#having space to do physical therapy as well as work from home in multiple places will be a life saver

[thedisablednaturalist]

I found a really nice apartment that is part of an affordable housing program in my county and it has really nice ADA apartments. I'm going to apply ASAP. I did the math and I should definitely qualify and afford it without using up all my monthly income. Things are finally looking up!!

[solarisgod]

To be honest, I really could've make Micah work in the astronomy field as an astronaut and other related positions, as xyr adoptive father inspired xem to be, and just make xem be incredibly intelligent as so many well known protagonists were, but there's something so... humanly realistic and painfully relatable in giving xem a dream that xe always wanted to achieve, but couldn't in the end because of xyr conditions, especially with xyr intellectual disability being the biggest barrier.

Micah was raised in the wild with very little socialization and learning opportunities for two years by the Incarnation of Earth who couldn't be and verbally communicate with xem in its vessel ( to protect Micah from forming deep emotional attachment with it in case xe got taken away ) before Micah accidentally burnt xyr home down and got taken away by the first responder team to the hospital. For three years then until the Everlove took xem in, Micah moved in between many foster families, with some being abusive and / or neglectful, and from the multiple stressful changes and treatments, this significantly impacted the Starwake System's social, emotional, and cognitive developments. In addition, developing Dissociative Identity Disorder, they experience dissociative symptoms that would hinder their learning and processing, such as amnesia and dissociation.

But the Starwake System having intellectual disability was especially difficult for Micah to accept when it prevented xem from being able to study in and entirely understand the subjects and knowledge that are required to work in the astronomy field. Micah had to leave xyr classroom to be placed in a special educational class when xe was nine years old and xe didn't understand why, but at ten, xe was appalled when xe had a discussion about xyr special education with xyr parents that led to xem learning about xyr dissociative symptoms and intellectual disability, and this was also when Micah was told xe likely couldn't be able to become an astronomer and astronaut like xyr adoptive father due to the complexity of the topics centred in astronomy.

As an attempt to try to prove xyr parents wrong, Micah secretly tried to take physics and chemistry on xyr third year of high school, but had to drop out a few weeks later when the school and xyr parents were concerned of xyr poor grades and performances. Micah had to take alternative courses and catch up with the weeks old lessons. The catch up game and the fact that xe couldn't do astronomy required subjects caused xyr depression to worsen since starting high school. It doesn't help that xyr childhood best friend, Adoniram, who also wanted to be an astronaut, was able to do and complete them even with the highest grades of his classes. Micah wouldn't even be able to become an aviator at least either, so feeling as xe was forever trapped in the world, xe held a highly strong self-hatred for xyr disabilities until xe was twenty two and accepted this part of xemself with the help of therapy.

Although Micah took creative writing on the third year and this increased xyr love in the art of writing before xe had a revelation xe could be a creator in arts, literature, and drama instead. Micah had to attend summer school of the same year to improve on xyr grades and took previous grade courses that xe didn't have before, so xe could be accepted in an arts university. Micah was able to enroll in one and get both of xyr associate and bachelor degree. Over time, xe became successful and was able to find joy in arts the way that outer space does. While xe may not be able to be with the stars, Micah has still been grateful that despite xyr conditions, xe could still create what would empower and inspire people, creating xyr own stars in the world that people can see only hope and love in.

[cerislabnotes]

TheraSMD 335 Providers Informational Report (Draft 1)

Overview: The Genetic Nuclear Development Corp introduced the TheraSMD 335 process in 2032 as a way for Therians to transition to their mentally accepted species.

The TheraSMSD 335 is a particle accelerator used to rapidly split apart DNA. Partnered with the SMD (Small Molecular Delivery device), it delivers the edited DNA to the split sections of the patient.

Configuring the subject's DNA to the selected species can take up to 9 years of treatment. The patient has to supplement the direct treatments with multiple medications and sometimes even injections or implants.

Early adopters of the treatment say it has helped them feel better physically, even if the end result is not as they intended. Current patients have mostly enjoyed results closer to their intended body physiology.

Effects of Treatment: Treatment will completely transform the patient into an anthropomorphic version of their accepted species. The number of anthropomorphic features and levels that each patient experiences differs from case to case and requires more R&D to narrow. Example of effects of a patient using Dragon HRT (Humanity Replacement Therapy): (Insert the entirety of Sabines' Dragon HRT work here) The treatment does affect mental state by putting the subject in the species' mental state. However, the patient will never have a total replacement of mentality, nor will the treatment affect memory. Most patients report body image issues even long after the body form is completely changed. This phenomenon has been widely recorded for hormone replacement patients as well.

Provider Concerns: Some professionals accepting of the point of treatment are still wary about the procedure, and a substantial number of providers make the patient wait up to 3 years, expecting the patient to attempt living as their desired species. The patients are especially expected to come out to other people in their space so that the changes do not glare as if the treatment is taken. Those doctors who do not require this tend to be research doctors. Most prescribers are still trying to learn the best ways to conduct treatment.

Patients willing to take the treatment tend to already be their species in their minds, which reaffirms that through their bodies. Surprisingly, a large number of patients are prescribed Dragon HRT. Being the most drastic change and painful, the patients are unusually well prepared. Limitations of the treatment are the anthropomorphic look of any species from a complete treatment. This must be stressed more, as those looking for a total change are few due to treatment issues in the feral state. Similarly, halting treatment creates form issues as the body is lost between the two species. Dangerous loss of body chemistry is the most common symptom. Rare cases show the subject completely losing their mind, usually triggered by outside factors from the treatment. Additional stress outside of the treatment is a major contributing factor.

Detailed Example Patient Treatment Session: Treatments are conducted the same way every visit. The subject must confirm pre-treatments of SMD are in their system (usually injections by the patient at home, followed up by bloodwork before visits) The subject enters one of the treatment rooms, is restrained, and the technician exits the room to a radiation-safe room. The subject has to remain awake for the entire treatment. The beam is placed before the top of the subject's head and then travels the length of the body, doing a diagnosis pass. After target centers are found, the beam traverses the body again, firing out segments of DNA for up to an hour. SMD, already in the body in mass, fills in these breaks relatively instantaneously. Once the technician determines the procedure, the subject is released from restraint and taken to postop holding. Another hour of post-treatment study is mainly used to verify that the body has accepted the changes. If issues are found, subsequent treatments may be required in the same session. Most patients complain of a stinging, burning sensation across their body up to two hours post-treatment. Some even mention a sometimes even "metallic burning" smell. This is attributed to the particle beam trimming and has been determined to be inconsequential.

Provider Insurance Notes: Some physicians who perform the procedure have to list treatment as a type of cancer needing radiation and gene therapy. Most insurance does not cover treatment outright; in some states, the treatment is outright banned. Some patients have been known to damage their cells through /redacted/ to justify full treatment immediately. Advise patients not to take these steps as it can drastically affect treatment outcomes.

Informal Summary (the part Dr. Dipshit ignored): As one of the team of researchers who founded this procedure, I cannot stress enough how important this work is to hundreds of thousands of people. Streamlining treatment and hastening treatment acceptance must be paramount, as some patients have no time to wait. We must be thankful that science has given us this through years of work and the support of those who need it most. As a soon-to-be patient, I implore those delivering this care to remember their goal as healthcare providers and their oath in our field. It may be messy, and you may get thrown across the room by a frustrated patient, but don't hold it against them. Know that because of you, they are still there, able to be frustrated because of your dedication to their care.

[mugenloopdalove]

it really just seems like tumblr is not an affirming place for you and only makes your mood tank.

I think you would really benefit from a hobby you can do in a physical space with other people. It will do a lot of good for you to get out of the house and be around others rather than stay in a self perpetuating spiral of loneliness at the house. See what sort of events your library hosts etc.

Look into your local community to find others and keep an open mind. Yes its going to be hard and anxiety inducing at first but it gets easier each time you push yourself out of the comfort zone of your home/internet space. Its really hard work but you can do it!

Theres a very limited amount of help complete strangers online can offer, you need to start helping yourself.

Also please don't dismiss this as not offering a solution, because I am an internet stranger taking time out of my day to type this and try to help you. An F/O ask/comment isnt a healthy longterm solution to depression, its a momentary boost in serotonin that is gone almost immediately and only serves to fuel your depression. You have to at a certain point realize that some things you seek only make your issues worse and you need to try other things to help yourself.

I'd love to truly, but the hard part with that is. I don't drive. Like I've wanted to get involved with community stuff, especially theatre, for awhile, but I'm still working on getting my permit and overcoming the STRESS I have around driving. (I can control a car very well, I was almost a natural, but seeing other cards gives me panic attacks that cause me to disassociate).

The bus system here ain't great, shit schedule and buses constantly cancel randomly. Uber is way to expensive for me to regularly take for say. Rehearsals which will probably be almost daily. There isn't even a library on the only accessible bus route (which I have to trek up a hill for and even when I have my cane is difficult) and can I just say that's uh. Infuriating I feel like that should be a thing that is just. Default.

I'm rlly in the situation of suburban life being SO FUCKING UNFRIENDLY if you don't/can't drive. Bc I'd love to get out and do stuff. There's so much stuff I wanna do but I literally can't bc Im at the shitty mercy of so many shitty variables.

And like... Yeah the f/o asks won't cure my depression that's why I'm getting back into therapy. But it would be nice to like. Not have to deal with the 50 hours a week of being home alone + not even having someone to send me just a message online, even a simple one

I'm hoping that now that I have a job again and the hours are pretty good (tho. Opposite of hubby's which is gonna SUCK but not a lot of overnight stuff is hiring rn) I'll be. Better. Its really been the five straight months of being locked in my room that caused. This mess I'm in. I tend to make friends pretty easily at work and from what I've seen of kitchen staff in general working multiple restaurant jobs it's always a fun time w them shskdhd

I do appreciate it I just. God. Trying to find local community when you can't drive and have a shit bus line sucks lol.

[tellywoodtrash]

// trigger warning for abuse and panic attacks //

hello TT. I'm so sorry for oversharing but i literally don't know what to do right know.

I'm 18 and my parents are abusive in an physical, mental, emotional, and every other sense.

I'm going to college this year and for years i thought that if i could just move away for college, i would be able to heal away from them. i would finally be free.

but they didn't let me apply to any out-of-state colleges. so now I'm stuck with them till idek how long. i wish i could just rent a tiny appartment or something but i don't have the money. and i can't live in any in state hostels either because they don't accept students who live in the same state.

as a result, my depression and anxiety has gotten so much worse. im having multiple panic attacks a day and i don't know what to do.

i don't know how i will survive anymore torture from them. i don't see a way out for myself. what should I do?

Dearest baby friend,

First offf, sending you biggest and tightest hugs. You are being very brave reaching out to me through your pain.

Crappy parents are just a shitty lottery result, and the worst bit is, you cannot change them. What you can change however, is how you react to them. It will take a lot of work, but train yourself to not hear the shitty things they say to you. It's extreeeemely difficult to grow out of wanting your parents' approval (esp. for us desis) but that's what you've got to do. By now you must have realised that no matter what you do, there's no pleasing them. So fuck it. Do what you think is right (PRUDENTLY, within reason; try not to rock the boat too much) and fuck their opinion. It's just white noise. Stop allowing them to affect your mood. Free yourself from them emotionally, and you'll see a lot of their power over you is diminished.

Is there anyone in the extended family you could reach out to? An aunt/uncle/grandparent etc? Maybe just work on forming a bond with someone like that, an adult whom you can trust to have your wellbeing at heart. Worst situation, you can move out to their place. But that's just in case of emergencies.

Now that you're starting college, I assume you'll have a little more freedom than you did in school, time wise. Try and use that to spend as much time away from your parents, whether it be in the college library, or with friends, etc. Come back home at reasonable times, and then just say you're exhausted and go be in your own space. Try and build a life outside of home and treat this just as a place to come rest your head at night.

Most importantly, you need to start creating an action plan to become financially independent as soon as feasibly possible. The sooner you have your own money, the quicker you can break your parents' control over you. You can move out to PGs or working women's hostels, or whatever. There are a buncha places that will pay you for small online tasks, like fiverr and upwork and stuff. All you need is your computer and an internet connection. If you have skills like graphic design and video editing etc, even better. Do some research into those. Depending on your college major, your professors might be able to help you get some small stuff within the college as well, as a research assistant or something of the sort. If/when you find a professor you form a good bond with, tell them you're interested in participating in projects or whatever, and that they should keep you in mind. These professors will also be able to give you good recommendation letters and connections when you graduate and are looking to move into the job market.

Since you don't have much disposable income rn, I realise it might not be feasible to suggest therapy to you; but please know there are online options that take like, a 1000 - 2000 bucks per session (look up The Mind Clan.) If that's not possible, I'd like you to try doing some self therapeutic reading that might be helpful. Research books written by professionals in the field (for eg Toxic Parents: Overcoming Their Hurtful Legacy and Reclaiming Your Life by Dr. Susan Forward; and Childhood Disrupted: How Your Biography Becomes Your Biology, and How You Can Heal by Donna Jackson Nakazawa) and absorb their messages and do the exercises if any, to help yourself understand how this relationship has affected both your mental and physical health, identify patterns that you may have built up as defense mechanisms to cope, and how to move forward with healing.

Please know, that you WILL eventually make it out of this situation. Maybe not now, maybe not in the current foreseeable future; but eventually you WILL become financially and emotionally independent from your parents and will be able to do as you wish. It's just about hanging in there a little longer. Use this time to prepare yourself to be self sufficient in the real world, and freedom shall come sooner than later.

Please take care of yourself in the meantime. I love you lots and am rooting for you.

[thisweekingundamwing]

This Week in Gundam Wing 23-29 May 2021

I’m so on the ball with this lately... >_> Sorry. Here’s this week’s roundup! May 23rd - 29th!

Remember to give your content creators some love! Be sure to join in on the events at the bottom! And remember to send in any new works you see or make next week!

~Mod Hel

Fanfiction/Snippets/AU Ideas:

@bobo-is-tha-bomb

The Preventer Calendar https://archiveofourown.org/works/31561295

Gen, Reader, Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton, Quatre Raberba Winner, Chang Wufei, Zechs Merquise, OC - Character

Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply, Humor, Partial Nudity, Reader-Insert, Nudity, A teeny hint of TrowaxReader, Rating because of some gratuitous nudity on Trowa's side

Twelve models, twelve shoots, twelve different locations in the Ardennes, and all of it in two fucking days. Because Preventer couldn’t spare you their agents any longer than that.

Why had you agreed to do this project again?

It's all for the arts.

boxofhatebrains

Helping Hand https://archiveofourown.org/works/31620146

M/M, Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

Explicit, No Archive Warnings Apply, Light Angst, Comfort/Angst, Minor Injuries, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Not Gundam Wing: Frozen Teardrop Compliant, after series, Flirting, Not Beta Read, slight reference to Episode Zero, Swearing

Duo realizes that Heero comes around whenever he damn well feels like it. They’ve been in contact for the last seven years after the Mariemaia incident, but generally at Heero’s own whim. Duo stays in the same place, it’s Heero who gravitates.

This time is no different.

@duointherain

Silent Menace https://duointherain.tumblr.com/post/652120818915115009/fic-silent-menace-11

1x2x1

Warnings: Mute Duo. Drugged and injured Heero.

Une always had the dark side of the job. She’d let others give out goodness, but bad news she owned herself. Duo had come to the conclusion that she was trying to take responsibility, trying to be a decent person. He could vibe with that.

@lifeaftermeteor

Touched by the Stars (Ch. 7) https://archiveofourown.org/works/26314657/chapters/77885468

M/M, Chang Wufei/Duo Maxwell, Chang Wufei/Heero Yuy, Trowa Barton/Chang Wufei, Chang Wufei/Quatre Raberba Winner

Explicit, Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings, thar be porn, Dubious Consent, Aliens, Alien Abduction, Alternate Universe, mention of MPREG, everyone takes a turn with Wufei, alien anatomy and interesting dicks, Tentacles, Monster Boys, Slime, Double Cocks, Cum Inflation, Knotting, Oral, multiple dicks, Xeno, Spitroasting, Oviposition, Body Modification, Polyamory, Unbirthing, Triple Penetration, Cervical Penetration

University instructor Chang Wufei didn't even believe in aliens, much less intentionally attract their attention. But that doesn't mean much when they decided he'd be the ideal final mate for their group and scoop him off of the planet to take home to their queen. Enjoying him on the trip there, of course. 

@noirangetrois

Of the Sea (Ch. 10) https://archiveofourown.org/works/12749670/chapters/78205124

M/M, Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply, fairytale my way, Meroctopus!Dorothy, Slow Burn, Multi POV, POV Third Person Limited, merman au, MerMay, Fantasy Politics, mentions of abuse, Unnatural November

Heero Yuy will soon be reaching the age of majority, at which time he will ascend the throne of Wingaria. Before such time, he must needs choose a bride. But what if there are no good choices? What if someone else has captured his heart?

The Story of Wrong (Ch. 8) https://archiveofourown.org/works/13849020/chapters/77856332

M/M, Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

Explicit, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Duo POV, Angst, Drama, Tragedy, Spoilers, very dark, Heero and Duo don’t die, I promise, Yaoi, slowburn, Mental Instability, Mental Health Issues, Mental Breakdown, If those are in any way an issue for you then go ahead and skip this, Eventual Smut, VERY eventual, this is mostly canon-compliant but I’ve changed a couple things here and there

Duo recounts his experiences during the war in order to explain… well, why he was wrong.

simulacraryn

love me like (tomorrow we’re) stardust https://archiveofourown.org/works/31458119/chapters/77811359

M/F, Treize Khushrenada/Lady Une

Treize Khushrenada, Lady Une, Original Characters, Hot Dog (gundam wing)

Explicit, Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Angst, Near Death Experiences, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, unredeemable villain, Sex, Smut, consent is fucking sexy, Spoiler: He wore the Astro Suit at last!, Newtypes (Gundam Wing), no predators or prey here, intact brains

The World Nation would face off against the White Fang to bring about an end to all conflict between the Colonies and Earth. The plan had called for the bitter end of the last bastion of the old regime, Treize Khushrenada. However, as with every play on the stage of war, the actors have chosen to adlib. Effectively throwing the course of history off the rails, the director finds himself faced with a new road to choose.

@zaganthi

Jiu Jie https://archiveofourown.org/works/31413956

M/M, M/F, Duo Maxwell/Quatre Raberba Winner; Treize Khushrenada/Quatre Raberba Winner; Treize Khushrenada/Duo Maxwell; Duo Maxwell/Hilde Schbeiker

Explicit, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Relationship Negotiation; Polyamorous Character; Quatre Raberba’s Uchuu no Kokoro | Space Heart; Aged-Up Character(s); Newtypes (Gundam Wing); Past Relationship(s); Jealousy; Awkward Flirting; Bathing/Washing; Cuddling & Snuggling; Museums; talking about feelings; Psychic Bond; Dealing with exes; Ex Sex; Colonists exploring earth

Hilde waved goodbye as she left and Duo went to look for Treize and Quatre. What the hell was wrong with him. His body seemed to be saying yes but his mind was definitely not in that space at all. What the everlasting hell was going on. He wanted to see her again but why?

Treize passed him a picture of tree frogs, apparently feeling the confusion as Duo half jogged through the aquarium to catch back up. What the hell. Just what the hell.

It took him a while to get there, but the moment he got close, Quatre saw him, beamed a happy smile and the link opened up with a rush and he was surrounded again in emotional warmth. It was addictive and a relief, and there wasn’t, there wasn’t any recrimination from either of them. Just run off and see an old flame, it’s cool, we’ll be here when you get back vibes.

Lebensmüde https://archiveofourown.org/works/31413278

M/M, Duo Maxwell/Quatre Raberba Winner; Treize Khushrenada/Quatre Raberba Winner; Treize Khushrenada/Duo Maxwell

Explicit, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Aged-Up Character(s); Quatre Raberba’s Uchuu no Kokoro | Space Heart; Newtypes (Gundam Wing); Preventers (Gundam Wing); Cameos; Therapy; Aftermath of Torture; Aftermath of Violence; Rape Aftermath; Physical Disability; Gratuitous Smut; Psychic Bond; Psychic Abilities; Domestic; Injury Recovery

Treize remembered the discussion of gunpowder residue on his head; it was one of the things John had been livid about after everything, and unable to explain any more than Treize had at the time. Seeing it written down… was something else. Treize closed the book over his finger, gently tapping it on his thigh as he looked up at Quatre.

“The first hot chocolate of the season,” Quatre said sitting down next to him, comfort flowing over the link. “I really wanted something sweet.” He paused. “I can feel something is…oh.” He noticed the book in Treize’s hand.

“Adding to the list of things we need to probably talk about,” he said quietly, contemplating it as he reached with his other hand to take the cocoa. “Have you written everything up?”

