there were smiles on everyone’s faces. As they said their goodbyes, Molly had a chance to pull (Y/N) aside, seeing her son and husband deep in conversation.

“Thank you for tonight Mrs Weasley, it’s been lovely.” (Y/N) said, finally feeling comfortable.

Molly had seen (Y/N)’s surprised expression when they had been welcoming to her (once the shock of being a Malfoy went away). This girl had never received this type of attention, Molly imagined the only time the family was together was for silent dinners and public outings. But her personality around Fred was calmer, she looked reassured. (Y/N) needed love, she needed that experience of being part of one big happy family.

“You are welcome here anytime dear.” Molly smiled, squeezing (Y/N)’s hands.

When Fred managed to get (Y/N) away from his mother, she had been gushing about everything that had been said that night.

“Did you hear what she said to me?!” (Y/N) exclaimed.

“Yes, you’ve repeated it many times.” he chuckled.

The happiness remained until Fred brought up the question (Y/N) had been dreading.

“So when can I meet your parents?”

Although (Y/N) desperately wanted to skip that milestone in their relationship, it seemed unfair that she had met the Weasley’s, and Fred wouldn’t meet the Malfoy’s. (Y/N) hadn’t kept much contact with her parents, mostly letters to her mother, even though there wasn’t much to talk about. One night when she was writing one of the said letters, Fred had been looking over her shoulder, convincing her to mention the relationship. (Y/N) found it incredibly hard to put pen to paper, not writing Fred’s name, but explaining how far this relationship of hers had gone. Her mother penned back, expressing how much she wanted to meet the mystery man. It was finally time to do so.

“Should I have got a different suit?” Fred stressed as they made their way to her parent’s house.

“No, why?” she asked.

“Because...well, it’s nice, but not as nice as the ones your dad wears.”

“I don’t want you to dress like my father. I want you to be you. And are you sure you’re alright going there?”

“Are you?”

She thought about it.“Not really. I just keep telling myself that it’s just a house, there’s nothing more to it.”

As they stood outside Malfoy Manor, (Y/N)’s heart rate increased, She felt Fred’s hand become sweaty, but that could have been her’s too. Now looking at it, it felt much more gloomier, more haunting. But they only had to be here tonight, no longer than that. Of course her parents didn’t greet her straight away, the door opened by itself, and the couple cautiously walked in. (Y/N) flinched as the door shut, remembering how much she hated this place. It was so different to the Burrow; (Y/N) knew she should have been grateful for a manor as a home, with lavish decor and large amounts of land, but that could never replace the safe feeling you were supposed to feel at home. 

“(Y/N).” her mother, Narcissa, gasped as she entered the room.

(Y/N) crumbled at the sight of her mother, knowing that she wanted their relationship back to how it used to be. But she still didn’t rush to hug her, casually walking over. Narcissa took in (Y/N)’s features, smiling as she thought about how beautiful her daughter was. Hugging her like only a mother could, she didn’t let go early, hating how long it had been since they saw each other. When they pulled away, Narcissa noticed the man, hiding her surprise when she saw he was one of the Weasley boys. (Y/N)’s shoulders ached from how tense they were as her mother approached Fred, opening her arms to him. Her mouth almost dropped open, as did Fred’s as he returned the hug. Narcissa no longer cared about being part of a ‘superior’ family; (Y/N) was happy with this man, and he had managed to bring her daughter back to her.

"Come you two, we have drinks waiting for you." Narcissa smiled, gesturing for them to walk ahead of her.

(Y/N) grasped onto Fred's hand again, feeling her breathing become deeper at the thought of seeing her father. Fred didn't want to push any boundaries in front of her parents, but he would be damned if he let (Y/N) become upset. He wanted to come to ensure that her family gave their blessing, it would feel wrong not to come; but if this was the last time she wanted to see them, then so be it.

Walking into the drawing room, (Y/N) unintentionally gripped onto Fred's hand harder, almost digging her nails in. There were no complaints from him as Lucius Malfoy turned around. He looked a lot better than the last time he saw him, though he had definitely aged, and being part of Voldemort's army hadn't helped with that.

"(Y/N), welcome home." Lucius said, his usual cold tone in his voice.

"Thank you father." she whispered, going back to her quiet self.

"So, he's a Weasley then?"

"Yes sir." Fred spoke, not afraid anymore.

(Y/N)'s head whipped up to look at Fred, then to her father. Lucius narrowed his eyes, stepping forward until Narcissa stopped him.

"Lucius." she warned."We've just got them back."

"Them?" (Y/N) questioned.

"Draco visited only last week. We met Astoria." Narcissa explained.

"He finally did it."

"What? You knew about her?"

Fred squeezed (Y/N)'s hand, silently encouraging her to go on."I send letters to Draco too. We've both been petrified to come back."

"Why?" Lucius had the audacity to ask.

"I'm with a Weasley. You belittled them for years. And it pains me to say that I stood back and did nothing. Never did I imagine that I would be forgiven by them, let alone fall in love with one."

She couldn't believe how forward she was being. But they were all listening intently.

"I've grown since I've left here. Fred has helped me to change, change for the better. I have missed you both, but you can't deny that we weren't a normal family."

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a look, a wave of sadness washing over them. They had been caught up in the Dark Lord's work, wanting to fulfill the purpose they had been taught from a young age. They assumed their children would follow in their footsteps. Oh how wrong they were. And they regretted every second of it.

"(Y/N)," Narcissa calmly started, slowly stepping towards the couple,"we cannot express how much we regret abandoning you as a child. We weren't focused on raising our family. Losing you and Draco was the worst pain I have ever felt in my life. Your letters have been the only thing bringing us a small amount of joy each week."

"Your mother is right."

Though his face was stern, anyone could see that Lucius meant what he said. He just didn't know how to express that.

"I can no longer tell you what to do or who to be around." he said."Your mother and I have had many long conversations about this particular topic, about you and Draco. We want you to move on, be with someone who will give you a good life and treat you better than we ever did."

This was too much for (Y/N), this was the longest they had ever thought about their feelings ever. She was frozen, unsure if this was a cruel trick. Were they really going to be happy for her?

"A-are you..." she steadied her shaky breath as tears fell from her face."Are you being serious?"

Narcissa's eyes widened at the thought of this being fake."Of course darling. I can't lose you again."

"(Y/N), we are happy for you both." Lucius added.

That sent her over the edge. She made up that she needed a minute, rushing out of the room. Fred didn't hesitate to run after her, calling her as she ran outside. (Y/N) collapsed onto the steps to the door, head in her hands as she sobbed.

"(Y/N), hey, it's alright. I'm here, I'm here with you." he gently said, sitting beside her.

She felt him pull her hands away."I just...I just can't process...did they really say all of that?"

He smiled, wiping away the tears on her cheeks."Yes. They love you. I know you've been through all those hard years, and this is a huge shock. It's going to take time to get used to."

"I'm so happy you're here with me."

"Be a bit awkward if you said you had a boyfriend and didn't show up with one, wouldn't it?"

She let out a short laugh, and he knew that she was calming down."Let it all out love. If you want to, we'll go back inside. If not-"

"No, I think I need to do this. You're with me, that's all I need to continue."

He held her face in his hands, slowly leaning in and pressing a small kiss on her lips."I love you."

"I love you more."

"We've got this, we're in this together, always."

[alwaysmychoices]

Hi! Me again! I don’t know if you’ve done this or not or something that might interest you. But HC with Ethan and MC meeting like Derek and Meredith, sleeping together before knowing they work together?

I really enjoyed this one! A. I got to do “research” by rewatching Grey’s. B. I loved the way this turned out. If this becomes it’s own fic, don’t be surprised. 

Ethan & f!MC - Meeting Before Knowing They Worked Together 

When MC walked into Donahue’s on the eve of her first day at Edenbrook, she was determined to have one last night where she wasn’t an incoming resident or a future diagnostician or anything other than a girl at a bar.

Maybe she should have known that a bar that close to a hospital would attract its employees.

But really, when she saw Ethan, she wasn’t thinking.

He was just a handsome man sitting alone at a bar, and she was just a girl.

Neither of them meant to go home together that night. If anything, they felt like they were trapped in some magnetic pull.

They had to talk. Ethan had to buy her a drink, and MC had to move closer. A few hours later, when Ethan called himself a cab, it was a foregone conclusion that MC would be in the backseat next to him.

That night was amazing.

The morning, however…

MC woke up hungover to Ethan’s morning alarm. The 45-second gap between MC waking and Ethan turning off the alarm was as close to hell as MC ever wanted to be.

“Why is it so loud?” she grumbled, covering her eyes with her arm.

“It’s an alarm.”

“Right.”

…

“What time is it?”

“6.”

“What?”

MC scrambled for her phone and emitted a panicked groan that made Ethan do a double-take. Jolted awake with anxiety, MC got out of bed and fumbled for her clothes, which lined Ethan’s floor haphazardly.  

He watched with bemused confusion.

“Are you alright?” he asked, trying not to smirk as she mumbled a thousand curses under her breath as she tried to button her jeans.

“I’m going to be late.”

“For?”

“My first day.”

“At?”

“My job.”

Ethan was both amused and frustrated with her insistence on remaining vague. She didn’t seem particularly interested in talking to him, or in him at all this morning. That should have been a blessing. He never liked the awkward, post-sex small talk or the polite feigned interest in each other’s life.

Maybe he was so interested in MC because she wasn’t interested in him.

Either way, he asked her name. She didn’t seem to be offended that he forgot, and a moment later, she admitted that she didn’t know his either.

Ethan asked if she wanted coffee. Nearly tripping as she buckled her wedges, MC said she didn’t have time. He asked for a raincheck.

MC paused, debating how to answer. She didn’t walk into that bar to find someone, nor did she move to Boston with the intention of dating anyone. She didn’t have time for coffee dates, no matter how handsome this stranger was.

But instead of letting him down gently, she walked to his bedside table where he kept a pen and paper for late-night epiphanies. She scribbled her name and number on the top sheet.

And then she had to go.

Ethan called out a goodbye, and though she didn’t return it, she smiled softly in the elevator.

The next hour or so was chaos. MC’s ride back to her apartment was slowed by morning traffic, so running out of time, MC ran upstairs, changed, grabbed what she needed, and ran back downstairs in a panic. 10 minutes into her commute, she realized her phone was dead, and she blindly navigated her new city.

Considering everything, it was a miracle she was only 5 minutes late.

But she was still late.

MC moved through orientation feeling like she was always a step behind because she was late. She made a few friends, all of whom assured her that she hadn’t missed much, but one maintained a sly, condescending smile as if he’d somehow won today’s game by being earlier than her.

She was so focused on making up for lost time that she didn’t notice her familiar coworker until it was too late.

They were in the halls when their paths first crossed.

Ethan saw her first. At first, it was just a quick glance, but when he realized who she was, he stopped dead in his tracks.

MC, coffee in one hand and a chart in the other, kept walking and only offered a cursory glance of intrigue when she saw someone stop in the halls.

She nearly dropped her coffee in shock.

For a moment, they just stared at each other.

And then they stared at each other’s IDs.

MC felt nauseous when she read his name. Dr. Ethan Ramsey. Her hero. Her boss.

She had sex with her boss.

And Ethan had sex with an intern!

Ethan opened his mouth to say something – though God knows, he didn’t know what he was going to say – but didn’t get the opportunity. Panicked, MC just walked away.

The rest of the day, she felt like she was in a daze.

What had she been thinking? She should have never gone out last night at all.

Two hours later, they ran into each other again – this time, in a lonely elevator with no immediate exit. They were trapped.

MC spoke first.

“So, you’re… you’re Dr. Ramsey then.”

“I am.”

“Right…” MC evaded eye contact, “I read your book.”

Ethan cringed, “Oh.”

After a beat, he asked, “So, what are you? Surgery? Pediatrics?”

“Diagnostics.”

“Oh.”

Realizing that Ethan was MC’s direct supervisor, they agreed to pretend nothing ever happened. As soon as they exited this elevator, they would never speak of it again. They shared an awkward handshake just before the doors opened.

They fully intended to stay apart, but they kept running into each other.

MC quickly established herself as a promising if flawed doctor. Ethan was intrigued by her potential. After days of deliberation, he decided it would be unfair to refrain from mentoring her just because they made one mistake.

He told himself it was pure professional interest, but if that were true, he wouldn’t have kept her number all this time.

Ethan was hard on MC. His criticisms became so frequent they felt like abuse. He expected a lot from her – more than he expected from any other intern, save for Aurora. She responded to the criticism with improved performance, and Ethan saw no reason to let up now.

She couldn’t reach her potential if she was afraid to grow.

He kept his compliments and growing respect mostly to himself. He worried that, given their past, sharing them would appear inappropriate.

So, as Ethan grew attached to MC, she brewed in dislike.

The differential treatment was obvious. While Ethan flattered himself that he was pushing her to greatness, she just felt pushed and underappreciated. Her success was only met with more challenges. She was exhausted, and she blamed Ethan.

And Ethan had the misfortune of sitting next to her at Donahue’s the night she reached her limit.

He asked if she wanted a drink. She answered with the kind of glare that could slit throats.

Ethan’s reasoning was clouded with MC. Though he recognized her annoyance and knew to leave, he didn’t. He ordered his drink and remained next to her as she fumed.

After 10 minutes of silence, MC finished her third beer and asked, “Why are you such a dick?”

Ethan choked on his drink.

“If you’re just punishing me because of that night, that’s not appropriate. I’m a doctor, not just the girl from a bar you slept with.”

“I am not punishing you, and if I was, it certainly wouldn’t be for that reason.”

Maybe it was the alcohol in her system. Maybe it was months of resentment. Or maybe it was because, no matter what he did, he was still the handsome stranger at a bar. The magnetic draw they found in Donahue’s never waned. She still wanted him to pick up her number and schedule that coffee date.

Whatever it was, MC let him have it.

They ended up in an alley, yelling at each other like the rest of the world couldn’t hear them. Under the cover of false anonymity, they released so much frustration that their voices reached screams.

And then…

Well, they later blamed the passion of the moment.

But, once they had released all of their frustrations, one lingered. They resented staying apart.

So, that night, they didn’t.

In the middle of a screaming match where MC aimed a long stream of expletives at him,  Ethan kissed her. And then MC kissed him. And then they were in a cab, and they were back in his apartment. And… and it started all over.

And the worst part was that they each had a sobering moment where they realized what they were doing, and they did it anyway.

In the morning, they had the same conversation they had in the elevator. This was an unprofessional, irresponsible mistake, and it wouldn’t happen again.

But it did.

And at some point, they realized they were no longer thrown together in the rush of adrenaline and frustration. They were together on the good days and in the smiling moments.

A thousand small decisions tied them to one another.

MC wasn’t just a girl in a bar.

She never had been.

tag list: if you want to join the tag list/be taken off (or excluded from certain posts), let me know! 

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[lizacstuff]

Hoşgeldiniz SCK/EDSER Anons!

Lots of people wanted to talk about lots of things after episode 32 and the episode 33 fragman. Fragman asks are at the end. 

Let’s get started!

(asks under the cut)

Anonymous said: The latest episode of SCK was a great step in the right direction for Eda & Serkan’s relationship but there is still a lot of work to do. They had a ton of scenes together which was a significant improvement not to mention solids conversations. Them working together to save the presentation was perfect. But how on earth are we four episodes into the Serkan & Selin relationship with no end in sight? 🤦🏻‍♀️Yikes! At least Selin is finally realizing that she will never be the woman for Serkan but real progress would be him realizing that. Hopefully he will finally take that step in the next episode!

I hear you! The funny thing is I’m fine with the pace on everything except with Selin. She is driving me CRAZY.  It is excruciating to watch her scheme and fool Serkan episode after episode!  Yes, he’s suffering from amnesia and probably Stockholm syndrome after she trapped him in that cabin and brainwashed him, yes she’s a childhood friend and he doesn’t remember her going off the deep end, but he’s free now, he’s seeing first hand that Eda is not what Selin told him she was, he’s getting other people’s perspective, he needs to question Selin a whole lot more than he has done. 

Let’s hope there’s a development coming soon (more discussion at the end of this post in regards to the Fragman) that will push her out the door (off a cliff?) 

Anonymous said: Do you think Serkan learning that Deniz & Eda are fake engaged to make him jealous is going to hurt or help the current situation? I feel like it should show him that she never stopped fighting for him but at the same time the show still has him acting very cruel at times. It could easily cause him to pick a quick wedding date with Selin as well or some other way to publicly humiliate Eda. Honestly I am hoping Eda tells Deniz that the fake engagement show is over early in the next episode and then have Serkan constantly trying to spend time with her to find out more. The fake engagement has run its course & Deniz needs to go!

Sing it!!!  I have several asks along these lines, and I agree that the fake engagement has run it’s course and Deniz needs to go. The good thing is that I think Eda is aware of that now.

I get the fear that Serkan will feel manipulated when he finds out Deniz and Eda is fake, and he may, and if he does he might use it as a lever to try and keep some distance between Eda and himself, but I think he will mostly be relieved. No matter what his feelings are for her, think how happy he’ll be that she couldn’t really move on that quickly from him and that she didn’t give up and was fighting for them in her own way.

I think the fake engagement definitely had it’s uses. It’s pushed Serkan in ways he needs to be pushed. It’s made him outwardly curious about his past relationship with Eda. It made him experience jealousy he didn’t understand. I think Serkan sleeping in the office clutching her wedding invitation is proof that it gave him a lot to think about and at least made him question why he was so affected by it. 

Here’s where I think Eda has gone wrong, she’s doing all of this to get Serkan to remember and when he doesn’t it crushes her, when she should be paying attention to the fact that he’s falling back in love with her even without the memories. She should be trying to connect with him more in those moments when he’s vulnerable with her. 

The coffee shop scene is a perfect example. They’re both drawn there, he doesn’t know why. When she sees him you can see her mind working, that maybe he remembers, and when he doesn’t, she just sinks. She’s near tears that entire conversation. I’m sure it was extremely painful for her, but he’s sitting there opening up to her and instead of encouraging him to talk more or maybe offering him some answers, she gets up and leaves. If she’d stayed, they probably would have talked for hours. 

Anonymous said: Do you think that Eda getting fakeengaged to Deniz was the wrong move? Am I being very unfair to her when I think this? Like I know Serkan is engaged to Selin and he's doing this even though he's not in love her, but he did experience amnesia and is genuinely confused at what has gone on in his life. Whenever he does have some breakthrough moments, like when he was questioning her in that cabin , she reiterates that she's with Deniz now and he's with Celine - I feel like that's the wrong move.

I think she’s made some missteps, yes, and you pointed out the biggest. 

Here’s the thing, though, Serkan is like a scared little rabbit and Eda is holding out her hand with some lettuce trying to get the wee scared rabbit to come and nibble on it. Any wrong or sudden move and he’s going to scamper away! She’s afraid if he knows she’s available and still in love with him he’s going to freak out and run far, far away from her. The problem is she’s so cautious, that when she finally succeeds and he nibbles the lettuce (opens up and becomes vulnerable with her) she’s the one that retreats!

Poor babies. 

That moment in the cabin felt like such a lost opportunity. Serkan was asking about their relationship, he was genuinely interested in learning more. And he sounded hurt when he asked about her giving up on him, which we know is a deep-seated fear of his, people abandoning him-- and there are so many things she could have done there to throw him a bone, but instead she doubled down on Deniz and Selin. Even if she would have ignored Deniz and just said, but you are with Selin, to drive home the fact that it’s him who gave up, but unfortunately she didn’t do that.  

Anonymous said: I need Eda to lose it, confess about fake engagement, tell Serkan shes done trying to make him remember their love while he's happy with someone else because it just hurts too much so she needs to leave him and all these fake people behind and just go to Italy. Then Serkan can chase her (following her to Italy would be nice) and 33 can be our 11.

I’m onboard. I would love to see Serkan chasing her down again!

Anonymous said: I don't even care about Deniz from a love triangle standpoint but it is very sad for Eda that this longtime childhood friend that she trusts so much is working with the enemy behind her back. No matter what his ulterior motives are, it will be devastating for her to realize this. And Ceren is now super bitchy to her so Melo is literally her only real friend right now. I wish they could give us some Eda/Ferit scenes or something because they /could/ connect over all things Serkan/Selin/CerenI

I agree, it’s super sad to see how alone Eda is in all of this and to find out that this childhood friend who became a source of strength for her when Serkan was missing is actually capable of conspiring against her is devastating. I really don’t understand him, he doesn’t seem unbalanced or desperate like Selin, you’d think he’d know that he can’t force Eda to love him when she’s in love with someone else. Also I’m now on board with the theory that he was purposely not as helpful in the search for Serkan as he pretended to be. It was all performative, not substantive. Eda put her trust in the wrong person. 

Thankfully she has Melo. What a terrible time for Fifi to have left and Ceren to have lost the thread.  I agree I’d like to see some Ferit/Eda scenes, we know he would at least sincerely care about her and how she’s doing because he’s just that kind. 

Anonymous said: Please can you explain to me why serkan keeps changing his attitude with eda? He jumps from eda to selin every episode and it's very frustrating. At the beginning of the ep he was like "you're not in my past or my future" and by the end of the ep he say "You gave up on me" come on serkan ily but boy make up your mind, one minute you don't want anything to do with her and the next minute you're making eyes at her...

This a pretty easy one to answer. The answer is because he’s suffering from trauma, PTSD, a brain injury, he has amnesia, he’s being manipulated by his oldest friend and is being lied to by the person he remembers as his girlfriend and all of a sudden he’s having powerful feelings for this strange woman that he doesn’t understand.  I firmly believe that the reason we hear Serkan say in episodes 18 and 20 that he never loved Selin, is because he never loved Selin, but he didn’t know that until he met Eda.  Before Eda, I don’t think he believed in love or thought much about it. If asked he might have said he loved Selin because he didn’t know better.  So now he’s once again experiencing something powerful he didn’t know existed, compounded by all these other factors and it’s freaking him the fuck out!  

The comment about you’re not in my past or my future was a reaction to whatever powerful feeling or recollection that made him say, “nobody touches you but me.”  It scared him.  And also, not for nothing, he apologized for being hard on her, something old Serkan NEVER did.

Most of the times he “jumped” to Selin in this episode were 100% in reaction to being confronted with Deniz and Eda’s relationship.  In the office he witnesses Eda and Deniz all affectionate so when Selin comes in, in front of Eda he greets her warmly.  When they’re outside the bungalows, Eda throw in his face that she’s so glad to be with Deniz now, so he throws a compliment at Selin.  Deniz tells him he’s glad he almost died in a plane crash and has amnesia so Eda can actually finally be happy, (enough can’t be said about how awful that would be to hear, so fuck you Deniz) so he throws his energy into Selin at their party. 

Every time he “changed” his attitude it was a reaction. 

When he had just had a very positive experience with Eda, helping her with the presentation and their ride back to the hotel, he has zero patience for Selin and let her stomp off without even a look. When Selin was trying to get his attention later, he had no interest.  

So, yes, while he was hot and cold, there was also a bit of rhyme to that reasons. 

Anonymous said: I liked this episode but at times it seemed like the writers wanted to do everything to make me hate Serkan. With serkan kissing selin on the cheek, hugging selin, making heart eyes at her and throwing a surprise birthday party for her. And I'm not even talking about all those bad words he says to eda. I think it's too much. I know what they're trying to do with serkan but I think that trying to do too much will end up making the character of serkan unbearable for the audience.

Okay, but why aren’t you paying attention to any of the good things? How can you hate Serkan when he sleeps on his office couch clutching her wedding invitation, and scrubs his face not understanding why she’s gotten so far under his skin? Or when he’s so confused sitting in a coffee shop and he doesn’t know why, but feels at peace? Or when he drops everything to rush back to the office to help Eda. When he brings her coffee and calls her boss? When he looks so proud of her as she does the presentation. When he looks like a big sweet Golden Retriever after she hugs him? When he playfully tackles her while having a snowball fight.  When he leaves Selin right as she’s making her birthday wish to go find Eda. He didn’t even ask if she wanted to help (which a sane, kind person would want to join everyone else in searching) he just bolted because Eda was in trouble. Then he carried her to safety and lit a fire and tended to her injuries. Does all of that make you hate him?

Is that “hateable” behavior. 

I mean if it’s in your personality to only see the negative, okay, but life is much better when you don’t discount everything positive just to sate your desire to live in a dark place and only see the worst in people. 

Anonymous said: eda & serkan are just so.. ahsjdkfd. such frustrating characters (whom i love but wanna knock them both in the head). everything they did with deniz & selin or when it came to their arguments was in reaction to what the other did. that's why i don't think this fake engagement thing is gonna work, bc if he's constantly being told by eda & deniz how happy they are, i dont think he's gonna be up front with this feelings. outside of eda leaving (like ep 11) i dont think a proper confession will come

Yes, I will give you that. THEY ARE FRUSTRATING!!!!!  I agree that usefulness of the engagements have worn off both from a character perspective and a narrative perspective.  

As I said above, I think the Deniz thing has served a bit of a purpose, but it’s now officially doing more harm that good and that shit-stain needs to leave ASAP. 

Anonymous said:  I was going to give a chance to these people who didn't care enough about Eda & Serkan in episode 29 but now 4 eps later, Selin has integrated back into the scene disturbingly well. Ferit is still the only one we've seen confronting her and Melo has been very supportive but that has not changed since 29 so development for other characters caring about EdSer has not improved in my opinion. They have accepted it :( And its actually worse now bc of Deniz. Aydan starting to feel bad does not count.

Oh I agree, they can all rot as far as I’m concerned, Piril is particularly disgusting to me.  

You know, having said that, part of me thinks, even from Piril and Ferit’s first conversations with Selin, that they all just know it’s a matter of time until Serkan realizes he belongs with Eda. Like none of them are doing anything because they’ve witnessed over and over Serkan’s inability to stay away from her and assume the situation will play itself out and they just need to let it be?  I would prefer to think this rather than any of them (other than Piril) being okay with Selin’s psycho behavior. 

The other problem is that Serkan is such an authoritative figure to all of them. None of them, other than Eda, know how to question him. Did you see Engin, he’s too scared to tell Serkan they lost a client when he had nothing to do with the reason why? He has balls of Styrofoam. Kinda stands to reason that none of those gutless wonders are going to try and make him see the light when he’s so obstinately trying to not be the person they all told him he turned into with Eda. 

For Aydan, while I will still never forgive her for keeping Serkan’s whereabouts a secret, she might be treading lightly because she knows Serkan tends to do the opposite of what she tells him to do.  If she pushes too hard for Eda, he might start reacting against that. 

Anonymous said: Serkan's change of attitude between day and night is really disturbing. The whole progression between him and eda is destroyed each time. At the end of the episode we always find ourselves back at the starting point with zero progression. At this point it's really tiring, they should stop it or at least take Selin out of the equation (also why selin and serkan are still engaged ? at this point is ridiculous).

While I agree that Selin needs to be out of the equation and her presence is beyond tiring, I disagree that their progression is destroyed each time. They really don’t start at zero.

Do you think they get to the point where they were in this episode without everything that came before? Having a couple of deep and real conversations, where Serkan is vulnerable, having Serkan leaving the hotel to come and help Eda? Calling her boss and working together as a seamless team? Him hugging her back? Him asking deep and sincere question about how she could move on and give up on him?

That would not have happened in prior episodes.  I assume you feel like a deep moment happens and the next interaction they act like it didn’t? That is partly true, but I think it’s both of them protecting themselves, so after a particularly close moment they boomerang back.  Serkan is being pushed out of comfort zones he didn’t even know he had. So yes he retreats after being vulnerable. Eda is at her emotional limits and she still has that pride. However, while that’s true that they do take a step back after a big moment, it’s also true that the next time they have a real moment, a big moment, it goes deeper than the last.  They all build on one another. 

