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sleepless-in-starbucks · 3 years

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2, 15, and 94 with LoSleep?

2. Royal AU || 15. Criminal AU || 94. Hair Brushing/Braiding

anon i hope you know this is like the Perfect set up for a rapunzel AU. maybe you did. maybe you did this on purpose. regardless... tangled AU

imma go with remy being the lost princess, and logan the dashing thief, because while my instinct is to go the other way around i like Switching It Up on y'all

remy's bigender, using male pronouns but female titles/referrals. he figured this out solely because he preferred the way the male pronouns sounded, while also liking being a princess a good deal more than being a prince. he doesn't mention this to mother gothel tho. i mention this mostly so none of y'all get confused as i go sdkjhncfjsd

logan's transmale, and his struggles as a poor trans kid are what made him go Fuck Society Actually. he targets the crown especially bc the king and queen can stand to lose their gold

he doesn't stumble upon the tower after being chased for the crown, however; he's just looking for a place to hide in general. he's just made off with a good sack of gold, and he wants to stash it for a bit, let the heat die down, before he tries to buy anything with it

and that's how he finds the hidden clearing, with the surprisingly intact, singular tower dead center

he, of course, goes to investigate, and ends up nearly getting run through with a broomstick, which he feels would be a pretty bad way to go

but that's not entirely horrible, because the person dangerously weilding the cleaning implement is a bit absolutely stunning

he says as such and almost gets a broom through a lung, because apparently this tower dweller thinks he's a threat and is also insulting them

after a... lot of talking, and logan wisely easing up on the complimenting thing (for now...), they get things figured out. the tower dweller is remy, and he's waiting for his mother to return from a store run or smth. logan has to be gone before mother is back, or logan will be in trouble

aside from the fact logan doesn't really want to leave remy just in General, he has some doubts about 'mother'. like why she was raising her kid... here. in the middle of the woods. in a hidden clearing. in a high tower. with no clear way in or out (logan had to scale the thing, and it doesn't look like remy's used to that method of entrance). and the best defense weapon on hand being a broom

so when remy faux-indifferently asks logan what the moving lights are ("i know they're not stars... please don't tell me they're stars..."), logan jumps at the chance to invite remy to see them- it'll only be a day, mother wont mind that long, right? logan can keep remy safe from his every fear of that real world, and remy'll get to see the lights, and everyone will be happy

remy's hesitant, but it's clear he wants to go. it doesn't take that much prodding to convince him to leave mother a Very vague note about being back soon and being safe, to go with logan

that's when logan learns about remy's hair. he hadn't noticed before, the dirty blond hair on the floor not having caught his attention, but he certainly notices it when remy's jumping out the window, cascading down the way by hanging on to all... goodness knows how many yards of it

if he wasn't already suspicious there was something off about this whole situation, the hair that was Way longer than it should be- and way stronger to boot- tipped him off pretty seriously

and as their trip goes on? logan's only adding to the list of Sus, including (but oh so not limited to)

the clear fact remy's Never left the small, sheltered clearing (which in my version is still within the forest, no overhead open sky) to the extent seeing the sun has him doubling over and clutching his eyes like they burn

after making do with some cloth wrapped over remy's eyes for a bit, logan gets him some sunglasses and remy doesnt know what they are at first

remy has too much fucking anxiety in his him- he hides from a passing person faster than logan, the known and wanted criminal

and it's clear he's not just avoiding social interaction- he loves talking to logan, and he's plenty social and alive and everything then- but he just seems to have some fear against. well. the world

remy is also... oddly clingy to logan. like. wayyyy too much so. maybe logan could blame it on remy not knowing enough about the outside world, but it seems... more than that. as if just bc remy's decided to trust logan on this, logan's the end-all be-all of trust or smth. logan's not exactly how to put it to words but. it's wrong

overall, remy has a very Vibrant personality. he's confident, strong, unwilling to just be led around and nothing like a damsel in distress. but it seems much too... surface level. like if logan pushed too hard, it would all crumble, to reveal something- someone- who's not sure about anything and who's terrified because of it

making their way to the center of the kingdom makes it all the more clear to logan that Something is wrong with remy, and that there is no way he can ever go back to that tower

because logan's an orphan kid, he's seen his fair share of foster homes, of some of the kids who come back from them

he knows what child abuse victims look like

that's not all logan's learning about remy on the way to the kingdom, however. he's also learning about his favorite story, how much he's thought about the moving lights, how the world looks so different from the ground. logan's learning how remy's genuine smiles are much prettier than the faux one he wears a lot, how his laughs are rare but perfect, how incredible he is between the poorly concealed fear and hurt

logan's a thief and a cynic, someone's who had long written off most of the supposed good in the world, much too used to an orphaned childhood, growing up in poverty, misgendering, pain

something about remy makes him reconsider some of his more pessimistic beliefs

they reach the kingdom at midday, but remy stops them before they can actually go in. even with the sunglasses, logan can see the blinding fear in his eyes at the sight of civilization, of all those people. he grips his hair, takes a half step back, looking about ready to call it all off and run all the way back 'home'

logan grabs remy's hand. the grip is light, easily escaped, but remy doesnt, just looks at logan, trying to school his expression into one of cool neutrality instead of fear

"i can braid your hair." logan says, holding remy's gaze as he speaks. "so no one steps on it while we go to see the moving lights."

logan knows that's not the main thing stopping remy from entering the kingdom. it's an excuse, just for him. because it's easier to be worried about your hair being stepped on then to admit just being Afraid, right?

"I will not let it come undone" logan adds, lightly squeezing remy's hand. i will not let you get hurt

it's a long minute before remy agrees, but he does agree

they sit on the floor of the forest, just outside the kingdom, logan's deft fingers making quick work of the tangles that have developed in remy's hair over the course of the trip, the thief carefully watching the way remy's stiff as wood at first, trying not to react to logan's work on his hair, but slowly relaxes, leaning back a bit, tilting into logan's touch each time it comes back to remy's head

it takes a while, but soon enough, remy's hair is mostly restrained in a braid that's held together at key points by flower stems, leaving remy's hair decorated with wildflowers to boot

remy loves it. logan's starting to think he loves something too, but he's less willing to admit it

spending the rest of the day in the town is surprisingly wonderful- remy keeps close to logan, but he manages to talk to some people at times, and when they find the library he seems just about ready to die happy in there

logan stays close to him the entire time, usually holding his hand. he's never loved being around people more

it's getting close to the time for the lanterns to be released when logan realizes who remy is

the tower girl makes a comment about how familiar the lost princess's mural is. logan glances between it and remy, between the uniquely red-tinted brown eyes, the bright baby hair that could've easily turned dirty blond, the story of a dying queen and a magical flower springing to mind

remy is the lost princess. and as loathe as the thought of letting him go is, logan knows remy's the one treasure the thief can't have

so logan promises to himself, after they see the lanterns, he'll explain. he'll bring the princess to the king and queen, and hope he doesn't get arrested in the process. he'll set things right, and then he'll leave

because the thief doesn't get the girl anywhere other than fairytales

they still share an absolutely magical moment out on the water though. the way remy's eyes light up seeing the lanterns rise into the sky, sunglasses off in the dark evening, awe-struck... and when logan reveals the lanterns he snagged at one point, that they two of them can send up- logic help him, logan's not sure how much longer he can go on denying the truth

they don't kiss, don't even get close, bc logan's too busy trying to deny the truth and remy's still got a million trust issues

but remy's hand is slotted in logan's nearly the entire time, and they release their lanterns at the same time, and they hold each other's gazes a few times too long, and that seems pretty damn close to Something for them

they head back to the kingdom land before the other boats. logan knows remy will prefer to hear what he says without too many people around them, and if logan's being honest with himself? he's running away. he's running away from this closeness before it can get him (it's already gotten him, but he's always been so good at lying)

then logan gets shot :D

bc mother gothel found that note and she didnt like it!! she was after remy as soon as she saw it, and now she's caught up, and she's not letting anyone keep remy from her

she comes totting a crossbow that she levels on remy the moment she sees him. demanding he come home, saying the world is too dangerous for him to be out and about, pretending the crossbow is for logan instead, that he's a threat, can't remy see he needs to come home with her? where it's safe?

remy doesn't move. mother is supposed to be safety, right? he should go with her

...he doesn't want to leave logan

things escalate. logan says he'll never let gothel have remy again. remy doesn't react to this, but he doesn't step closer to gothel either. her frustration builds. the trigger gets pulled

it's unclear who she meant to hit but logan's the one who takes the arrow through his chest, barely even thinking as he made sure he was between remy and the projectile

by then, the townspeople have begun returning to the town, so there are people to grab gothel, ensure she doesn't attack further. someone runs for the king and queen, because one soldier recognizes gothel, as long ago as it's been since she was last seen and known and Wanted by the rulers, wanted for taking their baby

people try to approach logan, to help, but remy curls around him, refusing to let anyone near, not trusting them, refusing to lose the one person left in this world he cares about

remy's hair has fallen out of its braid, falling around himself and on top of logan, whose head remy is carefully supporting in his hands. logan's trying to convince remy it's okay, everything will be okay, that as long as remy is okay it'll be okay, but remy's really not buying it, not when logan's blood is staining his shirt and hair and his voice is getting weaker and weaker and weaker

"it's okay" logan tries to promise, even though remy can barely hear him over the gurgle of blood in the back of his throat

"how can it be okay? you're dying"

"...and you're safe" logan replies, just barely, wasting the last of his strength to reach up, cupping remy's cheek, holding his face like he was the most important thing in the world, "you're safe. and i love you"

logan's eyes slip closed after that, and they don't seem to be opening again soon

remy could do a lot of things now. scream, cry, breakdown. he's already pretty close to doing a lot of them

but instead, he sings. he sings the song mother gothel always made him, the one that could deage. he doesn't know what it will do. but he hopes against hope it'll do Something. that it will save logan Somehow

and before the eyes of the town, before the eyes of the king and queen just fetched from their castle, they watch as remy's hair glows with magic not seen in nearly two decades

it's dangerous for remy. gothel had always taught that. people would do Anything to take his hair if they knew. but he doesn't care right then. all that mattered was logan. nothing else

he doesn't even realize what he's managed to do until logan's gently shaking him, telling him he can stop singing, it's okay, for real now, he's okay, they're okay

and you know how it goes from there... the king and queen reveal that Yep Remy You're Our Daughter, logan is accepted by the family bc Took A Hit For Remy Our Daughter, remy and logan continue to have their own issues due to Childhood Abuse but with each other, and their love, they get better... and they get to live happily ever after

#okay so i would just to formally apologize for how Dark parts of this got kjsdhnfvksd #i got so caught up in the euphoria of the exchange of trust and vulnerability between the abused i lived in a world where this wasnt #supposed to be lighthearted KHDFSVJU #losleep #ts logan #ts remy #rapunzel au #abuse tw #child abuse tw #trauma tw #violence tw #fanfic #ts fanfic #the cryptid speaks #lost in the fray #so long.........

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ringneckedpheasant · 3 years

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answered a bunch of oc questions about Kiernan on twitter but I’m putting them here in one post for easy access later. very long post under the cut

1. How easy is it to make them angry?

Oh, extremely. Kiernan has really bad emotional regulation and struggles a lot with anger problems. It doesn’t take the form of him getting physical with anyone, and he rarely raises his voice, but he often lashes out at people and says things he regrets.

2. Do they believe in soulmates?

No, I don’t think so

3. Do they have any pet peeves?

Most of the things that bother Kiernan are on a larger scale than “pet peeves” (Cassandra’s defense of the Chantry, for instance), but he has sensory overload issues and often gets overwhelmed and annoyed/angry when things are loud and he has no control over it

4. Do they have a happy place? Somewhere they go in their head to relax?

I think the thing that brings him the most comfort/peace is reliving good memories with his sister, or thinking about being reunited with her once his role as Inquisitor is done.

5. At what stage of their life were they the happiest?

A lot of Kiernan’s life has just been varying degrees of bad, but I think the year or so pre-Inquisition would’ve been the best for him. He never really settled into Clan Lavellan the way that Rhian did, but he’d been there long enough that he didn’t feel like a complete outsider anymore and was working on trying to be more sociable and outgoing when the conclave happened and everything went to shit

6. At what stage of their life were they the least happy?

Probably ages 7-13. Coming into his magic and being made more acutely aware of his transness because of puberty were both miserable experiences for him, and his mother made both of those things much harder to deal with.

7. At a bar/tavern/pub, are they more likely to buy someone a drink, or have someone buy them a drink?

The latter, but it’s usually a “please stop brooding and come socialize for the love of the maker” type of drink, rather than someone hitting on him.

8. Have they ever broken any bones? How?

Yes, it’s probably happened more than once but I know for sure that he ended up with a cracked rib at the hands of a templar at some point.

9. Do they have any memories/experiences they’d rather forget?

Honestly I would say everything from birth to age 13 qualifies for that.

10. What is their favorite memory from their childhood?

In the little fiction I’ve created in my head Anders is trans and Kiernan and Rhian both met him while they were still in Kirkwall--the circumstances leading to it were less than pleasant, but Anders being the first trans person Kiernan had (knowingly) talked to, and the first person to show him that his magic could be used for healing and protection is probably the best thing that happened to Kiernan in his childhood. He also has fond memories of Rhian stealing sweets for him.

11. Do they have a “type” they are usually attracted to?

I was going to say no but on further thought his “type” is, broadly, older men who are either very skilled at something or very dedicated to a cause/ideals, or both--he romanced Solas, and has also had crushes on Iron Bull, Fenris, and Anders (the last two being when he met them post-inquisition and was like 29). He Likes A Competent Man.

12. Do they have any favorite possessions?

Josie gave him a really nice bag as a gift--the kind that works kind of like a thigh holster--and he's had it for Years. I don't know if it was meant as a personal gift or just something she was giving her boss, but Kiernan treasures it

13. Do they have any tattoos?

He has his vallaslin (I’m still undecided as to whether or not he would let Solas remove it), but I think he’d definitely want more tattoos. I like the idea of full body vallaslin, and that definitely would’ve been something he’d at least considered.

14. Do they have any piercings?

No, and I don’t think he wants any.

15. What is their dream house like?

G-d who knows. I don’t know if he’d want a house because of how long he spent with the Dalish, or if that would make him averse to settling in one place. I’m inclined to say the latter.

16. What is something about them that people would not expect just by looking at them?

That he’s actually very tender-hearted. Kiernan has the worst case of resting bitch face in existence and he dresses in a way that’s meant to be intimidating and offputting.

17. How good are they at choosing gifts for others?

Oh, very bad. I think he’s one of those people who will remember you saying you liked some random ass thing and then he assumes that if he gives it to you, it’ll be a good gift, but really you didn’t like it all that much and by the time he gives it to you it’s not really relevant to your interests anymore… he’s doing his best but his best isn’t that great

18. Do they have a certain skill that they’re particularly proud of?

Oof I don’t know. It’s not really a “skill”, but maybe the fact that he’s very Scrappy and more capable of holding his own in a physical fight than someone might expect from a mage.

19. How would a stranger they’d just met describe them?

Kind of scary, kind of weird, has no social graces

20. How would a close friend they’ve known for a long time describe them?

This would require Kiernan to have close friends,

Genuinely though it’s hard to know since he never got close to most of the Inner Circle, and the person who’s known him the longest is just his sister. Maybe: surprisingly compassionate underneath his hard exterior, dedicated to his beliefs regardless of how they cost him in his relationships with other people, worth being patient with and taking the time to get to know, even though it can be an arduous process.

#kiernan lavellan #lavellan #marc.txt

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magical-gays-au-fanartfunart · 5 years

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Chitty Chitty Crash Bang Bang

Summary: Superhero AU- In which Virgil worries over Roman & we get to find out what happened to Remus.

Ships: Logicality and Prinxiety

Warnings: Yelling/Arguing, Parent/family.... issues, running away, brief physical violence, pain/injury (its like a Super reoccurring theme here), death mention, concussion mention/discussion, (Ro may or may not have lasting issues), roman’s pretty good at avoiding talk of doctors or like, anything, crying, probably poorly translated Spanish...

Tell me if anything else needs a warning!

Words: lots. (I give up.)

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - ^ - 8 -

They were yelling. The muffled sounds hardly discernible from his room. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel it. Each shriek only made his stomach drop even more.

Stop yelling.

He should turn on his music.

Stop yelling.

He should do Something.

Stop yelling.

Shouldn’t he be down there? Playing mediator like he does far too often now.

Stop yelling stop it stop stop STOP.

A door slammed. Roman froze. Front door. Not a bedroom door. He scrambled up to look out his window. A figure with a well worn backpack and a stained, putrid green hoodie he’d always hated, stalked down the street, retreating from the house. It was like a weight was thrown on his chest.

Roman scrambled down the stairs.

“Let him go,” his mother yelled from the kitchen, voice stained with something close to tears.

Roman turned to look at her, frowning.

“He’ll come back, mijo. Let him blow off some steam.”

Roman curled his hand into a fist, shaking his head, not trusting himself to just get into a screaming match of his own. He darted out the door, slamming it behind him.

He vaguely registered his mother calling after him. She didn’t even call Remus back. She let him storm off and didn’t even- no no she was just mad. She was mad, he was mad, and people make dumb decisions when they’re mad.

His breaths slammed against his chest in time with his feet slamming against pavement. “Remus!”

Remus began to shift from a brisk walk to a full run. Roman raced to catch his brother- he was always just a bit faster than him, just enough. He had to be just fast enough. He had to. “Remus, stop!” He gripped the handle of Remus’s backpack and yanked.

His twin yelped as he was thrown backwards and narrowly missed being entirely thrown to the pavement. Roman huffed as he caught his breath, eyes wild and wide as he stared at his brother. His crying brother.

Remus ripped himself from Roman’s grasp, “Leave me the hell alone.” Remus huffed, voice scratchy and rough.

“Where are you going?”

“None of your damn business!” Remus all but screeched, shoving Roman back. “I don’t need you to play hero! I’m not the damsel in distress, get the hell out of my way!”

“I’m not trying to-” Remus’s fist collided with his jaw. Roman swore, slipping into a fighting stance out of instinct as he gingerly brushed over his tender jaw.

Remus’s breaths came in ragged and sharp. Fist curling in on itself, nails digging into his palm. “Don’t. Just. Don’t. Don’t follow me. Don’t pretend to be sorry. Don’t pretend I belong.”

He wished he’d protested.

That he’d followed him anyway.

That he’d punched that grim little smile right off his face.

Something.

Instead he just watched his brother shake his head and walk away. Instead, he stood there telling himself the same broken logic his mother had used. He’s gonna come back. He’s just gotta blow off some steam. He’ll be back. And it’ll be fine.

It’ll be fine.

-Now

2 years later.-

“Aw, you can call me Kate, no need for formalities! Hey, I’ll even take ‘Mom’ if you’d rather!”

“Mom,” Virgil hissed at the woman who looked exactly and nothing like her child with her brightly colored pink pixie cut and pastel sundress with a black punk jacket hanging on her shoulders, the shoulders and lapel adorned with a small trans flag patch, several buttons and a small gold floral pin. She shared her kind, tired eyes with her son, although she clearly had a few years of laugh lines on him. She was clearly taller than her child, and if she tugged him into a hug right then and there, Roman was sure Virgil would fit perfectly under her chin.

They fit. In their own odd way.

Roman smiled. It felt a bit easier to breathe for a moment.

