#i was told this story when i was 12 and had checked out the book from the school library because there was a dog in it

[hugepolecat3298]

the polar opposite of the dog from the thing who did not really act like a dog at all (due to being a wolfdog) (potentially) are the st. bernards from cujo that didnt understand that they were supposed to be evil and rabid and just licked the rabies foam off their mouths and wagged their tails all the time and refused to lunge or bite at the human actors

[multifandomgirl08]

Something Bad, Something Good [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Fiancée!Reader

Summary: Reader deals with the haters on Twitter, Nico calls Reader Mama. Max claps back at the haters on Instagram like the malewife that he strives to be.

Warning(s): slander of reader on Twitter (+ some people not being mean on Twitter at the end), fluff, Mixed formatting (Story + Social Media)

A/N: This was a request from this ask and was sent in by anon. I felt it was important to show that everything in life is give and take and I hope that this showed that.

11/12/2023 A/N: The last social media post was updated to match reader's face claim

Words: 2.1k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

You had seen it on Twitter and it wasn’t long before you were down the rabbit hole. It didn’t take long to show up on your Twitter feed when you opened the cursed app.

It started with a simple tweet and took you no time to find the source.

It was speculation that you had grown used to. But that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt when people thought that you were using Max because he had money. You knew that it probably wasn't just the small group of people on Twitter. It never was. There would always be people that wouldn't like that you were with Max. It was just the inevitable.

You had locked your phone when Nico came up to you with one of his toy cars in his hand.

“Are you sad Mimi?” Nico asked.

“No, Nico I’m not sad.” You reached for him before he moved to sit in your lap.

Nico didn’t need to know that people on the internet liked to stick their opinions into other people’s personal lives for no real reason. They talked what they didn’t know anything about and speculated on the obvious. Just another day of living in the 21st century, you thought.

“Someone wasn’t being nice to me. But, I have you and Papa, and Auntie Vic. So I will be okay.” You kissed the side of Nico’s head before he curled up with you on the couch to watch something.

You would be okay. They were just comments on a screen, as long as Max didn't find out, it would be okay.

"Okay," he muttered before laying his head on your shoulder. You were still a bit jet lagged from getting back from your trip with Max and decided to close your eyes while the movie played on the TV.

“Papa,” Nico said. “Is Mama sad?”

Max looked up from his phone to see Nico in the living room.

They had only been back from their trip for a few days and Y/N had left to go get groceries with his mom. Sophie was leaving in the morning so Y/N insisted on cooking tonight before they dropped her off at the airport tomorrow.

Nico had never called Y/N Mama before, not even when they had gotten back from their vacation, and told Nico that he and Y/N would be getting married.

“You called Y/N Mama, you haven’t before.” Max wanted to know why. Why now?

He knew that Nico had grown quite attached to Y/N after she had moved in with them. Nico liked spending time with Y/N. Nico had thrown a fit before they had left for their vacation because he would be without Y/N for a few weeks. His mom had called him once they had gotten to The Bahamas saying that Nico wanted Mimi to come home and had been crying since seeing Max’s plane take off until he had eventually fallen asleep.

Nico shrugged his shoulders. Maybe Nico was too young to understand the concept of a mother.

Nico walked away before pulling out one of the children’s books that he would read to Nico before bed. The story had a very basic structure that would appeal to Nico’s mind. It was about a mother lion taking care of her four cubs.

Nico’s finger ran over the picture of the lions on the page stopping on the mother lion. “She’s their Mama, like Mimi is mine. She takes care of me...” Nico trailed off.

He felt his phone buzz next to him but didn’t check right away to focus on Nico. He pulled him into his arms and then had him sit on his knee.

“Nico, you know that you can call Y/N Mama, right?” He said to his son in Dutch.

Nico nodded.

“I’m sure that it would make her happy if you did.” Nico didn't say anything to Max for a moment. Max saw him nod.

"When is ...Mama coming home?" Nico slowly said, as if he was truly trying it out for the first time. Letting the word roll off his tongue, and then assessed if he liked it before giving a small nod that Max would have missed if he wasn't looking.

“Soon,” He said. "Why do you think Mama is sad?" He couldn't help but think back to what Nico said when he first came into the room.

Nico gave a small shrug, "She was looking at her phone yesterday. She looked sad."

Max was a little surprised. Why would Y/N be sad about something on her phone? He would ask her when she got home.

“Come, we’ll go play with some of your toys until she and grandma get home.” He was going to leave it at that. Nico didn't need to worry about that.

He checked his phone to see a text from Lando while Nico went to get out the toys that he wanted to play with.

Nico took things out of boxes while Max quickly texted Lando back.

Max quickly locked his phone, turning to Nico to give him all of his attention to play with the mini model cars he had.

This was why Y/N had been sad, she had seen what people were saying about her on Twitter. He wasn't going to even look because he knew it would just make him angry.

They had played for a while before Max asked Nico if he would put everything away before Mama got home with Grandma.

It wasn’t much later that Max heard the front door open to Y/N and Sophie walking through the door with groceries in their hands. Max moved from his spot on the couch and helped take the bags into the kitchen.

Max hugged his mom before pulling Y/N in close, he cupped her cheek for a moment and then leaned down to kiss her on the lips. He just needed her to know that he was here if she needed anything.

“Hi.” He muttered feeling her pull away.

“Hey.” She said back. He tried to search her eyes to see if Nico was right. If she was sad, he couldn't see a trace of it at the moment.

There was the unmistakable sound of light feet against the hardwood floors.

Max and Y/N turned towards the sound of Nico standing just outside of the kitchen looking at them for a moment before running up to Y/N.

“Mama!” He yelled, before he locked his little arms around Y/N’s legs.

Y/N looked down at Nico placing her hand into his hair.

Max could see the tears filling at the corners of her eyes, not expecting to hear that.

Max couldn’t help but look over at his mom, and could see the look of approval on her face. It wasn’t something that he needed from her, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

He could see that Y/N had pushed away the stray tears that had managed to fall before he had reached over and kissed her forehead, letting his hand rest on Nico's shoulder. Max reached up to cup her chin again feeling the slight tremble of her bottom lip. She was trying to stop herself from crying.

As he looked at her he could see the silent thank you in her eyes. Her letting him know how grateful she is to him for letting her have this. To truly be Nico’s mother.

Y/N had leaned down a little and kissed the top of Nico’s head before Sophie had shooed them out of the kitchen so they could put the groceries away. Max quickly kissed Y/N on the lips before giving his mom a hug and took Nico with him out of the kitchen.

Y/N had started dinner not long after and they ended up eating some pasta dish that took what felt like no time to cook. Through dinner every time Nico asked Y/N for something it started with him calling her Mama. Y/N couldn’t wipe the smile off her face for the rest of the evening.

Once Max was done clearing the table after dinner he quickly went on his phone, wrote out a message and then posted it to his Instagram story knowing that people would check and read it. It was easy enough. Once they were both up and he had checked them twice for spelling. Then he had left his phone in the bedroom for the rest of the night, going out into the living room to talk with Sophie  and lay on the couch with his family.

He would never allow a few anonymous people to speak ill of his son's mother, Max loved her too much for that.

maxverstappen1 has added to their story

Sophie had called it an early night so she could finish packing and offered to put Nico to bed. Neither he or Y/N refused.

Max had tried to get comfortable in bed once he and Y/N had moved to the bedroom but he couldn't manage it.

"What's going on?" Y/N asked as she climbed into bed. "You’re never like this."

"I got a text from Lando today. Apparently, someone on Twitter was talking about you." Max watched as Y/N stopped in her tracks, slowly sitting back against the pillows.

She knew, she had seen those comments.

"I'm assuming that you saw them." She said.

"No, I didn't.” He didn’t need to see them to know that Lando was telling him the truth. “Why didn't you tell me?" He asked.

"Because it doesn't matter." Max wanted to fight her on that. People who didn’t know her shouldn’t have the right to say horrible things about her.

"I'm his mother Max, Nico sees me as his mom. That's why none of those comments matter." She continued. "I never knew how much I needed to hear him call me that until he did today."

Max could only guess for Y/N how different it was to actually hear Nico call her Mama for the first time. It was a first for Nico as well, given that he didn’t have a mother figure in his life until she had come along.

Max can remember the first time that Nico had called him Da. It was barely audible, but Nico had looked right at him when he had said it. He wasn't sure if he was able to breathe after that. Nico could only rely on him to take care of him until Y/N had come into their lives.

He let out a deep breath before opening his arms for her. She pushed back the sheets resting herself against his side, playing with the loose thread at the hem of his gray t-shirt.

“Mijn leeuwin,” He started to say. “Is this something that you want?” He asked.

“Do you want to legally be his mother?” They had talked about this months ago after he already had gone to get her ring made. Making it legal was just another step for them to fully be a family.

“I don’t need to legally be his mom Max.” She stiffened in his arms, seeing the reflection of the diamond just out of the corner of his eyes.

“Do you want to though?” He echoed. He knew that she didn’t need it, she hadn’t in the last few months since they had talked about it the first time. She had never pushed for Nico to call her anything other than the nickname that he had for her.

He looked to see her slightly nod, her eyes glassy with the threat of tears ready to spill from them.

“I’ll give it to you.” He could make it happen, a few calls to his lawyer who would look through the papers that Amelia had left him about giving up her parental right to Nico, talking to Raymond as well and it could all be settled just after the wedding if they moved fast enough.

“Max.” She dropped her head to his shoulder. She didn’t have to say anything else but his name. As she looked up at him all he could see was the love that she had for him fill her eyes.

Neither of them had to say anything in that moment. It was settled, they were going to start the process of Y/N adopting Nico.

It wasn’t long after that they both fell asleep curled up around each other. Exhausted from the high emotions of the day.

maxverstappen1

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maxverstappen1 Miji Familie

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August 19, 2024

taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @musingsbyshreya, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @fanboyluvr, @champomiel

[icedbatik]

I saw this opinion piece in the New York Times and, while I don't normally copy and paste entire newspaper articles, this is an excellent (if scary) read.

Aside from the sections on how much lack of consent there is in today's sexual landscape, hockey fans -- who should be well aware of the dangers of concussions -- might take particular note of the section in which "choking" during sex is linked to brain damage on par with concussion damage.

The Troubling Trend in Teenage Sex

April 12, 2024

By Peggy Orenstein

Debby Herbenick is one of the foremost researchers on American sexual behavior. The director of the Center for Sexual Health Promotion at Indiana University and the author of the pointedly titled book “Yes, Your Kid,” she usually shares her data, no matter how explicit, without judgment. So I was surprised by how concerned she seemed when we checked in on Zoom recently: “I haven’t often felt so strongly about getting research out there,” she told me. “But this is lifesaving.”

For the past four years, Dr. Herbenick has been tracking the rapid rise of “rough sex” among college students, particularly sexual strangulation, or what is colloquially referred to as choking. Nearly two-thirds of women in her most recent campus-representative survey of 5,000 students at an anonymized “major Midwestern university” said a partner had choked them during sex (one-third in their most recent encounter). The rate of those women who said they were between the ages 12 and 17 the first time that happened had shot up to 40 percent from one in four.

As someone who’s been writing for well over a decade about young people’s attitudes and early experience with sex in all its forms, I’d also begun clocking this phenomenon. I was initially startled in early 2020 when, during a post-talk Q. and A. at an independent high school, a 16-year-old girl asked, “How come boys all want to choke you?” In a different class, a 15-year-old boy wanted to know, “Why do girls all want to be choked?” They do? Not long after, a college sophomore (and longtime interview subject) contacted me after her roommate came home in tears because a hookup partner, without warning, had put both hands on her throat and squeezed.

I started to ask more, and the stories piled up. Another sophomore confided that she enjoyed being choked by her boyfriend, though it was important for a partner to be “properly educated” — pressing on the sides of the neck, for example, rather than the trachea. (Note: There is no safe way to strangle someone.) A male freshman said “girls expected” to be choked and, even though he didn’t want to do it, refusing would make him seem like a “simp.” And a senior in high school was angry that her friends called her “vanilla” when she complained that her boyfriend had choked her.

Sexual strangulation, nearly always of women in heterosexual pornography, has long been a staple on free sites, those default sources of sex ed for teens. As with anything else, repeat exposure can render the once appalling appealing. It’s not uncommon for behaviors to be normalized in porn, move within a few years to mainstream media, then, in what may become a feedback loop, be adopted in the bedroom or the dorm room.

Choking, Dr. Herbenick said, seems to have made that first leap in a 2008 episode of Showtime’s “Californication,” where it was still depicted as outré, then accelerated after the success of “Fifty Shades of Grey.” By 2019, when a high school girl was choked in the pilot of HBO’s “Euphoria,” it was standard fare. A young woman was choked in the opener of “The Idol” (again on HBO and also, like “Euphoria,” created by Sam Levinson; what’s with him?). Ali Wong plays the proclivity for laughs in a Netflix special, and it’s a punchline in Tina Fey’s new “Mean Girls.” The chorus of Jack Harlow’s “Lovin On Me,” which topped Billboard’s Hot 100 chart for six nonconsecutive weeks this winter and has been viewed over 99 million times on YouTube, starts with, “I’m vanilla, baby, I’ll choke you, but I ain’t no killer, baby.” How-to articles abound on the internet, and social media algorithms feed young people (but typically not their unsuspecting parents) hundreds of #chokemedaddy memes along with memes that mock — even celebrate — the potential for hurting or killing female partners.

I’m not here to kink-shame (or anything-shame). And, anyway, many experienced BDSM practitioners discourage choking, believing it to be too dangerous. There are still relatively few studies on the subject, and most have been done by Dr. Herbenick and her colleagues. Reports among adolescents are now trickling out from the United Kingdom, Australia, Iceland, New Zealand and Italy.

Twenty years ago, sexual asphyxiation appears to have been unusual among any demographic, let alone young people who were new to sex and iffy at communication. That’s changed radically in a short time, with health consequences that parents, educators, medical professionals, sexual consent advocates and teens themselves urgently need to understand.

Sexual trends can spread quickly on campus and, to an extent, in every direction. But, at least among straight kids, I’ve sometimes noticed a pattern: Those that involve basic physical gratification — like receiving oral sex in hookups — tend to favor men. Those that might entail pain or submission, like choking, are generally more for women.

So, while undergrads of all genders and sexualities in Dr. Herbenick’s surveys report both choking and being choked, straight and bisexual young women are far more likely to have been the subjects of the behavior; the gap widens with greater occurrences. (In a separate study, Dr. Herbenick and her colleagues found the behavior repeated across the United States, particularly for adults under 40, and not just among college students.) Alcohol may well be involved, and while the act is often engaged in with a steady partner, a quarter of young women said partners they’d had sex with on the day they’d met also choked them.

Either way, most say that their partners never or only sometimes asked before grabbing their necks. For many, there had been moments when they couldn’t breathe or speak, compromising the ability to withdraw consent, if they’d given it. No wonder that, in a separate study by Dr. Herbenick, choking was among the most frequently listed sex acts young women said had scared them, reporting that it sometimes made them worry whether they’d survive.

Among girls and women I’ve spoken with, many did not want or like to be sexually strangled, though in an otherwise desired encounter they didn’t name it as assault. Still, a sizable number were enthusiastic; they requested it. It is exciting to feel so vulnerable, a college junior explained. The power dynamic turns her on; oxygen deprivation to the brain can trigger euphoria.

That same young woman, incidentally, had never climaxed with a partner: While the prevalence of choking has skyrocketed, rates of orgasm among young women have not increased, nor has the “orgasm gap” disappeared among heterosexual couples. “It indicates they’re not doing other things to enhance female arousal or pleasure,” Dr. Herbenick said.

When, for instance, she asked one male student who said he choked his partner whether he’d ever tried using a vibrator instead, he recoiled. “Why would I do that?” he asked.

Perhaps, she responded, because it would be more likely to produce orgasm without risking, you know, death.

In my interviews, college students have seen male orgasm as a given; women’s is nice if it happens, but certainly not expected or necessarily prioritized (by either partner). It makes sense, then, that fulfillment would be less the motivator for choking than appearing adventurous or kinky. Such performances don’t always feel good.

“Personally, my hypothesis is that this is one of the reasons young people are delaying or having less sex,” Dr. Herbenick said. “Because it’s uncomfortable and weird and scary. At times some of them literally think someone is assaulting them but they don’t know. Those are the only sexual experiences for some people. And it’s not just once they’ve gotten naked. They’ll say things like, ‘I’ve only tried to make out with someone once because he started choking and hitting me.’”

Keisuke Kawata, a neuroscientist at Indiana University’s School of Public Health, was one of the first researchers to sound the alarm on how the cumulative, seemingly inconsequential, sub-concussive hits football players sustain (as opposed to the occasional hard blow) were key to triggering C.T.E., the degenerative brain disease. He’s a good judge of serious threats to the brain. In response to Dr. Herbenick’s work, he’s turning his attention to sexual strangulation. “I see a similarity” to C.T.E., he told me, “though the mechanism of injury is very different.” In this case, it is oxygen-blocking pressure to the throat, frequently in light, repeated bursts of a few seconds each.