So there is progression and they are building something. His feelings for sure are much different than they were in 29/30. He’s in a vastly different place, he’s recognizing that he has feelings for Eda to the point that he’s sleeping on his office couch clutching her wedding invitation.  The progress is slow, but it’s happening, just like the first time around, when they’d take a step forward and then one of them would freak out and pull back a bit.  

Anonymous said: It was a good episode but I still don't understand why writers keep on writing things that aren't necessary (aydan and ayfer killing alex plus all of theirs scenes together that are boring by the way, the scenes between selin and serkan where they are suddenly close, selin and deniz..) we don't need to see that. They should focus more on the trauma that serkan is going through and the way he falls little by little in love with eda with those memories of them that appear to him at the same time.1

They should just take Selin away and get rid of those fake engagement. 2

Well you certainly won’t get any argument from me that we need to get rid of fake engagements and Selin and Deniz. I’m also laughing because we’re all referring to Serkan and Selin’s engagement as fake. That’s because it is.  It’s something Serkan is using as a buffer, and we are now at the point that he doesn’t need it anymore, its only him who needs to realize it. 

As for Alex, Aydan and Ayfer the fact is this show is over 2 hours in length each week and they have to have B and C storylines in order to fill it.  This week it was A/A/A and I got to tell you, I’ve seen worse. If you don’t take it too seriously (which you really shouldn’t take too much on this show seriously, at this point it’s really just a vehicle for Hande and Kerem to work their special brand of magic each week) you can just enjoy the reprieve from Selin and try and enjoy these two ladies’ dynamic and their shenanigans.  Both Alican (Seyfi) and Evrim (Ayfer) previewed on twitter that they laughed so hard while reading episode 33, I assume it has to do with Alex’s “death.” I say bring on the comedy! 

Anonymous said: you know i've seen a lot of talk about how serkan is being "cruel" with eda and i don't agree at all. i mean, when they're bantering, she's giving back just as good as she gets.. and bantering/arguing is kinda their "thing" .. it's like their foreplay lmao. and when she does feel hurt by something he does or says it's not like he's doing it intentionally with the purpose of inflicting her pain. idk.. cruel is a very strong word to use for what the dynamic is between them right now..

Agreed. Remember when the narrative from episode 20-26 was that Eda was being cruel to Serkan and needed to suffer?  There are some people who can’t help but pit the two halves of the whole against each other.  I don’t do that. There’s enough empathy to go around. 

Especially when they’re arguing, as you say Eda gives as good as she gets (that’s why she’s the only match for Serkan, she’s the only one who can go toe to toe with him) and there were also quite a few moments where she was provoking him. As she told him in the shelter, just because they didn’t always agree, didn’t mean there wasn’t love. 

Anonymous said: I see a ton of people cancelling Serkan each week but I think he’s going to cancel himself when he remembers and that’s what will further prolong their reunion/wedding. He drove himself sick with guilt about her parents and he had 0 fault in that, but in this instance, there are things a version of him said and did, even if it was in the wrong state of mind. I hope the writing does this justice.

Me too. While I don’t want to spend episode upon episode with him wallowing and self-flagellating, we are owed a scene of his devastation at what he’s put her through.  He loves her so much it will be very painful when he puts it all together. 

On the other hand, I think he won’t remember enough to be at that point until he’s already admitted he’s in love with her afresh. That might dull the need for him to punish himself too much as he would have fulfilled his promise to fall in love with her if born again. 

jan31: Hi Liza, hope you are well. I am sure you have seen the fragman by now, have you got any idea why Serkan would give Seline 5% of his shares. Is at guilt thing after finding him with Eda? I want to believe he remembers more than he is letting on with her and it's some kind of test, but I think I am clowning! When it comes to love he is clueless but not business. Why would he take away his majority and now be 45%? I am perplexed! Maybe there will be something In the episode that will explain it, as I think this happens near the beginning? Not sure anymore if 33 will be Selines last episode now, maybe they are dragging out the drama a bit longer for ratings, who knows!

I think this is one where we can’t judge it until we actually see what happens.  Serkan has to wise up at some point and giving away 5% of the company (even though its her shares she sold to him when she left town) is very unwise and I find it hard to buy that its something he does because he feels guilty because he got all cuddly with Eda in the cabin.  He’s always been a savvy business man, and her hold on him has only been lessening, not increasing.  

Let’s hope he’s starting to wise up and it’s some sort of test or trap. Unless the new writers just don’t understand who Serkan Bolat is at all. 

Anonymous said: Anyone else need to take several deep breaths after watching that fragman? Everyone is canceled except for Eda, Melo, Ferit (if he knew nothing about the shares) and Serkan (although he is going to seriously make up for his cruelty at some point). I guess the only positive is that it seems like everything that happened in the last 4 episodes is all coming together finally. Eda will hopefully finally figure out what Ceren’s problem is and hopefully also figure out Deniz & Selin are working together. And at least Serkan seems determined to get Eda to admit there is still something between them which has to mean he has finally accepted his feelings for her. Things have been progressing slowly and Selin has been smug for far too long so exciting to think there will be a change.

My thought is we need to wait and see context for all of these things. I have a feeling not everything is as it appears. 

Though one thing I think that is exactly as it appears is Serkan trying to get Eda to admit she has feelings for him. That’s good. That’s really, really good. He’s making a move. He’s bringing the sexual tension. Love to see it. 

Anonymous said: Ok so do you buy the theory that Serkan suspects that Selin sabotaged Eda with that dossier? Because when I first saw him getting that flashback at the hotel, I didn't understand why they needed to show it - maybe just to let us know again that Serkan doubted Eda's work skills since they had been bickering all day? But then I read that the flashback could be to confirm that he knew Selin was present. This could be fans coming up with better ideas than the writers though. :/

I want to buy that theory. I want to buy it lunch and dinner and some wine and flowers and I want it to be true!!!! I also want the 5% shares to be a part of some plan he has to figure out what Selin’s is doing. 

Though... lets not get too far ahead of ourselves, this is just speculation which mostly never happens, however the spoilers have long said that Selin leaves in 33 or 34. For that to happen something drastic has to happen.  There’s also screenshots going around that show that there was definitely a security camera right behind Selin when she got into the network and deleted Eda’s files. So there’s a good chance hard evidence of her perfidy exists. 

Honestly, this makes the most sense to me in getting rid of her (which means it’s probably not true). 

However, if it were true, it would help bolster Serkan’s character a bit. He’s a smart man but they’ve turned him into a fool not suspecting anything about Selin, if he unmasks her himself and takes her down for business reasons and doesn’t care a bit about dumping her personally, it kills a bunch of birds with one stone. It restores his savvy, it gets rid of her, it gets rid of her by his hand so it’s not like the choice was taken away from him, it gives her some consequences and comeuppance without overtaking the plot, and it does all this without advancing the romantic story with Eda too quickly (cause I think they want to milk that a little while longer) 

Also the only other way they get rid of her at this point is if Serkan breaks it off and tells her he’s in love with Eda. And I really need her GONE now and not once Serkan is at the screaming at her about how much he’s in love with Eda stage of this story. 

Anonymous said: Okay so Serkan must have a plan and that is why he gave Selin the shares, right? Or he is doing it to make up for ruining her birthday? It would be great if he was doing it because he finally accepted his feelings for Eda on some level & plans to break up with Selin but feels bad about it. Just very weird that he would give her the shares (which to everyone that cannot read his mind comes off as cementing their future together) while at the same time trying to get Eda to admit her feelings for him.

Yeah, I think we’re all on the same wavelength that something is fishy here. Let’s hope it’s a ploy because Serkan knows Selin has been up to no good. And if so I really, really need Eda to be present for her takedown this time. Girlfriend deserves that. 

Anonymous said: what do you think of this third set of writers? I'm not sure if the episodes have been bad because they were instructed to write this stagnant plot and its not really their fault, or if the scene would've been fine but were just actually written badly. Idk if Im making any sense. I personally refer to 26-27-28 as the "edser renaissance" and was not missing Ayse's team and now I'm sad but idk if it's unfair to the writers if this is more likely the showrunner's idea or something

It’s hard to tell because it’s only been two episode, but I think the DRAMA DRAMA DRAMA seems to be a directive from the producers/network.  However, I think they’ve written some very nice individual scenes. As I’ve said, the scene where Serkan comes back to ArtLife to help Eda is already on my list of favorite scenes ever and there was a lot of goodness besides that. There was the accidental kiss, and arguing (how much did you love Eda sitting with Melo counting down until Serkan came to the coffee room) and the coffee shop and every second in that cabin.  So I guess I disagree with you that the scenes are all bad.  If there’s nothing you like in the episode, maybe go back and just rewatch some of the Edser scenes without having the stench of Selin and Deniz nonsense polluting them, I promise you there’s lots of goodness there. 

[nightswithkookmin]

3 I don't think jk feels that way. He loves to protect jm why would he want jm to take even more heat by making things clearer to the fans? Not to mention except nibbling on jm's ear, tatoos & gcfs are not a clear indication of what jk feels he also hides behind art (wich is very subjective) to express his feelings and even denied jm being his main model. Even V has been more direct about writing songs about jm. So for him to be frustrated with jm would be unfair & hypocritical which idt jk is.

This post you mean??

I didn't feel the need to get into it directly because everything you said in here is based off of a misinterpretation of my post- the post in response to the Anon who said there seems to be a strain on Jikook's relationship, for context.

I never said or implied your premise, ergo your entire argument is pointless? Lol. If I had to respond to it, it would have been 'No. You didn't understand it correctly.'

Maybe you should read over it again?

I mean, no one else seem to have had that impression in the comments apart from you?What is it in that post that gave you that impression? Maybe I should read over it too... Damn.

I simply pointed out in response to the Anon, that JK seems much reserved in the way that he expresses himself towards Jimin mostly post JM's birthday. Which may or may not confirm my earlier suspicions about the whole JM birthday saga- which as I said, again, I don't want to make conclusive statements on because it's an on going phase and so it's a bit hard to reconstruct the timeline.

I said and meant and intended to mean, that if JM and the company or even BTS had expressed disapproval on JK wanting to post on JM's birthday then JK choosing not to express himself openly in regards to JM in the aftermath would be understandable. Jk seems like the all or nothing kinda guy to me- I've been saying.

They are either treating the glass closet as a glass closet or not. Which would mean JK stops his bold gestures and expressions towards JM and JM stops publicly doting on JK and expressing himself towards him in the way that he does.

But if JM is going to dot on him openly and express himself openly with regards to JK, then JK should be allowed to do the same- however way he prefers.

I didn't say I felt JK is frustrated because Jimin does whatever you are saying. All I said is I feel he gotta be frustrated if he cannot express himself the way that he wants to- especially given his personality and his background.

He often talks about not being censored much growing up as a kid and so he is used to having his way and doing things the way he wants.

My point being that Jimin expresses a certain level of 'nervousness' sometimes with the way JK expresses himself with regards to him. Especially since JK's 'bold' moves often times scratches against their glass closet to the point it can be considered 'outing.'

Jk posting on JM's birthday when he hasn't done that for anyone in the group since Jin's birthday last year would have been borderline "outing" considering. And as I said, I don't think that would have sat well with either Jimin or the group or even BigHit because it would raise a lot of brows and have people questioning whether there's more to Jikook's relationship.

Frankly, as I pointed out, given the circumstances people would raise questions over whomever he chooses to post for next regardless, especially if he doesn't post for anyone else after that- it would be world war Z up in these streets I tell ya. Lol.

JK has had his passions sabotaged over the years- his GCFs I mean, and this was one of the means he had to express his authentic self and his raw feelings as a person and as an artist. Expressing his feelings clearly is important to him as much as recieving.

And if he cannot express himself with regards to the person he loves in the way that he wants then that's got to be frustrating to him, in my opinion.

And when you think that the person he loves can get away with blurting out things like that 'the best thing in his life is waking up to see his boyfriend's face in the morning' in a middle of an interview then you'd understand what I mean.

The members booed at JM for that yes, but I don't think had JK said that, that they would have had the same reaction to him- did you see their reaction when Jk blurted out 'arrest me' when Jimin said he wanted to be a police officer or something?

That doesn't mean JM doesn't make similar bold moves that are equally risqué in regards to JK. Just saying he often gets away with it because majority of the fandom don't take him seriously at all, lol. They often dismiss his moves towards JK as fanservice or tie it to his "naturally kind and affectionate" personality.

As to whether that is fair or not- honestly I don't care. Lol. I'm more interested in observing their interactions to try to understand the motivations behind their actions and behaviors- which again, are all just theory and assumptions.

Honestly, I don't impose my judgment on Jikook's actions in that way. If I had to, I'll just say they are both wrong and they are both right and all is fair in love and war. Because I sort of understand the motivations behind these actions even if they are just theory.

But I don't do the JK vs JM business- which is what it seems you are doing here?

I keep saying they both have valid needs. JK's needs are not less valid than JM's needs. Neither is JM's needs less Valid. They both have valid motivations for the choices that they make. From my perspective.

They both have downsides and upsides and I am well aware of it. I just don't mind. I mean, they are human in every sense of the word.

JK fuming whenever someone breathes near JM but he himself being Mr roaming hands premium is double standards. If you don't want Jimin touching others don't touch others. It's as simple as that. JM playing Mr 'I'm available never been wed' when he knows damn well he is in a committed relationship with Mr double standards roaming hands premium is foul play.

They both suck. Lol.

Yet I don't mind at all. I love them regardless.

Besides, as I said, from the feed back I got it seems you were the only one who had that impression? I would have made a post to clarify it sooner if I sensed from the responses that two or more people had had similar impressions of it.

I usually don't hold myself responsible for other's comprehension skills and it didn't seem like you were asking for clarification either? May be next time ask for clarification if you are uncertain about anything instead? I don't know. Just do whatever makes you happy I guess.

There were certain statements you made in here that I found interesting regardless- the part dismissing JK's means of expressing himself but claiming V exresses his intentions better through his art....

You think may be V is able to talk openly about writing songs inspired by Jimin because there is nothing there to hide and his song lyrics aren't indicative of nothing?

I'm sorry but Friends seems like a very friend zoned conversation than a confession of romantic feelings to me.

I don't think JK wants to write a song about how Jimin is his bestfriend- Jimin would skin him alive. In my opinion. Lol.

Plus, when Tae tried to make a duet with Jimin the company (producer) allegedly didn't green light that project- I wonder why. Smirk.

Even as friends, there seems to be a limit they are allowed to go with their artistic expressions.

In JK's case, well Jimin have said he isn't really good at expressing his emotions and JK have admitted in recent times- in his Be Weverse Magazine interview that he is not particularly great at writing everything he wants to express.

Personally, before I heard him say this, I often felt he seemed to hold himself back a lot from fully expressing himself through his lyrics. He has a broad range of musical experience and honestly a rich lyrical palette from his various song recommendations throughout the years and I expected more from him when it came to his lyricism and expressions.

I don't take his lyrics for granted though because it is still one of the means through which he expresses his authentic self and after reading this bit about him, chilee I'm gone treat his lyrics like the gospel. Sorry Jesus. Lol.

I don"t know but perhaps he waters down on his expressions through his lyrics too- I mean there is only so much he can say without letting people into his inner psyche?

Dude had to sneak Stay past JM. Lmho. He's so cute.

The point I'm making is, you can't claim it is unfair for JK to use his art as cover to express his feelings for Jimin and then in the same breath praise another member expressing his feelings for Jimin through his art.

And the part about JM going out of his way and taking risks to break JK"s walls in their earlier dynamic... who asked him? Lol.

No seriously, who put him on that mission? He has his own Jikook agenda. I don't think he was doing JK a favor. Do you? I find that narrative problematic. Jimin is not a charity case. JK is not his 'console"ation price.

I don't think JK feels indebted to JM and I don't think he should. That's not love. I don't think Jimin wants his pity either. Again, that's not love.

Then the bit about JK protecting JM. I think I addressed it already. JM has a duty to protect JK as much as JK has a duty to protect him.

If him expressing his love for Jimin the way he wants to is him not protecting Jimin, then JM equally openly expressing his feelings for JK is him not protecting JK.

I won't hold this over you though because your response is based off of a misinterpretation.

Please let's not do the whole JK vs JM thingy next time. I get that a lot from my fellow PJMs here. Jikook are not enemies.

I had to respond to this because you said something about it not being fair that I didn't post the original Ask.

Please bare in mind you are Anonymous and it's hard to ask for clarification and stuff from y'all when I don't understand anything about the posts and comments you send in.

But at your end, I think you are in a better position to quote me and ask for clarifications if you want one. You don't have to. But I think it makes it easier to have certain conversations.

I enjoyed your thoughts. I haven't read them all yet but I will.

Stay safe. I purple you.

Signed,

GOLDY

[my-brothers-corrupted]

Book Four - Part 9

Dapper wakes up somewhere new, feeling unwell, while Trick struggles alone in his room. Red, Blue, and Dok come home to help.

Tws for imprisonment, major illness, psychosis, sedation, and verbal and physical aggression from Anti.

Part 9 - The Locked Room

Anonymous asked: Sorry for saying you were a joke... it's just that your source material didn't really paint you in a nuanced or multidimensional way, and that's mostly what we're all basing our understanding on... You're a bit of a prick tho

Your camera comes back to life in unfamiliar hands as afternoon light spills across black hair and turns it to gold. Silver turns you gently in his palms, curious and bright-eyed, the panic of the night before gone from his face. Closer up, you can see some of the ways in which he is not Mark - a pair of small scars across his chin, a habit of picking at his lips that leaves them raw and red, a gauge in one ear.

As for your camera, the tiny symbol of an eye that usually resides in the corner, either opened or unopened, has been replaced by a small, presumptuous G.

“Hi,” says Shep, sat on his bed and looking at you. He hears footsteps down the hallway outside his room and furtively tucks you against his side, waiting for the steps to pass before he draws you out again.

“Hi,” he repeats, beginning to smile. “This is cool. I actually have a way to talk to you. Yeah, no, it’s okay. My source material is a joke, that’s why I said it even before you did. But - a prick?”

He pauses, glancing away.

“A prick,” he repeats in a mumble. “I think that’s new… I like that, let me just…”

He hops out of bed and takes a journal from one of his dressers, and then opens it up to reveal a long list of descriptors, some more inane than others, all printed in scrappy handwriting down the lines of his notebook. There are general adjectives in some places - “strong,” “bold,” “foolish,” “cute,” “conniving,” “selfish,” “clever,” “sweet” - but other places have full phrases or apparently random words - “you fucking annoyance,” “loves kids,” “buddy,” “your own kind of superhero,” “my soldier,” “a joke Mark forgot about,” “martial arts nerd,” “eats all the fucking candy in the house” - and it goes on for pages and pages.

On the first open line, he pulls out a pen and writes “a bit of a prick.”

Anonymous asked: damn, shepard. what happened to you lot?

Shep puts down his pen and turns to you, grinning. “Ah, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that. It’s been a long… eight years? And you haven’t exactly kept up to date with me. Which isn’t your fault. I guess. Not really.”

He side-eyes you, flipping his pen between his fingers.

“Anyway, this is my first year back in Dark’s houses for a while. I was living in the city for a few years after Dark kicked me out because I kept, uh. Bringing criminals back to the house for interrogations. They said I brought too much attention to us, so they had Google throw me out. Guess I deserved it… it turned out to be mostly okay. I had my own apartment for a while. My own pet rat. I was teaching martial arts and making rent. Then I kind of got into some trouble trying to be a fucking hero again… and I got lonely. Stressed all the time. Can’t keep a girlfriend. Rat died. Kind of a breaking point for me. So I came back here. Because of course I did. Because I always do. Because I don’t have any purpose without somebody else fucking giving it to me.”

He sighs bitterly, scratching at the web of cuts on his leg from Anti’s vines last night. Some of them are fairly deep, but he’s just stuck a mess of Band-Aids over the top and went to sleep with a towel beneath his legs just in case.

Anonymous asked: are you happy with this, shep? i'm trying to figure out how much we can trust you.

“You can trust me entirely, we’re just not on the same side,” answers Shep frankly, raising his eyebrows at you. “What’s not to trust? I belong to Dark. That’s true. There you go. Make of it what you will. And as for being happy, it doesn’t bother me. I’ve done much nastier things for Dark and enjoyed them much more. Parts of my life are still hard on me, but I’ve done what Dark tells me for the better part of eight years, ever since I pulled my head out of my ass and realized Mark was never going to come back and make me a real hero. So now I make my own choices. Sometimes I make ones he probably wouldn’t make for me. Sometimes I make ones almost no one else would be able to make. And that’s freedom. That adrenaline… that knowing that you are changing someone else’s life, that you matter, even in the worst fucking way possible… that’s freedom.”

Anonymous asked: are you doing ok, shep? seems like your life's been a bit of a mess.

“Yeah,” laughs Shep. “Honestly, things are fine now. I’m just never getting out of this house, you know? I don’t know. Ippy moved out two years ago. Yan’s in prison and nobody wants to bust her out after what she did. Dark has Google throw out or kill anybody who annoys them. Wil travels half the year, Eric works at the aquarium, Host’s published, even the twins have jobs, haha. And Bim…”

Silver scratches bitterly at his legs, maybe trying to draw a little blood now, bored of the scabs.

“Ran off about four months ago,” he mutters. “I miss him. Asshole. Didn’t tell me where he was going. Doesn’t answer his phone. Could have taken me with him. There was nobody quite that chaotic. I don’t know, maybe Dark just killed him to stop him from making our faces too public like he always wanted to, the little showman. But no, it’s okay. I’m like Google, you know? I’m just always going to be stuck in this fucking house. But I like it pretty well. Dark keeps me busy. And I like when the others come visit. I’m pretty much friends with everybody. Maybe I’ll get another rat soon.”

He flashes you a sudden look of alarm, his hands drawing away from his legs.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m… first time I get to talk to you in years and I don’t have anything worth saying, I just - I can tell you stories! Maybe. Uh. I’m not good at telling stories. Ask Host. I should have taken video then so I could have something to show you. You’re going to forget again and then all of this will be for nothing and no one will even see me differently. Eight years! Fuck. Do you want to go talk to somebody else? I bet you do. Well, sorry I’m not good enough for you, okay? Guess I never was. Whatever.”

He shoves the camera onto the bed, picking tersely at his mouth.

The door swings suddenly open. A figure in a long coat leans against the doorway, crossing his arms.

“I can hear you being a little bitch all the way from my room,” drawls Host.

“Oh, fuck off!”

Host laughs and leaves him again. He’s not interested in chatting.

“This story isn’t about us,” he calls back at Shep. “Don’t damage the narrative integrity with your need for their attention. Let them see their baby brother. He’s not well.”

Anonymous asked: hey, shep, don't you start saying you're not good enough for us. no matter what mark says or did to you, made you a joke or whatnot, that doesn't mean you can't become something different. and i have no doubt that one day, people will know you, and people will love you. maybe you'll have your own story. you just... can't rely on mark to write it for you. sometimes you have to do things like that for yourself. and for what it's worth, i think you're pretty cool. you're different. for example, what's up with that book you just wrote in?

Shep grins weakly, acknowledging the foolishness of his own outburst.

“I try to get rid of the thoughts of him,” he says. “You should hear Dark snarl about the stories Mark told about them… but I’m just jealous. It’s stupid. And you guys - you never - ”

He shrugs and lets out a huff, the irritation fading again. He knows it’s all useless and unfair, but it never stops eating at him. What could have been. But he tries to cheer up for you.

“These are just things I am or might be,” he says, hefting the book. “Things other people have called me. I try to figure out which ones are true. And which ones I want to be. I’m not good at that part so much, though. Sometimes I decide I want to be, like, nice, but then next thing I know I’m shouting at somebody for looking at me wrong, ha. I’m glad the others put up with me. I mean, some of them are dicks. But we kind of make a team together.”

“I’m not what I was then,” he adds after a moment. “So maybe I broke away a little. But at the same time, I’m not sure the story I’ve told is the one that I wanted. Or the one that I want.”

Anonymous asked: it's okay, shep, we don't mind hearing you talk. could we go see dapper, though? i'm a little worried about him.

Shep lets out a sigh, breathing out some of his anxiety. “Yeah. Sure. Is that actually his goddamn name? We’ve got some pretty nutty names around here, but not ‘Dapper.’ I guess it’s kind of cute.”

He gets to his feet and scoops you up, wandering down the stairs. The house is quiet but for the whirling of a fan overhead and the buzzing of a show somebody left playing on the TV. Out in the yard, you catch a glimpse of a few of them playing badminton, dropping the birdie most of the time and then racing each other to pick it up and bring it back to their side. Wilford’s booming voice drifts into the house as though from much farther away than it is. Around their feet, barking joyfully, is a dog almost as enormous as Anti’s wolf-like form, wagging its tail furiously and racing to the birdie along with its owners.

“Actually,” says Shep, pausing outside the only door with extra locks. “I’m not sure Ippy will want me inside. Let’s see if he’s in here.”

He pushes the door gently open. Edward only glances up for a second before turning back to his notes. It’s a makeshift clinic room, barely even the size of the bedrooms, and it’s cramped with a desk and a bed and some examination equipment and dressers with supplies in them. Dapper’s on the bed, tucked up tight, asleep.

“What’s that?” asks Ippy.

“Uh, a camera.”

“Is it now?” he answers dryly.

“There’s an audience or something.”

“Is there someone who can tell me what’s going on with my patient?”

“Well. I guess. I think.”

Ippy reaches out, beckoning for the camera. Shep hands it over and Ippy drops you on the bed, still scrawling in his little notebook. “I’d like medical history, please, allergies, recent injuries, notable behaviors, sleeping habits, blood type, next of kin, etc. Start talking.”

Shep chuckles at his bluntness and pulls up a chair beside him, grinning at his friend as he works.

“What are you looking at?” mutters Ippy, and he reaches out to shove playfully at Shep’s head. “Called me in on my day off for this, huh. Fuckers. You’re lucky he’s actually sick or I’d be peeved.”

Anonymous asked: you can always change. seriously, shep, it's never too late to become someone different. and i'm sorry that none of us did anything. it's difficult, when mark made so many videos and gave so many more characters attention and left others with nothing. you did not deserve that, and i'm genuinely so sorry. does mark still even make videos? we haven't heard anything about him in a long time.

“You’re talking to them about this?” asks Ippy.

Shep shrugs, settling down in his chair.

“It’s very simple, Shepherd. Mark doesn’t have much control of his power and even if he did you were still early enough that you would have been created.”

“I know, Ip.”

“Telling a story about you would only limit your freedom and subject us to more publicity, which is dangerous.”

“I know, Ippy.”

“The audience can’t do anything for us without videos and them dwelling on the thought of us does not make you any more of a - ”

“I know, Edward!” snaps Shep. “Okay?”

Ippy rolls his eyes and turns back to Dapper.

“Mark makes videos sometimes, but he focuses on bigger productions,” adds Shep with a sigh. “I think he mostly wrapped up ego stuff, but you never know with him. We don’t talk. And ever since he got that bigger deal as a real producer - ”

“Can we not talk about Mark?” asks Ippy. “I don’t like hearing about him. He’s fine, I guess, but I just prefer to live a Mark-less life at this point, thanks. A life unmarked by Mark, as it were.”

“You really are peeved today.”

“I just have boundaries, Shep, maybe you should learn some.”

.

Dok wakes to the buzzing of the lights in the bathroom.