Fanart/Crafts/Photo Manips:

@2pcbart

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31618103

Recollect - Trowa/WuFei, comic style

@alphaikaros

https://alphaikaros.tumblr.com/post/651358650733150208/little-angry-boi

WuFei Chang, fanart

@bettertasting

https://bettertasting.tumblr.com/post/652303436314017792/something-spicy-for-the-dash-im-really-digging

Heero/Duo, fanart, nsfw

@bobo-is-tha-bomb

https://bobo-is-tha-bomb.tumblr.com/post/652089738925359104/%F0%9D%98%9B%F0%9D%98%A9%F0%9D%98%AA%F0%9D%98%B4-%F0%9D%98%AA%F0%9D%98%B4-%F0%9D%98%97%F0%9D%98%B3%F0%9D%98%A6%F0%9D%98%B7%F0%9D%98%A6%F0%9D%98%AF%F0%9D%98%B5%F0%9D%98%A6%F0%9D%98%B3-%F0%9D%98%9E%F0%9D%98%AA%F0%9D%98%AF%F0%9D%98%A5-%F0%9D%98%A4%F0%9D%98%A2%F0%9D%98%AD%F0%9D%98%AD%F0%9D%98%AA%F0%9D%98%AF%F0%9D%98%A8-zechs-merquise

Tallgeese, gunpla

https://bobo-is-tha-bomb.tumblr.com/post/652448694036316160/sd-wing-gundam-ew

Wing, gunpla

@judaru

https://judaru.tumblr.com/post/651257960922857472/im-20-years-late-but-ive-been-reading-a-lot-of

Duo Maxwell, fanart

@keiko1183

https://keiko1183.tumblr.com/post/652327422940807168/completed-with-pencils-might-be-doing-the-acrylics

Trowa/Quatre, fanart

@not-so-dead-fandoms

https://not-so-dead-fandoms.tumblr.com/post/651085636504272896/mermay-01

Heero Yuy, fanart

https://not-so-dead-fandoms.tumblr.com/post/651494132071661568/mermay-02-duo-as-a-betta-fish-merlad

Duo Maxwell, fanart

https://not-so-dead-fandoms.tumblr.com/post/652283083819810816/mermay-03-of-course-i-made-trowa-a-clownfish

Trowa Barton, fanart

@pineappleglazedham

https://pineappleglazedham.tumblr.com/post/651759824584966144

Trieze/Une, fanart, fanfiction, playlist

Photosets/Gifsets/Screenshots/Manga Pages:

@clair-audients

https://clair-audients.tumblr.com/post/652114120696594432

Wing & Altron, gif

@disturbed02girl

https://disturbed02girl.tumblr.com/post/617456995130294273/thoughtful-quatre-thursday

Quatre, manga page

@meggie-stardust

https://meggie-stardust.tumblr.com/post/652350439669547008/same-energy

Epyon is an icon.

Fandom Discourse:

@bobo-is-tha-bomb

https://bobo-is-tha-bomb.tumblr.com/post/651423437954433024/a-homage-to-the-reader-insert

Reader Insert Homage

@cuteciboulette

https://cuteciboulette.tumblr.com/post/652076342033170432/shinigamis-coming-to-town-d-duo-just

Duo Maxwell, doujinshi

Quotes:

@incorrectgundamwingquotes

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/652102805897805825/in-the-groupchat-trowa-why-tf-do-we-have-20

Trowa & WuFei

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/652356366558806016/heero-yeah-but-as-far-as-plans-go-this-is-not-a

Heero & Quatre

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/651830976331251712/duo-gesturing-to-heero-dont-worry-weve-got-an

Duo, Heero, & WuFei

Calendar Events:

@gundamzine

Rhythm Generation 2021

Meet the Mods: https://gundamzine.tumblr.com/post/636708854145613824/come-on-over-a-meet-your-2021-zine-mod-team-head

Check out the blog for the Zine schedule!

@gundam-wing-pride

Gundam Wing Pride 2k21 https://gundam-wing-pride.tumblr.com/post/648237909672083456/incoming-transmission-faq

A Beautiful Rainbow of Prompts https://gundam-wing-pride.tumblr.com/post/649898271517573120/a-beautiful-rainbow-of-prompts

@gwartserver

Month of WuFei https://gwartserver.tumblr.com/post/649995521569767424/month-of-wufei

Shooting Stars (online convention) https://gwartserver.tumblr.com/post/650013463432888320/once-upon-a-time-lifeaftermeteor-and-myself

@gwcocktailfriday

Cocktail Fridays!

Post responses on Friday, during Happy Hour between 3 & 5 pm in your own timezone.

Here’s the prompt for Friday, !

In need of Summer/Fall(Autumn) prompts!

(I’ll um... fix these when I have time to find more prompts.)

@gwlemonyshenanigans

May 23rd’s Submissions https://gwlemonyshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/651999227800600576/may-23rd-submission

May 24th’s Submissions https://gwlemonyshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/652131130827571200/may-24th-submissions

May 25th’s Submissions https://gwlemonyshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/652252350922342400/may-25th-submissions

May 26th’s Submissions https://gwlemonyshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/652312096032342016/may-26th-submissions

May 27th’s Submissions https://gwlemonyshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/652433653693136896/may-27th-submissions

May 28th’s Submissions https://gwlemonyshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/652434486286548992/may-28th-submission

May 29th’s Submissions https://gwlemonyshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/652648408588353536/may-29th-submissions

Friday Spotlight! https://gwlemonyshenanigans.tumblr.com/post/652439213602684928/the-lastspotlight-friday

@oztober-rust

Welcome to Oztober Rust

We’re an up and coming Gundam Wing event with a slight twist! This page is still a work in progress, but you’re welcome to join us over on discord and get a feel for the event.

Have discord, will fan. https://oztober-rust.tumblr.com/post/647568110262566912/i-see-a-nice-and-steady-following-we-do-have-a

@seasons-of-gundamwing

Summer Event Voting https://seasons-of-gundamwing.tumblr.com/post/646220556727877633/seasons-of-gundamwing-okay-wingers-its-time-to

@thisweekingundamevents

Events Calendar https://thisweekingundamevents.tumblr.com/post/644080386309275648/events-calendar-update

If you are hosting an event currently, or are planning on one, hit us up with links and dates! We’ll add them to the Calendar and reblog your notices to get the word out!

[theanxiousstudentblog]

What I've learned from the first year of university: the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Three years later than expected, I finished my first year of university. At first, admittedly, it didn't feel like much; I submitted my final assignment, logged off of my student account, and went to watch the new series of The Real Housewives. It wasn't until a few weeks had passed that I was finally hit with how much this milestone meant to me and all the emotions that came with finally getting through the first academic year as a university student. This may not seem like a big achievement to some (I remember how in sixth form we were always made to believe that the first year of university was a piece of cake and way easier than A-levels) but, for me, it has been a rollercoaster ride of ups and downs. These emotions and thoughts are what have inspired me to write this post, specifically the feeling that university can be very very different from what you expect.

How I got here.

When I was younger, one of my sole dreams was to go to university. This may have seemed odd to some as I suffered from extreme anxiety when I was younger and actually refused to go to school between the ages of 7 and 9. However, it was never the academic side of schooling that worried me but the social side and being away from my family. I loved learning and I knew that I wanted to take my academic career to the highest possible level I could. The idea that I could pick any subject that I was interested in and do a whole course solely centered on teaching me as much as I could absorb was infatuating to me. It was for this reason that I spent so much effort making sure that I achieved good grades, despite my time off. I had my sights set on a prestigious university in London and in 2018 I received an offer to study there. However, instead of feeling excited about my future, I was engulfed with a feeling of dread. Unfortunately, due to events in my private life, my anxiety which had previously been kept under control by CBT and medication began to skyrocket. I would later learn that I developed complex PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) during this time. For the sake of keeping this blog post to a somewhat reasonable length, I will keep this account brief by saying that these difficulties eventually led to me pulling out of the London university and I decided to go to a local uni closer to home after taking a year off for my mental health (for a more detailed account you can look at one of my previous IG posts published 24/05/20).

Expectations vs...

I was excited for what awaited me at my local university; it was close enough to see my family whenever I wanted but still gave me the independence that I felt I needed to grow. Moving day came and went and it seemed to be going pretty smoothly, albeit some hiccups that came with my anxiety. It is important to note that I gave the university's wellbeing service a heads-up about my conditions before moving in so, at first, I felt confident that if I had any issues they would be able to work through them with me. However, over the next couple of weeks, my anxiety grew and grew, finally reaching its peak when my housemate turned around to me and told me that I needed to shut it about my mental health issues and stop hanging out with her. This triggered a major episode in my PTSD and I suddenly felt like I was spiraling out of control. However, despite my attendance beginning to drop and the multiple times I was having to leave lectures early due to panic attacks, I still sustained a level of confidence that my university would be able to give me the reasonable adjustments that the wellbeing team had spoken to me about before starting the term. Sure, they hadn't got back to my emails with any tangible support in weeks, but they couldn't just leave me like this...could they? All throughout my schooling, I was made to believe that educational settings were environments where any appetite to learn was nurtured and fed; education meant an opportunity to achieve anything you worked hard enough for, despite your background, disability, or start in life. Wouldn't universities be the ultimate conceptualization of this meritocracy?

Reality

Unfortunately, this vision would be quickly shattered by the stark reality of my treatment by my head of department and the well-being team. I go into more detail about this treatment in the IG post mentioned previously, but in summary I was given two choices: I get my attendance back to 100% with no support/reasonable adjustments from the university, or I leave/defer until I was "better". There was no comprehension from the uni that this wouldn't have a definable recovery date; I've been dealing with long-term mental illness since I was a child and it is something I've learned to live with alongside the appropriate support. To wait until I was "better" would potentially mean waiting forever. On top of that, I went out of my way to prove to my department that I was keeping up with my work and had achieved top marks on the most recent assignment but little recognition was given to my current grades. From the weeks since I started at university I'd met multiple people who had little passion in their subject or who were just at university because they thought it was what they should do. No hate to these people (I think the pressure young people face to go to university is a whole 'nother issue in itself) but I couldn't help but compare myself to them. The university didn't care that they had a whole student population of disillusioned young people who were indifferent to their academic fields but drew the line at a motivated student who suffered from mental illness. It became clear this wasn't an environment for people like me who were simply viewed as a wrench in the works. In December 2019, I was given no other option but to drop out of my university.

Starting again and the lessons I have learned

What was the worst blow to my mental health? Being kicked out because of my mental health...Having to leave university was a massive blow to my self-esteem and I began to catastrophize what that meant for my future. Luckily I had my family for support and my mum pushed me to look into the Open University, an institution based on distance learning. I enrolled part-time for the start of February (unfortunately I had missed the cohort to start full-time) and decided to focus on my therapy. This actually worked out great for me as in 2020 I was diagnosed with PTSD and started EMDR so being a part-time student gave me enough space to process the emotions that came up in my treatment. The Open University has been so helpful in making sure my needs are met and I have been so grateful to finally find an inclusive learning environment. It is definitely not how I planned to be experiencing university and I still do feel some disappointment in not getting the full "student experience" but it has also taught me some valuable lessons and given me a new insight into how far our education system still needs to go. These are the things I have learned:

Education isn't about degrees or academic prestige. Education is about a person's desire to learn, whether that be through books or the sheer act of being. Everyone requires different conditions to which they need to learn and thrive, and unfortunately, many academic institutions tend to expect us all to be cut from the same cloth. Despite this, no one can take away your passion to learn, and as long as you're living, you are learning.

There can be no equality without equity. The truth is people enter schooling from all different backgrounds and circumstances and it is not enough for institutions to treat everyone the same. In terms of mental health, many people are quick to say they recognise that mental illness can be just as debilitating as physical illness however until they put the actions and policies into place to make environments more tolerant and accessible then their words mean nothing. This means taking the time to talk to individual students about what they require and realise that the most important thing that a university can do is create a place where EVERYONE can learn. Schooling creates the foundations on which the future of our society is built and the fact that inclusion is barely making it on the blueprint is scary to me.

COVID has shown that in this digital age, attendance ISN'T everything. If only I could go back to that final meeting with my head of department and tell him that in a few months time everyone's attendance would be at 0%! Seriously though, this is a wake-up call to how simple accessibility can be if you just invest in a good digital learning platform that allows for people who can't attend in person to still be included.

You can be an academic and still put your mental health first. Despite what my first university led me to believe, my time at the OU has shown me that you do not have to sacrifice one over another. In fact, it has shown me that my mental health recovery and student journey can work hand-in-hand, encouraging each other along.

But most importantly...

It has shown me that despite the pressure to make your university years fit into a nice, neat package of fun, good grades, and self-enlightenment, it most likely won't happen like that. That's okay, let it go and keep moving.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

warnings: extremely negative feelings towards a sibling, distressing / intrusive thoughts. placed under a break due to the content of the message. remember, I'm not a mental health professional.

updated with additional viewpoints from readers at the bottom!

I'm sorry in advance.

I really hate my older sister. She never respects my boundaries, insults me frequently, and is just annoying and hypocritical in general.

I've always had these issues with her, but she lived at her own apartment away from me and the rest of my family, so I've been able to control my hatred of her. But last year in March she moved back in and sold her apartment. She has no plans of leaving anytime soon, and I can't stand her.

We shared a bedroom for about a year because we were also taking care of my cousin who also moved in with us last year. My cousin has since moved out, but my sister is unfortunately here to stay for a couple of years. But with extra space, I was able to move into the spare bedroom and thought that would be the end of my problems.

It wasn't. In fact, she has become even more unbearable. The hardest part of this relationship is that she has a weird obsession with being with me. I'm not sure if this is because she loves me, or she's just weird. I think she's weird because my parents never act like she does.

Our bedrooms are right next to each other. There's really no reason for her to miss me. But every single fucking minute she's coming into my room to bother me. I would have more empathy for her if she acknowledged my limits, but she doesn't.

She's constantly cuddling me after I've said for MONTHS that I don't enjoy it and it makes me uncomfortable. She constantly belittles me by saying I couldn't live without her, and that I would be a mess if it wasn't for her (mind you, I've lived without her at the house for YEARS and I was perfectly fine). She's constantly in my business, interrogating me about every little thing. She once locked the door and wouldn't let me leave the room without answering her questions for 20 minutes; she asked me about a $30 Amazon order containing manga I ordered with MY OWN MONEY. And I had permission for my parents to order it! It wasn't her business whatsoever.

I've tried to keep her out numerous times; I've gotten in trouble for it. My parents say I'm being mean and that this is her way of loving me. What I feel like they ignore is that I'M UNCOMFORTABLE. Her way of "loving me" HURTS.

I've tried communication. I've had multiple meetings with my family about my boundaries and they say they'll change, but they never do.

Another factor that worsens this is that I have borderline personality disorder. I'm currently being denied therapy or intervention of any kind. I get told my mental illness is a result of me having an attitude and hating my family.

I writing this to you because I've been having very alarming thoughts recently. I'm been somewhat suicidal as long as I can remember, but this is different. I've been having nightmares about killing my family/my family killing me. I don't want to kill my family. As much as they have abused me, I know they truly love me deep down. But when I'm in a mental breakdown, I don't think for the most part. I'm afraid I'm going to do something to hurt them if they continue to push me. I'm too scared to turn myself into the police and I don't want to be taken away from my home. I truly need therapy, but it's expensive and I'm not allowed to get it.

Are there any options left for me? I love my family and I want to get better, but I can't stand them. It'll be a while before I can live on my own, and I don't think I'll make it that long.

I'm so sorry.

I appreciate that you came to me, however, please remember I am not a mental health professional.

I do not have the best relationship with my family. I've come to accept that they just exist and I moved away from them. I keep a strict level of familiarity with them for my own sanity and well-being. There are people in my immediate family I don't talk to anymore or only speak to in certain situations, with other people around to buffer my emotions. No one in my family understands or respects my mental health issues and I have ceased talking about it with them.

I will admit, I had to ask for help. I'm going to share the answer of someone I trust, because they are much more level-headed when it comes to something like this.

Use different words with your sister. Instead of "I'm mad or annoyed", use words that bring out more empathy - "You're making me sad and uncomfortable. You're hurting me." Anger is usually perceived as something within you, something you must control. But sadness is usually not perceived in the same light. People usually see sadness as something that has a cause and perhaps letting her know that she is the cause will have an effect on her. Using different words when speaking to her may slowly change her perspective.

When it comes to your parents, well, parents do not usually understand sibling dynamics. They're fucking useless most of the time when it comes to problems specifically between siblings. It might be better if you say something like, "Her constant intrusions are affecting my school work. My grades are going to drop." Usually, parents respond more urgently if you say you education is affected - and it doesn't matter if it's true or not, we're just trying to get them to help in some way.

I had to remind them it's summertime lol

Oh shit, you're right. Er. Well, In any case, it seems you've tried having reasonable discussions with your parents and it doesn't seem helpful to continue discussing this particular topic with them. Maybe get into fitness since it's summertime. Go outside, do something active. She can't cuddle you if you're running, right? Then you can also be stronger and feeling better physically improves mental health. Put some music on, go hiking or running, take yourself out of the situation.

I don't know if this is possible, but perhaps if you're experiencing a mental breakdown and you're afraid of hurting your family, run out of the house? It might be better to be physically away from them at that time to avoid saying or doing anything you regret. It may help clear your head and help your family realize that this is something that is truly debilitating to you.

I don't know your age, so I don't know if the school thing is relevant. It's only a suggestion.

You said it will be a while before you can live on your own. When I knew the cons of living with my family outweighed the pros, I did everything in my power to prepare myself for leaving because I needed a goal in order to survive. I needed distractions, reading, writing, gaming, music, anything else to occupy my mind and help control my thoughts. There was a time when I needed music to fall asleep (headphones in on low volume).

Also... uh.

I'm not saying you should do this. I'm only saying I did.

My siblings and I have physically fought before. One has scars from fighting me. The scarred one is the one closest to me currently.

Not saying you should do it.

But I did.

If anyone feels comfortable enough to share how they dealt with it in their own situation, please do. Maybe more perspectives can help this person.

--

some other experiences sent to me:

anon #1

I don't think I had a situation that extreme but my brother was a little like that. I honestly had to become kinda rude and indifferent. Like he'd always use my laptop and stuff and I put passwords on everything and just don't tell him. And then when he tried to hug or cuddle id say I don't liek it and just push him away physically now this soudns fucking obvious when I say it this way but like I don't think I read that u tried it ? Idk I discovered I have a loud annoying scream that neighbours will hear, and fucking strokg legs I used to kick him away but like I was tiny so I don't really endorse violence but I didnt like being close to a 'boy' essentially at taht age so yea... Idk man siblings are weird and I have had intrusive thoughts so I think I didn't handle it well but for a few years I became an asshole to him and then now I'm good with talking sometimes and I keep it short and sweet and I've mentioned that I'm sorry for being mean in the past bcuz like I am ? Bcuz I'm not an asshole ? ( But like I did what I had to do ) I hope u get the help and support u need

anon #2

I read the message from the previous anon and I have to say I relate to what they say. I wouldn’t say i’ve completely dealt with the situation when it comes to my parents.

I have 4 siblings and i’m the oldest, my sister that’s 2 years younger than me always gets in my way and is a tyrant. Because she’s much taller than me she overpowers me and i also have scars from when we’ve fought. My parents don’t intervene because they say we’ll make up soon and I honestly can’t stay mad at people for long. I also live with my parents and am not able to move out anytime soon until I get my degree.

A few weeks ago my mother was complaining to my father that I don’t help around the house and all that bullshit but it’s obviously not true. Anyway. My father came into my room and threw all my clothes from my cupboards on the floor and said my sister and I must get out of his house. He was literally pulling us and we were crying because where the hell would we go. My smaller siblings were begging for him not to chase us out of the house but he was ballistic. He was constantly throwing insults at me, calling me selfish and disrespectful. I was having a mental breakdown and I said i hope that God takes my life away because i’m too weak to do it myself. I kept saying that and when my parents heard me. They called me crazy and were laughing at me and said i should take it back because instead of me another one of my family members would go.

My parents don’t care about mental health and therapy. It’s all unnecessary to them. But after that night I tried to find my own way of getting rid of the negative thoughts, I choose to ignore what everyone tells me. I agree with everything that you said about trying to get away from their family when they have those thoughts. I try meditation and praying. I’m not sure if that person follows any religion but that’s what helped me. And writing can be cathartic. Also remember that you’re not alone, there are so many people out there who share your sorrows and can relate to your situation. I think about my little siblings who i’m close to and what it would be like if i wasn’t there.

Maybe if they could get a pet? I know having a pet can make you feel less alone and you feel a sense of responsibility towards them. As for their sister, she needs to see their point of view and tell her that she makes her feel overwhelmed with the things she does. She can spend time with her and try to make her understand that they need their space too.

anon #3

I also have sum advice 4 the sibling anon frm a fellow bpd buddy:

Does ur view of ur sister change from "i hate her" to "she's alright" sometimes? Viewing sum1 as all bad or all good is common in bpd ppl and usually changes alot. I rec writing down the moments where she shows she loves u. This could be thru buying smth for u or doing smth 4 u. I had a similar relationship w a friend and this exercise helped me remember that she might not have intentions to hurt me and might b trying 2 bond. Repairing the relationship might take a while. Talk alot if u can, it seems like ur family is at least willing to hear u out, even if there behavior doesn't change much. Keep sum distance if needed. Working out and finding fun hobbies is good.

If u feel like ur breaking down, try breathing exercises n identify 5 things u notice thru ur senses. What do u feel? What do u smell? What do u taste? What do u see? What do u hear? I personally like taking myself down rabbit holes. For example: I see a yellow jacket > this shade of yellow is a cool tone > what makes a color "cool" or "warm" > why do we associate red with warmth > what if the sun was blue > what if ocean water looked orange > is water wet

I usually end up forgetting what was making me upset. If it was a big deal I would still remember, but at least I would b less emotional and a bit more rational.

Search up cognitive behavior therapy and dialectical behavior therapy and try 2 practice sumthing similar 2 exercises u would perform w a therapist. Squeeze stress balls. Masturbate (this blog is perfect 4 that lol). Maybe watch some videos done by therapists on youtube. I watched a couple of videos abt therapists reacting 2 fighting in movies and I learned alot (this video was very fun to watch)!

Anyway that's what helps me! Good luck 2 u!!!

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 22

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19 , part 20, part 21

Hope everyone is keeping themselves mentally/physically well... here’s the next update in your adventure. Please safely read from home ;) 

The sun moved slowly up my window, illuminating the dancing dust in the air. Even though I knew dust didn’t have feelings, it all still looked very peaceful, suspended there in space. 

 I wanted to be suspended, floating, with no obligations or pressures. 

 Instead, I watched time slip by, slowly, as the shadows stretched along my floor and I lay still, wrapped in a giant Winnie-the-Pooh sheets burrito. 