Strangulation — sexual or otherwise — often leaves few visible marks and can be easily overlooked as a cause of death. Those whose experiences are nonlethal rarely seek medical attention, because any injuries seem minor: Young women Dr. Herbenick studied mostly reported lightheadedness, headaches, neck pain, temporary loss of coordination and ear ringing. The symptoms resolve, and all seems well. But, as with those N.F.L. players, the true effects are silent, potentially not showing up for days, weeks, even years.

According to the American Academy of Neurology, restricting blood flow to the brain, even briefly, can cause permanent injury, including stroke and cognitive impairment. In M.R.I.s conducted by Dr. Kawata and his colleagues (including Dr. Herbenick, who is a co-author of his papers on strangulation), undergraduate women who have been repeatedly choked show a reduction in cortical folding in the brain compared with a never-choked control group. They also showed widespread cortical thickening, an inflammation response that is associated with elevated risk of later-onset mental illness. In completing simple memory tasks, their brains had to work far harder than the control group, recruiting from more regions to achieve the same level of accuracy.

The hemispheres in the choked group’s brains, too, were badly skewed, with the right side hyperactive and the left underperforming. A similar imbalance is associated with mood disorders — and indeed in Dr. Herbenick’s surveys girls and women who had been choked were more likely than others (or choked men) to have experienced overwhelming anxiety, as well as sadness and loneliness, with the effect more pronounced as the incidence rose: Women who had experienced more than five instances of choking were two and a half times as likely as those who had never been choked to say they had been so depressed within the previous 30 days they couldn’t function. Whether girls and women with mental health challenges are more likely to seek out (or be subjected to) choking, choking causes mood disorders, or some combination of the two is still unclear. But hypoxia, or oxygen deprivation — judging by what research has shown about other types of traumatic brain injury — could be a contributing factor. Given the soaring rates of depression and anxiety among young women, that warrants concern.

Now consider that every year Dr. Herbenick has done her survey, the number of females reporting extreme effects from strangulation (neck swelling, loss of consciousness, losing control of urinary function) has crept up. Among those who’ve been choked, the rate of becoming what students call “cloudy” — close to passing out, but not crossing the line — is now one in five, a huge proportion. All of this indicates partners are pressing on necks longer and harder.

The physical, cognitive and psychological impacts of sexual choking are disturbing. So is the idea that at a time when women’s social, economic, educational and political power are in ascent (even if some of those rights may be in jeopardy), when #MeToo has made progress against harassment and assault, there has been the popularization of a sex act that can damage our brains, impair intellectual functioning, undermine mental health, even kill us. Nonfatal strangulation, one of the most significant indicators that a man will murder his female partner (strangulation is also one of the most common methods used for doing so), has somehow been eroticized and made consensual, at least consensual enough. Yet, the outcomes are largely the same: Women’s brains and bodies don’t distinguish whether they are being harmed out of hate or out of love.

By now I’m guessing that parents are curled under their chairs in a fetal position. Or perhaps thinking, “No, not my kid!” (see: title of Dr. Herbenick’s book above, which, by the way, contains an entire chapter on how to talk to your teen about “rough sex”).

I get it. It’s scary stuff. Dr. Herbenick is worried; I am, too. And we are hardly some anti-sex, wait-till-marriage crusaders. But I don’t think our only option is to wring our hands over what young people are doing.

Parents should take a beat and consider how they might give their children relevant information in a way that they can hear it. Maybe reiterate that they want them to have a pleasurable sex life — you have already said that, right? — and also want them to be safe. Tell them that misinformation about certain practices, including choking, is rampant, that in reality it has grave health consequences. Plus, whether or not a partner initially requested it, if things go wrong, you’re generally criminally on the hook.

Dr. Herbenick suggests reminding them that there are other, lower-risk ways to be exploratory or adventurous if that is what they are after, but it would be wisest to delay any “rough sex” until they are older and more skilled at communicating. She offers language when negotiating with a new partner, such as, “By the way, I’m not comfortable with” — choking, or other escalating behaviors such as name-calling, spitting and genital slapping — “so please don’t do it/don’t ask me to do it to you.” They could also add what they are into and want to do together.

I’d like to point high school health teachers to evidence-based porn literacy curricula, but I realize that incorporating such lessons into their classrooms could cost them their jobs. Shafia Zaloom, a lecturer at the Harvard Graduate School of Education, recommends, if that’s the case, grounding discussions in mainstream and social media. There are plenty of opportunities. “You can use it to deconstruct gender norms, power dynamics in relationships, ‘performative’ trends that don’t represent most people’s healthy behaviors,” she said, “especially depictions of people putting pressure on someone’s neck or chest.”

I also know that pediatricians, like other adults, struggle when talking to adolescents about sex (the typical conversation, if it happens, lasts 40 seconds). Then again, they already caution younger children to use a helmet when they ride a bike (because heads and necks are delicate!); they can mention that teens might hear about things people do in sexual situations, including choking, then explain the impact on brain health and why such behavior is best avoided. They should emphasize that if, for any reason — a fall, a sports mishap or anything else — a young person develops symptoms of head trauma, they should come in immediately, no judgment, for help in healing.

The role and responsibility of the entertainment industry is a tangled knot: Media reflects behavior but also drives it, either expanding possibilities or increasing risks. There is precedent for accountability. The European Union now requires age verification on the world’s largest porn sites (in ways that preserve user privacy, whatever that means on the internet); that discussion, unsurprisingly, had been politicized here. Social media platforms have already been pushed to ban content promoting eating disorders, self-harm and suicide — they should likewise be pressured to ban content promoting choking. Traditional formats can stop glamorizing strangulation, making light of it, spreading false information, using it to signal female characters’ complexity or sexual awakening. Young people’s sexual scripts are shaped by what they watch, scroll by and listen to — unprecedentedly so. They deserve, and desperately need, models of interactions that are respectful, communicative, mutual and, at the very least, safe.

Peggy Orenstein is the author of “Boys & Sex: Young Men on Hookups, Love, Porn, Consent and Navigating the New Masculinity” and “Girls & Sex: Navigating the Complicated New Landscape.”

[elizabethwritesmen]

I once was poison ivy

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

Part 2 but now I’m your daisy

Older!Fireman!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Synopsis - You've spent your entire life taking men who intend to manipulate you and manipulating them instead. It's the only way you know how to survive. Then, one day, you meet Steve Harrington and you realize love and lust are so much more than survival.

A/N - This will be a two-parter. Maybe three if it runs too long.

Warnings: Fluff, sexual themes, smut to come in the second part, talks of using men for their money, vivid description of a car accident, drunk driving.

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I've been breaking hearts a long time and Fooling with them older guys Just playthings for me to use

The napkin on my lap was in pieces.

I'd been tearing it apart, whether out of anxious habit or sheer boredom I wasn't sure.

The man sitting across from me just would not stop talking. He started the second I met up with him in the parking lot and hadn't closed his mouth since. I nodded along and provided just enough commentary to seem present, but my brain was miles away.

He cleared his throat, staring at me pointedly until I met his eyes, a saccharine smile gracing my face.

"Are you alright, doll? I know all this shop talk can be a lot for a pretty girl like you to keep up with," he stated with all the confidence in the world, and I fought a scoff at his condescension.

"Oh, I'm fine!" I grinned wildly, almost childlike, "To be honest, I'm just in awe of you. Absolutely fascinated. I keep asking myself what I did to deserve a date with you!"

The lies cut through my teeth like butter, slick and smooth. I knew they worked when he puffed out his chest and a red tint covered his full cheeks, "Well darling, if you keep talking to me like that, you'll get more than one date with me!"

"There's nothing I'd love more!"

I know I should've cursed him for all he was worth, but that's not how my lifestyle worked. I didn't care how much of a pig a man was, as long as his money was louder than his mouth. And this man's money definitely was.

You see, he was older, a business man. He worked at some high end finance job, and he was most definitely the boss. I met him through my own job. I was a waitress and he frequented my corner booth on his lunch breaks. He knew my schedule and came to eat every single day I worked at 12:00 sharp with a new story about his job, his divorce, or his 1970 Chevelle. On the days I didn't work, he stayed away, claiming I was the only girl there worth looking at. And, every time, he left me a crisp 100 as a tip.

The last time he'd come in, he'd ended his lunch by asking me on a date. He told me he wanted to pick a dress out for me and treat me to the nicest dinner I'd ever had. Poor thing had no idea he wasn't the first millionaire to offer that. I agreed happily, pushing down any reservations and forcing myself to look forward to it.

So there we were, at one of those restaurants where you have to dress formally and use certain etiquette. I hated those places, I knew I didn't belong there, but it was what I had to do and I always did it with a smile on my face.

He continued talking and I began fiddling with the Versace dress adorning me, tugging on the hem. I only heard snippets of what he was saying. After hearing a million men tell the same stories, I thought there was no reason to pay any real attention.

Our waitress startled me out of the trance I'd fallen into, dropping the check off at our table.

"Here," he smiled, placing $200 neatly in the little black book, "That's enough for you to add a cheesecake to-go for my beautiful companion, and to buy something pretty for yourself!"

The girl's eyes widened and she grinned, staring at the generous amount she'd been given. It took her mere moments to bring by a bag with the cheesecake in a box at the bottom, and I was finally done.

"I'll walk you to your car," Mr. Boring offered in a way that I couldn't possibly refuse.

Well, almost done.

Once we reached my Passat, he pressed me lightly against the driver's door and planted a sloppy kiss on my lips. I cringed my way through it until it was finally over, and he opened my door for me.

"Maybe we can go out again next week?" he proposed, "I'll call you and we can set it up."

"Of course!" I nodded, eagerly climbing into the seat.

"Oh, and before I forget," he sighed, pulling his wallet from his pocket and fishing out two more crisp hundred dollar bills, "This should cover gas and the rest is a thank-you for making an old man feel young again. Seeing you in that dress made my evening."

I smiled at him as he walked away, my expression dropping the second he was out of sight. And then, I was finally headed home.

Something happened for the first time In the darkest little paradise Shaking, pacing, I just need you

It was about a 30 minute drive to my house, and I had the music cranked up the entire way. I was passing through the last intersection before my highway exit when I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

It was an SUV, much bigger than my car, headed straight for me. It was going so fast but in that moment time slowed down. It was too late for me to stop or get out of the way, I knew I was screwed. I yanked the wheel to the right, hoping they wouldn't hit me directly. I thought that if they caught the back end of my car it would hurt less.

They slammed into the back driver's side door, just barely missing me, sending me careening across the highway and into the ditch. I screamed as my head slammed into my window, blood running down my temple and onto my neck.

Finally, everything stopped. My car was, beyond all rationality, still playing music. I turned it all the way down, looking around.

The SUV was upside down on the highway, engulfed in flames. I saw a man laying about 20 feet away from it on the asphalt. I prayed he was okay, and that nobody else was in his vehicle.

Then, I examined myself. Glass had shattered everywhere, and there was a pile of it in my lap. My poor Versace was tattered and bloody, and I frowned momentarily in a small fit of grief. The back of my car was completely done for, and I was shocked my airbags didn't go off. Of course, there was no impact to the front of my car.

It only took minutes for sirens to overtake the scene. There were two ambulances, a firetruck, and several police cars.

I slipped my seatbelt off, groaning at the pain. It felt like I'd been hit by a truck. I guess I had, in a manner of speaking. My body was suffering from the turmoil.

Shockingly, my door opened when I pulled the handle and I climbed out, falling to the ground with a cry and a sharp wince.

"Hey, hey, hey!" the voice was deep, and I glanced up to see the fireman it belonged to running in my direction, "Don't move, just stay still. Please, stay still. God, you could've died trying to climb out of that car. Too tough for your own good!" He kneeled beside me, his arms holding me up, his eyes scanning me for all signs of injury. "Here you go, calm down. It's okay now, I've got you."

His voice was soothing me, and so was his thumb as he rubbed calming circles on my hip.

"Please," I cried, my voice almost too small to be audible. I squirmed, trying and failing to break free, "I need... I need..."

I wasn't sure what I was pleading for. I just wanted relief. My bones felt like they were combusting.

"I'm gonna get you some help, sweetheart, I promise. You're safe with me." He called the paramedics over to have a look at me. They ran straight for us and he lifted me up placing me comfortably on the stretcher.

As he began to walk away, I called out meekly, "Please stay with me!" and reached blindly for his hand. He gave it to me and nodded, squeezing my palm lightly as he helped them wheel me to the ambulance. They got me inside of it and starting poking and prodding, asking me questions.

"I don't want to go to the hospital," I whined, "I'm fine, I don't need a hospital."

"We gotta get you to the hospital, sweetheart. I'm sorry, I know it's scary, but you're tough though, huh?," his voice was still so soothing, and I nodded, holding tighter to his hand that was still intertwined with mine.

"Will you come with me?" I stared up at him, my eyes wide and pitiful in a beg.

"I can't, I have to get back and help clean all this up," he told me, his voice regretful.

"Please," I was whimpering at that point, desperate. I hated begging but he was the only thing keeping me from an anxiety attack. The only thing grounding me. The only thing keeping me from asking questions like, what if I'm seriously hurt? What's going to happen with my car? Is my cheesecake okay? How am I going to replace this dress?

Okay, some of the questions were silly but cut me some slack. I'd just been hit by a truck.

He chewed his lip in thought for a moment before sighing, "Let me talk to my boss and see what I can do."

He was gone for about five minutes, but when he came back, he was only in a white T shirt and his turnout pants. He set his jacket and hat on the bench seat next to me and climbed in beside me, grasping my hand again.

"Thank you," I whispered, and the sweet smile he gave me warmed my tummy.

Hours passed in a flurry of medical stuff I didn't understand and tests being run. When everything calmed down, I was sitting on a bed in an ER, a thick medical grade bandaid on my temple where I hit the window and some pain killers in my system. Fortunately, I wasn't hurt badly at all, just extremely sore and shaken up. I had a concussion, but that was the brunt of it.

"Okay, Miss L/N. I've got a prescription here for painkillers, it should help soothe your soreness and your headache. Other than that, you're free to go," the doctor walked in the room and told me jovially. He was nice, he made me feel comfortable. I was thankful to have him instead of someone colder. But what really made me feel comfortable was the firefighter, whose name I'd discovered was Steve. He stayed right beside me the entire time, even when I was first admitted. He even called my mom for me when I was first admitted, and that's the only time he let go of my hand.

"I think that's all, thank you," I sincerely responded.

"Great. Then I'll leave you be. If anything else happens, come back. Concussions are no joke. But I'm sure Steve knows that, so you're in good hands. He'll take care of you," he gave us a pointed look, glancing from mine and Steve's interlaced fingers to our faces.

"Bye, Joe," Steve dramatized, rolling his eyes.

"Bye Steve. Bye Y/N," the doctor responded between laughs, taking his exit.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Steve turned to me, his hard features softening the second his eyes met mine.

"Have you heard anything else from my mom?" I asked, trying to keep the hope in my voice at bay.

"She checked on you once, about an hour ago. I told her I was taking care of you."

"Oh."

His eyes were boring into me, searching. I'm sure it seemed odd to him, a mother not immediately rushing to her child's side when she hears there's been an accident. Wasn't very strange to me, though. My mom had never spared much time for me.

He cleared his throat, speaking more quietly, "She said she wants me to get you home safe, so that's what I'm gonna do. One of the nurses is gonna give us a ride to the station and I'm gonna drive you from there."

"Well it's settled, then. Let's go," I beamed, grabbing his hand and hopping off the bed. I didn't make it very far, though, nearly collapsing the second my feet hit solid ground.

Steve was quick, catching me and holding me steady. I lifted my eyes and they met his, inches away. I could feel his breath, warm against my skin.

"Be careful there, Super Girl. You're too weak to take on the world just yet," he sighed, and I had to fight the urge to lean in.

He was handsome. I'd noticed it the second he ran over to me, my knight in dirty turnout gear. I'd noticed it again in the ambulance when he told me he could go to the hospital with me. And I noticed it as his arms squeezed me tighter.

"I can walk," I mumbled.

"I'm sure you can, but you aren't. Come on, I've got you," he stated, as if there was no room for argument or disagreement. One of the arms around me slipped down to the crook of my knees and he lifted, pulling me securely into his hold. I gasped, grasping tightly to his shirt, my nails leaving imprints in the soft fabric.

"Steve, I'm heavy!" I screeched, and he chuckled.

"Even if you were heavy, I can handle it," he said, like it was obvious. My stare stayed skeptical and he sighed, "Sweetheart, you're not heavy. You're nothing compared to the gear I wear and haul, and the people I have to carry out of buildings."

I stayed stubborn for a moment longer before giving him a slight nod, "If your back starts to break, put me down!"