He shifts uncomfortably, feeling his back protest, but the cold plastic of a hospital chair is much better than waking up in that room back in the house, aching on the unfinished floor, dreaming of spiders crawling over his skin. He shudders and sits up, pulling his - oh. This is Red’s hoodie, wrapped around him. He sighs and glances at his brother splayed over the side of Blue’s bed, dead asleep.

The bathroom is silent but for those burning lights. He waits a long time, but nothing moves.

“Blue?” he calls wearily, getting to his feet. He knocks his fist gently against the door. “Okay? Want the nurse or something?”

Blue doesn’t answer.

“Hey, Blue, no silences,” he begs with a sigh, rubbing at his head. “Too many nights finding Trick hurting himself in the bathroom. Come on.”

Blue mumbles something. Dok grimaces and pushes open the door.

He’s okay, which he’s grateful for, though he’s almost too tired to be relieved. He steps forward and takes Blue carefully by the wrists. He was just standing there staring at them. Too intently. Too blankly.

“What’s going on?” asks Dok.

Blue turns to look at him and his eyes are fogged and all but blind. Dok touches his cheek to ground him, sighing in his brother’s stead.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t have to be sorry. Tell me what’s up.”

“I don’t… know. Just… looking at myself. So weird.”

“What’s weird?”

Blue reaches out and touches his own reflection on the surface of the mirror.

“Not me,” he mumbles. “More and more often, it’s not me. Not real. It makes me feel really… I don’t… I don’t like it.”

Dok shifts on his feet and pulls his sibling’s fingers away. “That’s called dissociation,” he says. “I get it too sometimes when Anti uses me. It can’t be easy having been possessed so often lately.”

Blue shakes his head numbly, managing to fix his eyes on him for a moment. “Dissociation,” he repeats.

“Let’s ground. Tell me three things about your body.”

“What?”

“Look. In the mirror. Tell me three things about yourself. Anything. Obvious things. It’s okay.”

Blue stares into the mirror, blinking. His mouth parts. But he doesn’t say anything. After a moment, there are tears welling in his eyes.

“Blue,” breathes Dok.

“Sorry,” repeats Blue frailly, turning away from the sight of himself, covering his face with his hands. He doesn’t want to see himself. He doesn’t want Dok to look at him. He doesn’t want anyone to look at him ever again.

“What’s going on?”

“I just want Anti’s fucking head, alright?” snaps Blue. “I just want to murder him. And then I’ll feel like myself again, and I’ll get my magic back, and then my body back, and we can have a chance to be okay again. And until then I just have to deal with this. Until I rip his goddamn throat out. Like I promised him I would. When my hands are covered in his blood, then I’ll feel better.”

Dok looks at him, taken a little aback. His hands curl together nervously on his stomach. He stares down at the floor.

Blue sighs bitterly through his teeth, shaking his head. “I know you don’t like talking about blood. Sorry.”

Dok shrugs. “Is fine.”

“Dok, I just can’t take much more, you know that, I know you feel the same way… surely you get this same bloodlust, don’t you, my darling? He’s been torturing you. Don’t you want to torture him back?”

Dok’s stomach turns. He takes a step back, shaking his head.

“I would not like to ever torture anybody ever again,” he says quietly. “I have had my fair share, thank you.”

They stand side-by-side in the bathroom, frowning together, cold.

“What if it doesn’t make it better?” asks Dok.

“What?”

“What if killing Anti doesn’t make it feel better?”

“Killing Anti will solve most every problem of mine I can think of,” answers Blue soundly, straightening up.

“Oh, goodness,” grumbles Dok, rolling his eyes. “I’m not even going to start with you.”

“Better not, you sassy little monkey man.”

“Monkey man? I am monkey man? How dare you say this.”

“Yeah. You’re bananas.”

“Blue, I will end you.”

But he’s laughing now and that’s what matters. Dok snorts and rolls his eyes, trying to let himself laugh a little too. He leaves the bathroom and flops down on his chair, gazing at Blue as he limps back into his bed and sits down. They look at each other for a long moment, trying to make each other smile with their own tired grins.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” whispers Blue. “I wish I could keep all of you safe.”

“Don’t have to be sorry,” Dok says again, letting his eyes slip shut. “I know you’re trying so hard. It’s not your fault at all.”

“I’ll kill Anti for you,” Blue swears, his eyes shining through the haze that seems to lie over them most days. “Then we can be okay again.”

“And what if we can’t?” asks Dok, barely even registering the words before he feels them leave his mouth. “What if we can’t kill him, Blue? What happens then?”

Blue stares out at the smog of the sky, wishing he could see the stars.

“Then I think he’ll kill us instead,” he answers simply. “And then, either way… it’ll be over.”

Dok nods slowly, not opening his eyes. Blue reaches out. They hold each other’s hands in the low light.

.

Anonymous asked: Hey there Ippy, we don't know much about Jameson medically, besides that he has schizophrenia and takes the medicine Haloperidol/Haldol, and he's allergic to rowan (as though he might be a chageling?). He's not a regular human either, he's basically Jacksepticeye's version of you guys.

“Ohhh,” says Ippy, standing slightly outside his clinic, arms crossed over his chest and eyes wide. “Schizophrenia. I’m relieved, actually. Because if this was fever delirium… we would have a problem.”

Google leaps out of the room, synthetic blood dripping down his neck, and slams the door hard behind him, panting. From within the room, hissing.

“Kid’s fucking nuts,” Gigi snarls.

“Kid’s fucking delusional,” answers Ippy sharply. “And that’s not his fault. This is on you for kidnapping somebody with a psychotic disorder.”

“He would have died there anyway,” sneers Gigi, stalking past Ippy. He has a red shirt now instead of blue. “That little monster wasn’t going to get him any help for that infection. And if you don’t do something fast, he’ll die here instead. He’s exhausting himself. Sedate him again.”

“No. Too much sedating. We have to calm him down. I’ll give him his Haldol intravenously so he can’t throw it up with this fever. You just have to steal some for me.”

“I only take orders from the Darkness,” answers Google.

Ippy sighs and shakes his head, turning stonily back to the door of his clinic. “If this doesn’t change, I’m sending him back to his brothers.”

“That place has no family. And Dark will speak with him before he’s let go. You get him well enough that he can have a discussion, then he’s free to go.”

Anonymous asked: JJ, honey, are you doing alright? I know you must be absolutely terrified right now, but at the very least you're getting medical treatment and they plan to give you back to Anti after you have a discussion with the Darkness. I know it'll be absolutely terrifying, but I think it's the only way to get home. Ippy is going to give you Haldol, if you'll let him? You'll feel much clearer if you do, then maybe you can make plans on what to do next.

JJ has not struggled this much with his symptoms since he and Red were homeless in Columbia and he knows it.

But he can’t make it stop.

“Tell my big brothers to come get me if they have to kill everyone in this house to do it!” his hands scream, and that is the last coherent thought you get out of him.

He moves! He has to move. He doesn’t just pace, he darts around the room, he races. His hands strike strike strike every surface. He pauses only for a moment to be sick over the waste basket, leaving him pale and dizzy, but even then his body is consumed by wracking spasms and shakes. He spins in a circle. He can’t stop looking at the lights no matter how hard he tries. His eyes are up, up, up. Fluttering, rolled back. Watching the light. Fixed on the light. If he looks away bad things will happen. The cameras told him so. Didn’t they? Someone did and he knows it must be true. He has to look at the light or the Darkness will get him.

“I’m already here,” whispers Dark’s voice in JJ’s head. He spasms and jolts back with terror, rubbing at his arms and shaking himself like he’s trying to act out a seizure, but despite his frantic motion and his fear, his face is numbed to any emotion, blank as it was when Red would struggle to understand him in Columbia. Dapper starts to sign wildly, but the words don’t make sense together to anyone but him.

“Skin. I was in. Blood up tree branch he made me go there and I didn’t want to! Can’t Red come? Miss candy and bedsheets, where? The radio, turn down. Does my blood come up? Does my blood rise?”

Ippy peeks his head inside the room. Dapper turns and sends a lamp flying towards him, smashing it against the wall, and Ippy ducks away again. Dapper grins joylessly, with his teeth, his eyes rolled towards the lights on the ceiling. He holds up his wrists and his hands dangle as though on string. Then he crumples to the ground, dazed and panting, scratching at the fever in his face.

“Jackie,” he begs. “Chase.”

Anonymous asked: dapper, jamie, my dear. you're okay, yeah? we would tell you if we thought you were in danger. and now i'm telling you to try to be calm, okay? we'll tell you if we think you're in danger. i promise.

For just a moment, he manages to drag his flickering eyes over to you. There’s a red light on the camera. That counts, right? Does it? His hands search the floors for his bear. Trick packed his things. Didn’t he? But what if it was a trick? Isn’t that why he named him that? Also guns and grey shirts.

He rubs at his aching, pounding head, and swats at a tactile hallucination on his legs. Just a snake, though, and those you don’t have to worry about. It’s dogs and cats that will tear their teeth into you.

He registers the promise vaguely, but his paranoia is so high he could be home safe and sound and still feel that Dark was slowly killing him. He casts his eyes over your message, counting the y’s. Nine. Does that mean something? He knows it means something. The universe is trying to talk to him. God is trying to talk to him. He just needs to listen.

Anonymous asked: ippy's gonna get you your haldol, okay? he's kind. he won't hurt you. do you think you can agree to that, dap? that way, if you are in danger, it'll be clearer, and if it's a hallucination that'll be clearer too.

He would like his Haldol. He would. That’s one of the only mercies Anti usually grants him. He registers that someone is coming into the room and you said it was okay. He rocks his head back and forth, trying to think, feeling drool clinging to his lips. Where is he?

Ippy tries again. Creeping, patient, quiet.

“Are you feeling up to talking?” he asks quietly, when he manages to get into the room without being assaulted. Dapper learned from Anti and when he does not have a blade he makes use of his teeth and his mean white fingernails.

Dapper rocks his head, still trembling from the catatonia, burning with fever.

“I don’t know where to fucking start,” Ippy mumbles, kneeling down beside him. “You’re going to puke up your medication. Google might get you some of the liquid stuff, might not. Depends how generous he thinks he’s being. And what Dark tells him…”

Dapper shudders, baring his teeth.

“Please turn down the radio,” he says, clawing at his ears between signs, but it just looks like more frantic movement to Ippy. “So many people talking all at once.”

“Can I give you something for the fever?” asks Ippy, getting up to get him some water and medicine. “Yeah? Try to keep you hydrated? I need to look at your wrist.”

Dapper clutches his arm to his chest, squirming. “Anti? You’re playing games with me? Can I come out, please? Been good.”

scunneredzombie asked: Jay, they're going to give you some of your medicine. You have a really bad fever right now, it's most likely making the psychosis much much worse. We're here to help and so is Ippy. You will be okay. Breathe, Dapper, just breathe. You will get through this. Remind yourself of things you know are real, things that are unchanging and true no matter what. Cling to those for now. That's what I do during my psychotic episodes.

What’s real? What’s unchanging? What’s true?

Dapper squints his eyes up at the light on the ceiling and tries to think. His hand is still searching for his things. Ippy passes his backpack towards him and Dapper finds his bear, dragging his gaze down to it. Red and Blue and Dok got it for him for Christmas this year. He’s had it for months, even in Columbia. The fur is alpaca. It doesn’t feel quite like any other texture. Cloudy and thick at the same time. Warm. It still smells, faintly, of their home in Peru.

He tries to breathe.

“Okay, I’m going to try to give you some medicine here,” Edward warns him carefully, moving closer. “It’s good for you. Just to bring the fever down a little. I’ll look at your wrist again here in a minute.”

JJ scoots away, shaking his head, but it only makes him dizzy. A hundred voices speak to him. Edward’s is rich and deep and all too familiar. He concentrates on the faint beep of the camera, a sound he’s grown used to over months and months of what would otherwise be total loneliness.

He hopes Trick is okay at home. He’s sorry he left him alone.

Anonymous asked: yeah, you're doing well, dap. just gotta hang on a little longer, okay? and ippy will help you, dap. you don't have to trust him, but you trust us, don't you? and we trust him. it's okay, dap. you're gonna be okay.

Ippy takes his chin in his hand and angles him towards him.

Nope.

Anchors fall away and Dapper feels something inside himself snap. This has always been the rule. This has always been the rule, the rule he has learned since his creation: no one touches him but Anti and his brothers.

No one.

And the punishments he’s seen Anti inflict on those who broke that rule -

Dapper does not often wish for a voicebox that works. But right now, all he wants to do is fucking scream.

His teeth flash and bite down hard on Ippy’s hand, making Dark’s look-alike yelp in alarm. Dapper slams their heads together and grabs him by the throat, burning with fury, burning with fear, burning alive on a pyre he did not set, and then Google is there, and he has him by the hair, and he shoves a needle deep into the neck of Anti’s most savage attack dog.

Dapper quails, gripping frantically at Gigi’s hand. He chokes and looks up into deep brown eyes. There is no red glow.

He slides to the ground, asleep. Google lets him go.

“Alright?” asks Google quietly.

Ippy swears under his breath and puts his hand to his forehead, teeth marks indented in the skin. “I’m fine, goddammit.”

“Keep him asleep til he’s better,” says Gigi. “I will not tell you again.”

Edward shakes his head slowly, biting his lip, but he doesn’t protest.

Jamie sleeps. The fever is burning in his flesh.

Anonymous asked: Trick is right, Anti. You keep asking, multiple times now, "why did this all fall apart?" And the answer is because you constantly excuse your cruelty, excuse your abuse and all the pain you cause, by blaming Jack and saying you "can't control yourself". You, sir, are just as capable as anyone else in the world of controlling your temper and controlling your aggression. You need to stop making excuses. They will leave over and over and over if you do not change.

“Leave over and over,” mutters Anti under his breath, his eyes angry, aglow in the morning light through the great window in the master bedroom.

Trick is still asleep, though he shifts now, his hair mussed around his eyes. The roots have turned brown. The bright green is beginning to fade to yellow.

Anti wraps his arms around his waist, tugging him close. Trick rolls over with a yawn, trying to rise, but Anti’s grip holds him in place. Trick cracks open an eye and finds himself pressed against him.

“Anti, hey, wake up,” he mumbles, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. “Lemme go. I want a shower and some coffee.”

Anti is already awake, but Trick can’t see that, and he doesn’t move. Trick pauses. He starts trying to squirm out of Anti’s arms without moving enough to wake him if he is sleeping, but he doesn’t have much luck. Anti tightens his arms around him as he tries to escape.

“Anti?”

Anti glares out the window, ignoring his wriggling. Eventually, blinking in surprise, Trick just stays in place.

Leave over and over. Anti grips his ribs until his fingernails put cuts in Trick’s shirt. Leave. Ha. He isn’t going anywhere.

Anonymous asked: are you alright then, anti?

Anti gets out of bed after a half hour has passed. Trick is hot and uncomfortable, needing to stretch and change out of his sweaty sleeping clothes and use the bathroom. But he’s stopped struggling by the time Anti releases him.

The glitch gets to his feet and picks out an appearance for the day in the mirror, settling on the younger man he wore when Dapper was created, ruffling teal hair in the mirror. Trick sits up and gives him a smile. Anti doesn’t answer your question, but the way he looks at Trick - he focuses on the bruises someone left in his wrist as they pulled him along. Something simmers in Anti’s eyes. He turns towards the door.

“Where are you going?” asks Trick, hurrying out of bed. “Hey - Anti? Come on, have breakfast with me or something. Don’t leave me, dude.”

“I have to go get your little brother,” answers Anti. “Just stay here, Trick.”

“Anti, I - ”

He glitches away.

Trick stares at the door, mouth slightly parted.

Anonymous asked: You gonna do something that will stop Dark from kicking your ass a second time?

“Where in the narrative did Dark kick my ass?” snaps Anti, stalking into the forest. “Last I checked I was tearing them and their fucking soldiers a new one when Bubblegum McGee scoops my kiddo off the ground and disappears like the deranged little thief he is. And then all of them went sprinting for the hills. No. When I find Dark, I’m burning down everything they love and tearing apart that mangled excuse for a spine of theirs. Then we’ll see if they remember me.”

Anonymous asked: Trick? You want to talk for a bit?

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” says Trick, trying to recover quickly, nodding his head and straightening up. “Yes, please. House is super quiet without anybody else! Last time I was this alone was when Blue was in hospital and I’d come back to the house and try not to worry about everybody else too much. But I do have Noodle! He’s always got my back. I’m just going to get changed and then we’ll go make some breakfast and check on kitty cat, yeah? Doesn’t have to be a sucky day just cause things are trying to go bad. I can stay positive.”

Anonymous asked: Alright, we'll just have a bit of a "you" day. Decompress a bit. It's good to check in on yourself and have a little time off. (Give noodle some pets please!)

“Yes,” laughs Trick. He worries at his hands, yes, kneading his fingers into his palms, and you can see the edge of a breakdown somewhere in the back of his eyes, but he has survived a lot and he wants to prove to himself that he can be okay even without Dok sometimes. Maybe even to be okay when Dok isn’t, so he can look after him better. So he can look after all of them better.

Next time they’re scared enough to run away, he wants to be someone they can trust.

“Decompress - play some games, probably - chill with my cat - cook a ton - swim, maybe… yeah!” Trick pulls his shirt over his head and turns toward the door, grabbing the handle. “I’ll - ”

It’s locked.

Trick stops. Tries it again. Stares. Glances at you. Tries again.

It’s still locked.

He stands in front of the door. His hand rests on the door handle.

Outside, a mewl.

Anonymous asked: can the window open, trick?

“The… window?” he asks. “Yeah… yeah, it can. But I’m on the second story.”

He moves to the window and lets it swing open. The fresh air and the scent of the forest are refreshing, but the red brick of the patio is still several meters down.

Anonymous asked: where's noodle?

Claws pick at the carpet outside Anti’s bedroom. Trick hurries back to the door and kneels down, crouching to try and see his cat through the crack beneath it.

“Mrow,” complains Noodle loudly, scraping at the carpet with his claws out. “Meehhhh.”

“Daddy’s here, kitty cat, I’m right here.” Trick reaches for him as though he could pull him beneath the door. Noodle attacks one of his fingers, chewing on the end, but Trick doesn’t even mind. “Are you hungry? I’m sorry I didn’t let you out last night. Things were crazy, baby. But I’m coming, boyo, I’ll… I’ll, uh…”

What is he supposed to do?

Anonymous asked: do you think anti will be mad if you leave the room?

“I don’t know. It was probably an accident.”

Noodle yowls on the other side of the door. Trick stares at his kitten’s paws, his eyebrows drawn back in worry. You see him look down at his feet.

He knows it wasn’t an accident. And he wouldn’t have locked it if he was okay with Trick leaving.

Anonymous asked: Okay unless we know a for our window downstairs is unlocked, I wouldn't use the window, don't want you getting locked out of the house entirely. You think you might be able to find a key or break the lock if you need to?

“It’s… maybe I could? I don’t want to get in trouble. But there’s no keyhole on this side. I’d have to really bust the door up. And then he’d be so angry.”

Trick steps back from the door, chewing on his nails. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “Okay. I wish he hadn’t done this, but he did. I’m safe in here. I have a bathroom with water and all the stuff I packed into a bag in case I got kidnapped is here. Dapper was keeping food in the drawers. I’m okay. But my poor cat…”

Anonymous asked: for now, at least, you can make sure noodle has food, right? is the food only in there? maybe you can grab a little something and push it under the door

“That’s a good idea. Okay, let me look.”

He goes back to the bottom drawer and pulls it open to reveal Dapper’s stash. He recoils a little, scrunching up his nose - he hadn’t realized how bad it smelled in the panic of last night, but now he notices.

“This is kind of nasty… we’ve only been here a couple weeks. Why would he keep - ugh, cheese!” Trick chucks the hot string cheese towards the trash, making a gagging motion. “He has to know this would go bad right away, right? Why even take it? Look, my cookies from last week. Hard as rocks cause he didn’t even ask me to wrap them. There’s lint on them. He just shoved them in his pockets. Fuck’s sake… oh!”

Here’s some stuff that should still be edible. Crackers still in their packs. A couple apples. Tupperware with brownies. One pack of raisins, one pack of dried cranberries. And a little pack of Dapper’s favorite - jerky. Most of it is gone, but there are a few good chunks still at the bottom.

“At least I can give him something, then,” says Trick, taking a breath.

Anonymous asked: Anti keeps his favorite trophy locked up in a case when not in use

Trick looks at you, eyes wide, and then away, trying to make himself scowl. He crouches down beside the door and pushes dried meat towards his cat. Noodle seems to accept the offering. He goes quiet and Trick hears him chewing. It’ll take him a while to get through that.

Trick sits back on his heels and stares at the door.

“Always wanted to be Anti’s favorite trophy,” he mumbles, something frightened and tired passing across his face. “Or thought I did, I guess.”

Anonymous asked: you have a choice, then, trick. do you want our help in leaving the room, to go to noodle? or will you stay here and wait for anti to come back and let you out?

Trick sighs and slumps down against the door, rubbing at his face. He stares out the window and thinks.

“You know… I think I’ll try to stay here for a while,” he says, giving you a smile that looks more like a grimace. “It’s not bad. We’ve definitely stayed in much worse places! I have lots of room and a clean bathroom and everything I need. Maybe I’ll take a bath. Yeah… it’s okay.”

He glances around the room. How long has he been in here? Two hours? Oh, twenty minutes. He bites his lip and sighs. He puts his head between his knees and rubs at the back of his neck.

“Always kind of knew it couldn’t really be fun for anybody to be locked in a room all day. But I thought maybe, with Dapper’s nerves, it was better for him just to stay up there with Anti. And when I imagined it, I guess I made everything nice. Him getting to eat his own food, sleep whenever he wants, just working on his art all the time. Doing whatever he wanted, you know? I usually imagined Anti actually… being here, though. Yeah. I guess that I thought that when he loved me, I’d be able to feel it.”

Trick pauses, looking up. Looking out at the sun.

“That’s always the thing with me, though,” he says. “Even when I know for a fact people love me - it doesn’t always feel that way. And I thought - well, Anti, he just… with his power, it’s like he can make me feel that way. Or maybe it’s just him. But those days when I would just spend all my time praying to impress him… and then he would brush his hand across my hair or smile at me… it would be my favorite part of the week. Like I finally got it all right. Like I’m finally worthwhile.”

He puts his head down again, looking at the carpet, his fringe falling into his eyes. It occurs to him that he doesn’t really like bright green. Or dying yellow.

“I love him,” he says, a little hollowly. “But I think maybe Dok was always right. Nobody else can magically fix me. I need to stop expecting Anti to put everything right in my head. That’s not fair to either of us. I should have been happier just being with Dok. Cause Anti gave me these bursts of joy, yeah, and he’s trying to be better to me these days - but Dok has been the earth beneath my feet for months now.”

He stares at the food in the drawer, rotting. He tugs uselessly on the door handle. He stares around the silent, empty room, and the silence stares back, and says nothing.

“I shouldn’t have been jealous of my little brother,” says Trick, heart sinking. “I should have been making sure he had ground to stand on too.”

Anonymous asked: yeah, i get that, trick. and i think anti does love you, as much as he can love someone anyway. although, trick, you don't have to answer this now, and if you don't want to talk about this right now i'll stop, but trick? if given a choice between dok and anti, who would you choose?

“Oh, hey,” protests Trick, a little weakly. “That’s family both, we don’t talk like that. Hey, it’s okay to love people in different ways, and I know you don’t like Anti. But the truth is that just because I’m closer to Dok, I would never ‘choose him’ over any of the others. We all gotta just love each other in the way we need. I want to do what’s best for all of them. If… if Dok and Red and Blue need some space from Anti, well… maybe they should have some. But even if I lived with some of them instead of the others, it’s not because I’m trying to pick someone as my favorite. We just all need different things at different times. Whoever needs me most is who I ‘choose.’ Whoever I can help. And I hope it’s always… all of them, you know? When you’re a family, helping one person is good for everyone.”

Anonymous asked: It's easy to fall into a "grass is greener" mentality but abuse is abuse no matter if you're crouched by a window with a gun, locked away in an attic, or running through the streets with stolen drugs. I don't blame you for wanting a higher standing with Anti but he's not going to give you what you want, to no failing of your own.

“Ha! Okay, fair… maybe being in the basement and being in the attic both kind of suck. But I’ve always had Dok. Having someone there with you is what makes it not sucky. Look, this house is fucking awesome! But there’s no one here with me right now. And that does kind of suck, even worse than when Dok and I were sleeping in the same pile of cheap blankets beside a window in a broken down cabin during a Norwegian fall. We had a good time in Norway, didn’t we? Before everything went wrong? Do you remember… we got fish in a restaurant in town, ha… and I got my crinkle paper…”

Trick pulls it out of the pocket of his basketball shorts and presses his fingers to the crinkly baby paper, familiar and fond. He smiles while his eyes grieve.

Anonymous asked: Those sound like fair conclusions, Trick. It sounds like you've been thinking a lot about yourself and how you've interacted with your family in the past. That's really good; well done. For what it's worth, I am really sorry you got left here alone. You don't deserve that. Are you sure you don't want help leaving, or looking for something else to do?

“Aww, you guys are like my therapists now,” laughs Trick, genuinely pleased. “That’s sweet, thanks. No, um… I’ll stay here a while, I guess. Think Dap would mind me looking through his sketchbooks? Maybe I’ll draw a little myself. Or… write, maybe. Yeah. Maybe I’ll write a little.”

Anonymous asked: trick, that's admirable. and i do mean that. you have a lot of loyalty. but trick, it's not just that they need some space from anti. anti has hurt them, time and time again. family doesn't hurt each other like that, trick. anti has gone too far, many, many times.

“I am loyal,” he agrees quickly, because that’s something he’s always known and one of the few things he’s almost always liked about himself. “Yes. Mh.”

He pulls his eyes away from the rest of the message uncertainly, fiddling with his hands as he sits down on Anti’s bed and pulls Dapper’s latest sketchbook off the bedside drawer. He’s grinning for a minute. They’re mostly pictures of animals. Some people scattered in there - dancers and babies and old people in love. Dapper’s good and he’s gotten even better since the last time Trick checked in on his art, which was… how long ago?

But there are other things in the pages too.

Faces that almost hurt from how familiar and yet unrecognizable they are. Images Trick recognizes from Dapper’s hallucinations, painful and threatening. One baby that is not like the rest in a way Trick can’t express. And… himself?

Himself burning?

Trick takes a moment to realize what this is. The night he got the burn that now laces from his palm to the back of his hand. He hadn’t realized Dapper remembered, or was even there, watching, as it happened.

In the image, a dark figure shoves him towards the fire. His shirt sleeve is already ablaze, his hand consumed, and yet - despite the fire, despite the pain, his eyes are like those of a monk in Mass, wide, adoring, tear-filled - and those eyes are fixed on the creature pulling him into the flame.

Trick shoves the sketchbook away from him, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” he croaks, turning his face away from you. “Later. Okay? Later, I promise, just… not right now.”

It is the second time he has pushed your concerns aside in as many nights. There are messages waiting for him that he’s avoiding. But he still isn’t ready to hear it.

Anonymous asked: okay. that's okay, trick. do you wanna talk about something else, then? i can tell you a funny thing one of my birds did, if you'd like.

“Ha. Birds, wow, that’s awesome. Yeah, sure! Tell me.”

Anonymous asked: alright! so, my sister has an obvious favorite, and the bird knows it, and likes to hang out on people's shoulders and stuff. and today, she flew up onto my arm, and then stared at me face very curiously, and so i started talking to her, and she immediately tried to eat my teeth. very smart bird, who apparently does not quite get what is or is not food. she's very funny.