I called in sick the past three days to work and to all my classes, my lack of attendance probably dropping me a letter grade in a few classes. Instead of checking on my academic scholarship, I begged Renny to drop off Dr. Rhinecuff’s papers for me. She did, lamenting about how his office smelled like roast beef and how she probably needed a nose job from it shrivelling up from the stench. Tired, I sent her three hearts, ignoring all of her calls and voicemails. 

 In a random bout of restless energy, I looked up the University of Oxford in England. No one would know me there. And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing when you didn’t even know yourself. I stayed on their site for an hour, avoiding my take-home assignments, and speculating which classes I could take in the spring semester. My eyes grew tired though, and even if I were accepted as a transfer student, it wasn’t like I could ever afford it without scholarships. 

 I closed the computer. 

 It’d been cloudy, rainy. The random storm that’d come in from Mexico lasted longer than the usual morning fog that’d roll in and out by the time it was 9 AM. This storm lingered, heavy, full clouds looking to burst and unleash a steady rain for three to four hours before the clouds rested, storing up all they could until the next downpour. 

 My parents didn’t question me when I came in, used to my random visits. But when I went straight to my room without saying hello, rain-plastered hair covering puffy eyes, my mom basically collapsed at the sight. 

 She followed me to the bed, trying to see my face, but I buried it in the pillow, ignoring the way the purple fringe tickled my nose. 

 “What’s wrong sweetheart?” 

 I just groaned. Her voice was too gentle, too well-intending for the dark thoughts sitting in my mind. She’d be heartbroken if she heard them. 

 She huffed, not out of annoyance, but distress. “What’s bothering you?? Is it Renny? Did you breakup with Harry?” All those reasons were too simple. She ran her hands lightly along my legs, but I cringed away from her touch. It was something I rarely did. She paused. “You can tell me anything...” 

 I shook my head against the pillow, my last attempt to tell her to leave without speaking. She waited a moment longer. 

 “Okay,” she said. And that was it. 

 Father didn’t ask questions, not even when I was here for the third consecutive day. Mom had probably come to her own conclusions, and shared them with him. 

 “Mom said you aren’t feeling too well,” he said over cereal one morning, confirming my suspicions. It was the first time he’d broken our three-day spree of comfortable silence. 

 “What else did she tell you?” 

 He shrugged his shoulders, his usual buoyant self replaced with a quiet voice. He looked at me, and all I saw was pity. If I were him, I’d probably look at me the same way. I hadn’t showered in a while. “Well don’t let anything get you down. You’re too smart for that.”

 He’d tried. He’d put in an effort. I just nodded, scooping up another spoonful of cereal. He followed suit. 

 And that was that.  

 A week passed like this. 

 But overnight, the clouds had blown away, and the sun came back full-force this morning just in time for the weekend, renewing my guilt. That traitor. 

 I’d cried all of Monday and Tuesday, but when the last tear was shed in the middle of a New Girl episode, I was empty. My tears didn’t leave anything to replace them with. 

 On Wednesday, a phone alarm reminded me I had a therapy appointment. I hit snooze multiple times. It was only when I got up to pee, and I hated what I saw in the mirror that I threw on an oversized sweater to go over my pajamas and headed out the door. 

 “Is it good?” I asked. 

 Her hands reviewed my wants list.  

 “That’s just a coffee stain on the corner..just...ignore that bit,” I added. 

 She surveyed it briefly, not really focusing on it. “Were you honest?”

 I nodded.

 “Then there isn’t good or bad. It’s just your truth.”

 “But I still feel… I don’t know. I don’t think I know what that is. I don’t feel like I’m… progressing. Doing anything towards that,” I said. 

 She looked at me with a level gaze. “Then that’s your truth. And that’s okay for right now.”

 I shot her a glance.

 “I see a common struggle with people your age. They feel this….” -She adjusted, quirking her head- “immense pressure to be perfect, to figure it all out, to achieve success so early.” 

 “Everyone’s doing it,” I began. “They’re getting internships, keeping up their grades, involved in ten clubs, doing community service…” I could’ve droned on, but didn’t. 

 “You have an internship, your grades are good, you’ve joined a sorority, and up until recently you’ve been involved in tutoring. Those are extracurriculars.” 

 I couldn’t argue with her. 

 “Is it too much?” she asked.

 Too much. It was everything I’d been feeling until I’d felt nothing. But hearing her list off what was waiting for me just beyond her doors made me feel the weight of it all over again. 

 “I’ve just been overwhelmed.” 

 “Who have you been thinking about?” 

 She noticed I started picking my hangnail. 

 She started gently, knowingly. “Has it been Harry?” 

 “Ow,” I cursed. A bit of blood prickled up where the hangnail used to be. 

 “He seems to be a major stressor in your life. Would you agree?” The clock ticked behind her, filling the silence. Her hands rested in her lap, while mine swiped away the bit of blood. I could never remember my therapist’s name, but somehow it wasn’t important. 

 “Yeah, but … I mean …. there’s a lot of stressors.”

 “Like his friends?”

 His friends, in the abbreviated story I’d told her, stood in place for the gang. I’d used terms like … intimidating, mean, basically painting them as bullies who didn’t like us together. I wasn’t expecting to get much therapy from a lie. “Out of curiosity, if I were to tell you something… would you be obligated to report it to the police?” 

 “Not necessarily.” Her legs crossed, creased brows zeroing in with a laser focus. “Has something happened to you, Y/N?”

 I swallowed hard, the truth lodged in my throat. But I had gotten too used to the weight of the secret. “I was just curious…” My mind raced to change the subject, and I blurted about Zayn’s art show. 

 “Do you think this panic attack was induced by this heightened sense of scrutiny from Harry’s friends?” 

 “Probably.” 

 “You said there were others. What are your main stressors?’ 

 I settled in, more comfortable with this question. “There’s financial stressors, for one. And it’s exasperated here.” 

 “You’ve been dealing with financial difficulties for a while, now. Have you been feeling this anxious the entire time, or has it been recent?” 

 My foot tapped impatiently. We both knew the answer.

 “Your panic attack was a first,” she explained, gently. “Some new factor in your life pushed you there.” 

 I picked at the hangnail, wincing. It was gone. My skin was raw. 

 “Maybe it all links back to Harry.” She waited a moment to see if I’d speak. When I didn’t, she leant back, and pulled out a new sheet of paper, scribbling something down. “I want you to write a pros and cons list about your relationship with him, for next time. When your feelings are overwhelming, it helps to get everything on paper. In a list. Puts things in perspective.” 

 I drove home, her words had pushed themselves into my empty shell and now they clinked around, jostling up my insides like a pinball machine and giving me a headache. 

 Just because I hadn’t left the house all week didn’t mean I didn’t feel guilty for ditching work. God, I did. It killed me. I knew I was lucky to get that internship. Harry had mentioned how people killed just to get on the waitlist, and I didn’t doubt it. An OC internship with, if not the top, at least the most publicized private practice? I mean, I was typing in appointments next to a Southern Stanford grad if that speaks to the competition here. 

 And here I was, retreating back to my house, too drained to face the world. 

 As for Harry, after what I’d said to him, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t want to talk to me ever again. 

 I’d been so cruel. 

 I was weak.  

 I felt guilty for feeling this way at all. 

 And then I would watch the dust again.

 It was a cycle. 

 About three blocks from my house on my way back from the therapist session, a familiar car passed me. It happened suddenly, unexpectedly, like most things do. We made eye contact before he passed, and my foot instantly lifted off the gas when my eyes connected with my brain. I whipped my head around but the matte black maserati sped up, disappearing from sight. 

 What was Harry doing this far from campus? 

 My heart beat erratically as I pulled into the driveway, and it was only seconds before I made it into the house. Father held up a hand in Grandpa’s old room. Phone call. Trudging silently to my own, I wrapped myself in a blanket burrito. 

 I’d been avoiding my phone, but I caved this time, checking J’s social media to see if he’d posted anything about being in the area to prove I WASN’T crazy and DIDN’T just hallucinate. Nothing. I tossed my phone on the other side of the room before I spiralled.  

 It didn’t matter. I was in my room. Alone. Safe. I focused on the dust. 

 Two little knocks disrupted my exciting mind game - which dust particle would fall further than the other. 

 “You’re turning ripe,” Father noted. His briefcase was still in his hand and he was coming startlingly close to my depression burrito. 

 “What are you doing-!?” I protested. But it was too late. He ripped the sheets off, exposing me in the t-shirt I’d been in since Monday. “Your mood won’t change if you don’t make an effort.

Come on.”

 “Where are we going?”

 “You’re coming to the water with me.” He hesitated at the door. “Shower first.” 

 In the car, a sense of comfort washed over me. He’d been right. Clean wet hair smelled nice and felt good slicked around my head. Even if Mom would complain I’d “catch cold,” it felt good to feel something. Dad’s speakers switched between classic rock and reggaeton as I sipped on the chocolate shake we picked up from the Shake Shack. It was a short drive away to the harbor, and once parked, a shorter walk to the public docks. 

 Our feet dangled above the water. It was too cold to go swimming this time of year, but my body buzzed with yearning despite the goosebumps on my skin. I wanted to feel encompassed by salty water. I wanted to be submerged, where everything was muted, a barrier between me and the world. Between my wet hair and the icy shake, I could pretend my body was as cool as the water below me. I could just…. dissolve. 

 “So what’s going on?” he opened up the conversation. “You having a hard time at school?” 

 “I don’t like the sorority.” 

 His brows raised, not expecting me to be so honest so soon. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, don’t you hate that shit?” 

 I looked at him, almost shocked he’d agreed with me. 

 The boats squeaked as they rocked with the rolling tides coming in from the ocean. I watched as a duffy boat wandered to the end of the jetty - where the harbor opened to the ocean. I took another big gulp of my shake, feeling the cold run down, freezing my esophagus. 

 “I liked frats, but sororities are different,” he mumbled, spooning his shake into his mouth. He’d gotten his usual Neapolitan, and it’d somehow stayed solid on the drive over. We hadn’t been to the Shake Shack in years, but I guess seeing his daughter waste away beneath her comforter was enough to break the dry spell. 

 “Why? Because its girls?” My lips were breaking into a smile without my consent. He didn’t make sense. 

 “They’re more catty.” He shrugged his shoulders. 

 “Dad! That’s verging on sexist.” 

 “Eh, I don’t know. I’m just saying things. Did you tell Mom you want to quit?” 

 I shook my head. 

 “Yeah…” he looked out at the boats, a quiet understanding passing between us. “She was really excited for you to join.” 

 “It’s not all bad…” 

 “Well if it’s not making you happy, don’t do it. Your mom doesn’t want you doing anything you don’t want to do. I was in a frat to shoot the shit with friends and it was something fun to do instead of study. If it’s not something fun for you, drop it.” 

 I could hear the words he was telling me, but it was like they were rolling off my shoulders, not really penetrating. He made it sound so easy, but it seemed like it was a million times harder than that. Everything was entangled, just as Harry had said. Not to mention Renny. If I quit, I felt like I’d lose her forever, too. I knew I could use a better friend, but that couldn’t erase the years of memories we had together. Losing Renny would feel like losing a part of myself. Not that I knew who that was anymore. 

 “Dad?” I asked. The question that'd weighed on my mind ever since I got home rested on the tip of my tongue. 

 “Yeah?” 

 “This is going to sound weird, but did you see Harry today?” 

 “Yeah. He stopped by,” he said, casually, spooning another mouthful. 

 I practically choked. “What? Why?! Weren’t you going to tell me?” 

 “Y/N, I’m working. I have a thousand things bouncing around in my head all the time.”

 “And?!!?”

 Harry couldn’t reach out to me beforehand? He drove by but- what? Didn’t even want to see me? 

 He sighed, not understanding the urgency. “He just stopped by, said hi. That’s all.” 

 My brows stitched. “Why would he say hi to you? What’d he say, exactly?” 

 “Oh, come on, I don’t know. I can’t remember-”

 “Dad!” 

 “All right, all right. Hi, how are you…” -his brain tried to remember- “he asked if you were doing okay. Then he left. He was nearby for a family brunch or something.” 

 “He asked about me?” 

 “Yeah. I mean, he didn’t go on and on, he just asked a question. He was in a rush.” 

 The shake froze me from the inside, and the breeze froze me from the out. But while I shriveled into myself, my guilt grew. “Dad?” 

 He hummed. 

 “Why are people so fake?” 

 He looked out at the harbor, peaceful for a winter’s morning. Only one small fishing boat headed towards the harbor’s edge, the sole fisherman at the helm facing the wind with the grace of a husband dealing with a temperamental spouse. 

 Father looked to our shoes as a random swell came, the water rising perilously close to our soles. Then, with all the untapped wisdom I seldom remembered parents had, “People are fake because they don’t know who they are,” he said.

 He got a call from the restaurant and drove us home. 

 In bed the next day, I ignored the pros/cons assignment, watching New Girl and making collages of Oxford in a word document until my eyes were burning from blue light exposure. I knew I was pushing it staying this long away from school, away from my problems. I was pushing myself, seeing how far my apathy could go. I woke up Thursday night at 2 AM from the rain pouring against my shutter and anger pricking my insides. 

 Harry was the reason I was in this position. As well as Viv, who fucked Harry. And Kiki, who gave me a DG Pretty Please, that just so happened to involve Harry. 

 I wanted him, but I wanted him to fuck off. Nothing was changing. Nothing was getting better. 

 It was all Harry, Harry, Harry, and no matter what, I ended up feeling insane.  

 At one point, I was going to have to choose myself. 

 I rolled over, blindly reaching for a pen, and scribbled in the dark. 

 If my therapist wanted a list, she’d get one helluva list. 

 -----------

“I’m glad you’re going, honey.” Mom released me from the lung-crushing hug. 

 I’d created enough Oxford collages and daydreamed about a new life until I couldn’t think of any other imaginary scenarios (or postpone collegiate life any longer). 

 The Friday sun had set. The game had already started. I thought about the crowd, all the people I’d see… 

 “Can I just stay the weekend?” 

 “Oh.” Her arms dropped from my sides. “Didn’t you promise your friends that you’d go?” 

 Renny. I’d promised Renny. Singular friend. My hand was in a fist, thumb rubbing anxiously over my fingers. I didn’t listen to her voicemails, there were seven of them. But she’d texted me fifty times in the past twenty minutes, declaring that she’d Venmo me gas money if I’d come to the game. 

 I’d been in my hole long enough. 

 “Yeah, I did.”

 “Well, you COULD stay-”

 I broke away, shaking my head. If I let her coddle me another minute, I think I’d crumble all over again. 

 “I love you,” she reminded me. “You’re my precious angel.” 

 From the living room, the muffled applause from the game show Father had fallen asleep to faded further as I left. 

 Momma’s robe-bundled frame waved on the driveway, her sad smile burning in my mind long after she disappeared from view.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------

 Come on, come on, come ON. 

 The path to the stadium took forever. No shame, I was full-on running, braless, fresh pit-stains on display as I booked it to the gate. 

 It was completely dark now, and the usual fleet of cop cars seemed to have all but disappeared the week I’d been gone. Only one passed me by, and the rest of the student body probably all congregated around the stadium. 

 When I saw the art studio, I slowed. It was completely dark, except for one entry light. The paintings would still be displayed... My pounding heart told me to keep running, and I hesitated, listening to it for a moment before walking to the door. I tugged on its metal handles, parts of me seizing up as it opened, giving way to my touch. 

 I crept into the space, feeling like an intruder as I walked through the exhibit. 

 For some reason, I expected it to look differently, to see it blurred together as I’d seen it before in a panic. 

 I was still hanging amidst the vines, but this time the paintings looked less threatening. Maybe it was the fact that I was alone, maybe it was because I’d already felt the worst of it. 

 Each piece was sold. 

 I looked over my shoulder a couple times before letting out a small shout. A tester. 

 It echoed in the space. 

 I did it again, louder, at my full about-to-be-murdered capacity.

 I must’ve looked absolutely mental, but as I heard my shout reverberate around me, at least I felt something.  

 Five charcoal sketches in particular ran horizontally together. 

 Lust / Longing / Love / Lost / Loss

 Had he seen all of this in me? He’d certainly seen other bits I hadn’t shown him. 

 My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out. Renny. Without thought, I started her stream of voicemails.

 Y/N where the FUCK are you!? Zayn’s concerned and I’m concerned and you’re not in the room-

 Next. 

 Are you really sick? Or is this just some BS excuse. Or is this real and Harry gave you tonsilitis or something. I want to hear your voice. Ilyyyyy. 

 Next. 

 It’s meeeeee. Niall’s busy and you’re sick and I don’t know what to dooooo. Housewives isn’t as fun without-

 Next.

 BABE WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING ME CALLS DO YOU HATE ME, AND YES I MEANT TO SAY ME INSTEAD OF MY I HOPE YOU’RE LAUGHING-

 Next.

 DUDE. You will not believe what just happened- Harry just stopped by. 

 My thumb paused, letting it stay. 

 I was avoiding his texts because I think he’s a dick. Well, he IS a dick, even if Niall said he was going through a lot. It’s still not an excuse. But Harry LEGIT found me on campus, like not even when I was with Niall at the house, but at our APARTMENT...I-hold on. Ew, pastrami professor just passed me. What are the odds? OKAY BUT SERIOUSLY, I almost punched him when I opened the door because remember last time he basically told me off. But… I don’t know. It was different this time. He seemed… so concerned. Frazzled. I don’t even know the word to describe it. Ugh, if you were here you would be able to TELL ME what the word is. I miss you. Come back. 

 The voicemail rolled into the next. 

 I’m just pretending to talk on the phone right now because the boy I hooked up with last year is staring me THE FUCK down right now-

 A creak in the pipes startled me, and the voicemail was all but forgotten. 

 My heart beat fast. 

 It was very, very quiet. 

 With one noise in the dark, the art pieces turned menacing. An oil painting in the corner of the room morphed into the Styles’ portrait. It wasn’t here. It couldn’t be here. I squinted, blinking through the dark. The portrait I thought I’d seen was just a painting of two silhouetted men facing each other. My heart still beat like I’d just ran a marathon though. I wasn’t about to be a part of the next horror movie “art comes alive.” 

 I booked it out faster than I came, answering Renny’s call on the way. 

 ---------

“Thank fucking finally,” Renny huffed, leaning over Lynn to draw me in a hug.

 “You didn’t miss much,” Lynn said, looking past me towards the game. I sat on Renny’s other side so she was in the middle, but when I looked at the scoreboard - Home, zero. Guest, two - I knew it was a done deal. Some people had already left, but half the stadium was still here, either hoping for a miraculous recovery or refusing to put their tails between their legs for pride’s sake. I noticed a group of parents in Chapman gear huddled together, waving their flags. No Mary or Lionel Styles in sight. 

 “How’s he been?” I asked. It’s like my head already knew where to turn, because as soon as I looked to the field, I found him. On the bench, elbows on his knees, head bent over.  

 “How’ve YOU been?” Renny asked. “I was seriously about to drive over to your house and check on you.” 

 Someone beat you to it. The thought was sour. For as much as Renny could claim her undying love for me, I was struggling to see the actions to support it. Everyone was disappointing. 

 “He’s been playing like shit,” Lynn answered.  

 “Brought back some...” His sentence died. Of all people, Zayn stood there, stopped, popcorn in hand. “Hey, Y/N.” 

 Felix stood behind Zayn, giving me a small wave. Zayn was clearly waiting for me to make the first move, but I turned away to the field. I didn’t know what to say. 

 From my peripheral, I saw them sit down by Lynn. 

 As soon as he did, it hit me like a flashfood. I knew what I was feeling. Anger. Discomfort. Shame. That he could expose me so easily, that he’d looked through my clothes in a way I never permitted. That he could sit down so comfortably without apologizing, as if nothing had happened. 

 Renny leaned in. “Are you okay?” 

 “No.”

 She flinched at the abrupt answer. “Do you want to leave?” 

 I stopped myself from saying yes. I didn’t want to have to climb over Zayn to get out of here. That would be more than uncomfortable. 

 “No, I’ll tell you later.” 

 I didn’t speak the rest of the game, pretending not to hear him cheer or laugh or make a snide remark to Felix every other second. Like the annoying click of a fan when you’re trying to fall asleep, Zayn’s every move made anger shake my bones. Lynn gave me sympathy looks every once in a while. It wasn’t like me to be this quiet, and even with our friendship being as new as it was, she knew that much. 

 The crowd didn’t roar this time. They were silent as the clock hit zero, staring blatantly at its twin beneath Home. The Guest team’s few Minnesota supporters jumped like little beans on the other side of the field, but their cries were faint. 

 We’d lost. 

 Everyone stood, and Renny linked her arm with mine. A familiar habit. “We’re going to Viv’s for some post-game depression drinks now.” 

 But I stopped her. 

 “I think I want to go back to the room,” I winced. 

 “Come on, PLEASE? It’ll be fun, you were barely here for the game.” 

 “I don’t know, depression and Viv in the same sentence… You really know how to sell a party.” 

 “Aren’t you coming, Y/N?” Lynn made moves to follow the rest of the crowd that was funneling out of the stands.  

 I shook my head at the same time Renny nodded hers. 

 She huffed. “Why not? It’s going to be chill. We lost. It’s not going to be like the usual ragers.” She popped her hip, completely deadpanned. “You haven’t seen another college-aged person in a week.” 

 “Yeah and there’s a reason for that.” 

 Concern washed over her, voice lowering. “Tell me.” 

 As if on cue, Zayn and Felix stopped their descent down the bleachers and looked up at the girls, waiting for them to join. It was all I could do to not scream at them. 

 “Later,” I said. “You’re leaving now.” 

 “I don’t have to leave right now, it’s not starting yet...” Renny began, but Lynn gave her a look that said yes, they were leaving now. 

