#i understand this is not the universal experience but this is a positive post and i want to keep it that way <3

[hella1975]

i know it's The Thing to be upset and existential on this site but honestly? there's something so comforting about being 19. i was terrified of entering my last year of teenagehood. i have spent every year since 16 hating the passage of time and feeling like my youth was slipping away from me, and something about 19 was huge to me. it felt like the last rung on a ladder, the last step, the final show, like it was all coming to an end and i'd have to figure my life out now.

but really if turning 19 was anything then it was anticlimactic. i spent so long dreading this year that now im here it's sort of like 'oh, yeah actually people still very much see me as a child and none of my peers have their shit together either'. because newsflash, in the grand scheme of things, anything younger than 30 is still considered very young. and now that dread is gone from my life, i've found myself really looking forward to my twenties. i cant wait to have a life for myself, to surround myself with people i choose, to have my own place that i can decorate and make homely and invite friends around whenever i want, to be able to finally say and think the things i want without being crippled by the teenage terror of being seen as too weird, too cringey. i can't wait to let myself be myself. i think it's really exciting

[aroaceleovaldez]

reminder that the only reason the "ADHD is actually demigod BATTLE STRATEGIES" and "dyslexia is DEMIGOD BRAINS HARDWIRED FOR ANCIENT GREEK" things exist in the PJO universe is because it's a very direct reference to early 2000s teaching/parenting techniques for neurodiverse and disabled children, which aimed to frame childrens' disabilities and hardships as a "superpower" or strength so that the children would feel more positively about their disabilities or situations. This technique has fallen out of favor since then for the most part since more often than not it just results in kids feeling as though their struggles are not being seen or taken seriously.

Yes, demigods are adhd/dyslexic (and sometimes autistic-coded) in the series. This is extremely important and trying to remove it or not acknowledge it makes the entire series fall apart because it is such a core concept. Yes, canon claims that their adhd/dyslexia is tied to some innate abilities, which is based on an outdated methodology. It's important to acknowledge that and understand where it comes from! But please stop trying to apply it to other pantheons in the series like "oh, the romans have dyscalculia because of roman numerals!" or "the norse demigods have dysgraphia for reasons!" - it's distasteful at best.

A better option is to acknowledge the meta inspiration for why that exists in the series, such as explaining potentially that Chiron was utilizing that same teaching methodology to try and help demigods feel more comfortable with their disabilities and they aren't literal powers. In fact, especially given Frank, there's implication that being adhd/dyslexic isn't a guaranteed demigod trait, which means it's more likely to be normally inherited from their godly parent/divine ancestor as a general trait, not a power, and further supports the whole "ADHD is battle strategy" thing being non-literal. It also implies the entire greco-roman pantheon in their universe is canonically adhd/dyslexic - and that actually fits very well with the themes of the first series. The entire central conflict of the first series fits perfectly as an allegory about neurodiverse/disabled children and their relationships with their undiagnosed neurodiverse/disabled parents and trying to find solutions together with their shared disability/disabilities that the kid inherited instead of becoming distant from each other (and this makes claiming equivalent to getting a diagnosis which is a fascinating allegory! not to mention the symbolism of demigods inheriting legacies and legends and powers from their parents and everything that comes with that being equivalent to inheriting traits, neurodiversity, and disabilities from your parents).

anyways neurodiversity and disability and the contexts in which the series utilizes representation of those experiences particularly during the 2000s symbolically within the narrative is incredibly important to the first series and the understanding of what themes it means to represent. also if i see one more "the romans have dyscalculia instead of dyslexia" post in 2023 i'm gonna walk into the ocean.

[commander-rahrah]

Firsts

Pairing: Astarion (non-ascended) x GN!Reader Word Count: ~1200 archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

Summary: Post ending of BG3, established relationship. GN!Tav/Reader having a bit of self doubt and worrying that Astarion fell for the very first person he met once he realized he was free from Cazador and that they would understand if he someday decides that he wants to go explore or meet new people or fall in love more then once. Astarion’s reacts to this worry.

Note: I haven't posted any BG3 fics yet, but I just couldn't resist writing this little scene that's been bouncing around in my head this past week! I wrote it originally for my Tav named Olympia, a tiefling bard, but I changed it to second perspective for this post.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*

Astarion’s eyes were trained on your fidgety movements. You were picking at the blanket as you sat on the edge of the bed, your hand shifting anxiously back and forth as your brow was crumpled in thought.

Something was eating away at you. He just wasn’t sure what. You two had a seemingly normal day, not starting until well past sunset (your new adopted routine just for him). The both of you had done some research and shopping before returning to the tiny rooms you were calling home for the time being to relax for the remainder of the night.

But now that he thought about it, you had barely touched your meal tonight. And were much quieter than usual, not as optimistic or positive during the research that had once again been futile. Perhaps you were being plagued by nightmares again — images of the horrors the party had faced just a couple months ago were resurfacing.

A flash of anger coursed through him at himself for not noticing sooner. Taking a breath he didn’t really need, he strode over to you and joined you on the edge of the bed — the mattress sinking slightly with his added weight.

“Copper for your thoughts, my sweet?” He asked with a tilt of his head, before tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“I— I was thinking…,” You were quiet, and stumbled as you opened your mouth. He’d very rarely seen you like this — you always had a way with your words. You could be more poetic and flowery than even him. “And— and I understand if you do end up feeling this way.”

Confusion spread across all of Astarion’s features, “What in the hells are you talking about?”

You finally looked up at him, your eyes big and crinkled with worry, “I was the first person you met when you realized you were free… from him.” The pair of you had silently agreed to never mention that name again. “The first person you’ve been with. If you… if you decide you want to go see the world, experience new things, new people… I would understand.”

His jaw clenched together, “What?”

“I feel selfish keeping you all to myself. When there’s so much of the world you’ve not seen, so many other people you could be with that I—“

His red eyes blinked at you, before his lips turned downward, “You’re being serious.”

“I—“

He cut you off abruptly, waving his hand dramatically and pressing it into his chest, “Do you think that’s what I want? Have I told you that’s what I want?”

You shook your head, lips creasing, “No, I just want you to know that it’s ok if—“

“What, if I want to leave?” He stood up from the bed, looming in front of you as he spoke, “If I want to go galivant around to meet mysterious strangers, have a tryst or some torrid affair? I know that I am capable of making my own decisions. I know that darling, and I chose you. I choose you. And you reciprocated that.”

“I did. I do, I choose you. But I’ve—“

He interrupted you again, “Let me ask you something. Do you love me?”

“Of course. With all my heart.”

His heart still swelled with your answer. It did every time you admitted it to him. To hear it put out into the universe. That a tiny corner of it was indeed intended for him and you.

He pursed his lips before asking, “Have you loved people before me?”

“I—yes.” You admitted, looking down to your fingers that had become a twisted knot on your lap now.

“And did it feel the same? The love you shared for those other people.” He asked quietly, stepping closer and leaning down to undo the knot of your fingers. Instead threading them through his own pale, cold ones. “Did your love for them feel the same way you love me?”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, squeezing his hand in confirmation. “No. Not even close.”

“Exactly. You explored and experienced… and it still led you here, to me now. To your version of a first, yes?”

You nodded, the bottoms of your beautiful eyes starting to form with water as you tried to keep your tears at bay.

“I don’t need anybody else, or anywhere else.” Astarion sank to his knees in front of you, keeping his hands intertwined with your own. He dipped his head so he was looking up at you, his red eyes soft and tender. “Look… yes, you may have been the first person I stumbled upon after that damn ship. The first person I met once I realized I was free from his grasp. But you are also the first person to treat me with kindness and compassion. Respect. You’ve fought for me, protected me, fed me, been patient with me. You were the first person whose touch doesn’t make me feel ill, the first person who’s brought me to a blissful euphoria. You’ve given me peace. Autonomy. Safety. And love. No one has ever done that for me, not in my whole existence.”

His half dead heart was thundering in his chest. He had already declared himself to you once before, yet his whole body was shaking with emotion right now.

“And how dare you think so little of yourself. You aren’t just some notch in my belt, not a stepping stone in my life. You are everything.” Astarion used his thumb and finger to push your chin up, forcing your eyes to stare up into his. “I love you. No on else. And there will be no one else.”

The tears that were welling in your eyes finally broke free, rolling down your freckled cheeks. “I love you too. Irrevocably so.” Your voice was a raspy whisper.

“Oh my lovely moon, I wish you could see yourself how I see you.” Astarion’s voice was a gentle whisper.

He pressed a soft kiss onto your lips, both of his hands moving to grab the sides of your face. His pale thumbs wiped away the tears. “I surely hope these are somewhat happy tears now?”

You nodded profusely in his hands, a breathy laugh escaping you. “Happy, relieved.”

“Good. Now, no more of this talk alright? There is only room for one person to be filled with self doubt in this relationship and that position is currently filled by me.”

You frowned, “Starry, don’t jest about things like that.”

“Old habit.” His smirk pulled up enough that his fangs poked out. “No more stewing with your anxious thoughts. You’re going to come and join me on the balcony. Come on,” He stood up and held out his pale hand for you before he gently tugged you to the small balcony attached to your rooms.

The pair of you looked up at the inky black sky, glittering with the sprinkling of stars you could still see in Baldur’s Gate. They were blinking and swirling around the glowing, full moon. A sigh of contentment left you both as you stood in comfortable silence and basked in the light.

“What would the stars be without their moon?” He whispered in your hair, wrapping his arms around your waist as he gathered you into him.

[ftmtftm]

as a brown woman, i think one of the reasons for this is the refusal to understand (in this example particularly i'll use race, but i think this could be applied to other forms of oppression) the reality of the oppression men of color face, and the insistence on viewing oppression as disparate.

my dad and brother have told me many stories about how much their emotions are policed at work. my dad raises his voice the slightest bit or doesn't come off jovial and pleasant, and people get upset and feel threatened by him. there's a post i've seen before where a black man says something similar, in response to a woman saying 'men will never know what it's like to worry about having rbf.' he was saying how he very much does, or the white people around him will make negative assumptions he's then responsible for. it is something that these two marginalized groups share, but there's backlash whenever it gets brought up because i think a lot of cis women cling to the idea that certain things are a "woman's experience" and feel threatened when marginalized men can relate to them. which men are the default? which women are the other? the default male experience has never been something the men in my family can relate to because their race precludes them from doing so. the 'othered' experience of women is often not something i can relate to, because the loudest voices about it are white women being othered by white men.

in reality, oppression often functions in similar ways, even with different groups, and bonding and forming solidarity in that is a great way to bring awareness to it. but that requires people to get over themselves and their own conceptions of victims and oppressors, which is much harder than it seems to be.

YES !!!! Yes exactly, you've hit the nail on the head.

Especially at the very end, because honestly? I think it requires a decent amount of personal healing, carefully practiced empathy, and a bit of ego death to get to that point and it's really hard to do that when you're also actively in a marginalized position yourself.

It's a big task asking people who are hurt to find solidarity with each other because we live in a culture that actively discourages that for several reasons - very systemically. Particularly with feminism it's extremely difficult because Radfem "universal female experience / female utopia" isolationism (and even going back farther, the First Wave as a whole) severed a lot of those opportunities for solidarity early on and we have to pick up the broken pieces to try and mend them now.

[charmedreincarnation]

I shifted using the void state!

I'm getting straight to the point because I know people don't like long success stories, but I used these two posts to finally shift to my desired reality and manifest my dream life.

Rotten’s Practical Guide to Shifting Realities

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1zgrhCYyct7xV4j7d7qYFcoO8bAMx5Jqdb3NGoO81Oqs/edit

Reddit Post: The Power of the Void State

https://www.reddit.com/r/shiftingrealities/s/XMIo5TPYlM

Anyways, when I learned about the void state on Reddit, I was instantly captivated. I mean, who wouldn't be? The idea of not only using it for shifting but also manifesting my dream life for myself and my family felt like a dream come true. That's when I came across the second post I shared about the void state, and eventually, the first document I shared. They were incredibly informative and completely changed my perspective on shifting and the law of the universe.

I went on to stalk many of the recommended success stories on Reddit, exploring posts and comment sections that mentioned you. You seemed to be a common denominator in their journeys, helping them shift or guiding them with your posts. It made me happy to see your positive influence, even though your posts were from years ago and it seemed like you no longer have an account. Unfortunately, many other creators' posts were either inactive or banned due to Reddit's strict rules which is really annoying.

However, someone made a post about you, and one of your friends ended up commenting with your Tumblr account. So, I gathered a lot of valuable information from your account and a few others (like Fleur, Pink, Rem, Sexy Dream Girl, etc.) on Tumblr.