Trick snorts and covers his mouth with his hand. “Oh, no! I do not like the sensation I am imagining. A beak picking at my teeth, haha. Geez. Sounds like a funny bird. Noodle likes to try to eat toes when we move at night.”

Anonymous asked: oh, yeah, my friend's cats are kinda like that too. for a while, when they were kittens, we had to be careful because they would try to attack our feet. is noodle chaotic like that?

“Half the time he is nuts-o crazy boy, and then half the time he pretends he’s a perfect angel and he just wants all of Daddy’s attention and all of Uncle’s attention and everybody’s attention one hundred percent of the time. And he looks up at you and cries until you scratch him.”

Anonymous asked: oooo, do you write, trick?

“Well, I thought since I’m sure jabbering your guys’ ears off, I could write some shit down. Dok had me do that for a while once. It was right after… well, there’s blurry spots in my memory. It was right after I started being his twin. I was pretty low. I was, um. Self-harming a lot. Losing a lot of my memories. So he recommended I write stuff down. Whatever I was feeling. And he said even he wouldn’t read it, he promised. We were in this kind of warehouse place at the time, and there was nowhere to sleep. Not a lot of privacy except my pieces of paper. They’re gone now. But I think they kept me focused on something, at the time.”

He holds Dapper’s pencil in his hand, taking a loose sheet of paper. But his eyes get fixed on the stretched out sketchbook on the floor once again. He looks away from the image of himself with a grimace.

That night - that look on his face - that wasn’t what he remembers. Not exactly.

Want to know a secret? he writes.

He has scrawling, beautiful, messy handwriting.

I was pissed at you that night. You left me and Dok to freeze. I don’t even think I started that fire because I was trying to keep Dok warm.

He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut. Bites on his lip. Puts his pencil back down.

I wanted to make you angry. I wanted there to be a confrontation. I was angry at you. But I didn’t know how to tell you because you didn’t care about me back then and that was what burned, more than this goddamn scar on my hand. I wanted to hurt you for hurting me. But all you did was hurt me worse. You act like you want things to be good between us now but we’ve never even talked about

He stops and sighs and scowls before crumpling the paper up, scratching at his scalp.

“Forget it,” he mumbles. “Not that. Just…”

Noodle mewls at the door, beginning to get bored with his jerky. Trick smiles softly and chuckles, turning away.

When you were a kitten your body was like a slinky and I could feel every one of your bones. Hot little spine rubbing against my wide palms. Big fuzzy leaf ears. When you were a kitten you made a weight beneath my throat and when I breathed I would feel the tiny thump of your heart. You are the memory of someone I lost.

And Trick is stopped again, closing his eyes again, turning away again.

“Maybe I’ll just go get a hot bath. Relax a while. I’m okay. Poor kitty cat. Don’t be lonely, okay, baby boy? I’ll be back in a while.”

Anonymous asked: Keep your head high and your standards higher, Trick.

“My standards for this rich guy’s bath are high as fuck right now,” he says, slinging a towel over his shoulder. “Motherfucker got bath bombs and everything. This better be some Spirited Away experience or I’m out. Minus the evil lady, though. Just the big steamy bath and the nostalgia, please. Hey, keep an eye on my kitty for me, yeah? You’re still in the cameras all over the house? I’ll be out in a little while. Maybe a long while. Thanks, guys. Uh. For real.”

Anonymous asked: I'm sure noodle is going to be okay, Trick. If you're worried about him just stay near the door and he should be fine óvò You might want to try to slip him something to eat tho, I have no idea when was the last time anyone could've fed that kitty

Trick slips him one more piece of jerky and lets him chew on his finger for a moment before he slips into the bathroom. Noodle has his snack happily outside the door, and then, deprived of Trick’s presence, he goes exploring.

Trick has made toys for him out of anything he could find. He plays with string and a ball that makes a jangling sound. He zips around the house for a while. He searches for Trick and Dok, or anybody to give him some attention.

Usually they’re down in the basement. Usually they all stay down in the basement, Noodle himself shut in most of the day to avoid Anti, though he’s perfectly content to stay down there with everything he needs. But today, he gets to explore. The door was opened while Dark’s soldiers searched the house and he’s free to roam. It’s a little exciting.

He’s okay. For now, he’s okay. Trick has fed him and there’s a little water still in his bowl by the door. He’s okay.

But Trick was too hot in his bed for a reason. And he’s right - the windows do open.

Noodle gets tired of the basement. Noodle gets tired of his toys. Noodle wants to see Trick and the others.

He explores. The fresh breeze and the smell of the trees - the movement of the grass and the warmth of the sun - the song of the birds, the scurrying of mice, the cool water of the pool - they call to him.

He has not been outside since he was too small for anything but milk. Not until today.

He slips out through the window of Red and Blue’s room, and he explores.

Anonymous asked: hey, shep? dapper's brother has a golden cat, who we just saw leave, but he's away from the cameras at the moment so we can't tell him about it yet. could you and the others keep an eye out for the cat? his name is noodle, although i don't know if he knows it or not.

Shep hears the beeping in his pocket and pulls the camera out immediately.

“Shep! Come on, throw it in!”

“Just a second!”

His eyes scan your message and brighten, a hint of gold from the sun lighting up the brown curve of his irises. He feigns disinterest for a moment, pausing to kick a soccer ball back towards someone on the lawn. You can hear a dog barking and voices chatting. The sun is overhead. It’s a beautiful day.

“Would that make you happy?” asks Shep. “If I found the cat for you?”

He looks up at the forest.

Outside of the sunlight, Darkness reigns in more ways than one. The trees are thick and tall and heavy, shrouding the earth in a loving chill. Animals scamper across the dirt and lean plants curl up from the ground and latch onto the broad backs of trees, clinging to damp red wood. And for miles - for miles - it stretches on before him.

“Okay, then,” he says. “I will.”

Anonymous asked: it would help. thank you, shep. anti doesn't like animals, so i wouldn't recommend bringing the cat back to the house they're in, but you can bring it here and we'll tell the brother about it.

“I’ll start looking right now,” he says. “It’s a big forest. But I can do it.”

Anonymous asked: sleeby jj...Soff sleeby bean.. get well soon

His eyes slide open to your familiar light.

He stares at you for a second, his eyes heavy with shadowed circles.

Then he registers the message and manages to roll his eyes for the first time in days, huffing out a bit of a sigh.

“Not a bean.”

It’s only as he signs it that he realizes he’s no longer restrained.

He sits up slowly, pressing his palm to his forehead and grimacing. He doesn’t feel well at all. His stomach swims with nausea and he can feel his blood chugging sluggishly through his veins. But it’s better than the last few days.

He glances around the room, blinking slowly. He’s alone and there’s light streaming in through the barred window.

Alright. He’s had his nap. Time to start trying to escape.

Anonymous asked: Jj, think about this first. Anti is already coming for you, and if you try to escape you'll be in miles and miles of unknown forest, with no haldol, no medication for your fever, and no way to be sure you can get home. At least maybe wait until you've gotten over the infection and until you can steal some haldol to have with you? Just trying to analyze the situation fully before action is taken.

“I am not going to sit quietly while the monster who has haunted my nightmares - well, one of them - keeps me prisoner. I only do that for Anti. Come on, don’t be boring! Help me get out, yeah?”

He struggles to his feet, but as soon as he’s found a moment of balance he loses it again, tumbling into the wall and holding himself there on shaking arms and legs. He swallows thickly and turns towards the windows, yanking on the bars with his good hand. The other one is swaddled so thickly in bandages he can barely feel it, but at least his fingers stick out to let him speak most words.

That being said, he has about four good yanks on those bars before his head is swimming. He slumps against the wall, clinging to the metal. His whole body aches.

“Maybe you have a point,” he admits sullenly, rubbing at his face.

Anonymous asked: Haha, sorry Jay, not trying to be boring! I just want to make sure you've got a second voice to help think clearly. Look around you maybe? See any spare haldol or fever medication you can swipe and save up for when you do the grand escape?

“Thank you,” says JJ, grinning slowly, though nothing quite makes it to his eyes. “Okay, let me look. I think I must have something in me now because my psychosis is a lot less intense right now.”

He glances around the room. He isn’t hallucinating and his thinking is much clearer, but his expressions are still dulled, his face is twitching, and he isn’t sure what’s true and what’s not. He needs rest and a lot less stress.

He checks the drawers, but everything’s locked up.

nikkilbook asked: JJ, remind me again why Dark frightens you so much? I’m sorry, but I can’t remember clearly. He doesn’t remember any of you either. He showed up that first time because he didn’t know why Anti was trespassing in his territory.

Dapper looks over at you.

He turns away for a second, chewing on his nail. Shrugs. Sits down on the bed.

“Not a fun time,” he signs eventually.

scunneredzombie asked: Rest up, if you can, JJ! I'm almost completely certain you'll be safe here. Darkness won't hurt you because they want you healthy enough to talk to them. You need rest and to let your haldol take effect.

“Dark can do a lot worse things than hurting anybody,” he answers. “It’s the talking to them that’s more likely to fuck me up than anything. And I never want to see them again. Tell them to leave me alone! Where’s my big brothers? Are they coming to get me yet?”

Anonymous asked: How are you feeling, JJ? Still burning up?

“I actually feel quite cold.” He hugs his arms around his sunken chest, staring around the room. His lips are chapped to blood and his face is the color of bleach. He doesn’t look well.

“This is miserable,” he admits, his signs soft. “I remember when I was created I always had energy and felt strong and healthy most of the time, even when I got hurt. I bounced back. The last few months, I’m just… every day I’m sicker. My bones break and I catch every cold and infection. Keep have psychotic episodes. Don’t sleep well.”

He realizes he’s just complaining and makes himself stop, digging his nails into his palms. Won’t help anything. He needs to get out.

He creeps to the door and takes the handle in his hand.

“Going somewhere?”

He turns, spitting, back to his bed, the hair on the back of his neck standing up like an angry cat’s as he snatches a pen off the nearest counter for self-defense.

Wilford nods patiently, following his movements as he swings his legs on the side of the little clinic bed. “Very good, very good.”

“You stay away from me.”

“Oh, my dear, forgive me, I don’t understand a word of that. Shall I get you paper?”

Dapper steps away from him, watching him with glittering eyes. After a moment, he nods.

Wilford pulls a pad of paper out from behind his back as though it had been there all along and sets it on the bed beside himself, smiling.

“What are you so frightened of, young man? Come on, then, calm down.”

Anonymous asked: Are you wearing your dress-shoes? The heel might be good for smashing the locks off the drawers! Though you'd have to be uh... as quiet as smashing can be haha.

JJ looks down at his bare feet. He scowls. Just like the day he was created.

But Wilford has boots on. “Give me those,” he demands.

Wilford doesn’t speak sign language, but he gets the gesture. “Sure,” he says, tugging a boot off and tossing it to him.

Dapper slams a desk drawer handle remorselessly. A loud clang signals the death of the handle as it flies to the ground. Dapper yanks the drawer open.

“Ippy says you’re all sorts of unhealthy,” says Wilford cheerfully, still kicking his legs, halfway bootless now. “Do you feel better today? He said you have so little Vitamin D he could probably break your bones with a pillowcase. You need some sun, dear boy!”

Dapper searches through the drawer, but there’s nothing but cotton swabs, gloves, tongue depressors and everything boring. He raises the boot and smashes another dresser handle, a little breathless.

scunneredzombie asked: Anti is trying to find you right now, I'm pretty sure. I understand not wanting to see them, they're frankly a terrifying jedi-powers 3D glasses fender-bender in you all's life. You'll be home soon, JJ. But you need rest right now, you could end up hurting yourself if you're in a bad mindset or not with the proper medication. I know being careful is no fun, but right now it seems like the best option. I know this sounds fucked, but trust Anti to find you. Like he'd give you up that easily, ha,,

“You don’t want to see Dark?” asks Wilford, finally sounding genuinely wounded. “Oh…”

“You stop,” signs JJ fiercely, whirling on him. “You’re lucky you’re out of your mind or I’d call you a creep for staying around that horrible - that horrible - thing. Whatever. Leave me alone. You’re a killer just like them.”

“I think your camera’s right. You ought to sit. You don’t look very well.”

Dapper glares, panting a little. He glances around the room again, a sense of despair shuddering its way over him. Always locked in his room. Always locked in his room. Always locked in his room. He grips at his hair, breathing through his teeth.

“Hey,” says Wilford. “It’s okay. Can you hear me at all? Do I need to be writing things down too? My handwriting is very good. Would you like some water?”

He clears his dry throat, his eyes flickering over to Wilford. Actually, he would. He’s parched.

Wilford nods and gets up. He disappears for a second and returns with a glass of water. JJ takes it from him with shaking hands, sinking down onto the bed.

Anonymous asked: Hey Wilford, you're not... planning on hurting JJ, are you? You don't seems like you have any intention of it but knowing you we can never be too wary >_>

“Excuse me!” Wilford waggles his finger indignantly, making a noise like pshaw! again and again. “I have never hurt a living soul in my life. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m a pacifist, actually. Excepting that door-to-door salesman who would NOT stop coming by…”

Dapper hisses out a breath, pressing at his forehead, feeling faint again. He scoops up Wilford’s pad of paper and sets Ippy’s pen to it. “You really have no idea what’s going on, do you?” he scrawls out in a bitter, looping cursive.

“Do you?” spits back Wilford just as quick, a little fire flashing through his eyes.

Dapper sinks in on himself, exhaling. “No,” he writes. “Not ever.”

Wilford eases again, grinning his nonchalant, slightly dazed grin.

“Why’d you come in here?” writes Dapper.

“To see you,” answers Wilford eagerly, clapping his hands together. “Finally, a new ego with a real aesthetic!”

“I’m not a new ego, Wil. Look, I don’t look like you.”

“No, you’re not like me - well, like him,” insists Wilford, undaunted. “You’re one of the boys that runs around with him sometimes. He can create things too, that’s alright. You can still stay here.”

Dapper softens a little, quirking his eyebrows. “You’ve met Jack?”

“Seen him! They made a lot of videos together for a while, do you remember? Every day!”

JJ laughs, shaking his head. “You’re thinking of Ethan.”

“No, who? Noooo. The brown-haired one. Loud? Bouncy?”

“They’re both - ” JJ cuts himself off, laughing into his hands. “Never mind.”

“I don’t have my glasses on.”

“Apparently.”

Anonymous asked: Hey JJ, did you and Wil knew each other before the whole timeline mess?

“No, not really,” JJ signs to you gently. “I’ve never really had anyone outside of Anti.”

“Are you mute?” asks Wilford politely. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

“I’ve never been able to talk,” he writes out. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t be able to stay for long.”

“Oh,” says Wilford, face falling. “Oh, I thought that was why you came.”

“You took me from my house. Do you remember?”

“No… you’re thinking of one of the others, I think?”

Dapper lets out a sigh and smiles. “Never mind. Just - ”

It’s then that Edward enters the room.

Dapper stiffens, rubbing his shoulders and staring down at the floor. Ippy looks relieved, stepping carefully into the room, as though approaching an animal caught in a fence.

“Hi,” he breathes. “Feeling any better?”

JJ looks away, uncomfortable.

Anonymous asked: Hey Dap? I just wanted to let you know that it's ok to be experiencing symptoms right now. You're under so, so much stress, your body must be having hell and two pence. It's ok if you feel apathy, have a hard time with facial expression, hallucinating. You will be okay. You will get out soon, and you will have time to de-stress, you will see your brothers again soon. Know even through the fear, everything will be okay. You were made for happy endings.

“Do you have symptoms like these often?” asks Ippy.

Dapper plays with the edge of his paper, unsmiling.

“Your, uh… friends? Said you had a psychotic disorder. When was the last time you saw a clinician about that? Seems like you’ve been on Haldol a pretty long time.”

Dapper draws circles on his pad, not looking up.

Ippy sits down in one of those backless chairs that doctors roll around their offices in. “Are you aware that you have a Vitamin D deficiency? Serious enough to be impacting your bone strength?”

Dapper glances at Wilford but doesn’t answer.

“Broken rib… infected wrist… some pretty serious scarring…”

Dapper leans down to write something. Ippy waits patiently. Dapper turns the paper around and he’s written “stop talking to me” across the whole page. Ippy rolls his chair away and lets out a grumble beneath his breath, getting up to -

“Hey! Who broke my drawers!”

Wilford and JJ exchange glances.

“Probably the dog,” answers Wilford wisely, and it almost, almost makes JJ smile.

It’s okay. He’s okay. It’s okay for him to be psychotic. He’s just got to get through it, like he always does. It’s okay to struggle.

Anonymous asked: Hey now! Let the doctor take care of you, bud. You deserve some proper medical attention, you deserve some healing after everything you've been through.

“That’s not my doctor,” signs JJ bitterly, glaring Ippy down as best he can, though he mostly ends up looking like he’s squinting. “Give me back to my brother.”

“Five questions,” asks Ippy. “Yeah? Then I’ll give you some space.”

“One question.” He holds up a finger.

Ippy holds up three.

Dapper turns his head away. Tries to glare again. Nods. Fine.

“When was the last time you saw a psychiatrist?”

He’s never seen a psychiatrist. That’s why they mostly just call it a psychotic disorder. Schneep says it’s probably schizophrenia, but he’s a surgeon. Until Anti stole Dok, he would just tell Dapper that Jack fucked his head up as bad as his voice.

“I don’t have a psychiatrist,” says Dapper. “The Haldol is fine. It manages most everything.”

“Most of the positive symptoms, I bet,” says Ippy. “And even if antipsychotics are helpful, they still need to be adjusted sometimes, and you should probably be seeing a therapist for behavioral therapy.”

“What’s positive about psychosis?” asks Wilford. “Is that like the fun kind of psychosis? A little LSD, anybody?”

“Wilford,” sighs Ippy. “Positive means something added. So things like hallucinations, delusions, hyperactivity, disordered thinking - those are positive symptoms. Most antipsychotics work best for those. But there are negative symptoms too - depressed mood. Flattened expressions. Lack of enjoyment or pleasure. Feelings of hopelessness.”

Dapper stares at the floor. After a moment, he writes “question two” pointedly.

“Why do you look like Mark’s friend?”

“It’s exactly what you think it is. Don’t waste either of our time.”

“Dark says Jack doesn’t have videos with you or any of the others.”

“Is that a question?”

“No, grumbles Ippy, rubbing at his forehead. “Forget it. Who gave you all your scars?”

Dapper’s eyes flicker. He glances away. “Self-harm,” he writes.

“Liar,” answers Ippy evenly. “They go all the way to your back.”

Dapper hisses, tucking his pad up against his chest for a second. He lets out a breath of air, shaking his head.

Anonymous asked: His ribs are broken because his "big brother" nearly beat him to death then left him sitting in filth for hours until he passed out. He's deficient in vitamin D because he spends his entire life locked inside one room and that same brother almost never lets him out. He's scarred from year of torture and abuse. Let's just say he doesn't have the easiest home life.

Ippy sits back, setting his clipboard aside.

Dapper closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t feel well.

“Please just leave me alone,” he writes. “There. You got your answer. My brother did all of it. Go away.”

Ippy gets up. He takes Dapper’s bear off the bedside table and hands it carefully over to him. Dapper swallows and accepts it, pulling the familiar warmth and texture and smell to his chest. It’s grounding.

“Want to come sit in the sun for a while?” asks Ippy.

Dapper looks up at him, eyes wide. Ippy waits.

Dapper sighs and shakes his head, curling up against the wall. Even if he wanted to accept anybody’s niceness right now, he’s too tired.

“Okay,” says Ippy. “You don’t have to. But you should know - now that you’re awake and talking - ”

“No,” Dapper is already writing, the pen shaking in his grip.

“They just want to talk. That’s all. They won’t - ”

“Tell Dark to stay away from me,” writes Dapper frantically, tears budding in his eyes. He underlines it. Again and again.

Tell

Dark

To

Stay

Away

Ippy gets to his feet wearily. He unlocks one of his drawers and sets a Haldol and a Vitamin D tablet out on the dresser beside Dapper.

“Get a little sleep,” he says. “You’ll feel better.”

“I want Dok,” writes Dapper. “Please.”

Ippy is already shutting the door behind him.

nikkilbook asked: Edward, do you have any contacts in the city that work with homeless shelters or other kinds of emergency housing? I think that’s where three of his brothers are.

Edward’s eyebrows raise. “Oh? Sure, there’s some shelters. I usually refer them to LAAG. Sets you up in a hotel for a month or two if you’re out of somewhere to stay. Mostly for moms with kids, though. There’s some men’s and women’s shelters in town. Lot of homeless people out here, unfortunately. Hey, Gigi.”

“What?”

“What’s the closest homeless shelter?”

“Are they finally kicking you out of that pigsty you call an apartment? The closest homeless shelter is Missionaries of Charity Relief Services, 23.6 miles away. There is an adjoining soup kitchen.”

“There you go.”

nikkilbook asked: Could you send someone (non/less threatening, if possible?) to ask after them, see if they’d be willing to come and help you with JJ? Though one of them, Marvin, is hurt really bad as well because of some messed up dark magic crap that Anti thought was a good idea. Schneep, the doctor that JJ keeps referring to, is doing his best, but he’s technically a surgeon with holes in his memory.

“Excuse me,” Google cuts you both off, stepping forward. “You have to run decisions like that past Dark.”

“Then ask Dark,” answers Ippy mildly. “I’m sure they’d love to worm their way into somebody else’s heart. They wanted that other kid that was there, right? Bet they’d be happy with you if you brought the other three back to them.”

“You think you’re very clever.”

“But I got you thinking about it, didn’t I?”

Google glares at him.

Then his composure breaks, just the smallest bit, and you see a smile on the edges of his mouth. Ippy laughs and trails past him towards the kitchen. “Come on, you goddamn sycophant. It’s curry night. You can help me make it.”

“I’m not your maid,” says Gigi stubbornly.

But he follows right after him into the kitchen.

Anonymous asked: Does seeing outsiders reaction help you realize it JJ? How horrible Anti really is to you? You're dying, Dapper. You might be dead if you hadn't gotten medical treatment. You have all the scars because of his actions. All of your pain was caused by him. You have a psychotic disorder and he's never /once/ taken you to a psychiatrist. If he was your brother, if he loved you beyond being his pet, he would have at least taken you to therapy. Can you see the damage he's done, Dap?

“Save the realization tactics for my brothers, my friend,” JJ signs quietly. “I’ve always known exactly what Anti is. I used to stay because I was scared of what he’d do to me if I tried to get away. Now I just know there’s no escaping. Not for me.”

And that is when the light from the sun flickers and dies.

Dapper closes his eyes. He knows. Right away, without pausing.

“Dark,” you see his mouth move.

“Feeling… hopeless?” asks a voice that echoes. “I can help with that.”

“No,” says Dapper. “No, you can’t.”

And he gets to his shaking feet.

Anonymous asked: They made a deal JJ. This is the last time. If you don't allow yourself to escape, allow yourself freedom and family, true family, love... Then I fear you'll be stuck with him forever. Let yourself escape. Let Jameson Jackson live. Let your soul breathe again.

JJ holds the camera close to his chest, sinking down beside his bed as his legs give out on him. It makes Dark tower over him. He closes his eyes.

Family, true family - what he wouldn’t give for them to be here right now. And it’s odd to him because most often, when he wishes for family, he wishes Anti were here to protect him.

Today, he doesn’t wish for Anti at all. Even if Anti would protect him from Dark, it doesn’t matter. He wants… fuck, he just wants Red and Blue and Dok and even Trick, because every one of them, he has begun to realize, would take care of him if they ever had the chance to. Blue would be shouting at Dark to back off, Red would already be on the attack, Dok would be making him feel better, and Trick, he thinks, would just be wrapped around him, holding him, just like he did when Gigi and Shep came to take him away.

Maybe he wasn’t stuck up in the attic or in the backroom or in Anti’s bed because everyone else hated him or didn’t want him around. Maybe it was always just Anti’s barriers.

“How interesting the pair of you are,” Dark says, looking down at JJ with your viewpoint in his hands. “To know him intimately… to speak with him. Even when I talk to you, it’s always me on the one side of the camera, and you never able to answer… Mark sees to that. How interesting, though, to be the ones to tell him he’s loved.”

Dapper takes the writing pad in his trembling hands. “What do you want?” he writes.

Dark leans down, too close to him. “I told you. Let’s talk. I want to know everything about that monster you live with - and just how I can get rid of him.”

Dapper creeps along the wall away from Dark, shaking his head minutely. He and Anti have their struggles, but he doesn’t sell his brother out, and especially not to Dark.

“Come on, little one. What are you so scared of? My soldiers have all seen the markings all up and down you. Wouldn’t you rather let me extract a little vengeance for you?”

“Not little,” writes Dapper. “What do you want with Anti? Why kill him?”

Dark cocks their head coolly, eyes flashing red and blue.

“If you don’t remember him, there’s no reason to be angry.”

Dark doesn’t answer. Dark never answers if they don’t have to. They don’t give up information, period.

“I hope you know I hate your guts,” says JJ.

And then Dark’s hand is on his throat.

JJ wheezes in alarm, grabbing Dark’s arm as the room seems to flood with a darkness so thick it seems to shove at his bones like a fist or a car collision. He kicks his legs desperately and, for a moment, manages a shrill whistle of alarm - and then Dark makes him still.

The calm is like an infusion of something, settling into his lungs and chest and softening his violent terror into a whimpering fear. Dark drags him back to his bed and throws him onto the mattress. And Dapper, shaking and petrified with a weepy, muted alarm, curls his body into a roly-poly and hugs his bear to his chest, staring up at Dark with huge, watering eyes, because the times when he acts childish and too cute to hurt have never been anything more than a fear response.

“There you go,” says Dark, sitting down in the chair beside the bed and leaning back, their eyes closing for a moment from the strain it puts on their spine. Anti’s attack has left them physically shaken and weak, the pain haunting them through waking and dreams. For that, they will have revenge - and for the way that the thought of Anti has haunted them for more than a week now. “Be good now and tell me how you know me.”

“My brother brought me to you some years back to reset me even better than he can alone,” writes Dapper shakily. “He manipulates thoughts and he can possess people. You manipulate souls and emotions. I woke up a different person. Since then I feel like I have a different personality every day. You and Anti took who I was from me.”

Dark shakes their head faintly, squinting for a moment. They glance at Dapper, at his eyes, at his chest. They don’t say anything.

“Please don’t hurt me anymore,” writes Dapper.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” says Dark gently, and they try to make it feel, in Dapper’s heart, that this is true, but all he does is close his eyes and hide.

Anonymous asked: hey, jamie, dapper, my dear. i know you've been hurt by dark before, and i'm not saying you have to forgive them, or trust them, or anything. but can you try to trust us, when we tell you that you are safe? i wouldn't say that lightly, dap. but right now, you are safe. deep breaths. we're here to help you.

“There, that’s right,” agrees Dark quietly. “Don’t be scared.”

Dapper shudders under another wave of their power. Affection and faith well up in his chest, and this feeling, at least, has an anchor of truth in his head, a foundation it can stand on. Yes, he remembers the days when you have kept him company, the days when you have warned him of danger or convinced Anti to leave him alone. He remembers Trick and Dok taking him for fish and chips, presents you picked out for him, and the beeping of the camera on so many of the nights in the past seven months where he would have been completely alone without you.

He sucks in a deep breath, closing his eyes.

“If I met you and your brother,” says Dark. “Why don’t I remember?”

“You are a creature manipulated by the stories your creator tells,” writes Dapper slowly.

“Mark did this?”