 “She wants us to help set-up,” Lynn explained. 

 “But it’s a small thing, right?” I teased Renny. 

 My bestie rolled her eyes, lips pinching. “Are you SURE?” 

 I nodded, sitting down on the cool metal bleacher again. Renny took a step towards me, a sad look on her face, but I held up my hand. 

 “I’m fine,” I said, when I felt anything but. “I just want to wait until the crowd leaves.” I picked up the popcorn bag she’d left behind and threw a handful in my mouth with a cheesy, hopefully convincing grin.

 She grimaced, briefly looking back to Lynn who was anxiously waiting. “Fine. But we’re still talking about this later. I friggin miss you.”

 She left with the others, funneling out towards a party she’d probably stay at until the early morning. 

 I didn’t want to go back to the room. I didn’t want to go anywhere. 

 The lights were so bright on soccer fields. Bugs flew in and around, racing each other faster than the dust in my room. It wasn’t until the janitors walked past me that I realized I’d been sitting there for too long. I reached in the popcorn bag, but my hand came up empty. They’d gone overboard on the salty butter, but somehow, I’d still managed to eat all of it. 

 Even with everyone off the field though, I didn’t feel alone. An older Hispanic woman taking out the trash saw me walking down and opened up the bag. 

 “Thank you,” I said, smiling. 

 She just smiled in return, nodding her head as she continued down the aisle.

 Leaving the field’s gates, I was prepping for another mini run-for-my-life-and-back-to-the-dorm anxiety episode, when I heard someone shuffling. There were faint groaning noises, and I sped up my pace. 

 For a flash second, I thought someone was winning the “sleep in the locker room” bet, but when I tossed my head-back mid-run, I stopped so quickly, I almost tripped. 

 “Harry?” 

 There, in the dark, barely concealed by the shadows, he stumbled out. His abdomen looked… glossy? But then the light reflected crimson. 

 I ran to him as he fell, his white jersey stained with blood. “Oh my God, oh my God…” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “What happened?! Are you okay!?” 

 He pushed me back. “M’fine.” But his voice was strained. He stumbled again, and I reached out before he fell. 

 I thought the blood from his shirt had fallen from a bloody nose, but his hand moved to my arm in a vice-like grip, revealing a gash in his jersey, I saw more liquid pool out from his gut and I almost gagged. 

 “You are BEYOND fine. You aren’t fucking fine!!” 

 “We have to leave. Have to… get out of here.” He grimaced. His face, his beautifully chiselled face was swollen on one side, his lip cut from impact. 

 “Okay. OKAY. I need to call the cops. The cops. I’m going to call them.” Shaky hands took out the cellphone, but he threw it down. “HARRY!” 

 “Take me to the physical therapy room?” 

 I looked at his chest. “You’re bleeding. A LOT.” My free arm reached for the tossed phone, but he tugged me back. 

 “No. They’ll write a report. I can’t have a-” he winced, sucking in a breath, and I reached for the phone again. “DON’T. Fucking hell. Don’t call anyone.”

 My eyes racked his frame again, and I immediately applied pressure to his ab area, right where the gash was. He sucked in a breath, unleashing a string of curses I couldn’t hear right now. “Oh my God,” I breathed. 

 “Answer me,” he growled. 

 My mind scrambled for his question… he wanted me to take him to the physical therapy room.  “YES! Yes. I have the- fuck, yes, I know where the keys are.” I looked at him again. What the FUCK.

 “Stop freaking out,” he grunted, but he weakened the next second, his eyes fluttering before coming back to me. 

 “Okay, hold on. Hold onto me. Keep applying pressure.” 

 The physical therapy room wasn’t too far, bits of blood that’d fallen to his shoes marking our path.

 “Why aren’t all the cops here?” 

 “They’re on rotation. The parties... they’llbestationedthere-JESUS.” We paused, letting him catch his breath. But it was shallow. Too shallow. 

 “Can you wait here for a second?” I asked.

 He nodded, resting against a lamp post. 

 I hurried to the lockbox located behind the planter, punching in the code and unlocking it at lightning’s speed. 

 I didn’t know if there were cameras. I didn’t know if this was illegal. 

 I didn’t care.

 We made it through the doors, and he was just about to sit on the table when- 

 “WAIT!” I ran to grab several rags and laid it beneath him before heaving him up. The soft cry he made when sitting down was like a knife through my own chest. 

 I grabbed scissors, cutting his t-shirt. I didn’t have time to linger, I didn’t have time to notice the way his tattoos were completely concealed by a red current. There were two wounds. One, deeper, the other, more shallow. Both in the lower left abdomen, just above a prominent v-line.  

 I wiped around the area, pausing above the gashes. “This is going to sting,” I warned. 

 There wasn’t fear in his eyes. He watched me, and I, him, as I pressed it against the open skin. He trembled, wincing, mouth opening in silent exclamation.  

 “You’re doing good,” I whispered. 

 “So are you,” he gritted out. 

 I swallowed, reaching for the butterfly bandages. But as soon as I did, more blood rushed out. I held a rag to him. “Save your breath. You need it.”

 The thin white bandages seemed too little in the wake of his wound, and just as one bandage was placed, he cringed away, regretting his decision to move almost immediately.

 “Fucking hurts,” he groaned. 

 “Stop moving! I need to close the wound up. You’re bleeding too much.” 

 “Y/N, just take me home. Call Lionel,” he panted. 

 “I’m calling 911 if you don’t let me at least attempt to close this wound because if we leave now you’ll bleed out.” 

 “You’ve done enough, please-”

 “STOP. TALKING. I’ll call him after.” He saw a flame behind my eyes, and quieted, too weak to protest much more anyway. I came closer, and this time he didn’t flinch. The butterfly bandages at least minimally shrunk the open gouges. 

 With no other choice, I left him there alone, running across campus to my car and driving back in less than five minutes. It was illegal to drive through student walkways, let alone drive 60 mph, but there wasn’t a choice. I kept picturing Harry passing out, his limp God-like body, turned mortal, weak, bleeding out all over the training room floor. My foot hit the gas pedal harder. I could’ve been a damn marathon winner/race car driver. Let the cops add “speeding” to the file they already had on me. 

 Once we were both in the car, I looked over at him every two seconds. An entire roll of tight gauze around his abdomen kept the wound from bleeding out, but it was still turning pink. It was the second time blood would have been on my car. 

 Of all the revenge daydreams I’d had, I would’ve settled for Harry seeing me make out with Andre on the dancefloor over THIS. Would he die in my car? Would I be responsible?? I looked at the cheesy Angel pin my mom had given me for my car mirror. Never Fly Faster Than Your Guardian Angel Can Fly. Where was my angel now?? 

 “Where are we going?” He asked, between fading in and out.

 “To your house.” 

 His hand grabbed mine on the wheel and I practically swerved into the center divider from shock. 

 “HARRY!” 

 “We need to go to my house,” he said suddenly, panicked, as if I’d told him the opposite. 

 I placed our interlocked hands above the console. A safe distance away from the wheel in case he lurched again. 

 “Don’t worry, we’re going there. We’re going to your house. You’re just in shock, it’s okay,” I cooed, but it was desperate. And it was definitely not okay. 

 “They’ll ask… less..less questions...” 

 His grip was unbearably tight for three long seconds before it relaxed. 

 “Stay with me. Stay awake,” I urged. Harry’s lids kept drooping and I was desperate, blasting the Air Conditioning to an uncomfortable temperature. 

 Lionel picked up on the second ring. 

 “It’s Y/N. I think Harry’s been stabbed-” 

 “What?!” 

 “- I told him we should call the cops, but he was adamant we call you instead.” 

 “Seal the wound with whatever you can-”

 “I did that. Not well, we didn’t have wound sealant- Okay, I’m rambling. I don’t know what to do, but he needs to see a doctor. Immediately.” 

 There was a long pause. 

 “Hello?” my voice wavered. 

 “Bring him to the practice.” The voice over the other line was that of a doctor, matter-of-fact, somber. 

 Hoag Hospital passed me, a nagging thought telling me that’s where we should be going - where there was paperwork, evidence, some legitimate accountability. But I wasn’t his father. I wasn’t responsible. 

 “On my way. I’m getting off the freeway now.” 

 The call ended, and as I looked at Harry, fading dangerously out of consciousness, my hands trembled more from fear than cold. Out of all the reactions, I hadn’t expected this one. The voice on the other line hadn’t seemed surprised at all. 

come talk to me about the chappie or just about how you’re doing! now’s the time to stay connected :) 

[anticatradoraofficial]

Anti-Catra/Catradora

This series has always felt like the Catra Show, and so much so that even Hordak never felt like the main villain. And nothing drove that point home more than season five proving once and for all that this series moral line(or lack there of) is REALLY about a Villain Protagonist when the character that increasingly became a MONSTER for FOUR SEASONS still got everything she wanted in the end.

Catra is the poster child for the moral bankruptcy of this series.

I can’t buy her “redemption,” or her relationship with Adora, because she WENT TO FAR.

Therefore nor can I buy the HYPOCRITICAL mental gymnastics that arise when she is a topic of discussion in the fandom.

For four seasons I watched this character WILLINGLY and GLEEFULLY jump rope with the moral event horizon. Then she finally broke it to the pieces when she genocides the planet, and everyone on it, because of her sick,evil obsession with being better than Adora.

Loved all this time my behind.

Catra was a vile person from her introduction, and just got increasingly more poisonous as the show went on.

The story seems to want us to treat Catra like a bad friend that said a few mean words here and there, and therefore all she has to do is sincerely apologize then friendship can begin again.

Here’s the thing Catra wasn’t just a bad friend, but also an ABUSER and a FASCIST.

She had multiple opportunities to leave the horde, had no reason to stay in the first place, gleefully attacks the resistance, is pretty much the direct reason Angela died, tried straight up multiple times to end Adora’s and her friends lives, and was just an abomination to even the ones on her side etc..

On the flip side we have Adora who doesn’t give a damn about Catra for four seasons. She’s too busy enjoying life with her REAL  friends. Try and recall, was there ever a moment where Adora was…concerned for Catra’s safety? Pining for her in any way romantically? Ever? Even once during the first four? Because I don’t. Honestly Catra wasn’t important to Adora until Catra showed up on screen. And then they both wanted to kill each other. Any moments of Adora thinking about Catra it was in the context of Catra being her ENEMY.

But I’m supposed to believe in their romance based on what?

Catra’s toxicity? Adora’s nonexistent romantic feelings for pretty much the entire series?

In season 5 all Catra had to do was one act of atonement and out of nowhere, like Adora has been possessed by the ghost of Queer Rep, she suddenly can’t get Catra out of her head. Also note Catra didn’t save Glimmer because she realized her past actions were evil, no it was all for Adora’s sake; the person she is toxically obsessed with.

Back to Catra, her redemption is handled with the most condescending of kid gloves.She seems like she was replaced by a clone for season five. She’s just accepted. It’s like seasons 1-4 didn’t happen.

The forgiveness was excessive, and therefore forced, so we could be okay with this ABUSER/WAR CRIMINAL being chummy and romantic with her victims.

For example Glimmer cries over her, kisses her cheek etc… Yet Catra is responsible for her mothers death, the world ending once before, trying to kill her, war crimes against Bright Moon etc.

Then Entrapta also forgives Catra like it’s nothing even though she sent HER TO DIE, and apparently she was in this hell space for a YEAR.

Same with Scorpia who forgives Catra’s toxicity in five seconds.

But everything is suppose to be wonderful because an abuser ends the series romantically involved with her victim?

When Adora said you made your choice now live with it THAT should have been the end of any reconciliation either platonic of romantic.

Even her flashbacks are her being abusive. You see her in one of them( in her so called redemption season at that) SCRATCHING Adora’s FACE to the point it left BLOOD,and JUMPING ON HER STOMACH just because Adora DARED to be friends with other people.

This was pretty much every childhood flashback they showed. She would emotionally and physically abuse Adora, and then Adora would take her back. This would continue even as near adults. It was a PATTERN(red flag) that Adora unfortunately didn’t escape. 

But…..I always loved you,says Catra.

For ADORA’S own mental health/closure she could forgive,but only if she also makes it clear that she doesn’t want her abuser/war criminal ex friend back in her life.

I could have tolerated that ending instead of Adora becoming a COUPLE with her ABUSER.

Basically this villain sue ends the show getting everything she wants even after evil manipulation of several characters, genocide, war crimes against her own people, physical and mental abuse(especially toward Adora), repeated attempts at murder toward again especially Adora( bares repeating loved all this time my behind) as well as anyone else within spitting distance of her toxicity.

She gets to be pretty much a abusive scum bucket for four seasons, on top of ACTUALLY DOING THE SAME THING PRIME WANTED TO DO, yet whiplash forgiveness and Lesbians 4 Evah is her ending.

“So we’re all just okay with this?”, says Mermista incredulously of the war criminal Hordak. Good question,but then I remember you all seem to be okay with war criminal Catra who is pretty much Hordak’s parallel soo ….

Her mirror Hordak, according to the showrunner, is sentenced to beast island for his war crimes. However, my question then becomes where is Catra’s sentence?

Oh, that’s right if you’re Catra you get to be a war criminal in peace.

It’s also convenient that Mermista’s was chipped,and therefore didn’t get to say anything to the girl who helped bring down her kingdom with a smile on her face.

Funny how that worked out.

It’s even more convenient that her victims gave their lighting fast forgiveness.

Can’t have icky things like abuse and war crimes get in the way of that ending smooch you know.

I suppose we also just need to look at Angella as collateral damage while we smile at her daughter hug and kiss her killer I guess.

I also find it odd(since were loving abusers and war criminals) that Shadow Weaver point blank doesn’t get forgiveness from Adora, and she even ends the series dead. However, she defected to the good side in season two(regardless of any impure motivation), and stayed there and helped the protagonists until her season five death. But Catra who not only stayed with the conquering organization the Horde for almost the entire series,and even became their LEADER, was not only forgiven but also given a romance with her victim. Curious.

I’m tired of this abominable trope invading every piece of media.

An antagonist crosses the moral event horizon, and some even break it to pieces, but somehow the story gets selective amnesia and thus they are free to join the protagonists with their numerous sick crimes ignored or a sob story is bsed into a justification onto why we should ignore physical and emotional abuse and/or the numerous bodies piled up.

When you don’t have a moral LINE in your narrative then that means you have already made a mockery out of morality and numerous victims.

The only way I can stomach her season five ‘redemption’, and lighting quick forgiveness, is if I forget the monster of four seasons didn’t exist. Problem is I can’t do that.

Why should I get any catharsis that the protagonists prevailed over Horde Prime when you have two characters in  particular(Hordak,Catra) that are pretty much him with a sob story attached. If THEY get to kumbaya with the hero’s then Prime should to because that’s honestly where the morals are at in this story.

I had to stop watching two shows(Vampire Diaries and Once Upon a Time) because I got tired of this sick trope. There were SEASONS worth of whitewashing and selective amnesia for two sick and evil characters(Damien Savatore and Regina), to the point their VICTIMS became their BIGGEST CHEERLEADERS and LOVE INTERESTS.

There is no justice when this vile trope is in play.

The moral event horizon exists for a reason. It means once a character has jumped over it then there should be no moral way they can come back from it.

Humanizing them is a good narrative choice,but that humanization doesn’t and SHOULDN’T erase their heinous crimes.

Thus the only true ending that moral event horizon characters should get are redemption equals death or thanks for growing a conscious and helping us out, but you’re STILL going to prison for life afterwards kay. They don’t get to kumbaya with their victims while the other one’s, THE DEAD BODIES, stay cold.

But you know if I HAD to I COULD have TOLERATED Catra and Hordak going on an atonement journey so they could help the people still living that they made homeless/ lives they ruined. Also they can do this while they both get the therapy they badly need.

I needed CONSEQUENCES that STUCK.

Instead Catra (ADORA’S ABUSER) gets to make out with Adora(HER VICTIM), and also become her girlfriend as well as best friends of her other victims.

So it seems this show’s message is no matter how much emotional and physical pain a person does to you it’s okay to not only let them back in your life(damn your mental health I guess),but also enter a romantic relationship with them to.

Yes, that’s what children need to see.

I did my research on the show runner, and the creators pet/villain sue bias became clearer when I did so. Catra is HER pretty much, and Adora is her wife.

That explains EVERYTHING, and not in a good way.

What the show’s title should actually be called: She-Ra: The Show Where The Villain Sue Antagonist,War Criminal Abuser, Gets a Happily Ever After With Her Victim; Whom She Emotionally and Physically Abused for Four Seasons. Another alternate: She-Ra: The Story of Lesbian Reylo.

Thank you for sharing this submission with us.

[daughterofhel]

.

My icon died last night.

The little black and white cat, Auk (or-ick). A silly name from a badly remembered name from my childhood.

He was pretty much deaf; car got him.

I haven’t seen him since I left Texas, as I moved for a year to VA before finally moving to be with my wife in Vento. One of my guy friends family took him in on their ranch.

It was fitting; I did get Auk from a ranch. He was used to it, loved it even. And this was without the competition of an unhealthy amount of breeding stays like the ones I grabbed him and Ivy up from. I could only take two, my friend the same.

Funny. I had originally gone there to see the birth of a colt only to leave with a cat. Return the next day and get one more, a friend for my tiny runt of a thing.

And who should but all demand it be him to leave with me but Auk? The friendliest of cats that I’ve ever had the pleasure to be around. He also thwarted my attempts at having two girl cats. He was insistent to leave with me and you don’t argue when you’re chosen you know?

I won’t detail the tears following or the rough road and chaos that went on, but many double shifts back to back to back endlessly, a medicated clumsy grandmother with rapidly failing health, and complex roommate situations, I just wasn’t able to provide the needed time and care for my cats.

I cried the entire 45 minute drive to my buddys property when he said he could take them in. I had to pull over twice. They also cried the entire time, being afraid of the car, which made it harder. My buddy, He was the same guy who rescued a big pup clearly abandoned some years back. I had helped train him to not jump on people and other stuff. His folks also owned a longhorn ranch, lots and lots of space.

Those cats deserved better and this was a familiar element, now neutered, vaccinated, and with no stray competition and the dog was so careful. But god. I never wanted to say goodbye to my cats. It didn’t matter though, what I wanted; they needed care and time I wasn’t able to keep providing.

So I dropped them off. As expected, Ivy kept close but never got too close to the family. She simply doesn’t trust; I’ve no idea why such a little thing bonded instantly with me and remained quite the fixed cuddle bug. But she had. I felt worse about it with her than Auk if I’m to be honest.

Auk loved attention. Loved fetch. Belly rubs. This cat was a classic dog and a huge whore for attention. XD He essentially made himself at home and lavished any and all attention, to which my buddies mother instantly fell for this fuzzy dorks charms. He has been well cared for.

I know younger me could’ve and should’ve done better when I got these cats. Mind you, I’ve been gone for over 10 years now, so it has been quite some time. I’m doing what I wish I could have done for my cats then with the two rescues we got last year here.

I was young and working so many hours for nearly no profit after stuff was paid, even living at home and with roommates. I couldn’t afford the extra vet fees I needed or the fanciest of foods or any of that. I loved them, and I felt them being with me instead of the half starving state they were in from constantly competing with so many other cats, was still a better option for them. I still was at least able to do some of the important visits for them.

I cleared their fleas and earmites. I never did get rid of Ivys worms, though I desperately tried. I tried so many ways to get this pill into that cat. Even crushed into wet food. Friends helping to wrap and hold her to make her swallow. All the tricks we found, failed. She just. She wouldn’t take it. And I didn’t have the cash to go every single day and time she needed a dose to a pet clinic. I had checked more than once. It was so much money.

Older, better situated now.. I’ve been able to do right by the cats, Nyx and Tivali, that I have now.

We even saved Nyx’s eye. We have a system to give her her seizure medicine every 12 hours. They’re both fully up to date with their shots and are fixed. Ears totally clean. Monthly newly added anti flea tick collars.

The best food we can reasonably find at the local pet shop; their pelts are beautiful, soft, shiny, and they never smell.

We’ve even found a biodegradable corn based litter we can flush which has been the greatest find.

We get semi regular check ups on our girls and they’re doing just fine now. I’m still proud about saving Nyx’s eye. It was a tedious ordeal. 3-4 times a day we had to clean and medicate a cats eye. We got good at it even if she wasn’t fond of it. Thankfully the vitamins they required were like treats. Even the antibiotics from the colds they had from the shelter.

I miss Auk. And Ivy. And I wish I could’ve not only given them the life I’ve given my current cats now, (I’ve constructed basket beds, hammocks, a whole canopy jungle gym and rope bridge to boot for them with my wife!), but I wish I could have been the one to have them in my life still. I know it was not possible. It wouldn’t have been possible.

But I think of them. A lot. And I knew it was inevitable. Auk would’ve been well over 13 or so years by now. A little old but could’ve lived longer yet for sure. My buddy didn’t mention he has gone deaf. Of course he rarely goes home himself; I don’t blame him. Life’s complicated.

I have mourned these two cats multiple times now. So I’m not thrown into tears upon this news, I’ve cried plenty over the years already. But I’m still sad to hear that fuzzy delight has passed on. I won’t ask, but I hope, and believe, the accident was a quick end for such a friendly guy.

I’ll mourn him eventually in full. I know I will. But considering this is the fourth major bad news I’ve gotten in less than a month and most of it a week, I thought to write about it. If only to keep sane.

May I not receive the same news of my grandmother or my sister who both remain in the hospital.

And god. May my mother stop forcing me to recall and talk about our shared trauma under my father and just keep me up to date on my families health. I don’t want to be crushed under this suffocating vice on my neck that makes me hesitate to call and see my family. I know she needs to vent. And god. I try to let her. I do. I try to be kind; she needs it.