I must say, the Tumblr shifting and void community is miles ahead of Reddit and Amino. I was shocked that I hadn't come across this community before. Reddit is just starting to talk about the Law of assumption and the void, whereas you guys have been immersed in it for years. I even encountered some misconceptions on Reddit, where people still think the void can only be used for shifting and not for waking up in a whole new life. 🙄

Regardless, finding this app was the motivation I needed, and I discovered so much valuable information. I ended up using your theta wave method, combined with the first Reddit post I sent, to enter the void and shift to my dr. It's truly mind-blowing how easy it all was.

I can vouch for this process. All you need are the two Reddit posts I shared, as the guide is highly regarded within the shifting community, along with a few trustworthy Tumblr bloggers. I've been part of the shifting community since 2017, so I've seen it all, and I managed to shift within just two and a half weeks of finding these resources. Even though I was struggling with depression and suicidal thoughts, I realized it doesn't have to hinder your journey.

I wanted to share my experience here, and I might make a post on Reddit too. However, they have become stricter with success stories due to anti-troll measures, and it takes weeks to even months for anything to be processed. So, I wanted to share my journey here first.

I also recommend this: https://www.reddit.com/r/shiftingrealities/s/daFCQdyHim because it helped me understand what shifting really is. Manifesting too!

Lastly I'm 26 years old, and I've noticed that Reddit tends to have a more adult audience compared to Tumblr. At first, it felt nice to be surrounded by fellow adults discussing shifting. On the other hand, seeing Tumblr mostly filled with teens and younger adults made me wonder if it's easier for them, especially without the weight of responsibilities that often come with age.

But let me tell you, age is not a factor that determines our success in shifting. Whether you're 13 or 55, it doesn't matter. This is something we can all engage in, no matter our age.

Sure, there might be some challenges that come with getting older. As we accumulate more life experiences, doubts tend to creep in, and we become more logical. But guess what? Those doubts and logical thinking don't define our ability to shift realities. They are simply hurdles for us to overcome.

Hi love! I've spent some time going through all the resources you shared, and they've been incredibly helpful! Actually i have seen that guide in so many places, and it's truly enlightening. Thank you for sharing these amazing tools with us!

And yes, I wholeheartedly agree with what you said. age and doubt really do have no place in our journey they really don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

I used to engage with @theastralplaneandbeyond5487 on Amino and Reddit too. He also has an informative YouTube channel and is in his 50s, I believe. His experiences and insights are rlly helpful and further show that age is just a number in this journey.

His journey showed me that we can do whatever we we want , regardless of our age. It's a beautiful reminder that we're all capable of creating and experiencing whatever we want 🩵

Also omg my Reddit era in 2021 was so fun. I’m glad it’s still helping people though my views have definitely evolved :D!

[enchantedwitchling]

Witchcraft and Self-Care: Nurturing Your Mind, Body, and Spirit

Witchcraft is not just a craft; it's a path that intertwines with our daily lives. Amid the spells and rituals, it's vital to remember that self-care is a cornerstone of our practice. By nurturing our minds, bodies, and spirits, we empower ourselves to be more effective witches and resilient individuals.

In this blog post, we'll delve into "Witchcraft and Self-Care: Nurturing Your Mind, Body, and Spirit," exploring the importance of self-care and suggesting rituals and practices to help you flourish on your magical journey.

🌟✨

1. Grounding and Centering 🌳🌌

Start your self-care journey with grounding and centering. Take a moment each day to connect with the Earth. Stand barefoot on the ground, feeling the energy of the Earth rise through you. Meditate, visualize roots extending from your body into the soil, anchoring you to the Earth's nurturing energy.

2. Daily Affirmations 🧘‍♀️🌟

Affirmations are powerful tools for nurturing a positive mindset. Each morning, recite affirmations that align with your intentions. These affirmations reinforce your sense of self-worth, strength, and resilience. For example, "I am powerful," "I am loved," or "I am in control of my destiny."

3. Bath Rituals 🛁🌸

A soothing bath can work wonders for your well-being. Infuse your bathwater with Epsom salt, lavender, or rose petals. As you soak, visualize any stress or negativity melting away, leaving you refreshed and renewed. This simple practice can be profoundly healing.

4. Moon Meditation 🌕🧘‍♂️

Harness the energy of the moon to nurture your spirit. During the Full Moon, find a quiet space outdoors, and meditate beneath its radiant glow. Visualize the moon's energy filling you with light, cleansing away any emotional burdens, and empowering you for the month ahead.

5. Herbal Tea Ritual ☕🌿

Create a mindful tea ritual using your favorite herbs. As you brew and sip your tea, focus on the sensations and flavors. Allow the warmth of the tea to envelop you, bringing comfort and serenity. This practice can also enhance your connection with herbal magic.

6. Journaling 📓🖋️

Keep a magical journal to record your thoughts, experiences, and spellwork. Journaling is not only cathartic but also a powerful way to track your progress, uncover patterns, and celebrate your successes. Use it as a tool for self-reflection and growth.

7. Self-Compassion 💖🌈

Practice self-compassion in your daily life. Be gentle with yourself, just as you would with a close friend. Understand that setbacks are part of growth, and mistakes are opportunities to learn. By nurturing self-compassion, you'll foster resilience and inner strength.

🌟✨

As witches, our practice is a reflection of our inner and outer worlds. By prioritizing self-care, we infuse our craft with authenticity and power. Remember that you are the most important tool in your magical toolkit, and by nurturing your mind, body, and spirit, you become a beacon of light in the world.

So, let's embrace self-care as an essential aspect of witchcraft. By nurturing ourselves, we empower our magic and cultivate a deeper connection with the universe.

🌿🌟✨

[sy-on-boy]

My 2 cents on the plot / thematic relevance of Ch 95

This is not about advancing Plot B or showing Anya's school life (which is still true but has been discussed), but rather the overall theme of education and war. There was an excellent post about how Eden is at the frontline of the cold war and it is subtly shown through the innocent lens of the first graders (I can't find it now, would link it if I could). And I think that perfectly applies to Ch 95.

Quick recap on some references about education/students/war throughout the series (that I remember at the moment):

Sylvia gravely condemning the Berlint University Student Terrorists during the Doggy Crisis arc (Ch 20) and saying "did you learn nothing about war at your university?"

Henderson talking about his experience as a history teacher (Ch 27.5, Short Mission 4) and quote: "Yes, well, I have always maintained that there is nothing to be learned from the memorization of time lines. From the grand efforts with which our forefathers crafted society to the foolish notions that sent them racing to war, to not study the human element at history's root is to not understand history at all"

Note that Damian's best subject has been established to be history, and his family (father) has been involved in war, at least Donovan was PM during most of the war (established by Melinda in Ch 91). Donovan is also a graduated Imperial Scholar (Ch 64).

The Red Circus group started out as a peaceful student demonstration "advocating for peace and quality" (Ch 72) and "speaking out to protect the weakest members of our society". And Billy Squire said, "We were a respectable movement that fought for our cause with respectable means. It was the state that turned violent against us. So I'm not taking criticism from a member of the establishment (referring to Henderson, an educator). I'm gonna see to it that they reap what they've sown." Billy's daughter Biddy was killed by the state at a protest.

Less of a point, but Becky is the daughter of the CEO of a major military manufacturer. Despite their very likely involvement in military conflicts because they sell arms, the Blackbell cohort has been depicted positively so far: Becky being a kind, wonderful friend to Anya, Becky's father doting on her, and Martha again being kind and dignified (and also being an ex-soldier and acquainted with Henderson).

Eden Academy is a major setting for SxF and the themes of politics, education, and war are embedded in it. The students involved in protests/groups are older (the university students, Billy's daughter), but the political implications remain even among the youngest of the students— the first graders.

Hence, Ch 95. When mere first graders are shown to fight to gain connections, which can be political as pointed out by Henderson: "In the world of politics, dances serve as major social events". But of course, they are kids, so they see it more playfully and innocently, especially Becky with her shipper lens on.

Of course, there is also the aspect of getting to know other people better out of interest (the boys asking Anya and Becky to dance because they were impressed after the bus hijacking). But as people have mentioned, nobody mentions this to Damian despite him being equally involved in saving the class (all three of them got a star). The girls aren't interested in Damian as a person, they're interested in him as an asset because of his family and their power.

And I can see the teachers trying to diffuse the tension and create camaraderie with their friendly competition. To me, this reads as the teachers fully realizing "the battlefield of political maneuvering", and they want to remind the kids to have fun, to show good sportsmanship, to unite the kids, to operate as a class and be friendly with one another, and overall make it more lighthearted. It's nice to see the classes work together and get excited / win as a unit, especially compared to the more "individual" bits of fighting for a dance partner later.

We get a bit of comparison between Bill and Damian, with Bill showing good sportsmanship while Damian scoffs at him. But Damian ends up becoming ultra competitive and telling his classmates to not screw it up.

Like the Dodgeball chapter, Damian is clumsily attempting to lead the class by doing good in his quiz, while getting stressed and yelling at his peers when they don't succeed like he did. So he's not really a good leader. Like how him being good at history does not necessarily mean he is good at being peaceful (Short Mission 4 ends with Henderson staring in exasperation at Damian + Anya bickering with each other). But obviously, he is merely a child, and he is naturally immature.

At first Loid is all for advancing Plan B and analysed Anya's suitors in a rational (reductionist?) way by ranking them in terms of gaining intelligence, but he remembers this is just a dance, Anya is a kid, and she should do whatever she wants. Loid (and the adults) are very aware of the political side of the gala, but ultimately they want the kids to have fun and not worry / worry less about politics.

Because they're kids! They'll grow up and learn more and be politically active later, but right now, they're just kids. Kids who don't know much about the world but are eager to make the world a better place.

In the end, we get a panel of Anya and Loid "teaming up" to win Damian's hand for Plan B / world peace. The Damian-Anya dynamic is cushioned with the silly crushy feelings, but underneath it, Operation Strix continues to be a core motivation.

I find it interesting that Endo chooses to focus on the first graders and their innocent view of the world / politics. It's embedded everywhere and especially in a prominent school like Eden, but the kids don't really realise it / realise the severity of it. Heirs and heiresses are educated at Eden and grow up to have incredible influence and the power to shape the world. Our protagonist's best friend comes from a family that manufactures arms. Henderson mentions the importance of learning history to avoid making the same mistakes (ie. war).

So Ch 95 is a cute prom chapter. But I think it also helps to show the themes underneath the fun, bubbly interactions.

[transmascissues]

every day i think about how my old psychiatrist (who was notoriously horrible on many levels, to be clear) tried to convince me to stay on the antidepressants i was coming off of when i told her i was starting testosterone because she was convinced that i’d be incapable of handling the “intense mood swings” that she said it would cause if i was unmedicated

mind you, i was coming off of these meds because they were doing absolutely fucking nothing for me and she had fought me on stopping them every step of the way — in her mind, me starting t was the perfect chance to make one final (transphobic) push against my desire to stop putting completely pointless drugs in my body

she consistently referred to hrt as me “going on steroids” and told me with every ounce of condescending concern she could muster that she had never had a patient start t without being on antidepressants (as if i was supposed to see that fact as anything other than further proof that her main goal as a psychiatrist was just to make as much money as possible by pushing meds on people)

i tried to explain to her that countless trans people i’d talked to had said that being on t made them feel more emotionally stable, not less, and that i had already chosen a method of hrt that would minimize hormonal fluctuations as much as possible, but she wouldn’t believe me — there’s no question in my mind that she just saw me as a ~naive little girl who didn’t understand how testosterone could make my life hell~

and of course, my mom jumped on that idea and started telling me about how it’s not that she doesn’t like that i’m trans, it’s just that she’s ~so worried~ about what the ~big bad testosterone~ might to to my ~poor fragile mental health~

and when i started t, i was terrified that they would be proven right

now i’m 5 months on t (and a few months post-ending that doctor-patient relationship as well) and what do you know? my mood is better than ever! my therapist (who has known me far longer and actually cares about my well-being) says she’s never seen me this happy, and that she feels like i’m actually living for the first time! it’s been incredible!

in fact, i’ve come to the realization that i most likely had premenstrual dysphoric disorder before t, and that it was contributing to a huge percentage of my mental breakdowns and suicidal thoughts, so it seems there were hormones causing mood swings that i couldn’t handle without proper treatment after all, but testosterone isn’t the cause of those issues — turns out it’s the treatment i desperately needed to manage them!

and after some research and hearing from other people, i’ve learned that it wasn’t all anecdotal after all, because some studies have actually found evidence to support the idea that testosterone has antidepressant effects — i told my therapist that testosterone felt the way the antidepressants i had been on were supposed to feel, but i had no clue there was science to back that up

so now i’m just left being endlessly furious with the way testosterone is demonized as some horrible poisonous drug that will destroy your mental health along with everything else in your life, because being on it has improved my quality of life exponentially and that alone makes being on it SO worthwhile, but no one ever gets to see that side of being on t because they’re so busy drumming up fear about how it’ll wreck your moods instead

of course, that’s not to say some people don’t experience serious mood swings on t, because i would never deny someone else’s experience with their own body and mind, and i think it’s important that people know those effects are possible when they start t

what i AM saying is that i would guess that if you looked at pure numbers, more people have probably had a really positive experience like mine than a seriously negative one, and it’s very telling that the negative ones are portrayed as a universal part of being on t despite seemingly being a smaller percentage when you actually talk to lots of trans people, while the positive ones are portrayed as a fluke at best and impossible or even deceptive at worst despite being a really common theme in trans people’s accounts of being on t

testosterone is medicine. testosterone is healing.

it doesn’t solve all our problems — i’m certainly far from cured of all my mental health issues — but it sure as hell lightens the load, and i’m sick and tired of people acting like it’s a horrible thing and not the fucking miracle worker that it is for some of us

[five-hxrgreeves]

Two Positives Equal a Negative (Or Something Like That)

PAIRING: adam warlock & fem! quill’s sister!reader

WC: 2.8k (again, a long one. I just can’t seem to write anything short!) 