“No. Another storyteller. My creator gave me his power of manipulating stories. Last year I changed things without meaning to. There are inconsistencies now - people who remember things that never happened in this timeline, and people who have forgotten things that happened to them in another life. And then there are things like you, somewhere in the middle - torn between memory and loss.”

Dark’s eyes narrow, smoke curling off their shoulders.

“I know you don’t remember Anti,” writes Dapper. “But at the same time, you do.”

“Enough,” says Dark. “Quiet. Let me think.”

Deep black eyes pierce into JJ like a scalpel. He stares up at the light, trying to breathe.

“The truth is you know nothing of what’s happening around you,” Dark murmurs.“You’re delusional and ill. You remember things that haven’t happened because you have a disorder.”

“No,” signs JJ, shaking his head. “No.”

He does have delusions sometimes, very intense ones. But he won’t let Dark tell him that he doesn’t know his own power - the piece of himself that Jack gave him.

“Look at you.” Dark shakes their head, eyes glittering, and smoke curls around them like creeping cats wandering through the air. “The moment you’re away from him, you crash, is that it?”

Dapper closes his eyes, turned up to the lights.

Dark hums and gets to their feet, drawing out wine and glasses as though from the shadows themselves. They pour two cups of rich, black wine and press a cool cup into his hands. Dapper’s fingers wrap around the glass slowly, his eyes blank.

“Why did you become psychotic the moment you were away from him?”

His gaze flickers up to Dark’s. He doesn’t answer.

“Of course,” mutters Dark, backing away and sitting down in their chair. “You live with a mind manipulator. I bet he makes the voices quiet, doesn’t he?”

Dapper’s mouth parts, a gleam of something hard appearing for moment in his eyes before shifting away again, leaving him tired and only vaguely annoyed.

“Admit it,” says Dark. “You rely on him. Don’t you? You wouldn’t last on your own, not without him. The medication manages some of it and he manages the rest. When he’s away, you can barely survive. You need him – desperately.”

You can hear Dapper breathing now. His eyes are fixed on the light above. He holds his wine too tightly in his fingers.

“And he tells you so,” adds Dark slowly, staring at Dapper’s face. They tilt back their wine and they drink. “Doesn’t he? Constantly, I would guess. You and him both know that you need him – and he loves it.”

Dapper doesn’t have anything to say to them. He wants to be far away. He hates them.

“It must be difficult to be both – ”

“Don’t even fucking start with me, jackass, as if you know anything about what it’s like to be mute and psychotic and abused by the person I love most in the world, as if you’re not the one who fucking triggered my schizophrenia, as if you know anything about my life or what I’ve done to – ”

“Calm down,” says Dark gently, and Dapper feels a rush of unnatural calm flood over him. For a second of raw terror, he is completely aware that he’s being forced to feel something he doesn’t really feel, and then, the next moment, he is slumped back in his chair, letting out a low sigh of relief.

“I can’t understand sign language, so you’ll have to write for me,” says Dark. “We can have a calm conversation if you stay level-headed instead of getting so out of control. I’ll forgive you because of your fever.”

Dapper reaches dazedly for the writing pad, trying to keep his thoughts straight. This is happening again. He’s losing himself again.

“You talk about my brother controlling me and then shove your way into my chest yourself,” he manages, his handwriting scrawling and small. “Just tell me what you want from me or let me go home.”

Dark drinks from their glass again, never breaking eye contact.“What do you think I want?”

“I think,” Dapper scrawls. “That you don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on.”

It is Dark’s turn for their eyes to gain a hardness. Something glitters in black irises.

“And you hate that, don’t you, Darkness? More than anything. More than anything.”

Dark does not answer.

“You want to know how to kill Anti because you remember him,” writes Dapper. “The fragments of the memory of him haunts you because you hate not knowing and you hate being confused, and the thought that I somehow changed your story is second in bitterness only to the knowledge that Mark has already told it for you. Of course you don’t want to admit you don’t remember. It means someone else changed you without your permission. Your greatest fear.”

“Watch your words,” warns Dark.

“Anti hated you at first. We would agree that you were a creep, a control freak, an asshole. But you were insistent. How pretty he was, you would say, and how you had finally found someone who matched you in ferocity. After a while, it started to flatter him. He decided he was some sort of exception to you. You would be terrible to everyone else but good to him. He loved that. The thought of being special to someone. His abandonment issues made him look past everything horrible about you.”

“You’re making this up.”

“You taught him to dance,” writes Dapper, his words coming faster and faster beneath his scrawling hands. “Do you remember? Your hands on his waist as he finally trusted you enough to put his head on your shoulder. You would bring him flowers, roses he pretended he didn’t want and then put in a vase by his bed, purring to me about how wrapped around his finger you were. You would go hunting together and let him have the kill because you loved to see him lose his mind with the power and the fun of it all. His sadism was wild any time he was with you. He would come home and hurt me on accident - mostly - because he was so violent and worked up he couldn’t control his energy and his excitement. Do you remember?”

Dark’s eyes are raised to JJ’s now, staring at him, their mouth faintly parted.

“Have you been dreaming, Dark?” asks Dapper. “Killing him won’t make it stop. Speak with him. I don’t think the two of you know what love is, but you loved the time you spent together.”

“You’re sentimental as well as delusional,” answers Dark, tilting back their wine.

“I would listen to me if I were you,” writes Dapper. “Because at this point, Dark, there are outcomes - you cool his fury, or he will kill you.”

Red and blue in Dark’s eyes. Bone through their rotting fingers.

“My brother has taken on power he should never have stolen,” says Dapper. “You can’t beat him with Blue’s power combined with his own. Calm Anti down, Dark - or he will burn down everything you love.”

Dark blinks, revealing, if only for a moment, an unsettled look on their face.

Outside the window, the others are laughing and talking. Dark catches a glance of Wilford’s bubblegum hair and the movement of the enormous dog you spotted earlier. Host’s voice murmurs down to them through the ceiling and someone is cooking in the kitchen, making the house fragrant with garlic and spices.

“Please leave me alone now,” says Dapper.

“One last thing. Is it true that you can time travel?”

“Yes,” Dapper answers. “I know you can feel the power in my chest.”

“I could take it,” says Dark. “If I wanted to. Your power is a part of your soul and that, my darling, is my specialty.”

Dapper flips a page on his pad and writes across the full page:

“It would burn you alive.”

A flicker of a small on Dark’s coy mouth.

“Yes,” they say. “I suppose it would. I’m not as stupid as your brother.”

“Whatever you say,” writes Dapper dryly.

Dark gets to their feet, draining the last of their wine.

“Can I go?” writes Dapper desperately.

“Hm? Oh, no. We’re not finished, doll. Hey.”

Dark reaches out to cluck his chin, but Dapper jerks back, terrified. Dark laughs and takes their hand back, leaving Dapper with a sudden and painfully intense feeling of exhaustion. He crumples against the bed, his eyes flickering shut.

“Get some sleep,” murmurs Dark, turning their back and beginning to disappear back into the shadows. “Hostages are no good to me dead.”

Dapper fades into darkness.

.

Blue wakes up to a hand on his shoulder. “Mh? What is it?”

He hears his twin chuckle softly above him. “You make cat noises when you’re waking up.”

“Mmmhhhh,” protests Blue sleepily, cuddling down deeper into his blankets.

“You can go back to sleep,” Red whispers. “I just wanted you to know I’m heading back to the house for a couple days. Stay here with Dok and I’ll - ”

Blue is awake. He almost flinches out of the sheets, sitting up fast and grabbing Red’s sleeve. “Wait, no. I’m coming with.”

“No, Blue, you need to stay here and rest.”

“I’m feeling much better,” replies Blue, his tone brooking no argument. “And I am NOT going to be miles and miles away while you go back to an Anti who’s no doubt furious. I need to see the others too. I have to make sure they’re okay. That’s my job.”

“I’m coming too,” answers a quiet voice from the doorway - Dok slipping into the room with three cups of hospital coffee.

“Guys, no,” protests Red. “Please. I’d rather you be here. Dok, Anti threatened to kill you.”

Dok shrugs, placing coffee down on the bedside table. He plucks at his necklaces. “We might need these,” he says, picking at each raven talisman in turn. “And I… I need to see Trick.”

“We’re both going, Red,” Blue insists, touching his arm and squeezing reassuringly. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’re here.”

Red smiles weakly at the both of them. “Just… promise me you won’t try anything stupid, okay?”

“Promise,” says Blue.

“I never do,” answers Dok dryly.

The twins laugh quietly at his answer. It does not, however, hide the fear that trembles in Dok’s fingertips and rattles the insides of his chest.

He can do this. He can. He has to.

immabethehero asked: Good luck dudes!

“Thanks,” says Ro, looking up at the house. “Yeah, thanks, we appreciate it.”

Blue and Dok are behind him. He can hear them whispering to each other, but he doesn’t want to interfere. Blue is wrapped around Dok like a vice, rubbing his back as he tries to reassure him, and Dok clings to his necklaces and his sibling and hides.

“Is, um.” Ro stares at the windows and door. “Is Anti really angry? Is he in there right now? I don’t really know what to expect…”

Anonymous asked: uh, trick? i believe noodle has decided to go exploring. outside. i'm going to tell the others, so they can look for noodle too, but i thought you should know.

“Noodle?”

You find Trick kneeling by the door, scratching at the carpet and trying to catch his cat’s attention. Yesterday, he waited patiently for Noodle to come back. Today, four days after Dapper was taken, Trick has only seen Noodle twice, and the light in his eyes has become desperate and frantic.

“Baby!” he hollers, sticking the last piece of jerky under the door. “Come here, sweetie! Daddy’s upstairs. Where are you? No, no, no, he can’t have gone outside. Noodle, come here! He’s never been outside in his life. He’s always been with me. Noodle!”

He wipes at hot tears on his face, back shaking from how long he’s been crouched there. Anti has let him out of the room a couple times, but he’s been with him the whole time, so all he’s done is make himself dinner a couple times or watch a movie with Anti.

He wants things to go back to normal.

“Noodle! Please come here! You’re scaring me!”

Anonymous asked: Dok, what if you feigned that you were "taking off" your necklaces, but quickly clasped the animal one around Anti, then got him weak as you could and used the light? Or perhaps told him the only way to stop their power was for him to wear them, then put the animal one around his neck? Do you think a plan like that would work?

“Yeah, if I can manage that I would like to do this,” says Dok frailly, gripping Blue’s hand so hard it’s beginning to bruise. “Might not be able to trick him, but could maybe act fast and hurt him.”

“Remind me what all of these do,” murmurs Blue, touching his brother’s collarbone.

“This one is light, this one is transformation, and this one keeps Anti out of my head,” Dok whispers. “They said I should give the light one to a warrior.”

Blue glances at Red, pacing his way towards the house. He wants to be the first one inside, to bear the brunt of Anti’s fury. Blue pulls Dok after him, trying to think.

Anonymous asked: Trick has been alone for such a long time, and Anti has been locking him all alone in one room most of the days, he really needs you Dok, needs you to help him fight. As for Anti, he's been in and out of the place, we're not sure what he's doing.

“Anti locked Trick in his room?” asks Red.

“Let’s go,” says Dok, pulling away from Blue and hurrying towards the house.

“Dok! You don’t know if Anti’s in there!”

“He’s already seen us on the cameras from this close,” answers Dok, yanking open the door to the house and moving inside. “If he wants to come after us, he will. There’s nothing we can do about that. Right now, I just want to see Trick. Where is he?”

He runs down into the basement where they’ve been staying, but Trick isn’t there - and neither is Noodle. Dok returns to the ground floor, where Blue and Red are looking through their own room. Blue shuts the window that’s been open for days, making the room hot and airy.

“Where’s kitty?” asks Blue.

“I’m sure he’s just with Trick,” answers Dok. “Right?”

Anonymous asked: Trick is locked up in Anti's bedroom, and Noodle is missing, he escaped outside. Trick's been alone with no one but Anti for this whole time.

Blue and Red exchange wide-eyed looks, Red already pacing towards the door to look around for the cat. Dok races upstairs, feeling more awake than he has in weeks.

“Trick!” he knocks rapidly on the door and shuffling sounds greet him from the other side.

“Anti?”

“Trick, it’s me,” Dok calls.

“Dok!”

The way he calls his name is almost a sob. Dok scrambles with the lock on the door, turning the stiff lock to the right. Trick shoves the door open and meets his eyes.

“Are you okay?” croaks Dok.

“Fine,” whispers Trick, though his hair is limp and dry and his eyes hollowed out. “Are you?”

“Yes. I’m okay. Listen, Trick, I just - ”

Trick crashes into him and hugs him to his chest. They fall back against the wall, pinned together, skulls pressed together and arms wrapped around each other’s ribs.

“You don’t have to explain,” says Trick. “I should have protected you better, so you didn’t have to run away. I’ll be better for you, Dok. I’ll take better care of you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should have been someone you could trust.”

“Trick…”

They wrap tighter around each other, rocking each other’s bodies against the wall, safe in each other’s grips.

Anonymous asked: He's here.

Blue is hugging Trick and Dok to himself, babbling at them about how he loves them, about how he missed him, about how happy he is to see him. Trick is relieved to feel less alone for the first time in days. He tells Blue he looks better and that he loves him too.

It’s Red who sees Anti.

He’s leaning against the banister at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at him with cold blue eyes.

Red swallows. Anti doesn’t say anything.

He signs “come here.”

And then he walks away.

Red feels a shudder down his whole body. He glances back at his brothers, celebrating the mini-reunion together, talking about everything that’s happened.

He doesn’t see Dapper. Anti must have him with him.

Red needs to see him.

He swallows once again, clearing his throat this time. He won’t be afraid. He can’t let himself get lost in Anti’s lies again. He sees what he is more clearly than he has in years and now - now he has to protect his brothers from the monsters in the middle of them.

He moves down the stairs after Anti.

Anonymous asked: Uh guys, look out, the big-bad wolf is here

“Big bad wolf…”

Anti turns back to Ro for a moment in the middle of the hall, his eyes burning red.

“That’s me, then, right, Jackie?”

Ro’s blood seems to frost over in his veins. He stops short in the hallway, mouth parted.

Anti narrows his eyes and turns away, leading Ro further down the hall. Red can barely bring himself to follow, but his nerves are tempered by his confusion.

Anti has never called him Jackie before.

“Where’s Dap?” he asks quietly, stepping after Anti.

Anti doesn’t answer. He steps into the office room where you once found Dapper drinking and waits.

Red steps in after him, chewing on his lip.

Anti closes the door behind him and sits down at the desk, propping his feet on the table. He glares at Ro, flipping a knife in his hands.

“You got a deathwish or something,” says Anti.

“No,” Ro manages. “No.”

“Tell me why you went,” Anti snaps.

“You were threatening Dok. Blue was sick. I got scared.”

Anti stares at him, eyes burning with flame.

Anonymous asked: Anti Blue was dying and you were threatening Dok. Don't punish Red for being their protector, that's literally what you make him be. Thanks to his action, neither of them are dead. You have him to thank for the time away you got to think about your temper.

Anti takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second. “Was that all it was?”

“Yes,” says Ro quietly. “I just didn’t want them to get hurt. Anti, you can’t threaten to murder Dok and expect me to - ”

“I can do what I want,” snaps Anti. “What’s your name?”

“What?”

“What’s your fucking name?”

Ro licks his mouth anxiously, glancing around for a second. He wishes Blue were here.

“It’s Red, Anti.”

Anti sighs, shaking his head at him. His posture relaxes slightly, letting his head thump back against the office chair.

Anonymous asked: Dapper isn't with him because Dark's soldiers stole him away. It seems like Anti can't find him.

“What?” asks Ro, incredulous. “Wait, you mean you actually let that monster get their hands on him?”

“You weren’t here!” shouts Anti, glitching to his feet and making Red stumble back. “You were the one I chose to protect them, Red, but you ran away without him or Trick like they meant nothing to you!”

“I thought you would keep them safe!” cries Red.

“I would have been able to if you had been here and I had known about Dark!” Anti snarls back, slamming his hand into the office table, a slight tremor in his palms. “But you and them both turned your backs on me! I can’t trust anyone but myself!”

“You were going to hurt Dok!”

Anti’s palm connects with Red’s face, sending him staggering back. He feels blood rush to the handprint on his cheek and he grips at his face weakly, looking up at Anti with watery eyes.

“You would have been useless if you were here anyway,” growls Anti. “You’re terrified of Dark. Fucking coward boy. And to think, Jack called you a hero.”

Hurt and fury light up in Ro’s chest. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut, straightening his back again and clutching his hands into fists.

“I found Dark today,” says Anti coldly, turning away. “We can get Dapper back. If you help me, maybe I won’t fucking slaughter you for running away like the little bitch you are.”

“I’m not a little bitch,” says Red. “You… you’ve never liked me.”

“Correct,” answers Anti.

Anonymous asked: Jackie's throwing caution to the wind, you're willing to throw everyone's lives to the wind. Even moreso now that this is the last run-through, right?

“If you turn on me like that again,” says Anti. “I’ll kill you like I promised you I would.”

“You expect my loyalty,” says Ro. “But you don’t even like me. You threaten us and hurt us. How do you expect me to stay?”

“You’ll stay because if you don’t I’ll end all five of you,” snarls Anti, Jack’s teeth in his mouth giving way to those of a dog. “What, you think you did a good job, running away from me? Think you saved them from anything? I know you were staying in Ashley Valley Hospital Room 412.”

Ro’s blood is cold.

“I know the fake names you used, I know the food pantry where Dok was getting you food everyday, I know what Blue’s doctors said, I know, I know, I know. You can’t get away from me, Red. You never will. All the more because you’re a spineless, needy moron who can’t think of anything but a man who doesn’t love him anymore and whatever bullshit your mind fixates on on any given day. You’re broken, Red. Same way Jack made Chase and JJ broken. Even when you were Jackie, you were still pathetic.”

“Wonder why Marvin and I were able to beat you to hell, then,” says Ro.

It’s a mistake as soon as he’s said it. It’s a mistake. It was a bad choice. He shouldn’t have said it.

But he doesn’t regret it.

Anti takes a step back towards him, his eyes narrowed like a cat’s.

Jackie takes a step towards him too, fists clenched.

“When I said that you made me forget important things in the past,” he says. “I meant that you made me forget people I loved and the places I come from. But there are other things you made me forget too, Anti. You’re not as untouchable as you’ve always told me you were. And you know what else?”

Anti’s eyes are pupil-less, iris-less, white.

“I think you’re still afraid of me,” he says. “I think that every time you flinch back from a bird at the window, you are flinching away from the memory of just how bad I hurt you the first time you stole my baby brother.”

Anonymous asked: Stand strong, Jackieboy man. You've got a war to fight.

Stand strong. He straightens his back. The others need him.

“Come on, then,” he snaps, taking another step forward. Anti takes a step back. “I can see it in you. That you want to hurt me. It’s a look I’ve gotten used to. That you want to see me begging so you feel less scared.”

“You shut your mouth, Jackie,” says Anti.

“No,” spits Ro, clenching his fists. “No, I won’t. I’m tired of you silencing me. I’m not stupid and I’m not a coward.”

Anti strikes him, harder than the first time. Red backs off, grabbing his face with a gasp. Tears water in his eyes. He straightens up again, seething.

“You’re the fucking coward, Anti,” he croaks out, something snapping in his chest. His little brother really has always hated him, no matter how hard he tried to love him. “I won’t let you tell me differently anymore.”

Anonymous asked: Hey younger brothers, you miiight want to go to the office with Red and Anti, something tells me it's about to go downhill from here, and you'd be stronger together, protecting each other.

Blue blinks and looks around, realizing only now that his twin is gone.

“Oh, shit,” he breathes.

He turns and races down the stairs, tearing towards the office.

Anonymous asked: You are not pathetic, Jackie. You are a hero, through-and-through. You've spent your every waking moment protecting them from abuse in any way you were able. "Broken" is just Anti being an ableist, abusive asshat. You are stronger than him. You always have been, no matter what he tries to convince you of. Break free of him, Jackieboy Man.

“Yeah, you know what, they’re right,” Jackie continues, lifting his chin up and glaring at Anti as bruises form on his face. “You know what I think, Anti? I think you’re so desperate to believe that our creator - that Jack - ”

“Don’t say that name!” screams Anti, slapping him again.

Red laughs. “I think you’re so desperate to believe that Jack was in the wrong that you tell yourself he did something wrong to us just because of things like me being autistic. And that’s pretty fucked up, Anti. There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with Dap and Trick. Honestly? I think Jack was probably an okay guy, and you’re the one who’s always been the villain.”

“Stop it!” screams Anti, driving his fist into Red’s chest. Red steps back, but doesn’t falter. “Stop it, stop it!”

“You like to act like you’re in control and you can’t even control your temper and your fucking daddy issues!”

“Red!” shouts Anti, his eyes flashing. “Stop it! You’re just like Jack, you’re just like Dark, everybody turns on me eventually! You were always just Jack’s little soldier, his failsafe! You think I made you a guard dog? Jack used you for years to get what he wanted.”

“Jack was trying to protect us from you!”

“You don’t even remember!” Anti grabs Red by the throat and slams him into the wall, crashing his head into wood. “Who have you been talking to? You - ”

“Hey, stop, stop!” cries Blue, appearing to grab Anti’s hands, trying to tear him off his twin. Anti kicks his cane away from him and sends him crashing to the ground.

“I ought to put both of you right back in the hospital!”

“Anti, don’t hurt him!” shrieks Blue. “Dapper’s not here! You can’t fix this if it all goes wrong!”

Anti’s grip tightens for a moment on Red’s throat. Ro chokes, gripping at his fingers.

Anti drops him to the ground.

“You’re right,” he spits, turning to grab Blue by the hair, dragging him back up to a sitting position. “So I’ll deal with you two once I have my boy back.”

[natrashafierce]

The author of that terrible Your Fave is Problematic Tumblr has grown up and written a great piece for The New York Times expressing regret about picking people apart and talking about how (surprise, surprise) it was really just that she was young and poorly adjusted and had gone through some stuff.

I hope more people can be honest with themselves that most of us are susceptible to weird, spurious extremist stuff online if we’re in a bad enough mood, and you can always just, like, stop and change course and be someone who tries to spread forgiveness and humility instead of accruing points for tiresome, punitive, identity-obsessed nitpicking. I completely forgive the author of the blog and applaud her for this extra step that will surely expose her to the same sort of poorly adjusted person she used to be.

I also hope more people come to understand that they shouldn’t signal boost people articulating extremist things, because all it does it create a contagion of poor mental health and social behaviors that are counterproductive to achieving anything positive. It’s normal for people to get angry, and everyone has every right to rant in their own online space, and you don’t have to invalidate anyone’s moment of anger. But you can comfort them without reblogging or retweeting them. You don’t have to enable their descent into binary thinking by rewarding them with a ton of attention and influence.

It may be “tone policing” to try to tell any one individual how to express themselves, but it is not “tone policing” to suggest that society should not take our cues and policy ideas from people who are hysterical. Almost no one is good at formulating solutions to social problems, and angry people least of all. Every marginalized group has at least SOME people who are capable of remaining fair, nuanced, and rational despite what they’ve gone through, and those are the people to signal boost if you take societal problems seriously. They tend to have a much more complete perspective on an issue than someone who has barely read or experienced anything outside themselves except for the dozens of aggro internet posts that end up in their bubble.

Chronically angry people see everything through the lens of their anger and their ego, do not seek perspectives or explanations that would defuse them, and their ideas for solutions will tend to be unfair and dehumanzing. Now the internet pays people for that, and people psychologically stagnate because their newfound career depends on it and their reputation seems locked in by the long memory of the internet. Grounded people have learned to control their egos, seek genuine understanding of those who disagree with them, and are capable of finding uplifting solutions, but those people are getting drowned out and harassed offline nowadays.

It used to be that people would have their big moments of anger and, lacking any audience except for a few people they knew, had to learn to introspect, calm themselves down, and approach problems effectively. They would often get gently challenged by the people around them and pulled back into a healthy mindset. They would confront interpersonal problems privately instead of trying to tear people down publicly, and extremism only arose in bad social circles or with especially recalcitrant people. But now that everyone gets their basest impulses rewarded by strangers as poorly adjusted as they are, there is little incentive for introspection or growth. This got worse for a lot of us during the Trump years, I think, because the shock of his incivility made it seem like civility had been a losing tactic. I know I felt like that for a few years until I realized how easily I could be manipulated into believing the worst about someone if it played to my biases. Unfettered mass venting just contributed to a bad cycle.

One of the worst things is how the crazed brigades accrue well-intentioned allies who enforce their insane, unpopular ideas and, together, tank public support for what were once important political objectives. SO MANY people were into the Your Fave is Problematic blog and would troll tags for the celebrities mentioned just to harass and intimidate people who were fans, and they were all indoctrinated into a disordered, shallow worldview were they derived their worth from tearing people down instead of cultivating their own talents. Your Fave is Problematic was by no means the first or only vector for leftist identitarian brain worms, but it was an influential one. There’s a whole lot of obnoxious Tumblr stuff that leaks out into the larger world now.

Back then I thought people would grow out of it, but either a ton of them didn’t, or else those who did just got replaced by new people. I thought right-wingers were catastrophizing and exaggerating when they fixated on it because a lot of the time they were, and too many of them couldn’t criticize it without being dehumanizing themselves. But sure enough, it got worse. I realize now that regardless of ideology, extremism always gets worse if there are incentives for it to grow, and the internet supplies those incentives in spades. This stuff didn’t stay on Tumblr; it didn’t stay on some stray college campuses. They said it wouldn’t, and they were right.

And now it has infected more mainstream, influential spheres of life with infantilizing and dehumanizing ideas that train people to perceive everyone as an aggressor or a pinata they can beat up for clout. It’s increasingly ruined more innocent lives, all while people who are ideologically captured keep insisting it’s no big deal because that’s the line in their social circle. The goalposts move every week to provide more targets, and even left-leaning media has quit thoroughly investigating a lot of things in its rush to cash in on whatever social media controvery has been ginned up by unwell people. The corrections, when they come out, are almost never widely circulated.

It’s been surreal and disheartening to watch. People I used to consider reasonable and compassionate just gradually morphed into aggrieved, insecure pod people who can’t handle the slightest challenges of evidence against their worldview. They can’t accept that their insecurities and peeves are frivolous distractions that actually do materially harm efforts to fix serious problems, whether by beclowning entire political parties or candidates, or diverting resources to organizations that aren’t changing anything significant or are making things worse. They all even say the same tired phrases. It’s such a shitshow, but public opinion polling on this stuff has remained mostly sane. A lot of people are snapping out of it like the author of YFIP, so I can only hope that more people feel comfortable to finally push back against it.

[thewreckkelly]

The Death of a Starr

‘Schadenfreude’ is a word from German used to express a feeling of pleasure, joy and/or self satisfaction when learning of, or witnessing; troubles, failures and/or the humiliation of another.

We largely see open expressions of schadenfreude in the innocent reactions of children - because adults, like me, have learned to disguise and conceal such a juvenile emotion for fear of being considered small minded.

But the truth is we all like a bit of the auld schadenfreude now and then and have, collectively, encouraged ‘acceptable’ surrogates for our doses of it in the form of the tabloid press, magazine TV shows and particularly the multiple unfettered forms of ‘social’ media.

By the time I had entered my fourth decade - on this particular green planet - the idea of celebrity no longer held any real sense of awe (my professional career and living in London brought contact on numerous occasions with famous people from a myriad of arenas). The old adage of; ‘never meet your heroes’ rang true with disappointment often enough for such interactions and subsequent impressions to be ultimately developed and ornamented to provide anecdotal coffee conversation and not much else.  