But it isn’t the time and place when I’m trying to figure out if my grandmother is dying or getting better. I shouldn’t have to receive that confirmation, be granted a brief video called hello and check in, with the price of an hour long dredge through a past I personally have gone to two different types of therapy through to try and cope with. Which, only to some degree, have helped.

One of the last longer calls we had she all but said she hoped her theories on my father possible molesting me were true, so, you know, that would be one more trauma we had in common. She went on and on, even trying to provide loose evidence to her theory. Troubling sentences I would say in my rare visits. Etc. She just. Wouldn’t. Stop. And that was after an hour of recalling how terrible her life was with my father and the abuse, the screaming, the terror, the hiding, the injuries, all of it. As if I wasn’t left to live my life with this very man she said her three years with ruined her more than all her past shit combined.

She assured me she was a good mother who tried. And honestly. No. But I do believe she tried. But she was already weak emotionally and mentally and my father wrecked what was left. She left me sometimes for a couple days lock in that house when I was in diapers. You don’t forget that shit. I’m still scared of the dark. I can’t reason with myself on it. But being mad about all of it doesn’t change anything and would hurt a woman already broken. Why would I do that.

Still. It bothers me. So fucking much. But she’s such a fragile person in a fragile emotional state with everything else on top. She’s been heavily depressed for many many years and it’s a bunch of other stuff that spirals and honestly, at this point, she’s toxic even to herself. I’ve tried working on it with her but it matters not if she’s not willing to work on it too. I don’t know my mother besides her many traumas. We’ve been separated and estranged for most of my life. Unless I was physically able to actually be there and provide a use.

But that’s par for the course; no one will have you around if you’re unable to provide something for it. My wife’s the first person who genuinely seems to enjoy having me around just because and wants nothing more. I do stuff of course; but with her I am not afraid a slip up could mean everything it taken away and lost. I can forget the dishes once or had a bad mental health day and stay in bed without it having catastrophic consequences. She’s such a wonderful kind woman; I cannot help stressing over how to repay her.

I try and I’ve expressed my distraught on the topic and though she always seems baffled and confused about my insistence that I should be doing far more, that lass doesn’t agree at all. It’s her parents home so I am not able to freely run the house as I would on our own, as I’m able and have in many places, so I’m often less useful with the restrictions. She’s also use to the flow and swing of things and has things half done before it’s being asked.

Our own place will make life smoother and calmer for both of us; most importantly her. I’ve watched this family, sweet, but absolutely tone deaf to how many and often their demands are tossed to her. All the other kids moved out with partners. Hell, the oldest s child basically lives here. Our own hurdle with raising a kid who we don’t have the final say on any single thing. His grandparents are enablers cuz they don’t want to hear any loud noises, no matter what. And that causes strain when the kid can and does get anything and everything as long as he kicks up a fit. And he sure as hell does. There are days it’s so bad my wife’s in tears. And that pisses me off. The kids a good person, but the fact no one will actually parent and draw definite lines and be firm with No’s can also make him horrible too.

I’ve to deal with the chess match that is my father. I often call him my own personal Devil. He kind of is. But one I’m familiar enough with at this point in my life. I know where and when to cut my losses, where to step around, when I need to swallow my pride or the easily seen through lies, and nod my head. If he was all terrible, I could have cut him from my life. But no one ever really is. And I do know I owe it to the man; he has helped tremendously in my life as much as he’s been a big problem of it. I know his biggest fear is to be alone and forgotten. I wouldn’t do that, not even to the devil.

I need some bland news. Not thrilling. Not depressing. Just some ‘hey that happened’ ‘oh cool.’ Kind of news. Just a small reprieve.

Im. Scared. Of what’s next.

I. Know that things are teetering dangerously into a very very tragic terrible story on my mothers end. I know her husbands already super suicidal. My half brothers severely autistic, non verbal, among a few other things and will require his whole life to have someone be there for him. He’s not stupid, and I hate when people treat him as so, but he is absolutely unable to care for himself. He doesn’t have the right motorskills even, though we’ve gone to many different places to try and help him find ways to do actions in his own way that still get the same result. I admire how he’s such a positive little man, generally not just happy, but delighted. I aspire to look at the world like he does. He reminds me to try. I do love that about him.

He is, however, a Big boy, 15 now, and growing. He’s also very strong now. My mother is getting to an age where his, as well call em happy slaps, are really hurting her. He is generally good about slapping your hands and not your back if you provide them. But when he is upset he is a shover; one bad fall could really cause a lot of chaos for my mother with her health. The husband spends most of his time locked in his room.

My half sister is epileptic. They have done tests for years and can’t figure out all her triggers or the whys. They just sometimes stop for a long time then suddenly happen. She’s 16, turning 17 soon. And I don’t even know if she’s going to be, since my mother won’t let me know. And there are large gaps from my sister being on tech due to concerns of what triggered her seizure this time so she’s often removed from electronic devices for a time.

When I had turned 21, my mother and her husband tried to have me sign a paper to become legal guardian of my half siblings, should something happen to them, so the kids didn’t get separated.

At that time, I was still taking care of my fathers mother along with working at a shit job, and had a house full of temporary roommates who I had offered rooms to as a sort of safe house for them. I have a knack for finding people from broken homes, what can I say? With the house my father and I built, we had space, so I used it. I was able to help the girls get out of toxic places, get on their feet, and move on. Not all of them always. But it did generally work out. One has a boyfriend who was growing worse to her on top of getting more and more into hard drugs while also she dealing with an abusive aunt who got worse once her mother died of cancer. So she was stuck with the terrible boyfriend. I had her stay with me as soon as I heard.

Another was complicated, but generally revolved around the alcoholic mother and the many, shady, men in and out of the house. The dangers of that alone were.. problematic without the friend also being suicidal and not taken seriously. I’ve stayed many times with her to just hang out, clean, cook, or even read a book cuz she just wanted to hear someone talking and such. You know? Until eventually I had her move in with me too.

Another’s mothers died of a cancer and dad an alcoholic; not abusive, he just became childlike and super forgetful. To a hurtful degree in his totally dependent state, whenever he was home. Plus their whole little trailer smelled of piss. And her boyfriend (they’re married with kids and happy now) was in jail. He had a bad past but had cleaned up his act quite well, but. Well that’s complicated. We all know that the police don’t squint at details of any issue if the accused has a problematic past.

I had two different girls with trouble at home who were being used by their family to constantly work, clean, and pay for everything.

I had an ex and her girlfriend with problematic homophobic parents who were terrible and semi violent so I had them stay with us so they could be together somewhere safer.

I did not. At all. Have the assured means to also be a parent of ten children with very different needs nor any medical benefits to help out with.

I also knew, that, with how my mothers husband was, if he had some guarantees for his children’s safety, he would likely end his life if he could. He’s been so close so many times. If signed this paper, he would have the last big most important concern that’s kept him from.. I just. I didn’t want him to do it. I selfishly didn’t want to be responsible for my siblings that would take away any bit of time I had for myself away. If anything happened, I would not abandon and forget my siblings. That’s absurd. But my mother implied heavily she wanted to be sure of that. And thus this paper.

I was struggling to find aid for college so I could go to school (never got to, by the way. Minus two classes in total. Aced them both, but it doesn’t matter. Credits in the wind). I was already dealing with my grandmother. The girls I chose to help. My shit job. My fathers temper and his horrible horrible ‘on again off again’ girlfriend. The chaos that alone committed.

I was busy providing a safe space in my home and making sure it stayed that way for the rare times trouble makers made the mistake of stepping up to my door to try and harass my girls.

I often worked 10 days in a row before a day off. Many of those days often had double shifts which were 16 hours. Sometimes I got an hour nap on the double shifts.

I just couldn’t do it.

And now. I remember something that came to mind back then that comes back to mind now. My moms husband adores my grandma. She’s been better to him than his own mother. She’s dying. He’s not taking it well and his mental health has always been pretty low and in the last couple years, already dangerously rock bottom. I’ll admit, same.

His daughter is now in the hospital. My brother is smart but there are some things we can’t really explain for him to get. He understands something is wrong but not sure what and it upsets him. He doesn’t like change and gets super fussy for it. Which can be taxing and hours and days and weeks of it. Grandmas been in the hospital for a couple more or more now. She coded a few days ago but they got her back.

If grandma dies. If something happens to my sister…

God. I don’t see that man sticking around.

And with my mom isolated. A lot of it her doing with her own family but also a good part of it being dumb petty bs of other folks that have no reason to behave like that (a whole drama I don’t have the energy to keep up with..). I just.

I see it as a domino effect of terrible terrible events I don’t want to write.

My mothers side im not very close to. I don’t blame my cousins, we were kids ajd our meetings were brief as they were. But the adults kept their distance with me. No one expected me to survive and decided it was easier to not get attached. To not get involved with me, and by extension, the devil himself, my father. So I never got the chance to know that family. Even when I tried.

So the only family I do have some ties to ajd know, is in a hospital bed, or on my dads side, and they’re dying to. And I get it… that at a certain age in life, many of the people around you start to. It’s just life. Ajd it sucks. And I miss having a best friend. I miss having friends who just seem to like to have me around. Want to have me around.

And I wonder if the friends I thought I made with my roommates were just because I provided something for them. Sure we laughed a lot, we cried over shared traumas, celebrated holidays together so as to not be alone.

But not a one speaks to me now. And hey. That’s also life. But it makes me feel pretty shitty; every where I look in the past, I can’t see any relationship, family, partner, friendship, that ever had me around unless I was providing services they wanted and needed. And I don’t mean the natural give and take.

I’m aware that I’m not the friend folks have around. I’m a fun distraction at best and have been told and reminded as such. I feel like shit cuz my wife’s wonderful and the best person in my life, and yet I still mourn having close friends to hang with. I miss gaming together the most. Or the bullshitting. Sharing food.

I’m not a nice person. I’m working on it. I am. I’ve also, for years, been working on my own personal problems so as to not bring them into even conversations. I don’t know what I am doing wrong but I just.. can’t seem to keep anyone around. And frankly.

I find myself crying about it a lot with no idea what to do.

And. I’m burnt out.

I don’t want to make friends anymore. And yet I still crave it. Which sucks. I can’t stop seeming to want that. And I keep trying. And trying.

I’m trying to accept and be happy with any bit of time I get from the few friends who talk to me. I try to take my chances where I can to hang out (online, as they’re all distance by now), cuz I know it’s a short window and I’ll be lucky to get a next time in the near future.

Online is harder to provide a use, and once the ‘honeymoon phase’ of the friendship winds down, some drop off the map entirely. A few abruptly. And I just. That’s fucked me ho a ton. I can’t even express how many hours I stay sitting. Thinking. Unable to understand what I am not doing or what I am.

It’s a pity party. I know. But it’s fine. I’m still the only one at it and though I’m quite forward even with nerves eating away at me, I still just don’t know how to keep anyone in my life.

It’s taken almost 6 years for me to relax enough to believe my wife will, in fact, stick around.

But at this point in time, I’ve realized, on a note I just keep getting really sad over, that the bits of friendship I’ll get to experience with people, will be brief, snippets, and frankly, only if I am providing something they’re not getting.

I’m essentially the magazine next to the toilet when you have a bad bad stomach bug and your phones dead.

Man’s that’s.. probably my own doing. I know I’m a lot of woe is me in here. And it’s a post talking to me, so I’m indulging in it. I absolutely can’t out loud or in life. I’m working on just.. trying to feel instead of ignoring it. Per my therapists suggestions. So I feel fucking overwhelmed, sad, and alone. Isolated. Heavily.

Ignorance is bliss for real. I wish I wasn’t so aware that I was the friend you go to when all options are down and you’re bored. When you are in a bind and need a safe spot (I don’t mind that one but it does suck that it’s the only time some folks pop back in or up). That if I’m not working then no one even has a small little want to just say hi. I wish I had people who just wanted to say hi because they just.. missed me? I gues?

I wish I knew how to be better as a person and a friend. I thought I was making strides on that. I really had. And yet.

Here I am. Just.

Bitching to the void. Becuase my wife doesn’t need me to add more to her life with her father (finally back from the hospital after surgery) and his health concerned along with everyone else’s and the own sets of ordeals here. I don’t need her to fret over me.

She’s needed distraction and I’ve left her alone for a couple weeks now to her drawing. Probably one of the best things I did do for her was clean up a space for a literal drawing room for her. She’s happier for it. People compliment her art and she rather enjoys the well deserved attention.

I personally would love to have her around more. But I’m having a lot of bad shit days. Weeks at this point. And I’m using my energy to be useful in setting the table or doing the dishes, the cats, playing with the nephew, etc.

All I want to do is sleep.

Frankly. I’m tired of waking up.

But for her. I will.

[fantasyraindrps]

Anti Catra/Catradora

This series has always felt like the Catra Show, and so much so that even Hordak never felt like the main villain. And nothing drove that point home more than season five proving once and for all that this series moral line(or lack there of) is REALLY about a Villain Protagonist when the character that increasingly became a MONSTER for FOUR SEASONS still got everything she wanted in the end.    

Catra is the poster child for the moral bankruptcy of this series.  

I can't buy her ''redemption,'' or her relationship with Adora, because she WENT TO FAR.  

Therefore nor can I buy the HYPOCRITICAL mental gymnastics that arise when she is a topic of discussion in the fandom.  

For four seasons I watched this character WILLINGLY and GLEEFULLY jump rope with the moral event horizon. She eventually finally broke it to the pieces when she deliberately GENOCIDES everyone on the PLANET, because of her sick,evil obsession with being better than Adora.  

Loved all this time my behind.

Catra was a vile person from her introduction, and just got increasingly more poisonous as the show went on.  

Season Five wants us to treat Catra like a bad friend that said a few mean words here and there, and therefore all she has to do is sincerely apologize then friendship can begin again.  

Here's the thing Catra wasn't just a bad friend, but also an ABUSER and a FASCIST.  

She had multiple opportunities to leave the horde,and had no reason to stay in the first place, gleefully attacks the resistance, is the reason Angela died, tried straight up multiple times to end Adora’s and her friends lives, and was just an abomination to even the ones on her side....    

On the flip side we have Adora who doesn’t give a damn about Catra for four seasons. She’s too busy enjoying life with her REAL friends. Try and recall, was there ever a moment where Adora was...concerned for Catra’s safety? Pining for her in any way romantically? Ever? Even once during the first four? Because I don’t. Honestly Catra wasn’t important to Adora until Catra showed up on screen. And then they both wanted to kill each other. Any moments of Adora thinking about Catra it was in the context of Catra being her ENEMY.

But I'm supposed to believe in their romance based on what? 

Catra's toxicity? Adora's nonexistent romantic feelings for pretty much the entire series?    

In season 5 all Catra had to do was one act of atonement and out of nowhere, like Adora has been possessed by the ghost of Queer Rep, she suddenly can’t get Catra out of her head. Also note Catra didn't save Glimmer because she realized her past actions were evil; no it was all for Adora's sake i.e. the person she is toxically obsessed with.  

Back to Catra, her redemption is handled with the most condescending of kid gloves. It’s like she was replaced by a clone for season five. She’s just accepted. It's like seasons 1-4 didn't happen. The forgiveness was excessive and forced so we could be okay with this ABUSER / WAR CRIMINAL being chummy and romantic with her victims.

For example Glimmer cries over her, hugs her, kisses her cheek etc... Yet Catra is responsible for her MOTHER’S DEATH, the WORLD ENDING once before, trying to KILL her, war crimes against Bright Moon/HER KINGDOM...  

Then Entrapta also forgives Catra like it’s nothing even though she sent HER TO DIE, and apparently she was in this hell space for a YEAR.  

Same with Scorpia who forgives Catra's toxicity in five seconds.  

But everything is suppose to be wonderful because an ABUSER ends the series ROMANTICALLY INVOLVED WITH HER VICTIM?

When Adora said you made your choice now live with it THAT should have been the end of any reconciliation either platonic of romantic.  

Even her flashbacks are her being abusive. You see her in one of them( in her so called redemption season at that) SCRATCHING Adora's FACE to the point it left BLOOD,and JUMPING ON HER STOMACH just because Adora DARED to be friends with other people.

This was pretty much every childhood flashback they showed.

She would emotionally and physically abuse Adora, and then Adora would take her back. 

This would continue even as near adults. It was a PATTERN(red flag) that Adora unfortunately didn't escape.  

But.....I always loved you,says Catra.  

For ADORA'S own mental health/closure she could forgive,but only if she also makes it clear that she doesn't want her abuser/war criminal ex friend back in her life.    

I could have tolerated that ending instead of Adora becoming a COUPLE with her ABUSER.  

Basically this villain sue ends the show getting everything she wants even after evil manipulation of several characters, genocide, war crimes against her own people, repeated attempts at murder,physical and mental abuse(especially toward Adora), and just being a complete psychopath to anyone within spitting distance of her toxicity.

She gets to be pretty much a abusive scum bucket for four seasons, on top of ACTUALLY DOING THE SAME THING PRIME WANTED TO DO, yet whiplash forgiveness and Lesbians 4 Evah is her ending.    

"So we're all just okay with this?", says Mermista incredulously of the war criminal Hordak. 

Good question,but then I remember you all seem to be okay with war criminal Catra who is pretty much Hordak's parallel soo ....  

Her mirror Hordak, according to the showrunner, is sentenced to beast island for his war crimes. However, my question then becomes where is Catra's sentence? Oh, that's right if you're the creator’s pet you get to be a war criminal in peace.    

It's also convenient that Mermista was chipped,and therefore didn't get to say anything to the girl who helped bring down her kingdom with a smile on her face.

Funny how that worked out.  

It's even more convenient that her victims gave their lighting fast forgiveness.  

Can't have icky things like abuse and war crimes get in the way of that ending smooch you know.  

I suppose we also just need to look at Angella as collateral damage while we smile as her daughter hugs and kisses her killer I guess.    

I also find it odd(since were loving abusers and war criminals) that Shadow Weaver point blank doesn't get forgiveness from Adora, and she even ends the series dead. However, she defected to the hero’s side in season two(regardless of any impure motivation), and stayed there and helped the protagonists until her season five death. But Catra, who not only stayed with the conquering organization the Horde for almost the entire series as well as eventually becoming their LEADER, was not only forgiven but also rewarded a romance with her victim. Curious.  

I'm tired of this abominable trope invading every piece of media. An antagonist crosses the moral event horizon, and some even break it to pieces, but somehow the story gets selective amnesia and thus they are free to join the protagonists with their numerous sick crimes ignored or a sob story is bsed into a justification onto why we should ignore physical and emotional abuse and/or the numerous bodies piled up.    

When you don't have a moral LINE in your narrative then that means you have already made a mockery out of morality and numerous victims.  

The only way I can stomach her season five ‘’redemption’’, and lighting quick forgiveness, is if I forget the monster of four seasons didn't exist. 

Problem is I can't do that.  

Why should I get any catharsis that the protagonists prevailed over Horde Prime when you have two characters in particular(Hordak,Catra) that are pretty much him with a sob story attached. If THEY get to kumbaya with the hero's then Prime should to because that's honestly where the morals are at in this story.    

I had to stop watching two shows(Vampire Diaries and Once Upon a Time) because I got tired of this sick trope. There were SEASONS worth of whitewashing and selective amnesia for two sick and evil characters(Damien Savatore and Regina), to the point their VICTIMS became their BIGGEST CHEERLEADERS and LOVE INTERESTS.  

There is no justice when this vile trope is in play.  

The moral event horizon exists for a reason. It means once a character has jumped over it then there should be no moral way they can come back from it. Humanizing them is a good narrative choice,but that humanization doesn't and SHOULDN'T erase their heinous crimes.  

Thus the only true ending that moral event horizon characters should get are redemption equals death or thanks for growing a conscious and helping us out, but you're STILL going to prison for life afterwards kay. They don't get to kumbaya with their victims while the other one's, THE DEAD BODIES, stay cold.  

But you know if I HAD to I COULD have TOLERATED Catra and Hordak going on an atonement journey so they could help the people still living that they made homeless/ lives they ruined. Also they can do this while they both get the therapy they badly need.  

I needed CONSEQUENCES that STUCK.  

Instead Catra (ADORA'S ABUSER) gets to make out with Adora(HER VICTIM), and also become her girlfriend. She also becomes the best friend of her other victims.  

So it seems this show's message is no matter how much emotional and physical pain a person does to you it's okay to not only let them back in your life(damn your mental health I guess),but it’s also fine to enter a romantic relationship with them as well.   

Yes, that's what children need to see.  

It's also hilarious that some of her fans say she's Zuko.

No.

She's what would happen if Azula and Kylo Ren were made into one character.

I did my research on the show runner, and the creators pet/villain sue bias became clearer. 

Catra is HER, and Adora is her wife.   

That explains EVERYTHING, and not in a good way.   

What the show's title should actually be called: 

She-Ra:The Story of a Villain Sue Antagonist,War Criminal Abuser,That Gets a Happily Ever After With Her Victim; Whom She Emotionally and Physically Abused for Four Seasons.    

Another alternate: 

She-Ra: The Story of Lesbian Reylo.

[taeilm]

off-peak

summary: doyoung is a hitman who likes to watch movies at your local movie theater

unedited word vomit / 4357w

it’s the seventh time you’ve seen the boy at this movie theater. this theater that only has 4 auditoriums, a handful of showings a day, a few added showtimes on weekends. this theater that plays old movies and foreign films that people don’t care for — perhaps the occasional critic or cinephile, but otherwise empty seats. this theater that you’ve painstakingly sought out and settled on, that you’ve claimed for yourself.

you don’t remember when exactly he had started to come. the whole point of discovering this obscure rundown theater is so that others don’t intrude on your private viewing experience. not that this boy is intruding by strict definitions — he doesn’t bother you, has never uttered a sound, and always leaves before the closing credits end (which you sit through religiously) — but his mere physical existence, once you begin to take notice, sticks out like a sore thumb because suddenly, he’s everywhere: at every showing you attend, in every auditorium you choose, sitting in the back rows that used to be your territory.

you realize you sound petty if you admit that moving down a few rows to adjust an unnecessary routine annoys you, but the truth is, it does. not so much in that you think the screen becomes imperceptibly bigger or that you have to crane your neck back a little more, but that you hate the feeling of someone behind you, possibly watching your every move. the back of the seats aren’t high enough to hide anything above the shoulder blades, so now you feel uncomfortable scratching your neck, tossing popcorn in your mouth, shifting positions, or really doing anything besides sitting stiffly for hours. the private viewing experience is over. your favored space has been invaded. a confrontation is imminent.