"I don't have any plans to put you down, sweetheart," he winked, and with that, he was carrying me to the ambulance bay where an Altima was waiting for us. One of the nurses was leaning against it. She was pretty, like a young Angelina Jolie. Her scrubs hugged every curve and jealousy pinged in my gut at how perfect she was. It turned to discomfort, though, when I saw the way she was looking at us.

There was a scowl plastered onto her face, full of judgment. Her eyes were stuck on Steve's arms around me, and if looks could kill, she'd have me dead in a second.

"Can you open the door for me, Bridget?" he asked, frustration laced in his voice from the way she was staring at us instead of helping.

"Of course, Stevie," she cooed, doing as she asked. He helped me in the back seat, going as far as to buckle the belt around me. My breath hitched as he did so, the proximity turning my cheeks bright red.

Bridget's face dropped as he slid in beside me and shut the door behind himself. She opened it right back, "What are you doing, Steve? Your spot is up front!"

"I'd rather sit back here with Y/N and make sure she's okay. Come on, we should get going. I'm sure she's ready to shower and rest."

She huffed, her anger embarrassingly evident, but she gave a slight nod and slammed the door, climbing into the driver's side and speeding off. My head was pounding, so I leaned on Steve's shoulder the whole time. Every now and then he'd shield me from the sun with his hands or run his fingers through my hair, keeping me as comfortable as he could.

Once we got to the fire station, he helped me out and we waved goodbye to Bridget. She gave me one more dirty look before leaving, and I hoped I would never see her again.

"There you are, Steve!" a voice joined into the mix, and I turned around to see a man about Steve's height with long curly hair approaching. He had a bag in his hand.

"Hey, Eddie," Steve greeted, "Thank you for covering my shift all night."

"All night and all morning. I'm assuming you won't be back after you take her home."

Steve looked bashful. It was cute, his cheeks turning red and his eyes averting downward.

"I promise I'll make it up to you, man. I just couldn't leave her, she needed me," he rushed out an explanation and I couldn't stifle my giggle.

"Yeah, sure she did. Come on, dude, I'm not mad. I needed the hours anyway and I'm not like you, I don't have a ton of beautiful women begging me to escort them to the hospital. My Friday night was all free."

"I don't have a ton of them either," Steve cried out defensively, "Just the one."

"Well then get her home before she decides she doesn't neeeeeeed you anymore," the other man, Eddie, winked then and turned to me, "Oh, by the way, I'm Eddie. Steve's best friend, confidant, life saver, shift coverer. I'm the reason he could be with you all night."

His tone was joking, so I played along, "Oh, well thank you so very much. I would've just died without him. As a matter of fact if he leaves my sight I'm sure I'll faint."

"Marry her," Eddie deadpanned, turning to Steve with the most ridiculously serious look on his face. The only response he got was an eyeroll. "Okay, whatever, get out of here. Here's the rest of your stuff, and what we managed to get out of Y/N's car. You can make the shift change up to me later." He handed Steve the bag and glanced my way, "And Y/N, I'm sure I'll be seeing you again. Until then, I'm glad you're okay."

Steve pulled his keys out of the bag, clicking them. A truck beeped across the parking lot and he wrapped his arm around me, helping me over to it.

The last we heard of Eddie was a scream over the parking lot, "Oh and Steve, put some clothes on that poor girl!"

He glanced down at my ripped up dress and blushed.

"Here," he handed me his turnout jacket, "Put this on."

I did as he asked and slipped back into his arms, allowing him to lift me into the passenger seat. I liked the way the material felt on me, warm and loose. It smelled of smoke but it also smelled of cinnamon and something muskier, all Steve.

As he pulled away, I decided to make small talk. It was a ten minute drive back to my house and I didn't want it to be awkward. Not that a single moment we'd already spent together had been. Steve had a way of making me feel like I was finally safe at home.

"Bridget and Eddie seemed nice," I commented. Obviously, I didn't mean the first part but I had a sinking feeling that Steve and Bridget were something of an item and I didn't want to upset him.

"Eddie is a great guy. We've known each other forever, and he's always had my back." He paused for a moment, "And Bridget was awful to you today. You don't have to pretend she wasn't."

"I just thought you and her were probably friends, or maybe even a thing, and I didn't want to say anything mean about her just in case," I smiled softly, apologetically.

"We're not. But she wants to be. She's a uniform chaser. She doesn't know the first thing about me other than my job."

"Do you get that a lot? Girls that are only interested in you because of what you do?"

"More often than you'd think. But it's okay. I guess it's better than not being wanted at all."

"You think if you were something else, something more boring, girls wouldn't want you?" My brows were furrowed in confusion. How could a man so wonderful have such a gaping insecurity?

"I didn't feel that way at first, but I guess I've become cynical over time."

"Well, I'm cynical with the best of them and I'm telling you that you're wrong," I started, "Don't get me wrong. The turnout gear is ruggedly sexy. Straight out of a calendar, really. But I wouldn't have wanted you to come to the hospital with me if you were any other fireman. I wanted you there because of how you made me feel. Safe, and taken care of."

Silence filled the air. I don't think he knew how to respond.

"What about you?" he finally asked, "That was a nice dress before it was ruined. You must've been on quite a date."

"I wouldn't call it that," I stared at my lap, color rising in my cheeks.

"Didn't go well?"

"It's not that, it's just... I wasn't really interested in him."

"What was wrong with him?"

"You ask a lot of questions," I breathed out a laugh, wanting a subject change. I felt shame, like if Steve found out the kind of men I date and why, he would drop me off and forget about me. I didn't want that. I craved more of him. More of his time, and his headspace. I hadn't known him long, but it's hard not to swoon over a man who spends hours of his time taking care of you.

"I'll stop. For now."

Shortly after he said that, we pulled into my driveway. He helped me out of his truck and into my house, commenting on how cute he thought everything was.

"Where's your bathroom? I'm gonna get the shower running for you," he turned to me and said.

"Oh," I blushed, "You don't have to do that. Really. I can manage to get around."

"I want to. I told you I would take care of you, and I'm not doing it halfway. Now should I go looking until I find it or are you gonna tell me where it is?"

"My room is down the hall, the bathroom is in there," I smiled shyly.

He didn't waste a second, pulling me back into him and let me lean on him the entire way there. I leaned against the sink as he looked around, taking the room in.

"A bath would probably be better than a shower. You're still weak, I don't want you to slip and hurt yourself."

I didn't respond, I just watched him as he turned the faucet on and felt the water, adjusting until the temperature was perfect.

"Thank you," I finally said as he finished up and stopped the drain.

"Of course. You gonna be able to get from the tub to the bed?" he asked me.

I giggled, nodding, "I think I'll manage."

"Okay... if you have any trouble or need anything, you're welcome to call me."

"How am I gonna do that without your number?"

His face went red, a silly smile crossing his lips, "Of course. You're right. Here."

He slipped his phone out, pulling up the screen to create a new contact and handed it to me. I quickly typed in my name and info and handed it back. He called me once, hanging up as soon as it rang, and nodded once affirmatively.

"There. Now you have mine, too."

"I'll call you, Steve."

"Yes, if you need anything at all."

"Okay."

He seemed reluctant to leave, and I was reluctant to let him, but he finally mumbled a goodbye and let himself out. I grinned into my hand, the butterflies still not settled.

I was not the kind of girl to feel things like I was feeling. I had a process, a way of getting through life, and it didn't involve getting hung up on the first handsome fireman I meet. I willed myself to come back to reality, but it was difficult. His face was stamped into my mind.

My phone pinged and I glanced down, his number filling my screen.

"I left my jacket. Can I stop by later and get it? And bring you dinner? I'd like to check on you anyway."

Any hope of coming back to reality flew out the window. I typed quickly and pressed send before I could talk myself out of it.

"It's a date."

[misscammiedawn]

Gender, Dissociation and Clinical Stigma - The Third Person

Before I begin I just want to note that typically Media, Myself and I entries are aimed at depictions of dissociative disorders in popular fiction. Today's entry is a graphic novel memoir by a transgender woman with dissociative identity disorder. As it's both not in the public zeitgeist and good representation by virtue of being lived experience of someone who struggled within the mental healthcare system I want to recommend people buy the book (or check it out of their local library). I fully support the artist and want to prop up something good and beautiful.

With that said, let's begin...

CW: therapy abuse

With all the recent hysteria in the US and UK media over transgender healthcare it can be easy to forget the hurdles we all have to climb to receive care. Though Informed Consent is becoming more of a standard practice these days the DSM-5 Criteria for Gender Dysphoria indicates a 6 month requirement for observation before HRT can be prescribed. Many of us needed to jump the hoops of living 6-12 months "in the gender role that is congruent with their gender identity" before we were allowed to begin our gender journey in earnest.

Of course. This requires a clinician (or two for surgical options) to observe this, monitor it and sign off on it. But therapists are humans and are full of prejudice, bias and their own beliefs. They aren't guaranteed to think it is medically necessary or positive for a person seeking gender affirming care to receive it.

So where does DID fit into this picture?

A study, published in 2015, states clearly that 30% of transgender individuals met the criteria for a dissociative disorder.

Yet even still, The World Professional Association for Transgender Health (WPATH), the gold standard for transgender care included this warning in their Standards of Care up until September 2022.

(source)

Fortunately that passage is no longer included in WPATH guidelines as of the 8th revision released in 2022. I shall say the above passage did grant a scare for us, though, as it was very much the practice when we were going for our surgery.

Standards of Care improve and medical understandings of both gender and dissociative care are becoming kinder towards clients.

Even still. There's always that fear. That months of therapy could be wasted on a clinician who was never going to sign off on HRT and was never going to believe our lived experience as a system.

We wouldn't have gotten nearly half as far as we have gotten without our therapist helping us identify our condition, manage our symptoms and develop cooperation and communication.

It's terrifying to think what life would be like if our symptoms not only went unmanaged, but we were made to feel fake and attention seeking by the very person we paid to take care of us...

-

With that intro in mind, The Third Person by Emma Grove is a memoir told in graphic novel format over 920 pages covering the period of life where she began therapy in hopes of receiving feminizing HRT not realizing she had an undiagnosed case of dissociative identity disorder.

When one opens the book they will see an Author's Note declaring that every word in the book is as accurate as Emma's memory will allow and any edits are to streamline the story, not to tailor anything to match the author's point of view and there is a dedication:

"For Katina - We finally did one together"

The story proper begins in media res Winter 2004, as Emma asks her therapist if he would like to hear about the book she was reading and the therapist responds asking why the client decided to speak with him "as Emma" today. Emma, confused, does not understand the question and is probed about her parts, about Ed and Katina and about her childhood. That last word being enough to cause Emma to freeze up, dissociate and...

This simple intro gives us all the context a reader needs to understand the antagonistic dynamic between Toby, the therapist, and his patient(s). Both client and patient are unable to understand the other and harbor suspicions about the other's intentions.

Without the context we only know Emma had a book, she no longer has a book and she suspects her therapist of being a mean person who is playing tricks on her.

We will get context later.

The first chapter of the book provides an introduction to the author's late teens and early 20s where they explore their gender identity and have their first experiences with their masked dissociative disorder.

The book goes to lengths to show the stress of the author dividing themselves between having to present male in their public life and sneaking out to bars where they can wear make-up, wigs and outfits to present female.

They take on their legal name, Ed, during their public life and when going out to clubs take the name Katina, from the first bar they visited presenting femme. The name Emma comes later when the system is working to transition into living as a woman in all aspects of their shared life.

The book patiently explores the stress of having to divide ones own self for their safety in spaces where they cannot present their truth without threat from an intolerant society. If 30% of transgender people suffer from dissociative disorders then a much higher number of them know the stress of having to compartmentalize themselves into different presentations for different audiences.

For us, we know that pain all too well. Our birth identity remains with us as a member of our own system. Less a ghost of our past and more a remnant of a mask we constructed to perform the version of self required for our safety.

The artwork does a good job of displaying switches and co-consciousness with subtle expression work, the hair style/wigs that each alter favors. For example we have the left displaying co-consciousness and a switch.

As the years go on, Katina finds ways to go out to the club and exist in her comfort and Ed labors hard to ensure that they can live for the times they get to "become" themselves.

Katina is established to be a fierce personality who will get aggressive when people push against her. She loves to dance and sing and party at the club. She is both a free spirit without inhibition and a fierce protector who will keep the system safe.

I recall feeling a deep fondness and connection towards Katina when we first read the book.

Once the narrative has firmly established the history that lead to the system seeking HRT we are brought into the meat of the book. A white void with a sofa and an armchair. The therapist's office where Katina, Emma and Ed speak with Toby.

Toby is a trans man that Katina believes to be an ally who will sign off on their HRT once the prerequisite 3 month waiting period is over. Unfortunately over the course of those months Toby becomes aware of Emma and Katina's switches and is convinced that it would be unethical for him to sign off on HRT when it is possible that there may be another 'guy part' in there who will 'wake up' one day and decide that he did not want to transition.

To his credit, once Toby suspects a dissociative disorder he does offer Emma a referral to a specialist. They do not take it as they just want to be signed off for HRT and have no interest in exploring their situation beyond transitioning. So they stick with Toby, convinced that another transgender individual will support them.

Toby, however, sticks to his guns and refuses to agree until they manage the DID.

In the opening, sampled above, Emma switches out at the mere mention of her childhood. Here we find that Katina will front any time Emma is made to think about her past and she refuses to allow Toby to force her to think about it or discuss it. She goes as far as to demand Toby promise not to push which, again, Toby refuses.

During this conflict both sides have exaggerated gestures of frustration, many exclamation points and underlined words. This is not a healthy dialogue at all. Toby is refusing to find middle ground or guide the therapy towards its intended destination. He denies all Katina's attempts to negotiate around the need to talk about her childhood (something she is convinced at this point has nothing to do with her stated goal of HRT) and continuously pushes that she needs to talk about it, without elaborating as to why.

Toby, untrained in dissociative disorders, is focused on getting her to open up about her childhood trauma. Katina, uninterested in exploring trauma, wants to be signed off for HRT. Neither side is willing to budge.

This isn't therapy. This is an argument.

Recently I wrote a Tumblr post about the "Hair Dryer Incident"

The Hair Dryer Incident is a story about a patient with OCD whose life was being massively disrupted by the fear that they had left their hair dryer plugged in at home and it would burn their house down. The clinician advised them to take the hair dryer to work with them every day so that they could see the hair dryer with them and not have to drive home to ensure it was safely unplugged.

There was debate in medical circles about whether this was "enabling" because it did nothing to treat the illness, only managed the life disrupting symptom of needing to drive home to check that the dryer was not plugged in.

For Toby in this scenario he believes that allowing Emma to transition would be "enabling" the sickness that he perceives, that being dissociative identity disorder. He has brought his own baggage into the office and only views Emma and Katina as parts of Ed. No amount of Emma and Katina self-advocating in his eyes will change his mind because they are not "real" in his view.

Of course, he is not fully sold on Emma's condition being real either. There is a sequence in which Emma is left alone in the room and she, having a fascination with books, checks out Toby's bookshelf. This causes Toby to become suspicious and decide that Emma has been reading the medical textbooks on dissociative disorders in order to fake an illness and trick him.

This is not a healthy therapeutic alliance and Toby is breaking all 3 key pillars of establishing a strong patient/client partnership.

Much of modern therapy techniques are based on the concept of Therapeutic Alliance. The history of which dates back to Sigmund Freud and the concept of transference but was refined and redefined by Carl Rogers in the modern Patient Centered Therapy (sometimes referred to as Rogerian Therapy).

With that in mind let's examine the 3 key elements of successful PCT(*) and how Toby failed.

Lead with a Patient Centered Approach This means to check all baggage at the door. Cultural biases have no room inside the clinic (during the book Toby openly mocks Emma's faith in God) and that the patient's priorities are the ones that should be focused on. Both client and clinician should be on the same page of what treatment is being sought, what goals are and how they will be achieved. Toby and Emma (or Katina and Ed) never establish this agreement during their time together. Katina/Emma/Ed are firm in their desire to transition and Toby is firm on his refusal to allow this until the DID is addressed.

Set clear goals with a treatment plan. A good treatment plan will have dates, targets and regular review and reward honesty for both/all parties involved in the alliance. Toby is telling Emma and Katina that they need to open up about their childhood but does not explain how this will benefit or what their goals are. Simply "it's good to talk about it" with no direction or assurances.

Regularly review satisfaction with the therapeutic process, relationship, and treatment plan. This element states that it is important that the clinician be upfront with any potential misdiagnosis and discuss any skepticism in the process and lead from a position of patient satisfaction. I do not need to highlight how Toby failed to lead from a position of patient satisfaction here.