Kate hummed, gaze flickering over the boy in front of her. She clicked her tongue, “Poor dear- Did anybody clean you up even a little? First thing you’re doing is taking a shower.”

Roman blinked, “Um-” He blinked a few times as Kate began to turn back towards her car.

“I hope you like pizza. Are you allergic to anything at all?”

"Um. No.”

”And what about milk?” Virgil said. There was a flicker of a glare in his eyes, but it was overshadowed by a smirk and a gentle shake of his head.

“That’s an intolerance, not an allergy.” Roman waved a hand dismissively, “Totally different!”

Mother and son made the same skeptical sound.

Roman really hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Really. It was just, after they settled in the car- He was exhausted. It was like a switch flipped after he sat down again. And watching the road flicker past was so calming. And Virgil was still talking to his mother, and he was already nodding off and really the only thing left was to let his heavy eyelids fall. He woke up to soft mummers and a gentle brush of a hand on his shoulder. Heavens, did everything hurt this much the first time around? His head was killing him.

“Hey,” Virgil whispered, and really, what business did he have being so gentle?

Roman’s mouth felt like it was full of cotton. He hummed in acknowledgement, eyes reluctant to open, it seemed. Or- oh wait. Never mind. He could see now. …Was that something he should like… be worried about?

“Up an’ at ‘em, Sleeping Beauty,” Virgil’s hushed voice continued, and Roman’s vaugely aware of pressure on his shoulders and a step down.

“Sorry,” Roman muttered, and he wasn’t exactly sure what for yet.

“I don’t mind. You can keep sleeping once we’re inside if you need to.”

Roman took in a breath and ended up nodding somewhere along the surprisingly short walk.

The next time Roman woke up from another dreamless state, he was smothered by a blanket far too heavy to be considered normal and it really wasn’t helping the process of waking up. There was a tap of a keyboard that seemed to echo around the room. Something was cold and wet on his head. The typing stopped. Virgil was putting back on fingerless gloves when Roman finally sat up and looked at him.

Roman blearily looked down at the cloth that had fallen off his head. “Oh.”

“You ‘kay?”

“No, I’m Roman,” he mumbled, lips flickering up a little.

Virgil rolled his eyes, settling on the edge of the bed.

“It’s really dark in here,” Roman whispered, without really meaning to.

“Good, ‘cause it’s apparently helpful for concussions and stuff,” Virgil whispered back, because that’s what you do.

“Oh so I got a concussion now?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Did you put up that black-out blanket for me then, or like, have you always been allergic to daylight?”

“You’ve discovered my secret,” a smile already on his lips, “I’m a vampire.”

“Well hell, here I thought you’d sparkle.”

Roman jumped a little as a creature hopped up from under the bed to onto it. The newcomer rubbed her body against Roman’s side. He froze, suddenly tense and unsure. Virgil’s eyes flickered over the other. He smiled, deciding to focus on his cat.

“Speaking of vampires,” Virgil snapped his fingers, and the cat pranced over to him, allowing him to pet her, “This is Buttercup.”

Roman nodded, watching them.

“How do you feel?” Virgil asked. The hushed tone still lingering in his voice. “For real.”

Roman shrugged, “More tired than I thought, I guess.”

He shifted and smiled as Buttercup passed back over towards him, purring loudly. “Hey lovely lady,” he whispered, rubbing the cat’s head. He glanced up at Virgil, “Sleeping in the car probably made every single bone in my body scream in protest, though.”

Virgil swore, “You don’t have any like-”

“Bleeding? Broken bones?” Roman placed a hand on his chest, leaning back into the pillows of the bed, (the cat following him down and standing on his chest) “Oof. Ouch. My bones.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“No, how would you know I’m not dead?”

Virgil shoved him in a way that was so gentle Roman wasn’t sure he actually touched him.

“Seriously, do we have to like, take you to a doctor?”

Roman shook his head, “I’m okay. I promise.”

“All you need is ‘(not)’ and you’ve got my favorite song.”

“Oh, you can’t be serious!” Roman makes an effort to sound affronted, and Virgil smiles like he holds all the secrets of the universe. Buttercup chirps, and the boys giggle, because the world’s just a little steadier now.

“It’s fine Dee! No, I don’t- I’m fine. Estoy bien! Oh my h- Sí claro! I’m staying over at a friend’s, ok?”

Roman raised his hand to mimic the ramble from the other end of the phone. Virgil smirked in return, despite his focus being on how Roman’s movements were a little more tired and sluggish than normal. He’s tired. He gets to be tired. Heck. He should be tired. Didn’t stop Virgil from worrying about it.

“Eres un pesado, ¿sabes que, sí?” Roman snorted, “What! I’m just saying- Yeah, I hate you too.”

Virgil nestles his head into his arms on the table.

Roman sighs in defeat, and mimics Virgil’s posture, pouting as if to make a point to the other, “Ok, I will. Don’t kill anybody over it, I’d be terribly distraught-” Roman practically freezes.

He swallows, but it doesn’t clear the waver in his voice when he utters, “¿Qué?”

“What?” Virgil whispers, brows knitting together, leaning forward.

Roman glances up at Virgil and shakes his head, “No, Re- um. No. No creo que le vi.” Roman takes in a heavy breath, “¿p- por qué?”

An uneasy smile crosses Roman’s face and he nods, “Ok. Um- I better go, V- my friend’s mom promised to get us pizza. See you later, ok? I feel like I haven’t seen you for forever. Kay. Adiós.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nada, I-” Roman let out a huff of a breath, “Dee just wanted to know if I- saw somebody. It- It doesn’t really matter.”

Virgil shifts to sit up better, nodding, “Um, okay.”

Roman leans back, rubbing the nape of his neck, "What's the emo do on days like this anyway?" Virgil knows a subject change when he sees one, and he sighs, smiling, "I mean- what do you do? I don’t usually have- People. Over." Roman grins, “What’s your opinion on Disney?”

The speaker crackles on the other end of the line when it answers. “Hey DeeDee! Pleasure or Business?”

“I hope you have an explanation for yourself Remus.”

“Ah, skipping the pleasure going straight to business, I see how it is.”

Dee sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Where are you?”

“Where I always am DeeDee. Hanging with Choco and Loco, between Nowhere and Noneof Yourbuismess.”

A point is made with silence.

“Fine, fine. I’m in town.” The line crackles. A vague sound of movement, like the rustle of a bag, “Did you know Mama y Papa aren’t home?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Dee shifts the phone to his other ear, leaning to the side, “No idea.”

“Why you lyin!” Remus shouted into the speaker. Dee forced himself to relax his shoulders. Remus sighed exaggeratedly heavily into the phone, “Fine, don’t tell me. How long have they been out? I can’t imagine they’d leave their favorite son all by himself too long now.”

“Remus, do you know what happened?”

“Maybe,” the line crackled in a way that almost sounded like a giggle, “enlighten me.”

Dee leaned back against the door frame of his room, “That’s the clearest confession of guilt out of your mouth if I’ve ever heard it. You’re aware Roman could’ve gotten killed, yes?”

The line falls silent.

“Oh, nevermind, I’m sure you thought about it. What am I saying?” Dee glanced at his hands, checking his nails.

“Do you want to know what his new little power is or not?”

“So that’s what this was about,” Dee said, a gentle smirk crossing his face, “Please. Do inform me. It would be nice to know.”

116 notes · View notes

things-we-used-tc-share · 5 years

Text

flesh and bone

Warnings: This piece of writing is intended to be hard to read, and it may be hard to read if you have ever struggled with an eating disorder or are currently struggling with an eating disorder. This is my way of working through my own issues, but I acknowledge it will not be everyone’s cup of tea. This is extremely graphic and may be unsuitable for readers under the age of 16 due to its exploration of mental illness and addiction to starvation being completely unrestrained, this is about my personal experience, one that is unfortunately ongoing and will not tailor to everyone’s needs. Please read at your own discretion, and if you are struggling, please reach out for help.

Further warnings for: having a general potty mouth, bulimia (this is over 9,000 words and is v long as a heads up)

Ship: Logicality (Look I really needed to have something there that didn’t make me feel like I was falling apart writing this)

Plot: Five years of being hungry. Hundreds of bruises to his spine and ribs. Nineteen-years-old and the chances of growing older are getting slimmer. In a fit of desperation, Patton’s mother begs him to go to a facility, and once he’s checked in there’s no getting out. It’s not all bad though, because there is Logan, a twenty-year-old who can count calories without looking at the packet and doesn’t treat him like he’s fragile.

Pinch the skin around his arm, skin that’s not exactly there anymore as it stretches tight over his bone. His entire life is numbers; numbers on packets, on scales, on the waistline of jeans. All Patton is...is numbers. He is counting through his life one step at a time and it is one very shaky, drained, dizzy step at that. Patton is sick. He’s been sick for years, so long that he can barely remember the last time he looked in the mirror without a fault in mind.

What caused him to love hunger more than himself?

Maybe it’s a cocktail of reasons. Maybe it’s so many reasons that he can’t untangle them all and find the route of this. He doesn’t think he’s beautiful that much is for sure, but an addiction is an addiction. He doesn’t think he’s beautiful as his hair’s falling out and his teeth feel like acid reflux. He doesn’t think he’s beautiful when his binder bruises his spine and ribs because they will never really have that protective layer of fat. He doesn’t think the thick layer of fur-like hair growing on his arms is so beautiful, or that his face looks like a ghost but “beautiful,” got lost in translation a long, long time ago.

Is beauty worth it when you can’t breathe through heaving, tired lungs?

Which is why, he supposes, he agreed to this. As he sits in the front seat of the car whilst staring at the restaurants that go past with the rest of the world, all those people unaware that he’s standing on the veil, on the way to his last chance at getting better. All that food that he’d conditioned himself to turn away from stares back hungrily, making his stomach turn. He closes his eyes, because if he sees another “summer body ready?” billboard he might throw himself out into the road and run away from the decision he’s made.

Some part of him really doesn’t want that.

The place is not what he expected; somehow he’d expected white walls and a clinical atmosphere, but as he walks in it just feels like a really big house, trailing his suitcase behind him. He slides his glasses up his nose, his shirt hanging off his shoulder in the warm July weather that he’s somehow managing to remain cold in. “You must be...Patton?” A woman approaches with paperwork and a smile that looks just a little tired.

“That’s me,” He replies, hoping he doesn’t sound quite as exhausted as he currently feels; he certainly doesn’t want this poor lady to be on the receiving end on his starvation induced temper.

The woman smiles and it’s the sort of smile people are trained to give, like a doctor to a patient with that sickly sympathy that really they could never relate too. “He and him pronouns?” He nods. “Would you prefer to room with the girls or the...well we only have one other boy here,”

“Is he remotely transphobic?” Patton wishes he doesn’t sound so drained, he’s also sick of having to ask that question.

“Surprisingly enough, I’ve never asked him,” She clears her throat “Logan!” There’s a muffled response, the sound of footsteps, a boy with ruffled ebony hair peers down the top of the banister with a displeased look “Are you transphobic?”

“I am most certainly not,” The boy responds, tentatively walking down the stairs with a slight stumble in his step, if Patton had to hazard a guess he’d say he hasn’t eaten in roughly twenty hours; the first twenty-four are always the hardest on your body before you start to get used to the pain and sick “Do I finally have a roommate?” He steps down a couple of steps towards them, looking almost tentatively at Patton, as if he’s scared of what he might find if he looks too long. “You are impressively skinny, poor word choice, I know but I do wonder if you have organs,” Eating disorder humour, laugh at your pain until it goes away. And that’s exactly how Patton responds, he laughs.

“Yeah, I want to room with uh...Logan? Was it?”

“Correct,”

“I wanna room with Logan,” Patton’s mother sighs lightly at his decision, but he is an adult after all. “Less crowded, I assume,” Logan nods in response before leaning against the post, waiting for Patton to say his goodbyes, sign some papers and hand over his phone. “Do I get to keep my music player, it doesn’t have internet access, it’s just music,” The lady nods as she takes the paperwork back and the phone into the other hand.

“You’re not allowed anything that you can use to contact people in the outside world, or things that are sharp, if you’re a smoker you’re allowed one lighter to use but we have to look after it when you’re not using it,”

“Basically, welcome to the nursery,” Logan chastises lightly as Patton gives his mother a hug. Patton’s lips quirk slightly “Right this way,” he helps Patton carry his suitcase but the boy can barely stand up straight, and Patton recognizes the tense jaw and stumbling footsteps like he is looking into a mirror.

Their room is fairly large, Patton has never been into inpatient that looks so...homely, there is enough room for at least six beds, but there’s only two “They tend to just add them so there’s always room for one more,” Logan explains “Just in case we get an emergency arrival that is,” He sits down on the bed, and Patton can see how thin his ankles are, peeking out of the bottom of his pants. Subconsciously, Patton wraps his thin fingers around his small wrist and feels the paper thin skin tight over his bones, but Logan catches the movement and shakes his head. “If you don’t stop doing that you never will,” He lays back, a small expression of discomfort as he stares at the ceiling “So... you’re trans?”

“Yep,” Patton responds popping the ‘p’ as he places his suitcase next to his bed and sits down, staring down at his knees. He always wears baggy clothes, if it’s not for the dysphoria then because he really doesn’t want to look at his body.

“Are you okay with changing in here? Would you prefer privacy? I don’t mind making myself scarce for a few minutes,” At least now he has an excuse that isn’t ‘I don’t want anyone to see my body,’ “And...he and him pronouns?” Logan sits up and leans back onto his hands, looking over at Patton.

“I...yes,” He pauses “To both,”

“I don’t like changing in front of people either,” Logan mutters, “My back is a mess,”

“Bruises?”

“So many,”

There’s a long and static pause as the two soak up the fact they were going to be in each other’s company for a while, that there’s no way of telling when they will be leaving. But, Patton thinks to himself, at least this one isn’t whining constantly about how society made them anorexic, because that just gets old after a while. Society gave you a gun and you shot it straight into your own chest.

“How long have you been here?” Patton asks quietly, looking over at the boy on the opposite bed.

“Three months, seven days, six hours,” He glances at his watches “24 minutes and...32 seconds,”

“Wow,” Silence again, cascading over the two of them as they stare quietly at the floor and each other at separate intervals, before Patton offers a tentative smile “You’re kinda weird,” Logan laughs, short and throaty, followed by a small cough “Like the way you talk, it’s...your speech pattern is strange,”

“Thank you,” Patton grins and kicks off his shoes, lying back against the bed, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Dinner was hell. Patton pushes his food around on his plate before nibbling on the end of a single piece of pepper over the span of an hour. His stomach growls in frustration and he can’t really say he blames it. He pauses, closes his eyes and bites the bullet, managing a few more down before his stomach lurches. “Make up your fucking mind,” He mutters, his fork clattering against the plate.

“That’s a mood,” Patton looks up at the speaker, a girl with dark skin and big brown eyes smiles over “Honestly when I first got here my stomach was like ‘excuse me, what the fuck are you doing? Feeding me so much at once, that is not how shit works anymore’ “Patton stifles a small laugh, she looks so vibrant. Her eyes still retain the hope and happiness of most teenagers, but the rest of her is...deteriorating. “But I’ve been gaining, slowly but surely, I don’t know how to feel about it, but hey, I guess that means my stomach will stop rejecting the food,” She wipes her mouth and holds a hand out over the table “Rosalie,”

“Patton,”

“Nice to meet you, that’s Gemma,” She points over at a chubby girl with bright blonde hair. “Carmella,” Another girl with frizzy black hair and tan skin “And Josie,” The last girl looks up at her name, she’s been staring at her plate and not touching a single thing on it, looking a little out of it. “Josie got tubed today, she’s not so happy about it,”

Tubed. Patton had been before, once, where they force feed you liquid food through a tube, a horrible and uncomfortable experience that had had him in tears at the time. He gives Josie a small, comforting smile; she attempts to give a weak one back. “And of course, you’ve met Logan,” Logan looks up from the salad he’s been poking and prodding with raised eyebrows. “We were so wondering if we were getting another boy,”

“Well men find it harder to talk about,” Logan shrugged “And the statistics have a rather slight difference...did you know that...”

“Hush pocket protector,” The girl on Logan’s other side Carmella, nudges him playfully “If I needed a guide to eating disorder statistics I would’ve read one by now,” Patton smiles a little, allowing a distraction so he could slip some more food into his mouth. Logan rolls his eyes affectionately and ruffles her hair before pushing a forkful of salad past his lips. He chews slowly, but once he’s started it seems to be easier for him to continue as he adds another forkful.

After dinner, Logan paces the dining room floor for a moment, his eyes trained on the carpet as he tries to avoid leaving the room. “Bulimic?” Patton asks with some degree of understanding, leaning against the table. Logan nods. “Purging was never my thing,” Logan gives a short laugh, pushing his hair out of his eyes, Patton thinks he looks like he’s about to pass out from sheer stress alone.

“Good,” Logan replies shortly “It just hurts, and hurts a lot,” He clutches his churning stomach, eyes downcast and cheeks heated with embarrassment. He doesn’t like to be scrutinized. His stomach lurches and he bites down on his lip. “Could you leave me alone for a few minutes?” He asks, not unkindly as he looks over at the other. Patton nods.

“Yeah, see you in a bit Logan,”

Patton hears him crying not long after he’s left the room, his stomach trying to reject food that it is still unused to receiving in large quantities. He bites down on his bottom lip, but walks away, respecting Logan’s privacy.

Therapy, the one part of all of this that Patton vehemently hates; how do you talk to someone you’ve just met them and tell them all about your fears and hopes and dreams? Especially as a group. He sits in a comfy armchair in the living room and stares at his nails, listening to the other’s talk as they’re asked questions by the group leader. As his name is called, he looks up and feels his face warm at all the eyes on him. “Challenges?” He asks quietly “Being here is a challenge by itself, leaving my family behind, knowing they’re probably going to be in debt because of me,” Patton shrugs, his gaze fixated to the carpet “Trying to get better, I suppose is hard, I’ve lived like this for so long now I’m kind of worried who I’ll be on the other side, if I make it,”

“And successes?”

“I don’t know, accepting that I don’t want to die is probably a good start, and trying to get better will be hard but at least I am trying this time,” A quiet hum runs through the others in the group as they nod in agreement, he shifts uncomfortably at the feeling of being scrutinized.

“Very good, Patton, I’m sure everyone is very proud of you,”

(A week later)

Patton lay on his bed, sketching in his sketchbook as music played softly through his headphones. The sun was starting to set and the lamp beside his bed illuminated the pages as he ran his pan over the pages. The door opens and clicks shut, causing him to slide a headphone off as he looks up at his roommate. “Are you okay?” Logan shrugs a little.

“Okay is relative in these situations, am I improving physically? Yes, I’m gaining and that’s positive, how do I feel? Like shit,” Patton offers a smile as he sits up, wincing, his spine is visible under the too large sleep shirt that reaches his thighs. Nothing really fits him properly anymore, this shirt used to be tight on him.

“I get that,” He places his sketchbook and pen on the covers and slides his headphones off, the music tinny in the silence as it remains to carry through the air. “The first time I gained weight after...this started,” he took a deep breath “I went completely off the deep end, it nearly killed me,” Logan swallows dryly and looks away from Patton, away from his kind eyes and thin body. He hoped he would get someone cruel, someone he wouldn’t latch onto. Someone he couldn’t relate too.