“hi,” you say the eighth time you spot him in the theater auditorium, ads and trailers still flashing psychedelic colors across the screen. you’re early, but he’s always earlier. indeed you did try to beat him to the back row a while ago, but learned from the old theater clerk that this boy apparently spends all day at this place, almost everyday. it seems the theater’s style of showing non-repetitive selections suits him more than it ever suited you. which vexes you all the more.

who the hell has this much time on their hands?

you plop down two seats away from him, watch a few trailers, then decide to go in for a handshake.

“i’m _____,” you say.

he simply gets up, climbs over the row before him in an impossibly graceful manner, and re-situates himself in another red-cushioned seat. no sign of reaction, verbal or physical.

suit yourself, you shrug.

the movie plays and you have the blessing of forgetting his presence for two and a half hours. your usual seat feels like home, almost like you’d never left. you wonder why you hadn’t done this earlier and allowed yourself to suffer for so long.

the boy obviously missed the luxury he’s enjoyed for the past few weeks. this time, he does not walk toward the door when the closing credits start to roll.

you find him sliding into the seat next to you, though his eyes are still trained on the screen. in the dim lighting, you can almost make out the contour of his profile. dark hair, high nose-bridge, sharp jawline, a prominent adam’s apple. the details elude you, but even the limited view hints at a handsome face. 

“could you sit somewhere else next time.” he’s straight to the point. “i remember you. you always sit towards the middle. i’d appreciate if you stayed there.”

if his earlier discourtesy had been any indicator, you shouldn’t be surprised now by his arrogant entitlement. still, it takes you by surprise. this city hasn’t forced you to cross paths with the likes of him in a while.

“i was here first,” you say, working your tone to match his, “months before you started coming, actually. you’re sitting in my seat. i was just nice enough to let you for a few weeks. and now i’m fed up, so no more of this.”

at that, he turns to look at you — only a side glance, but you’ll take it as encouragement that you’d gotten a rise out of him. you think you detect the same incredulous glint in his eyes that had been in yours, as if it’s been a long time since someone had dared to talk to him like this. after a beat, he scoffs. the noise is so light that you can almost pretend you’d imagined it.

“i better not see you in this row again. this will be the last time.” his annoyance is so thinly veiled that it sends your own blood simmering. a strange urge to gall him overtakes you. wouldn’t it be funny to see him blow his lid. he’s not as calm and refined as you’d first thought.

“why don’t we sit together like this, both in the back? i’ll even save a seat for you, right next to me.”

“you always arrive after me. besides, i like to sit alone.”

“well, you’re welcome to move somewhere else.”

“i like to sit alone in the back.”

“can’t have everything.”

he looks at you head-on this time, and you’re struck by the elegant slant of his eyes —at once soft and glacial — the stately arch of his brows, the porcelain shine of his skin. his hair and brows are raven-black, accentuating his eyes all the more, framing his face perfectly. oh, damn it, he is handsome.

he sizes you up, as if assessing a target, a prey. you can’t believe you’re thinking this, and this is in no way an exaggeration, but he looks like he’s debating whether or not to kill you.

with great difficulty, he explains, “this is the only place where i can relax.” his eyes meet yours and hold your gaze, far steadier than his voice. it’s a genuine enough plea, but what about yourself?

“mine, too,” you retort, though your voice has softened considerably. “and i haven’t been able to since you came. i always feel like there’s someone staring down my neck. it’s very uncomfortable and i can’t enjoy a movie in that state. can’t we, i don’t know, work something out?”

he looks at you like he’s never made a compromise in his life.

“we can switch off, every other time,” you offer, but he shake his head.

“i need an undisturbed experience every time i come. it’s the only place i can relax,” he repeats, a tinge of desperation coloring his voice. “i need this theater. it’s like... therapy, or something.”

you wonder what he does for a job that causes him so much stress, even though he seems to have all the time in the world for movies, and no qualms about staying here through multiple showtimes a day. does he even have a job?

belatedly, you realize you had spoken the last question aloud, as the boy frowns.

“excuse me?” 

he doesn’t sound offended, though.

“sorry. i mean, the old man at the front says you basically camp out at this theater. are you a freelancer?”

he finally lowers his gaze, and sinks back into his red-cushioned seat.

“you could say that.”

“lucky. i wish i were. that way i’d have more time to watch movies.”

he makes an odd expression, half-amused, half-something you can’t place a finger on.

“you’d hate my job.”

as if deciding this conversation has dragged on for way too long, he leaves you. yet in the days and weeks that follow, he seems to have taken your jest for real, and begins to the share the back row with you whenever the two of you chanced to meet — he on one end, towards the wall, you on the other, near the door. unfortunately for him, the order of your arrivals also ensured that he would always sit through the closing credits he so hated watching.

“why do you watch this?” he asks you one time, just loud enough to surface above the ending soundtrack. “it’s so boring.”

“if you want to leave, just step over me. or parkour over the seats like you did last time.”

“that’s a hassle.”

“you’re really annoying.”

“could say the same to you.”

maybe it isn’t so hard to want to kill someone after all.

you relent. “i’ve always liked watching them. seeing which actors played who, the hundreds of people behind production. kinda cool that it takes me out of something i was so immersed in just a second ago. not completely, of course, but just enough to remind me that none of this is real.”

he mulls over this for a while. “hmm. never thought of it that way.”

“i don’t think anyone sits through closing credits just to read them.”

“yeah. you’re kind of weird.”

the closing credits crawl to an end. the score fades, the screen grays out, the auditorium lights turn on. the boy stands up, and, after a moment of hesitation, walks towards you, his hands stuffed awkwardly in the pockets of his fleece jacket. you mirror his movements and face him, bemused.

“i’m doyoung.” the introduction hits you out of nowhere.

“oh,” you say stupidly, “cool, uh, nice to meet you. i’m _____.”

“i know. you’ve said it before.”

he looks like he’s having an inner dilemma over whether or not to try a handshake. in the end, it seems he has decided against it. he steps past you, so smoothly that you barely had time to register to his proximity before he’s out the door, out of sight, disappearing like he always does right after a movie.

his scent lingers on you for the briefest moment. it’s musky, with a hint of jasmine.

a month later, on some nondescript friday night, he’s late to a showing for the first time since you’ve met him. quite late by his standards. you’re already several minutes into the movie when he glides in from your peripheral vision. you’re so used to expecting his absence when he’s not in the theater before you, that this unpunctuality strikes you as odd. you wonder if something had happened. not that it’s any of your business.

he sets something down at his feet — another oddity; you don’t remember him ever carrying anything to the theater. you try to ignore his panting, the obvious attempts at catching his breath. he must’ve been running late. well, it happens. no one is that impeccably punctual.

as if to top it all off, the final strange act comes in the form of doyoung waiting for you by the auditorium door after the movie has ended.

you’re debating whether to stop or walk past him when he says, “what are you doing for the rest of the evening?”

the question gives you an unprecedented mental whiplash.

“what?”

“i said,” he sighs impatiently, as if regretting his decision already, “are you free tonight?”

“i...yes? i was just gonna get pizza.”

“by yourself?”

it’s an innocuous question, but it stings nonetheless, and you’re surprised by how much it stings. hadn’t you gotten used to the loneliness, after all this time? so what if he sees you as a loser who watches movies alone and eats her meals alone?

“yeah, by myself.” as if defending your pathetic solitude, you add, “it’d be annoying to call someone up right now. it’s too late.”

doyoung’s expression is one of — what? empathy? fascination? ...relief? you’re not sure.

“do you want to get pizza together? i don’t have any plans.”

you give him an odd look, but find no legitimate reason to reject the offer. “i thought you hated me.”

he looks genuinely surprised.

“why would i?”

“we fought in the theater. and we never talk otherwise.”

“i would hardly call that... a fight.” his surprise seems to increase exponentially, emulating yours. “i thought maybe we could be friends.”

you think that, for someone of his visual caliber, he lacks the social sensibility to match it. severely. but he’s so resolutely solemn in all his statements you’re starting wonder if the norm is wrong instead, that maybe you tend to overcomplicate things.

he seems discouraged by your silence. “or just one-night pizza acquaintances.”

you can’t decide if he’s confident or awkward, or both. “alright, let’s get pizza.”

only when the two of you push past the theater’s front doors do you notice what he’s carrying in his hand.

a violin case.

“you’re a violinist?”

his long, slender fingers loosely grasp the handle, all the more pale in the moonlight. they seem as violinist-like as any other part of him. he does have a sort of graceful, aristocratic air about him.

the night wind is warm on your face when you start towards the pizza joint. doyoung is quiet next to you.

“not really.”

“just a hobby then?”

he looks down at the case. “not one i particularly enjoy.”

you get the feeling that he wants to stop talking about violins, so you let it slide. you discover that he only answers to whatever questions you toss out, and even then, not fully. he seems reluctant to divulge any personal information, yet eager to talk about various nothings. by the end of the walk, you decide that he’s a terrible conversationalist, but not uncomfortable to be around.

the pizza tastes delicious.

“so i take it you don’t have any friends here.” the cheese melts in your mouth, and you watch him pick pepperoni off his slice, eating them one by one.

“i haven’t been here long, and i don’t know when i’ll leave. i didn’t think it’d make sense to try and make friends.”

his predilection for giving vague, evasive answers is getting more frustrating by the second. you’ve never met someone this keen on keeping up a front.

“when was the last time you made friends?” you try for extremes, anything to get something out of him.

doyoung ponders this seriously.

“can’t remember.”

“are you serious?”

“it’s just too ris—” he stops abruptly, catching himself, and just as quickly, modifies his words, “—i don’t have a need for them.”

“then why are you here eating pizza with me?”

he purses his lips, then decides to point the spearhead at you, taking charge of the conversation for the first time. “well what about you? no one watches movies alone. where are your friends?”

“i just can’t find people who like movies as much as i do. of course i have friends.”

doyoung looks up at that, and stares straight into your eyes, holding your gaze for what seems an eternity. you try not to look away, but you’re bothered by the shrewd intensity of his eyes. he looks unconvinced.

“it’s okay to be alone, you know.”

“i’m not."

he goes back to his pizza. “anyway. i’m eating with you because i miss human company.”

“too many movies, huh?” you wipe your fingers clean. “it’s good to live in the real world sometimes.”

“depends on which real world you’re living in.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

he doesn’t answer.

“you know, if you want to be friends, i’d suggest not being so secretive for a start.”

he checks the violin case at his feet again, as if afraid someone will steal it. you try to imagine him playing the instrument, his jaw pressed against the chin rest, his fingers dancing across the strings. it’s not a hard image to conjure, but it’s just as easy to imagine him doing anything else, in another line of work. the kind that requires extreme sharp precision. 

for some reason, you’re not eager to probe his secrets, to peel back his veneer of mystery and see whatever it is he’s trying to hide. everyone has their reasons. you’re grateful he’s not prying into yours.

when the two of you part, you can’t help but look back at doyoung’s figure in the distance, standing under a streetlamp waiting for his bus, the violin case dangling at his side. the picture strikes you as exceedingly lonely.

“hey!” you yell before you can stop yourself, and his head snaps up in your direction. “let’s go out for a drink next time, yeah? after a movie?”

his face slowly splits into a grin, an impossibly boyish, charming grin. he gives you a nod, and lifts his arm into a wave.

after that, he disappears for two months.

when he shows up again, it’s the beginning of july — torrid heat rolling in, mid-summer cicadas congregating in every tree on every block. people collectively shed another layer of clothing, and you pull out a forgotten sundress from the bottom of your drawers. a few more locals have discovered the theater, and you can hardly believe you’re still missing doyoung by the end of the second month when, out of the blue, without warning, he slides into the seat next to you for an early afternoon re-screening of leon: the professional, like he’s never been gone at all.

he’s wearing a long-sleeve shirt despite the weather, and you have half a heart to tease him, if not for him arriving right as the film had begun to play.

“what’s up with you?” two hours later, you turn to him as soon as the screen blacks out, and let the fantasy linger in your mind without reading the closing credits this time. “you’ve been gone for so long.”

doyoung’s knee grazes yours as he relaxes, stretching out his legs as he lets his head fall back against his seat. his arm drapes lazily over the armrest between you two, centimeters away from grazing your thigh. he closes his eyes, and it’s impossible to keep yourself from studying the contours of his face, the curves and angles you’ve missed for too many days. someone exits the auditorium, and a sliver of daylight briefly illuminates his face before giving away to the flickering screen light. you note the gentle rise and fall of his chest under his white shirt, the fringes that have grown longer since the last time you saw him.

“you look nice today,” he murmurs, and turns his head to look at you, resting his cheek on the crest of his seat. his gaze roams over your face, neck, loose braids, the bare lengths of your criss-crossed arms, the floral pattern on your yellow sundress, your knee that’s bumping against his, and pauses there. he doesn’t retreat his leg. “i wanted to tell you that the moment i walked in.”

for all his polite greetings, you feel like he’s just undressed you with a once-over.

“where have you been?”

“around.”

“how have you been?”

doyoung doesn’t answer, and by now you’re used to it, even if you wished he’d tell you.

he extends his arm a bit beyond the armrest, just far enough to grasp your hand. your heart skips a beat, your breath lodges in your throat. the sudden physical contact is unexpected, though not uninvited. his hand is more callused than you’d imagined, and you find yourself wondering yet again what he does for a living. he seems wholly distracted by your hand, carefully studying the way it fits into his.

“remember what you said about closing credits, how they always remind you that the movie isn’t real?”

you make a noise of affirmation.

“sometimes i feel like i’m in one, and i can’t wake up no matter how hard i try.”

you’re not sure how to respond to that. he has a propensity for saying strange things from time to time, and you can’t tell if he wants you to pry further or leave him be. before you can ask, his eyes rise up to meet yours, and he changes the topic.

“i’m sorry about the drinks last time — if you even remember, that is — let me treat you to a couple of beers. it’s the perfect thing for this weather.”

an hour later, you find yourself lying on the grassy riverbank next to him, grateful for the cold bottle in your hand and the shade cast by a nearby willow tree. doyoung closes his eyes again, and you think he looks awfully tired against such a languid summer backdrop.

“what do you think of leon, from the movie?” he asks without opening his eyes. the condensation from his beer drips down his pale fingers. the cicada chirps become soothing white noise.

“i liked him.”

“even though he kills people?”

“i'm sure every one has their reasons. it’s just a movie, anyway.”

doyoung doesn’t say anything for a long time. he doesn’t needs to, really; the two of you are more comfortable in silence than in conversation, as you’ve belatedly come to notice — in fact, this odd friendship has been defined by long stretches of silence, the reliance on films to fill in your lulls.

“i’m thinking of quitting my job,” he announces, and you let the statement hang there, dissipating in the summer heat. the beer is ice-cold in your hands, but you want to stay sober for this casual interrogation.

“what would you want to do instead?”

“i don’t know. i’ve never thought about it. i didn’t think i’d ever be able to leave my job.” he turns to you, propping his head up with a free hand, and you start counting the leaves above your head to ignore the way his eyes bore holes into you. “but something about you makes me want to live differently. you make me feel like... there’s a way out of it all.”

“well isn’t there?”

“i’d have to leave the city, probably. go somewhere far away.”

the filtered sunlight feels nice on your skin, imprinting dappled patterns onto your dress. the river looks exceedingly inviting, rippling in the breeze, the light refractions blinding you in erratic glimmers. your mind barely registers to his words. he always speaks like he’s reading from a screenplay, telling you just enough to keep you from leaving the show. like he knows the eventual consequences of all his words but he’s forced to play on, because only he knows the ending, the inescapable finale.

and doyoung — doyoung doesn’t tell you about the handguns in his violin case, the sniper rifle in his guitar case, the still-healing bullet wound in his shoulder, the long-sleeve hiding his bandaged torso. he doesn’t tell you about all the high- and low-profile heads he’s aimed at through a gunsight, the inordinate amounts of cash he’s earned for each compulsory job. he doesn’t tell you the real reason behind his irreparable social skills, how he’s gotten so used to dehumanizing his targets that he’s forgotten how to treat them in the civilized world, can’t bring himself to face them. he doesn’t tell you about all the nights of being jarred awake by his own nightmares, the sanctuary of film after film to drain his empty fatigue away. he can’t find the right words to explain why he’s perpetually and irremediably tired, and why it’s not the kind of tiredness that sleep can palliate. he doesn’t elaborate on the claustrophobia of being trapped in a groundhog day that’s partly of his own making. he doesn’t tell you that starting over may very well mean a tangible, physical sort of death, one he’s all too familiar with, though he’s never been on the receiving end. he doesn’t tell you that he’s a coward, has been one for years, that the blood on his hands can drown him whole. 

no, he doesn’t tell you any of that. how could he? for you, there has always been a clear line between the fictional and the real. for him, he can hardly distinguish one from the other, or where he stands in relation to it all. you wouldn’t understand. there’s no point endangering your reality with his sanguinary predicament.

and no, of course he can’t tell you that he likes you, likes you more than he’ll ever admit.

which is why he pulls you into the river instead and tries the memorize the way you twist in his grasp, the way you squeeze your eyes shut and squeal when streams of water hit your skin. the way your pretty dress clings to your pretty frame, the sound of wind-chimes in your laughter. the difference between your delicate wrists in his hands and the hard plastic gun-grip he’s so used to. he wishes he could hold you forever, just like this, gently, under the late-july sun.

“doyoung.”

the voice wakes him from his trance, and he can’t bring himself to back away when you move towards him, snaking your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. the gunshot wound pulsates dully beneath your touch, a reminder of his somber reality.

“you’re going to leave, aren’t you? please don’t.” your plea dissipates against his shirt, perforating deep beneath his skin.

against his better judgment, he wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you tighter into him, ignoring the protest of his wounds.

“if i do, will you come with me?”

he regrets the question instantly, and prays that you’ll reject the offer. yet his heart is beating a rhythm of its own, hoping against hope that you’ll say yes.

“it won’t be a normal life, i’m assuming.” 

it’s astounding how you always manage to say the sharpest things, he thinks — more astute than you could ever guess.

“no, it won’t. and i can’t promise it will be for a very long time, maybe forever.”

“that’s okay.” your answer is so simple, so trusting, that doyoung wonders if he should tell you everything after all, so you know exactly what you’ll entangle yourself in.

but when you tilt your head up and lock eyes with him, he realizes that you know, you do, even if you may not fully understand. it isn’t naivety he sees in your eyes, but unwavering faith — something he’s long forgotten, like a remnant from an old dream. maybe you are his ticket out.

maybe there is a way to wake up.

[innuendostudios]

The newest installment of The Alt-Right Playbook - Endnote 4: How the Alt-Right is Like an Abusive Relationship - is a little different. This installment was presented live at Solidarity Lowell, and includes a bonus Q&A section. This video expands on the ideas put forth in How to Radicalize a Normie.

If you would like more videos like this to come out, please back me on Patreon.

Transcript below the cut.

He is intriguing, yet unpredictable. He demands unconditional loyalty. He seems to have an intuitive understanding of what people want to hear but no actual empathy; he treats others as simply bodies or objects. And he’s surrounded by a network of subordinates but the personnel is always changing.

Does it sound like I’m describing The President? Because these are, according to Alexandra Stein, qualities of a cult leader.

Hi. My name is Ian Danskin. I’m a video essayist and media artist. I run the YouTube channel Innuendo Studios, the flagship endeavor of which is currently The Alt-Right Playbook, a series on the political and rhetorical strategies the Alt-Right uses to legitimize itself and gain power. And, if that sounds interesting to you, and you haven’t already, please like share and subscribe.

The most recent episode of The Alt-Right Playbook is about how people get recruited into these largely online reactionary communities like the Alt-Right, a subject which, as it turns out, is real fuckin’ hard to research.

What I want to talk about with you today is how I go about studying a population that is incredibly hostile towards being studied. It involves finding the bits and pieces of the Alt-Right that we do have data on - the pockets of good research, the outsider observations, the stories of lived experience - as well as looking at older movements the Alt-Right grew out of, that have been extensively researched, and spotting the ways the Alt-Right is continuous with them, and trying to extrapolate how those structures might recreate themselves in the social media age.

So it’s… a lot. And, in the process of researching, I found a wealth of interesting perspectives that, by focusing the video on recruitment specifically, I barely dipped a toe in. All that stuff is what I’d like to get into with you today. But I’m trying to thread a needle here: you don’t need to have seen my video, How to Radicalize a Normie, to follow this talk, but, if you have seen it already, I will try not to be redundant. This talk is one part making my case for why I think the conclusions in that video are correct, one part repository for all the stuff I couldn’t get into, and one part how I’ve come to look at the Alt-Right as a result of this research, including some pet theories I wouldn’t feel right claiming as truth without further research, but I do think are on the right track.

This talk is called Isolation, Engulfment, and Pain: How the Alt-Right is Like an Abusive Relationship. We’re going to cover a lot of ground, from information processing to emotional development, but we’re necessarily also going to cover racism and violence and abuse dynamics. So this is an introduction and a content warning: if some of these subjects are particularly charged for you, no offense will be taken if you at any point leave the room. I have to research this stuff for a living, and it is rough, and sometimes I have to step away. We don’t judge here.