SUMMARY: you’ve always had trouble sleeping thanks your numerous (unfortunate) life experiences. While he hasn’t lived as long as you have, Adam has a similar problem. Fortunately, a Terran phrase that your brother taught you might have the solution that you seek.

WARNINGS: slight gotg three spoilers, fluff, angst if you squint.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: okay, so I accidentally lied and I realized that my last one-shot wasn’t my first official one; I wrote a Natasha x reader several years ago. I just don’t post on here that often so I forgot about it, lol. Anyway, Adam Warlock currently has a chokehold on me so here’s another one-shot for him- the sequel that I mentioned on the last one. I’m tempted to write a Gally one/two-shot, but I’m not familiar with the TMR universe so I’m worried that I’d mess it up.

Also, I know that the phrase is actually ‘two negatives equal a positive,’ but I was drawing on the fact that non-Terrans wouldn’t really remember/understand Peter’s references, and since ‘you’ had only been to Earth during Endgame, you it mixed up.

Part 0 , Part 1

You’d always had trouble sleeping, especially on your father’s planet. There had just been a sense of. . . wrongness that you didn’t need Mantis’ empath powers to feel. It had made you on edge most of the time, alert for the unseen danger that you felt. While this might’ve just been your role as Ego’s protector speaking, you knew that your sister felt similarly. Mantis had once offered to put you to sleep using her powers, which you’d agreed to. Although it had worked, you hadn’t liked the feeling of your emotions being messed with, or the vulnerability that came with sleep. Even though you trusted that your sister wouldn’t hurt you, Ego was a different story entirely.

So, that meant that you were up most of the time with only catnaps and snatches of sleep when absolutely necessary. (Luckily your enhanced stamina helped in this case so it wasn’t terribly detrimental to your wellbeing.) It was hard to hide your unusual sleep patterns on the Milano with your new friends since there wasn’t space to walk around like there had been on Ego’s planet. But the Guardians all had various traumas of their own, so they understood the difficulty of getting peaceful rest. Some nights had even been better than others as Peter would teach you how to play Terran card games, which would then include the rest of the Guardians once you’d learned.

You also liked to sit in the pilot’s chair late at night and watch the darkness of space light up around you. It was funny, really; everyone expected space to be a dark, black vacuum of nothing when it was actually just the opposite. Sure, there was no physical form of life, but space was alive in its own way. As the Milano sailed aimlessly through the stars, you’d pass the orange-red clouds of dust and gas— nebulas. Or the brilliant white-blue of a dying star, or the different hues of blue-black that surrounded you. Space was truly beautiful, which was something that you never tried to take for granted.

But now you were stuck on Knowhere. There were no brilliant colors of space to distract you or friends to play card games with. Mantis was gone— your only source of comfort on those long nights when you’d served your father. You were alone, with nothing but a Zune to distract you as you sat, bored, in the kitchen late into the night. You’d decided on some calmer tunes and were currently listening to the Frank Sinatra playlist you’d curated. A warm mug of tea— which Peter had also introduced you to— sat between your hands as your eyes glazed over, getting lost in your music.

--

As it turned out, Adam wasn’t that great of a sleeper, either. It always felt like there was too much energy running through him to be properly restful— not to mention that, whenever he closed his eyes, he saw his mother waiting for him as he flew desperately towards her. And then the explosion would come, jolting him out of sleep as a reminder of his failure.

With a sigh, he pushed back his covers and stood. Since he was already dressed (his mother had always told him to be ready for anything), he made his way to the kitchen where he’d baked cookies with you. It hadn’t been that long ago, but he already missed the comfortable, homey feeling he’d gotten as he formed the batter into spheres with you standing at his side. You had yet to talk to Rocket about how his comments made you feel, but he knew it was because you respected your teammate and didn’t like making a big deal out of things. Thinking about you now, he sort of hoped that he would see you in the kitchen when he got there— but that was a crazy thought; it was the middle of the night! Any normal person would be in a deep sleep by now.

So, it was definitely a pleasant surprise when he came upon you, sitting at the head of the table. Your earbuds were in your ears, as usual, and you seemed to be deep in thought as you absentmindedly traced the rim of your mug with your finger. He was comfortable enough with you to approach you without hesitation, so he took the chair next to yours and nudged you gently to get your attention.

You jumped, startled by the unexpected presence of someone else in the room. At first you had a wild thought that it might be Peter, who came to keep you company as he often had. You were only mildly disappointed to see that it was Adam instead (and this was just because you missed your brother; you were actually quite happy to see the golden boy.) You took out your earbuds and paused your music. “You’re up late. Or early.”

His golden eyes met yours— something you noticed that he did often; it seemed that eye contact was his way of showing that he was listening to you, which always made your stomach flutter pleasantly. “So are you,” he replied. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah,” you said with a shrug. “You?”

“Me either,” he agreed.

You sat in a comfortable silence together, one so long that you were almost tempted to  put your earbuds back in. Maybe this was a one-off thing; you’d never seen him before on your sleepless nights. Maybe he wasn’t used to being up at this hour and just wasn’t as talkative as he normally was with you. But you were also curious; what could a supposedly perfect being be troubled with at night? So, you sighed, and against your better judgement (as you hated to talk about your feelings), you asked, “wanna talk about it?”

But Adam also knew how you were, and he shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind just sitting here.” He got to enjoy your company, after all, so he considered tonight to be better than most.

You let out another sigh. As much as you hated getting touchy-feely, the night was already very boring; sitting and not talking would only make it worse. “I don’t mind, actually. I’m used to being around other people when I’m up like this. Talking would make the time pass faster.” You studied his expression for a moment, which was unusually unreadable; it always seemed like he had a kind smile or glance to send your way. “We can start off easy, if you want. Are you up like this every night?”

His expression softened at your willingness to go outside your comfort zone, so he answered honestly. (He had nothing that he wanted to hide from you, anyway.) “Most nights, yeah. What about you?”

“Same,” you agreed. You played with the rubber protective tip on your earbud. “Can’t get to sleep or bad dreams?”

“Both,” Adam admitted. “Although it’s usually the first one.”

You nodded. “Same, again, but for me it’s mostly the latter. You remember when I said that you weren’t the first person to try and kill me?” At his confirmation (because how could he have forgotten that?), you continued, “yeah. It’s mostly that. My father was a great parent,” you finished sarcastically.

When you’d first become friends, you’d shared stories about the Guardians’ adventures— even the ones that had happened before you’d joined the team— although they’d mostly been lighthearted in tone. You’d acted like they hadn’t really affected you and had laughed at the fact that your father’s planet had tried to swallow you whole. Adam sort of wished that your father was still alive so he could fight him for you. While his mother had had her moments of parenting issues, he’d never doubted that she did love him; it was clear that this wasn’t the case with your father.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not really sure what else he could say. Despite everything that had happened to you, you were still a good person; you hadn’t fought the Guardians on your first meeting like he had, which already made you better than him. He wished that there was something he could do (such as getting revenge for you) to help ease whatever burden you were feeling as you often had for him, but there didn’t seem like there was anything that he could do.

“Don’t worry about it,” you replied in a blasé tone, already moving on from your heavy things. “Want to talk about your stuff?”

He shifted in his seat, a little uncomfortable to admit his failure to you. He wanted to prove that he was just as capable as you were, and this was one of his worst moments. “I. . . keep thinking about my mother.” His gaze dropped to where his hands were folded on the table, unable to watch your reaction in case you thought worse of him. “How I. . . wasn’t able to save her. I was so close, too. If only I’d been faster—”

You reached out a hand to put it on top of both of his, cutting him off. Yours was much smaller in comparison, barely covering even one of his hands. He looked up at you with surprise, feeling his face heat up at the contact. Your usually jovial expression was uncharacteristically serious as you chided him gently, “stop. Thinking like that never helps, you know. You’ll drive yourself mad if you keep wondering ‘what if.’ I should know.”

While he was relieved that his fears about your reaction were unfounded, he frowned at your last words. “What do you mean?”

You pretended not to notice that your hands were still holding his as you answered, “remember what I told you about the Snap?” At his nod, you continued, “Peter and I were the only ones who weren’t trying to subdue Thanos. My powers are mostly defensive, so they would only anger him, which was the opposite of what we were trying to do. Peter got— understandably— distraught at the news of Gamora’s death and he was practically solely responsible for the Snap.” You sighed heavily, dropping your gaze from him. “As the only other person not doing anything on that planet, I could’ve stopped him, but he was my brother; I couldn’t hurt him. But if I had. . . everything could’ve been so much different. In a way, I was responsible for the Snap, too.”

While he understood your reasoning, he didn’t completely agree with it. You’d filled him in with great detail about the Infinity War, which you’d only learned the missing parts after you’d been brought back. So, he insisted quietly, “Thor could’ve also gone for Thanos’ head, but he didn’t.”

“But Thanos wouldn’t have even gotten to the Terran planet if we’d stopped him on Titan. You see what I mean? These what-ifs really messed with my head— still do. You eventually just have to accept the fact that the situation can’t be changed and learn from your mistakes.” In a lighter tone you added, “I promised myself that the next time I needed to sock it to Peter, I wouldn’t hesitate. Maybe a good hit to the head would knock some common sense back into him.”

Adam chuckled at this, his serious expression lifting. Sensing that you didn’t want to talk about such emotional topics anymore, he changed the subject slightly. “So you’re up every night because of these thoughts? Don’t you need sleep?”

“Yeah, but I’ve got enhanced stamina, so not as much as a regular person,” you said, relieved that he picked up on your hint. “What about you? You’re practically a god yourself.”

He felt his face flush with (pleased) embarrassment at your indirect compliment, even if it was truthful. “That’s part of the problem, I think,” he explained. “All this power. . . it gives me too much energy and. . . I can’t sleep.”

You frowned thoughtfully at your similar predicaments, an idea (admittedly, a stupid enough one that Peter could’ve come up with it) forming in your mind. “Y’know,” you began slowly, “Peter taught me a Terran phrase awhile back. I can’t exactly remember how it goes— it’s like two positives equal a negative, or something like that— and it means that when there’s two good things, it cancels out the bad one. We could try and apply it here.”

He gave you a curious look. “Really? How?”

“Well, since we both can’t sleep— that’s the negative— maybe. . . maybe if we slept. . .” You felt your face burning at your suggestion. “If we slept. . . tog— well, not together-together, I mean— with each— does that sound worse? I—” you struggled to find the right wording that wouldn’t come off as suggestive. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you added hastily, misunderstanding his bemused expression.

“Little Quill,” he teased you lightly, “you haven’t even gotten the question out.”

Oh. You only felt even more embarrassed. “Do you want to sleep in my room?” you finally managed to blurt out, burying your face in your hands, unable to look at the boy across from you.

Instead of taking offense or making fun of you as you’d expected, Adam seemed to actually consider your offer. “Do you think it would work?”

At his question, you dropped your hands to your lap and shrugged, though your face was still very red. He seemed remarkably unflustered, not that you could tell if he was (damn his beautiful golden skin— wait, what?) “I don’t know,” you mumbled, still refusing to look at him. “I can only sleep if I feel safe, and there’s only one person I ever felt that way with— Mantis. But. . . now I think that includes you, too.”

Adam couldn’t help the bright smile that formed on his face at your words, the thought that you felt safe with him (especially after everything that he’d done to you and your friends) meant more than he could say. The thought that you would willingly be vulnerable in his presence made his stomach feel enjoyably— and inexplicably— nauseous. “I feel safe around you too,” he replied without hesitation. “And. . . I wouldn’t mind trying it.”