“I’ve been in a few hospitals now,” Logan admits “This is the first one that’s been able to help me,” He stares at his wrists, at the bones jutting out “I just wanted to be healthy, my parents said I needed to lose weight, but then I started obsessing over it as I do with everything,” He runs his nails over the hair on his arms “Counting calories in water,” He laughs, but it’s dry and unamused “I should’ve known really,”

“I just really wanted to be skinny,” He snorts in response, that same bitter laugh that they’re all so familiar with “I really wanted to be like the girls in my class, I wanted people to stop calling me fat, but then I just...I couldn’t stop myself, I didn’t stop myself and I know it’s because I’m sick, but all I can think is because I’m weak,”

“And what’s wrong with being weak?” Logan asks softly “Really, everyone is weak, as a species, humans are only strong because of ruthlessness and weaponry, it’s truly a wonder how we managed this long,” He exhales shakily, his lungs rattling in their prison “Everyone has a weakness, at least you know what yours is, but now you have to learn to fight it, or you’re just going to be another statistic in a textbook about numbers this thing has killed, no name or identification, you are not a number and you shouldn’t become one,”

“I know that, but I can’t just...stop,” His stomach growls and he rolls his eyes, flopping back onto the bed. “It’s like I enjoy it, the hunger, the pain, I can’t stop feeling like I need it, and crave it,”

“It’s as much of an addiction as anything, you wouldn’t tell a heroin addict to simply put down the needle, for example, you know that an addict’s brain changes due to its addiction, your brain is like that too, it’s grown dependant on your pain and is feeding off of it,” Patton finds comfort in someone who actually knows what they’re talking about, who isn’t psychoanalyzing him, just telling him the truth. “You’re very sick Patton, we all are very sick, and I know I got too comfortable in accepting that it was just always going to kill me, but I don’t want that anymore and I don’t think you do either,”

“I don’t want to die Logan,”

“Then you need to start acting like it,” It’s such a simple statement that jolts straight through Patton like a bolt of electricity “It’s painful to try and recover when even your own body is begging you not too, it’s painful when your mind has this voice terrified of being fat, and it is terrifying stepping out into a society where fat people are treated as secondary citizens and people subconsciously believe thinner is better, but the reason doesn’t lie in society,”

“I know, I don’t blame society, well, I blame corporations for feeding off my disorder,”

“But an attitude that blames only society can never heal,” Patton breathes a sigh of relief that finally, finally, somebody understands what he’s been saying all this time. “Because until we look at the cause of the problem for us, for our own individual fears and what is stopping us from healing, we can’t tackle the bigger picture like diet pills and fat-shaming and the cocktail of issues that society makes up for impressionable people, especially those who are easily addicted to a feeling,”

“Thank you, I was getting so tired of that attitude, I don’t think people should blame themselves but some people need to look at the smaller picture first before they start working on the bigger one, like...like a child learning to read, you don’t start with the Harry Potter books, you start with the alphabet,” Logan nods with an affirming smile “Otherwise we’ll all be dead before we get to challenge the rest of the world on their viewpoint,”

“Absolutely,” Patton smiles, a wide and genuine smile that hurts his cheeks. This might be the first time he’s actually got along with one of the residents in his facility. Quite a feat for one last run. No, he corrects himself, not last.

You’ve got to try this time.

(two weeks later)

“Three, two, one,” Patton chucks the handful of raisins into his mouth and grimaces as he chews, whilst Logan cheers, “Here, catch,” he calls, holding his hand up as a warning before he flips the raisin towards the other, Patton laughs as he misses it completely and it bounces along the floor.

“God, they’re so sweet,” He swallows and shakes his head “When did raisins get so sweet?” He’d been avoiding sugar for so long now that his body barely knew what to do with the sudden mouthful of pure, natural sugars.

“You would spontaneously combust if you tried a milkshake,”

“Oh my God, never, literally never will you get one of those things near me they’re so full of fat and...” Logan’s eyebrows raise and Patton closes his mouth, giving a semi-ashamed smile “I’m doing it again aren’t I?” He sighs at the nod he gets in response and picks at the small box of raisins, slowly pressing them into his mouth, chewing and swallowing, his stomach growled for more but he knew if he continued it would also demand the food be regurgitated. “Maybe one day,” He says softly, and Logan grins widely in response.

“Did you hear that, guys? He said maybe one day!” There’s a hum of agreement and a small cheer from Carmella, who Patton had quickly realized was the peppiest in the group. “Sounds like an outing plan,” Patton’s mouth opens and he smiles a little, had he made...a friend?

“It’s a date specs,” He doesn’t miss Logan’s blush on his cheeks as Patton starts distributing the tiny packs of raisins to the girls, and watches as they engage in a battle royale of ‘who can flip the most raisins in their mouth’

Patton’s stomach rumbles as he makes his way upstairs and grabs his sketchpad. He sketches himself, his body, the way his ribs twist and his stomach dips between his hipbones. He’s done this so many times before but for some reason, this time when he stares at the lines of ink a small tear lands on the page. “Why am I crying?” He whispers gently to himself. The realization rushes over him in small waves as he writes the title of this piece of art at the top.

‘I don’t want to die,’

Patton had lived almost all of his teenage years knowing that one day his eating disorder would kill him. His body is constantly shutting down on itself, he’s constantly feeling weak, there are more bones than muscle under his skin, or so he hypothesizes; and he can’t actually leave the house alone because he’s collapsing so often. Every part of his body hurts, his vision is always accompanied by static and little black dots, he’s always thirsty. His body is eating itself, his hair is thin and falling out, his teeth are yellowing and his skin is paper thin, accompanied only by a thin layer of fur-like hair as his body desperately tries to keep itself warm. Patton is always cold, and always dying.

Logan had spent most of his teenage years in denial. Starving for attention and also food as he desperately tries to mould himself into what his parents want him to be; unfortunately he can never be what they want him to be because that would require him to be the basic definition of “normal,”, which also would include not having obsessive-compulsive disorder and also not so very weak from the lack of food in his system. His father had praised his ability to lose weight; he had told him it was wonderful that he was finally taking his weight seriously. His mother had watched him become a ghost and praised it. But Logan has never been able to half-do anything in his life and once he starts he cannot stop.

After his fourth hospitalization, his mother demanded he is sent to a specialist. His father had been adamantly against it, saying he just needs to eat and also “What will people think?” Because that’s all, really, Logan’s father thinks about. Logan knew then that his father really is not capable of loving a thing besides himself, but it was still somehow a shock that he cared so little about his son.

Patton’s parents are lovely, they’re wonderful people and he’s had a fairly nice childhood. When he was five his younger brother, Virgil, was born and the two have gotten along so well their entire lives. Patton’s mother is a baker and she’s always spoiled her son rotten when it came to things he needs or wants and Patton’s father is a soft-faced and kind-hearted man who has always shared equal loads with his wife. Their divorce had been amicable, it had no effect on the fact the two remained friends and Patton still saw his father and brother almost every day.

They were both very supportive of him being Trans. The only thing that his mother disapproves of is swearing, she doesn’t like it and thinks it’s aggressive. Virgil swears a lot, Patton...not so much.

So he doesn’t have the tragic backstory of Logan, the only knowing factor is being Trans and high school being a nightmare because of being ‘the chubby Trans kid’. This soon became ‘the Trans kid that looks like a ghost’ unreasonably thin and passing out every day.

The two of them had both come to conclusion one day they will die because of their illness, it would kill them, their organs would fail, they would be unable to stand due to muscle deterioration, Logan would rip a hole in his stomach, and they would die. For Logan, this changed because of Roman.

People hate living for other people more than they hate living for themselves, and yet guilt alone is enough to drive someone insane. So when a teenage boy appears on Logan’s doorstep and straight into Logan’s life, he has to make a choice. So far in his life, he had few things to live for; an unaccepting family environment that is toxic and full of discourse, a school full of idiots who taunt him and bully him, the only reason death seemed uninviting is because there is a lot that Logan still wants to learn.

Then there was Roman; his younger and apparently secret half-brother who folds his arms across his chest defiantly and pokes Logan’s father in the chest, anger in his eyes. Logan’s father wanted to throw him out, Logan’s mother was having none of that; she had after all, always known that her husband wasn’t faithful, she just hadn’t expected living proof. Logan and Roman spent a lot of time together from the moment he walked into their lives, wanting to make up for lost time as brothers do; they argued a lot but found solace in the fact that their homophobic father had two gay sons.

It was Roman who was the first person to care about Logan’s disorders, he was the first person to sit him down and say “You need to take this into your own hands now,” Logan had never really given it a thought, he knew time was running out for him and that most of what he could taste is acid from his stomach, but he had also always just accepted this was how it was going to be.

Roman didn’t tell Logan to live for him, didn’t ask nor guilt him. He simply said “You need to stop looking for a reason to live and give yourself one, I can’t ask you to live for me, that would be selfish, but you need to learn to live for yourself Logan whilst you still have the chance, there’s a world out there that’s equal parts horrifying and beautiful an it’s waiting for you outside of these walls,”

So Logan checked himself into therapy, and it was only Roman there to say goodbye to him as he walked through the doors, not knowing when or if he would come out of them.

Patton’s decision had come from three things. You cannot love someone healthy, you can try your hardest but when your best efforts fail you have to know it wasn’t your fault. Patton’s family loved him very much but their love could not fix him. His decision in the end, was partially because of his younger brother who had sworn to protect since his very birth, but was also because of his transition.

When you are Transgender there is a list of specifications you have to meet in order to medically transition, in order for the procedure to be safe. Patton’s white blood cell count is very low, his body doesn’t heal at a normal rate and his internal organs are feeling quite fragile at best. Every surgery comes with its risks, a surgery like this is usually very low-risk, but with his body in the state it is it could be fatal.

Patton doesn’t want to die, buried in a body that he hated, with an identification he hasn’t identified with in years. When he dies he wants to die himself, with his name and his body that he has dreamed of since he was a child. And maybe, just maybe, he’s hanging onto that sliver of hope that when he finally gets that transition and he feels just a little bit safer in his own skin, he might not be so flippant about death after all.

(two weeks later)

“We’re getting milkshakes?” The huddle of people that clambered into the back of the minivan cheers as they are told they’re going on an outing, specially requested by several members of the group. Patton had blushed and narrowed his eyes at the others as the girls tease him lightly and Logan squeezes his shoulder playfully. The younger curls up a little against his friend, head resting on his chest as he looks out of the window, watching the world pass. He hears Carmella gasp a little and some slight giggles, but Patton only rolls his eyes and curls up next to his friend.

“You can all choose which ever milkshake you want, the only rule is that you’re not allowed to the bathroom for thirty minutes afterwards, so if you need the toilet, go first,” There’s a series of sighs as they pull up outside the milkshake place. None of the items on the menu list the amount of calories.

“We’re gonna be running around a lot tonight,” Patton mutters to Logan, who nods in agreement “And I’m going to be thinking about the fat content of these milkshakes for a good few hours,” He sighs “But Oreo does sound lovely,” They all order one each and sit down with the huge glasses. There’s a silence, like they’re waiting for one another, it’s Logan who caves with a small sigh and takes a large sip out of the straw. Bated breath all around as they watch.

“Fuck me, it’s delicious,” he groans, eyes closing in bliss before licking his lips “That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever tasted,” He slides the glass over to Patton, who takes the tiniest of sips, a soft moan tumbling over his lips, Logan makes a quiet noise at the back of his throat, cheeks heating whilst the girls giggle at his expression. They tuck into their own, various gasps at the taste and complaints that they could taste the sheer amount of sugar in them.

By the time they’ve finished them, they’re all filled with an unusual amount of energy. Most of them hadn’t managed to drink something with so much sugar or calories or, in the case of some of the milkshakes, chocolate in so long. They’re buzzing with energy as they file back into the van.

And Logan is a little busy daydreaming about Patton’s expression and the noises he made as he drank his milkshake.

“You’ve totally got a crush on him,”

“I do not!” Logan huffs as he nudges Josie, helping her prepare lunch as he mixes up the salad, chopping up cucumbers and throwing them into the large bowl. “He’s simply a friend,” He shrugs a little, but his cheeks are red “I don’t get crushes on people and even if I did, now isn’t exactly a good time for either of us,” She sighs a little at him.

“You know people always say love can’t fix us,” She stills her hand on lightly buttering the bread, looking down at the chopping board “And they’re right, they can’t, but look at you Logan, why are you here?” He falters a little “Because your brother loved you enough to snap you out of your woe-is-me life and get you here,” The elder shifts uncomfortably, picking up a tomato and cutting into it swiftly. “Love can’t save us, but it certainly fucking helps,”

She’s right. He hates that she’s right. But Logan doesn’t want to love Patton, he’s still grasping the fact that he loves his brother, and that he has a brother that loves him. His mind doesn’t work in tandem with his heart most days and trying to add more things that he needs to understand is only going to complicate him. “Maybe,” He finally says as he cuts up the tomato swiftly “Maybe,”

(two months after Patton first arrived)

“Hey Patton dinner’s…are you okay?” Logan pauses at the door, one hand against the frame with fingers that are still too thin. His eyes drift from the room to the boy curled up on the bed, shivering. “Patton?” He walks into the room at the shaky sob that leaves the younger’s lips, kneeling down beside him and resting his hand against the mattress for Patton to take if he so desires. “Was it that bad?” Every couple of weeks they have weigh-ins, to check that they’re steadily gaining weight. From here, Logan can tell Patton has, but to a stranger they would still think he is unreasonably thin for someone of his age and height.

“I don’t want d-dinner,” He’s choking on his own breath, and Logan can tell Patton is in agony from the way he clutches his stomach, he knows he is hungry and he knows he hasn’t eaten today yet. “I can’t do this, I can’t,” The gasping whimper has Logan crumbling as he scoots onto the bed and holds Patton close, feeling the thin boy grip at his shirt, noises of pain and shaky starvation burrowing deeper and deeper into Logan.

He never really thought what it’s like to be on the other end, but in that moment he does realize two things; it really hurts to see someone you love in agony at their own hands, and two, he really does love Patton. In which way remains to be seen, but for now all that matters is that he helps his only and best friend. “You’ve come so far Patton, it’s okay,” He whispers “It’s okay to crumble, it’s okay to relapse, they are not a testament to how strong you are, what makes you strong is that you’ve got this far,” He rubs his back over the thick and long jumper that the shivering boy is wearing, yet he can still feel the firm outline of Patton’s bony spine. “Do you remember when you first started starving? How hard it was, but then you were doing three or four days fasts and suddenly one day doesn’t feel like anything?”

“Y-Yeah,”

“Recovery is the same, but the other way, the first few times you eat full meals it kills, it hurts you, you can barely cope with looking in the mirror, and then over time you start to wonder ‘how did I go so long without food?’” Patton sniffles a little “You are stronger than this voice telling you what you should be, but what you need to be is healthy and happy, of which this illness will not make you either,”

Patton holds onto his friend with his shaking fingers, crying against his chest, shivering and shaking and writhing in pain. All he can feel is the burning of acid rising from his stomach and scorching his throat, the dryness of his lips, the sharp sickliness that came in the aftermath of the hunger. His stomach lurches in desperate attempt to warn Patton that he needs food, he heaves a little, but there’s no food to throw up. Spots of black and wavy static play at his vision, they taunt him; remind him he is a wreck. An everlasting crash, like the moment when you trip and you wonder if you’re going to hit the ground, that feeling is played on repeat. He wonders why him? Why is he struggling like this? What is wrong with him? Why can’t he just fucking eat? Logan squeezes his shoulder.

“I’ll bring you up an apple and a piece of toast, okay?” A small nod, as he untangles himself, watching helplessly as he finds himself wanting to beg and plead for Logan not to let go, not to go anywhere, he needs comfort, he needs someone.

He really, really wants his mum right now. Like a child scared in a storm as his temperature fluctuates from hot and cold and the crash of his mental health from the absence of food when he was so goddamn well, he wants his mum. He wants Virgil. He wants to see his brother and squeeze his hand and tell him everything’s going to be okay. He wants his mum to hug him and smile at him with her teary eyes and promise she will do everything she can to help. But he doesn’t have Virgil, or his mum, he just has himself.

And Logan, of course, but it’s not Logan’s job to console him at every turn, any more than it’s his to do the same for Logan.

He sits up and takes a breath, pulling his curls out of his face and tying them back, he slides his glasses off his nose and wipes his eyes before taking a deep and shaky breath. In and out. Virgil had taught him breathing exercises for panic attacks, he says that it’s best to just ride it for a few minutes, let yourself feel it, let your thoughts crash, then take a while to breathe and organise those thoughts. It does take a while, he doesn’t finish sorting out his breathing until Logan comes back with a slice of toast and neatly chopped apple.

Patton cleans his glasses on his sleeve and picks up the first piece of apple, chewing it slowly. Logan doesn’t watch him and for that he’s grateful; but he makes sure Patton knows he’s still there as he sets about tidying up the room a little bit, opening the curtains and spraying the air freshener, just to make Patton feel a little cleaner after spending most of the day in bed.

“I miss my brother,” Patton says after he’s finished the apple, leaning back to let his stomach digest it before he starts on the toast “He’s my best friend and…it was easier being able to cope with him there, with him telling me how to cope but now I just have to figure it out for myself and…I miss his hugs,” His eyes tears up again, his voice coming out choked “I miss him ranting about school, and him making me feel just a little bit normal,”

“I miss my brother too,” Logan sits down next to him and squeezes his hand gently “He’s the only person in my life that cared about me,” He sighs “But that’s why we’re here Patton, because we need to be able to teach ourselves to take care of ourselves, and look at how well you’ve been doing,” Patton’s eyebrows furrow as if he’s about to argue, but Logan is one step ahead of him “You’ve been here two months, eating at least one full meal a day for one of those months, the other day you even had three full meals,” A small and defensive shrug is thrown his way but a smile is pressing to Patton’s lips, and that is progress. “You just calmed yourself down from a panic attack and ate food despite not wanting too because you knew what was best for your body, you’re willingly healing, and you’re willingly helping yourself,”

“It doesn’t feel like it,”

“It never does,” He’s right, we’re never able to weigh our successes against our failures because we see the worst in ourselves. “But it will, and it might not be whilst you’re still here, it might not be until you’re 30, or 40, but at least…” He pauses, remembering what Roman had told him “But at least give yourself the chance to live, so you can see it happen,”

Patton nods slowly, his smile weak but colour slowly returning to his cheeks. He leans over at presses a gentle kiss to his friend’s cheek “Thank you Logan,” He doesn’t miss the bright red of Logan’s cheeks, and he’s not sure the elder misses the small smile on his lips as he digs into his slice of toast.

(a week later)

Patton woke up after he heard the door close, he’d gone to bed early and it appeared to still be evening time so he slides out of bed to notice that Logan isn’t in his bed. He checks his clock, 11:30PM, Logan is always in bed by 10 and awake at 6:30, like clockwork; worried, Patton opens the door and sees the bathroom light is on.

A sense of unease washes over him, as he slips quietly into the hallway, socks padding quietly against the floor in his journey to the bathroom door; Patton hopes he is just being paranoid or overly vigilant as he stands outside, but his stomach sinks as he hears the sound of food hitting the toilet bowl. Or, what was food, anyway. He bites down on his lip as frustrated whispers fall in Logan’s voice, quiet and tearful and angry.