Now. Requisite dash of self-deprecation: don’t give me too much credit for all this. I am proud of the work I do and I think I’m genuinely good at it, but much of this video was compiling the work of others. Besides research I had already done and my own observations, the video had 27 sources: three books, five research papers, six articles, one leaked document, three testimonials, four videos, four pages of statistics, and one Twitter joke. I also spoke to four professional researchers who study right-wing extremism and one former Alt-Righter.

Without all their hard work, I would have nothing to compile.

OK? Let’s begin.

We’re gonna center on those three main texts: Alt-America by David Neiwert, a history of the Alt-Right’s origins; Healing from Hate by Michael Kimmel, about how young men get into (and out of) extremist groups, be they neo-Nazi or jihadist; and Terror, Love and Brainwashing by Alexandra Stein, about how people are courted by and kept inside cults and totalitarian regimes.

I began with Kimmel. The premise of Healing from Hate is that extremist groups tend to be between 75 and 90% male, and that you cannot understand radical conservatism without looking at it through the lens of toxic masculinity. Which makes it all the more disappointing that Kimmel has been accused by multiple women of bullying and harassment. I found the book incredibly useful, and we’re still going to talk about it, I just need to caveat here that retweets are not endorsements. Also, if I spoil the book for you then you don’t need to buy it, give your money to someone who isn’t a creep.

Kimmel’s argument is that extremism begins with a pain peculiar to young men. He calls it “aggrieved entitlement.” I call it Durden Syndrome. You know that scene in Fight Club where Tyler Durden says, “We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires and movie gods and rockstars, but we won’t, we’re slowly learning that fact, and we are very, very pissed off”? Yeah, that. As men, the world promised us something, and the promise wasn’t kept.

Some men skew towards social progressivism when they realize this promise was never made to women, or men of color, or queer or trans or nonbinary people, and recognize the injustice of that. Some men skew towards economic leftism when they realize that every cishet white man being a millionaire rockstar movie god is mathematically impossible. But they skew towards reactionary conservatism when they feel the promise should have been kept. That’s the life they were supposed to have, and someone took it from them.

Hate groups appeal to that sense of emasculation. “You wanna feel like a Real Man? Shave off your hair, dance to hatecore, and let’s beat the crap out of someone.” Kimmel notes that the greatest indicator someone will join a hate group is a broken home: divorce, foster care, parents with addictions, physical or sexual abuse. The greater the distance between the life they were promised and the life they are living, the more enticing Real Masculinity becomes. Their fellow extremists are brothers, the leaders father figures.

The group does give them someone to blame for their lot in life - immigrants, feminists, the Jewish conspiracy - but that’s not why they join. They’re after empowerment. According to Kimmel, “Their embrace of neo-Nazi ideology is a consequence of their recruitment and indoctrination process, not its cause."

But once an Other has been identified as the locus of a hate group’s hate, new recruits are brought along when the group terrorizes that Other. Events like cross burnings and street fights are dangerous and morally fraught, and are often traumatic for a new recruit. And experiencing an emotional or physical trauma can create an intense bond with the people experiencing it with him, even though they’re the ones who brought him to the traumatic event in the first place. The creation of this bond is one of the reasons some hate groups usher new recruits out into the field as early as possible: the sooner they are emotionally invested in the community, the faster they will embrace the community’s politics.

This Othering also estranges recruits from the people they are supposed to hate, which makes it hard to stop hating them.

So there’s this concept that comes up a lot in my research called Contact Hypothesis. Contact Hypothesis argues that, the more contact you have with a different walk of life, the easier it is to tolerate it. It’s like exposure therapy. We talk about how big cities and college campuses tend to be liberal strongholds; the Right likes to claim this is because of professors and politicians poisoning your mind, but it’s really just because they’re diverse. When you share space with a lot of different kinds of people, a degree of liberalism becomes necessary just to get by. And we see that belief systems which rely on a strict orthodoxy get really cagey about members having contact with outsiders. We see this in all the groups we’re discussing today - extremists, cultists, totalitarians - but also religious fundamentalists; Mormons only wanna send their kids to Brigham Young. They are belief systems that can only be reliably maintained so long as no one gets exposed to other people with other beliefs.

So that’s some of what I took from Kimmel. Next I read Stein talking, primarily, about cults.

Stein’s window into all of this is applying the theory of Attachment Styles to what researchers calls totalism, which is any structure that subsumes a person’s entire life the way cults and totalitarian governments do. Attachment is a concept you may be familiar with if have, or have ever dated, a therapist. (I’ve done both.)

So, for a quick primer:

Imagine you’re walking in the park with a three-year-old. And the three-year-old sees a dog, and ask, “Can I pet the dog?” And you say yes, and the kid steps away from your side and reaches out. And the dog gets excited, and jumps up, and the kid gets scared and runs back to you. So you hold the kid and go, “Oh, no no no, don’t worry! They’re not gonna hurt you! They were just happy to see you!” And you take a few moments to calm the kid down, and then you ask, “Do you still want to pet the dog?” And the kid says “yes,” so they step away from you again and reach out. The dog jumps up again, but this time the kid doesn’t run away, and they pet the dog, and you, the kid, and the dog are all happy. Hooray!

This is a fundamental piece of a child’s emotional development. They take a risk, have a negative experience, and retreat to a point of comfort. Then, having received that comfort, feel bolstered enough to take a slightly greater risk. A healthy childhood is steadily venturing further and further from that point of comfort, and taking on greater risks, secure in the knowledge that safety is there when they need it. And, as an adult, they will form many interdependent points of comfort rather than relying on only one or two.

If all goes according to plan, that is Secure Attachment. But: sometimes things go wrong when the kid seeks comfort and doesn’t get enough. This may be because the adult is withholding or the kid doesn’t know how to express their needs or they’re just particularly fearful. But the kid may start seeking comfort more than seems reasonable, and be particularly averse to risk, and over-focus on the people who give them comfort, because they’re operating at a deficit. We call that Anxious Attachment. Alternately, the kid may give up on receiving comfort altogether, even though they still need it, and just go it alone, developing a distrust of other people and a fear of being vulnerable. We call that Avoidant Attachment.

Now, these styles are all formed in early childhood, but Stein focuses on a fourth kind of Attachment, one that can be formed at any age regardless of the Attachment Style you came in with. It’s what happens when the negative experience and the comfort come from the same place. We see it in children and adults who are mistreated by the people they trust. It’s called Disorganized Attachment.

According to Stein, cults foster Disorganized Attachment by being intensely unpredictable. In a cult, you may be praised for your commitment on Monday and have your commitment questioned on Tuesday, with no change in behavior. You may be assigned a romantic partner, who may, at any point, be taken away, assigned to someone else. Your children may be taken from you to be raised by a different family. You may be told the cult leader wants to sleep with you, which may make you incredibly happy or be terrifying, but you won’t be given a choice. And the rules you are expected to follow will be rewritten without warning.

This creates a kind of emotional chaos, where you can’t predict when you will be given good feelings and when you will be given bad ones. But you’re so enmeshed in the community you have noplace else to go for good feelings; hurting you just draws you in deeper, because they are also where you seek comfort. And your pain is always your fault: you wouldn’t feel so shitty if you were more committed. Trying to make sense of this causes so much confusion and anguish that you eventually just stop thinking for yourself. These are the rules now? OK. He’s not my brother anymore? OK. This is my life now? OK.

Hardly anyone would seek out such a dynamic, which is why cults present as religions, political activists, and therapy groups; things people in questioning phases of their lives are liable to seek out, and then they fall down the rabbit hole before they know what’s happening. The cult slowly consumes more and more of a recruit’s life, and tightly controls access to relationships outside the cult, because the biggest threat to a Disorganized Attachment relationship is having separate, Securely Attached points of comfort.

And at this point I said, “Hold up. You’re telling me cults recruit by offering people community and purpose in times of need, become the focal point of their entire lives, estrange them from all outside perspectives, and then cause emotional distress that paradoxically makes them more committed because they have nowhere else to go for support?”

Isn’t that exactly how Kimmel described joining a hate group?

Now, these are commonalities, not a one-to-one comparison. A cult is far more organized and rigidly controlled than a hate group. But Stein points out that this dynamic of isolation, engulfment, and pain is the same dynamic as an abusive relationship. The difference is just scale. A cult is functionally a single person having a very complex domestic abuse situation with a whole lot of people, #badpolyamory.

So if we posit a spectrum with domestic abuse on one end and cults and totalitarianism on the other, I started wondering, could we put extremist groups, like ISIS and Aryan Nations, around… here?

And, if so, where would we put the Alt-Right?

Now, I have to tread carefully here. There are reasons this talk is called “How the Alt-Right is Like an Abusive Relationship” and not “How the Alt-Right is Like a Cult,” because the moment you say the second thing, a lot of people stop listening to you. Our conception of cults and totalitarianism is way more controlled and structured than a pack of loud, racist assholes on the internet. But we’re not talking about organizational structure, we’re talking about a relationship, an emotional dynamic Stein calls “anxious dependency,” which fosters an irrational loyalty to people who are bad for you and gets you to adopt an ideology you would have previously rejected. (I would also love to go on a rant puncturing the idea that cultists and fascists are organized, pointing out this notion is propaganda and their systems are notoriously corrupt and mismanaged, but we don’t have time; ask me about it in the Q&A if you want me to go off.)

So I started looking through what I knew, and what I could find, about the Alt-Right to see if I could spot this same pattern of isolation, engulfment, and pain online funneling people towards the Alt-Right. And I did not come up short.

Isolation? Well, the Alt-Right traffics in all the same dehumanizing narratives about their enemies as Kimmel’s hate groups - like, the worst things you can imagine a human being saying about a group of people are said every day in these forums. They often berate and harass each other for any perceived sympathy towards The Other Side. They also regularly harass people from The Other Side off of platforms, and falsely report their tweets, posts, and videos as terrorism to get them taken down. (This has happened to me, incidentally.) I found figureheads adored by the Alt-Right who expressly tell people to cut ties with liberal family members.

We talked before about Contact Hypothesis? There’s also this idea called Parasocial Contact Hypothesis. A parasocial relationship is a strong emotional connection that only goes one way, like if you really love my videos and have started thinking of me almost as a friend even though I don’t know you exist? Yeah. Parasocial relationship. They’ve been in The Discourse lately, largely thanks to my friend Shannon Strucci making a really great video about them (check it out, I make a cameo, but… clear your schedule). Parasocial Contact Hypothesis is this phenomenon where, if people form parasocial feelings for public figures or even fictional characters, and those people happen to be Black, white audience members become less racist similar to how they would if they had Black friends. Your logical brain knows that these are strangers, but your lizard brain doesn’t know the difference between empathy for a queer friend and empathy for a queer character in a video game. So of course the Alt-Right makes a big stink about queer characters in video games, and leads boycotts against “forced diversity,” because diverse media is bad for recruitment.

Engulfment? Well, I learned way too much about how the Alt-Right will overtake your entire internet life. There was a paper made the rounds last year by Rebecca Lewis charting the interconnectedness of conservative YouTube. (Reactionaries really hated this paper because it said things they didn’t like.) Lewis argues that, once you enter what she calls the Alternative Influence Network, it tends to keep you inside it. Start with some YouTuber conservatives like but who’s branded as a moderate, or even a “classic liberal.” Take someone like Dave Rubin; call Dave Rubin Alt-Right, people yell at you, I speak from experience. Well, Dave Rubin’s had Jordan Peterson on his show, so, if you watch Rubin, Peterson ends up in your recommendations. Peterson has been on the Joe Rogan show, so, you watch Peterson, Rogan ends up in your recommendations. And Rogan has interviewed Gavin McInnes, so you watch Rogan and McInnes ends up in your recommendations.

Gavin McInnes is the head of the Proud Boys, a self-described “western chauvinist” organization that’s mostly known for beating up liberals and leftists. They have ties to neo-fascist groups like Identity Evropa and neo-fascist militias like the Oath Keepers, they run security for white nationalists, and their lawyer just went on record that he identifies as a fascist. And, if you’re one of these kids who has YouTube in the background with autoplay on, and you’re watching Dave Rubin? You might be as few as 3 videos away from watching Gavin McInnes.

There’s a lot of talk these days about algorithms funneling people towards the Right, and that’s not wrong, but it’s an oversimplification. The real problem is that the Right knows how to hijack an algorithm.

I also learned about the Curation/Search Radicalization Spiral from a piece by Mike Caulfield. Caulfiend uses the horrific example of Dylann Roof. You remember him? He shot up a church in a Black neighborhood a few years ago. Roof says he was radicalized when he googled “Black on white crime” and saw the results. Now, if you search the phrase “crime statistics by demographic,” you will find fairly nonpartisan results that show most crimes are committed against members of the perpetrator’s own race, and Black people commit crimes against white people at about the same rate as any other two demographics. But that specific phrase, “Black on white crime,” is used almost exclusively by white racists, and so Roof’s first hit wasn’t a database of crime statistics, it was the Council of Conservative Citizens. Now, the CCC is an outgrowth of the White Citizens Councils of the 50’s and 60’s which rebranded in ‘85. They publish bogus statistics that paint Black people as uniquely violent. And they introduce a number of other politically-loaded phrases - like, say, “Muslim fertility rates” - that nonpartisan sites don’t use, and so, if Roof googles them as well, he gets similarly weighted results.

I have tons more examples of this stuff. I literally don’t have time to show it all. Like, have you heard of Google bombing? That’s a thing I didn’t know existed. The point is, the same way search engines tailor your results to what they think you want, once you scratch the surface of the Alt-Right they are highly adept at making it so, whenever you go online, their version of reality is all you know and all you see.

Finally, pain. This was the difficult one. Can you create a Disorganized Attachment relationship over the internet with a largely faceless and decentralized movement? I pitched the idea to one the researchers I spoke to, and he said, “That sounds very plausible, and nearly impossible to research.” See, cults and hate groups? They don’t wanna talk to researchers anymore than the Alt-Right wants to talk to me. Stein and Kimmel get their data by speaking to formers, people who’ve exited these movements and are all too happy to share how horrible they were. But the Alt-Right is still very young, and there just aren’t that many formers yet.

I found some testimonials, and they mostly back up my hypothesis, but there’s not enough that I could call them statistically significant. So I had to look where the data was.

My fellow YouTuber ContraPoints made a video last year - in my opinion, her best one - about incels (that’s “involuntary celibate,” men who can’t get laid). Incel forums tend to be deeply misogynistic and antifeminist, and have a high overlap with the Alt-Right. If you remember Elliot Rodger, he was an incel. Contra’s observation was that these forums were incredibly fatalistic: you are too ugly and women too shallow for you to ever have sex, so you should give up. She described a certain catharsis, like picking a really painful scab, in hearing other people voice your worst fears. But there was no uplift; these communities seemed to have a zero-tolerance policy for optimism. She likened it so some deeply unhealthy trans forums she used to visit, where people wallowed in their own dysphoria.

And I remembered the forums I researched five years ago in preparation for my video on GamerGate. (If you don’t know what GamerGate was, I will not rob you of your precious innocence. But, in a lot of ways, GamerGate was the trial run for what the Alt-Right has become.) These forums were full of angry guys surrounding themselves with people saying, “You’re right to be angry.” And, yeah, if everywhere else you go treats your anger as invalid, that scratches an itch. But I never saw any of them calm down. They came in angry and they came out angrier. And most didn’t have anywhere else to vent, so they all came back.

I found a paper on Alt-Right forums that described a similar type of nihilism, and another on 8chan. What humor was on these sites was always shocking, furiously punching down, and deeply self-referential, but it didn’t seem like anyone was expected to laugh anymore, just, you know, catch the reference. I found one testimonial saying that having healthy relationships in these spaces is functionally impossible, and the one former I talked to said, yeah, when the Alt-Right isn’t winning everyone’s miserable.

So I think it might fit. The place they go for relief also makes them unhappy, so they come back to get relief again, and it just repeats. Same reason people stay with abusers. I wanna look into this further, so, I’ll just say this part to the camera: if there are any researchers watching who wanna study this, get at me.

Finally, I read Alt-America by David Neiwert, a supremely useful book that I highly recommend if you wanna know how the Alt-Right is the natural outgrowth of the militia and Patriot movements of the 90’s and early 2000’s, not to mention the Tea Party. Neiwert also does an excellent job illustrating how conspiracism serves to fill in the gap between the complexity of the modern world and the simplistic, might-makes-right worldview of fascism.

Neiwert also provides an interesting piece of the puzzle, suggesting what people are actually looking for when they get recruited. He references work done by John Bargh and Katelyn McKenna on Identity Demarginalization. Bargh and McKenna looked at the internet habits of people whose identities are both devalued in our society and invisible. By invisible, what I mean is, ok, if you’re a person of color, our society devalues your identity, but you can look around a room and, within a certain margin of error, see who else is POC, and form community with them if you wish. But, if you’re queer, you can’t see who else in a room is queer unless one of you runs up a flag. And revealing yourself always means taking on a certain amount of risk that you’ve misread the signals, that the person you reveal yourself to is not only not queer, but a homophobe.

According to Bargh and McKenna, people in this situation are much more likely to seek online spaces that self-select for that identity. A fan forum for RuPaul’s Drag Race is maybe a safer place to come out and find community. And people tend to get very emotionally tied to these online spaces where they can be themselves.

Neiwert points out that the same phenomenon happens among privileged people who have identities that are devalued even as they’re not actually oppressed. Say, nerds, or conservatives in liberal towns, or men who don’t fit traditional notions of masculinity. They are also likely to deeply invest themselves in online spaces made for them. And if the Far Right can build such a community, or get a foothold in one that already exists, it is very easy to channel that sense of marginalization into Durden Syndrome. I connected this with Rebecca Lewis’ observation that the Alternative Influence Network tends to present itself as nerd-focused life advice first and politics second, and the long history of reactionaries recruiting from fandoms.

So I can see all the pieces of the abuse dynamic being recreated here: offer you something you need, estrange you from other perspectives and healthy relationships, overtake your life, and provoke emotional distress that makes you seek comfort only your abuser is offering. And I found a lot more parallels than what I’m sharing right now, I only have half an hour! But the thing that’s missing that’s usually central to such a system is, an abusive relationship orbits around the abuser, a cult around the cult leader, a totalitarian government around a dictator. They are built to serve the whims of an individual. But I look at the ad hoc nature of the Alt-Right and I have to ask: who is the architect?

I can see a lot of people profiting off of this structure; our current President rode it to great success, but he didn’t build it. It predates him. It’s more like Kimmel’s hate groups, which don’t promote an individual so much as a class of individuals, but, even then, their structure is much more deliberate, designed, where the Alt-Right seems almost improvised.

Well… one observation I took from Stein is that cult recruiters often rely on two different kinds of propaganda: the winding diatribe and the thought-terminating cliche. The diatribe is when someone talks at length, sounds smart, and seems to know what they’re talking about but isn’t actually making sense, and the thought-terminating cliche comes from Robert Jay Lifton’s studies into brainwashing. So, I went vegetarian in middle school, and, when I would tell other kids I was vegetarian, some would get kind of defensive and say things like, “humans aren’t meant to be vegetarian, it’s the food chain.” Now, saying “it’s the food chain” isn’t meant to be a good argument, it’s meant to communicate “I have said something so axiomatically true that the argument need not continue.” That’s a thought-terminating cliche; something that may not be true, but feels true and gives you permission to think about something else.

Both these techniques rely on what’s called Peripheral-Route Processing. So, I’m up here talking about politics, and, Solidarity Lowell, you are a group of politically-engaged people, so you probably have enough context to know whether I’m talking out of my ass. That’s Direct-Route Processing, where you judge the contents of my argument. But if I were up here talking about string theory, you might not know whether I was talking out of my ass because there’s only so many people on Earth who understand string theory. So then you might look at secondary characteristics of my argument: the fact that I’ve been invited to speak on string theory implies I know what I’m talking about; maybe I put up a lot of equations and drop the names of mathematicians and say they agree with me; maybe I just sound really authoritative. All that’s Peripheral-Route Processing: judging the quality of my argument by how it’s delivered.

Every act of communication involves both, but if you’re trying to sell people on something that’s fundamentally irrational, you’re going to rely heavily on Peripheral-Route tactics, which is what the winding diatribe and the thought-terminating cliche are.

I noted that these two methods mapped pretty cleanly onto the rhetorical stylings of Jordan Peterson and Ben Shapiro. But here’s the question: cults use these techniques to recruit people. But can I say with any confidence that Jordan Peterson and Ben Shapiro are trying to recruit people into the Alt-Right?

The thing is, “Alt-Right” isn’t a term like “klansman.” It’s more akin to a term like “modernism.” It’s a label applied to a trend. In the same way we debate the line between modernism and postmodernism, we debate the line between Right and Alt-Right. People don’t sign up to be in the Alt-Right, you are Alt-Right if you say you’re Alt-Right. But the nature of the Alt-Right is that 90% of them would never admit to it.

So are Peterson and Shapiro intentionally recruiting for the Alt-Right? Are they grifters merely profiting off of the Alt-Right? Are they even aware they’re recruiting for the Alt-Right? Part of my work has been accepting that you can’t know for sure. It would be naive to say they’re unaware; when they give speeches they get Nazis in their Q&A sections, and they know that. But how aware are they? I suspect Shapiro moreso than Peterson, but that’s just my gut talking and I can’t prove it. Like 90% of the Alt-Right, it’s debatable.

I don’t know if they’re trying to be part of this system, I just know they’re not trying not to be.

A final academic term before we say goodnight that’s been making the rounds among lefty YouTubers is “Stochastic Terrorism.” There’s a really great video about this by the channel NonCompete called The PewDiePipeline. Stochastic Terrorism is the myriad ways you can increase the likelihood that someone will commit violence without actually telling them to. You simply create an environment in which lone wolf violence becomes more acceptable and appealing. It mirrors the structure of terrorism without the control or culpability.