--

Not long after, the two of you returned to the room you were renting in the dorm-style building. Since neither you nor Adam had family to speak of (and were also short on funds), you’d both found rooms in a tenant building that had lots of other people, many of whom had lost their homes during the Guardians’ most recent adventures. Luckily you’d gotten a room to yourself, though you had to share basic facilities with everyone else.

“You can sleep in the bed since this was my idea,” you offered. You were still in what you considered your pajamas, so you just had to gather some spare blankets and pillows.

Adam shook his head, against the thought of you making accommodations for him. “I can sleep on the floor. You shouldn’t have to give up your bed.”

“It’s not like I use it much anyway,” you joke, pulling the covers back. “But if you’re seriously against me sleeping on the floor, I guess we could. . . share?”

He seemed not to mind your proposal as he agreed readily, and after taking off his shoes, he made to get in when you spoke again with a confused look on your face. “You. . . sleep in your clothes? No wonder why you can’t get comfortable!”

Adam seemed to not understand your comment. “You sleep in your clothes.”

You laughed a little at his observation. “These are sleep clothes, not everyday clothes. At least take off your jacket,” you reasoned.

But as he did so, you realized why he hadn’t gotten more comfortable: there was nothing except chiseled chest under his clothes. You blushed and tried (but failed) not to stare as he got into bed next to you, admiring the way his muscles flexed with his movement. Luckily he seemed to not notice your attention as he settled next to you. There was a sizeable gap between you two despite the bed not being very big, one that you wished you had the guts to close. (Wait— again, what?)

You wondered how you’d ever get to sleep with all that muscle right behind you (okay, this one you could admit freely), but somehow, in the quiet stillness of your dark room, the safe, peaceful feeling lulled you into the first restful slumber that you’d had since your siblings had left months ago.

--

And if you woke up the next morning, curled up against Adam’s chest with his arm wrapped around you protectively, neither of you bothered to say anything about it.

[dduane]

BTW… re: Smut

... off my comment to this post the other day...

I'm an entertainer. Writing's a form of entertainment. (And not just for the readership: for me, too.) To be aroused by art one's experienced is (almost by definition) to be entertained, I'd say. If someone's jerking off to my erotica, then all I can do is lean back in the typing chair, smile a bit, and think, Good! I got the job done. :)

(...with the tags: #and no I'm not going to let on where the smut is#why would i deny anyone the delights of the search#and of being repeatedly mistaken#while possibly finding smut writers who're better at it than i am#:) ...)

...and then noting (with affectionate amusement) some responses:

Well, troops, better get busy filling in that bingo box. 😄

Also: I have to say (while stressing that I absolutely appreciate the humor behind "shocked, shocked, scandalized...") that the dissonance is, temporally speaking, a bit ill-founded. Because while I may be best known for the Young Wizards works these days... by no means did they come first. This did.

A soft chuckle in the darkness. “Lorn, remember that first time we shared at your place?” “That was a long time ago.” “It seems that way.” “—and my father yelled up the stairs, ‘What are you dooooooooing?’ “—and you yelled back, ‘We’re fuckinnnnnnnnnnng!’” “—and it was quiet for so long—” “—and then he started laughing—” “Yeah.”

Granted, from the here-and-now POV of readers with access to the hot-'n'-spicy shipfic or PWP on AO3, this sort of thing (and the numerous other lights-often-off or dialogue-only sexytiems passages in the traditionally published Middle Kingdoms works) would be seen as pretty small beer: soft, non-edgy stuff. Yet in 1979 apparently there were those who found the sex and sexualities on display in The Door Into Fire arresting enough that the book got me nominated for the Astounding Award (for best new author in the field) two years in a row.

There's no question that the broadly inclusive tone set by the Middle Kingdoms books went on to affect and underlie the YW universe in very basic ways. (There've been some scholarly works written by academics who've picked up on this, so [much to my relief] this perception hasn't been just me imagining it.) But I'll grant you that those who don't know the MK novels wouldn't be in a position to make the connection. (shrug) This is just one of those things that comes of having a lot of fragmented readerships who don't know about each other... a side effect of having done a lot of different things during a career. I can also understand how not knowing about the MK works could leave people who know me only, or primarily, as someone writing for a younger readership, a little bit disoriented (or maybe concerned) when the issue of me writing openly sexual material rears its head. But that wouldn’t be a change of direction. It’d be, to some extent, more a return to form.

Anyway: I consider erotica—and its more casually-dressed (or undressed...) cousin, smut—to be perfectly legit forms of literary expression; ones that can soar to unexpected heights if you're willing to put in the work. The sexy-stuff-writing muscle requires periodic exercise if it's to remain viable and/or useful. So I exercise it. And being a 70-year-old person who sometimes creaks audibly when she walks has done absolutely nothing to decrease my interest in the subject—the brain being, after all, the biggest sex organ, and the one least vulnerable to the depredations of time. If anything, nearly fifty years of experience (and three and a half decades of marriage to @petermorwood) have added... let's just say nuance. 😏

Now this whole concept will doubtless horrify some of the "Eww, You're Too Old To Be Writing This Kind Of Thing, Go Get A (Home) Life" types. To which all I can say is, "...Well, good!" By and large, such folks are not my readers anyway. And as for any of them who are, and can't deal…? They need to understand that (pointing off to one side) those people over there—the various kinda-straight and pansexual and bisexual humans, and the gender-fluid fire elemental, and the otherly-gendered Dragon, and the mostly-gay ones enthusiastically shouting "We're fuckinnnng!" down the stairs—are Nita's and Kit's godparents. Without the members of that extremely mixed marriage and their increasingly extended family, there might be no Young Wizards series... not least because it was the splash made by the first of the Middle Kingdoms books that got the Errantryverse crowd in through a major publisher's door. And the series’s continued (modest but still noticeable) success through the second and third volumes kept the writing of new YW books going for a good long while.

...So. For those who may have had questions: HTH. 😀

(And now back to the unending search for a more graceful synonym for “testicles”.)

[polliwoggers]

been struggling to draw lately so i went through some older stuff of mine and found this, only to realize i never posted it. i don't imagine anybody's still doing stuff for this weird social media-clan au thingy anymore, now that the meme of it has died down, but anybody's free to these names for whatever uses they want, if they want them :)

bonus lore to get it out of my head:

Yarrow-whisker was the previous medic before Quarrypaw, who has yet to gain their full status as a medicine cat in their absence

Geckopaw and Prairiepaw are siblings. Yewtail is only a so-so mentor at the best of times, so Foxfire effectively mentors them both. However, Prairiepaw has swooped in to support Yewtail when they decide to do something stupid and unsustainable on multiple occasions. they really shouldn't have been granted an apprentice tbh. i recently re-read Fire and Ice in the original warriors series so the parallels to Graystripe being a poor mentor to Brackenpaw are intentional

Skypelt came out of retirement to mentor Duskpaw, since they serve such similar real-life purposes. Skypelt doesn't understand everything their apprentice says or does but is generally supportive of such a similar application

Marsh-singer, Whitestep, and Thymeface are all siblings, and are collectively the youngest of the warriors (not accurate to the actual ages of the applications, but eh). to say they are all total gossips would be an understatement. they're also really interchangeable and forgettable. like the Runningwinds of apps.

depending on how positively you want to view the whole "reincarnation" trope some of the canon warriors books have, you could say that Tickpaw is a reincarnation of Musiclight. Otherwise, they just look really similar.

all of the "Cats Outside of Clans" cats are kittypets, with the notable exception of Furzebark, who is a banished rogue with a concerning amount of influence on the Clan(s?). maybe there's a whole band of rogues who are based on insidiously/surprisingly influential applications or online entities! various appstore/playsotre applications could fall under this category, as well as like. roblox, apparently. which is beyond weird to me since that's a game and not a wider application, but it got scarily profitable during lockdown, so...

Redpaw was Yewtail's sibling, but died during their apprenticeship. Probably to the same thing that killed Gravelpounce, but i have no idea what that would be

Flaxflower is generally considered WAY too old to still be alive (since the real internet explorer died a bit ago by now), but since he'd "find a way to be late to his own funeral", he has yet to kick the bucket.

the whole twittypet drama is EASILY the juiciest gossip the clan has had in ages, ESPECIALLY the half-clan checkmark-kits. in-universe, im interpreting the poor management of twitter that's been driving it into the ground irl as a negligent cat owner unintentionally driving their pet to spend more time outdoors with other cats (namely, dashclaw) to get away from them, which resulted in kittens. drummed-up anti-kittypet sentiment aside, many clan cats looking in on the situation just feel bad for her.

Vinewatcher is the most consistently "present" of the StarClan spirits, but is also the most consistently unhelpful. numerous potential prophecies later turned out to just be inside jokes of theirs they decided to continue rehashing into the afterlife. Quarrypaw, having not gotten much experience identifying what makes a legitimate prophecy yet, finds this exceptionally annoying behavior, and would like them to stop. They do not.

[the-darklings]

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈.]

summary: "All that's left is a ghost of you."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 7.3k+

warnings: AngstTM, Dream is still Dream (absent) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes: happy one-month birthday, tibyim. hope you all enjoy & prep the tissues : )))

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART EIGHT: YEAR 916-994

“My lord. Sir?”

Morpheus permits his lids to flutter open, finding the same bone-deep exhaustion sitting on his chest and back. The multicoloured light that once washed over the pale stone in his throne room is duller and weaker now. More imperceptible. Ashen cloud has settled over his kingdom. All things around him seem to have inverted; even his own palace staff, his own creations. 

What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?

Nothing. Not anymore. 

“What is it, Lucienne?” he questions mildly, motionless on his throne. 

He does not look his librarian's way, for he’s well versed with what he will discover there. A plea, wishfulness, longing. To varying degrees, Morpheus can find those sentiments in every living thing in his realm. It’s as if he’s served an invisible artery he did not know of, and the breathing mass of the Dreaming is all too happy to remind him daily. 

As if he did this. As if he wanted this.

Lucienne straightens in his peripheral. “Sir, I’ve come to bring a rather urgent matter to your attention.”

He doesn’t move. “What’s wrong?”

There is a beat of hesitation. “It’s the Wanderer Island, sir. It’s… sick.”

His attention snaps to the librarian at the foot of his dais. 

“Sick?” he repeats softly.

“I believe it would be best if you saw for yourself.” Discomfort and sadness paint Lucienne’s face, her arms folded compact behind her back. Even after centuries, some habits are unfading. “If I may, perhaps, make a suggestion, my Lord. It might be beneficial to welcome Wanderer back—”

“Wanderer made the decision to withhold information from me, Lucienne, not I.” His low words slice through the throne room, and with them, the little light emitting from the windows behind his throne gets snuffed out. “It is she who has betrayed my trust and the trust of all those living here. Until Wanderer chooses candour, the gates of the Dreaming shall remain shut to her.”

Same conversation. His siblings were bad enough. Now the staff insists. Do they not understand? Falsity once is falsity always. Universe experiences turmoil. One of the Endless does not simply abandon their post. But for Wanderer to know of Destruction's whereabouts—his brother’s whereabouts—and to not share it with him, the one you always insisted you trust most, stings.

After what transpired with Desire, Morpheus foolishly lulled himself into believing you could be trusted. Perhaps, at long last, he has uncovered a confidant, a soul to share this burden with without concern. 

Do his subjects, his siblings, not understand? He did not banish for amusement, for pleasure; even now, on this day, he’s haunted. Traces of you are everywhere. In his kingdom, his creations, his siblings, and even the waking world. 

I think you’re lonely. 

As if he requires reminders. As if Hob Gadling’s words do not compel forth another voice, so familiar he could pick it out from a sea of billions, no matter what dark hole or galaxy it is thrown in:

Do you ever get lonely?

Lucienne lowers her head, but her words come out strong, insistent: “My Lord, respectfully, perhaps you are not truly appreciating the position Wanderer is in.”

Morpheus slants his head away, his lips compressing. “And what position may that be?”

“That of someone who owes loyalties to more than just you.” Lucienne is already gazing at him over her rounded glasses when Morpheus turns his attention to her. Despite their positions, Lucienne talks as if she’s the monarch sitting on a throne and relating wisdom. “Is it not you, yourself, who has expressed admiration in the past for how loyal Wanderer is towards your siblings? It does not take away from her loyalty towards you, my Lord. Perhaps, there is a good reason for this behaviour. I do not believe Wanderer would willingly withhold anything from you—”

“I have heard enough.”

Lucienne halts mid-word, her gaze lowering, but her shoulders remain straight and tightly locked. 

“I am simply proposing that it would be practical—”

Shadows curl around the throne, his fingers curling around the armrest slowly. “It is not your decision to make, Lucienne.” A dangerous, velvety whisper. “You may go.”

Her head droops. Disappointed. So he has existed long enough to disappoint them. So be it. 

“Yes, my Lord.”