Clearly Toby has a personal concept of what the correct approach is and is holding Emma/Katina's gender affirming care hostage until they can satisfy his unspoken objectives. Correctly applied PCT should be a discussion of mutual agreement and achievable goals worked over a period of time. Toby is not applying these principals at all. His modality simply seems to be "talk about it." I'll be an ethical writer who discloses their biases and say I despise PCT/Rogerian therapy. It is, however, the leading modality within western therapy and it is well researched. Not to mention it is the modality Toby appears to be utilizing in the book. I firmly disagree with Freud on all things (except the concept of infant experiences have lifelong ramifications. A broken clock is right twice a day) and disagree with Rogers on the idea that the client has all of the answers and needs to get out of their own way. An issue with this is that DID is a covert disorder and it will do everything it can to stay hidden. PCT does not offer an environment where patients will be able to navigate their condition as unless they are aware of their symptoms, how and when they manifest and are open to discussing those facts they will naturally steer away from circumstances that would lead to a diagnosis. Most people, including myself, have to exist in the mental healthcare system for 5-12 years before being correctly diagnosed with DID(*) and will experience a number of incorrect diagnoses before finding appropriate care. For us it was 9 years and 7 diagnoses. So. Toby's directive is that the system needs to get to the root of the condition and neither Katina nor Emma are willing to open up about their childhood. Katina continues sticking to her guns and refuses but Emma, desperate to start her medical transition, agrees to open up and the two form a shaky alliance where week by week the pair go back and forth between alliance and conflict. In time Emma describes her childhood being raised by her grandfather who was physically abusive towards her. All too quickly Katina's fears are justified by Toby's combative approach to patient care. One session Emma demands to know why she cannot work on her DID while she transitions and Toby states firmly that she is "not transsexual" which triggers Emma to dissociate into a black void that no one can reach her within. She wanted to be seen and regarded as a woman and a trans man told her flat out that he cannot and does not see her as such. Going back to the hair dryer incident as a reference for a moment. Ed is a member of the system and does show up for therapy on some days. At a point Katina, fed up with being denied treatment, makes a plan to quit their job and start a new life living as a woman 24/7. Ed creates a safety net to prevent this from ruining their collective life and continues to work in the meanwhile. Ed's role in the system has been ground down to working and working alone. He spends his days keeping so busy that he cannot dwell, a panel having the thought bubble "I can't slow down! If I slow down I have to think!" which is depressingly relatable to how we were in the worst years of repressing our gender identity. If Ed is unhappy living as a closeted man who has to occupy himself 24/7 to stop from caving in on himself, if Emma and Katina are both completely stunted by their inability to transition; is it ethical to allow them to transition and to work on their condition while allowing them the freedom to live openly as their chosen gender and prevent a circumstance that is harming the entire system? Toby seems to think it is enabling.

30% of the transgender individuals in the study above were observed to meet the criteria for a dissociative disorder. Living a life where one must mask has severe detrimental impacts on a person's psychology. This is true not just for transgender individuals but for those with autism (*) and other individuals on the LGBT spectrum (*) where the cognitive dissonance between who a person values themselves to be versus how they must present to the world causes the mind to dissociate further and allow contrary thinking to exist in individual pockets of a person's life as well as creates an alienation of the self. Healing under these circumstances requires accepting and embracing oneself, not creating a further divide.

After Toby "caught" Emma looking at the bookshelf he became convinced that she was faking her condition. That she had been plucking symptoms from a book and performing them for him. That she fit the criteria "too well"

Emma rightfully demands to know why she would complicate her receiving HRT by doing something that prevents her being able to. The pair bicker and Toby cuts off the session abruptly.

in the heat of the moment, assuming that Emma was an attention seeker who does not deserve care, Toby declares "Your grandfather was right to hit you."

Even Emma later admits later that therapy should have ended with Toby right there and then. Hindsight is 20/20, as they say. Alas, a mixture of finances and sunk cost keep Emma returning to the chair week after week.

Being trans and having DID are terrifying. In order to receive care and treatment we must insist to a world that what is happening in our hearts and minds is true in spite of all that the world outside tells us is true. We need to not only reach that conclusion within our own lives but must express that truth loud enough that the people around us see it, regard it and accept it.

As so many things in this world are, it's so hard to earn and so easily burned.

"You're faking it for attention" is such an easy sentence to fling at someone and in a therapeutic setting all things should lead to curiosity. Even if a person were faking, it's not normal and healthy behavior for someone to do that. Toby is displaying a complete lack of curiosity and compassion. He is framing himself as the victim in a potential deception from someone who is paying what little money they can put together to receive his care.

I hate Toby.

As the story continues, Emma and her system begrudgingly continue, flitting back and forth between a healthy and unhealthy dynamic with their therapist that shares a lot of similarities to abuse honeymoons. It is worth noting that as the book is a memior it will inevitably be painted with the author's personal view of past events because, as discussed in the Umineko article on recontextualized memories, a human mind cannot avoid applying present understandings to past experiences when recalling memory. This is seen in the book when we see things that Emma cannot possibly have witnessed, such as Toby's facial expression after she leaves the office.

This is not to throw shade at how Emma depicts her former therapist, as he was quite horrid to all 3 of them and quite obviously did more harm than good during their time together. I just wish to note that skewed perspectives are an inevitability. Even still. They do make some progress in talking about the situations. We come to learn of the system origins and how Katina was a friend to the young and lonely child they used to be and that their abusive childhood was centered around physical abuse from their grandfather. While discussing this Emma notes that she could make Katina go away forever with a single phrase. A few short words that she can never ever say and mean or Katina would go away and never come back... and I think that's where I'll stop with the synopsis. I (specifically me, Dawn) broke down in tears the first time I read the book and I have no will to put myself through that again at this exact moment and I wish for you all to have the catharsis of experiencing it for yourself.

I will say in way of positivity that the story is quick to make its conclusions in the final chapters by displaying therapy done right and the fact that even if parts can no longer be heard or even felt, they will always endure in moments where they can add a little color to the world.

They got to write this book together, after all.

For all the sadness this memoir elicits it speaks an honest and hard truth of the desperation, isolation and confusion that can be found in managing sentiments of identity and gender in a time when there was so little understanding and acceptance, particularly for transgender people.

We are lucky these days to have the internet as it is where we can create community and find our people and in finding our people have a better understanding of who we are and how we can live our truths. Visibility of transgender and plural populations has been increasing in part due to the fact we are able to feel unalone and forge community.

2004 did not have those luxuries and I am saddened that Emma Grove had to live through that stigma and lost so much time to unethical and prejudice care from a clinician.

I do hope that in the future we can continue accepting and encouraging one another and living lives where we are not forced to hide, mask or pretend.

-

For other Media, Myself and I articles, please check out the following:

[gretavangroupie]

Voyeur

Word count: 3.5k+

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Warnings: Drinking, Language, Smut, Fluff.

Summary: A new side of Jake comes to life within the walls of your new home. But you may not be the only one who notices.

You hit send, sending the request off to the lab. Releasing a deep sigh from your chest, you push back from your desk and stretch your legs feeling the joints ache for a new position. Your whole body is tired, it's been a long 12 hours. Your phone begins to buzz in your pocket as it vibrates with a text message. A small smile crosses your face when you see Jake’s initials flash across the screen.

JK: Baby, when will you be home?

Glancing at the clock you check the time. 4:05. You flip through the charts you still have to finish and bite your cheek, knowing it's going to be a while. You text him back with the bad news.

You: It’s not looking like any time soon. I still have about 5 charts left to do.

JK: Hmmm, that’s not gonna work.

You: I’m sorry?

JK: I need you to come home, I am dying.

You: Dying?

JK:  I need you.

You: Oh

JK: Baby

You: Why don’t you…

JK: No

You: Jake…

JK: Maybe

You: I will try my best to get these done quickly.

JK: Okay

Placing your phone back in your pocket you get started on the first of many charts. Furiously typing and putting in the values, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket again. 

JK: *Image*

Opening the photo you see a barely clothed Jake laying in your bed, just waiting.

You: Tempting as always Jacob, but the more you text me the longer it's going to take. Shoot, I may have to spend the night in the on-call room if it gets too late…

You enjoy teasing him. You know full well that is not your intention. 

JK: No. Please come home tonight 

You: Love you, see you later.

JK: Love you

JAKE POV

With a huff you put your phone down on the bed. Getting up, you decide to go unpack a few boxes while you wait. You had just bought this big beautiful house together, and you had both been living out of boxes for the past few weeks. You being gone and her working, neither of you really had much time to unpack and get settled. 

This was her last shift this week, and the first time you would both be home for a weekend in what felt like months. It would definitely be the first night you had spent with her this week, only seeing her during the day, and you were desperate for her. You needed her. Feeling your blood rushing to your dick you quickly push the thought of her from your mind, before you have to take care of it yourself. 

No. Wait for her.

You maneuver your way through the maze of cardboard moving boxes, making your way to the front living room. The sun was starting to set, casting an orange glow onto the dark, charcoal walls. Surveying the amount of boxes left to unpack, you sigh. This is going to take a while. 

You had no problem getting your music loft set up, but the living room, and even worse the kitchen… seemed daunting. Grabbing one of the boxes near the door, you drag it across the floor and over to the couch. You sit down, and grab your knife out of your pocket, slicing the tape on top.

As you open it up and peer inside you see your record collection, sitting and waiting to be placed in its new home. You spend the next thirty minutes, alphabetizing and placing the collection on the built-in shelves. One of the things you loved about this home was the unlimited amount of places to store things. It is old, one of the oldest in Nashville. That was part of its charm. When you came to look at the house it spoke to you instantly. It had stories in its walls begging to be told. Within five minutes you knew it was the one and when she told you how much she loved it, you had no choice but to put in an offer on it immediately. Two long days were spent waiting to hear if your offer was accepted, and finally it was. It was yours. Both of yours. 

Once all of your records sat happily on the shelves, you moved on to the next box which was full of books, awaiting their similar fate. You began the process of unpacking them, and organizing them on the shelf. 

You had only unpacked two boxes but it felt like 40, with all of the back and forth trips between the shelves and the box. Sitting down on the leather chair in the corner, you cross your leg over your knee and pull out your phone to see if she had texted you, but you were met with nothing. A groan leaves your chest at the uncertainty of knowing when she would be home. You’ve never felt this desperate and pathetic in your entire life.

Standing up, you break down the two boxes, and make your way to the trash can outside to put them into the recycling bin. On your walk back inside you see your neighbors in the front yard, and you wave to them with a quick smile. You make a mental note to go over and introduce yourself now that you were home to do so. 

The sun is setting rapidly, the house growing dark. The dark paint on the walls further darkened each room. It was moody, and gothic. Everything you ever wanted in a home. A place that was truly yours.

You step into your front door, and turn on the small lamp that sits at the entryway. You make your way through the first level of the house turning on various lamps, so that when she does get home, she doesnt stumble over all of the boxes and clutter. You walk back to the book shelf in the living room, grabbing a book that caught your eye earlier. You had bought it to read on tour, but it was always so loud on the bus, you never got a chance. You head up the stairs into the loft, and position yourself on the plush leather couch, finding a comfortable position. But as soon as you crack the book open you realize the readers you so desperately need are downstairs in your bedroom. 

With a grumble you stand up with your book, making your way back down the stairs. Stepping into your bedroom you see them sitting on the dresser, and you put them on, flopping yourself down onto the fluffy white sheets. The soft orange glow of the streetlight pours in through your large bedroom window. But the light is not enough for you to legibly make out the letters on the pages. You reach over and turn on your lamp, letting it turn the room a soft amber. Opening the first page you are instantly sucked in, and find the time passing quickly. 

Six chapters in you feel your phone buzz on the bed. When you see her name flash across the screen you quickly open it. ‘Be home soon’. Eliciting an audible “Finally.” from your lips.

You get up and walk to the bathroom, turning on the shower to let it get hot. Steam begins to fill the small master bathroom as you strip down. You grab a towel from the linen closet and then step into the scalding hot water. Letting the water run down your back you wet your hair before lathering in the fancy shampoo she insists you start using, which you will admit smells pretty good.

You scrub your body with her favorite body wash, hoping to entice her further. Trying to keep it short you rinse yourself and turn off the water. Wrapping yourself in the clean towel.

You step out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, looking outside the large picture window that sits directly behind your bed. Yet another thing you loved about this house was the grand windows. More than double the size of an average window, it filled the rooms with plenty of natural light. You insisted that you not cover the windows with any blinds or curtains, letting as much light flow into the house as possible. You lived on a quiet street, so you never really thought about what people might see in the dark of the night, but if you were being completely honest, it didn't matter to you if they did.

You stand in front of the floor length mirror and as you button the few buttons on your shirt. You hear her car pull into the driveway and you can't help the smile that crosses your face. Running your fingers through your damp hair, you hang your towel on the back of the bathroom door, and make your way into the kitchen, to uncork a bottle of wine. 

HER POV

Placing your key in the front door, you peer into the glass and see the glow of lamp light scattered throughout the house. You twist the key in the lock and push the door open. It’s quiet other than the sound of a record spinning on the turntable in the living room. The soft crackle of the vinyl is homey, and always reminds you of Jake. You can smell his body wash in the air, and you know he must have just showered.

“Jake?” you call out for him.

“In the kitchen my love.” he replies, and you hear the clinking together of glass stemware.

He always knows what I need…

Your legs carry you into the kitchen, your body naturally gravitating towards him. 

You see him standing at the kitchen counter, graciously pouring the dark red wine into the glasses, before placing the bottle onto the wooden countertop.

He grabs a glass and extends it out to you, as his eyes meet yours, “My love?”

You accept the glass and sip it slowly, tasting the selection of the evening. 

“Hi baby, you smell good.” you say, taking another small sip. “This is good, is this one of the bottles from Italy?” 

“It is, I figured we could enjoy it together. I loved it when I had it then, and knew I had to bring some home to you.” he replies, picking up the bottle to hand it to you.

You inspect the label, in all Italian of course, running your fingers over the embossed paper. 

“You have good taste Mr. Kiszka.” you say, setting down the bottle. His hand finds your waist and circle around you, lacing his fingers together to hold you close to him.

“I like to think so…” he says, craning his face dangerously close to yours.

“You want to tell me why you needed me so badly today?” you ask, a whisper against his lips.

He lets out a small laugh, a smile playing upon his lips, “Well, I haven’t gotten to see you all week. I missed you. I am missing you. I need you. I can’t live without you a second longer.” he says, his words sending goosebumps across your skin. 

His lips press to yours, the taste of the wine still lingering on his tongue. You can feel the urgency in his kiss and you know deep down you want him just as badly as he wants you. 

You pull away, “Jake…I missed you too.” you whisper, returning your lips back to his. You can feel the transfer of energy between the two of you, both of you craving more of each other. His hands start to move, finding their way under your top, ridding your body of the pale blue fabric.

Your hands reach into the unbuttoned section of his shirt, the way you like it, placing your hands on his chest. You slide them upward to tangle into the bottom of his still damp hair. The smell of him wafting into your nose is an intoxicating high. 

A growl leaves his throat as he parts his lips from yours. He takes you by the hand and leads you to the bedroom. You walk over to the bed and sit on the edge, letting the fluffy white sheets entice you. You lay back letting them puff up around your arms and you release a deep sigh. When Jake returns to you, he is sans shirt, leaving his silver necklace as the only adornment to his body perfect body. 

He crawls over top of you, hovering his face above yours. His necklace swings between the two of you, a shiny reminder of you he wears daily. 

“Why don’t you show me what you wanted me to come home for today.” you say playfully. 

“It would be my pleasure darling.” he says, pulling the cups of your bra down leaving your bare chest exposed to the cool air of the room. Your nipples harden in response. He rubs his thumb over the taught buds, the look of lust in his eyes drowning out the brown irises. 

“Jake….touch me.” you beg.

At your command his lips attach to your chest as his hands work to rid you of your pants. He works them down your legs as you kick them off onto the floor. You reach between you to grab his hardened dick through the cotton of his boxers. He groans as you wrap your hand around him and stroke him through the fabric.

He pulls away from you long enough to take his boxers off, letting his dick spring free. You sit up off the bed and remove your bra, tossing it to the floor. You stand up and spin him around, having him sit on the edge of the bed. You make your way to your knees below him as your hand finds his base and gently begins to tug upward on his throbbing length. 

He watches down on you as you take him in your mouth. He throws his head back at the sensation and you look up to see his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He groans loudly and you feel the wetness pooling at your core. 

You’ve seen this look on his face before. In fact a lot of people have. It’s the same look as when he hits a note perfectly at the end of a solo. It's his look of euphoria.

You wrap your lips firmly around his cock and you begin to work him, showing him just how much you missed him. When you flick your eyes up to his however, he isn’t looking at you. He is looking at himself. 

The floor length mirror is situated against the corner of the wall facing the bed. He has the best view in the house of what is transpiring. You feel his cock twitch as he watches himself receive what he has been dying for all day. You know he likes to watch himself on stage but this is what really gets him off. Twisting your wrist with each flick of your tongue you feel him start to twitch in the back of your throat. 

He moans loudly as you pick up the pace, swirling your tongue around his sensitive tip. His breathing starts to become erratic as he nears his finish.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum. Let me cum on your tits.” he begs. 