And I hear about this, and I look at this recruitment structure I see approximated in the Alt-Right, and I remember something I learned much earlier in my research, from Bob Altemeyer in his book The Authoritarians. Altemeyer has been studying authoritarianism for decades, he has a wealth of data, and one thing he observes is that authoritarianism is the few exerting power over the many, which means there are two types of authoritarians: the ones who lead and the ones who follow. Turns out those are completely different personality profiles. Followers don’t want to be in charge, they want someone to tell them what to do, to say “you’re the good guys,” and put them in charge of punishing the bad guys. They don’t even care who the bad guys are; part of the appeal is that someone else makes that judgment for them.

So if you can encourage a degree of authoritarian sentiment in people, get them wanting nothing more than to be ensconced in a totalist system that will take their agency away from them, putting them in the orbit of an authoritarian leader, but no leader presents themself… can you just kind of… appoint one?

Like, if you don’t have a leader, can you just find yourself an authoritarian and treat him like one? And, if he doesn’t give you enough directives, can you just make some up? And, if you don’t have recruiters, can you find a conservative who speaks in thought-terminating cliches just because he thinks they win arguments; find a conservative who speaks in meaningless diatribes because he thinks he’s making sense; and then maneuver those speeches and videos in front of people you want to recruit? If you’re sick of waiting for Moses to come down the mountain with the Word of God, can you just build your own god from whatever’s handy?

Every piece of this structure, you can find people, algorithms, and arguments that, put in sequence, can generate Disorganized Attachment whether they’re trying to or not, which makes every part plausibly deniable. Debatable. You just need to make it profitable enough for the ones involved that they don’t fix it. This is a system created collaboratively, on the fly, with the help of a lot of people from hate movements past, mostly by throwing a ton of shit at the wall and seeing what sticks. The Alt-Right is a rapidly-mutating virus and the web is the perfect incubator; it very quickly finds a structure that works, and it’s a structure we’ve seen before, just a little weirder this time.

I’ve started calling this Stochastic Totalism.

Now, again, I’m not a professional researcher; I do my homework but I don’t have the background. I have an art degree. This isn’t something I can prove so much as a way I’ve come to look at the Alt-Right that makes sense to me and helps me understand them. And I got a lot of comments on my last video from people who used to be Alt-Right that echoed my assumptions. But don’t take it as gospel.

Mostly I wanted to share this because, if it can help you make sense of what we’re dealing with, I think it’s worth putting out there.

Thank you.

[puckngrind]

Skating Lessons part 27

Summary: Picks up at the trade deadline.  Sorry this has been long overdue.  My brain and my heart were fighting.

Warnings: the usual...swearing, sexual content

Word count: 2280

Series Masterlist

You did not realize a person could hold their breath for weeks but the day after the trade deadline you felt it and so did Josh.

"You can stop jumping every single time the phone rings Baby girl." he whispered into your ear early in the morning on the 25th before heading off to the plane. "We aren't going anywhere right now."

The "right now" part still freaked me out. You caught bits of conversation between Josh and his agent about what to expect for contract negotiations and you worried that a trade was looming. For now you lived in the moment that your man was staying right where he belonged.  You were so worried about the long roadie before which seems silly looking from where you’ve come from and what could have happened.  You knew the time to talk about summer plans was coming even with the team staying in the playoff run, you could feel summer coming with a few warm days strung together where Mason begged to get the kiddie pool out of storage.

“Momma, why can’t we just get the pool out even if it’s just for a few days?”  Mason almost whined.

“Mace, we will get it out AFTER school is out, okay?  For now, the sprinkler will due plus Josh bought new squirt guns for you two to play with.”  You didn’t even look up from your phone while drinking coffee reading an article about unrestricted free agency that you knew was a worm hole but didn’t want to ask Josh about.  You heard his bag hit the floor from morning skate and his feet shuffle.

“I’m not going on the Canada roadie.”  He mumbled while kissing your hairline.

“What...the...what?”  You put down your phone and stood up to follow him into the kitchen.  His ass hanging out of the fridge.  You would normally take a whack at it but you could feel he wasn’t in the mood.  “Baby?  Talk to me.”  Your hands lightly rubbed his back as he stands up and leans against the fridge as it closes.  

“I’m not going on the Canada road trip.  I’m day to day because of this damn shoulder.”  He rubbed the shoulder he hurt during playoffs last season and had been milking all year.

“I’m sorry Sweetie.”  You used all your might to pull him in and hold him tight.  He body almost limp under your touch.

“I mean, I guess you can be happy you have me home?”  He rubs the back of his neck as you stare up at his sad puppy dog eyes.  

“I’m not.  I know you were looking forward to all the team bonding on that trip, seeing Bo, and I know an injury right now is not good for you.”  You kiss his chest and lay your chin in the divet you swear was made for you.  “But, rest now maybe what you need for the playoff run, right?  You can smell the cup can’t you?!?”  You see a slight smirk on his face and he flexes around your waist.

“Have you been talking to the coaches?” He kisses your forehead and smiles bigger.  “’cuz you sound just like what they just told me after our skate.”  

“Maybe I’m getting better at this hockey thing?”  You wink and he laughs.  You are thankful that you can lift his mood.  “So, do you have any...uh...”  You look to see if Mason is in ear shot and he’s no where to be found.  “Uh, restrictions on that shoulder of yours?”  You bite your lip and bat your eyes.

“Oh wow (y/n)!  I just told you I’m injured enough not to go on a multiple game trip and all you are thinking about is THAT?”  His smirk reaches his eyes and he pulls you up.  “No, I don’t have any restrictions in that sense of the word.  Just have physical therapy and some treatments they want me to try plus morning skates every day the team is gone.”

“Made you smile at least.  Didn’t it Anderson?”  You wiggle to get out of his grip and he laughs.

“True.  You are fantastic at doing that.  Did I just see Mason in a swimsuit fly by the window?”  Josh’s attention is pulled to the window.

“Yes, you hockey boys get a taste of warmth and you all think it’s time to break out the swimwear!”  You turn to look out at Mason running around the yard.

“OH!  Squirt guns!”  Josh jumps and runs towards the closet you stashed them.  You toss up your arms in disbelief and follow Josh to the back door.  

“You two are going to need a bowl to fill those!”  You announce as you walk out to the backyard with a bowl from the kitchen in hand.  You are still in shock that Josh is now in his shorts and hooking up the hose for Mason.

The sun is warm on your face but no where near warm enough for what you were watching.  Your boys having an epic battle in the backyard giggles filling the space.  You go to take a picture and realize you left your phone in the house.  Quickly you jog back in to retrieve it, sliding it into your sweatshirt pocket.  You don’t even make it out the door before you hear Josh yell, “ATTACK!”  Sure enough you are bombarded with streams of water coming from two directions.  You shriek and run back in side.  

“BOYS!”  You yell while using the door as a shield.  “I am not playing!”  Which makes Mason drop to the ground laughing and Josh’s eyes get lost in his laugh.  “Seriously.”

“Okay, okay, no squirting Momma this time Mace.”  Josh heads to the door and blows a kiss at you mouthing the word sorry.  You smile and retreat to change your now wet clothing.

You hated that Josh was missing a major road trip but having him home was nice.  He played dinosaurs, hot wheels, and knee hockey most evenings while you made dinner.  He helped with his preschool homework which you loved listening to.

“What rhymes with sock Mason?”  Josh was pointing to the flash card his teacher sent home.

“Cock.”  Mason proudly said picking up the flash card on the table.  Josh choked on air and you swooped in.

“Clock...Mason, say it with me...Clllllock.”  You pointed to your mouth to emphasize the L in clock.  Mason tried again while you eyed Josh to get his shit together.

“Good just bud!  How about we work on your letter of the week paper now?”  Josh tries to compose himself and you retreat back to the kitchen.

You realized this is what life in the summer would feel like.  Josh home most of the time with the exemption of workouts and on pick up and drop off duty before the season started.  It seemed so fantastic until you realize it’s all in Columbus that you picture this life.

“Your brain is in overdrive and I don’t know how to stop it.”  Josh pulls you in after tucking Mason in.  The team had just gone dog sledding and Josh was happy for them but you could see the sadness in his eyes with every swipe of an insta-story.  “How can I help?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.  I know it’s hard seeing all the guys posts about dog sledding and you are here picking Mason up from Preschool.”  your lips caress his and he pulls back.

“Speaking of pick up duty, My good looks and charm aren’t really cutting it anymore with pick up duty.”  he pulls away and leads you down the hall.

“I’m confused.”  You head to the bathroom to get ready for bed while Josh strips down.

“Well, when I was picking up Mason here and there I could flash my smile and they wouldn’t give me grief about the fact that I’m not on the approved pick up list.  Today was interesting.”  Josh leans in the door frame in just his boxers.

“Holy shit Josh.  I didn’t even think about it.  I’ll send an email right now and a note in Mason’s backpack.”  You go to pull your hair back and Josh closes the space between you two.

“It’s okay.  How about you send an email in the morning, you are looking fine as hell right now.”  He picks you us and places you on the counter.  His lips ghosting your exposed skin.  

“Should you be picking me up J?”  You lean into the mirror.

“Stop worrying about me!”  He growled into your skin.  “Want to take this to our bed then?”  His eyes met yours with a passion that was intoxicating.  You nod your head and jump down sliding your body down his causing a moan to escape his lips.  “Damnit you really have a way of knowing exactly what will turn me on don’t you?”  Josh bites at your ear as you start to remove your clothing slowly while making your way to the bed.

“I’m glad after all this time I still do it for you.”  Your statement was less confident than it sounded coming out of your lips but it got Josh’s attention.

“Babe, you will always do it for me.  I have no doubt in my mind.”  Josh climbs up the bed with you kissing your lips softly when he finally reaches you.

“Really?”  You run your hands down his chest and over his shoulder.

“Fuck yes.”  Josh presses his clothed cock onto your core to prove his point which sent shock waves throughout your body.

“Hmmmm...” You go to make a statement but Josh has other ideas.  His hand slides down to rid body of his only article of clothing.  His fingers then dance at your core before dipping inside.  You gasp at the feeling and your back arches up into him.  “Josh that feels...”  You lose your words in his kiss.  Before you can even realize what’s happening Josh as pulled his fingers out of your heat and inched himself into you.

“Oh Baby.  You feel amazing.”  He whispers in your ear while bottoming out.  He pulls back and you run your hands over his shoulders then down his back.

“Josh, are you sure your shoulder is...” He bites at your lip and thrusts even harder into your core making you shudder.

“Yes.  Would you like to switch so we both can orgasm because I’m not going to last long?”  He doesn’t even wait for you to answer before he swings both of your bodies around and you sit up.  A grunt erupts out of Josh’s mouth as his hands slide over your hips and his hips thrust hard up into you while you press down into him.  You find a rhythm that you can tell will bring you both climaxing in moments and you ride it out.  Josh pulls you down onto his length as you feel him release deep inside of you while your orgasm washes over you to where you crash into his chest.  His hands release from the death grip on your hips and he brushes them up your back.

“Well...” You try to breathe out while catching your breath.  

“Maybe I should have used this shoulder this as an excuse before tonight?”  Josh chuckles and you hear it deep in his chest.

“Not funny Anderson.”  You poke at his ribs and wiggle which you know will overstimulate you both but it was worth it.  He jumps.

“See, you still do it for me...I cannot even last that long!”  He laughs again and you join in.

“Well I’m glad because you are stuck with me.”  You start to get up and Josh rolls you over.  

“Not so fast.”  He pulls you into his chest and you breathe him in.  In that moment you wondered if his smell would change in the off season.  Would not showering at the rink change the smell you have grown fond of.  Your eyes start to mist.  “Are you crying because the sex was so good?  Did I hurt you?”  Josh pulls your body away from his to inspect why he heard you sniffle.

“No, just keep thinking out summer life will be like since we haven’t talked about it since our big argument.”  You sit up on your elbow and look at the man you love.

“And that made you cry?”  Josh runs his thumb across your lips.

“Not really crying but I got emotional for a second. Yes.”  No need to hide it.

“I’m completely off Sunday, can your parents watch Mason and we can hash out all the things for the summer then?”  He kisses your lips softly.

“That should work.  I really don’t want him to hear all of this yet and we need actual time to talk not just these few moments here and there.”  you go to lean on Josh’s chest and he pulls you in tighter than normal.

“Sounds like a plan!”  Josh says enthusiastically.  “Mason won’t be staying up for the game either so we can finish talking during the game too.  Hopefully it’s the last game I will have to sit out this season and I’ll be on the ice Thursday.”

“I hope so Babe.  Mace won’t stop asking if you will be playing the stinky Pens next week because he wants to go.”

“Are you going to let him on a weeknight?”

“If it’s your first game back we will be there cheering on our favorite Jacket!”  You said looking up at Josh again.

“And by favorite Jacket you mean...”  Josh has a smug look on his face.

“You, Josh!  Always you!”  You giggle and he squeeze you tight.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

any recs for old!Johnlock? (Preferably not retired) Thanks!

Hi Nonny!

Ohhh, hmm. You know, I have absolutely READ older-couple Johnlock fics, but the only ones I’m remembering are when they’re retired or “not together but have got together when they old and dying” LOL. 

I did a list last year for Retirementlock fics, and I do have new stuff but not a lot, so is it okay if I do “Retirement and Older Johnlock” fics for you? I hope so!! I tag them retirement if it’s retirement, so you can skip those ones

Feel free, my friends, to add your own!!

RETIREMENT and OLDER JOHNLOCK (Jan 2020)

Our Bodies Bend Light by lovetincture (G, 1,211 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Beekeeping, Retirement) – They got married. Of course they got married. Snapshots in a relationship. There’s a jar of bees in the bookstore and a cottage in Sussex. Sherlock’s not the marrying kind, and John’s tried this once before, but they’re Sherlock and John. Of course.

Fine Print by mistyzeo (E, 4,224 w., 1 Ch. || ACD Holmes || Est. Rel, Retirementlock, Glasses, Oral, Hand Jobs, Bees) – Holmes needs glasses, but he’s too much of a stubborn arse to go get his eyes checked. Watson is used to bullying him for his own good. The glasses have unexpected but not unwelcome consequences for everyone.

a very soft epilogue (my love) by darcylindbergh (E, 5,395 w., 3 Ch. || Retirement, Domestic Fluff, Dancing, Dogs, Grumpy Old Men) – Across the pillows, Sherlock shifts and hums, the creases of his face deepening and then smoothing before settling. John watches him wake up, his chest swelling with affection and fondness, and thinks he’ll never get tired of Sherlock in the mornings, sleepy and soft. It’s been some forty-odd years, and John hasn’t gotten tired of it yet. Part 5 of things fairy tales are made of

Second Waltz by Atiki (T, 6,685 w. 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Missed Chances, Retirement, Sussex, Bees, MCD, Angst with Happy Ending, Fluff, Cancer) – “The night I died, you wished I could wait for you.”

Abatement by WhimsicalEthnographies (E, 6,816 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Retirementlock, Fluff, Sherlock’s Self Esteem, Grumpy Sherlock, Idiots in Love, PWP, Fluff and Smut, Bottomlock) – “What’s wrong with you? You love the cottage,” John glances over to the passenger seat, then quickly turns his eyes back to the road. Driving was still not his forte, but considering Sherlock still couldn’t properly bend and lift his new knee enough to press and release the clutch, he had to make do. Not that Sherlock hadn’t tried to argue his way into the driver’s seat. “I love the cottage for a week or two, John. Don’t be deliberately obstuse,” Sherlock grumbles, sinking further in his seat. Well, as best he can with a four-week-old knee replacement. “And that’s all we’re going for, love,” John says out loud. But what he’s thinking is, shit. He knows.

A Lifetime Together by LondonGypsy (M, 8,886 w., 1 Ch. || Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Falling in Love, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Pining Idiots, Alternating POVs, Domestics, Retirement) – John and Sherlock falling in love.

Five Times Sherlock Realized He Was Getting Older by Mildred Graves (T, 9,215 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Old) – … And one time it didn’t matter.

In The End by whitchry9 (K+, 9,677 w. || Memento Fusion || Amnesia, Growing Old, Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Heavy Angst) – When a brain injury leaves Sherlock unable to make new memories, John wonders how Sherlock will cope, and what it will mean for The Work and their life. Because after all, how can you live if you can’t feel time passing?

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you’re living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

echoes through time by chellefic (E, 21,619 w. || First Time, Romance, ACD & BBC, Epistolary) – Mummy sends a trunk from the Holmes cottage in Sussex to 221B. Its contents alter the way John and Sherlock see themselves and one another.

A Shipless Ocean by myswordfishmind (M, 22,135 w., 4 Ch. || Post-TRF, John has a Kid, Angst, Reunion, Falling in Love, Open Ending) – Ten years after the fall Sherlock goes back to London to find that John no longer lives there. Instead, he resides in a seaside town, a widower, and the father of a seven year old son. Now, Sherlock must struggle with the fact that there may no longer be a place for him in this new world.

The Wisteria Tree by SilentAuror (E, 29,773 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Emotional Love Making, Amnesia/Memory Loss, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Sherlock POV, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, First Times, Hurt/Comfort, Est. Rel., Retirement) – Sherlock wakes up from a month-long coma only to discover that he has no memory of the previous six years to his own shock as well as John’s…

The Winter Garden by Callie4180 (T, 31,213 w., 13 Ch. || Post-S4, Retirement, Christmas, Slow Burn, Grown-Up Rosie, Parenthood, Rosie’s Cat, Angst with Happy Ending, Holidays, Beekeeping, Magical Realism, Sherlock POV, Sherlock’s Violin, Future Fic, Sussex, Honey, Magical Healing Honey, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Scar, First Kiss, Touching, Mycroft is Dying) – As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he’s given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing. Almost…magical.

Chaperones by MissDavis (T, 34,114 w., 7 Ch. || 11 Years Post-S4, Fake Relationship, Parentlock, Disney World, Bed / Room Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, First Kiss, Obsessive Sherlock, Insecure John) – Right. Of course. Everyone assumed they were a couple and no one would question it. John put his elbows up on the table so he could rest his head in his hands. “You want to pretend to be a couple so we can chaperone a trip to Disney World with Rosie’s class and you won’t have to share a room with a stranger?” “Exactly.” Sherlock beamed at him. “Don’t worry about the cost. The Birmingham case last month paid more than enough to cover expenses for all three of us.”

Where Else Would I Be? by cwb (E, 34,910 w., 10 Ch. || Retirementlock, Domestic Fluff, Falling in Love, Parentlock, Fluff and Smut, Reminiscing) – John and Sherlock’s five-year-old granddaughter spends the weekend with them in Sussex. Sherlock happily indulges her whims, and John takes care of them while quietly revisiting the past thirty years of their lives together.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

between each beat are words unsaid by darcylindbergh, hudders-and-hiddles (T, 107,998 w., 215 Ch. || Epistolary, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending) – On their wedding night, John and Sherlock gift each other with the things they each said when the other could not hear, the things they each put down where the other could not see: a collection of writings that illustrate the way their love for one another has grown over the years. Part 1 of between each beat

Unkissed Series by 221b_hound (T to E, 184,100 w. across 45 works || Established Relationship, Ace Sherlock) – Sherlock returned from the dead a year ago. John returned to Baker Street six months ago. They’ve been in a couple since then. or at least, not NOT a couple. For two smart men, they sure can be dumb. Luckily, an art thief tries to drown Sherlock, Sherlock has a fever dream and things are about to change.

Sketchy by serpentynka (E, 184,053 w., 83 Ch. || Post-TRF, Post-Mary, John Whump, Slow Burn Love Story, Case Fic, Art, Porn With Feelings, Switchlock, Travelling, Career Change, Family Secrets, Illness / Health) – What (and who) will be left when nobody cares about your Work? A slow-burn fic with cases, places, mistaken identities, unfair choices, essential changes, violent feels, blatant lies, fearless portraiture, family secrets, high-risk bespoke gifts, durable friendships, bedtime stories, foreign travel and tongues, sickness (and health), and the significance of things which are slow to unfurl – but cannot be ignored. Oh, and…porn. Part 1: Sherlock takes on an obvious case (barely a 4) and meets someone who will force him to re-examine what it means to see. Part 1 of Sketchy

MARKED FOR LATER

The Last of the Honey Bees by what_alchemy (T, 2,000 w., 1 Ch. || Apocalypse, Retirement) – “When we’re all space dust… when all of this is gone? My molecules will find yours.”

A One-Track Life by JennLynn77 (E, 13,526 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4/TFP, Parentlock, Est. Rel., Medical Procedures, Anal, Cuddling/Snuggling, Bed Sharing, Surgery, Physical Therapy, Retirement, Sherlock Whump, Caring John, Bottomlock, Endearments, Drug Addiction, Triggers) – A medical situation threatens to derail the plans Sherlock had for his life with John and Rosie.

Deck the Halls by itsalwaysyou_jw (T, 31,018 w., 24 Ch. || Advent Fic / Multiple One-Shots, Assorted Tags) – One Johnlock ficlet for every day leading up to Christmas. Who is ready for pining, first kisses, established Johnlock, and everything in between? This collection of stand-alone ficlets will have it all. (Ch. 7 is the Retirement Fic)

FictoberLock 2018 by FinAmour & unicornpoe (M, 60,875 w., 31 Ch. || Halloween, Protective John, Smitten Sherlock, Fluff, First Kiss, Injured Sherlock, Various Prompts) – 31 different prompts, 31 Johnlock fics: one every day for the month of October! Each chapter is a stand-alone story. Some are written by unicornpoe, some by FinAmour, and some are written by us both! They range in length from ~500 words to ~3500 words, and there’s something in here for everyone. (Ch. 23 is the Retirement Chapter)