Patton shifts uncomfortably from one foot to another, mulling over in his head what he should do; should he give Logan some privacy, pretend he didn’t see or hear anything. He doesn’t get long to think however as the tap stops running and the toilet flushes and Logan walks out and straight into him. A look flickers across the other’s face, shame and embarrassment and maybe a little bit of anger, but it dissolves as Patton wraps his arms around the taller man and lets Logan fold himself into the hug, crying softly into his shoulder “It’s okay, it happens,” Patton mutters “You’ll do better tomorrow,”

(a week later)

“I feel like I haven’t slept in days,” Patton cracks his back and stretches, his shirt riding up his stomach, Logan can see easily that little pouch of stomach that hadn’t existed when Patton had got here and grins. “What’re you grinning at?” His cheeks heat a little, biting his bottom lip and Patton’s eyebrows raise, catching the embarrassment. Logan swallows his pride.

“I’m just happy to see you a little healthier,” He says softly as he slides out of bed himself, his eyes going to the carpet under his bare feet “You, in general, are something worth smiling about,” He swallows dryly, his hands wringing his wrists in such a familiar way, Patton’s hands rest gently over his.

“If you don’t stop that you’ll never be able too,” He whispers teasingly, his eyes bright and warm, the freckles on his cheeks coloured a little pink. Logan notes his hands feel much warmer than when he first got here, an added plus to starting to eat properly. He stays very still, staring into Patton’s eyes like a frightened statue that couldn’t move even in a hurricane. Whatever happens now, in this casual intimacy, it is Patton’s choice and Patton’s choice alone.

He cannot and will not make a choice for him.

Some part of Logan expected Patton to drop his hands and smile, to let go of his frail wrists and walk away, change his mind perhaps. After all they need to still focus on themselves, to fix themselves before they take on something as serious as a relationship. But Patton doesn’t really stay serious for long, and somehow Logan knows that no matter what they are to each other he will always want to help Patton, and Patton will want to help him. His brain is still flipping thoughts over like pancakes when the younger’s hand brushes against his cheek, the thumb gently caressing his pale skin.

All the thoughts stop. Just for a second, just for a precious moment when all he can see is Patton’s warm eyes and feel his gentle touch. An acknowledgement, and then the hand drops and Patton steps away. “You’re worth smiling about as well, Lo,”

(two weeks later)

“Virgil!” Patton squeaks as he all but jumps into his younger brother’s arms, stepping back to see the violet haired boy grinning at him. “I’ve missed you so much,” He pulls away “And mum,” He beams as she squeezes him close to her chest, pressing a motherly kiss to the top of his curly hair. “Is dad at work?” He asks, rocking back and forth on his heels excitably.

“I’m afraid so,” She replies softly “He’s barely been off work lately, Virgil’s practically moved in at this point,” The younger of the brothers beams cheekily “But look at you Patton,” She gasps “You’ve got some colour in your cheeks,” She doesn’t mention his weight, and for that he’s grateful.

“You look so much healthier Patton-cake,” Virgil sighs, squeezing his brother’s hand.

“Logan!” The group move away from the door as a boy races through it, unruly red hair in every direction, being held back to some fashion with a hair band. “Oh my God, look at you, give us a twirl,” Logan’s lips quirk a little as he rolls his eyes “Party pooper,” He sighs, before bringing the taller into his arms and into a bone-crushing hug. “So where is he? The pretty one you were telling me about,”

Family visitation days didn’t occur often and Patton had suggested perhaps they should give him a few months alone. He missed his family, but he also didn’t want to disappoint them by not looking a little better, at least a little. However, you are permitted to call your family from the office phone if you really needed it, he supposes Logan must have done.

It takes a second for it to settle in who this is, and who he’s talking about as Logan’s eyes settle on Patton, cheeks red. “Pretty?” Patton mouths, Logan gives the sort of look someone gives when they’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“Hello!” The boy grins “I’m Roman,” He shakes his hand “And who are…you,” His attention turns to Virgil with a grin “Tall, dark and handsome, is this a dream?” His elder brother groans beside him as Virgil’s face goes through the six stages of grief at once, struggling to find the words he entirely needed to structure a response.

“You are insatiable, Patton, Roman, Roman, Patton,” He gestures between the two before his hand falls to the younger of the two brothers “Virgil I assume?”

“That’s me,” The taller sighs “Tall, dark and apparently handsome,” Patton hides his giggle in his hands and Logan’s eyes drift over to the failed attempt at stifling a laugh, the way his cheeks redden and eyes close is…sweet. Roman shoots Virgil a small wink as they all start to trek towards their shared room. “So you two are roommates?”

“And friends,” Patton adds empathically. “Logan’s helped me out a lot whilst I’ve been here,” He smiles up at the elder who gives a modest nod, his hands burying themselves in his pockets as their eyes meet briefly. How can someone make him feel so small when he’s a whole head taller than them? He does, he feels tiny next to Patton, and all of him is so big when his body is so small, his personality full of colour.

“That’s nice,” Patton’s mother smiled “I’m glad to see you making friends again Patton,” She squeezes her sons shoulder as they file into the room, Roman tosses himself onto Logan’s bed and Virgil sits beside him on the floor, whilst Patton’s mother sits on Patton’s bed and the last two boys lean against each other, sat on the floor. “This place is quite pretty; worth the money do you think?”

“I’ve not felt this good in a while,” Patton admits a little, perhaps because he stopped isolating himself and made friends, and actually gave himself a shot for once. Also the nurses here didn’t try to censor his creativity; he doesn’t have to stare at the scales when they weigh him either. Then there’s the obvious that for once he was actually scared when he walked in, he wanted to change this time, he was scaring himself.

90% of recovery is wanting to recover; the other 10% is forcing food down your gullet and hoping for the fucking best.

They sit around and chat for a while, Logan has already been invited to a family dinner and Virgil has to politely explain to Roman that yes, whilst he’s extremely very cute, he isn’t really looking for a boyfriend whilst he’s finishing up his studies. Quietly, Roman agrees, but on the premise that if Logan and Patton start dating or worse, get married, it’s going to be rather awkward to be dating your brother in law.

Virgil laughs at that, and won’t tell Patton why.

(One month later)

Patton is almost at a weight closer to his BMI, almost. He’s not fasted in over a month, he’s getting food into him regularly in small portions, but every time he thinks about being proud of being a normal weight, his brain freaks out on him and he slowly clambers back to square one. At first Logan would have to be the one to talk him into eating, or one of the girls. But today, today he is doing it himself as he rather angrily chops up some fruit. “You are going to eat,” He mutters to himself “Because you’ve come too far now, and you have a goddamn world to see,” He throws the fruit together into a bowl and grabs the ice cream “And you are not dying in Florida having never left the state, in a body you don’t even like, and one day you are getting your goddamn tits cut off or so help me, I will fight God myself,”

Logan, amused, leans against the door and watches as Patton gives himself an angry pep talk. He glares at the bowl, grabs a fork and begins to nibble at the contents. “This ice cream is good,” He mutters “Is this real dairy ice cream, like the farm ones?”

“Yes, it is,” Patton startles, spoon clattering against the bowl. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you; I just heard angry muttering and wondered what was going on,” He smiles, a little dazed by the other boy and how he never quite fails to be adorable. “Turns out you were taking the initiative, and I’m proud of you…and fighting God? An admirable goal to live towards,”

“Well they’re always telling us we need goals to get better,” Patton smiles as he picks up the bowl and begins breaking apart the ice cream and spiking a piece of fruit onto the fork, bringing it up to his lips “And I do like to shoot for the stars,” He presses the fork into his mouth and suck the ice cream off, Logan’s throat constricts as he watches. Patton grins a little and bites down on his bottom lip.

He’s not blind, and he’s not stupid. And some part of him thought maybe it’s for the best if he just ignores it. The way Logan looks at him, he’s not even sure the other man has quite cottoned onto his own feelings. Patton wanted to give him the space to recognize them because for Logan emotions like that don’t just fall like the rain the way they do with Patton. Patton’s been loved and has loved his entire life, the same cannot be said for the elder.

Plus, he wanted to get better, enough better, so that he knows how to look after himself without depending on someone else. Apparently, he’s been doing that better than he thought.

But he still has a little while to go, he’s accepted that this voice in his head may never really go away, and he’s going to be shouting at it for a while, but until he’s at a stable point where he can do it consistently he has to wonder whether or not he’s ready for that sort of relationship. So places the fork back in the bowl and smiles at Logan’s blushing cheeks, reaching up to pat him slightly “See you later Logan,”

(Three weeks later)

“Fuck off,” Patton whines, poking at the right side of his brain lightly “We’re eating whether you like it or not,” He crosses the hallways and into the dining room, flopping down onto the chair as he grabs his plate “Dinner smells lovely,” He spoons some peas onto his plate “Thanks Josie,” Some broccoli, carrots and cauliflower. All healthy. He stares at the potatoes and bites down on his bottom lip.

He used to love potatoes.

“Hey Logan, can you pass the potatoes?” Logan grins as a short gasp runs through the girls, he hears a low chant of ‘do it’ as he takes two and pops them onto his plate, raising his glass of water “To carbs,” And dug into his meal. Logan beams, forking one of the potatoes out of the bowl. There’s a quiet hesitance before the girls start to take one, one by one. Mutually assured healing, not exactly what the eating disorder community is famous for, but for now, right now, Patton will take it.

“To carbs,” Carmella grins as she picks the skin off of the potato.

“And to Patton, who is doing wonderfully,” Logan grins.

“So are you!” The group becomes incessant in pointing out how much each other has improved for the next ten minutes, bickering over who looks best and elbowing each other. Like a family. Many of them don’t have a family who will celebrate their healing, more so shame them for gaining weight, or pick fun at their fears. In that sense Patton is lucky, he managed to get two families out of all of this.

After dinner, Patton and Logan offer to do the dishes as the girls go and find a movie to put on. Patton washes the dishes and blows the bubbles off his hand at Logan, watching the elder laugh like a child. He remembers his first day here, how Logan could barely stand on his own two feet as he trembled his way up the stairs, hands shaking, skin cold. He’s standing straight now, hands not shaking and dishes not in danger of shattering as he dries them. The two of them will probably never recover, not entirely and not completely, addiction doesn’t work like that. There are days where you consider relapsing and don’t, there are days so awful when you do. There will always be days that come and make you suffer; those days may stay for weeks. Recovery is not 100% especially when you start young, it will come in and out of your life as long as the sun rises and sets.

But they are healing. They are smiling and it feels real. Their bodies are thin, too thin for their age and height and health, but not so much they’re stood at the veil between life and death any longer. Steadily, they are climbing a large mountain that they are three-quarters of the way up.

Logan smiles at Patton, resting down the last dish as he stares at his first and only friend and feels the youngers hands press (they’re warm, so warm) against the back of his forearms. He watches Patton’s smile as it breaks his face into two, eyes shimmering with words that he doesn’t know how to say.

Patton’s hands slide gently and slowly up Logan’s arms and rest at his shoulders, hesitating just for a moment. “Please,” Logan whispers, voice cracking with nerves and fear he might have to pass out before this minute has passed; he doesn’t. Patton’s hands rest on the back of Logan’s neck as he stands on his tiptoes, and their lips press together because finally,

they’re both ready.

Ko-Fi

Taglist:

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#eating disorder tw #sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #ts sides #ts fanfic

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doctor-disc0 · 5 years

Text

Family Therapy Gone Wrong

Prompt: Thor, Loki, and Hela go to family therapy

A/N: Hope y'all like it!

@genderfluid-loki-and-trans-peter

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"So. Tell me what's been going on."

"A mortal like you could never understand," Loki snapped. Hela glanced at her little brother with a hint of approval.

Thor had insisted they all come to what he called "family therapy". Loki thought it was stupid. They would never be a perfect little family. He doubted their issues could ever be resolved, especially not by a Midgardian.

Hela had shared Loki's concerns, though she made it clear that though she agreed with him, that did not mean she liked him.

However, in the end Thor had managed to drag his two siblings along to family therapy. Loki just hoped it would be over soon. He already couldn't stand it.

Thor glared at him. "Loki, mind your tongue." He turned back to the therapist, not seeing Loki mocking him.

"Well, my lady, we have seen quite our share of trials. My sister here-" Thor gestures to Hela- "had been banished by my father to another realm for quite some time. Loki and I have only recently met her, and this was a few minutes after our father's death."

Loki yawned as Thor went on to describe what had gone on the past few months. He studied his nails as Thor described Ragnarok, Thanos, and then Hela showing up with Loki to defeat the mad titan.

Loki glanced at Hela, who had also taken to studying her nails. It unnerved the young prince at how similar he was to his sister. Both had long black hair. Both liked the color green. Both had a helm of horns. And both were out of favor with their dead father.

Thor finally fell silent. Loki studied the therapist, surprised to find her calm and collected. Truly either this Midgardian was either very good at hiding emotions or had experienced something like this before.

The woman adjusted her glasses. "Well that's quite the story you have. How have you each felt about these events?"

Loki rolled his eyes. Like he was going to open up to this mortal!

Thor, unsurprisingly, went first. He described his grief, anger, pain and frustration. Loki bit his lip, holding back his insults. Thor knew nothing of pain. Pain was sweet compared to the agony he had felt throughout the past few years.

Surprisingly, Hela hesitantly opened up a little. She expressed her resentment at being locked away, and the smug satisfaction she felt when Thanos was defeated.

Everyone looked to Loki. Obviously he was expected to open up next. But this prince was not going to give anything to this therapist or his siblings. Better to hide one's emotions. That way you don't get hurt further.

The therapist smiled sadly. "My dear, it is understandable to want to hide one's emotions. But keeping them locked up will do more harm than good. Trust me, I know."

Loki looked up. How could she possibly know anything? He studied her intently. She almost seemed to...open her mind to him. So he accepted the invitation and looked within.

Loki's eyes widened as he exited the mortal's mind. This therapist, named Emily, had been through much. However, her battle had never been physical. She had battled with something called Depression, a mental illness that, now that Loki knew what it was, he realized he might have it too. She had nearly killed herself, but her brother had stopped her and got her some professional help. From then on she dedicated herself to helping others struggling with mental illnesses.

Much of Emily's plight reminded Loki of himself. He, too, had tried to kill himself, that fateful day on the Bifrost. He had never expected to survive. It was his unfortunate luck that had allowed Thanos to capture and torture him.

Loki sighed and decided to share. Perhaps it would be good to get it off his chest.

Besides, he could always at least wipe Emily's memory.

"My troubles began before Odin's death," Loki began. "They began the moment I was taken from my birthplace, Jotunheim.

"I was raised by Odin, but I always felt left out. I always felt different. I was often ridiculed and mocked, and my own brother, Thor, would often ignore me, as if he thought me beneath him."

Thor started to interrupt but Emily shushed him. "It's Loki's turn," she scolded.

Loki nodded his thanks and continued. "Then, after Thor had been banished to Midgard some years ago, my true heritage was revealed to me. I was the son of Laufey and heir to the throne of Jotunheim.

"Suddenly, everything made sense. I had never felt like I belonged because I didn't. I was a stolen relic, a monster, an enemy to Asgard.

"And then the All-Father descended into the Odinsleep. And I was suddenly king of Asgard, the throne thrust into my hands when I was still reeling from my earlier discovery.

"I decided to tell Thor that Odin had passed. Why? Perhaps I was getting back at him for neglecting me all those years. Perhaps I was just causing some mischief, the one thing that still made sense to me.

"He believed me. I then turned my thoughts back to my recent revelation. Mother, of course, tried to help me, but there was only so much she could do. She didn't understand. Ultimately, I was alone.

"I knew Thor couldn't come back, however. The All-Father had not yet awakened, and thus I couldn't know if he were allowed back yet. Besides that, I knew that if he returned that I would once again become his inferior, perhaps even more so now.

"So I sent the Destroyer after him, hoping it would stop him from coming back. Unfortunately, it sought to kill, which was something I did not want. Thor came back to Asgard angry, and rightly so.

"However I couldn't admit I had made a mistake. Thus we began our first true fight against each other.

"Odin awakened, and dismissed me. I told him I would've done anything for him. He rejected me. Thus, I let go of Thor and let myself tumble off the Bifrost, hoping I would meet a swift end.

"However, Thanos found me and rescued me. He tortured me for a whole year until I swore to do his bidding. If I didn't, then he would make me long for something as sweet as pain.

"So I went to Midgard, pretending I had went there of my own bidding. I was there to collect the Tesseract, also known as the space infinity stone. I was given the mind stone to help me in my endeavors.

"I then decided that I would purposefully fail so that Thanos could not win. Thor took me back to Asgard. Odin, that merciful being, sentenced me to solitary confinement in prison instead of killing me. And I would never again be allowed to see mother.

"I felt angry and hurt. Mother was the one person who had always had sympathy for me. And now I would never again see her. What was worse was that later on, I instructed the svartalfs on which stairs to take. They proceeded to kill mother. I still haven't forgiven myself.

"Thor then asked my help with his Midgardian girlfriend, Jane, who was possessed by the reality infinity stone. I helped, and sacrificed myself in so doing."

Loki glanced at Thor. "Perhaps if you would've asked me how I survived, I would've been able to tell you that I didn't know. That I truly thought I was going to die. But you never did. You assumed I merely faked my death.

"After that, I sent Odin to Midgard and took his place. He was not fit to rule. I knew one who was, however. Thor.

"As Odin, I offered him the throne. He declined in favor of further maturing.

"Thus, the responsibility was once again on my shoulders. I did not want it, but I learned to enjoy it. I was a much better king than Odin. Asgard prospered under my rule, and our people were significantly happier than in past years.

"Thor discovered me and thought I had been playing him a fool. I was not. I knew that if I revealed myself that I would be sent back to prison. And I didn't want that.

"Thor and I then witnessed Odin's death. Soon after, Hela showed up. Thor and I crash landed on Sakaar.

"I visited Thor in his prison. I tried to express my feelings to him then, but he wouldn't listen. He never listens.

"I helped Thor out of prison, but I knew Hela to be too powerful for us. Besides, I was afraid to go back to Asgard. So many bad memories existed there. And despite my frustration with Thor, I did not want him dead.

"So I tried to trick him so he would not die and I would remain emotionally intact. And perhaps I was also paying him back for being so hurtful with his words and actions.

"However, Thor stopped me. Electrocuted me and left me there on the ground. I was in agony. I hadn't been in such pain since I had felt the svartalf's blade pierce my chest.

"However, I had endured worse at Thanos' hands, so I could not be taken into blissful unconsciousness.

"A rock person eventually helped me. And though Thor had tortured me, like so many others, I went to help him save Asgard.

"To do that, I had to release Surtur. Unfortunately, there wasn't time to get out without dying. However I spotted the Tesseract. That was the key to my escaping with my life.

"The rest of Asgard escaped while Surtur and Hela battled. Surtur of course won, and Hela died. But of course she came back. You can't keep the goddess of death dead for long.

"Then Thanos attacked our ship. He'd killed half our people. The Valkyrie led the rest to safety. He also then killed me.

"Or so he'd thought.

"Instead he had merely caused me agony. I had to make the bloodshot eyes and pale visage an illusion so that he would think me dead. It worked.

"I then went for help to the only one I knew who could. My sister.

"And ultimately we saved the universe."

The therapist finally seemed surprised. And she was not alone. Both Thor and Hela seemed at a loss for words. Loki could hear their thoughts:

"He went through all that?"

"Those were his intentions?"