Upon relocating to Spain’s sunny Costa one of the immediate and important considerations was to locate the closest establishment to where I laid my hat that served an acceptable glass of Java and had a terrace to allow the complimenting of coffee with a cigarette or twenty. Said cafe turned out to be an adjunct to a garden centre and, as it turned out, the breakfasting destination of preference for fallen comedian Freddie Starr.

He was the first to make contact using a slight on the Irishness of my accent to announce his need to communicate. I countered with a reference to the charity of a world that allowed ‘Scousers’ unsupervised day release. We both laughed and so began a weird relationship.

Over several years we saw a lot of each other in the role of talking heads punctuated with the ostensible good humoured barb that allowed for an intrigue borne out of a need to express and ingest. At one stage he asked me to write a new biography of him for him but baulked when I insisted on editorial control – the suggestion did however yield a crop of questions and answers before reaching its Waterloo.

I had met Freddie before Spain. He didn’t remember but when mentioned he was overly enthusiastic for further details.

It was at a cabaret club I used to own in Manchester called; ‘Talk of the North’. Freddie showed up unexpectedly one night and did an impromptu performance between booked acts. It was entirely improvised, professional, innovative and, most importantly, funny – very funny. When the limelight dimmed to reveal the man, he was crude, rude, diabolically arrogant and bordering on the obnoxious.

I gave him a version he wanted to hear and he pretended to remember. From a purely artistic point of view I also prefer to remember such a version. The rest, with the benefit of mature recollection, is just ignorance. Freddie Starr was a talented and innovative comedian who, as such, deserves a place in the pantheon of the muses.

However it would be wrong not to also remember he was a poorly behaved human being with an incurable penchant to commit the sin of allowing the terrible bedfellows of arrogance and ignorance to prevail over any honest self awareness.

He was bright and fast with it. He was old fashioned in the most awful misogynist, racist and homophobic way. He was scared stiff of anonymity. He was, by all accounts and his own admission, a poor father and hopeless husband. He was selfish and narcissistic beyond any unacceptable norm. He had strong relationships with suspect and diabolical individuals that had the effect of rendering him suspect in wholly repellent behaviour.

I never allowed his off the cuff dismissal of other human beings and their preference to go unchecked and this formed the basis for many difficult moments as we loitered over coffee and cigarettes under a Spanish sun. He was generally unapologetic, excusing his abuse and denigration with the well worn tired comedic get-out clause; ‘everyone and everything was fair game’.

Despite all that his company was mine to choose and I chose to be in it more often than not.

Then Freddie died and the ‘obit’ writers of a savage British press had a field day.

The tainting of the man by the red tops - through ‘sensationally’ regurgitating mostly semi-substantiated revelations regarding his behaviour and social circle - came as no surprise and, to some extent, was merited. While such lurid reporting of a flawed old man’s death should be resigned to wrap fish and provide a soundtrack of white noise, it got me a little disturbed and led to self-examination of my own thoughts and a considered reflection on this man I casually knew.

It certainly wasn’t the ill researched content of the bullet point writing that got to me or because I had any real empathy for the man. Nor was it because I felt any sense of unfairness as to what was printed; ‘you live and prosper by the sword of creative pens - you live with the consequences when the insidious ballpoint turns’. No, I don’t believe it was any of that.

Maybe it was the latent sense of schadenfreude displayed by the many through the inglorious recounting of half truths to meet a demand that went beyond the curious- or maybe it was because I knew the man – or maybe I simply have no time for the scurrilous as a lazy generator of florescent interest.

It would be fair to say that over our years of coffee and argument I began to understand, to a degree, the nature of such a specimen of humanity. Yes he was tortured – we all are in one way or another - but Freddie’s demons were certainly not great enough to warrant any justification for his approach to civilised co-existence.

Yes he was ill-educated and mistook his quick capture of the immediate for something of substance. Yes he sought and found a place in the spotlight and yes he believed that made him special and therefore, in his mind, subject to different standards. Yes this old overweight man was found dead on the floor of a small townhouse on the Costa del Sol, by his infrequent cleaner, alone and a lot of miles from such beliefs and position.

At the end of his lifelong performance Freddie Star was inescapably human and without an audience.

All changed, changed utterly, and in a moment gone; the applause - the laughter - the hangers-on who perpetuated his surreal elevation - the Machiavellian managers and agents who sought self-benefit in making him and cynically strove to benefit further from breaking him - the constant need to manufacture copy though rehearsed outrageous carry-on - the obscene amounts of money for such limited return - the allure of transient glamour - the finality of realisable aspirations - the dawning reality of the limited extent of talent – the shock of mortality.

All of this and probably more contributed to him wrongly believing he wasn’t normal and therefore not subject to the rules of society imposed on the rest of us.

I’m not an apologist for Freddie Starr but I’m also not blind to the realities of his very human inability to say no. He was what he was and, to be honest, he wasn’t much outside his talent. Irrespective of what he was and what he may or may not have done, it’s all quite sad really and certainly not worthy of schadenfreude.

[arthurwilde]

i was just wondering if you’d come along; hold up my head when my head won’t hold on

(Dean x Alex, set between s5 and s6 aka The Year Sam was in Hell/Pretending to be in Hell while being soulless that the timeline totally ignores)

(Warning for mentions/discussions of grief, nothing unexpected)

@saferincages I love you, I love sharing this with you, thank you for being here with me through this

Alex wakes up on a turn of the mattress to find the other half of her bed empty.

She sighs, pushing the floral-patterned bedsheets down, and rolls onto her back. She can hear the sounds of the city filtering in through the cracked window; it’s the middle of November, but up here in their third-floor apartment the nights still get stuffy.

Acclimating to living in the city has been a little strange for them both. It’s not as though they’re unfamiliar with noise and chaos, but this feels different; they’re so used to lonely roads and little tree-lined streets. But they wanted to live somewhere without memories hanging over their heads; there’s no such thing as a fresh start, not for them, but this was the best they could do. And they’re not tied down here. Alex doesn’t feel particularly inclined to leave, but they could, if they wanted to. Nothing’s keeping them.

It almost feels like play-acting, the two of them living in an apartment like this, paying rent, having day jobs. Feels like at any moment they’re going to snap out of it and start chasing monsters again, shrug off this fake life and go back to work. Alex knows she still feels that itch under her skin, that hunger for action that gets addictive, and she’s sure Dean does too. She has the memories of how it all went wrong, of the pain and the loss and all the suffering they’ve wreaked and witnessed, but it doesn’t stop the fact that she feels like they’re just playing house here. No matter how much they try to settle.

It’s fine for now, anyway. She only wishes they were closer to Bobby. Dean’s been distant with him, has had trouble reaching out, but Alex hasn’t. She’s thought more than once about going to stay with him for a while, but Dean would take it as abandonment and that’s the last thing either of them need.

Small as the apartment is, as crammed in as they are, it still sometimes feels cavernous without Sam. He took up so much space that without him, there is suddenly far too much. She still can’t shake the thought that he’s just on the other side of that wall, that at any time he might come bursting through the door, making as much noise as possible to warn them of his presence in case he was interrupting anything, swinging his too-big arms, “so get this - “

But of course he won’t. He never will.

It never does get easier to lose people. It seems like it should, but it never does.

Sam didn’t have much in the way of personal belongings, same as the rest of them, and none of them are still around - maybe they’re in storage, maybe Dean donated them or burned them or sent them to Bobby; she doesn’t know and she hasn’t asked. It feels so strange, like they deal with the presence of him every day but never acknowledging that he was ever here at all. Even now the apartment is barely furnished, ready to take off at a moment’s notice; that nomadic approach to life is hard to shake. It feels fundamentally wrong to settle anywhere Sam is not.

She swings her way out of bed and pads into the living room. Dean’s on the couch with a glass of whiskey, not drunk yet but headed there, by the looks of it. The TV is on, playing some local commercial, but she can tell from his glassy eyes that he’s not really watching.

It’s a little chillier out here, so she grabs one of Dean’s flannel shirts from over a chair before climbing up beside him. It’s an old thrift store couch, and it almost feels strange to sit on the same one every day, even if it still doesn’t feel like it’s theirs. Nothing in this apartment really feels like it’s theirs.

Dean doesn’t say anything, but he sets the glass down with a sigh and wraps an arm around her where she curls against his chest. This, at least, is easy, this muscle memory.

“I thought you might have taken a walk,” she says, soft. He does that from time to time, too. Alex knows he misses the freedom of driving, that walking isn’t quite the same for him, but he still gets restless. Has to move. Sometimes he drinks, finds a bar in the neighborhood that reminds him of the roadside ones they used to find, a little more populated but still much the same. It’s comforting to know that they can still be anonymous here.

Alex goes out on her own too, now and then. Sometimes she needs to grieve, for losses old and new, and she can’t always do it in front of Dean.

He shakes his head. “Not tonight.” He leans into her a little, and she can feel him relaxing under her hands.

“Anything good on?”

“Mostly infomercials. I was watching an old episode of Cheers, but it turned into an ad for Bowflex so I switched it to…whatever the hell this is.” He gestures to the TV, which shows a man who appears to be ranting about something to do with secret tunnels in the sewers. Must be public access.

“City life does have its charms.”

“Yeah.” He rubs up and down her arm, absently. “Did the noise wake you?”

“Nah, just missed you.” She says it as a tease, hoping for a smile, but it just brings a funny little half-spasm over his face, like an attempt that can’t quite get there. She pushes her face against his shoulder, in apology.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he mumbles. “I was tossing and turning too much.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “You didn’t go far.”

He shakes his head. He’s quiet for a long moment, Alex waiting him out.

“It’s so - it’s stupid to be out here, alone. I should be with you. I promised - “ his voice breaks, and he presses his free hand to his face. “I promised to live my life, to be happy, settle down, to take care of you, and I haven’t been…”

“You have,” she assures him. “Dean, you have.”

“Not enough.” He shakes his head, and his eyes look far away. “Not enough to - he wanted to make it worth it. For him to be gone, and for me to be alive, what am I - what am I doing that’s important enough to justify - I can’t. I can’t.”

“Dean. It’s okay to not be grateful to be alive all the time.”

“It’s not.” He shakes his head fervently, almost mechanically. “It’s a waste. It’s unnatural for me to be here, without him, and I can’t even sleep through the night - “

“Survivor’s guilt is real shit, Dean.” She sits up so that she can look him in the eye, which he’s been avoiding. “I’ve been there. It’s really real, and it happens, and it doesn’t accomplish anything, but that doesn’t mean it’s not…”

“So, wait.” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “I thought you were gonna tell me it was pointless.”

“It is pointless, but beating yourself up about it is even more pointless.” That makes him laugh, briefly, and she shrugs. “Look, you’re allowed to feel like shit when you lose someone you love, and that can take a lot of different forms. You’re allowed to grieve and be angry and wonder why it wasn’t you. It’s just - it’s senseless, but you have to live with it. You have to know that even if you want to, you can’t just make a trade.”

“I did once.” He sighs. “Got us into this mess in the first place.”

“Yeah, well, most of us don’t have that option. Most of us don’t have big destinies or supernatural loopholes, just…cruel shit that happens.”

At least Sam’s death wasn’t pointless. It wasn’t senseless. He got to choose, and she and Dean both got to say goodbye. It still wasn’t enough, but it’s more than most people get.

He nods. Looks at her, really looks at her, for the first time, and he looks so tired, the kind of tired that no amount of sleep is ever going to cure. “I don’t have any idea how you did it,” he says, and it’s tender, thin at the edges. “How you coped with it for so long.”

“Sometimes I didn’t.” She has to hide her face in his shoulder this time. “And sometimes I was numb, and sometimes I was so fucking angry, and sometimes I did stupid shit like try to get myself in danger as much as possible, and then…I got taken out of the game, I guess. And when I got back in…” She props her chin on his shoulder. “I found hunting. And you. And Sam.”

He flinches away from the name, as she expected he would, but she doesn’t pull her gaze away.

“I promised him I’d take a shot at normal.”

“I know. I promised him, too.” She’ll never forget the look on his face as they said goodbye, how she’d struggled to keep him focused while they both wanted to collapse in on themselves, desperate to cram in everything they wanted to say to each other but knowing there would never be enough time. Sam had promised to win, and she’d promised to keep fighting, in a different way than before. Maybe a harder way.

Maybe it had been unfair of Sam to put that weight on Dean, which he still struggled with every day. Maybe she’s selfish for even thinking to blame Sam that, if it was the only way Sam could go through with doing what he needed to do. She didn’t know. It wasn’t fair, to any of them, and she and Dean were the ones who had to keep going. That was just the way it had shaken out. Nothing any of them could do about it.

“I don’t know how I would have gotten through this if I didn’t have you,” he says. His eyes look glassy, and she wonders if he’s close to tears. “I can’t - I honestly can’t even imagine.”

“You would have survived,” she says, not ungently. “You always do. It just would have been harder.”

“Not just hard.” He shakes his head. “No, it would have been impossible. I’d be…I’d be alone.” It sounds desolate, like the most terrifying, haunting thing he can imagine. It probably is.

She sometimes wonders if it would be easier for him to be alone, or to have truly started over with someone who didn’t know all his baggage. If it would be easier, if he didn’t see someone else who had loved Sam every day, who knew exactly how crushingly, life-shatteringly hard this was, if he’d be able to have some semblance of a new life. To put it all away, and bury it, and live his life as though it had never happened.

Alex doesn’t have anyone left who remembers her family. She doesn’t even have anyone left who knows her, who she was pre-Winchesters; she’s entirely forgotten, and legally dead to boot. If she did find someone who knew her back then, who knew them, she thinks she might fall to pieces and never come back together again.

It feels sometimes as though they never existed. It’s not better, but it is easier.

“You’re not alone now,” she says. “That’s kind of the whole thing.”

“No. I’m not.” He sighs and presses his face into her hair. “I never should have left our bed,” he says. “I should never leave you alone in our bed.” He sounds a little maudlin now, and Alex is suddenly reminded of how late it is and how much he’s had to drink. It’s no coincidence that he’s being more open now than he’s been in months.

“I love you,” he says. “I don’t say it enough, I know, but I do.”

It’s true that he doesn’t say it much. Neither of them do. Beyond the fact that neither of them are particularly good at the whole talking about feelings thing, it just feels like a lightning rod for trouble. Like waving your arms at whoever or whatever’s pulling the reins and asking them to do something to fuck with you. Like in a movie where you’d see a guy on the phone with his wife, or looking at a picture of his kids with a sappy smile on his face, and you’d know he was going to die in the next act. Like tempting fate. Loving too openly, too loud.

He didn’t say it at their wedding, but he held on to her hand so hard it hurt, looking pale and frightened and exhausted and like she was the only thing in the world keeping him upright. When he kissed her he leaned his forehead against hers and she could feel the tremble that he wouldn’t let anyone else see.

Of course it’s nice to hear it said. But it’s nothing she doesn’t already know.

“You say it enough,” she says, pressing the pad of her thumb against his bottom lip. “I love you, too.” From the way his face melts into something like relief and he leans into the touch of her hand, eyes falling closed, it occurs to her that maybe she should say it more often, too. Even if it scares the shit out of her. Even if it scares the shit out of him.

She’s held him when he cried and held him when he couldn’t, but maybe this is the most important part - just being here, when neither of them have any words left.

She lets her hand curve around his jaw, strokes her thumb along his cheekbone, and some of the tension eases from his face. Never all of it, but enough. He breathes easier, and she breathes with him.

“Sorry for keeping you up,” he says, and his voice is hushed now. “You should go back to bed.”

“It’s okay.” They have a lot of nights like this, probably always will. Some nights she comes back from a late shift at the bar and can tell he hasn’t been to sleep yet, despite his having to be at work by seven. Some nights he can only sleep with the aid of whiskey, still restless, and some nights neither of them sleep at all.

“You need to be getting plenty of sleep.” He rests a hand on her stomach, that soft, shy look in his eyes that she’s only seen in the last few months. No matter how vulnerable he’s been with her before, this is still startling and new. He looks undone. “What fruit are we at now?”

“Avocado.”

“Avocado,” he echoes, looking amazed, and she grins, foolish, and has to duck her head away. They’re both so tentative, so nervous with this new happiness, afraid to even acknowledge it too openly but unable to stop thinking about it. She supposes this should be incentive to settle down, put down roots, but somehow none of that seems to matter; it can all be contained in this one small space, on this shitty couch, bodies pressed close together. Maybe that won’t always be true, and practicality will get in the way, force them to be better adults, but it feels true now.

“Seriously, you should sleep,” he says, and she pillows her head on his chest, sighs. She doesn’t want to leave him now, not even for the few feet it’ll take them both to get back to bed.

“I can sleep here,” she murmurs.

“This couch is shit, babe.”

That makes her laugh, even if it doesn’t really warrant one, and she can feel his answering smile.

“C’mon.” He scoops his hands under his knees and lifts, carrying her bridal-style back into their room, not bothering to turn off the TV or the lamp next to the couch. He only does this when she’s injured, really, and even then it’s begrudging on her part; she rolls her eyes, but it’s sweet, and there’s a new spark in his eyes, something brightening behind all that sick dullness that’s been all she could see, all that’s there in so much of their lives together. She can let him be sappy with her for a minute.

They settle in with a minimum of adjusting, his head resting on her shoulder, and even if he’s awake all night, even if he wakes her with his nightmares, even if part of her still wants to turn tail and run, she’s just so glad he’s here.

They’re keeping their promise to Sam, even when it isn’t easy. Right now it is.

He lets his hand splay over her belly, protective, a little fixated even, and she lets him, lays her free hand that isn’t cradling his head rest over his. It’s late, and she’s tired, and no one can see. No grand destinies here, no monsters to fight, just life. It’s sad, and strange, and she can’t help but find it a little bit funny.

Avocado, she thinks, and almost laughs again. It’s absurd. Life goes on, she supposes, even when you don’t want it to. And if she closes her eyes - if they both close their eyes - she can pretend that Sam is still just on the other side of that wall.

[themanwhoran-archive]

Harry Potter and the Snarky Dick | Harry & Draco

@hawthorneandunicornhair | continuing our Skype thread here!  My reply is at the bottom!

January ate right through the old layers of fur and leather, through basically every garment Harry owned, through his skin and muscle right down to the bone.  Fuck January.  Fuck winter and France and everything in between.  And logic.  It was too cold for logic.

The only advantage was in the tracks.  Tracking was ridiculously easy in the snow and ice.  Especially tracking something moving as wildly as a werewolf.  He kept a careful distance from them, maintaining their integrity if he had to retrace his steps.  He didn't even consider using magic to preserve them.  Though he knew the spell.

His wand was sheathed in a magically hidden compartment of his pants.  It was there if he needed it, but it wasn't stiff and pointy against his leg as he moved.  No, that was the six-inch hunting knife.  Pure silver.  Dawn brushed the sky, and he had to hurry.  The morning sun on a snow bed like this was bound to blind him.  He forced his knees up, pushed them further, his eyes following the trail through the sparse trees until they broke, clearing the way for what looked like farmland.

No one was farming this time of year, but these looked long abandoned anyway.  If it hadn't been snowing, he'd have spent the whole damn day checking each dilapidated building.  But the tracks led straight to one.  He drew his knife before he went in.

The barn was little more than enough to break the wind.  He wouldn't be surprised if the werewolf was already dead, frozen in its weaker human form.  The straw in the shadowed corner had been dead for a long time, but he could see a pale shape in the dull brown mess.  He shut down the pang of guilt that threatened to twist his gut when he got close enough to see the man's shivering, the pink bites of cold on his skin, the damp platinum blonde hair, the--

...No fucking way.  He didn't even finish processing the thought before he was groaning out loud, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

It was a known fact that werewolves body temperatures tended to run hot, especially around the full moon. But as Draco went through the painful process of turning back into…well…himself, the small part of his mind that wasn’t focused on the pain came to one conclusion: French Alps were fucking cold. No matter what kind of beasty you were.

Usually he didn’t change out in the open. He HAD a chalet complete with caged cellar on the Isle of Skye. It was far, far away from Malfoy Manner, which had become the new Death Eater Training Academy, and despite Lucius still being there, Draco had been sent away. It was for his own good. With Voldemort’s rising and domination after Potter’s assumed death, werewolves were a much different story. They were revered and feared, and didn’t Fenrir just love that. It led to brutal packs, with archaic hierarchal structures…brutal. The last thing his mother had done before her death was send Draco away. Because if he didn’t leave he would surely have been killed by the packs or lost his mind with the brutality enacted on muggles.

For months the blonde lived on the small island in Scotland, changing safely locked up and on Wolfsbane. But Fenrir had found him. Well, found the cottage while he was away. It was nothing more than ash and smoke when he had returned from the market. Thankfully he had escaped undetected via portkey, but it had taken him to his mother’s properties in France.

Draco remembered being in the area as a boy, and even as a teen before the bite he enjoyed the crisp air, the skiing, and especially the afterparties. Breaking every bone in his body and shedding an alarming amount of hair in the most painful way possible didn’t really hold up to the nostalgia. While he was not as cold as he would be if he were not a werewolf, the tips of his ears and nose were pink, and his hands shook as they stopped reaching for his clothing, alarmed by the voice.

It was the voice that stopped him more than the sight. For the man standing in front of him was NOT the gangly be-speckled brat he stalked and got in trouble at every occasion at Hogwarts. But the voice…

Drawing in a shaky breath, the blond lifted his chin in defiance…oh, Malfoy had changed, but he was still a Malfoy… “If you’re going to kill a man, Potter, you could at least grant the decency of allowing him to clothe himself. My mother may be dead, but she’d roll over in her grave if she knew her son was downed in the nude…”

Harry legitimately couldn't believe what he was seeing.  He had done so well covering his tracks that no one even suspected he was alive.  In five years,  he hadn't run into a single familiar face.  It was luck at first, combined with some of the tricks he'd learned from Sirius.  He'd been caught a handful of times, a couple by wizards, but none fast or skilled enough to catch him in time to identify him.  There had been sightings reported over the years -- he managed to tap into the Resistance frequencies when he had the power, and Lupin kept him informed when they had a chance to connect -- but none of them were true sightings.  Harry had gotten good at covering his own tracks.

Even with his curse scar unwillingly transmitting information to Voldemort, he'd found a way to escape detection.  If he didn't use magic, Voldemort couldn't pin him down -- and unlike most wizards (or at least most purebloods), he had been raised without magic.  He knew how to cook his own food, he learned how to suture a wound, he practiced using his weapons with his bare hands.  He couldn't keep Voldemort from knowing he was alive, though.  It just seemed in the Dark Lord's better interest to let the Resistance think he was dead.

He hadn't even been back to England since Sirius died.  He shut down that train of thought before it could get too far.  But he'd been hunting monsters all across Western Europe for years, without sending so much as an anonymous letter to Hermione.  (Which he did feel guilty about.)  But he hadn't once run into anyone who could look at him with scorn.  Who could ask him why he ran away.  Who could hold him as responsible as he held himself for the state of the world, for the fate of it -- for the destruction of it.

Until now.  And of all the people he could have found -- in France, why was he even in France? -- it had to be Draco Malfoy.  And he could process more of his own misery and fury over the unfairness of it all later, because for now, he had a hell of a lot of questions.  "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"  His arm, blade still in hand, fell to his side, though he didn't loosen his grip on it.  He didn't look away from his former rival either -- modesty be damned, he didn't take his eyes off of a target.  "Are you-- those tracks-- When were you bitten?"

Eyeing the knife in Harry’s hand, Draco ran his fingers through his hair, damp locks from the wet terrain outside evident in his features. His hair wasn’t as long as Lucius’ had been, and if he was being honest, never WOULD be, but the ends did kiss the edges of his angular face as he stretched to grab his pants. If Potter came after him, he wasn’t in any condition to fight. While he was stronger than Lupin had been by seer routine of savageness, he was still pretty weak and shaky. Harry would win.

“So is this what you do now?” Draco asked in a tone that was as indifferent as if they were discussing the weather. “Sneak up on werewolves after their change? Gut them while they’re weak? You always did have a knack for defense against the dark arts, ey Potter?”

Pulling his legs through, Draco hopped up onto his feet, a little wiggle as he settled into his pants, doing them up. Gone were the dress slacks worn under school robes and wizarding clothing. Hide breeches were almost too casual for the posh blond, but they were warmer than cotton, and in the mountains, that’s what counted. He had plush and soft at home. The trek there could be made in tough fun lined coats and thick pants – things made for winter travel.

Chuckling darkly, Draco shook out the coat hidden under the straw, picking a few pieces off here and there. “I could say the same for you? You’re supposed to be dead. I mean that’s what everyone thinks. Golden Boy Taken Too Soon. Our Only Hope Gone,” he said, quoting Prophet headlines. “As if they’d ever grow up and fight for themselves, but what do I fucking know. I’m just a werewolf.” The last part was grumbled mostly to himself, his voice turning dark, a growl rumbling under the words.

Looking back over his shoulder he gave Harry a pinched look. “Well you don’t see anyone else here, do you?” Flashing his left arm, where the Dark Mark would have been, a scar, silvery and deep, shown. “Courtesy of Fenrir himself. He did so like infecting children. Lucius’ punishment for failing.” Picking up his boots, Draco walked past Harry and out the way the brunette came in. Harry would follow…or he would not. Something in the blond told him that regardless of five years passing, in some way or another they’d orbit each other once again. Fate was a funny thing.

Harry felt heat rise in his neck as Malfoy spoke, bristling his temper as easily as he had when they were in school.  If he was being honest with himself -- which he rarely was -- the familiarity felt good.  You wouldn't know it by his attitude, but he'd been alone for so long that any conversation was like nourishing rain in desert, reminding him he had a voice of his own.  "It's none of your business, Malfoy," he snapped.  He wasn't going to sit here and defend his own actions to a werewolf.  He still had the silver blade gripped in his hand.

Finally, he did turn his eyes away as Malfoy tugged his pants on.  He'd swear that ridiculous wiggle was deliberately intended to get to him, and he hated that he was successful.  But he couldn't just stare at the man's ass without...  He was definitely not having those kinds of thoughts about Malfoy.  Definitely been alone too long.  So he scowled at the straw until the pants were fastened.  Malfoy looked... weird in such functional clothes.

Harry's expression was stony as it rose to meet the blond's again, not flinching at the headlines or the jabs.  He had to kill him.  It was strange to realize he didn't want to, but he had to.  He'd come too far, lived too long, for this spiteful asshole to bring all of that effort crashing onto his head.  And Draco knew it, too.  Knew Harry could kill him, and that twisted his gut with something akin to guilt.

His eyes followed Malfoy's gesture to his arm, watching the way the dull light shone on the old wound.  Before he was ready to make his move, the blond was striding right out of the building, and Harry spun to follow him without a moment's hesitation.  "Malfoy.  You know I can't just let you leave."

Draco’s bare feet stopped in his tracks, sinking down into the snow. The cold didn’t bother him very much, at least not enough to ruin perfectly good shoes by making them soggy, and the way his body regenerated the bite never turned into frostbite before he got home. Tight lips puckered a tad in a thoughtful pout as the blond turned, hands raking through his hair. The fur lined coat was still open. The werewolf wore it mostly to keep some of the wind chill away so that he wasn’t completely grumpy on the lonely treks back to the little cottage.

Eyes on the edge of feral stared Harry down. Draco had shown many emotion during school days, troublesome, mischievous, bratty, and pretentious...but this...this was something else entirely. Predatory. And for a moment, it was a wolf that stared back at Harry, waiting for the first move as an icy gaze framed by sharp features, far too gaunt bored into the brunette. It was Draco...but with the luxury of wealth removed. Thin, and pale, and having seen far too much.