You nod your head as he forces himself further down your throat and you feel the familiar twitching as he pulls himself from your mouth, grasping his own length and stroking himself rapidly as he watches himself in the mirror. His breathing is quick and ragged and a drawn out curse falls from his lips as his release shoots out, painting your chest in hot white ropes. His eyes never leaving the vision of the two of you in the mirror. He throws his head back again in a similar fashion as he struggles to catch his breath. Chest heaving with each breath, sweat running down his neck.

When his gaze finally returns to you he watches as you collect his cum with your fingers, licking them clean. 

“Jesus Christ that was hot.” he says, taking your hand and helping you stand. He pulls you by the hand to fall on top of him, as he rolls you to be underneath him. The flicker of desire in his eyes growing to constant glow.

He slides down your body, grabbing the hem of your panties in his fingers and sling them off your legs. His fingers slide through your slit, collecting your wetness before he brings them to his mouth. 

A groan leaves his chest as he tastes you. “It has been too long. I need you.” he begs, pressing wet kisses to your stomach.

“So have me.” you reply.

You grab his length and align him with your center, as you feel his tip press against your core.

Lights flash into the room as a car turns the corner of your street.

“Wait Jake, the window.” you say.

“What about it?” he asks, pressing into you.

You moan as he fills you completely, and through strangled breaths you reply, “The window, someone will see us.”

He looks down at you, and smiles, “I know. Let em’ watch. Watch me claim whats mine.” he says, fucking into you hard enough to ellicit a scream from your chest. 

His necklace swings like a pendulum quickly between your bodies as his pace quickens. The tips of his hair are damp with sweat as they brush over his shoulders. You whine beneath him as he hits your g spot with ease.

“Feel good baby? You like it when I fuck you so everyone can see?” he asks.

You moan at the thought of it. Something you never considered. With how much he likes to watch himself, you never thought about him getting off to others watching. Maybe that is part of why he looks so good on stage. He is enjoying other people watching him experience pleasure. A surge of wetness pools between your legs as he pulls out and flips you to your stomach. You push yourself up onto all fours as he smacks your ass. 

“Turn around baby, look at yourself in the mirror.” he demands.

You spin around to face the mirror, shuddering at the vision of yourself in the compromising position. 

“Don’t look away, you’re fuckin gorgeous. I can’t take my eyes off of you.” he says. 

He finds his place behind you, and slowly pushes into you, his hip bones pressing deeply into your ass. He groans as you squeeze your walls around him. 

“Fuck, do that again.” he asks, and so you squeeze around him as you meet his eyes in the mirror. 

“Exactly, baby. Watch me fuck you. Look at how good you make me feel. I’m yours. You fuckin own me.” he says, returning to his regular pace behind you as his hair bobs around his shoulders with each thrust. 

As you watch him you start to understand why he likes it. It is kind of hot to watch. It feels almost wrong. A set of headlights flash across the mirror as you see a car pass the window through the reflection in the mirror.

As it passes you feel Jake’s dick twitch inside of you. You understand now why he was so adamant about the placement of the mirror when you set up the bedroom. This is what he wanted. He wanted to be able to watch himself, and watch the window. He wanted to see if anyone was watching him. He wanted to see everything, from all angles. 

“You like that Jakey? You like the idea of people watching you fuck?” you ask, panting through each word.

“Fuck yeah I do. Want everyone to see what’s mine. You’re fuckin mine.” he says, punctuating each sentence with a forward thrust. 

You know any passerby is in for the show of their lives, especially since the room is lit by the small lamp on his bedside table. Giving all the meaning to the words ‘picture window’. And what a pretty picture it would be. Thankfully it is late, but East Nashville doesn’t sleep, so the chance is never zero.

As he hits that spot inside, you moan his name. With a few more thrusts he is getting close, you can tell by the movement of his hips. You can feel your walls contracting around him in return.

“Cum for me angel, let everyone see how pretty you are when you cum for me. Show them who you belong to.” he says.

You toss your head back as your release washes over you, leaving you shaking beneath him. His name pouring from your lips like the sweet Italian wine.

With one more thrust he is releasing into you, with forceful grunts. “Fuck….” he breathes out.

He pulls out of you, watching his release drip down your leg. “So fucking perfect. I love you so much.” 

You stand and make your way to the bathroom as you tell him you love him too.

You clean yourself up and return to him, laying there still breathing heavily. The glint of the silver metal around his neck reflects on his chest with the rise and fall of each breath. You cuddle up next to him as he turns off his lamp and releases a relaxed sigh. As you both lay there in the darkness you whisper, “Jake?” 

“Yeah baby…” he replies.

“I love where you put the mirror.” you say.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “Me too, baby. Me too.”

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tiny tiny taglist: @gretavansara @jordierama @starshine-wagner @gretavanfvckface @gretavanmoon @gvfjess @misshunnybee @fretaganvleet @gvfpal @joshkiszkas @ascendingtostardust @raviolilegs

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - drinking,, sexual references

y/nn = your nickname if your confused🩷

Chapter 8

After Christmas we did something exciting every night, usually beginning after midnight. Sometimes Matt rented either the Memphian or the Malco theater to watch movies. Other times he rented the entire Rainbow Skating Rink, the infamous roller rink I’d heard so much about.

My first night there I was lacing up my skates when the boys asked me, “Do you know how to skate?”

“Sure,” I said.

“But do you know how to skate?” they persisted.

I got the message real fast when a box of knee pads was passed around. This was not your ordinary around the rink to organ music skating. The idea here was to keep your bones intact.

I wobbled onto the rink only to wobble off. I wasn’t about to stay on that floor after seeing the determined looks on the other skaters’ faces. They made the Roller Derby look mild. From the sideline, I watched them rounding the rink, adjusting their jackets and shirts so they weren’t too tight and checking that their arms and legs were securely padded.

Then Matt skated into their midst, calling out, “Okay, everybody. Y’all clear the way on the sidelines. I don’t want anybody hurt over there. Honey, why don’t you get on the other side there with Louise [Gene Smith’s wife]. The rest of you, get your asses somewhere else.” They all started laughing, and he said, “Okay, let’s go!”

About twenty-five skaters locked hands, forming what they called a whip. Skating abreast, they began circling the rink, building up speed. The objective of the game was to remain unscathed at speeds of over ten miles per hour. It could be very dangerous if you were to lose your balance or if you were at the tail end, when, by turning quickly, they all “cracked the whip.”

There were a lot of falls, but despite the danger, Matt seemed to know exactly what he was doing. I noticed that whenever someone was hurt, he was the first to see if they were all right and to decide if they should continue to play.

I still don’t know how anybody kept from getting seriously injured, yet no one complained and most of them were even willing to do it again the next night. It was rough, but as Matt put it, “If you’re man enough to get out there, then you better be man enough to take the licks.”

New Year’s Eve was approaching. Matt told Alan to rent the Manhattan Club for the evening and to invite about two hundred people, Matt’s friends and the presidents and other members of his fan clubs.

Although I was excited about the party, I couldn’t help thinking that after New Year’s Eve I would have to leave. Matt kept telling me not to think about it. I noticed that whenever I mentioned a problem to him he’d just say, “It’ll all work out, don’t worry about it. I’ve got enough to think about without having to worry about that.”

He always avoided problems. If I was disturbed or depressed, or if I felt we were becoming distant and wanted to get closer by talking it out, he avoided me or told me my timing was bad. There was never a good time.

Once I reproached him about the attention he was lavishing on the girlfriend of one of the regulars. She was very attractive, about my height, with black hair and a nice figure. She had come into the kitchen, where several of us were sitting, and Matt, who was wearing dark sunglasses, began making comments like, “Boy, it’s getting warm in here. Anybody else warm?”

I was so upset I left the room. I waited for him to go upstairs, then followed shortly behind him. “Matt, I have to talk to you,” I said.

“Sure, Honey, what is it?”

“I saw the way you were eyeing that girl. It upset me.”

“Look, woman,” he said, losing his temper. “No one tells me who I can look at and who I can’t. Besides, your imagination’s getting carried away. I’ve seen her ass around here long before today.”

With that I stomped out, slamming the bedroom door. I felt betrayed that he’d even desire another woman and was annoyed that he’d never admit it. I became obsessed and watched what Matt liked, what attracted him, trying to be everything he ever imagined a woman could be, and more.

The New Year’s Eve party at the Manhattan Club started around 10 p.m., but Matt timed our arrival a few minutes before midnight. We just had time to order double screwdrivers when the countdown began. Then we all sang “Auld Lang Syne.”

As people shouted “Happy New Year!” Matt pulled me close and said, “Baby, I don’t want you to go back. You’re staying here. We’ll call your parents in the morning.”

I was in such a state of ecstasy that I didn’t notice what I was drinking: four double screwdrivers, all drunk through a straw. After one double, I was feeling high; after four, I was reeling. I went into the ladies’ room with Louise and stayed there for what seemed like hours, swaying back and forth in the stall, trying to get myself together.

When we finally returned to the table, I tried to act as if everything was okay, but Matt took one look at me and said, “Baby, we better get you home. You’re in no condition to be here.” He asked his old friend George Klein, the Memphis disc jockey, if he would take me home.

I spent most of the ride back to Graceland with my head out the window. George and his date walked me to the door, where we said good night, and I let myself in.

Gripping the banister, I slowly climbed the white stairs, shedding my clothing as I went: my jacket, purse, shoes, and blouse left in a long trail up the steps. By the time I reached the bedroom I was wearing only my bra and panties. I collapsed on the bed and passed out.

A few hours later I heard Matt tiptoe into the room and come over to me. His condition was not much better than mine. I could make out his silhouette against the ceiling above me. I didn’t stir. Gently, he took off the rest of my clothes. Then he kissed me and kissed me over and over. This night we almost went too far. His vow was nearly broken. My passion had gotten to him and under the influence of alcohol, he weakened. Then, before I knew what happened, he withdrew saying, “No. Not like this.” It had to be special, just as he’d always planned.

I have to admit that, at that moment i didn’t care if it was special and I didn’t care what he’d vowed. I didn’t care, in fact, what he wanted at all. I only knew I wanted him.

The next morning my head throbbed with a terrible hangover. I felt ashamed and embarrassed—and yet not at all sorry about what we’d done. He was a little closer to being all mine.

The moment of truth came when we called my father in Germany. Matt was on the extension in his office and I was on another phone somewhere else in the house. Though the connection to Wiesbaden was filled with static, there was no mistaking my father’s words.

“Young lady, I will not go through this conversation again. We made an agreement. You were to leave there on the second of January. You’ve got one day left and you’d better be on that flight!”

Matt interjected, “Captain, sir, if she could just stay a couple more days. I have to be back in L.A. soon, and it would be nice—”

“Matt, I can’t do that. She has to be back in school and that was the deal. I’m sorry. y/n y/ln, are you there?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“We’ll be at the airport. You know the time; we’ll see you then.”

I was furious. I flew into Matt’s office where, sitting behind his desk, he was just hanging up.

“I hate them. I hate them both,” I yelled like a spoiled child. “Why are they stopping us? They just want me home to babysit, to take care of the kids, that’s all.”

Matt’s face was flushed with anger. “We made a goddamn agreement—who the hell does he think he is, talking like that on the goddamn phone—him and his military upbringing.”

He grabbed the phone and called down to the kitchen, demanding, “Where’s my dad! He down there? Tell him to come upstairs to the office.”

Within seconds James was at the door. “What is it, Son?”

“Goddamn Captain y/ln,” he shouted. “We just called to see if y/nn could stay a few more days and he comes off with this cocky attitude and refuses with his jargon about making agreements.”

“Now calm down, Son. It ain’t that bad. He was probably just concerned about her being home in time for school.”

“School, what the hell do I care about school?” Matt snapped, ignoring James’s efforts to soothe him. “Put her into school here, that’ll solve everything. She doesn’t need school. Hell, they don’t teach you anything nowadays anyway.”

“Well, Son, she’s gonna have to go back, there ain’t no two ways about it, give or take a day or two.”

“Goddamn, Dad, you’re not helpin’ matters any,” Matt said, but he was beginning to calm down. He sat back in his big desk chair and swiveled it around to face the window, then gazed out toward the pastures. Finally he turned around and announced that he had a plan.

Matt’s strategy called for me to return to Germany and to arrive in good spirits, then to concentrate on doing well in school so that my parents wouldn’t be able to use my poor grades as an excuse for not letting me return. Matt wanted me to finish high school in Boston and to that end he would make arrangements for me to return as soon as possible.

Germany

Although Matt said that I should greet my parents with a friendly smile, from the moment I got off the plane, my attitude was one of defiance. I now believed that my parents were a threat to my future happiness. I didn’t realize that their fears and concerns were entirely reasonable. All that mattered to me was what Matt and I wanted, and no one was going to stand in our way.

The weather was cold and dreary, which certainly didn’t help my mood. I walked through customs to find my parents waiting. Noting my attitude, their expressions were cool, their welcome stiff. No loving arms wrapped around me, no loving words greeted me. Only my father’s abrupt order, “Let’s go.”

The drive back to Wiesbaden seemed longer than forty-five minutes. I sat in the backseat in icy silence. No one mentioned my request to stay at Graceland.

“All in all, did you have a nice time?” Dad ventured.

“Yes,” I replied, looking out the window at the clusters of trees bare from the harsh winter.

“Did Matt like your present?” Mother asked hopefully.

“Yes,” I assured her. “He loved it.”

“Was it as cold in Boston as it gets here?” Dad asked, keeping the conversation light, trying to make me open up and talk.

“No, it’s colder here,” I replied sharply, referring to both the weather and my attitude. Our eyes met in the rearview mirror and surprisingly, Dad looked away rather than reacting to my cutting remark.

I knew I was pushing my luck with them, but I couldn’t suppress my feelings and pretend that everything was all right. I was so deeply in love that chitchat seemed pointless—as did everything except for Matt. I remembered how he had held me before we said goodbye, with such emotion and need that nothing could keep me away from him. How could I explain these adult feelings to my parents who, I thought, could never understand and would think me silly or just infatuated?

When we arrived home Dad said, “Well, you’ve got school tomorrow, so try to get as much rest as you can tonight.”

Mom added, “You should have dinner and get right to bed.”

Did they both honestly think that I could slip back into the routine of ordinary life?

I rebelled against going to school. I skipped classes, went to town, and downed a few beers with whoever I could get to join me. My attitude worsened along with my grades.

My parents were as confused as any caring parents would be, hoping the problem would eventually go away. But I didn’t make it easy for them. What had started out as a simple introduction to the world’s greatest rock-and-roll star had turned into a nightmare for them.

Matt began calling me almost immediately, and we’d talk for hours. My parents heard me whispering and giggling till three in the morning and wondered what on earth we could be talking about for so long. Nothing really—yet it seemed like everything.

I began to reveal to my mother that Matt and I loved each other and longed to be together. Finally one day I summoned the courage to tell her that Matt wanted me to finish school in Boston. Her response: an unqualified no. She felt it could wait until my father’s tour of duty was over. That would be the end of summer, she said, and there was no need for me to return to Matt sooner.

“But Mother,” I pleaded, “you don’t understand. He wants me there with him.”

“Why you?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion. “Why can’t he find someone his own age? You’re only sixteen. What is this man doing to our family?”

She buried her face in her hands and began crying.

I did feel sorry for her. We were always close, she was always there for me, but this time she just didn’t understand. I hated seeing her in pain, but nothing seemed more important to me than Matt. Not even my mother.

“He’s not anything like you imagine,” I said, “and he needs me, Mother. I won’t get hurt. Please talk to Dad.”

Slowly she raised her head and looked at me.

“y/nn, I’d never forgive myself if I let you go and if you came back to us with a broken heart. You’re so young! You have no idea what lies ahead of you. All you know is you’re in love. Do you know how difficult that is to fight?” She sighed. “I wouldn’t wish this on any parent.”

She brushed away her tears and after a moment said, “All right, I’ll talk to your father, but not just yet. It’s still too soon.”

I gave her a big hug and whispered, “Thank you, Mother. I know you can do it. I love you.”

Now I had to wait for my mother to intercede. I knew how much my father was against the idea. My parents still didn’t really know Matt’s intentions toward me. They only knew what I had told them. But they had also read in the newspapers that Matt was dating every one of the female costars in his movies, so naturally they were suspicious.

One day on the phone I told Matt, “If you want me to come back and go to school, you’re going to have to talk to my father yourself.”

“Put him on,” Matt replied. “I’m not MacArthur, but I can sure as hell try.”

Drawing on all of his charm, Matt assured my father that if I was permitted to move to Boston, I wouldn’t live with him at Graceland but with his dad, James, and his wife, Angela. Matt promised to enroll me in a good Catholic school—he’d choose it himself—and make sure I graduated. He said I’d always be chaperoned and that he’d care for me in every way. Declaring his intentions honorable, he swore that he loved and needed and respected me. In fact, he couldn’t live without me, he said, intimating that one day we’d marry.