"He has been through more heartache than any I have ever encountered."

Loki scowled. "Stop."

"Stop what?" Emily asked.

"I can hear all your thoughts. I don't need your pity. I thought we were here to work out family issues."

Emily paused, a bit unsettled, before continuing. "Loki, you are a part of your family. Your issues are also your family's issues, because no one should go through life alone."

"Tell that to Odin," Loki muttered. Hela snorted.

Emily sighed. "Well, I'm afraid our time slot is up. We'll work more on this next Thursday."

Loki stood, dusted himself off, and quickly left the room. Thor protested, but Loki kept moving. He left the building and ran into a deserted alley.

Finally, he slumped to the ground, and for the first time in years, he let himself cry.

#queued post #family therapy gone wrong #loki #thor #hela #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #thor fanfic #thor fanfiction #hela fanfic #hela fanfiction #odin family #loki thor hela #fanfic #fanfiction

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ikwinsty-blog · 5 years

Text

Queer Arab Experience

FULL WORDS QUEER POC/ARAB PROJECT.

@antonss123 - There's no better time to be QTIPOC than it is to be RIGHT NOW. I am so proud and honoured to be a part of such a beautiful, free-spirited and loving community. I found my family away from family and I couldn't be any more content. I perform in these spaces and make it very clear that I am proud to be who I am and the message spreads across to everybody to believe in themselves and love themselves. If you ever feel that you are segregated; then DO MORE. SHOW YOUR CULTURE AND DONT BE AFRAID TO EXPRESS IT ANY WAY YOU WANT. There is no RIGHT or WRONG ; so just DO. 🌈🌹🦋

@nessuhifa - As soon as I understood the role I played in my life, I started spending the rest of my childhood and teen years, feeling cheated and angry for being 'chosen' as someone who is to live their entire life as a Gay and Black person, with a Muslim family. I very quickly as a child understood that the media I consumed, the society I lived in and the religious texts I read in the Mosque, all were telling me in different ways, that it's not ok to be who I am and in some cases told me, that it's not possible to be who I am (Which is low key mad, cos I'm literally right here...) It took years of self-doubt and self-hatred, for me to realise I could not continue living with this anger at the world and at myself and that it was slowly only killing me

So I changed, not my sexuality or race (bcos that's literally impossible...) but, I changed my outlook, I finally got to a place in my life where everything that defined me wasn't a negative factor in my life, that I could use these things to connect to the world better, that I was actually lucky that I was given these factors. I had to shut out and stop listening to all these mortals, telling other mortals how to live their own life, in order for me to find some peace in the chaos I was born in. In other words, I had to look inside myself, like my oldest friend and just trust the voice within- Yes, I'm ending this with Christina Aguilera lyrics because she truly made some points in that song.

@bilmian - Queer identity has always existed amongst the ummah, yet we allow unnecessary hatred towards a community who were created in God’s own divine vision. Being both muslim and queer has always been challenging growing up, battling with my inner demons whilst also trying to keep up with standards set for me before birth, gaining this balance of both peace and love was something I achieved in my early 20’s realising that God loves me for who I am, even if I am looked down upon by other so called muslims. I find it funny how being homosexual is haram yet people act like being homophobic isn’t, nowhere is the Qur’an does God preach about being hateful or phobic towards another minority. In fact the meaning of Islam is to love and respect one another, not to incite hatred.

When I first heard about Omar’s project I was intrigued to see how he would make this work without imitating other existing queer content out there, but from what I’ve seen Omar wants to add an aspect of futurism into his work, making a statement that this is the future, a tolerant and loving society towards everyone. When I wake up in the morning I don’t want to feel a heavy heart filled with anxiety and depression, living in constant fear of my Lord, worried that I won’t be truly loved, it’ll take some time but rather than being so hesitant towards each other this community needs to stand strong and support eachother, all of our brothers and sisters, of all colours, ethnicities, genders and sexualities, ensuring that we have a bright and positive future ahead of us.

@mossymugler - For the longest time I thought I had to be either Queer or Palestinian but never both at the same time. My mind couldn’t make the connection that Queerness alongside my Palestinian identity is a driving force in the face of liberation from Zionism. This I come to now realize, is a form of colonial control. As I look into the historical archives of the Arab and Muslim world I see how sexuality and gender fluidity were never an issue of conflict. It was completely normal and even celebrated to be queer.

The ottoman empire wrote legislation on this in 1858 recognizing queerness but it was only after British mandate law was instated in 1937, that it was criminalized and homophobic attitudes sprung thereafter. I blamed my “Muslim parents” or “Arab upbringing” for a lot of my self- hate, although that’s somewhat valid cuz it’s my experience, I realize now that they’re also victims of colonial trauma and need help unlearning colonial homophobic behavior. Being Queer and Palestinian has given me the tools to work on collective liberation for my people and I pride myself on my identity now more then ever before.

@metalfemme - As a queer + trans Muslim born in Pakistan and raised in the us post 9/11 and during the war on terror, I grew up feeling as if i had to pick and choose parts of my identity to express at certain times. I’ve always been hesitant about visibility and representation politics but learning about other queer and trans Muslims has helped me come into my own identity over the years.

As an artist, I feel that creating art has helped me bridge the false logic of dualism, which was built up through western enlightenment discourse and weaponised against queer Muslims via orientalism, capitalism, etc. Through experiencing and partaking in different forms of art, I have learned that I can simply exist within the vastness of myself. Also drawing upon theory and philosophy by scholars like Crenshaw, Marx, and Ahmed has helped me form the language to describe my material condition in this world. What id love to see is my peers putting in work and being critical of the ways

@mstfuh - The hostility I’ve faced oftentimes comes from the moments when I was hiding. It’s when I’ve been invisible, or unseen, that pain was most burdensome. I think these periods of hiding showed me the true colors of my communities and whom to stay away from, or whom I see light within. Being open with who I am and what I believe, surprisingly, hasn’t led to the isolation I anticipated when I was younger. I haven’t left my communities, but some have left me. I’ve carved space out in those hostile places I identified throughout my hiding, because I still derive great value and wisdom from the communities I was raised. And living my truth has taught me to leave parts of my communities that will never love me how I used to admire them. I think this is what it means to live your truth and be open. Living in honesty is not only facing the communities that’ve only known you in hiding, but it’s also choosing people and families within those communities that tend for you the ways you long for. It’s about holding firm space in a world that doesn’t want me to exist through a community that has existed alongside me for as long as I can remember.

@arabqueer - I never considered being gay a problem or a personal issue until people made me feel uncomfortable and insure about my same-sex desires. I developed attractions towards men around the age of 9, but it’s not until the age of 11 that I began to feel insecure about it. Why? Because around 11 I became more aware of people’s repulsiveness towards homosexuality. I wasn’t sure yet of the reasons, but I just knew that a lot more people than I imagined didn’t like or accept boys who are attracted to boys.

But it’s also the heteronormativity that played a huge impact on my insecurity: the lack of queer/gay representation in every aspect of society made me feel like an outsider. I was already getting teased on towards the end of primary school, but It only got worse when I left primary school and entered secondary school. For three years in a row after primary school I was bullied almost every single day for my femininity and my homosexuality. The strange thing is that I wasn’t actually out yet, but students just suspected I was gay because of my femininity. The secondary school i went was attended by many immigrant/brown students. There was another gay in the school but he was white. No one ever bullied him, at least not like me. For some reasons, being gay was worse for me bc I was brown. Almost like homosexuality/queerness is a western/white phenomenon. During those three years of bullying, I turned to my family to seek refuge from the hate I was getting at school but I realised at first that I was not gonna get any support from my relatives either. It was quickly made clear to me by my relatives that my homo desires were not compatible with my ethnic culture, with Islam, with my country of origin, and with my family’s values. This is an issue we face as Muslim/brown queers: we are told by our ethnic community that our sexuality isn’t compatible with our culture or with Islam, we are judged too “westernised” but when we turn to the western gay community we are judged too “ethnic” and we are asked to give up on our culture/religion bc it is deemed, again, incompatible with LBGTQ rights. Therefore, we feel like a misfit in both sides which leads to a struggle in identity. And so we, as brown/Muslim queers, face rejection by both our own ethnic community and the west’s white gay community. And so I isolated myself until i took the courage to come out to my mother. I had to accept my sexuality first before I could come out to my own mother. It was hard at first. She wasn’t evil towards me. She continued to give me all the love I deserved. But her hostility and dislike of my sexuality didn’t stem from hate or homophobia, it stemmed from fear. The fear that her son could be hurt or rejected for his desires. I did have to come out to my mother a second time, about 4 years after I first came out to her, in order to make sure we were on the same page. So in the end, it took my mom some time to fully accept the reality and she has definitely learned a lot from her son’s sexuality. In exchange, my mom taught me that Islam doesn’t speak of homosexuality. And so my mom brought me back to Islam when I was leaving it.

It’s now been approximately a decade since I first experienced same-sex attractions and it’s been an incredible journey. 7 years ago when I was bullied I would have never taught that I’d be where I am right now, comfortable with both my sexuality and my religion. I now stand up against any homophobe. But it required from me a lot of research about homosexuality in Islam and research about human sexuality thru cultures and time, it required me to accept myself first before I could expect anyone to accept me, it required me to challenge heteronormativity and masculinity vs femininity in my brain, it required me to grow thicker skin which I was able to get through those years of bullying, it required me to analyse and understand homophobes and why they are homophobic, it required me to move to my country of origin Morocco for two years (a Muslim nation that criminalises homosexuality) to finish high school. It required me all these things, critical and independent thinking, and more in order to be where I am right now embracing my queerness.

For brown and Muslim queers in the west I have feeling it will get better than it already is. I feel There’s more inclusivity and more unity as I see brown and Muslim queers engaging in conversations and taking the necessary actions to gain more representation both in the broader society and within the LGBTQ community itself. I see more brown and Muslim artists that are open about their sexuality, spaces such as clubs and even mosques that bring together brown queers. However there is still some work to be done. I still see a lot of toxic and racist orientalism coming from white gays and the wester media doesn’t publicly speak much of the persecution and oppression queers face in the non western world. But overall, in te west, we are on the right path.

In the non-western world there has been very little improvement. India and Angola are the only two countries who have recently decriminalised homosexuality. In Turkey the LGBTQ pride has been canceled for over 5 years in row now. I follow a page on Instagram which documents stories of LGBTQ individuals in the non-world and the persecution they face and it’s horrible. Shocking. There is still a lot of work to do for the liberation of brown and Muslim queers in the non-western world. For the situation to get better it will take time and a lot of effort. I’ve lived and studied in Morocco for over two years. I was able to interact with homophobes there and I know how they think and why. First the problem comes from the state, which mixes politics and religion. That’s a problem because as soon as you implement religion in the nation’s laws you are directly and inevitably imposing religious beliefs on an entire population. This blocks the way for freedom as you are already forcing a population to submit to a specific religion by its laws. A society cannot be free when it is being imposed laws from a specific religion. So in order for us to move forward, the mentalities must change. To change the mentalities, religion and state must be separate and that’s a first step. Second, education. People are uneducated about topics that cover human sexuality, gender, and identity because those topics are always considered taboo in a country ruled by religious laws. People are brainwashed with heteronormativity and ideas of masculinity vs femininity in countries like Morocco. I heard a lot of dumb and ignorant comments while I was in Morocco. For instance I’ve heard too many times people say that homosexuality will bring aids. This is pure ignorance and it’s part of the problem. Students and children are not taught in schools about sexuality and gender. They are not taught to question. Why is it that girls must act a certain way and boys a certain way? Why some colours are considered “feminine” and some “masculine”? If they could ask themselves these questions and do the research people would realise those are just social constructs which can be deconstructed. So we must find a way to deconstruct the social constructs that are already implemented in Muslim/brown nations and challenge them.

People are also not educated about their past. They don’t have much knowledge about the precolonial era. They don’t know that the west’s colonisation is the cause of all this heteronormativity and gender roles nonsense in the non-western world. People also don’t know the influence that Wahhabism has had on all this conservatism in the Islamic world as well as the misinterpretation and mistranslation of the Quran’s verses, which serves as a justification against LGBTQ people. India and Pakistan were one of the most sexually diverse societies before colonisation. The anti-gay laws in India and Pakistan were implemented by the British and people don’t know that, they don’t know their history before colonisation and the negative impacts that colonisation has had on sexuality and heteronormativity in colonial lands. The Ottoman Empire, and Islamic caliphate/empire, decriminalised homosexuality in the mid 19th century before most western nations. They even had homoerotic paintings. Just like Iran who had a century of homoerotic poetry during the Middle Ages. And I could tell you about a grey number of Muslim emperors who had male lovers instead of females and barely approached women. So I think if people also knew about concepts of sexuality and gender in precolonial era it could challenge today’s heteronormativity and ideas of masculinity vs femininity in the non western world.

@layskeet - Being a queer muslim arab is a conflict in itself, how do all those parts fall together into one being?

I hope that our intersectional identities can one day live in harmony accepted and understood by everyone.

I hope that we can destroy all the internalized hate and discrimination.

I hope that leaving our families for independence or compromising our happiness to meet our families expectations will no longer be the ultimatum.

I hope that we can all be our unapologetic complete self to everyone, anywhere, any time.

I hope that we can decolonize our minds from the colonized idealizations that have been fed to us. Idealizations and concepts that never resonated with our truth, existence, and ancestry.

@jamalozsoy - I haven’t came out to my parents yet. Simply because I don’t feel ready atm. Being gay is a heavy weight to carry in a Muslim household. But also in the society. I live in Paris and I sometimes feel pressured by white people (queer or not) to come out cuz “it’s okay 2 be gay”. This comes from the lack of acknowledgement they have of what it means to grow up gay in a Muslim family specially in the Parisian suburb where taboos are stronger

I think one should always be encouraged to come out (at some point) but it’s important not to rush anyone and to keep in mind that topics such as homosexuality and sexuality in general are very taboos in some communities. For the future I hope that my diaspora sis’ won’t suffer from this double-sided pressure. Only you get to decide when to come out

I’d like to ask for help from our Muslim sisters. They tend to be open-minded when it comes to homosexuality and having gay friends. I want them to share this acceptance with their Muslim boyfriends. Let’s all embrace each other inshallah

Also I think it’s very important that we (diaspora kids) learn more about the dark sides of our parents countries. I think some of us are too busy trying to idealise Arabic countries through arts and traditions without taking in account the difficulties of what it means to live there. And that is not fair to Arab queer individuals dealing with those issues on a daily basis. Let arab queer individuals speak for themselves.

@anwarbougroug - The oppression of the LGBTQI+ community in the Arab world is rooted in insecurity, toxic masculinity, gender roles and religion. I am so proud of my queer Arab friends that use themselves as a medium to push the boundaries on what it means to be queer and Arab. Showing that we’re a community, rather than individuals, not only makes us stronger as a whole, it also empowers non-conforming people to take the next step and be themselves fully. Representation is key in this battle for equality and human rights for the LGBTQI+ community.

@chrisnajimy - I hope more Arabs are able to incorporate queerness into their idea entities and daily lives, and stop isolating sexual or gender identity as an entity separate from what's presented publicly. In order for that to happen we need to feel safer. More progressive legislation has to be passed in the Arab states that still criminalize and punish queerness. Most of all, queer behavior and queer bodies have to be normalized within the culture - including diaspora. Because of so many intersections that come with being Arab and queer (i.e. religion, gender, class, skin tone), it's difficult to speak generally about a "queer Arab experience."

But In my predominantly westernized Lebanese-American family, queerness (of we few that are out) is virtually never discussed. The lack of acknowledgement isn't only discouraging, but harmful to the fight in creating a culture more welcoming/less fearful of queerness. Being visible can literally be dangerous even in states with more progressive legislation worldwide; but it is a fundamental goal to be allowed to comfortably live authentically as both Arab and Queer.

@actuallywill - Technology has turned societies across the globe a little more open and I'm would like to see more young people discussing queer points of view and supporting queer people openly and especially with our religious families/friends in whatever way we think appropriate. As a mixed black Muslim queer living in the west I think community is life changing but it's also really easy to fall into capitalism's trap of being vocal only for cultural capital under the white gaze, rather than meaningfully support our people.

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ucflibrary · 6 years

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Pride Month has arrived! While every day is a time to be proud of your identity and orientation, June is that extra special time for boldly celebrating with and for the LGBTQIA community (yes, there are more than lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender in the queer community). June was chosen to honor the Stonewall Riots which happened in 1969. Like other celebratory months, LGBT Pride Month started as a weeklong series of events and expanded into a full month of festivities.

In honor of Pride Month, UCF Library faculty and staff suggested books, movies and music from the UCF collection that represent a wide array of queer authors and characters. Additional events at UCF in June include “UCF Remembers” which is a week-long series of events to commemorate the shooting at the Pulse nightclub in 2016.

Click on the Keep Reading link below to see the full list, descriptions, and catalog links for the 20 titles by or about people in the LGBTQIA community suggested by UCF Library employees. These, and additional titles, are also on the Featured Bookshelf display on the second (main) floor next to the bank of two elevators.