.

Ice has enveloped Wanderer Island. Everywhere Morpheus looks, flaky white ice covers the terrain. Snow crunches beneath his boots as he treks slowly through the island, snowflakes floating through the air in shapeless spirals. Periwinkle skies have blackened to a dull, oppressive grey. Flowers have bowed their heads, shrinking inwards. Sour apple grass has shrivelled under severe frostbite. Branches droop low, weighted down by snow and…

“What happened to you?” he breathes. 

Underneath the physical matter, he seeks the life, the pulsing core he nestles in all his creations. It takes mere seconds to cup his incorporeal hands around the island’s pulsing heart. Once so bright, so teeming with life, now rests crushed inwards, fluttering weakly in his grasp. 

Morpheus leans his hand on the bark of a nearby tree, a faint breath slipping free. 

For months he’s refused to visit, refused to so much as consider the island. He'd hoped that if he casts it from his mind, he won't be reminded of you. That, as with all things, he can pry you away piece by wretched piece from his life. Throw each fragment aside and leave them in the past where you and him and together now belongs. 

Buried in the ash of ruin. 

Where is Wanderer? Comes the pleading, weak whisper in his mind. Where is Wanderer? Where is the one who gave me life? 

Morpheus breathes deeply. “I gave you life.”

You gave me a purpose, beloved Dream Lord, not life. You feel cold, my Dream. You feel as cold as Wanderer does. 

A serrated blade sinks deep into the soft tissue at the moniker—at the reminder of phantom warmth he’s done all to be rid of. What he won’t give to peel centuries away, so he is no longer burdened by the absence. For it stings, but he cannot hate a memory, only the implication it imparts on him. That there is no together. He’s lost it. 

“Tell me who did this to you,” he urges, his words frayed, exhausted.

The most joyous place in the Dreaming is withering. He holds the fluttering life tighter in his palms, protectively, tucking it close to him. His power blankets the island, but it’s useless—unlike others, unlike the Dreaming itself, Wanderer Island was merely shaped by him; its life force came from another source.

A source he's prohibited from passing through his gates.  

And if it’s not bad enough already, as if this hasn't demanded too much, taken too much, then comes a faint, fragile declaration: 

You did. 

And in another breath, equally as fragile: Lonely, so lost, so alone, hurting, you took too much, my Dream— 

His fingernails dig into the bark, even if his jaw remains tightly clenched. “I did not mean for this to happen. I wish…”

Do we matter, do we matter, do we—

“You do,” he exhales, so quietly it’s nearly lost. “More than you know. Let me help you.”

Beloved Dream Lord, King of Stars, are you here to destroy me? 

Morpheus rests his forehead lightly on the hoarfrost-covered surface. His breath warms and melts the ice, but it will be a momentary relief. “Never.”

But…

The island quivers so terribly that odd, hateful helplessness grasps him.

But…

But…

You already are. 

A rustle snaps Morpheus’ head to one side. Corinthian stands in the bleak, snowy treeline. Unmoving. The nightmare’s features remain blank while he observes him. Morpheus hasn’t seen much of his creation since your banishment. According to others, Corinthian hardly leaves the island unless it’s to fulfil his duty. Even occasional dreamers who still stray towards the island find their dreams swiftly souring into nightmares. 

Corinthian does not speak and does not move nearer. But in his silence, Morpheus senses the mute resentment, the eroding sense of acceptance for what or who he is. 

Morpheus will see and hear even less of his creation in the upcoming weeks and months. 

Until one day, Corinthian does not return at all. 

.

“Is there a light at the end of a tunnel?”

“No idea. Never seen it.”

Edward chuckles, a deep, rattling sound croaking through his wrecked lungs. “We must be children to you.”

Your fingers tighten around his weathered ones. The frail skin and bone does feel like dust beneath your hand, but you will not take this final peace from him. “You’re not, Edward. You’re human. You’re my own.”

Edward blinks his watery eyes towards the ceiling, his silver hair nearly blending in with his pillowcase. “It is strange. I feared I might… be afraid. But I am not.”

“Don’t be,” you reassure him kindly. “She’s kind.”

He glances at you. “She?”

Wings rustle behind you, tickling over your cheek and ear and lips. 

“Hello, Wanderer.”

Your heart bleeds at the kind, loving greeting. At once, you want to stand and run to her, embrace her and hold her close. Breathe her in and forget the distance between you, the difference you will never be able to bridge. 

“Is it time?” you ask instead, wooden in your articulation.

“I’m afraid so.”

Edward looks perplexed by your one-sided conversation. “Who are—oh. You. I see.”

He latches onto one lingering behind you, fear spasming his features. In the end, you’ve learned most are scared, small, and childlike. Hopeful but fearful of what awaits them on the other side. 

“Just a moment, please,” Edward pleads. 

Death is a benevolent voice and presence behind you. “Go right ahead.”

Edward’s fingers shake around yours, his grip weak despite his effort to hold your hand. “Wanderer. Do you think…”

There’s old man feebleness to him, but you choose to see your friend as he once was—strong, proud and brilliant. All those souls you’ve saved together, all the adventures you’ve shared in. A life unlived because you were not meant for him. 

“Yes, Edward.” You put your hand on his, settling him, soothing him. “In another life.”

Happiness shines in his bloodshot eyes, his lungs rattling with a quiet, relieved huff. He gazes at you until the end, until his eyelids slip shut and his hold on you weakens. 

Standing, you bend over him, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead, your eyes squeezed shut. “Goodbye, my dearest friend.”

“Yes, she is, isn’t she?” Death speaks suddenly. 

You cannot perceive Edward’s soul, cannot see the intricate nature of life the way Death or other Endless can, but you feel a warmth momentarily on your shoulder when you straighten. It’s followed by fluttering heat against your temple. There and gone. 

You push your way from the room just as mighty wings beat behind you, helping your friend pass to the Sunless Lands. 

Your foot is barely out the door when she locates you again. 

“Did you…”

Death’s face creases with unspoken sympathy. 

“Know that Edward loved me?” Your words grind out stringent, tightly leashed. Your dress is too constricting and suffocating. You want to rip it to shreds. Then your own skin off. “Yes. He always joked about courting me, buying me home, and marrying me despite the curse. I thought he meant it in jest. He was a flirt. Then, I was gone for a few decades. For me, it was nothing. For him, it was an entire lifetime. I came back to find him in his sixties, unmarried and alone. He wanted it to be me. The least I could do was stay with him in the end.”

Death’s features crease further, pained. “Wanderer…”

“Anyway,” you mutter dismissively, shrugging as you adjust your large skirt. “Edward had a brother and sister, so I imagine I’ll be dealing with Constantines for centuries to come.”

You set out on a steady trek from the mansion. You both love and hate Death for falling in step with you immediately. 

“How have you been?” she ventures. 

I haven’t slept in sixty-six years. 

You keep your attention directly ahead, mute. Sun beats down on you, sweat beading your brow. Your spine remains ramrod straight despite the discomfort. This is nothing in comparison to things you’ve been through. It’s nothing compared to the bubbling pain in your heart right now. “The usual.”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Death says bluntly and your jaw flutters. “You’ve been avoiding all of us. It’s been decades.”

You have. Since your banishment, you’ve done everything possible to remove yourself from the other Endless. The physical toll of trying to cut yourself from them has been immense. You’ve grown accustomed to the curse, or at least you’ve managed to coexist with it to a point where things were almost normal. But now that you’re actively fighting against its will, it’s been set on making each punishment twice as excruciating. 

Only now, in Death’s overwhelming presence, it’s stopped its violent rampage through your body.  

“I simply got reminded where my place is, Death. I got too ahead of myself. I’m nothing more than a cursed mortal. You’re the Endless.”

Her retort is instantaneous. “Delirium misses you. She needs her friend.”

Your gait stutters, then steadies once more. You refuse to let the panging guilt worm its way through you. “She needs her older brothers, not some stranger.”

Death halts. You don’t. “A stranger? Unbelievable.” In a blink, she’s blocking your path. You stagger to a stop, scowling. “Is that what you believe you are to us? A stranger.”

She’s not letting you avoid her probing stare or hide from her question. 

Switching your attention over her shoulder, you respond stiffly, “I believe Desire once summed it up best: a glorified pet with an extended expiry date.”

Death frowns deeply, troubled, bending her head until your eyes meet. “Since when do you listen to what Desire says? Desire speaks only to get under your skin. To get a reaction.”

You say nothing, chewing on your inner cheek. Spring bloom is fresh in the air, bird song chipper and lively, the sky clearest you’ve seen in days. You can’t help but resent it. Edward just died, and with him, another piece of your life. 

“Wanderer.” You nearly fold at how gently Death calls your title. “He’s a fool. What Dream did—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Her fingers curl lightly around your biceps. She’s regretful, but it doesn't fix the damage done. “Dream needs you. He hasn’t been the same since your banishment. He’s… he regrets it a great deal.”

“Then where is he?”

Birds seem to hush at your whip-sharp question. It burst from you with such keen desperation that you can’t help but shrug off her touch, hurt prickling your skin. 

“If he needs me so much and regrets it so badly, where is he?” Your demand shatters the peaceful spring afternoon. Your voice catches, centuries stripped back until, much like Edward before his passing, you’re left terrified and small. “You have no idea what he took from me. None.”

Death says nothing. There’s nothing she can say. If anyone can appreciate just how much you’ve lost, it would be her. Shaking off your emotions, you school yourself. This time you touch her arms, squeezing her forearms once.

“I will always love you. Always.” The light in her dims despite your steely affirmation. Your hold on her slips away. “But please don’t come here, making me feel like the guilty one. I’m done. Your family affairs are yours alone. I’m not getting involved anymore. Morpheus can’t see beyond his pride, which will be his undoing. I’m not going to be a part of it.”

You brush past her, but her subsequent words stop you dead in your tracks: “You need each other.”

It takes effort to swallow the painful lump lodged in your throat. Then do the same with the wad of tenderness you feel spluttering in your chest in concurrence. 

“I thought that once, too,” you whisper over your shoulder with a slight, broken smile. “Not anymore.”

You’re gone with a crack before she can say anything else. 

.

“You cannot hide out here forever.”

“I mean, I could,” you drawl tiredly. “Why? Are you kicking me out too?”

Despite the blatant humour, there’s vulnerability buried in your inquiry. Destruction exhales deeply, his broad shoulders rolling with the gesture. 

“Never. But my sister was right. Dream needs you.”

You scoff, your shoulders slumping. “Dream doesn’t need anyone, Destruction. That’s the point. If he wanted to fix this—fix us—he would at least try.”

But Dream hasn’t contacted you, or attempted to, in decades. For sixty-six years, you’ve hoped he’d change his mind, see it differently, endeavour to understand. But no. Dream is always in the right. He is too proud, too invulnerable to ponder the possibility of his shortcomings. 

He will not permit himself the humility needed for an apology. 

“He is not infallible,” Destruction reminds patiently, settling beside you. Next to his brawny figure, you’re no more than a tiny bird, seeking shelter behind a mighty mountain—just two outcasts sharing space. You wish Corinthian could be here with you. “He, too, makes mistakes. I only ask that you give him a chance when he does seek you out. Because he will.”

“Why would he?” you counter.

Destruction levels you with a stare you have a hard time deciphering. It’s old, weighted with a thousand secretive things, and oh so knowing. 

“Funny, I—”

You flinch, words dying on your tongue. Another stab from deep within spears through you, and you gasp, doubling over. Something in your pocket burns. 

You grasp for the item blindly, flinching at the searing heat rubbing across your skin. 

It’s the pebble. Dream’s pebble. It’s so hot you can’t hold it without moving it in your hand.

“What the hell?”

Destruction stands to his feet, focusing on something beyond the horizon with grave intensity. “Dream…”

“What’s happening?” you ask hastily, noting the uncharacteristically solemn expression Destruction wears. “Why do I feel…”

“Something is wrong.” Fire has ignited in Destruction’s usually gentle amber gaze. “Go, go to him. Now, Wanderer.”

.

Something is wrong. Truly wrong. You sense it long before you snap into the Dreaming, sucking in a desperate lungful of the heated, sweet air. Your home. After what felt like an eternity. 

But…

The Dreaming is a location of unparalleled security. Dream had painstakingly pieced together this realm himself and ensured its inhabitants were safe here. Entering this place provides resistance. It always has, even to you, like pushing through an invisible wall. For others, the Dreaming is locked behind an endless maze and formidable Gates of Horn and Ivory. No one enters without Dream Lord’s blessing and decree. 

No such resistance met you this time. Stepping into the Dreaming had been more straightforward than going from one city to another, simpler than crossing oceans. 

Dread coils your stomach. 