This left my parents in a dilemma. If Matt were as sincere as he sounded, there was a chance that our relationship might work out. But if it didn’t work out, they ran the risk of my returning to them disillusioned and brokenhearted. If they refused to let me go, I might never forgive them and I would bitterly regret this unfulfilled love for the rest of my life. In that light, there was little they could do but say yes, and eventually they did.

In truth, I was as mystified as my parents were about why Matt wanted me to come live with him. I think he was attracted by the fact that I had a normal, stable childhood, and that I was very responsible, having helped my parents raise my younger brothers and sister. I was more mature at sixteen than I was at fourteen, when he’d met me, not only because I’d gone through the normal growing period, but also because I’d experienced the pain of living without him for those two years.

Most of all, he knew he could depend on me. I wasn’t interested in a career, in Hollywood, or in anything else that would draw my attention away from him. I also had all of the physical attributes that Matt liked, the fundamentals he could use in turning me into his ideal woman. In short, I had everything that Matt had been looking for in a woman: youth and innocence, total devotion, and no problems of my own. And I was hard to get.

I intended to do whatever I had to to hold him, because if he had ever sent me home, it would have meant not only that I’d been wrong in going to him, but that my parents had been wrong for having permitted it. I firmly resolved to make our relationship work, no matter what.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.

This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - do you guys like longer chapters like this?🎀

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more. 

Cw for chapter- mention of animal death (horse), mention of pregnancy, 18+ words and themes overall. Slight angst.

// A/N: just wanted to apologize for the broken links since i changed my username they haven’t been working but i assure you ill get to fixing them so you all can access all of the chapters i will also end up making a goggle docs with the entire book for downloading when this series ends//

Previous chapter here

Chapter 14

“Sandor!” Beric speaks holding the reins of the largest horse leading it through the many other men who saddle up their horses with gear for trip. 

Sandor turns to see beric with the horse looking normal sized next to himself. Sandor takes the reins of the stroking its muzzle and nods. 

“Why don't you join us for the whole trip then, to lys and back?” Barrack asks. 

“I told you dondarrion I'm parting my ways at lys.” Sandor gruffly speaks as he tightens up the straps on the horse that are supporting the saddle bags. 

“Yes you did…but there is much more than a woman and squire is there not? A man so brute as you couldn't be bothered with little things such as that no can you..” Beric speaks again, getting back on sandors nerves.

“Keep talking and rip off your lips.” Sandor barks at the other man. 

“Right then…heading east to lys it is…” Beric says finally dropping the subject only to plan to revisit later in the journey. 

“Lets go!” Beric yells everyone mounts their horse before taking formation and doing last check overs of their horse and gear including Sandor whose mind now runs wild the thought of you and the babe that resides in your belly. He wonders of the names you've thought about, if you've even thought of any. He wonders if he had made the right choice in sending you off with the horse and not letting the other men capture you as well, maybe, just maybe, you'd still be by his side. He’d still be able to hold you in his arms right now as you both rode to the edge of the sands to acquire on to lys. Sandor mounts his horse and kicks it up to the front next to Beric as they begin the journey. 

—-----

Riding next to Beric isn't the worst of the trip nor is the fact that the horse keeps spooking at every rustle of a tumbleweed. But thoros singing the shitty off key tavern songs is the worst. 

“Will you shut the fuck up! You've been singing for 12 bloody miles, if you can even call that pig squealing singing." Sandor retorts at thoros who rides just a few men behind him. 

“Come on now clegane a song cannot hurt on a journey.” thoros chuckles leading other men to have a laugh as well. 

“It is when it's 12. FUCKING. MILES OF IT!” Sandor yells out causing them all to wipe the smile off their faces. 

“Come on thoros as much as i enjoy the voice the lord has given you cease it for now a bit of quiet to listen to nature with do us some good.” barrack says. ‘There's not an ounce of much nature around. Sand and more sand’ sandor thinks. Finally some quiet. Until Beric begins speaking again. 

“Your girl then clegane? The princess of volantis, i have only heard stories mere tales of her beauty, kindness. Of course they say the same of Joffrey's handsomeness and courage but he's quite average and weak-” Beric goes to speak but Sandor cuts him off before he can continue what will be a monologue. 

“Do you really want to know why so badly!?” Sandor snaps at the barrack who just nods. Sandor scoffs, tightening his hold on the reins before continuing. 

“A babe.” Sandor speaks. 

“Ah…yours then?” Beric asks, Sandor nods in return. 

“An heir to the Volantian throne with veins surging with Clegane blood. A boy?” Beric asks 

“Don't know. When your band of hogs ambushed us we got separated.” Sandor says. Beric stops his horse leading Sandor to do so as well. 

“You want to get back to your family..I understand that. I never had any family but these men who follow me are as close as it gets.” Beric says. 

“If you want them to stay that way, you’ll get me to sunspear.” Sandor replies. Beric nods as he dismounts his horse. 

“We camp here for the night.” Beric speaks, holding the reins to the horse.

“What are you doing?” Sandor asks. 

“Resting.” beric answers as he ties the horses reigns up on a near by dead tree. 

“We can do well now and make it to the vaith in the morning.” Beric says. 

“We can very well make it to vaith now!” sandor barks out at beric.

“Have you got any coin, Clegane? We’d need a pretty penny to give away to the innkeeper to house us all. Especially your large self.” Beric speaks. Sandor Huffs getting off the horse and heading for Beric. 

“You said-” he began but Beric put his hand on his chest. 

“-and I'm keeping my promise. I will get you to your wife and child. I'm keeping my word.” Beric replies. 

“Come now clega-” thoros begins but before he can continue sandor pulls himself back up on the horse and kicks off forcing the horse to run and leave the others behind. Thoros is about to draw his bow and arrow when beric holds up his hand. 

“Let him go. I think it’ll be best." Beric says and shakes his head. 

“WE SHALL MEET AGAIN CLEGANE!” Beric yells his word barley notable as the horses hooves are heavy in the mountains dusted pas

Sandor rides through the mountain pass to the vaith annoyed with beric delaying his journey even further. He had a plan, and he intends to stick to it. The sound of screeching overhead stops him as he looks up, slowing down the horse. Vultures circling above he moves the horse over down the rock patch to see the cumulative birds feasting on a dead horse. A glint of something hits his eyes as he gets off the horse and bends down seeing the emblem on the horse's reins. A king's landing horse..your horse. Or at least the one he stole when you both left. 

“Fuck!” he huffs looking around seeing a cloth that has been dirtied. He picks it up, seeing it's a part of your dress. 

“Shit! Fuck!” he stands and gets back on the horse riding down the rest of the way and finding his way to the vaith.

His mind runs wild with the scenarios of why your horse is dead on the mountain pass. Robbers, the kinglanding raiding party caught up to you and joss, anything and everything worries him. His mind only running with thought of you and your safety his only hope to know if you're okay is too skip sleep in the vaith and head straight for sunspear. 

Next chapter here

+++

ALSO I will be updating every other week so if you want special treatment I now have a patreon. Just for 2 dollars a month you can access drafts, unfinished and unposted works, ideas, blurbs, inspirational scenes and pictures, and early releases of the chapters all for Fox and the hound as well as a newer series that will be in the works after this one! My patreon will also be open for free on easter Sunday! March 31st!

Tag list- if you want to be added comment below!

@stephyshadows@germansarechill@urfavbiscuit@daphneyblue@takemeaemond@holb32@allison-119@pxstelink@imsolonelyimissyou@myshitaccount@broadsdrinkwhisky@@evie-beanie@eulysa23-2@greeknymph18@rudiruds@ex160-blog1@im-an-assho1e@chompwoman@heartb8k2@lovely--lover

[mistergandalf]

ULTIMATE TOLKIEN BLORBO MASTERPOST

Who is THE blorbo of the Tolkien fandom here on tumblr dot com? Let's find out!

What are the criteria for voting?

What is a blorbo to you? As Aragorn would say: What does your heart tell you? Therein lies your answer. For me, it's who I'd like the whump the most. Maybe for you it's who is the most shippable. Maybe it's the one that means the most to you for what they represent. Maybe it's your poor little meow meow (looking at you, Angbang lovers). Let your feelings guide you.

Is this only supposed to be about the books, or is it based on any Tolkien-based media?

This is about blorbos. Wherever you found your blorbo, that's fine. If you want to be a book purist about it, you're valid. If you love Thorin Oakenshield simply because Richard Armitage is hot, you are also valid.

***PLEASE ALSO NOTE that my blog is a Rings of Power positive blog! If you don’t like it that’s fine, but if you post negative comments or reblogs on my posts, I will block you! I don’t want negativity in my activity feed, thank you!***

When will polls be posted?

Polls will be posted daily at 12pm EDT (GMT -4), staggered by 5-10 minutes on each poll. There will be a day between final votes as the data will be needed for the next poll!

Schedule is as follows: (Updated because I’m dumb and didn’t realize how many rounds the second chance bracket has)

4/23 - Round One 4/25 - Round Two (Primary Bracket) 4/26 - Round Two (Second Chance Bracket) 4/27 - Round Three (Primary Bracket) 4/28 - Round Three (Second Chance Bracket) 4/30 - Round Four (Second Chance Bracket) 5/2 - Round Five (Second Chance Bracket) 5/4 - Round Six (Second Chance Bracket) 5/5 - Round Four (Primary Bracket) 5/7 - Round Seven (Second Chance Bracket) 5/9 - Round Eight (Second Chance Bracket) 5/10 - Round Five (Primary Bracket) - decides the finalist 5/12 - Round Nine (Second Chance Bracket) - decides the finalist 5/14 - FINAL ROUND - THE ULTIMATE TOLKIEN BLORBO

Check the tag #ultimate tolkien blorbo to see new posts! Feel free to share your thoughts in the tag as well!

I have more questions!

Okay, click the readmore then!

Hey! Why did you pair this character with that character?

Because I spent a whole evening googling how tournament brackets work (I am not a sports person) and then I did a lot of math and sorting.

Okay, but I really want to know!

WELL first I thought: "How can I quantify and rank blorbos?" The answer: AO3. I went into the Tolkien fandom general tag and ranked the first 32 characters by the number of fanfics in which they appear.*

Then I split them by story. I roughly kept Hobbit characters with Hobbit characters, LotR with LotR, and Silmarillion with Silmarillion to keep it as fair as possible and give all corners of the fandom a chance to see their blorbo win. Some characters are in multiple sources, like Elrond or Gandalf, so I tried to keep those characters with someone who is probably just as well-known.**

Then I followed the rules the internet told me about how tournaments work. The highest-ranked character goes with the lowest-ranked character, the second-highest with the second-lowest, etc.

And that's how I did it! It was a fantastic way to waste an afternoon.

*I may have eliminated and/or played with a couple options. Some of these characters had fewer fics than the character "OC," which makes sense. I took off Erestor because literally only Glorfindel stans would choose him, and Glorfindel is on here. I also lumped together Elladan and Elrohir because if you can tell them apart, it's because they're both your blorbos. Tolkien did NOT give them distinct personalities. Also if I didn’t lump them together, I wouldn’t be able to fit Celebrimbor, and that would be a shame.

**Characters who appear in multiple stories had their rankings weighted to account for that fact. I got a C in statistics in college, though, so I frankly have no idea if the way I weighted them is correct, nor do I care, because I'm satisfied with how the rankings turned out.

I don’t like how you did this!

Okay, don’t vote then. Nobody’s making you.

FORTH EORLINGAS! Have fun voting! As Gimli would say... May the best Dwarf win! ;)

Round One [results & analysis]

Thorin vs. Bard | Bilbo vs. Dwalin | Kili vs. Gandalf | Fili vs. Thranduil | Legolas vs. Eomer | Aragorn vs. Eowyn | Elrond vs. Elladan & Elrohir | Frodo vs. Merry | Gimli vs. Pippin | Samwise vs. Boromir | Faramir vs. Galadriel | Maedhros vs. Celebrimbor | Maedhros vs. Celebrimbor (RoP free version bc some of you are whiny babies) | Maglor vs. Finrod | Glorfindel vs. Morgoth | Sauron vs. Celegorm | Fingon vs. Feanor

Round Two [results & analysis]

Thorin vs. Bilbo | Legolas vs. Thranduil | Pippin vs. Éowyn | Maglor vs. Frodo | Gandalf vs. Samwise | Elrond vs. Maedhros | Faramir vs. Glorfindel | Sauron vs. Fëanor

Round Two (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Aragorn vs. Elladan & Elrohir | Gimli vs. Morgoth | Merry vs. Bard | Finrod vs. Celegorm | Boromir vs. Kíli | Fíli vs. Celebrimbor | Éomer vs. Galadriel | Fingon vs. Arwen

Round Three [results & analysis]

Bilbo vs. Legolas |  Éowyn vs. Frodo | Samwise vs. Elrond | Faramir vs. Fëanor

Round Three (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Aragorn vs. Gandalf | Gimli vs. Maedhros | Merry vs. Glorfindel | Finrod vs. Sauron | Boromir vs. Thorin | Celebrimbor vs. Thranduil | Éomer vs. Pippin | Arwen vs. Maglor

Round Four (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Aragorn vs. Gimli | Merry vs. Finrod | Boromir vs. Celebrimbor | Pippin vs. Arwen

Round Five (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Aragorn vs. Bilbo | Éowyn vs. Merry | Boromir vs. Elrond | Pippin vs. Fëanor

Round Six (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Aragorn vs. Éowyn | Boromir vs. Pippin

Round Four [results & analysis]

Legolas vs. Frodo | Samwise vs. Faramir

Round Seven (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Éowyn vs. Faramir | Pippin vs. Legolas

Round Eight (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Éowyn vs. Pippin

Round Five [results & analysis]

Frodo vs. Samwise

Round Nine (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Éowyn vs. Frodo

FINAL ROUND

Samwise vs. Frodo

[amageish]

Unpacking Kitty Pryde's Sexuality

Okay, I've done a couple posts like this before... Let's take on a big one, shall we?

In Maruaders #12, released in 2020, Kate "Kitty" Pryde kissed a woman.

This was reported on fairly widely as Kitty Pryde's coming-out moment. Many people across fandom and outside of it were celebrating the queerness of one Katherine Anne Pryde. After decades upon decades of queer-coding, it was official! Kitty Pryde is a bisexual woman! Let's all celebrate!

(I personally would not call queercoding "queerbaiting" when it was done at a time when sodomy laws were still being enforced in America, but whatever.)

And then... uh... nothing really changed?

Since then, she has returned to her usual status quo in terms of queerness and queer-coding. She has had plenty of cheeky moments, wink-nods towards her queer identity, but nothing as explicit as a kiss - and no explicitly romantic relationships of any kind.

Now, this headline-making kiss was, narratively, a foil to an earlier kiss - she got a tattoo and kissed her male tattoo artist, died, came back to life, and then got a new tattoo and kissed her female tattoo artist. The woman didn't really have a purpose in the story beyond tattooing Pryde, being kissed by her, and having a design which is strikingly similar to that of Magik, one of Pryde's gal pals... All that said, it wasn't exactly the type of thing that needed to be followed up on... but it is still odd that Pryde kissed a woman, was hailed as bisexual, and then Marvel corporate went silent on the matter.

For some backstory, Pryde has been queercoded more or less since her debut. She's had three roommate situationships which are widely discussed as her queer encounters, plus a handful of other ones - notably a period where she was manipulated by the seduction of Saturnyne.

One of these relationships, Pryde with Rachel Summers, was confirmed by Pryde's creator Chris Claremont via interview in 2016, which increased discussion of her potential queerness - though that discussion has been going on for a looooong time before then.

Now, personally, when I see queer subtext vanish suddenly, my assumption is typically that corporate got involved... which seemed more likely when she was teased as a potential new character in X-Men 97. Perhaps corporate doesn't want her to be queer in that show and so they don't want her to be queer in the comic books either. Corporations are weird like that sometimes.

HOWEVER. Everything is suddenly changing in June 2024? Four years after Kate Pryde smooched a tattoo artist, Marvel mobile games are suddenly really keen to remind us that Kate Pryde is, in fact, queer???

And look. This probably means nothing. It is likely that the marketing people who worked on these events had heard Pryde was queer and tossed her into their events... but it still feels notable to me!

With these mobile game promotions, the idea of Kate Pryde being a queer character is being put in more people's feeds and in more people's minds then ever before... While the kiss was viral, it was mostly viral in queer spaces (as well as the types of spaces vigilantly opposed to queerness in nerd culture media), while this is putting it in the hands of standard mobile game users... Plus it is using Marvel's marketing budget to promote them - Marvel isn't sponsoring posts to put screenshots of Pryde checking out Dazzler's ass in X-Terminators in people's feeds, but they are to let us know that we should log into Puzzle Quest to claim a gaudy outfit...

So I am happy to see this development happen... It does feel like a (however atypical) step forward and I hope it isn't too long before Pryde can get explicitly queer stories told about her on a regular basis... I mean, her name is Pryde, for crying out loud...