A guide to LGBTQ+ inclusion on campus, post-Pulse edited by Virginia Stead The research in A Guide to LGBTQ+ Inclusion on Campus, Post-PULSE is premised on the notion that, because we cannot choose our sexual, racial, ethnic, cultural, political, geographic, economic, and chronological origins, with greater advantage comes greater responsibility to redistribute life's resources in favor of those whose human rights are compromised and who lack the fundamental necessities of life. Among these basic rights are access to higher education and to positive campus experiences. Queer folk and LGBTQ+ allies have collaborated on this new text in response to the June 16, 2016 targeted murder of 49 innocent victims at the PULSE nightclub, Orlando, Florida. Seasoned and novice members of the academy will find professional empowerment from these authors as they explicitly discuss multiple level theory, policy, and strategies to support LGBTQ+ campus inclusion. Their work illuminates how good, bad, and indeterminate public legislation impacts LGBTQ+ communities everywhere, and it animates multiple layers of campus life, ranging from lessons within a three-year-old day care center to policy-making among senior administration. Suggested by Tim Walker, Information Technology & Digital Initiatives

Afterworlds by Scott Westerfeld Darcy Patel has put college on hold to publish her teen novel, Afterworlds. With a contract in hand, she arrives in New York City with no apartment, no friends, and all the wrong clothes. But lucky for Darcy, she’s taken under the wings of other seasoned and fledgling writers who help her navigate the city and the world of writing and publishing. Over the course of a year, Darcy finishes her book, faces critique, and falls in love. Woven into Darcy’s personal story is her novel, Afterworlds, a suspenseful thriller about a teen who slips into the “Afterworld” to survive a terrorist attack. The Afterworld is a place between the living and the dead, and where many unsolved—and terrifying—stories need to be reconciled. Like Darcy, Lizzie too falls in love…until a new threat resurfaces, and her special gifts may not be enough to protect those she cares about most. Suggested by Rebecca Hawk, Circulation

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon Aster has little to offer folks in the way of rebuttal when they call her ogre and freak. She's used to the names; she only wishes there was more truth to them. If she were truly a monster, she'd be powerful enough to tear down the walls around her until nothing remains of her world. Aster lives in the lowdeck slums of the HSS Matilda, a space vessel organized much like the antebellum South. For generations, Matilda has ferried the last of humanity to a mythical Promised Land. On its way, the ship's leaders have imposed harsh moral restrictions and deep indignities on dark-skinned sharecroppers like Aster. Embroiled in a grudge with a brutal overseer, Aster learns there may be a way to improve her lot--if she's willing to sow the seeds of civil war. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

And Then I Danced: traveling the road to LGBT equality: a memoir by Mark Segal On December 11, 1973, Mark Segal disrupted a live broadcast of the CBS Evening News when he sat on the desk directly between the camera and news anchor Walter Cronkite, yelling, "Gays protest CBS prejudice!" He was wrestled to the studio floor by the stagehands on live national television, thus ending LGBT invisibility. But this one victory left many more battles to fight, and creativity was required to find a way to challenge stereotypes surrounding the LGBT community. Mark Segal's job, as he saw it, was to show the nation who gay people are: our sons, daughters, fathers, and mothers. Because of activists like Mark Segal, whose life work is dramatically detailed in this poignant and important memoir, today there are openly LGBT people working in the White House and throughout corporate America. An entire community of gay world citizens is now finding the voice that they need to become visible. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

Basically Queer: an intergenerational introduction to LGBTQA2S+ lives by Claire Robson, Kelsey Blair, and Jen Marchbank Basically Queer offers an introduction to what it can look and feel like to live life as lesbian, gay, bisexual, asexual, two spirited and trans. Written by youth and elders who've lived these lives first hand, the book combines no-nonsense explanations, definitions, and information with engaging stories and poetry that bring them to life. Basically Queer answers those questions that many want to ask but fear will give offence--What is it really like to be queer? What's appropriate language? How can I be an ally? It also provides a succinct and readable account of queer history and legal rights worldwide, addresses intergenerational issues, and offers some tips and tricks for living queer. It does so in an easy and conversational style that will be accessible to most readers, including teens. Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

Fun Home by Alison Bechdel Meet Alison's father, a historic preservation expert and obsessive restorer of the family's Victorian home, a third-generation funeral home director, a high school English teacher, an icily distant parent, and a closeted homosexual who, as it turns out, is involved with his male students and a family babysitter. Through narrative that is alternately heartbreaking and fiercely funny, we are drawn into a daughter's complex yearning for her father. And yet, apart from assigned stints dusting caskets at the family-owned "fun home," as Alison and her brothers call it, the relationship achieves its most intimate expression through the shared code of books. When Alison comes out as homosexual herself in late adolescence, the denouement is swift, graphic -- and redemptive. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections, and Schuyler Kerby, Rosen Library

Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado In Her Body and Other Parties, Carmen Maria Machado blithely demolishes the arbitrary borders between psychological realism and science fiction, comedy and horror, fantasy and fabulism. In this electric and provocative debut, Machado bends genre to shape startling narratives that map the realities of women's lives and the violence visited upon their bodies. A wife refuses her husband's entreaties to remove the green ribbon from around her neck. A woman recounts her sexual encounters as a plague slowly consumes humanity. A salesclerk in a mall makes a horrifying discovery within the seams of the store's prom dresses. One woman's surgery-induced weight loss results in an unwanted houseguest. And in the bravura novella "Especially Heinous," Machado reimagines every episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, a show we naively assumed had shown it all, generating a phantasmagoric police procedural full of doppelgangers, ghosts, and girls with bells for eyes. Earthy and otherworldly, antic and sexy, queer and caustic, comic and deadly serious, Her Body and Other Parties swings from horrific violence to the most exquisite sentiment. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Inseparable: desire between women in literature by Emma Donoghue Emma Donoghue examines how desire between women in English literature has been portrayed, from schoolgirls and vampires to runaway wives, from cross-dressing knights to contemporary murder stories. She looks at the work of those writers who have addressed the "unspeakable subject," examining whether same-sex desire is freakish or omnipresent, holy or evil, as she excavates a long-obscured tradition of (inseparable) friendship between women, one that is surprisingly central to our cultural history. Inseparable is a revelation of a centuries-old literary tradition — brilliant, amusing, and until now, deliberately overlooked. Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

Let’s Talk About Love by Claire Kann Claire Kann’s debut novel Let’s Talk About Love, chosen by readers like you for Macmillan's young adult imprint Swoon Reads, gracefully explores the struggle with emerging adulthood and the complicated line between friendship and what it might mean to be something more. Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

Little and Lion by Brandy Colbert Suzette returns home to Los Angeles from boarding school and grapples with her bisexual identity when she and her brother Lionel fall in love with the same girl, pushing Lionel's bipolar disorder to spin out of control and forcing Suzette to confront her own demons. Suggested by Emma Gisclair, Curriculum Materials Center

Myra Breckinridge by Gore Vidal Myra's personality is altered by her sex change operation and Myron is transported back through time to the year 1948. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Subject Librarian

Reflections in a Golden Eye by Carson McCullers Set on a Southern army base in the 1930s, REFLECTIONS tells the story of Captain Penderton, a bisexual whose life is upset by the arrival of Major Langdon, a charming womanizer who has an affair with Penderton's tempestuous and flirtatious wife, Leonora. Upon the novel's publication in 1941, reviewers were unsure of what to make of its relatively scandalous subject matter. But a critic for Time Magazine wrote, "In almost any hands, such material would yield a rank fruitcake of mere arty melodrama. But Carson McCullers tells her tale with simplicity, insight, and a rare gift of phrase." Written during a time when McCullers's own marriage to Reeves was on the brink of collapse, her second novel deals with her trademark themes of alienation and unfulfilled loves. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Subject Librarian

Speak No Evil by Uzodinma Iweala In the tradition of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americanah, Speak No Evil explores what it means to be different in a fundamentally conformist society and how that difference plays out in our inner and outer struggles. It is a novel about the power of words and self-identification, about who gets to speak and who has the power to speak for other people. As heart-wrenching and timely as his breakout debut, Beasts of No Nation, Uzodinma Iweala’s second novel cuts to the core of our humanity and leaves us reeling in its wake. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Tash hearts Tolstoy by Kathryn Ormsbee Fame and success come at a cost for Natasha "Tash" Zelenka when she creates the web series "Unhappy Families," a modern adaptation of Anna Karenina--written by Tash's eternal love Leo Tolstoy. Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

The Boys in the Band by Mart Crowley The Boys in the Band was the first commercially successful play to reveal gay life to mainstream America. This is a special fortieth anniversary edition of the play, which includes an original preface by acclaimed writer Tony Kushner (Angels in America), along with previously unpublished photographs of Mart Crowley and the cast of the play/film. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Subject Librarian

The Sleeper and the Spindle by Neil Gaiman On the eve of her wedding, a young queen sets out to rescue a princess from an enchantment. She casts aside her fine wedding clothes, takes her chain mail and her sword, and follows her brave dwarf retainers into the tunnels under the mountain towards the sleeping kingdom. This queen will decide her own future -- and the princess who needs rescuing is not quite what she seems. Suggested by Rebecca Hawk, Circulation

Very Recent History: an entirely factual account of a year (c. AD 2009) in a large city by Choire Sicha What will the future make of us? In one of the greatest cities in the world, the richest man in town is the Mayor. Billionaires shed apartments like last season's fashion trends, even as the country's economy turns inside out and workers are expelled from the City's glass towers. The young and careless go on as they always have, getting laid and getting laid off, falling in and falling out of love, and trying to navigate the strange world they traffic in: the Internet, complex financial markets, credit cards, pop stars, microplane cheese graters, and sex apps. A true-life fable of money, sex, and politics, Very Recent History follows a man named John and his circle of friends, lovers, and enemies. It is a book that pieces together our every day, as if it were already forgotten. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Victim directed by Basil Dearden A highly respected, but closeted barrister, Melville Farr, risks his marriage and reputation to take on an elusive blackmail ring terrorizing gay men with the threat of public exposure and police action. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Subject Librarian

Why be happy when you could be normal? by Jeanette Winterson Traces the author's lifelong search for happiness as the adopted daughter of Pentecostal parents who raised her through practices of fierce control and paranoia, an experience that prompted her to search for her biological mother. Suggested by Lindsey Ritzert, Circulation

Written on the Body by Jeanette Winterson The most beguilingly seductive novel to date from the author of The Passion and Sexing the Cherry. Winterson chronicles the consuming affair between the narrator, who is given neither name nor gender, and the beloved, a complex and confused married woman. Suggested by Rebecca Hawk, Circulation

#lgbtq pride month #lgbtqia #pride month #neil gaiman #ucf #ucf library #ucf libraries bookshelf #booklr

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ask-the-infiltrators · 7 years

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The end?- Prom Pt3

Featuring Aurora from @ask-acepony

In their excitement, the pair of Aurora and Platinum had forgotten to hail a taxi, rather, they simply walked the whole way to his store. It was a peaceful walk through the empty night streets of Canterlot. Nary a thing could bother the two as they bounced ideas off of eachother on what materials would work best for the harness for the wings as well as the types of gems that would be used in the enchanting. All was not well however, as one fact that Platinum had pointed out threw a bit of a monkey wrench into their plans.

The issue was practicality vs fashion appeal. While many gems overlap in possible abilities, not all of them will actually be able to suit their needs, and some of those that can’t would actually look good alongside the current feathers used in the pair of wings. Granted, not all the wings that they could make will have this kind of issue, they had to deal with this now because the wings that Aurora has on her is the only ones that they have to work with. All in all, they had a lot to think about.

Soon, Aurora caught sight of the window display at the front of Tales of Solcia and was pleasantly surprised to see a tasteful display of various jeweled accessories on the mannequins in there. Rather than the mishmash of gems and metals that Platinum wore on his person, these matched, moreover, the gems color and shape complimented the complicated designs etched into the bands. She had considered asking if she could purchase one or two, but decided against it. She probably didn’t have enough money to purchase a set on her anyway.

As the stallion proceeded to unlock the front door, she asked, “Hey Platinum, why is this place named Tales of Solcia?”

The smaller unicorn sighed, eyes closing as she seemed to have struck another nerve, though this time he was a bit more willing to talk about it, “Solcia… Solcia was my home. You see. The Equestria I live in wasn’t the one I was born in.”

Oh boy… Sad backstory incoming. She honestly should have seen this coming after the way he reacted during their date. He held the the door open for her as he continued. Thankfully, he was pretty brief, for both of their sakes, “Where I was from, enchantments were a way of leveling the playing field for the many races of the land and like anypony that is good at anything, there is bound to be fighting over who was the best. Fighting broke out and terrible spells were cast. Those that survived the conflict were forced to become refugees.”

Locking the door behind them, he finished, “I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say, all that you see will see in this store is the last remnants of my home world. I’ve spent years trying to get it all in one place..”

She walked up to the display at the front desk, musing to herself about the various accessories that lay within. Just what sort of thing could drive ponies to destroy their own world like that? Money? Power? Fame? It disgusted her. There was one thing that bother her, something she had to make known.

“Do you sell them, the magical ones?”

Platinum shook his head in the negative, dismissing most of her fears, “While I’ve come to terms with a lot of the things that happened back home, there is one thing that will always worry me. What if the fighting were to happen again? That’s why I’ve locked away most of the combat related rings I have found.”

Okay, so he’s been smart enough to keep the dangerous stuff hidden from the public eye and has only sold non magical items to ponies. That’s fine, but… Taking a step towards him, she asked another probing question, “Okay, so what about us? Surely if you are planning on enchanting my wings, you are also planning on selling them.”

This question brought a smile to his face, finding humor in the absurdity of it, “Well, there is a pretty big difference between combat magic and practical magic you know. Moving a set of wings around is nothing compared to blasting holes in walls.”

Aurora chuckled nervously, feeling a little embarrassed now that he even needed to say that. What he said next however made her blush hotly, “Speaking of wings. If we’re going to doing this, i’m going to need to ask you to strip.”

“What?!”

He had to act fast so he wouldn’t wind up with a hoof shaped mark on the side of his face. Taking a step back, he stammered, “H-hold on. It’s not what you think. If anything goes wrong with the enchantments, we don’t want to have anything on ourselves we aren’t willing to lose. Clothes, jewelry, even our keys, they all have to be left behind so the only thing that can be affected is what we are working on.”

She begrudgingly complied. He was the expert in this specific situation, she she’d have to take his word for it. But that didn’t make her any more comfortable doing this in front of a stallion, “Fine… Just look away, okay?”

He gave her a curt nod before turning away from her and starting to undress himself. He had a lot less to deal with, merely a set of buttons and long sleeves, so getting his outfit off was a minor thing. Aurora however had to take a bit more time, being extra careful not to damage her ensemble as they’d be sure to need it for the dance later. She wasn’t wearing her usual wing harness, so that only added to the length of time it took for her to remove all her clothes.

Once finished, she asked him where she could place her normal belongings and he pulled out a mannequin from the back just for her to use. Once she was able to get it fitted, Platinum lead her with wings and harness in tow into the backroom by his office. He levitated one of the keys off the keyrack and opened up a cellar door leading under the store. Wooden and linoleum floors gave way to smoothly cut stone as he helped her down the ladder.

As they two arrived, torches lining the walls lit up revealing a lone wooden door. The atmosphere down here was surprisingly pleasant as a calming magical sensation washed over her. The stallion stated that the enchanting process is a delicate one, requiring a stable environment for both the materials and the ponies that handled them. He unlocked the wooden door, revealing another chamber that no doubt was larger than the building itself, most likely jutting out into the street.

Inside the chamber was an enchanting table in the center as well as a lexicon that housed the numerous spells that could be applied to objects. Along one wall was a glass case that held numerous bands and horn rings of all shapes, sizes, metals, and gems. It was something that Platinum had only glanced at briefly as they passed by it, instead opting to stop at the opposite wall which likewise had another glass case full of differing gems. By the looks of things, he had quite a collection going on, and she was sure it would only get bigger as time went on.

Sighing, he stated, “Alright, here comes the fun part. Probably the only fun part. Pick a gem, any gem… This will be the focal point for all the action. Seeing as the first enchantment will be made specifically for you, you have to chose.”

That was quite a choice to put on her and with such a large amount of gem sto chose from, it was hard to pick just one. Showing a look of concern, she turned to him and asked, “Any suggestions?”

“Just go with your gut. Whatever strikes your fancy.”

As she pondered her choice, his words continued to echo in her mind, “They say you can tell a lot about a pony by what they chose for their first enchantment. My mother even once compared it to like getting a cutiemark.”

Oh? That statement gave her pause, ears perking up in interest. Smiling slyly, she asked, “Oh? What did your mother chose then?”

He answered quickly, her question bringing fond memories of his mother to his mind as he levitated a crystal over to them, “Black tourmaline. Bronze was the metal and it was a horn ring. The spell was a shield spell, meant to protect those she cared about.”

“And you?”

“Red Fire Quartz. Silver. Ring of fire. Bonuses to fire protection and enhances fire based abilities… I have made others better than it, but it was the one that earned me my mark.”

She snickered, ‘I guess the comparison was both literal and figurative…’

Turning all the way around to face him, she hoped to get an honest answer out of him while he was busy reflecting on the past, “And what would you say would be mine, based on what you know of me so far?”

To her own surprise, he actually answered, giving her a knowing glance as he mused, “You seem to me like you’d be a diamond type of mare.”

A little corny but if he had a good enough explanation, she’d love to hear it. And he did have one, one that made her heart pound in her chest like a drum as he took step after step closer to her, “It starts off as a lump of coal, the black swan of stones. So full of potential, just waiting to be unlocked. Years of intense heat and pressure pounds upon it, breaking it, reforming it, purifying it into the beautiful rock it is today. It’s not perfect, but nothing really is. As an expert in geology, it is still a stunning sight to behold..”

He was right in her face now, close enough for them to feel each other’s breaths on their faces. Their muzzles turned a vibrant red as the two of them looked away from each other. Aurora was the first to speak, “Were you… Um… Flirting, with me?”

His voice matched the bewildered expression on his muzzle, “I don’t know. Was I?”

The mare shuffled her hooves a little, looking at the ground as if unsure how to handle this situation, “Well… If you were… It might have been working.”

He chuckled nervously as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I see… I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable. It’s unprofessional.”

She shook her head, waving a hoof dismissively, “Nonono… It’s fine, really. It just caught me a little off guard. It hit a little bit too close to home is all.”

Judging by her expression and posture, it must have been difficult to admit this in such an awkward situation, “You see… I’m trans, colt to mare in fact.”

And that was it, the truth came out and she awaited his response. While ponies in Equestria were a bit more accepting to this sort of thing, it was still something that drew up quite a buzz whenever it was brought up. And seeing that she’s pretty famous, it’d be even bigger of a controversy.

She was once again caught off guard when the smaller Unicorn drew her into a hug, squeezing her gently, “Aurora… Do you really think it’d matter if you used to be a guy? Who you used to be is not who you are now.”

Drawing back, he continued his encouraging statements, “When I look at you, I see a strong, confident, and talented pony. Somepony to be admired, regardless of their gender. If you’re heart is in the right place, I’d like you even if you were a colt.”

Touched by the stallions kind words, she leaned forward and kissed him, an act that left him completely bewildered. Stunned, he stood there in silence as she smiled widely at him in gratitude, “Thank you Platinum… I think I will go with a diamond.”

Eventually, he did manage to snap out his daze and help her locate a suitable diamond for the wings. The rest of the needed gems would come after the necessary spells would be selected. As simple as they were, a couple of remote manipulation spells and a variation of telepathy that would link them to the wearer’s mind, this was more complicated than most of the other accessories that he had crafted.

There was also the issue of having little data on actual pegasi anatomy so the process isn’t as fluid or as natural as either of them hoped, but with a little practice and repeated attempts, Platinum was able to get them to work.

By the end of it, the stallion looked worn out. Even with all the abundant magic around him, all of the repeated attempts at getting the wings just right took its toll on him. However, seeing Aurora get to try it on and give the wings a few test flaps, albeit sluggish ones, made it all worth it to him. Sighing, Platinum was finally able to rest his aching head on the table and just watch her as she tried getting the hang of things.

“It feels… Weird.”

He chuckled sluggishly, noting how she nearly slapped herself with a wing, “Well, I don’t expect you to be able to get this within a few minutes. Give it time, you’ll get the hang of it, i’m sure.”

She nodded, taking a step closer to Platinum and taking a seat at the table beside him, “Thanks again for staying up and working on this… I appreciate it. Really, I do.”

“Don’t worry about it. What are partners for? Enchanting is what i’m best at anyway… Once we get more data on all this, i’m sure it won’t take as long.”

Pulling himself off the table, he stretched with a yawn. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he was certain it was well into the night. Odds are, it’s too late to go back to the prom tonight, so they’ll have to debut her new wings the next. Oh well, at least it’d give the both of them ample time to catch up on some much needed sleep and get Aurora used to her new faux wings. Celestia knows she’d need the practice time.

Shaking the sleep from his eyes just a little longer, he asked, “Hey… You got a place to sleep tonight?”

She nodded, likewise needing to shake herself just to get moving again after getting comfortable, “Yeah, I do… But it’s a little far.”

“Hmmm… Follow me.”

Platinum lead her back out of the enchanting chamber and up a flight of stairs leading up to the bedrooms. Opening one of the doors he motioned for her to step inside. It was a simple room with only a few furnishings like a bed, a wardrobe, and a mirror, but it would do for now, “You can stay here for the night. Just be sure not to leave the place a mess in the morning. It’s Bastion’s week to be the maid and he hates cleaning up messes.”

She smiled, “Thank you Platinum, but don’t you think this is a bit much?”