You had hoped to simply hop in, check everything is fine, and leave before Dream senses you. Before his wrath can divert your way for your noncompliance. But everything is wrong. Nothing has changed, but somehow everything has. 

You set out for the castle immediately. 

“Lucienne!”

You spot the librarian in the distance, hurriedly crossing towards the commotion by the castle—

What is going on?

“Wanderer.” Utter shock slacks her features for a breath. “You have returned.”

She doesn't appear pleased to see you. This is the most undone, most concerned you’ve ever witnessed her. The pebble in your tight knuckle hold is icy to the touch. The roar inside your head, so alike to the one you felt centuries ago when Destruction first abdicated his position, is but a muted storm.

“I’m sorry,” you say hurriedly. “I know I’m not allowed to be here, but something felt off. I can’t explain it. I just… what is it? What’s wrong?”

Why does she look so awfully lost, so disturbingly unprepared? But then Lucienne speaks, her voice trembling ever so slightly, and the world as you know it ends:

“He’s gone. Lord Morpheus is gone.”

.

“Please, remain calm. We are working on getting more information.”

The crowd stirs. 

“He abandoned us!”

“Did he leave us?”

Standing in the corner, you listened to the fearful outcries from the Dreaming residents. Lucienne's attempts to appease them have not been as effective as you’d hoped. You do not blame them. After Destruction’s exit, many realms had started fearing the same would happen to them. What happens when your creator grows weary of their duties and decides to depart, abandoning you in the process? 

“He is no different than his brother! The Endless do not care for their realms.”

Your frown deepens. 

“Dream would never leave you.” Silence shrouds the crowds, and you realise you’ve spoken aloud too late. Their searching, fearful gazes seek you out; several murmurs of wanderer/wanderer has returned/wanderer is here filtering through the air. You soften your features. “He is many things, but have some faith in him.”

“You would defend him?” At the front of the crowd, you discover Gault. Her gaze is unwavering, sober. “Even after he banished you?”

They’re so quiet the breeze blowing through the castle’s structure is audible. 

“What happened between him and I is one matter, but he loves the Dreaming.” Your gaze sweeps over the crowd, your words gentle but passionate. They’re just afraid and lost, you remind yourself. So many you’ve known since their first sound, their first breath. “He loves all of you. You should never forget that. If Dream is gone, it’s by no choice of his own.”

And that terrifies you so much more. 

.

“Where is Corinthian?”

The evening had descended upon the Dreaming. Finally, away from the crowd, it’s the first question you ask—demand—because you hadn’t seen him anywhere. 

Merv cringes, then scoffs. “Oh boy.”

Lucienne, despite her haggard demeanour, readjusts herself. Her head lowers, and instantly you brace for something awful. Because you know—it’s written in every inch of Lucienne’s pinched yet sympathetic expression. 

“He went rogue, Wanderer.”

No. Horror solidifies inside your chest, crushing your heart in a fist. Not him. No. 

Take me with you. To the hell with them. You and me.

You and me. 

Lucienne continues, each word more crushing than the last, “After your banishment, Corinthian became… darker. Even more uncontrollable. He resented Lord Morpheus for what he did to you. He secluded himself on Wanderer Island. Soon his presence at the Dreaming became more and more infrequent. Sir left to fetch Corinthian from the waking world when he disappeared.”

The first wounding thought comes: did he leave to find me, knowing what Dream would do to him for his insubordination? The second is no less devastating: did he go because he had nothing to lose or believed I’d abandoned him?

Never. You never would. Not a day had passed when you hadn’t thought about him or missed him terribly. 

“The waking world,” you croak out because it’s the only tidbit you can latch onto lest you go mad. “I should go. Maybe I can locate him. Both of them.”

Merv shoots his arm out, stopping you. “That’s not a great idea, kid.”

“Why?”

Lucienne sighs, conflicted. “Because it is clear that the Dreaming residents fear they might have been abandoned. Your presence here is giving them hope. Much needed stability.”

Fine. Yes, that makes sense. For them, you will stay. To keep them safe until Dream returns. But…

“Then we should call on the other Endless. If Dream is in trouble—”

Merv shakes his head, a grimace twisting his face. “Kid, be real for a moment. Do you see big brother and his dusty book approving interference?”

No. Destiny would likely prohibit it altogether. Ancient Laws would mandate events unfold as they are written to unfold. If not, the horrors any intercession would unleash would be much worse. Dream would not seek aid from his siblings no matter how wounded or…

It hurts too much even to consider what might have occurred. For one as powerful as him to be made indisposed…

“There is still Jessamy.” Lucienne’s voice cuts clear and calm through your panicked, frayed mind and your glassy stare snaps in her direction. “We might be able to use her to find where Lord Morpheus is.” 

Sucking in a steadying breath, you jolt your shoulders upwards, raise your chin, and quieten your mind. “Then what are we waiting for?”

.

“Wherever he is, Lord Morpheus’ power is completely cut off.”

“Wards.”

Lucienne blinks at your prompt inference. Arms folded around yourself, you stalk back and forth across the library. Merv watches you cautiously. 

“Wards?” Lucienne prompts.

“If we’re assuming he was tracking down Cori..nthian to the waking word, then he might have encountered magical prowess.” You mentally curse yourself for stumbling over Corinthian’s name. For months you’ve waited for his return. Surely he’s felt it, if not, then heard about Dream’s disappearance. “But someone who can capture an Endless and place wards to keep him there? This doesn't make any sense. Unless…”

The librarian waits patiently. “Unless?”

Unless they had help. Mortals should not have such power, let alone such acute expertness. 

“Nothing. I’ll go.”

“You cannot,” Lucienne argues. 

For months you’ve been trying to keep the Dreaming under control together. The three of you had done your best, but the cracks are beginning to show. Desperation is setting in, and unless you do something, things will crumble here. 

“I’ll track down Jessamy,” you explain, having already given this due thought. You’ve been up for days, coming up with plan after plan. The Dreaming was once the only place where you could sleep, but that is no longer true. Its power is starting to ebb with Dream’s absence. “I’ll search until I find her. She can take me to Dream.”

“And if there are wards around this building? Does that not mean you cannot enter without permission also?”

You stare at her for a moment, then smile. For the first time in centuries, something like unease ghosts over Lucienne’s features. 

“I’ll burn down the goddamn building if I have to. I don’t care.”

.

“No,” you hiss, blood coating your hands, oozing quicker, harder. “I do not obey you. You obey me. I’m done letting you control me.”

The curse trashes inside your chest, ripping, ripping, and ripping.

“I’m staying,” you gasp, choking down acidic bile. “I’m staying until I find them. You won’t make me leave. You won’t.”

You don’t remember passing out, only waking up in jail with sneering faces glaring down at you. 

Then the gunshot. 

.

You seek but to no avail. The world that was once so tiny has become impossibly large. No matter how hard you search for Jessamy, Dream, or Corinthian, you can’t locate them anywhere. 

In the end, it doesn’t matter. 

Jessamy gets killed two years into your search. 

.

“Where did they go?”

Your hollow words scrape against the vacant halls of the castle. You can’t see Lucienne behind you while you gaze up at Dream’s desolate throne, but her quiet devastation is apparent. 

“They left.”

A sound rasps from your chest. “Left?”

“Some went after you to search. Others…”

It’s straightforward enough; to draw your conclusions why you returned to a realm half devoid. Emptier, colder, and more lifeless than you’ve ever glimpsed it. The Dreaming is rotting—your home is eroding, and there’s nothing you can do. 

Your home.

Your fingers curl. “They deserted?”

Lucienne’s faint sigh doesn’t soothe the anger sparking in your heart. “It’s been years. The Dreaming… is starting to fade.”

As if you can’t tell as much yourself. As if houses haven’t started crumbling, as if the sun barely shines anymore. As if all things once so green and beautiful are now no more than a gutted carcass, barely clinging to life. 

“Stop. We’ll find him,” you insist. 

“But—”

Your head angles towards the librarian, now so much more than that—a leader in the absence of the realm’s true ruler. “There is no but, Lucienne. We’ll find him. Dream will come back.”

You have time. You’ll find him. Dream still lives because the universe would reverberate with the loss if he were gone. All he’s created would be sand once more. Wherever he is, whatever is being done to him, he still lives. 

You’re not sure what Lucienne spots on your face, but it wipes traces of doubt from her face, her resolve restored. “Yes, he will.”

.

The crossroads are dark and barren—wind whistles through bare branches in an ominous, spine-chilling wail. No clock is necessary for you to tell the time. 

3.33am. 

Thunder cracks so loudly through the frosty night air that your knees shake where you stand. Light dances over three silhouettes clustered close together. 

You bow to your waist, and pretend you’re not frightened out of your mind. 

“Great Ladies.”

Kindly Ones let you rest in your low bow for an entire minute. 

“Well, well, look who came crawling back for help.”

The Crone’s robes trail over the ground by your feet. Your throat wobbles, sweat cooling against your nape. 

“Hush, sister-self,” coos the Maiden, her words sweet and light. She cups your chin, raising your face until you’re standing upright. “Wanderer, we did warn you not to seek us again. No matter how elaborate your offerings.”

Her stare slides towards the bag at your feet. The Crone snatches it with a tetchy sound. Your bandaged hand throbs, blood still clotting beneath the hastily wrapped cloth. 

“Look at you, poor dear.” The Mother grasps your cheeks. “You are worn to the bone, love.”

“Of course she is,” the Crone snaps, examining your presents with a deep-set scowl. “This one wanders and wanders until her feet bleed and her shoulders shake. Drop dead and get back up. Is it eternity sweet?”

Your tongue is ash and embers in your mouth.

Another thunder crack, and the Fates stand in a line before you. “Why do you call upon us?” the Maiden asks. 

Your eyes lower respectfully. “I require your assistance, my fair ladies.”

“Sweet tongue. Poisonous tongue.” the Crone drones. “You’ve certainly changed your tune. Where did your mortal arrogance go? Have the ages worn it off?”

“I suppose, my lady, yes, they have. You told me the curse would teach me much.”

The Maiden circles you, her sheer skirt trailing over the muddy, half frozen ground. No dirt sticks to the fabric. “Has it not Wanderer?” You’re unsure how to take her curiosity, so you say nothing. “Did you not get what you asked for? To wander forever, to be free. So no chain, no roots may hold you down. So you may not rot in the dirt but float through starlight? You’ve been given a gift no other mortal has ever received.”

That would be hilarious if you didn’t want to scream until your throat was bloody. 

“Not like this, my Lady. This isn’t fair.”

The Crone cackles. “Ha! She speaks of fairness. You reap what you sow, child.”

The Mother purses her lips, beckoning with encouragement. “Come, dear, speak your piece. For your fair offerings, we shall hear you but promise no more than that.”

Swallowing shakily, you keep your voice level, determined, “I would humbly beg you, fair Ladies, for your help in seeking out Dream of the Endless. I aim to find Lord Morpheus and free him.”

The stormy wind picks up, blowing frigid and harsh. Your clothes rustle, doing little to keep the chill out. 

“Why should we care for the Dream Lord’s plight?” the Crone challenges. Her hawk-like stare nails you in the spot, daring and domineering. “He cared not for ours. His actions are his own.”

You grapple for breath. “Surely the mortal world suffers in his absence, my Lady? Surely you don’t wish that.”

The Mother sighs sympathetically. “Mortals are born and destroyed all the time, dear. Dust to dust. We do not alter destiny. We do not take away free will. Morpheus made his choices. He makes his choice every day.”

They’re slipping from you. You can see it clearly. Hopelessness drives you several paces towards them. 

“No. There has to be a way—”

“There it is. That brass.” Your feet turn to lead at the Crone’s harsh exclamation. “The belief you are owed. That rules do not apply to you because you disagree with them. This is what got you cursed in the first place.”

“I won’t know, my lady, I don't remember.”

Old, blistering power bites at your senses, curving your spine in a warning. Courteous words, yes, but their sarcasm is discernible for beings as old as the Three. 

“Go, Wanderer.” The Maiden almost sounds compassionate. Almost. If it were not for the wickedness slithering beneath that beauty. “There is nothing for you here.”

“Please.” You abandon any notion of pride, sinking to one knee, freezing dirt presses into your body. “I’ll give you anything. Just help him.”

The wind blows in great, bellowing gusts around you, whipping your clothes around your body. The Maiden lowers herself closer, curiosity glowing brightly. 

“Do you love him?” she ponders. “Do you love him enough to give yourself away?”

Do you love Dream?

He might have banished you and been in the wrong, but your anger will never surpass your devotion to him. He’s everything to you—beginning and end. Without him, everything in your life is wilting. 

“I pity you, Wanderer.” In a thunderclap, the Maiden stands at a distance, but her words carry on the wind. “You are doomed in loving one such as him. For he will never see beyond his own pride.”