After a moment, the blond blinked, a resolve coming over the way he held his body. “So then kill me, Potter,” a dry chuckle left parched lips. He needed food, and water, and fucking sleep. He pulled up the fur lined hood and tilted his head, the whole thing looking slightly comical on a frame remembered for expensive dress robes and school uniforms. Arms splayed from his side in an open invitation. “I’m hardly in the position to give much of a fight. Fitting, that you’d be the one to take me down.” A moment passed before Draco turned. “Never could beat you at Quidditch. This is just another game you’ll win.” The man started back the direction he was headed before, heavy limbs pulling him to the promise of warmth and food; a cottage an hour away hidden on the edges of his mother’s property.

Harry knew that werewolves' blood ran hot, and that ought to keep Malfoy warm enough to withstand the ice and snow outside.  But he hadn't really expected the blonde to take it as far as bare feet and an open coat.  It was absurd enough to catch his attention for a moment-- but the sight unexpectedly held it for much different reasons.  He'd sort of... not so much forgotten how gorgeous the man was -- or rather, how gorgeous the boy had been -- as stopped thinking about it over the years.  Most of the time.  But even tired and weak in the snow, Malfoy made a stunning picture.  Like the pristine and barren landscape was chosen as a backdrop for the man, who somehow managed to resonate with sophistication and pride even in his ragged state.

As Draco turned a predacious gaze onto him, Harry's gut tightened with his grip on the blade.  It was instinctive by now, his response to that visage.  It was normally enough to launch action into his muscles, but the commands didn't get that far.  It was surreal,  the way this piece of a life that once made him happy had somehow found its way into a different puzzle, this scourge that amounted to his existence now.  And dark realities had not left Malfoy unscathed; the rival he'd known was a broken shard, shining bright in a broken frame.

It made him wonder how much he'd changed himself.  He knew, in that distant way that everyone knows they're not fifteen anymore, but he'd watched the change happen.  Watched pain and loneliness and anger and fear etch lines into his face, watched the violence drain it all out of his eyes until they were empty and hollow, watched his muscles thicken and tone, watched scars bloom on his skin.  He'd even switched out his glasses for contacts -- much harder to lose in a fight.  A younger, more self-conscious version of himself had once felt a spike of insecurity and anxiety when Malfoy scrutinized him, but he was too numb to feel anything but... a detached sense of curiosity.

Harry's jaw tightened on the challenge.  Mostly because he didn't know why he wasn't taking it.  Malfoy was a werewolf.  He killed werewolves.  With one exception, the reminder nagged at him.  Lupin never failed to remind him, on those semi-annual occasions where he saw his former mentor.  He had a way of saying it that forced Harry to acknowledge the world in all its shades of gray, when all he wanted was the sanctuary of black and white.  His hand was starting to hurt, gripping the handle of the blade so tightly, and his jaw ached with the tension between his teeth.  Because he couldn't see anything but gray when he looked at his former schoolmate.

So he let Malfoy distract him.  With petty questions and jabs, in a way that felt so familiar and welcome that the relief almost stung his eyes.  Just the word "Quidditch" lifted his traitorous lips into a grin.  He hadn't thought about the game in a long time.  Finally, his vicegrip on the hilt loosened, though he kept it in his fingers as he followed the blonde, questions and retorts falling out of his mouth unbidden.

"It's no fun if you give up.  Where are you even going?"

A puff of warm air erupted into the winter surroundings from Draco’s mouth, creating white clouds around his face as he walked. “What do you expect me to do, Potter?” the petulant tone came as he didn’t turn. “Fight you when I’m starving and exhausted?” Turning, Draco faced Harry, walking backward. “Would that make it a sport for you? Run me through with your dagger while I struggle to just keep myself up? Sorry,” he said shaking his head, blond hair curling slightly from the dampness of winter. “I’m not here for your amusement.” He turned back around.

“I’m going home. I do have one. I’m not just some homeless monster lurking in the woods. I turn here so that I’m at least far enough away from civilization that I won’t hurt anyone,” he offered, though he didn’t particularly know why he did so. “There’s also a pretty healthy deer population here. They’ve been damaging the vineyards in the spring. It satisfies the hunt/kill instinct.” The last was said softly, quietly, as the words held much shame and guilt. He wasn’t even sure if Harry would hear them unless he had gotten closer.

Draco’s time in England after the change, after Voldemort returned and took the wizarding world…was brutal. Greyback was savage, and the “pack” he had created were encouraged to be monstrous. The blond felt much better, here in France, where the Dark Lord’s reach was not so encompassing. It was a comfort to know the blood he woke up in was deer and rabbit, not muggles from a town the pack had decimated. While logic dictated that he was not in his right mind without the wolfsbain potion, he still felt the shame of it in his bones.

For all of Draco’s snottiness, and honestly, meanness in his bullying days of Hogwarts, he wasn’t actually mean-hearted. Hurt someone with words and a simple curse, sure. That had been intimidation from a boy who felt his world out of control while his father, a man he respected above all others, bowed to someone Draco could only see as unworthy. It wasn’t lost on him that the wand that chose that 11 year old boy practically begged Draco to turn to the light, much like Headmaster Dumbledore did during his time in school. Now that he was without it, he missed his wand. An icon that if Draco had just chosen right, he could be good.

Well that choice was taken away the moment Fenrir’s fangs sealed into Draco’s flesh. And he had had to leave everything, everything behind when he fled, including his wand. It was fine. It didn’t work so well anymore, not after Draco’s first change. The blond walking in the snow chuckled darkly to himself thinking of it. Literal personification that he could never be good again. Now he had a stolen wand at home to do what a man growing up accustomed and reliant on magic needed.

Turning his head he looked back at Harry following him. “Are you going to be my shadow then, until you get up the nerve to actually do the deed?”

Every moment that he let Draco live, it became more impossible to kill him.  It was infuriating for Harry.  He was on a hunt.  The prey was right in front of him.  That's all his world was for him now:  hunter and prey.  With an exception.  An exception like this.  Because what Draco described... it sounded like Lupin.  How had they wound up here?

If Harry had ever expected to run into Draco again, it would've been as a servant of Voldemort.  And if there was anything it seemed Malfoy had distanced himself from, it was any sort of pack.  No pack would have left him vulnerable out here like this, waiting to be picked off by a hunter or a bear or even just a civilian with a trigger finger.  Malfoy was alone.  Like Harry himself.

That struck a strange chord for the former wizard.  He had always known, in some way that he had rejected in his adolescence, that he and Draco had... similarities.  Things they shared fundamentally, a chemistry they couldn't deny and yet couldn't consummate, so it became adversarial.  It defied the differences in their class, their status, their privilege and Houses and friends.  The opposite sides of a war they were destined for.  And it seemed it had surpassed time.

"You haven't seen me in five years, I just found you naked in the snow, and you're entirely content to just walk away from me?"  His voice sounded amused.  "You might be different, Malfoy, but I don't believe that for a second."

Because he couldn't turn back now.  He couldn't pretend he hadn't re-met Draco Malfoy in the wilderness in France.  This was more than he'd spoken to anyone in nearly a year, and he couldn't remember the last time he smiled, even if it was mocking.  That chemistry was still there.  Maybe it shouldn't be surprising that they'd both wound up outcasts from society, hiding out away from it and leaving the wizarding world behind them.  Arguing with Malfoy felt good.  Nostalgically good.

Growling, the blond rounded on him quickly. Blue eyes flashed with anger and annoyance as Harry talked, and internally Draco was trying to reign his anger in. So close to the full moon, vulnerable after the change, the wolf ruled, even subdued with wolfsbane potion. All Potter had done was talk and already Draco was more riled than he had been since he fled to France. No. Squatting in the “helps” abandoned cottage, instead of in the more proper Black cottage Draco was letting his life waste away...moping. He hadn’t moped since he had been bit but here in the snowy Alps, Draco Malfoy was resolved to die brooding.

But it had taken one antagonistic remark from a school day rival for all his emotions, all his passion to come to surface. Draco wondered for a moment what it would be like without the pacifying nature of the potion.

“Would you rather have found me clothed in Death Eater robes with a wand to your throat?” he spat, tone dark and low. "Because give me an hour and I can deliver.” Blue eyes turned thoughtful for a moment. “Well, not the robes. Those things are ghastly.” Draco stared Harry down, predator and prey facing off, but he doubted to hazard a guess as to who was whom. “I’m famished, and unless you’re content to let me eat you, which wouldn’t be half bad given the options, I suggest you let me on my way, Potter.”

Draco turned back around, trudging through the snow. “Food first, maybe sleep, and then I’ll be happy to trade belligerent insults and hexes with you.”

Harry didn't even flinch when Draco cracked back at him like a whip.  His amusement died down with the threat, but his eyes and expression were a trained kind of calm.  Distant but confident, like the wall of a fortress.  Behind it, some strange mixture of irritation and fun flared, but there was no outward sign of it.  Harry's voice was even when he responded, "You never could beat me in a duel.  No matter what you're wearing."

He kept following Malfoy when he turned to keep walking, keeping just a pace or two behind him.  "You know I can't just let you walk away.  What kind of hunter do you think I am?"  One who uses knives instead of sticks, obviously.  Having been away from the wizarding world for so long, he struggled to find even the idea of a wand to his throat genuinely intimidating when he had a blade in his hand already.  Or maybe he just didn't sincerely believe his old classmate would actually hurt him.  For some reason.

So he invited himself to go along with Draco.  He still hadn't decided what he was going to do, but the moon would be full again tonight.  And if nothing else, he had to see what would happen to his former rival when it did.  If he was worth sparing.  He tried not think about the fact that it was simply easier to kill him when he didn't wear such a familiar face.

Draco digested Harry’s words for a moment as he walked, turning them over in his head. So much had changed in five years, for both of them. And while normally the blond would use status and influence as an excuse for being better...things had changed. “You’re right. In Hogwarts I couldn’t. I spent three years with Fenrir, Potter,” he looked over his shoulder, throwing a dangerous glance at the brunette. “You couldn’t even imagine the things I’ve learned. You haven’t the...creativity.” It didn’t help that those three years were literally the worst in Draco’s life...the things he had done, as a beast, he was still paying for. The savagery that he was made to live in constantly. It was why he was alone in the Alps. No family. No pack. Draco Malfoy had come here to die; he just hadn’t worked the courage to do so yet.

At Harry’s question, the blond chuckled. “A pretty piss poor one, since you’ve let me dress and I’m currently walking away from you. What, Granger not here to carry your marks?” he asked, his tone snide and invoking nostalgia of stone halls and moving staircases. “Let me help you. Me, werewolf. You, hunter. Silver blade to the heart. Burn the remains. Believe me, you’d be doing me a favour.” The last sentence was muttered lowly, not really intended for Harry to hear, but not so low that it couldn’t be.

Draco stopped a moment, his mouth opening slightly as if he was tasting the air. Fresh snow had covered any tracks from last night, but he could scent the smoke coming from the hut for a couple miles. Turning left, he made his way through thick underbrush, stepping easily over fallen logs. Every once in a while he would look back at Harry, his fringe falling into his eyes before he pushed it out of the way. He wasn’t sure why Potter had decided the best course of action was to follow him, but he wasn’t in any condition to complain.

Harry’s mouth twitched into a slight frown at the mention of Fenrir.  He knew the stories.  There wasn’t a hunter -- not even an isolated one like himself -- who didn’t know the stories of Greyback’s pack.  Of who they were, the power they held, the things they did.  He didn’t have to “imagine” what Malfoy was talking about.  But the blonde was right; he didn’t have that kind of creativity.  Despite the threat, the implications, everything Malfoy was doing to scare him off, though, Harry had a hard time wrapping his head around the idea of Malfoy actually doing some of the things he was suggesting he’d done.  Voluntarily, at least.  But he remained quiet about that.

“It’s not like you can actually escape me,” he said with an almost bored tone to Malfoy’s breakdown of their new dynamic.  His brow stitched with irritation, though, at the borderline suicidal utterances.  “Self-pity isn’t a good look on you, Malfoy.”  Harry had no patience for that sort of thing, not even with himself.  He ignored the strange feeling in his gut, caused by hearing something like that from someone he’d never imagined in that state of mind.  Draco really had changed a lot.

The hunter had already determined what he had to do, but there was no need for him to explain that to his prey.  Besides, he didn’t really want to think about the kind of danger he was placing himself in just because... because he wanted Malfoy to be telling the truth.  He didn’t believe him, not for a second, about not being some kind of monstrous menace to the world that needed to be put down, but he wanted to believe him too badly to do more than glare at the back of the blonde’s leading form.  For now.

“I have to make sure you’re alone,” he responded stiffly.  It was a stupid excuse; any hunter worth his salt would already know that about a target, and he liked to think he was more competent than that.  But he was a lot better at tracking than he was at the social intricacies this conversation demanded of him, and he was already mentally exhausted of it.

[visariga-blog]

Neighborhood #12: Atgāzene

Name: Atgāzene Meaning: Named after an old German manor Area: 0.75 km2 (58th) 2014 Population: 1613 (42nd) 2008 Population density: 1647 people/km2 (28th) Distance from Riga Central Station by public transit: 8 minutes (train) Public transit lines: #10, #42, and #56 busses; #27  trolleybus; Rīga-Jelgava train line Places of interest: Atgāzenes iela Where to eat: Lulu Pizza at Vienības gatve 113 Date of Visit: March 26, 2017

Last month Līga and I, along with our friend Justine from America, journeyed out to the southern edge of the city to visit Atgāzene, Rīga’s tiniest neighborhood. And when I say tiny, I mean TINY; at just three-fourths of a square kilometer, it’s 25 times smaller than Kleisti (the city’s largest neighborhood), and makes up a puny 0.35% of the city’s area. The neighborhood is shaped like a nearly perfect quadrangle, resembling something like a shard of glass. Vienības gatve (Unity Avenue, the road to Jelgava), Kārļa Ulmaņa gatve (named after Latvia’s pre-WWII president), and the Rīga-Jelgava railroad make for logical boundaries, but the neighborhood is so small and has such few major points of interest that its often included as a part of Ziepniekkalns on websites like ss.lv for simplicity’s sake.

From above, its clear to see that there are two major sections divided from one another by Graudu iela. The slightly larger northern part is almost exclusively residential and made up of smaller houses, whereas the southern part consists mostly of Biznesa Augstskola Turība, a few shopping centers, and the territory of an old sanatorium which now makes up a mixed-use business park.

Justine, Līga and I decided to take advantage of the neighborhood's two train stops, so we boarded a train to Jelgava at Central Station and then got off just two stops later at the “Atgāzene” station less than nine minutes later. I was very excited to finally get off at this stop, as I had passed it by thousands of time on the way to and from work in Jelgava but had never had the opportunity to see this area up close. The original historic wooden station burned down in 2007, and it was replaced by this minimalist “box” station. Thankfully what they rebuilt isn't as gaudy as the shipping container of a station that was put up in Imanta, but it's still a shame that the history was lost. 

We started down the appropriately-named Dzelzceļa iela (Railroad street). Like many of the small roads in this neighborhood, it was unpaved and lined with wooden fences of various colors. The houses here were mostly all two story or shorter, with a few exceptions. The only non-residential building we could see in this part of the neighborhood was a gated kindergarten with a sign that politely asked drivers to close the gate after passing through.

After a short walk we were at Kārļa Ulmaņa gatve, the northern boundary of the neighborhood. Here the four-lane thoroughfare crossed the train tracks via a simple concrete beam bridge. The wide walls underneath had given some local graffiti artists (and simple vandals) the perfect canvas for some artwork, although what we found here wasn't as impressive as that we've seen elsewhere throughout the city.  The three of us walked up the stairs to the bridge and then went out to the middle to get a view of virtually the entire western part of the neighborhood along the train tracks. From here you could also see the towers of Panorama Plaza in nearby Pleskodāle, Rīga's fifth tallest structures.

We now started towards the neighborhood's easternmost edge along Vienības gatve, walking past a historically significant oak tree and a Harley Davidson dealership. All of these thousands of times I had passed by either on the train or bus to or from Jelgava, and I had never known there was a Harley dealership here. The building had some very cool graffiti art on the back, with a “Riders of the Storm” theme in shades of only orange and black. It took only about two minutes to get to Vienības gatve.

Next we took a right and continued down the street a bit until we got to Ģimnastikas iela, where we took a right and walked back towards the station. Before this, we passed an advertisement for Hesburger, Latvia's version of Wendy's, and the headquarters of Tilde, a Latvian translation software company. At the corner of Vienības and Ģimnastikas was one of the country's 126 Fenikss casinos. Although Latvia has very few destination casinos ala Vegas or Atlantic City in the US, there are countless small casinos operated by multi-national chains that can be found in shopping centers, the bottom floors of apartment buildings, and nearly anywhere else imaginable. Although in general I dislike seeing these due to the social problems that I know they aggravate, this one at least had a cool wild west vibe to it compared with the hundreds of soul-crushingly depressing and anonymous ones.

Walking back towards the train tracks down Ģimnastikas iela, we passed what claimed to be the city's best hotel. Knowing nobody who has stayed there I can't confirm nor deny that claim, so if you're looking for a place to stay a night in Rīga you'll have to decide for yourself whether or not to take their word for it. Along the streets were more brick and wooden houses built at various times over the past few hundred years. Although we didn't know until it was too late, we passed by (and unfortunately didn't take a picture of) a house that the legendary Latvian poet couple Rainis and Aspazija lived in for a few years during the 1920s at Dīķa iela 11. We did, however, get a pretty cool shot of one of the new red and silver trains passing by at the end of the street. As we've seen in a few other places, someone took the time to transform an electrical box into a green totem pole using spray paint.

And we were virtually back where we had started. We had now seen the northern third of the neighborhood and had followed roughly this path:

We continued south along the tracks before coming to a small stream that required crossing. It was a bit strange how the stream seemed to intentionally go through this part of Dzelzceļa iela completely uncovered, as I can imagine that after a lot of rain it would be a bit difficult to drive through. As we walked, we got a few more nice train pictures, first an electric passenger one and then a pair of diesel engines hauling freight. 

We now hung left onto Diķa iela, where we passed by Rīgas Igauņu Pamatskola, a primary school opened in 1989 which specializes in Estonian language and culture. At the intersection with Atgāzenes iela there was a traffic mirror to help make the narrow crossroad a bit less dangerous, as well as a small house with a guard dog. I liked his style — unlike a lot of small yippering yappering poodles, he simply just stared at us calmly and silently as if to say, “we both understand that I'm an intimidating rottweiler and that you aren't going to come over here, so let's skip the barking part and keep it at that.” 

We turned down the cobblestone Atgāzenes iela, walking by some more houses before briefly wandering onto the grounds of the Igauņu Pamatskola. We also passed by what seemed to be one of Rīgas Satiksme's (the city's public transit company) offices and another traffic mirror that provided the opportunity for a selfie of sorts. 

Of all the streets in Atgāzene, this was probably the most scenic in terms of the cobblestones and colorful wooden houses. One of the houses had a rare Soviet-era sign with the street name in both Latvian and Russian. It's fitting that the street is named “Atgāzenes iela,” because it really sums up the feel of the entire neighborhood quite well. After a short walk we were back at Vienības gatve.

Back almost exactly where we had turned onto Ģimnastikas iela, we again continued south towards Rīga's city limits. We passed more old brick and wooden houses before coming to a large business park called 87 Vienības gatve, which consists of the old buildings from an 1890s sanatorium. Unfortunately, the gate to the business park was closed since it was a Sunday, otherwise we would have wanted to walk around the park and take some pictures since it looked quite nice. Before the intersection with Graudu iela, we also saw a cool wire frame sculpture of a hand holding a paintbrush outside of a home improvement shop as well as some very colorful bird houses.

On the right side of Graudu iela we passed a discount goods store, a music school, and a floral therapy firm. The left side of the street was dominated by the buildings of Biznesa augstskola Turība, known in English as “Turība University.” This private college is the largest business school in the country, and although it used to have an unfair reputation as a “pay for a degree” type of school, all of my friends who have gone there have told me that they were quite satisfied with their studies. The university even paid for its own infill train station, a great deal for both the school in terms of convenience for students to travel there and for Pasažieru vilciens since aside from the Jelgava, Riga and Olaine stops, its one of the ones the people most consistently use.

Since Ģimnastiskas iela, our route had looked like this:

At this point we were all quite cold and hungry, so we wandered down Bikstu iela to the shopping center anchored by Maxima XX where we found a “Pica Lulu,” one of the city's most popular pizza chains. Of all of the city's pizza options, Lulu is one of my favorites. They do pizza dough very well, but like most places in Latvia, the tomato sauce is far too sweet. In fact, I once got into an argument with my students over whether there was any difference between ketchup and tomato sauce. Sadly, for most of Latvia's tomato sauces there is very little difference (aside from Rundāle, which is the only one I ever buy). I absolutely loved the wallpaper where we were sitting. It's nothing special for pizza places to have stylized urban scenes on the wall, but what I love is that instead of showing Paris or New York or some other cliched global city they have a stylized Soviet block house similar to the ones found all throughout the city (and especially the adjacent neighborhood of Ziepniekkalns). Many people dismiss Soviet block housing as a simple eyesore best to be ignored, so I like how they not only acknowledged it but did something cool and creative with it. Lulu has 24 hour delivery all throughout the city, so if you have a pizza craving at two in the morning you know who to call.

After having eaten and warmed up, we continued down into the final stretch of Atgāzene. Walking back to Vienības gatve, we passed a fireworks shop and a McDonalds before coming to a Rīgas Satiksme client center which seems like also used to be the terminus and turn-around for a trolleybus line. Next to the loop was a large stone marker that used to demarcate the city's border. It was a bit further to Ābolu iela, the current southern border of both Atgāzene and Rīga itself (at least on this side of Vienības gatve).

We turned right onto Ābolu iela (Apple street), the southern boundary of Atgāzene, as well as one of Rīga's borders with the town of Mārupe. Although the left side of the road was technically Mārupe and the right side Rīga, it would be virtually impossible for a casual passer-by to guess that there was a boundary here as both sides look geographically and architecturally identical. At the end of the road, we took a right and started heading back towards the BA Turība train station where we waited just a few minutes before the yellow and blue electric engine rolled up to the platform to take us back home. In that time that we waited, Līga took pictures of some snowdrop flowers that had just barely started to bloom. Despite the grey and cold, there was hope that spring was just around the corner (or at least so we thought).

Our final route had gone like this:

Although it was so small, Atgāzene really did have a different feel to it compared to the surrounding areas with its small houses, dirt roads, and urban feel to it. While nearby Bieriņi and Mārupe also have similarly small houses, they feel much more suburban whereas Atgāzene has this certain sense to it where you really know that you're in the city. That's not to say that it's not a calm and peaceful place by any means, and I imagine that its 1600 or so full-time residents enjoy life there. If you're looking for a low-key and tranquil neighborhood to have a nice walk through, this might be an option: just make sure to take the train.

A few random observations:

Thanks to its minuscule size, I feel that this is the neighborhood that we were able to explore and document in the greatest detail. There were just a few streets that we didn't walk down in entirety, and those that we didn't we were able to see virtually end-to-end from where we were standing. Compared to this, our walk through Kleisti was quite incomplete. It feels a bit presumptuous to say that “I've seen all of Atgāzene” after just one visit, but in this case that might actually be possible. 

For all of the massive neighborhoods in Rīga lacking passenger train service (Purvciems, Bolderāja, Āgenskalns, ect), Atgāzene is almost comically overserved by rail transit. With 2.6 stations per square kilometer (yes, sadly I did the math), I'm going to go out on a limb and say that it's the neighborhood with by far the most train stations compared to its size. Better yet for rail commuters, the Rīga-Jelgava line is one of the busiest routes in the country, with trains in either direction at least once an hour and often more depending on the time of day.

The April that came just a few days after this walk was one of the strangest Latvia has ever seen. We had a lot of false starts to spring, followed by bursts of snow (!) at the end of the month. One one hand I feel bad that my Fulbright colleagues (including Justine) probably got a bad impression of Latvia weather-wise this year with a green Christmas and a white Easter, but on the more selfish other hand I've barely had any seasonal allergies this year.

Special thanks to Justine for exploring with us, who was a very good sport despite the cold and cloudy weather!

And that does it for Atgāzene. The next two neighborhoods that we just visited, Beberbeķi and Bieriņi, were done so on warm and sunny days, so the pictures for those will look far less gloomy than Āgenskalns and Atgāzene did. Till next time, let's hope that spring is finally here to stay, and make sure to wish Latvia good luck in the International Ice Hockey Federation World Championships in France and Germany over the next few weeks!

Nākamā Pietura: Beberbeķi!

[latinalesbi]

you don't know maybe we'll see long-term lesbian couples on tv in the future. people are sick of lesbian shows with crazy, convoluted love polygons (the l word) and getting sick of ones in all-female environments (oitnb, wentworth). we're sick of queerbait couples in ensemble cast scifi or action shows getting killed off. we want stability, permanence.i see sitcoms, dramas with older lesbian protags, even a disney channel or nickelodeon show with 2 moms being made.

Of course I can’t read the future. I can tell you that it’s not likely. Shows with 2 lesbian leads are not terribly popular. And you’d have to have 2 leads to even believe they could last 5 years. Lesbians say they are sick of this and that, yet they don’t watch the fosters. We have some of them believing nonsense about no long term monogamous lesbian couples on tv, um, The Fosters. And queer baits? There are still more swan queen fanatics than fans of Stef and Lena. IF they were sick of it, they quit watching.

I’d love for that future that you paint. Unfortunately, it doesn’t sell.

Anonymous said:                                                                     

Teri seems very open and honest about sex. Then you have Stef who she plays so well being so shy about it. It’s great Stef doesn’t want to talk about it at all. It’s brilliantly done             

Teri’s an amazing actor. Look at how she has butch Stef down. I don’t think it’s all direction, though I’d love to know if she’s gotten tips from anyone. Teri is far from butch but she does the tiniest things to make Stef the character come alive.

 Anonymous said:

What are your thoughts on Sherri Polo fanfic?          

Don’t tweet it to sherri or teri! Um, you know, it’s harmless fun.

Anonymous said:                                                                     

do you think teri & sherri kiss on the lips when together? we saw them kiss at HRC & during one panel but when they're just alone taking selfies they won't share with us (lol) do you think they cuddle & hold each other & still kiss each other? sherri always says teri is her wife & of course we see how close their friendship truly is, but i wonder if they act the same in all aspects on & off camera. wish we could see everything! but i love they have selfies just for them, i love that even more             

Gonna pair these questions together. Yes they kiss on the lips all the time, we’ve seen it. Obviously, they are not making out. I also think we have good proof that they cuddle all the time. We have enough casual, unplanned proof that these things happen off camera. They have something special that they like to keep to just themselves, as Sherri herself has said.

Anonymous said:                                                                     

Oh poor Stef sex is bought up and all she wants to do is hide under the table and hope no one notices. Poor baby            

It’s funny, she can be all like here are condoms, use safe sex, but don’t give her the gory details! I always thought it’s hard for her to be vulnerable and all that sex talk makes her feel too open, it’s too personal. However, Stef 2.0 can talk about her feelings more openly so I’d like to see her be able to talk about this more.

Anonymous said:                                                                     

Stef being like this now makes me wonder what she was like when she first met Lena!  Could she say the word sex? Because she’s yet to even say orgasm             

I think the great thing about early Stef would be that she was completely a lit candle when it came to Lena. I think she was dying for sex so it wouldn’t have been a problem. I think she just didn’t talk about it.