The stallion rolled his eyes, “What? That’s nonsense. I’m saving you the trouble of walking home in the dark when you can barely keep standing.”

He continued through a yawn, “I’m doing you a favor.”

Platinum motion motioning down the hall as he cracked the door, “The washroom is down the hall on the left, help yourself to as much hot water as you need and my room is the one closest to the stairs if you need anything.”

And with that, there wasn’t much more she could say. He was already more than hospitable to her so far, so to cause any more trouble now would be uncalled for. Rather than say anything more on the matter, she simply laid out on the bed and blew him a kiss, “Get a good night’s rest. You’ll need it.”

That night and the next few to come was probably the best Platinum had ever had. He now has a new business partner, a new venture into the world of enchanting, and said enchantments were something that could actually be sold to the public without worry of ponies fighting over them with as much.

As for Aurora, the exhibition of her new faux wings had done quite well. Her first stunning unfurling of her wings drew enough of a crowd to stroke her own ego for the time being. By the time the compliments and flirtatious comments had died down, she was more than ready to resign herself to nights of dancing and fine dining with her date.

When it was time for the two of them to go their separate ways, they had agreed to meet up every once in a while to chat and maybe go out to eat. As for their business, they also agreed to only sell the enchanted wings every once in awhile due to the time and energy it takes to make them.

#ask-acepony #long post #pony prom 2017 #Story time #Platinum #aurora (ace pony)#The prom

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mmoxie · 7 years

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50 Character Questions For Karalonde

@memes4less asked me to do the whole darn ask meme for a character of mine that i like a lot, and it took some time, but

it happened, and i’m just, so incredibly sorry to mobile users if this somehow eats your dash

here’s a readmore tho

What is your OC’s favorite color? Yellow.

Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect? Curios and antiques from Elven history.

What kind of things is your OC allergic to? No allergies.

What kind of clothing does your OC wear? Very huge yellow cloak full of pockets is a must. Steel-toed boots, sweaters, comfortable all-weather pants. It takes a lot to get her into something elegant.

What is your OC’s first memory? Her mothers and mentors, the spooky old Ravens Grey, holding her hands and singing songs to her.

What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite? Karalonde gets along very well with corvids. They tend to recognize her as another corvid, like a very big crow or raven. On the flip-side, dogs don't trust her, and she doesn't trust them.

What element would your OC be? Sodium.

What is your OC’s theme song?

The Heavy - No Place For A Hero

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhwDxNqWtxk

Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC? Nah.

What deadly sin would best represent your OC? This one's a toss-up. I'm going to go with Pride though, because she's sure of herself to a tragic fault. Believing without question that she's making the right decision, because she's Karalonde, so of course she's right, has been her downfall more than once.

What are your OC’s hobbies? She used to play guitar. Hasn't picked it up again since she lost her eyes, but she could.

How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they? She's patient until she's not. Dynamite with a really, really long fuse is still dynamite. When she's angry, she's Category Five Angry.

What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.? She's a night elf, a trans woman, and a lesbian.

What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods? She's a total disaster about modern food. Absolutely spoiled by the world of greasy and salty and deep-fried. But she's got a soft spot for kimchi, which she grew up on, and likes her meat rare.

If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why? A corvid of some kind. She's always had an affinity for them due to her upbringing. Whenever she encounters one in the wild, she has a way of approaching them that makes her seem to be a Very Large Raven, rather than a different creature altogether.

What does your OC smell like? Boot polish.

How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job? Karalonde found and sold a great deal of her belongings from half an eternity ago in order to build a large savings. Large enough that she can coast on it for basically as long as she wants, as long as she lives simply- which she prefers. Most days, she takes a boat to the Broken Shore and participates in holding the line there, helping to keep the demons from advancing any closer to the mainland. Her dream job requires that the war be over. She wants to go back to being a public servant. Maybe the mayor of a small town, or some other low-caliber politician. She considers her current "job" a necessary service, but it places her uncomfortably close to the Illidari.

What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths? Karalonde fears failure to the point of outright "you didn't win" levels of denial. She also fears abandonment. She's absolutely awful at expressing herself, and this distances herself from would-be friends and romantic partners, and this is exacerbated by her vast ego, which insists that she can't be in the wrong for acting that way. She is, however, phenomenally physically strong, literally fireproof, and she can, on occasion, channel her inability to otherwise express herself into a passionate drive to protect the few people she can keep close to her- even if that means doing something as dangerous and oafish as picking a fight on their behalf.

What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song? Karalonde likes things that sound like Spanish guitar. She also has a certain fondness for the powerful drums the Trolls use.

If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do? She's been traveling offworld for half an eternity, thanks to her career with the Illidari. If anything, she'd just be shocked to find out that the Earth isn't a smoldering husk. The next step after that would be to casually assimilate, never explaining her appearance or origins, pawning off her extremely valuable gold coins from Azeroth in exchange for fat stacks of cash. She'd miss out on a lot of our visual media due to her general eyelessness, but once she got the hang of things, she'd almost certainly end up a celebrity. Maybe even star in an action movie.

What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves? Lack of decorum makes Karalonde very upset. She's got a strict sense of what's proper behavior, and she's not above delivering a hard slap to remind her close acquaintances to behave when she's around. She also has a stomach ulcer, and arthritis in her knees and hands. Her only pet peeves are all to do with communication- she hates when strangers interject with "their two coppers," and she'll often deny them outright if they ask to contribute. Likewise, she hates un-asked-for explanations, and will mock anyone providing one with "ah, look at the young scholar," or something to that effect.

What kind of student were they/would they be in high school? Horrible. Just the worst. Not even a disruption in class, just the kid who seems to always have better things to do than be there. Abysmal attendance record. Shows up whenever she wants. Gets into fights in the cafeteria pretty often over basically nothing. Steals little things all the time. --Librarian's pet, though. If she's not in class, she can be found there, helping stock returns and organize the shelves, holding surprisingly mature and serious conversations with the librarian about her future.

What is a random fact about your OC? At least once in her life, Kara has- just like a dog- chased after and eaten a bee. With the consequences you'd expect.

What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living? Kara is a firm believer in "all the fake things, all the bullshit, all the wishy-washy myths and mysteries." Every cryptid is real, every mystery has its fantastical conclusion, every conspiracy is worth investigation. She insists that it's the fake things- "the things we invent, because we like the sound of them" that contribute a newfound value to the dirt and grass and trees. Every ritual, she believes, is a total fabrication- an invention that, by virtue of our commitment to it, achieves its function. The only "fake thing" she questions is the Holy Light, because she finds it uncomfortably godless. "Where in the hell is their deity," she's asked more than once, "how in blazes did they reckon on just -light?-" The truth of that is, she just finds it unimaginative- lacking the spark of imagination that comes with grander rituals and other "fake things." But a world rich with fake things is a world she wants to protect. She's invented a great many, herself, ascribing value to trinkets and places and even articles of clothing. She'd save the world just for the sake of the value she finds in an idea. Even a really silly idea. Especially a really silly idea.

What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them? In a lot of ways, Kara is wish fulfillment. She's beautiful, she's strong, she's capable. But in other ways, she's constantly failing, She's a lapsed Illidari who broke the bond with her demon because the two of them fell in love, for goodness' sake. Talk about taboo on top of taboo. She's wrong about most everything, but she believes so hard and so sincerely- and again, that's wish fulfillment. I wish I could believe like Karalonde believes. She's only a fan character in the sense that she's not built out of My Original Lore, but really, there's only so much structure that Blizzard offers to characters, so they end up 1% Blizz, 99% Your Effort. She's always been kind of the same, ever since I made her, but she's changed in subtle ways- being more indulgent, telling more jokes, opening up little by little, learning to care about others again. Her journey's gradual, and she's got a long way to go.

Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why? It's hard to say. Kara makes herself into a mother figure accidentally, all the time. She ends up attached to someone and worries about them, and next thing she knows, she's rushing to protect them. But there are a few- a very select, very distinct few- who she sees the "makings of greatness" in. And yes, John Silver from Treasure Planet went into the pot, when I was making up Karalonde for the first time. She fixates on these people- often slow-witted but sincere, brave but prone to accidents, full of self-doubt but in possession of great ambition- and she dotes on them. She provides what she can for them, even if it's just providing encouragement. She wants them to succeed, because she's already lost the war, as far as she can tell- but they don't have to. They could win it. To contrast, boastful warriors who go on and on about their conquests and victories, she considers fodder to be fed to the Legion. Let them go and die, if that's what they want, because they don't have or make any fake things to enrich this world.

What kind of childhood did your character have? A very strange one. The Ravens Grey served as three different mother figures- One was tall and thin and very judgmental. One was hairy and squat and very slow to speak. The third was near-about the elven ideal, beautiful and youthful- but she had strange habits, drinking smoky concoctions and babbling prophecy. They each raised Karalonde in their own way, but also together, as a family. They taught her to be shrewd and clever, and never meaner than she had to be. To be tacit when it served her, and to make speeches when- and only when- they were called for. They molded her into an elf that could serve the woods, one of the finest politicians their village would ever see. None of them- not even the babbling prophet- expected that the woods would burn and Kara would find herself trapped in service to the Illidari. They were kind to her, but not coddling. They chose lessons over discipline. If she was going to scrape her knee, she was going to learn how to mend it. If she was going to throw a rock at the boy across the street, she was expected to explain why he deserved it, to their satisfaction. Otherwise, she'd get a lecture on when it's appropriate to throw rocks, and what rocks are the best kind to throw, and where you ought to throw a rock depending on how upset a person makes you. She grew up to be a woman who is very good at throwing rocks.

What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions? Her ears twitch when she's angry or overstimulated. When she's frustrated, she'll grab an old trinket out of her coat and polish it until it squeaks. She's not an alcoholic, but she's fonder of a cosmopolitan than the average elf.

If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose? [KARALONDE - BORN IN TIME IMMEMORIAL - DIED IN BED, BENEATH A DOZEN GOBLINS] She always was too friendly with the waitresses in the Bay.

Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why? She considers marriage an "Eastern tradition," like worship of the Light, necromancy, and failing to maintain a functioning kingdom. That said, if she was proposed to, she might open up to the idea. Just for the sake of trying something new. As for kids, she's never had one. She was meant to have one- a child intended to be the next leader of her village- but it never came to fruition, due to the woods burning. As things stand, she may end up a godmother for one of her friends. She might like a child of her own, but she's not ready to settle down. Not even after all this time.

What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory? She wasn't taken offworld by choice. She wanted to stay in the woods, hold the line, defend her village. She was dragged by the armpits through a portal, to go "fight them where they live." She's been bitter with Illidan and his ilk ever since, and it hurts her every day, to think back on what she was forced to leave behind. To contrast, her very favorite memory involves going to a quiet glade in Duskwood where the green dragons used to stay, and finally being able to touch the waters of a moonwell without them burning her skin. She was in the company of a young druid, who sang and kept her safe while she fretted and protested and doubted aloud until she finally found the courage to try. There was no greater relief than knowing that the mother moon recognized her again, even a little bit.

If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be? One thing? How big or small scale is this? Like... one article of clothing, or one concept? For the sake of a good answer, I'll choose concept and go with "a home." She hasn't had a place to call home since the woods burned, and she wants one very badly. So badly that she's willing to occupy old elven ruins that've been abandoned and start dressing them up again.

Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? She "doesn't kill things of the good dirt that walk on two legs." This has to be broken down, a bit- "things of the good dirt" means creatures of all kinds who are made out of flesh and blood as a result of living somewhere. By this metric, demons are not things of the good dirt, largely. Many of them are composed of dark magic from the nether in their entirety- or they've been killed and remade so many times that nothing remains of what they once were, when they came up from their "good dirt." Then there's the matter of two legs- if it moves on four, it tends to qualify as prey. She considers herself an old creature of the woods, and as such a creature, she eats what she damn well pleases. These aren't hard rules, however. She'd eat a human or an orc or any such creature if she had to, and feel no moral or ethical dilemma whatsoever- she considers them to be "made of the same meat I am." If it's not a matter of eating or driving back the Legion to protect her home, then she absolutely will not kill. Maim, bludgeon, assault, she'll beat the daylights out of someone who crosses her- but she won't kill them. She, like the Ravens before her, would rather teach a lesson.

What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? Kara isn't the life of the party, but she's an active participant. She's belligerent and traditional in a lot of ways, but she likes to laugh and she likes to have a good time, and she's got the good sense not to make a bad situation out of a good one- unless she's really, terribly bothered by something, in which case she'll raise hell. She doesn't belong to any clubs or organizations anymore, but she's casually trying to form some- a township in some abandoned ruins, for example- and she hands out yellow cloaks to match hers, to any lapsed, failed, or rejected Illidari in need.

How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? She has a spectacular imagination, but it's limited by her perspective. Her ideas are fanciful and sometimes brilliant, but they have the same kind of old-fashioned charm that "old sci-fi" has compared to the sci-fi we're used to now. She doesn't worry, but she is prone to fantasizing- and she does do a great deal of living in memories, because she has an eternity of nostalgia to sift through.

What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? She wants the war to end. She's tired of having to fight in it, she was never meant to. She doesn't have many compulsive needs, but she does like to fight more than the average elf. By a long shot. She's done sacrificing, though. She'll kick ass and take names all up and down the Legion front, but she's already given up her eyes, her home, her lover, her allegiances, her dignity, her glaives, her traditions, her family, her friends, her neighbors, and every last tree in the woods we now call Felwood. She's Fucking Tired Of Sacrifices And She's Going To Keep And Protect Everything Else That Exists Now, God Damn It.

What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do? Bumps into walls. If it's not enchanted, she can't fucking see it. But she's too proud to use a cane or a dog, so she just struggles against the physical world because she needs to insist to herself that she's fine.

What would your character do with a million dollars? She already has a million dollars. She's chosen to live well within her means, do a job that satisfies her, and make meaningful personal connections.

What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can? Fridge: Several stolen platters from New Years celebrations. Meat and cheese and vegetable dip trays from several different parties she wandered through. Also, a gallon of milk, a gallon of sweet tea, and a gallon of lemonade.

Bedroom floor: Gigantic heaps of treasure, stolen from everywhere. Rugs, quilts, piles of loose gold and silver trinkets, pottery and riches. It looks like the Cave of Wonders from Aladdin in there.

Nightstand: Flask of spring water from halfway up Hyjal. Gnomish audio recorder featuring a tape with instructions on how to read braille. Three other gnomish audio tapes are nearby, with instructions on how to use the Common alphabet, a recording of some very good guitar played by a pirate in the Bay, and a highly explicit tape, also bought in the Bay, which features very animated readings of a couple "steamy romance novels."

Garbage can: Empty soup cans, spent matches, various wrappers and shreds of wax paper.

Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with? You can count on somewhere expensive. Kara likes paying extra for something quiet and special and well-crafted, so fine dining suits her. Even if she eats with her hands. She was given a dress over Winter Veil, made of embersilk. It fits, and she likes to wear it out. Odds are, she'll go out with a friend- but if she had a choice, she'd get a celebrity on her arm. She'd love to stir up a controversy by being caught out at dinner with a world leader, like Tyrande or Sylvanas. Especially Sylvanas- she feels like they'd have a lot to talk about, in their long years.

What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? Pick fights. She's an extremely physical woman.

Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? S h i t l o a d s. Where do you think? She's been fighting the Legion for goodness knows how long. Longer than most.

What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said? "It's only a human. Wheel it off to a priest before it stinks, or eat it."

How does your character react/ accept criticism? ...It takes her a while. A long while. Usually something painful and humbling has to knock some sense into her before she'll accept a new idea.

If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza? She fucking loves pineapple on pizza.

Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works? Poke at it, then put it away. She believes very strongly in the sorcery of the Trolls, and she's not going to test her luck.

Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle? She can't draw. She also can't read, or see.

What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult? I feel like I already answered this one. The Ravens Grey were strange, confusing, but ultimately compassionate old witches whose methods carried both the danger and directness of the old trolls, and the dignity and decorum of the new elves. Kara, as an adult- having gone through so much- still tries to make herself like them. They were good to her. She appreciates how they raised her.

Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush? Candy makes her sick. She'd never eat enough to get a rush, she'd vomit. Hates the taste. Even chocolate.

If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count? She'd embrace it with open arms. She's been waiting to die for a long time, and death simply hasn't come to her. She'd feel relief, in passing away. She'd get her affairs in order as best she could, distribute her wealth, talk to the people she wanted to talk to- Tyrande, Sylvanas, Boss Mida, Alexstrasza, Chromie, Shandris, and Varok Saurfang, in particular- and then call it quits. Take it easy, stay home and close to her loved ones, and just let herself finally die. An eternity is long enough to live. Let someone else handle the next one.

#memes4less #karalonde

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satellitescion · 6 years

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About Záigon

(Warning before you proceed- theres been like no editing in this, so how things are described will probably jump around a lot. There’s also mentions of death if anyone happens to be sensitive to that)

Where he gets what from

He’s got two sets of families to get shit from, the first being his biological family that he lived with til they died when he was eight, and the second his adopted family in Divinity’s Reach

He’s definitely got his “calm” from his genetics, as I imagine his adopted family would have little chill. He’s got his fighting style from his dad, who inspired him to learn to use a great sword in the first place. His mother granted him his looks, dark hair, pale skin. Blue eyes came from his father.

His “grumpy” attitude comes from growing up in a restricting household, and his teen rebellion evolved into a large portion of his personality. He also gets his organising skills from his businessman “father”/caregiver.

He’s rather closed off and independent, a result of being orphaned and put into a family he didn’t quite fit. He’s got trust issues, as a lot of past friendships and relationships have backfired on him, as well as taunts from other kids. He’s no where near eager to consider anyone a friend, aside from Faren, who is the last of his childhood friends who he still has with him. He’s probably also got mild ptsd, but that’s pretty self explanatory from all the shit that happens in the story. Rarely gets decent sleep, yet still functions relatively well. He’s used to it.

Feelings, relationships and shit

He’s gay and Biromantic (sexually into only guys, could be romantically into girls, yet has no desire to date any, mainly because he can’t be bothered to explain how he’s gay yet has a girlfriend), and has only ever had one official relationship. They were together for around 2 years before Mars had to leave for Elona (parents joined Order Of Shadows or something), and haven’t seen eachother since. Mars has of course been watching over Záigon, though he’s scared to actually meet with him, especially as they have a son together (Mars is trans), Quinn.

While he has a strong bond with his colleague, partner, whatever you wanna call her Aikota, he doesn’t even consider her a friend due to his trust issues (thinks she’s immune to his “curse” of friends dying or leaving mysteriously that way). They tease each other a fair bit, but offer support to each other when needed (more like Záigon comforts the mildly emotional Aikota, who is terrible at giving support).

One thing that caused a large rift in his old friendship group was the death of his best friend Joel’s brother. After Joel tried to hold Záigon back from saving Tom (due to fear of losing him too), Joel snapped out of grief and rage and blamed Záigon for the death. He even went as far as to claim Záigon had killed Tom himself, but not many believed him. Still, the separation of the two tore their friends apart, causing most of them to go with and support Joel.

As for family ties, his biological family died when he was 8, and he doesn’t consider the family who took him in as his family, so he really only has his “adopted daughters” Aurene and Taimi from what he knows. He’s the team dad, and subconsciously “adopts” his guildmates as kids. Still very much unaware of how close Mars really is, and even more so of their son.