Shaking your head, you knot your fingers together. “He doesn’t have to choose me. I just… I want him to be free. The Dreaming needs him. The waking world needs him.”

I need him.

The Crone peers down at you pitilessly, all but deploring. “Foolish child. Even if you could, there is nothing left for you to give. You are but hollow bones and sheer, misplaced hope. Forget it. Your Dream Lord is lost to you.”

And then you’re alone. 

.

The throne room has started caving in. 

Dents in the stone, dust on the ground. The stunning glass-stained windows have cracked. At least they haven’t shattered yet. Despair scorches through you with such uncontrolled fury your body shakes. 

This is punishment—true punishment. 

Dream is gone, with him, all you hold dear. 

Blindly, overcome with some otherworldly fury, you march for the staircase leading to the castle's upper levels—past endless doors and nooks towards your destination. You throw open a door you had learned centuries ago leads to Dream’s private chambers. Dust and darkness greet you. His room lays undisturbed. Agonisingly perfect. As if he had stepped away for a day and not decades. Years spent trying to uncover his whereabouts, bleeding and shredding yourself and for nothing. He’s gone, and he’s unlikely to return. No matter who you go to or how boldly you toe the destiny line, nothing. 

Marching towards his wardrobe, you yank the door open, panting for breath. 

“Where are you?” you snarl, potent emotion strangling you. “I’m in your room! I’m touching your things! I’m banished, but I’m here. Doesn’t that just make you furious?”

Nothing. Lonesome silence bears your fury, placating it, and you rip his dark coat out, balling the material in your hands. No magic lingers in its hems or stitches anymore, no stars or golden flames. Without Dream, it’s just a coat. No different than any other in the waking world. 

You press your face to it, smothering a sob. “Where are you? All that’s left is a ghost of you, Dream.”

Gasping, you pull it closer to your body, stalking back through the silent corridors, each step shredding this awful stillness. There’s no one in the throne room. There’s barely anyone left in the Dreaming. 

Your teeth clenched, you march up the winding staircase you’ve never walked upon until now. Reaching the top is a forlorn affair. Dream’s vacant throne openly mocks you, jeering a reminder he’s no longer with you. 

You drop onto his throne unceremoniously, draping his coat over your lap. “I’m sitting on your throne, Lord Morpheus! Are you not going to appear and punish me for my insolence?”

Nothing. 

The pebble in your hand has formed a near-permanent dent in your palm. Your lips wobble. You bite on them to keep still, bringing the pebble to your mouth. 

Over nine hundred years. Not once had you evoked Dream’s name. Never dared to. After Dream vanished, you didn’t dare out of fear. What if he doesn't answer? Could you bear the sheer agony it would bring you? 

But there’s nothing else left. You’ve tried everything. You’ve given and bled and…

You unfold your fingers gingerly, gazing at the clear, tear-shaped stone. Up here, on Dream’s throne, you cup it in your hand, holding it close to your heart: your fragile hope, dearest wish, and sole dream. 

“I call upon Dream of the Endless. Answer my call, Dream Lord, for you are sworn.”

You hold your breath. 

Minutes crawl by. Nothing. 

“I call upon Dream of the Endless. Answer my call, Dream Lord, for you are sworn.”

Nothing. 

“You are sworn.”

The last word is a half scream, tearing through your vocal cords. 

Nothing. 

“Dream.” Your voice splinters, barely audible. Pain oozes from each weak breath, stranging your words. “Dream? Please. You promised me. I can’t do this anymore. I… I can’t. Don’t leave me here alone.”

Nothing moves. No one answers.  

You slump on the throne, curling on yourself. His coat holds no scent if it ever did hold one—it’s been too long—but you pull it closer regardless. It’s so large it envelopes you. Murky blueish-purple light filters through cracked glass-stained windows. 

It’s so quiet. You’re too exhausted to cry, too exhausted to move—there’s nothing left. And then you realise something. It’s not contemptuous silence set on hurting you that encircles you. It’s a mournful, bruised silence. As if all the stars, all the unanswered, adrift dreams and galaxies, far and wide, are mourning the loss of the Dream Lord. 

You bury your face in the black, scratchy material. Your lids slip shut, but there are no dreams. 

.

The following morning you head for the House of Secrets. 

“Can you tailor it?”

Abel’s bug-eyed stare suggests he knows who this coat belongs to. 

“I—uh—Wanderer is this…” His nervous smile shrinks sadly, his hands fidgeting. He forcefully brightens, grinning toothly. “Yes. Of course. I will do my very best.”

That much you don’t doubt. 

.

No one contests your new attire. No one asks why. The few who still linger despite all hope lost understand why. You’ve all developed your own individual methods of coping. 

The coat has been altered to fit your shape, but the collar pops as it did for Dream. It rests heavy and secure around your shoulders as it did his. It makes you remember what it felt like to have a home. Just as he did. 

And concealed deep in the midnight material of once magical coat lives a small, cold-to-the-touch pebble and a battered figurine depicting a grinning nightmare. 

.

“The…” 

The slight, emotional hitch in Lucienne’s voice informs you what has been lost today. 

“The library… is gone.”

What could you possibly say to alleviate the despair etched onto her face? There are no words. So instead, you seize Lucienne’s hand in your own. You sit slouched together on the floor, holding hands, and you pretend you don’t feel her trembling. Just as she does the same for you. 

.

“Well this place has certainly seen better days.”

Your hands curl in your coat pockets, but you don’t turn. Prowling steps saunter down the pier, heading in your direction. You’ve been coming here every day for almost ninety years at sunset. Waiting. But your Dream never shows up. 

“Why are you here, Desire?”

You sound exhausted.

“My, my, that’s no way to greet your old friend, sweet thing. It’s been so long.”

You haven’t seen any of the Endless for decades. There’s been nothing else on your mind other than getting Dream back, and when they confirmed the Ancient Laws stand—that no, they cannot help you unless Dream calls for aid himself, you had nothing more to say. 

On the horizon, the sun barely floats in the sky, thin and hazy. 

“Dear me, why are you wearing that ghastly thing?” There’s a sharp tug on the lapel, but you don’t react, glowering silently. “Fine. This place has no protection anymore. Anyone could wander in whenever they please.”

Perhaps Desire implies it as a threat, but frankly, you could care less. 

“Are you happy?” you pose abruptly. “Does it make you happy to see the Dreaming in ruins? Dream gone? It affects your domain too.”

Desire laughs; a soft, sultry sound. Cashmere and wanton kisses trailing down on your cheek. 

“I’m old, Wanderer. Time is nothing for one such as I.” Desire raises their hand to examine their no doubt lacquered nails, but it’s no longer what you perceive when you gaze at Desire. “It will do dear Dream some good. What happened to you?”

Their tone sharpens, no doubt taking stock of your appearance. Your hunched, faded form, held together by a midnight coat and human hope. 

“What price are you paying to stay here, my dear? It’s destroying you.” Desire hums, fingers trailing up your arm. Hurt whorls inside your ribcage, finding no way out. You’ve forgotten what it’s like; to be touched, not hurt. “Even if Dream does return, do you imagine he will thank you for this? A guardian to a broken realm. Don’t make me laugh.”

Your grim, wary smile hurts. “You don’t get it. It’s not about gratitude, Desire. It’s about…”

Your words are devoured by the sun slipping behind the unmoving, inky water.

“Love.”

Desire curls the word like a lush, loving expletive. “Oh, Wanderer, you disappoint me. From all of us… him. So that’s why you hadn’t looked my way in centuries.” Fingers grasp your chin, guiding your face towards them. Except there’s only a faint golden sheen to indicate this is not truly Dream holding you. It’s so cruel how true Desire’s reflection is. How Desire is your Dream Lord down to last detail right now, except you could recognise Dream anywhere. “How long have I been wearing his face? Your deepest desire.” 

You jerk from their grasp. Desire may appear as Dream, but the veiled cruelty is all them. 

“You may go now.”

Desire smirks, devious and deadly, brushing aside invisible lint. Then they’re gone. 

You bite your tongue to stop yourself from calling after them. 

The blood tastes sweet. 

.

Wanderer Island is the last to go. 

It was inevitable, of course. You’ve had time to prepare. The Dreaming had been crumbling for decades, the decay getting more severe with each passing year.

Still, you held onto hope. Foolishly you tried to adapt your curse logic to it. Nothing could touch it if you just stay away and make no mention of it. Perhaps the frenzied, wild need to see it safe would keep it afloat in the end, keep it secure.  

It doesn’t. 

One evening, you stand alone on the pier, watching it break into the blackened waters below. 

It’s delicate. Tranquil. It breaks apart without a sound as if it doesn’t want to inconvenience anyone with its pain. 

No more wildflower fields where you would lay with your head on Corinthian’s stomach gazing at stars. No more long treks with your arms brushing with Dream’s while birds sang and butterflies danced around you. No more home for wandering souls or a friend to greet you on the golden shores.  

“Where you go, misery will follow. Where you go, horrors will befall those around you. You will have no home. You will know no peace. Eternity will be your damnation.”

Eternity. 

There’s no memory of ending up on your knees, but tears come in a silent torrent. 

For the first time in a century, you sob until your chest hurts. 

Eternity yawns, infinite and desolate, around you. This time, there is no one here to catch you. 

an: it'll get better. promise.

[thisliminalspacedaydreams]

Do not confuse Enthusiasm with Entitlement.

Hello!

I’m relatively unknown in the fanfiction world which is great, but I’ve got some friends who are known, and I’ve got things to say, from an outsider perspective.

I’m a writer, but I’m also a reader. I participate in the fandom in the way I know how, which is through writing stories.

Here’s what fandom should be. It’s a village, called Fandom, and people all interact in the village in some way. Write, Art, Ideas, Comments, Reblogs, Kudos, Podfics, Bookbinding, Etc etc etc. It’s a Smurf village, because currency doesn’t exist, and everyone does what they can for the community to thrive, for fucking free. They offer gifts, and encouragement, and once a week we all gather round in the center of the village and scream about it in a very unhealthy way. Some people are more active than others, some like to be known, some prefer to remain anonymous, some watch from the sidelines and everything is done with care and a warm heart between our teeth.

There are pockets of that, which, great.

Here’s what fandom is, sometimes.

1/People elevating others to the point of God, sometimes dragging other writers down (for no reason, no one asked to be rated as the best fic writer of all time) to make a point. What is the point? Is there one?

2/People harassing writers for more things. Write an epilogue, write another chapter, write this and that. Writers aren’t your own personal AI machine to make what you want to write. A lot is blamed on age, and perhaps there is an element to it, but I believe it’s just decency. An 18 years old kid is capable of making sensible decisions, just like a 24 years old, just like a 14 years old. Your age doesn’t give you a passe-droit to be a dick to people you admire (!!!???!)

3/I won’t even touch on the subject of hate reading because that’s just straight up insanity.

But it’s just… hate and tantrums and anger breeds more hate and tantrums and anger. There isn’t a virtuous way out of that, and I’d love for people to…just, cater to a more positive experience for everyone.

When your fingers are typing rot on your computer, you are venomizing everything that it touches: the people who will read it AND the people who will respond to it.

So far, from what I have seen, this behaviour leads to only one thing: depressed writers/artists/etc who stop writing/drawing/etc, or pull their work, or take breaks, or retreat from the limelight because it is too much.

You are pushing too much.

Enthusiasm is wonderful. It’s a powerful tool and should be used, everyone on this fandom is posting because we looked at The Thing and thought, “yeah.” No one in the history of the world (I hope) has posted after thinking “that is straight up shit and I hate it with a passion.”

Enthusiasm does need to be curated in a healthy way. I understand that Fandom is for fans, but it is also by fans. No one here is better, everyone here is different.

Some writers have a voice that resonate with more people, or stories that resonate with more people, and that is perfectly fine, but, once again for the people in the back, do not confuse Enthusiasm with Entitlement.

In what universe, in what galaxy do you believe complaining about someone’s work will make them go “oh right, nevermind all the work I put into this thing I love, let me just do the thing a random stranger is asking me to do.”

Do not confuse Enthusiasm with Entitlement.

Maybe I sound like bitch, but by god, the shit I’ve heard from my “popular” friends the past few months is absolutely mad. Mad, people.

You are normal people, and SO ARE THEY.

They have lives and interests and they are people. Treat them as such.

Do not confuse Enthusiasm with Entitlement.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk, I hope everyone enjoys Le Mange Dieu et le Dévoreur de Mondes, which we wrote and enjoyed writing, and which does not mean other writers weren't doing their own thing and writing other stuff in the meantime, and I HOPE we can all start to have some fucking respect for the people who spend hoursdaysweeksmonths pouring over a project and posting it for fucking free, all at once, so it’s not stressful for the reader. YOU.

Because against all fucking odds, we actually care about our readers. When you’re being nice.