[boredgirl2004]

The Aftermath: Day 1

My experience with the Book of Bill 

Now I’m not much of a writer. I am a 💧︎♒︎♓︎⧫︎⧫︎⍓︎  writer. I wasn’t good with writing in school but anyway-  I’m sure you are all just wondering why I am writing this. If I’m being honest, I don’t know why either, everything just has been crazy, things I can’t explain and I guess the only person who will probably understand is the man who had to deal with this thing before I did. You can also think I’m just writing this to reach him and his family, to not only get another person's view on this but to know that I am not alone in this ever-lasting torture with this cool ranch dorito demon who didn’t stop giving me deer teeth when I first opened the book and that's where it all started but before I go on my huge rant or story of meeting this being. I might as well introduce myself. My name is Jazmyne, you can call me Jazzy or whatever nickname you have used with someone with the same name as me but differently spelled in every way. I don’t know if I should say my age but I’ll just leave that blank. I am the only girl in my family out of 3 brothers, I am the second eldest, so the middle child I guess. I like butterflies, anime, the smell of fresh roses, and everything involving the supernatural. Now that we got that out of the way, let's start with what led up to this….

The beginning of a crazy nightmare

My parents were taking me to my job. I had been working at this new job as a lab technician for about two months. I saw that there was a new Barnes and Noble on my way to work, and seeing that I had plenty of time; I decided to stop and see if any of the books I wanted were in stock. So I asked if we could stop by and take a look. My parents reluctantly (if I am using this word right) drove into the marketplace and dropped me off at the store. I walked into Barnes and Noble, and the smell of the new books along with Starbucks coffee immediately hit my face, a pleasant smell that I liked. I walked around the brand-new store and saw various books. I found some poetry books I liked, some mangas, and other books that interested me until I saw this black book, it had carvings and a keyhole. It was under the supernatural category next to Stephen King's “IT” and  “The Wonderland Murders ". I assumed it would have the title on the book cover but when I pulled it off the shelf, there was sadly no title to the book at all. I thought the book might have been returned since the cover was probably torn off or lost. I tried to open the book but it didn’t open. Odd isn't it? I gave up and put it back, I thought it was just some sort of decoration since Halloween decorations were coming out next month which was in a few weeks. I immediately went to the checkout with my books and went on about my day. I got back in my parent's car and went to work. While at work, I had to check our products to make sure they were up to company standards and signed off on them so they could be produced. You know, stuff a lab technician would have to do when involving products that’ll be sold out to the public. 

It was a long 12 hours, it even got so busy that I felt overwhelmed. I didn’t even go on my lunch break or my breaks but when I got home, I set my purse down, along with my bag from Barnes and Noble on the floor of my room and exhaustedly plopped onto my bed. I slept in for such a long time that my alarm didn’t go off. I immediately got up and ran throughout the house getting ready for work until I saw a flash flood warning go off on my phone. My boss called me and told me to not come to work. I sighed in relief and went to my room. I closed the door behind me and as I was about to walk to my bed, I heard this loud wet sound. I froze and slowly looked down, I turned on the light switch and saw that the Barnes and Noble bag was covered in this very very squishy black ooze. I was so grossed out that I took the bag and placed it on my desk to investigate what was the cause of this black substance. I opened the bag to see my new books were now the same color as the tar. I was so confused and upset that I began tearing the tar away from the books until I got so frustrated that I just took the bag and dumped it all onto the desk until I saw the blank book from the Barnes and Noble store I went to yesterday. The tar was coming from the book. Which confused me and got me more upset.

As the thunder from the storm roared, I grabbed some gloves and took this weird goo off my books. I wondered how this book managed to get in my bag when I didn’t buy it nor did the cashier put it in my bag. I also thought about how I’m gonna be able to explain this to the employee when I have to return these books. “Oh yeah, I’d like to return these books because this coverless book y'all had on your shelf emitted this black-like tar onto my books and I have no idea how I got this book.” I giggled a bit at how ridiculous the thought was. I yelled in frustration from how difficult taking this tar off my books was. I slammed my hands onto my desk and yelled out loud “IS THERE A $%%## WAY THAT YOU CAN GET OFF MY BOOKS?!!?!”. As I said that, I heard distant laughing, I thought it was my parents laughing at something on TV or something but, everyone was taking a nap in my house but then again, my mom always forgets to turn the TV off after she’s done using it but when I left my room to go see, there was nothing on, nor was my mother awake. I thought it was weird but then again, I always hear stuff that isn’t there. It was my imagination as always but when I came back to my room. The book’s goo was gone, all that was left was the destroyed books I had bought that only repeated the words ``HAHA” and the black book that had no cover but this time the blank book now had a title and a strange being on the cover that was made out of metallic gold paper, it read…

||iᙠ Ꮈo ʞooᙠ ɘʜT

T̵̲̗̫̞̤̳̽́́̒̃͗̈̓͝͠ͅh̴̼̭̘͉̥̞͎͍̔̚͘e̶̳̼̙̟̯͖̗̜͓͐͋̇͋̅̕ ̷̬̜͎̖̾͗̂̌͘͝B̶̧̺͕͖͓͙̀̈́̀̓͂̎̈́͝͝ỏ̵̧̫̯̣͎̟̱͒̅̑͐̎͊̋��ȏ̷̢̧̻̯̣̹̀̂͌́̒̄̂ǩ̷̢͉͇̰͎̹̖̉̏̎̇̔̈̍ͅͅ ̷̰͉̬̙̗̼̬̺̞͈̃̀̎̿̋̕͝ȏ̷̬̦̏̀̓̾͌̿̎̚f̴̗̝̬͇̗͈̀̋̑̈́͑̽ ̸̦͖̣̘̯͓̩̦̹̦̑͆͛͆̅̅̕͠B̷̛̤̰̳̞̈́̊̍̃̓̊͐͘͝ͅi̸̗͖͑l̸͉̣̺͙̜͈̺̝̉͌́̿̄͋̌̚l̵̻̭̺͔̭̂̀́͋̔̚̕͜͝

Now I’m not going to lie to you all, the cover interested me, and I do like the color gold but before you all tell me “No don’t open the book, just get rid of it! Return it to the store!” I thought about it but what am I going to do if I told them that I didn’t purchase it and it somehow magically appeared in my bag???  They are gonna look at me like I’m crazy and call the cops on me. I love Barnes and Noble but I am NOT getting banned from my favorite bookstore! So, I had no choice but to keep it but I didn’t open it…..at least not until later that day or well; that night. 

That night

I was getting ready for bed as usual. I turned off my lights and turned my fan on. (I love it when my room gets really cold. I hate this heat but hey, these politicians aren’t gonna do jack diddly $#@@ about the situation happening on our earth, no matter how much they promise they will but continuing with the story wrapped my blanket around my body and snuggled my large cuddle pillow. I stuck my feet out of my blanket because if I get too hot with my feet in the blanket, I’ll end up waking up, So to keep my body heat as normal as possible, I like sticking my feet out. I sighed, feeling relaxed and happy that I didn't have to work a 12-hour shift again. I decided to listen to some music before I drifted off to sleep. As I heard the meditation music begin to play ever so softly, my eyes began to get heavy. I quickly let sleep consume me. Now in dreamland, my dreams are a mixture of stuff, sometimes I do dream about things and not remember them because in a way. It was a normal dream where I was just relaxing in the dream realm, I don’t dream at all which is fine because again I am asleep and relaxed. I do however get nightmares here and there but what's really rare is the weird ones, the ones that I either can’t explain or don’t remember but somehow this dream….It was…different. 

I remember seeing a bright light, I heard voices, like a mixture of people talking. As the light slowly dimmed, I could see nothing but black, shades of gray and white. I immediately see an abandoned swing set in front of a sandy beach. One of them was broken and one was in good shape but I saw a little boy sitting alone on the swing watching the waves. I looked around my surroundings and couldn’t see my scenery. It's as if everything behind and next to me was all blurry but the only clear thing was the swingset, the ocean, and the little boy sitting alone on the swing set. As I approach the swingset, I can hear the sound of the waves slowly dying out and transferring to I think an old record of a song. All I could hear was this” 

I was singing this song, 

We’ll meet again,

Don’t know where

Don’t know when

But I know we'll meet again on some sunny day,

Keep smiling through, 

Just like you always do,

Til’ the blue sky,

Drives the dark clouds far away,

Will you please say hello,

To the folks I know,

Tell them I won’t be long.

Once I stood next to the boy and stared at the ocean, I was creeped out by the song but I assumed that I probably listened to too many songs from the past but as I watched the waves, I could feel…eyes staring at me. I felt this gut feeling to look at the boy and when I did, I was face to face with a huge eye, its sclera a bright yellow, and only its black pupil staring right into me. Into my soul. I felt terrified, my hearing was overflowing with people's voices piling on top of each other. 

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”         

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 ““OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”         

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK

I couldn’t make sense of what they were saying. All I remember was seeing shadows of a dapper man, a great pharaoh, a wizard, and an elderly man. They had the same eyes as the giant one that stood proudly behind them. I froze, I felt stuck like I couldn’t turn away from their gaze, I felt terrified, and my fight or flight instincts were going crazy, practically begging me to do something! At this point, I could feel my body moving, I was trying to wake up but I couldn’t because of how paralyzed I was. I hated sleep paralysis, it would be the closest feeling to what death would feel like. Being helplessly stuck, screaming but only for no one to listen but your mind and how you couldn’t move your body to be freed from this prison. I did the only thing I thought would be a good idea. I called out to whatever god could hear me.  

“Oh god, or gods or to whoever is good, peaceful, and just, please help me. I am terrified of the dark and I hate it whenever this happens-” As I spoke, there were black arms slowly reaching towards me, these hands grabbing my body and forcefully pulling me down to the black pit of darkness. Pinning me down against the black ground. My tears began to quickly form and fall from my eyes as these hands crawled and held me still.  “PLEASE, I’M SCARED!!!!!” I screamed as I sobbed and the hands stopped moving until they resumed again. My adrenaline began to kick in. I began screaming and biting whatever hand touched my face. My thoughts finally came together, I was not going to let this hold me, I screamed as loud as I could,  and I forcefully got up, a few hands flew off of me as the rest tried to pull me down again. I began to make my way back to the light and felt the arms try to pull me back. 

“WHATEVER YOU ARE, YOU AREN’T GONNA #$$@#*! HOLD ME BACK FROM WAKING UP. YOU HAVE NO POWER OVER ME-” I was immediately interrupted by more arms holding me up in the dark void. I struggled and struggled, screaming and wailing, desperately trying to set myself free from this sleep paralysis. Until I saw a bright yellow light behind me. I immediately felt a hand begin to choke me. I gasped and struggled against the grasp of the hands. I then heard a voice…a weirdly cheery voice. 

“𐌉𐌅 𐌙𐌀 Ꮤ𐌀𐌍𐌕 𐌌𐌄 𐌕Ꝋ 𐌋𐌄𐌕 𐌙Ꝋ𐌵 ᏵꝊ 𐌃Ꝋ𐌋𐌋 𐌅𐌀𐌂𐌄, Ꝋ𐌓𐌄𐌍 𐌕𐋅𐌄 𐌁ꝊꝊ𐌊”

I sighed and cried silently, “Give me time to think about it at least….” I blurted out and as soon as I said that. I woke up screaming and as tears slid down my cheek, I was gasping for air, wondering if this nightmare was a warning or just my imagination.

Note: First Chapter doooone!!!!

Note 2: Chapter 2 is coming soon!! I might make a chapter 3 because I want to feed the Gravity Falls community and myself!

[scoobydoodean]

I was thinking about Sam running off to Flagstaff in relation to Dean going to Sonny's. Must have been about the same time if Sam was 12.

So is it that no one was super concerned when Dean 'was missing' for months so Sam thought his 2 week adventure was no big deal.

Or was Dean left at Sonny's as punishment for losing Sam.

Neither paint a great picture of John, but the first does make Sam's attitude to running away more understandable (plus John's constant disappearing act wouldn't help). Either way, I think s5 sam is still immature enough to think 'you left, dad left, whys it only a problem when I do'.

So, 5.16 doesn't mention Sam's age when he ran away, but I estimated around 12 because of 11.08 "Just My Imagination", and how it centers around Sam considering running away for the first time as a kid. Though it isn't to get away from their dad—it's neglect that drives him, and then he ends up leaving to find and join John and Dean on their hunt without John's permission to try and prove himself. I actually went back to double check though, and 11.08 takes place in 1992, so Sam was actually around 10. This doesn't give us a very solid timeline—just enough to say Flagstaff probably happened after Sam turned 10. "Bad Boys" takes place in 1995, when Sam is around 12. Sam's dietary preference for "Funions and Mr. Pibb" probably still suggests he was young—from 10-13 when Flagstaff happened—because by 1997 flashbacks in 4.13 "After School Special", Sam has settled on college as his method of escape, and I don't think his hopes for full ride scholarships mesh with plots to run away and have to fend for himself. In fact, I am fairly certain Sam spent all of high school with his nose stuck in a book at every possible moment. Having to worry about his own food or lodging or the lack of credentials being a runaway wouldn't be logical in achieving his goal.

It's very possible Flagstaff happens after "Bad Boys", but it's also possible it happens before. That said, the story John told Sam about Flagstaff was that Dean got lost on a hunt, and John had to go and find him. He dropped Sam off at Bobby's for a couple of months, making Sam think John was actually searching for Dean that whole time:

Yeah. Uh, y-you disappeared. Dad came back. You were gone. He shipped me off to Bobby's for a couple months and went and… found you. You were lost on a hunt or something.

Did "Lost on a hunt" mean John told Sam that Dean got captured by a monster, or that Dean left Sam alone to hunt on his own...? Hard to say.

That said, we also get this nugget from Dean in 14.12 "Prophet and Loss":

I know things got dicey… you know, with dad… the way he was. And I just… I didn’t always look out for you the way that I should’ve. I mean, I had my own stuff, you know. In order to keep the peace, it probably looked like I took his side quite a bit. Sometimes when I was… when I was away, you know it wasn’t ‘cause I just ran out, right? Dad would… he would send me away when I really pissed him off. I think you knew that.

I have no beef with Sam running away, as I have said a couple of times now. I don't care if Sam runs away. In the case of Flagstaff—kids, especially, run away. I just think that from Dean's side, what hurts the most is that Sam never thinks back and reexamines running away to Flagstaff as an adult, and thinks about how dangerous it was, and how terrified Dean must have been, and how angry their father must have been with Dean.

[eleventeeny]

You Wanted the Best: My In-Depth Experience at a KISS Show

October 27, 2023

For 50 years, KISS has been setting the standard for spectacles. With their kabuki makeup, wide and mind-boggling variety of merchandise, and insane on-stage performances, they have changed the culture of music.

Before the show at the Dickies Arena, I had never been to a concert alone nor had I ever bought my own ticket for a show. I went crazy the moment I got the money for a good seat. I went for a seat 12 rows from the stage and I got a soundcheck and Q&A pass.

After I was dropped off and walked up the steps to the venue, I met an older lady, seemingly in her 40's, and we became instant buddies. By a stroke of fate, we also had the same VIP package, so we got to stand in line together. She told me her stories of seeing KISS over the years as well as a story of her meeting Eric Carr in the 1980's, which I thought was really cool.

I got to take a look at the KISS cosplayers around the venue, I didn't get to see many fans since VIP and non-VIP concertgoers were on different sides of the arena, but there were many things to see. I also got to see fans decked out in official and unofficial merchandise; pants covered with the Love Gun album cover, hats with some of the more unflattering pictures of the members, etc.

As I was in line, I got to listen to KISS concert stories from other people in line and I got to conversate with other fans. During the time I was waiting, I checked my social media and saw an announcement that the show had officially sold out.

Inside the building, I was given a VIP pass and I got to check out the merchandise as we waited for soundcheck. It started kind of late, beginning 5-10 minutes after it was supposed to. We got to pick our seats, and when we walked down the stairs to the floor section, I got to admire the props and set for the show. There were huge statues, 2 on each side of the stage, displaying the members of the band, however I didn't get a picture. On the stage itself, there was the iconic light-up logo.

The woman I befriended sat with me in one of the rows closer to the stage. She tapped on my shoulder and pointed to Eric Singer sitting on the edge of the stage talking to some fans while passing out drumsticks.

One by one, the members walked out on stage. Paul announced that he was feeling ill, having just gotten a flu shot, this sickness later becoming the reason they had to cancel two shows in Canada and one in Knoxville, and told the audience he'd be leaving the singing to Gene, Tommy, and Eric so he could save his voice for later in the night.

They played 'Plaster Caster,' 'Shock Me,' and 'Christine Sixteen'. Everything went off great and as I was watching Tommy during Shock Me, Paul threw a guitar pick into a chair three seats away from me. Before I could process it, a few guys dove into the chair to get it.

After 'Christine Sixteen,' they started the Q&A bit, and a microphone was passed around amongst the fans. One fan asked if anyone in the band had used the KISS condoms from 2002, to which Paul cleverly, and probably truthfully, responded "They're too small". Gene also told the story of how he discovered the uniqueness of his tongue when he was a kid, which you can read about in his book Kiss and Make Up.