  Anonymous said:                                                                     

I love that Stef is still finding herself even in her forties if the story line is right (which in this show is hard to follow at the best of times) she was twenty nine when she meet Lena and has spend all her thirties with her. I love her character development. I would just like her to throw caution to the wind and start sexy time with her wife, who as well all know is hot as hell. What do you think?             

As a woman in her forties, I can tell you there’s so much to find out about yourself. I love her character development. She’s had the most growth, it’s so well plotted out. It’s taking seasons to see it. To see Stef in the last episode, so confident in herself, she’s never looked better. It’s time for that to translate into the bedroom. If I am right, the show has to go there. It is what they have been writing. This is the path.

Anonymous said:                                                                      Hopefully Lena isn’t gonna yell at Callie next week. I’m sure we won’t be happy that Callie changed her project. I hope to see her angry at Monty or whoever makes Callie take it down. 

Yeah, it might be the new acting VP. We’ll see. I am only into this as far as Lena really finding her voice and getting the job she deserves. She shouldn’t play second fiddle to any of these idiots.          

Anonymous said:                                                                     

Why are they always wear striped shirts on the show ? Mostly Jude

He’s a clown?

Anonymous said:                                                                     

Callie record could ruin her chances of getting into colleges. I hope see Callie angry and upset about it. Worrying if she will ever get to go. I feel like her and Lena could bond over it. Since she’s the one telling Callie to apply. Callie’s doesn’t seem to care for collage and that needs to be the reason.             

The reason Callie does anything, she doesn’t believe she deserves good things like her moms, like a nice boyfriend like AJ.

Anonymous said:                                                                     

My wife & I love your blog. The kitchen scene with Stef & Lena putting up groceries from the last epis, it would have been more organic for them to just kiss very briefly on the lips and go into that nice tight body hug.  We are not ones to really harp on the kissing, but this episode & that scene seemed so weird without a very brief kiss flowing into a comforting hug.  So much so that we beginning to wonder if there is a network mandate about the moms’ kisses.  Know showrunners may not admit it

There could be. There’s no denying that they gay nothing by throwing a network under the bus. That’s why I trust that they are doing everything they can on that front. I do believe that. The last hug was awkward. It’s definitely setting up conflict for Stef and Lena. Would I have liked a kiss? Of course. I just refuse to get worked up when this was an episode that had over 21 minutes of Stef and/or Lena. I just can’t. I definitely understand people’s frustrations. I still get a lot of joy out of an episode like that, character development and such. I could have used some more touching, but really the first few eps, I’ve had a hard time even giffing all the times they’ve touched. I’ve had to not gif some of them, that’s how many we have had. I don’t feel that kissing is the only way to show that these women are in love. We’ve gone through droughts of very little touching, hugging, never mind kissing.

Anonymous said:                                                                      You’ve said many times the show has earned your waiting on a kiss from Stef & Lena.  But we don’t understand why the fandom, which is a small fandom & very frustrated with this, has to wait on something that should be quite natural for a married couple who’s in love as they say Stef & Lena is.  We don’t want/expect full make out every episode, but when scenes naturally call for a kiss (peck on lips/brief kiss) it’s really very ridiculous to say the show is waiting for 1 big episode for kisses.

You’re preaching to the choir. I don’t think they’re doing this to frustrate us though or to seem unfair. I do think that this is story for them for the most part. I also do believe that they want to build up to big moments, for dramatic purpose. Stef and Lena have kissed so much by now that it is hard to build dramatically to big kisses. Other shows do this by breaking couples up or having them cheat (i.e. new relationship kisses). Stef and Lena aren’t breaking up, they’re not gonna cheat, so how do they build up to big moments, this is one way. I don’t have to like it. Someone earlier mentioned a sitcom and that might be the only kind of show where we could get casual kisses all the time. Comedies aren’t building towards big climatic moments so it would just be casual and funny. I’d like that show, I’d watch that show. However, I’d also miss the big dramatic moments. So, I feel like this show has given us both. And we still have a long ways to go. I trust that this isn’t being done maliciously, that’s all I am saying.

Anonymous said:

 [1 of 2] “Bradley was clear on twitter, it’s not censorship or the 8pm hour. It’s a choice they’re making and that we aren’t patient enough.”   One of the most ridiculous things I’ve read about the Fosters.  They write & portray a couple very much in love, some of their scenes obviously & naturally called for a kiss, but the people who watch the show aren’t patient enough?  Really?!!! Not enough time or space to express how arrogant and unreasonably/irrationally ridiculous that is. [1 of 2]              

Anonymous said:                                                                     

[2 of 2] “Bradley was clear on twitter, it’s not censorship or the 8pm hour. It’s a choice they’re making and that we aren’t patient enough.”  The fandom has been very patient & loyal to the Fosters, in spite of many fan’s frustations (storylines, balance between drama/crisis vs triumphs, timeline, etc), we kept watching.  It’s one thing to say be patient to see how a storyline will play out, but to say we aren’t patient enough when a scene naturally calls for a kiss is unfair & unjustifiable.            

Put yourself in Bradley’s shoes. He has been hearing about the kisses this season from episode 1. Yeah, the fandom is impatient. I get it. We don’t have a lot of choices as lesbians. We crave it, it’s important to us. No show is perfect, show me a show where no fan complains? it’s not just us, Brad replied today to a frustrated Brallie fan. In reality the best thing he could do is just not answer any of us but he does. I appreciate it sometimes because while he refuses to reassure others, he reassures us. They are never breaking up, they’ll always be in love and he’s the biggest shipper.  I believe him.

I am telling you, fandom can get pretty mean-spirited. I am not speaking about you, I am talking about the things fans have said to showrunners that I have seen. If I like a show, I don’t really follow online fandom, unless I am shipping lesbians. I break my rule then because there are tons of things I can enjoy in fandom and try to ignore all the other things. However, shows without lesbians, I don’t want spoilers, I don’t want fanwars. I don’t want any of it.

Back to the question at hand, everyone knows, I am not afraid to call anyone out when i feel things are unfair or what have you. There have been times when the lack of kissing has led me to complain. And part of it for me is feeling like the show would be cancelled suddenly and we wouldn’t get their payoff. I am fairly confident at this point that they have the show plotted out through season 5. Whatever is going to happen will happen. I have accepted that. I’ve also been given many gifts, patience has paid off.

Again, I don’t know the reason why they are doing it (to divulge on their part would be to spoil) but I do know with confidence that it is not malicious. Period. No doubt. So, i am not going to angrily demand this and that. It’s not going to happen at this point because for the most part, the dry spells have been plot related. The dry spell right now has been countered with some kick ass affection and kick ass communication. They seem more like a healthy couple than ever. If there’s no payoff or it’s lame, I will complain. I do understand that they try to build towards these great Stef and Lena moments and there are limited ways in which they could do that. I’d love next season to see that plot line where they can’t enough of each other but keep getting interrupted. That would be an amazing build up full of moments all along the way. I would write that in their potential last season. Will they? Who knows.

That’s my opinion, considering where we are. I totally respect yours.

[sheswortheveryminute]

tw: murder, abuse, sw,

 Right before leaving home my dad obligated me to start working in this strip club. It wasn’t really forced at first and quite frankly I just figured that was his best attempt at getting his daughter her first job. Now that I look back at it I know there was so much bullshit and emotional manipulation. At the time I was sixteen and of course I couldn’t do anything remotely sexual so I served drinks.  Long story short he took all the money and just disappeared. To this day I don’t know if he’s dead or.. god knows.  Things were going under and my mum didn’t really tell me but she couldn’t carry me, grandma and 14 year old brother on her back, especially with her sewing job on some streetwear sweatshop. Whether she planned on telling me or not, our situation became clear when we couldn’t pay for my grandma’s medication or to have enough money for more than two meals a day.  So I did what my father had planned on getting me to do from day one (had the manager not cut him off, i found out later on) and I just joined the roster. Now, I don’t see sex work as this shameful thing that some former workers do but I think I wasn’t prepared mentally for any of it which I suppose is what kicked off my downfall from the start. Around that time I met some shit people but also two girls (which we’ll call K and B) that became the closest I had to friends.  Back at home things were going okay and to be fair, I think my mom didn’t suspect anything because she had been under pressure for so long that once she finally got a second to breathe she didn’t really stop and think ‘what bollocks me daughter might be up to’, PLUS the money wasn’t all that good, I was new so most of the nights I got to actually perform was when either the movement wasn’t all that good or someone had called in for whatever reason.

Up until that point I didn’t really know who actually ran anything because there was this other lad who always helped us count the money at the end of the night and who I figured ran the place because he had been the one to hire me. My actual boss wasn’t much older than any of us and he seemed to get very well with the other girls so I figured he’d have at least some sort of decency but well oh well (cue the curb your enthusiasm ending song). After we met it was like I never had a pair of eyes away from my back, whether it were his or someone else’s. Suddenly I started getting more attention and with that the mood started shifting. Not everyone had been friendly with me from the start but some girls were actually beginning to act like proper wankers around me. It took me a sweet second but then I realised it was because he was sending people in to see me, like it was some weird way of flirting and that was when i should’ve packed my shit and left for good. But I didn’t. Things got only worse from there and lines were crossed when one of my two friends passed away. I knew the girls had been fuckin my shit up for a while and popping drugs into my drinks but I never thought anyone would go as far as trying to poison me, leave alone any of my friends. I didn’t really see anything or found what happened until i noticed ‘K’ had been gone for almost a week. The other workers called it ‘retirement’, my boss called it ‘an unfortunate incident’. I personally call it murder but i didn’t say anything because I was scared shitless. ‘B’ left not long after because she knew how bad it all had gotten. Never spoke to her again. 

I started to spend more time away from the club and my boss noticed that because he then began to take me with him for whatever he’d be up to. Another mistake, not only had I been involved with escorting  but now I was constantly surrounded by drug dealers and maybe even worse. I suppose the only good thing that came out of that was meeting ‘G’. We didn’t really date but we fucked around a lot behind my boss’ back. He sure had his flaws but he was my safe haven in that mess and I think the only person I actually felt my age around. I don’t know if the head found out what I had been up to or was just going through an even more  messed up phase but he became aggressive with me. It started with pushing and smacking and grabbing. Then it became slapping, kicking and punching. To make things better I couldn’t step at home without being (UNDERSTANDABLY) attacked with questions. My mind was in such a shit place that I often spent three to four days out and came back acting and actually thinking it had been a night out. Finally, my dumbass self decided enough was enough and began to plan an exit. Things were pretty decent in my head but of course the dumbassery hadn’t ended there and everything went to shit quicker than I expected. Last minute my boss somehow found out about me sleeping with an ‘unknown’ individual and threatened me in a way I had never seen before. I’m supposed to hate him but I do think he was somehow sick in the head. He had this extreme concept of hate and of love which I can only describe as twisted and I knew if he had the chance to get his hands on me one more time he’d kill me. So I busted. I called the police anonymously, gave the exact addresses  for the prostitution houses and for his labs. I know it was unfair to some people and I do feel like the shittiest person in the universe  whenever I think about it but what’s done is done. Never went back home, never spoke to my family again.  I was mostly ashamed because of all things (including the truth) they probably thought I was addicted to drugs or something, and I was also scared for them so staying away seemed like the best to do. They’ll always wait for Ella to come home and Aspen is the one who’ll most likely have a target on the back of her head for a long long time so I better stick to the latter for their sake. 

[fitono]

How to Make Sure You Aren’t One of the Bad Trainers Ruining Our Profession

Every profession has its share of bad apples. The most dangerous ones are those who abuse their power.

And personal trainers wield a lot of power.

Our clients entrust us with their money, their time, and their bodies. But most significantly, they surrender to us their “value of self.”

Becoming a client isn’t like getting a haircut. Sure, that’s another transaction involving money, time, and a part of someone’s body. But a personal training session—and the coaching tactics that envelope it—can dramatically impact the way someone feels about herself.

If a coach uses methods that cause physical harm or mental distress, it’s tantamount to abuse. Most of us probably agree with this, but we may not agree on where to draw the lines. That’s the first step to eliminating this problem.

But where is that line? In the past year or so, all of these have gone viral on social media:

A trainer making a client squat on dumbbells.

A trainer making clients do burpees for no apparent reason.

A trainer allowing a client to deadlift with horrible form.

Those are obviously extreme—that’s why they went viral—but there are countless examples you can see every single day in gyms around the world:

Forcing clients to use barbells for lifts.

Having clients do ballistic movements before they’re ready.

Not adjusting intensity to reflect a client’s abilities, goals, and needs.

Emphasizing numbers—load or reps—instead of movement quality.

Not providing adequate rest for optimal performance and overall safety.

The issues aren’t always as severe as what I’ve noted here, but the source of the offense is the same.

The trainer’s goal is to make himself look good.

Maybe he wants a reputation as a hardcore badass. Maybe he wants to be seen as a motivational guru who pushes people beyond their limits. Or maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t know any better. Whatever it is, he’s prioritizing his ego over the client’s needs, and sometimes over the client’s health.

It’s an approach that creates a negative reputation for fitness professionals across the industry. And it’s time for it to end.

But how? I believe personal trainers must hold each other to a higher standard. To do that, we must first hold ourselves to a higher standard. I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but if we start with these three rules, I think we’ll make the fitness industry a better place—for us and our clients.

1. Train the individual in front of you, and only the individual

Taking the time to learn the nuances of the individuals you train allows you to design a training program that’s appropriate for them and their goals.

I once worked with a trainer who would begin every client’s session with 50 burpees. It didn’t matter if they were just waking up or coming straight from work. He wasn’t concerned with movement quality, joint mobility, core stability, or a gradual increase in body temperature. He made all of them throw their teeth at the floor 50 times before doing anything else. No exceptions.

When he was called out on his approach, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he defended his methods, saying he wouldn’t work with anyone who couldn’t handle his demands. It essentially says to clients, if you don’t like the way I train you, you’re weak—not just in body, but in character, too.

This attitude has no place in the fitness industry. It makes people feel bad about themselves and dislike fitness. That’s not good for anybody. Before you train a client, it’s your professional responsibility to ask questions, understand both physical and psychological limitations, and create a truly customized training plan.

You are, after all, a personal trainer.

READ ALSO: “Stop Training Your Clients Like CrossFitters, Bodybuilders, or Powerlifters”

2. Encourage your clients when they want to try new activities

I know a trainer who believes that anything done without external load is a waste of time.

He’s a great coach in his modality, and doesn’t routinely put people at risk of injury. But he turns his clients into hostages to his bias. Some have told me they’d love to do yoga, try Pilates, go for a run, or take a Spinning class.

Why don’t they do it? Because, in their words, “He won’t let me.”

Talk about a power trip. Why would any fitness professional actively discourage clients who want to pursue fitness? Why would we try to keep them from discovering new activities they might enjoy and benefit from? Even if you believe your preferred approach is superior to all others, why would that rule out even exploring other approaches?

It’s not just meatheads who think this way. I’ve met yoga teachers, Pilates instructors, runners, and functional gurus who think any external load is pointless or unsafe.

I’m not sure of many things, but I am about this: No single method is so obviously superior that it should be done exclusively.

To be clear, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with specializing. We’ve all known great coaches with awesome knowledge and skill in powerlifting, Olympic lifting, kettlebell training, gymnastics, bodybuilding, or metabolic conditioning. We’ve seen coaches who were peerless when it comes to training speed, agility, endurance, or movement skills.

If you love training so much that you want to do it for a living, it’s understandable that you’d have a strong preference for one type of training.

But that doesn’t give you any good reason to push that preference on every client, or talk down other types of training. It’s not just unfair to your clients, it’s unfair to your colleagues. You’re hurting our credibility along with your own.

READ ALSO: “Three Ways to Write Better Training Programs”

3. Seek out what you don’t know

The solution comes down to two simple words: Be better.

You can start by learning more. Not more of what you already know, but more of what you don’t know. Get out of your comfort zone and experience more of what the fitness industry has to offer, both physically and intellectually.

A few ways to get better:

* Survey your clients

Ask your clients what they like and don’t like about your training methods. They’ll probably be reticent, so make sure they understand you really want their honest feedback, with the goal of improving your service to them. You can make it anonymous by using a tool like Survey Monkey and sending them a link via email.

It’s a low-risk move for you. Your current clients will give you mostly positive answers. (If you want a wider range of responses, open the survey to past clients.) But even positive feedback often points to an area or two where you can be better.

* Hire your own personal trainer

Lots of coaches say everyone needs a trainer. Maybe you’re one of them. But do you actually believe it? There’s an easy way to find out: Hire a personal trainer. And I’m not talking about a friend, or someone you agree with on virtually every fitness-related issue. Hire someone with a different approach to training.

You’ll not only pick up new ideas about coaching and interacting with your clients, you’ll also gain insight into the training experience from a client’s perspective.

READ ALSO: “Why Personal Trainers Need Their Own Coaches and Mentors”

* Take practical, hands-on courses

The best way to experience a new modality is to learn directly from a top expert. Sign up for an Animal Flow seminar. Earn a TRX or kettlebell certification. The farther it is from your personal preferences, the more stimulating (and perhaps even humbling) it will be.

* Try new classes regularly

Group exercise classes are another way to get out of your comfort zone—one you can do early and often. The goal is to diversify your fitness portfolio by trying workout systems without regard for whether you’ll be good at them.

Start with the obvious ones that your gym probably offers, like yoga, Spinning, Pilates, barre, and Zumba. Try a few old-school group classes like kickboxing or step aerobics, if you can find them.

Pay a few bucks to test drive Soul Cycle, Orange Theory, Les Mills, or whatever workout system or boutique studio is currently popular in your city.

Visiting a new city? With a quick Google search, you can figure out what’s trending there, and check it out.

* Read everything

You probably have strong opinions about the latest diet trends—cleanses, keto, fasting, vegan, carnivore. But whether you love it or think it’s junk, when was the last time you read a book about it? I don’t mean reading someone else’s opinion of the book. I mean reading the original source, from the point of view of the person who made it a thing in the first place.

For example, have you read The Whole30, Wheat Belly, The China Study, or Eat Right 4 Your Type? All of them are, or were, hugely influential.

If you agree with a book’s philosophy, reading it will allow you to make more intelligent arguments in favor of it. If you disagree, you’ll be able to discuss its flaws with more authority. Either way, you learn from it.

Final Thoughts

Ultimately, the more we pursue experiences and content that both reinforce and challenge our beliefs, the better we serve our clients.

The more we focus on serving those clients, the better we make our entire profession.

And the better our profession becomes, the more people we can help.

Isn’t that the point?

    The post How to Make Sure You Aren’t One of the Bad Trainers Ruining Our Profession appeared first on The PTDC.

How to Make Sure You Aren’t One of the Bad Trainers Ruining Our Profession published first on https://medium.com/@MyDietArea

[asecretsummer-rpgpromo]

WANTED! FC can be changed!

Name: Christian Wallace Age: 19 Sexuality: Up to Player Gender: Up to Player Portrayed By: Khylin Rhambo Availability: Open

“There is so much I would want to do, but all the things are holding me back.”

→ Background

Christian is the typical dreamer. He’s the quiet guy you mostly don’t even realize even when you’re around the same social circle as him. He wouldn’t get the idea to talk to you by himself so he pretty much lived off people talking to him. Everyone in his family was different. His cousin Adrian was funny and outgoing, his cousin Eva was great at talking with strangers and even his big brother Keith was outgoing, partying a lot.  And even though Keith was just his half brother, Christian always saw him as the real deal. Somehow Christian didn’t feel like this was his world. He would rather be home and dream of the life he could have, instead of doing something to get there. He was an okay student. No one expected much from him and he passed all classes, not exceptionally but it was always okay. Christian knew Annie but she was older and he would probably never know her but he was interested in her. Having a crush on that girl felt pretty stupid but he couldn’t help it. He adored how she was walking around and living the dream he would never reach.

You would often find Christian walking around town alone, just watching people, seeing how they were doing. At one point he begged his parents to send him to a boarding school. His parents had no idea why but they took the request and found a place for him. What Christian didn’t know was that it was an all boys school. Stamford School. Not that this was a problem, but he was not one who belonged in a crowd, so he was bullied easily. He liked the life of boarding school in general but he got more and more quiet, was more to himself, read a lot of books and drew a lot. It was mostly just scribbles but they turned out to be better and better. How he dreamed of having a social life and friends though. In school he didn’t have a chance but he was happy he had the people in his family who took him just as he was.

→ Back to Baberton

When he came back from boarding school, he applied to colleges, but his grades were just okay and his dream of becoming a architect was far away. At his first try he was wait listed at every college so now he’s home again, waiting to apply for the next round, hoping he would get in anywhere. It still disturbs him deeply what happened in town all those years before. He thinks it’s unfair that this happened to Annie and he deep down hates Sasha Miller for killing her. He must admit he’s still a bit afraid walking through town in the dark even though -A, Daisy Ramsey, is long gone and sometimes he calls his brother Keith in panic to pick him up. All in all though Christian is a romantic young boy, he would love to have the right girl, to find her, to get her and to keep her. He dreams of cute dates, flowers and all of this stuff. He was sure he would be one of the good boyfriends. Problem is no one would notice him.

His parents provide for him right now. He lives at home and doesn’t really need a job. He helps out at the library from time to time so he isn’t bored all the time. He would like to move out since he isn’t used to having them around all the time anymore, but he tries to get through it. He would still like to move to Keith’s apartment since it would probably be big enough but he doesn’t know how his brother would feel about it. Christian tends to think he’s a burden to people so he barely requests anything.

→ What’s His Secret?

After he came back from boarding school, he met Nina Everett and she begun to talk to him and was really nice and ever since then, he’d fallen for her. It was a disappointment to him to know that she’s not into guys but for once Christian didn’t want to give up. Maybe he could change her mind? Things like that happen. He stays around the pet shop a lot, pretending to visit his old classmate Serena Henson. He feel embarrassed to be interested in someone he could never have.

There is a reason why Christian really wanted to go to boarding school. While looking through some social media he was logged into he slowly started to get bullied by an anonymous person. It led that far that he was being threatened when he wouldn’t take his ‘boring life’ out of town. He never knew who this was but he felt scared because that person sounded so serious, so Christian begged his parents to let him go. He had no idea that this was Annie, making fun of him in secret, laughing with her friends about his scared face when he was around town. No one knew it would go this far, of course.

Main | Plot | Most Wanted | Ask

[mi7004nelaangelova-blog]

“CHILD WITHIN OURSELF” Young people goes through periods of independence and dependence. The transition to adulthood however is not easier, if you think of “adulthood” as a setting up a career, settling far away from home, creating own family and build up an entire new home. People did not become any less an adults, having those things and yet these are the markers of adulthood today. And when some individuals take too long to acquire them they are being called “kids”. Finding whats best for you while growing up, and holding on to those habits and values of your youth is a right you’re entitled to. Imagine all of a sudden you’re out in the world, and you have this countless variety of options, but you don’t know which one is the best for you. There’s  the pressure from your family in terms of expectations for a big professional realisation etc. Age alone doesn’t make a person an adult, there are different factors to be considered. People are getting married and having kids later in life, but those are just optional things, but what makes you really an adult? I set out to try to answer this to the best of my ability, but truth is there is either no answer, or a variety of complex and multifaceted answers. Because the view from the top is so different, I asked a few friends to define what adulthood mean, and how the understand it. “Theoretically, I think we are a child for as long as we have a parent..being a child could also be an individual approach, so you’re one for as long as you want to be. With me, well I’m in a transition for a couple of years now, still not fully an adult yet..whivh i think is my decision in that case..i want to stay a child as long as possible. But i have adult responsibilities unfortunately. Another thing is we become an adults when we build a family. So when you have a partner you are willing to spent your life with them and start your life with them, you’re an adult.” Kinga Kolodziej After talking with Kinga i asked my self, we decide when to become an adults, and its also down to when we feel is the right thing to do it so. I think the transition between childhood to adulthood is not easy, because all of the sudden you find yourself in this world full of opportunities, and you have to ‘prove“ the society that you’re capable of being called an adult. So you strive for that job, live on your own, create family and have kids..so thats okay..but what happen to those who struggle to live within the society’s norms, the society will call the ’children’, because they haven’t managed to ‘graduate’ from the transition of adulthood. “I feel like in the eyes of law, yes you are an adult in certain age. But personally no, i won’t feel like I’m an adult until I’m fully independent. I feel like society determines what an adult is. You are expected to be in a certain position in your life, the job, car, house etc.” Becca Nicholson I feel is more of a personal choice to either wanting to be a child or a grown up..and until you have moved out from your parents house, have a job, family and kids you can say you’re still a child. The society determines what you should be, based on what you’re capable of and how matured you’re . “Becoming an adult” is more of an elusive, sort of abstract concept than I’d thought when I was younger. I just assumed you’d get to a certain age and everything would make sense. Bless my young little heart, I had no idea! At 28, I can say that sometimes I feel like an adult and a lot of the time, I don’t. Being a Millennial and trying to adult is wildly disorienting. I can’t figure out if I’m supposed to start a non-profit, get another degree, develop a wildly profitable entrepreneurial venture, or somehow travel the world and make it look effortless online. Mostly it just looks like taking a job that won’t ever pay off my student debt in a field that is not the one that I studied. Then, if I hold myself to the traditional ideal of what it means to be an adult, I’m also not nailing it. I am unmarried, and not settled into a long term, financially stable career. Recognising that I’m holding myself to an unrealistic standard considering the economic climate and the fact that dating as a Millennial is exhausting, it’s unfair to judge myself, but I confess I fall into the trap of comparison often enough. Sometimes because I simply desire those things for myself, and sometimes because Instagram. My ducks are not in a row, they are wandering. Maria Eleusiniotis Adulthood is a social construct in that way you can say so is childhood. But like all social constructs, they have real consequences. They determine who is legally responsible for their actions and who is not, what roles people are allowed to have within society, how people see each other, and how they see themselves. For example in the United States, you can’t drink until you are 21, but legal adulthood, along with voting and the ability to join the military, comes at age 18. Or does it? You’re allowed to watch adult movies at 17. And kids can hold a job as young as 14, depending on state restrictions, and can often deliver newspapers, babysit, or work for their parents even younger than that. “We all know people who are 21 or 22 years old who are very wise and mature, but we also know people who are very immature and very reckless. We’re not going to start giving people maturity tests to decide whether they can buy alcohol or not.” Laurence Steinberg “I don’t think I’ve become an adult just yet. I’m a 21 year-old American student who lives almost entirely off of my parent’s welfare. For the last several years, I’ve felt a pressure— it might be a biological or a social pressure— to get out from under the yoke of my parents’ financial assistance. I feel that only when I’m able to support myself financially will I be a true “adult.” Some of the traditional markers of adulthood (turning 18, turning 21) have come and gone without me feeling any more adult-y, and I don’t think that marriage would make me feel grown up unless it was accompanied by financial independence. Money really matters because past a certain age it is the main determiner of what you can and cannot do. And I guess to me the freedom to choose all “the things” in your life is what makes someone an adult.” Stephen Grapes “Adulthood is like a fish glittering in the water; you know it’s swimming around there and you can reach out and maybe touch it, but to catch it would destroy everything.  And the moments when you do catch it—when you have to attend a brother-in-law’s funeral or euthanise a paralysed pet—you grasp it and sit on the grass contentedly, watching adulthood glint in the sunlight. Then lean back and sigh, relieved that—for today, at least—it doesn’t concern you.” Anonymous Being an adult isn’t always a desirable thing. Independence can become loneliness. Responsibility can become stress. Williams Brown breaks down the lessons she’s learned about adulthood into three categories: “taking care of people, taking care of things, and taking care of yourself.”