Thank you and good day from a Fandom Elder.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Semi-related to the university and COVID post - have there been any positives you've seen from COVID in uni? I'm in my third year this year and my first year was an absolute mess of poor, older members of the faculty trying to work out how the technology works. In the last year they've really gotten a hold of it and it's been a great help to have lectures recorded alongside the live one, which has helped with people missing the live one due to being ill (or absolutely hanging from a night out, guilty here!) but that's the only positive I can really think of.

Yes, a lot of things disabled students had been calling for for *checks notes* a billion years were suddenly found to be cheap and easy to implement. And my uni was always extremely good for Student Support anyway, but there's much more understanding around mental health and access issues suddenly than, say, five years ago.

It's certainly true that older lecturers have struggled with adapting to the technology, though that's true anyway, tbh - education, like any other field, is a constant technological arms race. But personally, from the moment I was able to run hybrid lectures, I did. If I have a student who can't physically attend a session now, they can still join online. It's not as good an experience for them, but that's true anyway online vs in-person - but as an accessibility feature, it's invaluable.

And this uni is a merged, multi-campus university, with major centres in multiple different towns and cities. When it merged, we were told it would bring marvellous new opportunities because we could all work together now across disciplines and with pooled resources, which in practice did not happen because this is West Wales and inter-campus travel is difficult. But now video conferencing is an automatic and intrinsic part of operations, which means there are suddenly a lot more interdisciplinary projects popping up. One of those campuses has a whole SSSI green space to manage, but no environmental or countryside management faculty or students - we're suddenly able to arrange mini residentials over there with our student groups, and because it's all the same uni, costs are minimal to negligible. Research projects are suddenly easier. There are more conversations happening.

So yeah, there have been a handful! It's just heavily counterbalanced by the many and varied drawbacks

[tumblingxelian]

Thoughts on Stephanie Brown, Crime & Community

A lot of the posts I’ve been reading lately about Bruce’s brutality towards low level criminals and whether Jason betraying his own community or not, the double standards and meta analysis has all been very interesting. 

And it has also left me musing on Stephanie Brown’s character. 

Specifically how she operates in a really fascinating position that was likely not intended by the writers but one can reach anyway. 

So a quick primer: 

Stephanie Brown came up in a low income (at best) family in Gotham. Her father was consistently in and out of prison only briefly holding down a steady job and when he was home he was violent towards both Stephanie and her mother.

Crystal was neglectful and a substance abusing addict until Stephanie was about 15 and even then their relationship was quite messy with Stephanie still forced into a parental role. 

(She also escaped sexual assault as a child and was clearly traumatized by the event and given her ‘boyfriend’ who got her pregnant looed significantly older than her one could argue she was a victim of grooming.)

Her first team up with Batgirl (long before she receives any training) Shows she has an intimate and immediate understanding of criminal operations that can only come from either self study or experience. One of her earlier team ups with Robin & the then Green Arrow (Investigating gun runners selling to kids) had her note she felt her community was neglected by the heroes. Her first team up with Batgirl also had them basically steal money that would have gone to evidence to donate it to charity and she also reveal hinted at different times a dislike or lack of faith in the police. 

Now, not everything was hunky dory, as there were some writers who basically decided her motive was “Impress Robin”. Fortunately this only cropped up every now and again and she’d often try and seek out team ups and mentors elsewhere. And given it doesn’t line up well with her initial character I am content to view it as an artifact of the writer. 

But I digress, how does this go into her relationship with her community and criminals in general? 

Well, suffice to say her relationship with them is bad. 

Her first time out as Spoiler she tries to murder her father and has to be talked down by Batman. She later reveals to Crystal she was doing this to protect her because she was tired of seeing Arthur come back and ruin their lives over and over again. She also used visitation rights when he was in prison to beat the hell out of him because he orchestrated her kidnapping and near missed murder for money, while the guards just let it happen. 

In one of her first team ups with Robin they fight criminals in a snow covered building and his cutting of support beams leads them all to be buries. Robin insists on finding him and saving him, while Stephanie suggests leaving him to die, dismissing his motives along the lines of, “I was poor, daddy never loved me, ETC.” She only agreed trying to save him was a good idea when they accidently found a homeless woman and her child also buried. 

later on she also didn’t want to save a villain who managed to kidnap both herself and Robin. We also see her shrug off the prospect of accidentally killing a serial killer she was in combat with. She also has a violent exchange with Penguin after he started using children as gun runners which hinted at wanting to wipe people like him off the map. When he was dismissive of even facing charges because “I've got people for that” she legit scared and injured him and Batgirl needed to stop her from going further. 

(She also shrugged off Dick killing Joker while everyone else was freaking out but like, come on. Joker fills literal graveyards in universe and had been terrorizing the world minutes before, he’s not a ‘normal criminals’ by any stretch.)

Overall, her relationship to criminals in general was varying degree of contemptuous and she was quite comfortable with the prospect of doling out lethal punishment to criminals, though she never got the on screen opportunity. I think her general attitude is best summed up as “yes trauma sucks but its no excuse to take it out on your community” while holding those who profit off those circumstances in utter contempt. IE, she disdains petty criminals for victimizing their fellows and she hates the kingpins who run everything. 

(Though I doubt this was intended by the writers.) 

But I digress, I’m not expert enough to say whether this is a realistic or positive response to her circumstances, but I do find it an interesting one. I also think its a lot more nuanced than Batman’s brutality even if one could argue its problematic. Though that also broached the “Are we discussing in universe or out of universe” and so on. Really not sure where I was going with this. I maybe just wanted the chance to discuss Stephanie cos I think she’s really interesting. 

So uh, yeah. 

[hero-deserves-to-be-happy]

Let Kel Be Sad: An Analysis on Kel’s struggles to express his negative emotions

Like Hero, Kel is also a “fixer”—he would bend over backwards to solve his friends' problems and stop the world if it would make them happy again, and both him and his brother are such big hearted and generous people who would much rather be the emotional support for others rather than talk about their own problems and make a situation about themselves and their feelings. For Hero, this often involves burying his own feelings and faking happiness, but I don’t think it necessarily means this for Kel, even if he struggles to express his negative emotions.

To me, Kel’s happiness and positivity is genuine, but he dismisses, discounts, and often runs from his sadness when he does experience it.

Let's discuss under the cut.

[Mod Sprinkles made the joke that in another universe I (mod Acacia) would also run a blog called "Let Kel Be Sad" so here are some Kel thoughts. Thanks for indulging my ramblings! 🧡]

Disclaimer: These are just my personal opinions, perceptions, and headcanons about Kel (and Hero). There are a lot of ways his character can be interpreted, and one of the great things about fandom is getting to see different points of view and differing interpretations of characters we all know and love. I know I speak for both Sprinkles and myself when I say we have a lot of respect for that, and for that reason, I want to be upfront that, while I do genuinely believe Kel struggles expressing negative emotions (thus the "Let Kel Be Sad" title), I don't personally view Kel as someone whose happiness is "fake" in the same way as Hero's. I can see the appeal of this interpretation and can understand why people interpret his character in this way, but it personally does not vibe with my personal interpretations, perceptions, and headcanons of Kel and his character, so if you perceive/headcanon Kel in that way, this post probably won't be your cup of tea. Please keep that in mind.

Warnings: OMORI Spoilers and discussion of game-relevant heavier topics such death, trauma, and grief.

Kel wears his heart on his sleeve, but this doesn't mean that he is shallow. He is a big-hearted, deeply empathetic, and incredibly loyal friend, and it cannot be stated enough that one of Kel’s biggest strengths is his ability to use his natural positivity and resilience to lift up those around him. He’s really the hero of the game because none of the healing would have been possible if he hadn’t continued to believe in his friends even after all of this time, hadn’t encouraged them, and hadn’t built them up just by being Kel.

And while I do think Kel does struggle to express vulnerabilities and negative emotions, I don't personally think of Kel's unwavering optimism as a mask. In my mind, Kel is not an emotional repressor or burier in the same way as Hero. In fact, because he wears his heart on his sleeve, he would probably really struggle to fake an emotion he wasn’t feeling (even if it was something positive like happiness). If Kel doesn’t want to express an emotion, I imagine he runs from it and avoids it, since it’s not natural or easy for him to “replace” or “bury” it with a fake one. Whereas Hero is much more reserved and private about his feelings, no matter what they are, so it’s much easier for him to convincingly mask pain and suffering under layers and layers of fake happiness. I just don’t think Kel would be able to hold back those emotions for very long. His negative feelings would eventually just kind of explode out of him without thinking and/or they’d become so apparent from his expressions and/or actions (since he does wear his heart on his sleeve) and everyone (including the player of the game) would know that he had so much negativity under the surface.

This isn't to say that Kel is perfectly fine. He isn't. He has suffered a terrible loss just like everyone else, but I think the game makes it clear that Kel has the most acceptance surrounding Mari's death and that he has made peace with what happened more so than the other main characters. Please keep in mind that this is only relative to the other main cast. Kel may seem "well-adjusted" in comparison to his brother and his friends who are, quite frankly, barely keeping it together, but he would not necessarily be considered well-adjusted in comparison to the non-traumatized townies. I genuinely believe that Kel is still in the process of healing, but relative to the other main cast members, he is farther along in that journey than they are.

And in that way, the game doesn't really give us a moment where Kel is overwhelmed by grief in the same way as the rest of the characters. Yes, there is the scene (one of my personal favorites) where Kel shares about his fight with Hero, and it is incredibly vulnerable and gives a lot of subtly and nuance to his character, but I don't think it's necessarily evidence that the player can't accept Kel as he presents himself to us at face value in the way that we can't accept Hero as he presents himself to us at face value. As I recently discussed in this post, the scene where Sunny finds Hero crying alone at Mari’s piano on the night of "Two Days Left" tells the player that Hero's attempts to appear well-adjusted and "fine" are, at least to a certain extent, all for show. There isn’t a Kel equivalent of this scene which, I personally think, is meant to tell the player of the game that Kel is the most well-adjusted member of his friend group (key words here being "of his friend group") and the one who has the most acceptance surrounding Mari’s death. Additionally, Mod Sprinkles actually made the point that Sunny is extremely perceptive and sensitive to his friends’ feelings and emotions. If Kel was still harboring a lot of negativity surrounding Mari’s death, Sunny likely would have picked up on that and been more hesitant to go outside with him in the first place.

This isn’t to say that Kel doesn’t ever have any negative feelings and that he doesn’t struggle to express those sometimes, but I think this struggle to express “the bad stuff” doesn’t stem from a pressure he feels to be happy all the time. That said, I do wonder sometimes if he is a little scared of feeling sad. He wants to be happy and wants everyone around him to be happy, and I think there is this certain helplessness that he feels when he can’t cheer other people up. We see a little glimpse of that in his account of his & Hero’s fight after Mari’s death. I think watching someone he loved so much go through such a deep and debilitating depression at such a young age probably permanently affected him, and he might have some worries about getting “stuck” like his brother, wallowing in that sadness and grief if he allows himself to feel it.

However, this is an unwarranted fear because Kel and Hero are very different. Even though Kel might feel sad, and his feelings are absolutely valid, I don’t think he’s prone to that level of despair and depression that we see in Hero. Understanding that his experiences and emotional responses are different than his brother’s is a big part of growing up so it might take him a while to realize this, and in the meantime, I could see it possibly manifesting itself as a sort of avoidance of sadness.

Everyone grieves differently. This is a difficult concept for even adults to understand, so I can't imagine how hard it would be for a 12-year-old like Kel. Because Kel didn't grieve Mari in the same way as Hero or his friends and didn’t spiral into the same level of despair and depression as the others, I think he struggles with invalidating his own feelings to himself sometimes--writing them off as shallow and dismissing them to himself as "just not deep enough." Again, I think this goes back to the one (1) fight that Kel and Hero had. We don’t know exactly what they said to each other in that fight, but it’s my personal headcanon that Hero lashed out at Kel for “not understanding” for he felt. From then on, I think Kel really does struggle with this fear that he just doesn’t understand emotions and because of that, any attempts to help his hurting loved ones will only make everything worse.

I’d really like to see him reach a place in which he can accept that even if his feelings and his grief are different and perhaps not as lingeringly overwhelming as the others', that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them and that doesn’t mean he didn’t care about Mari or his friends. In my mind, Kel’s hesitation and worry at expressing his negative feelings and his happy-go-lucky personality can both exist at the same time. I don't think they are mutually exclusive, and I tend to think of Kel as someone who naturally looks on the bright side of things and is genuinely optimistic and uplifting. To deny this feels like a disservice to (my personal perception of) Kel, but I think it is also a disservice to pretend he never feels sadness or any negative feelings at all. There has to be a balance.

Let Kel feel sad when he needs to but recognize that he doesn’t actually need to feel sad all that often.