Other General stuff

He’s 25, lives in his family home in Kessex Hills (pretending there is an actual accessible house there), though he’s usually away from home on missions and the like. He has names for all of his minions, but he hasn’t named all of his mounts yet. All can’t tell the difference between his bone minions, so he just tries to avoid calling them individually when he can. Which is surprisingly hard to do when he lets his minions roam his house as they please, and he needs to call for them or tell them off for things. They’re essentially like really weird pets, but he doesn’t consider them as such. He’s a follower of Grenth, which naturally inspired him to talk the necromancy path, yet he isn’t as much of a “passionate follower” of the gods as some others. He respects all of the Five, obviously favouring his god. He doesn’t pray as much as those around him, especially after learning about the gods leaving, yet he still makes visits to the cathedral of silence.

#gw2 #nhn zaigon #writing #character description #Zaigon Everyn

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mysurveys · 7 years

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Random Qs

Survey #27 on the Countdown to 2018!

This survey was also done last Tuesday.

What’s the date today?

It's April 4th now.

Are you wearing jeans?

I'm wearing PJs right now.

What comes to mind when I say the word "pink"?

Cherry blossoms and one of my old OFCs named Sakuya Momoka.

Do you believe in finding the good in people?

I've only ever been unable to find good in one person. I didn't get to know them on a personal level nor did I want to so it's not like it really matters that much.

There's obviously both good and bad in everyone, though. Having a black and white mentality about others is just childish.

Has anyone let you down recently?

No, not really.

If you married the last person you rode in a car with, what would your name be?

The last person I rode in a car with is my mother and we share the same surname.

What jewelry are you wearing and where did you get it?

I'm only wearing my fave ring that I got from my maternal grandmother. She bought it at LifeWay.

What was the last thing someone said to you?

I have no idea.

What was the last thing someone asked you?

I really don't remember that either, besides the obvious.

Did you sleep alone last night?

Yes, I did, as per usual.

What will you be doing tomorrow around 2 PM?

I don't know yet.

Was the last person you spent the night with male or female?

I last stayed the night at my maternal grandmother's while our AC was out.

Have you ever kissed that person?

I haven't even kissed her on the cheek.

What're the last four digits of the number of the last person to call you?

I'm not telling you parts of people's phone numbers. It's pointless anyway.

Where was the last place you went today?

Market Basket.

Do you tan?

I don't tan at all. I only ever burn from exposure to the sun.

Have you ever spent the night on a rooftop?

I haven't.

Have you ever played hide and seek in a cornfield?

I haven't and I wouldn't want to either.

What's the nearest big city to you?

DTD makes this difficult to remember since I don't normally pay attention to such. Beaumont? I'm not aware of the population number.

What do you consider your hometown?

I first lived in Beaumont, but that was so brief that Nederland is more so my hometown.

Are you still living there?

I'm still in Nederland, but we want to move out of southeast Texas.

Do you live within twenty minutes of your best friend?

I live with my mother who's been one of my besties since I became an adult, but the rest of them are out-of-state or in Japan.

Are you wearing socks at the moment?

I'm not since I usually take them off as soon as I get home.

Have you ever taken any foreign language classes?

I never had any formal classes for Japanese, but I picked it up fluently from my friends. It was the next best thing to being dropped in Japan and learning out of necessity.

I'm not solid with the written form yet just because it's so complex, though. And I'm not really that dedicated to learning it either. It's not entirely necessary.

Were your parents married when they had you?

Yes, they were and they were trying to have a baby too.

Are they married now?

Yes, they are.

Would you marry someone 30 years older than you if they had millions?

I wouldn't marry someone just for their money since I'm not a gold-digger.

What was the last irresponsible thing you’ve done?

I don't often act irresponsibly of my own volition, but I did use my Zeroes as a crutch last month. There were so many physical pains going on in my body that I noticed how Zeroes alleviated it with an emotional feeling.

That's part of why I'm going to schedule an appointment with a new therapist soon. I need better coping mechanisms.

How long were you employed at your last job?

I've been on disability since I was seventeen so I've never had a paid job. Someone with Bipolar insomnia, dyscalculia, DTD, and long-term memory problems can't really hold a steady paid job. The only "work" I do is for my nonprofit group as a result.

Are you very stressed at the moment?

I'm not really feeling stressed right now, but I am pretty tired.

Who was the last person to make you cry?

It was partly due to my mother's lack of understanding and assistance, I think. That was sometime last year.

At least I'm guessing the last time had something to do with all of my hormonal issues involving endometriosis, hypothyroidism and diabetes. That was before I finally got a hysterectomy to alleviate some of my problems.

Did they apologize for it?

She did multiple times, but I discovered that they were empty words until the point that I had a mini breakdown. And even after that I had to lose my cool again after she was being a bitch about helping me get a non-drowsy pain medication.

Not only did it say it would make me drowsy and dizzy, it was one I was allergic to. She'll be callous like that out of nowhere.

How're things between you and your ex?

Which ex? I only speak to two of them who're my besties. One is moving on and looking for love locally. The other is obsessive and still stuck on me despite my best efforts to dissuade him. I really can't do anything more to help him let go.

How long have you been in your current relationship or been single?

I can't remember exactly when I broke it off with Sasuke M. last year. Or was that this year? Math if I know.

Have you ever fired a gun?

I haven't. I understand the dynamics, though.

Do you come from a town with a population of less than 3K?

No, I don't.

How far is it to the nearest Walmart?

Not very far, but I couldn't tell you in numeric terms due to dyscalculia and DTD.

What was the total of the last check you wrote?

I don't think I've ever done that outside of Home Ec. so I obviously know how, but I prefer not to be involved in writing them since I have dyscalculia.

Mom mixes my finances with theirs all the time because I trust her with it. I only monitor all of my entertainment purchases very closely because that pertains to my personal budget.

Do you ever donate to charities like the Salvation Army?

I think Mom drops them some change sometimes, but I prefer to donate strictly to smaller local charities when I can.

Charity begins at home and should extend to the community around you. Paying into big corporate charity groups is an unnecessary risk.

"The Salvation Army wants people like me (gay, trans, and mentally ill) dead. So no, and I hope everyone who supports them dies an agonizing death and burns in their christian hell." ← Do you believe everything you hear without validating it for yourself?

For everyone's future reference, the verse in question is Romans 1:32 which has nothing to do with physical death.

"They know God’s Law says that anyone who lives like that should die. But they not only continue to do these things themselves but also encourage others who do them." That's the Easy To Read Version.

It's speaking to Christians about various sins and sin itself causing a person to lack eternal life through salvation in Christ. Living in sin without repentance equates to eternal damnation and death. That's not the same thing as physically dying.

Why would Christ die on the cross for people He hates or wants to die physically? That doesn't even make any sense.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have eternal life."

That's inescapably clear about the context of Romans 1:32 and the Bible says that kind of thing quite often. So don't believe everything you hear.

There will never be a deficit of humans who misinterpret God's Word without meaning to be malicious or those who misuse the Bible for their own evil ends.

If you want to know what the Bible says about anything, open it up and start reading it for yourself. That's what you have to do with literally everything else, right?

What're some lyrics from a song you've recently listened to?

"No magic can make you reappear, but in the song of the whales you are always here." That's a lyric from Return To Me from Winx Club: Beyond Believix and it's about Musa and her mother.

Do you consider yourself flexible?

To some extent, but I ish teh fat. I can surprisingly touch my toes without bending my knees, though. That's pretty good for a fatty.

Have you taken any medicine today?

I haven't taken anything since the clock hit 12 AM.

What were you doing at 5 PM?

Yesterday I was online for a bit, but it's only 2:54 AM right now. (Why am I awake!)

What's a song that reminds you of a friend and can you describe the memory it brings up?

There are only a few that remind me of past romantic relationships. I more often relate music to fictional charries.

How old were you when September 11th occurred?

Ugh, math and timelines. I was born in 1986 on May 27th so you can calculate that yourself.

Does rain make you feel depressed?

It never has that effect on me, but I sometimes want it to end if it goes on for days or if I want to go outside.

How about winter?

I love winter. It's the oppressive heat of the summer that I hate even though that season still has its merits.

What’s the nearest holiday to your birthday?

Easter falls near it just to name a major holiday here, but Cinco de Mayo, Mother's Day and Memorial Day are all closer to the date of my birth with the last one being the closest. However, Ramadan is on the actual date.

If you found out you were pregnant, who would you tell first?

That's not even possible as I have no uterus.

Has anyone given you flowers in the last six months?

Definitely not, but I don't want to receive anything that's dying and senselessly killing things to show love is gross.

How did you meet the last person to leave you a comment?

I don't even pay attention to such and I spent a lot of last month away from all social media sites too.

How long have you known the last person to call or text you?

I've known my mother since I was conceived. I was very much alive and growing at the time.

How old's the last person you rode in a car with?

Mom is 66 or 67 right now. Dyscalculia and long-term memory problems mean that I'll never get a fix on that.

What did you do when you hung out with the last person you kissed?

That was well over a decade ago so there's no way I can recall that.

What grade are you in at the moment?

I'm 30 and I never even went to a typical high school. I was in an all-grade Christian school before making an attempt at homeschooling via the web, but I pretty much knew it was useless regarding math and science. They finally let me quit.

Where's your phone right now? Who's your provider?

What was the last chore you did?

Something to do with my cats, I'm sure.

Do you prefer online classes or real classes?

"Online classes are real classes." ← This. I tried homeschooling via the internet, but I just dislike formal classes altogether.

What's the nearest red object to you?

The label on a bottle of Ozarka spring water.

What was the last board game you played?

I'm assuming it was Monopoly since that was the only board game I ever really loved. I'm great with the logical aspects of economics, but I really should've been paying other players to count my money. LOL

What're you doing after this survey?

I might do another survey or try to get some sleep after this, but I really don't feel so tired right now. I'm pretty sure that I've gone into the point of Bipolar insomnia.

I might end up watching some TV after this if I can't find another survey that looks good. Or I'll just migrate all my LJ stuff over to DW instead. Sleep eludes me.

#randomqs #surveys

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esthermeronobaro · 7 years

Photo

Rebel Grrrls: Ovarian Psycos

Beautiful Godzilla is a column about my feminist bicycle adventures for SLUG Magazine. Published monthly in print from 2011-2014. Read the original online and in print on page 24.

Ovarian Psycos’ Maryann Aguirre, aka La Fingers, answers a phone somewhere in East LA with unrestrained enthusiasm as I state my name on the other end at the SLUG Headquarters in Salt Lake.

My own excitement is muted by slight intimidation and the natural awkwardness that accompanies my introduction to any stranger, but something about her voice is familiar, and it greases the stiffness I’m feeling. She’s just arrived at her home after biking from work in the heat, and, having ridden to the office during pit-staining temperatures earlier that day myself, it’s easy to lament her discomfort. As we discuss her bicycle, a Raleigh hybrid she’s pretty fond of, Aguirre speaks rapidly in Spanish-speckled English, her pitch inflecting upwards at the end of each sentence, giving my inquiries a boomerang effect.

As she explains her nickname, La Fingers, a result of being caught wagging her middle-finger on more than one occasion, I know I’m talking to the right person.

Bikini Kill’s “Rebel Girl” lyrics pop into my head as I listen––”That girl thinks she’s the queen of the neighborhood. She’s got the hottest trike in town. That girl holds her up so high. I think I wanna be her best friend, yeah!”––and I quietly make the (creepy) decision to friend request her later. Feeling conversational, I stray from the long list of chronological questions I’ve typed up, but Aguirre wants to stick to the plan––she’s been chosen to represent the Ovas in this particular interview, and she’s gonna do it right.

Though Aguirre tells me she has only been a part of the “womyn and womyn identified” Los Angeles bike crew for about a year, the Ovarian Psycos celebrated two years of female-empowered radicalness over the summer. The group was founded by Xela de la X, aka Cihuatl Ce, for similar reasons as many other female organizers, including myself: to provide a safe space for women (particularly women of color) within a very male-dominated community. Of course, their mission statement, goals and organization are much more ambitious and resourceful than my attempts have ever been, but I’ll get to the deep stuff in a moment. What initially attracted me to the Ovas, after the lovely Elizabeth Lopez Medina linked me to their merch page, was their deliciously deviant slogan:

“Ovaries so big, we don’t need no fucking balls.”

Yeah, yeah, feminism is about equality, yadda yadda––but the Ovarian Psycos are far from being the he-man haterz hypocritically correct ding-dongs are gonna make them out to be. Aguirre tells me the slogan came about organically and conscientiously, and was met with mostly positive feedback. “We’re not gonna have a fuckin’ ‘ride my bike and I feel so free!’ kind of slogan,” she says. “No––ovaries so big, we don’t need no fuckin’ balls!” Aguirre’s voice gets louder and she loses the questioning inflection as she explains the group’s target demographic.

“We try to be particular with the words that we choose to use because we’re trying to hit certain kinds of women,” she says. “Not just women who are just like ‘oh yeah, cool, I like to ride my bike,’ [but] women who need the sisterhood and the bonding … ‘at-risk’ society.”

Aguirre drops down an octave as she opens up about her own background, laying it out for me in a matter-of-fact kind of list. She’s 22-years-old, Chicana, and a mother of a 4-and-a-half-year-old, working full time. She’s had a rough life, growing up in the hood with an abusive parent, pregnant at 16. “It’s not just to go and ride our bikes,” she continues. “It’s much deeper than that. We’re trying to outreach to women [whom] society has decided are not the fucking top girl––they’re the fuck-ups.”

Ovarian Psycos’ mission statement shakes any doubts that this group of ladies doesn’t mean business. They claim to organize and cycle “for the purpose of healing our communities physically, emotionally and spiritually, by addressing pertinent issues through cycling,” and they have every aspect of this statement covered in just one of their many events––the Luna Ride. Surprisingly their only monthly “womyn and womyn-identified only” ride, the Luna Ride happens every full moon at sundown and promotes what Aguirre calls “wrap-around therapy.” “We bring in the physical, which is writing down miles and bike-riding and stuff, but at the end, we bring in a different level, which is why we’re different from other groups,” she says. This includes anything from talks on domestic violence and breast cancer, to special, indigenous ceremonies celebrating the Mayan Moon Goddess, Ix Chel. Aguirre senses my surprise and hesitation at her admittance to worshipping anything other than the two-wheeled whip between her legs, and explains that the ceremony is completely secular and rooted in culture, not theology.

“We have our ancestral background, so we feel the need to bring in these ceremonies because this is something that some of us have recently found,” she says. “For myself, I recently started being a little more spiritual.”

My reflex to recoil at the mention of spirituality is a personal flaw stemming from experiences inside the polarizing atmosphere created by Utah’s dominant religion, but Aguirre’s somewhat vague descriptions of the ceremony sound inviting. She’s hesitant to give me details, as it seems to be a personal and sacred experience, but explains it as a talking circle of introspection and celebration of the feminine––emotional and beautiful.

In addition to the Luna Rides, the Ovas also organize a variety of fun, sometimes-themed, co-ed rides, coordinate ladies and trans shop nights similar to Salt Lake’s own ladies nights at the Bicycle Collective, and table at a variety of community events. The Ovas are also currently seeking out their own space, a “bicycle womb” of sorts, Aguirre says, collaborating with the Boyle Heights Collaborative, funded through the California Endowment. All of this requires a lot of structure and organizing, and as Aguirre explains their leadership hierarchy, I can’t believe these women aren’t running the country yet––seriously, if this nation has any hope of surviving the next 50 years, it’s in the Ovarian Psycos.

The Ovas operate successfully as a decentralized form of government that changes seasonally.

The group as a whole is called the Ovarian Psycos Cycle Brigade, and it includes every man and woman who shows up to the rides and events. Group decisions are monitored by a Core Collective, made up of seven central figures and six SLITS (Sister Leaders In Training), who attend meetings every other week. The leadership heads, dubbed the Left and Right Ovaries (LRO), serve as co-chairs for the group and change with the seasons. One is a self-appointed volunteer, the other is chosen randomly from a hat, and their main purpose is to host the bi-weekly meetings. At these meetings, the Ovas discuss events, create agendas, decide how they want to be portrayed (pick someone to respond to that annoying Utah girl who keeps hassling them about an interview), and do “clit checks”––making sure everyone’s doing their fair share and getting shit done. The Ovas also have committees responsible for different aspects of the group, and Aguirre is currently part of the Outreach Committee as well as the Core Collective, handling much of the tabling, social media and, thankfully, interviews. What truly brings success to the group is their dedication to a worthwhile cause. “I don’t get paid for this, this is from the heart. As much stress as it might be, at the end of the day, none of us would be doing this if we weren’t getting our energy and our strength through our hearts and what we believe in,” says Aguirre. “It’s much deeper than how many likes we can get on Facebook.”

Aguirre shows more and more enthusiasm as we talk about events, and when I finally bring up Clitoral Mass, she nearly reaches through the phone and excitedly shakes my shoulders, telling me how amazing the event’s gonna be. Though Clitoral Mass, the female empowered version of Critical Mass, is a long-established, international event, (at the time of this interview) the Ovarian Psycos are organizing LA’s first-ever to coincide with the blue moon on August 31. “We just thought it was perfect!” says Aguirre, as the blue moon only happens every two to three years, and is surrounded by much of the folklore the Ovas subscribe to. I nearly fall off my chair when she gives me the date, as it happens alongside a previously planned trip to LA. Aguirre immediately exclaims that I HAVE to come, and asks if I need somewhere to stay, or if I’ll need a bike, explaining that they’ve set up a registry on their website for those coming into town for the big event. By the time this issue hits stands, I’ll have been a part of LA’s first Clitoral Mass, riding alongside a group of women who share my love of cycling and sisterhood.

I’ve been on the phone with Aguirre for over an hour as the interview begins to wrap up, and she feels like an old friend. I’m completely charmed by her attitude and sincerity:

“I just gotta go where I gotta go, and I gotta do what I gotta do, and no man’s gonna fuckin’ stop me,” she says at one point in our discussion, completely sealing the deal on that friend request, which I now get to make in person.

I ask her one last, heavy hitting question: “What does it mean to be an Ovarian Psyco?” Aguirre goes quiet for a moment. “Being an Ovarian Psyco is not necessary just for women, anyone can be an Ova,” she begins slowly. “Someone who’s proud of themselves and proud of who they are. Being an Ovarian Psyco doesn’t mean that you ride a bike or that you’re a mad cyclist, that you can write down miles. Being an Ovarian Psyco is more of a state of mind—it’s an identity. It’s the way I identify myself, just like I choose to identify myself as a Chicana. It’s not hating men, it’s being proud of who you are, taking charge of yourself, your body, your surroundings and loving your community and giving back.”

At the end, as I describe my own bicycle group, Salty Spokes, and complain to Aguirre how difficult and frustrating it is to organize events sometimes, she gives me exactly what I need to hear. “One person didn’t make Ovarian Psycos what it is. It took time and it took the heart of different women to start structuring it to what you see and what we do.”

Bikini Kill said it best:

“That girl thinks she’s the queen of the neighborhood. I got news for you––she is!”

Check out the online gallery for some photos of Clitoral Mass, and find the Ovarian Psycos on the web at ovarianpsycos.com.

#words #slugmagazine #ovarianpsycos #beautifulgodzilla #girlsonbikes #antigentrification #boyleheights #bikesforjustice #community #woc #bicycles #organizing

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