A few hours later, the openers came out to perform. The band, Amber Wild, was very interactive with the crowd and held themselves well on stage. The vocalist, Evan Stanley, is also the son of Paul Stanley. They had just released their first single 8 days before the show.

When KISS opened with Detroit Rock City, the massive black curtain sporting the KISS logo was pulled down and the members were brought down on individual platforms.

The pyrotechnics were insane throughout the show but were especially prevalent in the opening performance. With each blast of fire, I could feel the heat against my face.

Before God of Thunder, Gene did his legendary blood-spitting performance. I think it'd be cooler if, instead of wiping the blood off his face before singing, he would just perform with the blood still there. It adds to the show.

During the encore, they dropped these huge balloons, confetti, and streamers upon the crowd. As I was leaving, I saw two fans fighting over one of the balloons.

The arena was filled with 1970's kids who seemed less like fans and more casual, which makes complete sense. KISS was absolutely everywhere back then, so when people who were growing up in the 70's see KISS, they feel drawn to it because they're a symbol of that time.

The show was amazing and even as a younger fan, I felt really involved and included when I spoke with some of the older fans there. I had a great time. There's always something about KISS that someone will find intriguing.

Despite retiring in December of 2023, KISS has still been going strong with their dedicated and loyal fanbase. In July of this year, they surpassed one billion streams on Spotify for their hit song 'I Was Made for Lovin' You'.

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Active Authors Masterlist

***Active (on this blog) is defined as a blog/writer who has updated within the past year. Inactive (on this blog) is defined as a blog/writer that has not been updated at all in the past year+. On THG Writing Hiatus (on this blog) is a blog/writer who has updated within the past year but has not posted a fanfic in the fandom in the past year BUT they may return to writing in the future. Lists will be updated as needed based on activity. ***

Created: November 13th, 2023

Last Checked:----

Abagail_Snow :: ao3, ffnet, tumblr

Popular Fic: All The World's a Stage: They'll never live down the stunt with the berries. They should probably just accept that. Peeta is rescued from the arena along with Katniss (post-Catching Fire/Mockingjay divergence) (@absnow)

aimmyarrowshigh :: ao3, ff.net, tumblr

Popular Fic: How Rue Became the Mockingjay: Katniss Everdeen and the girl from Eleven are ruining their best-laid plans – the Capitol’s and the Rebels’. So Caesar, they say. Announce the change. --- An alternate chronology for The Hunger Games (@aimmyarrowshigh)

AlwaysMyPearl :: tumblr

Popular Fic: Come get your man, nothing’s wrong, he just misses you.: Post-mockingjay, canon compliant. Katniss POV. A phone call that occurs with Johanna, Annie, Peeta, and Katniss when Peeta goes to visit Annie, Finn, and Jo with Katniss staying behind in Twelve. Fluff. (@alwaysmypearl)

amelia_day :: ao3, tumblr

Popular Fic: The Bet: When a sorority bet gets out of hand and becomes a campus wide sensation, Katniss and Peeta are both forced to deal with the aftermath. (@awhiskeyriver)

Autumnanox :: ao3

Popular Fic: Time Running Out for the Truth: What if Katniss had realized before their second time in the Arena the depth of her feelings for Peeta? And what if she had found the words to express them? How would they have spent what they believed to be their last nights alone together? This story takes place on the day they make their private presentations to the Gamemakers, after they've returned to the district 12 suite and they are each awarded a score of 12 for their rebellious antics. This story, unlike the books, is told from Peeta's perspective.

Broken_everlark :: ao3

Popular Fic: Capative to the Darkness: Peeta tries to keep his dark passenger a secret but how long can it stay hidden when he works as a detective for the police department and he's head over heels in love with his partner Katniss Everdeen.

Brown_Eyed_Devil :: ao3

Popular Fic: Stop the Clocks: A Modern AU with heaps of jealousy and angst, hints of fluff and good stuff in between, and a potential dash of smut for later on. (Rating and tags will evolve as the story progresses, so keep an eye out for that). Katniss Everdeen sees her ex-boyfriend on the arm of another woman a year after their breakup. She shouldn’t care, because she broke up with him, even so... she still finds herself drawn to him in that impossible way. She knows she's not allowed to think of him as hers anymore, she really thought she should be over this by now (over him really), and yet against her better judgement, she allows him to take her number... Shenanigans ensue...

bellablue27 :: ao3

Popular Fic: Tomorrow Will Be Kinder: A canon-compliant, post-Mockingjay growing together fic from Peeta's POV

bbyannabeth :: tumblr

Popular Fic: Oh, I Love You: The moment when Peeta realizes, clear-headed and all, maybe as Katniss sleeps beside him or traipses in from the woods …“oh. I love you.” (@bbyannabeth)

CassandraO :: ao3

Popular Fic: Arranged: Facing the death of her mother, 14-year old Katniss Everdeen and her 10-year old sister Prim move in with their widowed maternal grandmother, the apothecary's wife. In a world in which unmarried women cannot own property, Katniss' grandmother arranges with the town baker to marry off her eldest granddaughter at sixteen to protect her in case she dies before the girl is ready to marry. Luckily for all, Katniss gets to marry the youngest son, her close friend Peeta. Now, married young, the summer is coming, and with it, the 74th Annual Hunger Games.

[darkenedreaper]

The Pain of Patronus [2]

Pairing: Professor Severus Snape x Female!Professor Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, bloody descriptions

Summary: After finding Snape after Nagini's attack, you go to great extents to get him help. When he recovers, you've changed. And to find more information Dumbledore makes a decision, one you're unhappy with.

A/N: I changed the story plot because Deathly Hallows traumatised me. Enjoy.

Part 1

Several weeks after your arrival with the lifeless body of Severus, you were headed to the Medical Wing where Madame Pomfrey was watching over him. Minerva, Albus, and Hagrid never full recovered after hearing your cries and seeing how weak you were, they were worse when they saw Snape.

That day you brought him back was the day Hogwarts was not a home. You were taken straight to Dumbledores office, where he comforted you and forced you to sleep with a potion. Several weeks later, Hogwarts was on the mend, due to the powers of magic. Students could sleep back in their dorms, some teachers chambers were repaired and so were classrooms.

That day when you woke up from bringing Severus back, you opened your eyes and ran to the Medical Wing. You stood up so fast you nearly fainted but you ran to Severus. Minerva heard your frantic steps and grabbed a hold of you before you could do anything. She held you in the doorway and you looked as you could see a body in a bed, Madama Pomfrey close to the body, Hagrid at the side of the body, Harry on the bed next to the body, and Dumbledore at the foot of the bed.

"Did he make it?", you begged Minerva for an answer, she watched as the tears formed in your eyes, your hair still damp with blood and wet from the wain, your cheeks still stained with blood and tears. She stroked your arms and said, "Madame Pomfrey is doing all she can dear... she says your timing may be the thing that saves him from further intoxication from the venom". You panted heavily and when McGonagall thought you were calmer she let you through. Dumbledore watched as you slowly walked over, Harry stood up from the bed and greeted you as Professor, you looked down at the boy and patted his head.

There he was. He was clean, free of blood and damp. His chest and stomach lifted up ever so slightly when he took a breath. He was of course, unconscious and still in a state internally. His neck and other wounds were wrapped up and Madame Pomfrey had dressed him in a spare black sweater. You took a breath and exhaled deeply when you saw him. You could've stared at him for what felt forever.

Back to the current time, you went to Madame Pomfrey for your usual and frequent update on him. You didn't teach at the minute, Dumbledore wouldn't allow you to. As you walked into the wing, you eyes went to some students who were in because of night terrors, you told yourself you'd check on them a little later, let them sleep for now. Severus had his own section of the wing, so he wouldn't be disturbed as and when he did wake up. It had been 5 weeks now. 5 weeks since you heard him, 5 weeks since you looked him in the eyes. You scoffed to yourself; you'd missed him more in 5 weeks than 15 years. You heard familiar shoes and Pomfrey gently laid a hand on your shoulder, not wanting to scare you. She told you she suspects most if not all the venom to be gone, meaning it shouldn't be long before he wakes up. As she got up to leave you to see him she took one last look at you, you were thin, your eyes were droopier and the bags under them were blacker; she felt exhausted for you.

Each day you spent 22 hours out of 24 hours with Severus. You sat close to him on a chair and stroked the back of his hand. You whispered 'I love yous' to him, you also told him quietly about your day, what was happening at Hogwarts. You took a book every time you saw him as you would stay with him, in 5 weeks you'd read 12 books. You got up to stretch your legs and to calm your racing mind. You peeked over at the students who were in for night terrors and saw one was shaking. You walked over towards the young lad, alerting him of your presence, and you took a place on his bed beside him. He looked at you with fragile eyes, silently pleading you for a remedy. You scanned his table beside him and saw the box his wand was him. Carefully you removed the wand and handed it to him with a ghost of a smile on your face and whispered to him, "Cast a Patronus". He took his own wand with a shaky hand, waited a few minutes and on the first try, a blue butterfly emerging, lightly fluttering past the students sleeping and over the two of you. It fluttered at the end of his bed until it saw a smile on his face, and it flew off into the wild. He looked at you with a shine in his eyes and smiled.

The next morning you woke up from you sleeping position being resting your head on your arms that laid on Severus' bed. You looked at him peacefully sleeping but there was still no sign he had woken. As on cue, Madame Pomfrey walked up to you and asked how you slept. In the nicest way, you weren't interested in her conversation but when she mentioned Dumbleodres fiddling with your head your tune quickly changed.

That day you brought Severus back, Dumbledore had giving you a sleeping potion. Whilst you were sleeping he took the traumatic memory from your head of you finding Severus to when you entered the castles doors, and copied it into some sort of crystal ball. You had argued with him about it once Minerva told you, but he argued that it was for important information on Harry and the attack on Severus.

"Dumbledore tells me when Severus wakes, he will go through your memory of that day", she spoke with a soft voice. You could only reply back with a harsh, "When he does I won't be here". It still pained you to think about it. You didn't know what other memory Dumbledore had stolen but you were embarrassed and hurt that Severus would have to watch it, It would be bad enough for him to see himself being attacked and relive it... but on top of that, see your pathetic attempt of a rescue, you cradling him and crying in the rain. You refused to sit and watch. Madame Pomfrey spoke, "If Severus wakes Dumbledore won't wait that long before he shows him". She spoke tapping your knees, and unlike any other reaction you'd had you got up and walked off quietly.

As you got back to your chambers you went into a fit of rage, you swiped your desk clear of anything that was on it. You knocked over the 4 chairs that sat at your small dining table. You ragged books from your small library, throwing them across your room hitting other objects, or ripping out the pages. You soon cried yourself to sleep. But as usual the night terrors kept you from sleeping. You wanted to see your happy place, see and hod your home; you made your way to the Medical Wing. It was around 10:30pm at Hogwarts, the students were tucked asleep in bed, even the paintings were asleep. As you walked to turn the corner you heard the voice of Dumbledore, Minerva, Harry, Hagrid, and there was another noise but you could'nt tell what it was from around the corner. While Dumbledore was there, you refused to see him, still unhappy about the memory business. You peeked your head around the corner, Harry was on the bed, Hagrid and Minerva in a chair, Albus standing and... Severus was moved up the bed. You took a closer look and his eyes were open, his hands were moving and so was he. Slowly and weakly of course, but the noise you heard was him. You froze, you just froze. "Where is she?", the voice of the love of your life finally spoke. You didn't have much time to treasure his voice as Albus spoke, "You'll see her soon Severus".

Part 3 is coming

[vodika-vibes]

Golden Thread

Summary: 12 years after your parents banished you to the Labyrinth, you finally have a chance at freedom. And Prince Bly is determined to ensure that you get it.

Pairing: Prince!Bly x F!Reader

Word Count: 3912

Warnings: Violence

Tagging: @trixie2023, @the-bad-batch-baroness

A/N: This was supposed to be a Rapunzel AU, but I apparently wasn't feeling Rapunzel, so this is what was born instead.

Divider by Saradika

When you were a child, your father used to scoop you into his arms and toss you into the air, and you never had to worry about whether or not he would catch you, because he always did.

He would press his face against yours, and press your nose against his, and he would tell you, “Your mother and I loved you so, so much that we just had to raise you as our own!” And you would giggle and hug him.

You never doubted your parents' love for you.

After all, they told you they loved you every day.

And as you got older, your mother would bundle you up onto her lap and braid your hair, and tell you stories of wizards and princesses who were locked in towers. “Ah, my little dove,” She would say in her scratchy voice, “There are only two types of people who live in towers: Wizards and Princesses.” And then she would tickle you and press kisses all over your face, until you were giggling and squealing.

And then you’re ten years old, and your parents don’t take you to the market anymore, and your mother asks, jokingly, how you felt about becoming locked in a tower, and you press your face into her stomach and say, “Mama, I’m neither a wizard nor a princess, towers aren’t for me!”

Your parents moved you into the labyrinth the following week, with your only companion being the half human-half bull child, named Mnemosyne. He’s the same age as you, and has been living in the labyrinth since he was an infant.

You remember, later, raging and screaming at your parents while Nemo keeps you from running into one of the deadly traps that keep him contained. They left you there, in the cold and dark, with only Nemo to keep you company.

That was only 12 years ago now, and you have grown into an adult. You’re perfectly at home in the labyrinth, and you are familiar with the twists and turns as it grows and changes.

“Sister,” Nemo’s voice is low and rumbly, “I found a new passageway.”

“Oh? Did you smell anything interesting?” You ask.

“Fresh food,” He replies, “But also people. Recent people.”

You turn your attention away from your book, “You think other people have entered the labyrinth?” You ask.

Nemo rumbles low in his chest, and your hair stands on end, “If they have, I will kill them.”

Your brother has become violent and dangerous over the years. Not towards you, never towards you, but you know that if anyone else were to enter the labyrinth, Nemo would kill them…and probably eat them.

“There’s no need for such dramatics, brother mine.” You say lightly as you close your book with a snap and set it on the table, “How about I go and check it out, and if we’re lucky I’ll be able to make stew tonight.”

Nemo grumbles, “Hate stew. Not enough meat.”

“Now you’re just fussing to fuss, Nemo.” You scold gently, as you stand from the ratty old couch that Nemo dragged back to your shared quarters years ago. “I’ll be back shortly.”

You leave the shared quarters and head into the labyrinth proper and you sigh. The Labyrinth has changed Nemo, twisting him from an innocent child into something monstrous. He has taken to hovering around you more and more, and the way he looks at you sometimes-

Well…it’s only a matter of time before he kills you.

You head deeper into the labyrinth, twisting and turning down familiar passages, until you find the new one that Nemo told you about. As with every other part of the labyrinth, the stone walls look to have been colored with red clay, though the further down the stone started looking more and more like granite.

You follow the passageway from the labyrinth, into what looks like a massive garden. There are rows and rows of flowers and other decorative plants, but nothing that you could use as food.

You’re disappointed, but not really surprised.

Aside from the ranch where you and Nemo have to negotiate for your weekly allotment of food, none of the other places the labyrinth opens up to have ever led to food.

Still, the feel of sunlight against your skin and warm breeze through your hair is nice enough that you consider just sitting and staying for a time. Anything, really, to get you some space from Nemo.

You walk further into the garden, your fingers trailing lightly over the flowers…it’s been years since you’ve seen flowers that exist solely to be flowers. And they’re not trying to kill you, like that one whole section of labyrinth that is home to man eating plants.

“Oh.” You jump at the sound of a voice from behind you, and for a moment you fear that it’s Nemo. Only the voice isn’t half gravelly enough to be your brother, “I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to be here.”

You spin on your heels, and look up into the face of a man. He’s taller than you, and broader, but then, you’ve never been a particularly big person to begin with, and twelve years living underground has stunted your growth…probably.

He’s handsome, with short cropped black hair and yellow tattoos on his face, “I’m sorry.” You say, your voice hushed, “I’ll leave.”

He scans your face for a moment, and he frowns, “You don’t have to do that. You don’t seem to be hurting anything.” He takes half a step towards you, “My name is Bly, what’s your name?”

You hesitate, and then reply with your name, and he smiles at you warm and broad, and your stomach does a flip.

Bly moves even closer to you, his smile never once wavering, “How did you even get in here? The gate’s locked.”

“Um…well…there’s another entrance.” You admit as you tuck your hair behind your ear, nervous though you’re not sure why.

“Another…?” Bly looks surprised, “Where?”

Even more hesitantly, you point in the direction of the labyrinth entrance, “Over there.”

He turns and stares. Bly stares for long enough that you worry that maybe he doesn’t see the entrance, but you also worry that he does see the entrance to the labyrinth.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Bly asks, turning fully to stare at the entrance.

“Uh…if it’s any consolation, it’s new?”

“It’s not.” Bly replies flatly, “This Labyrinth is your home?”

“Home. Prison.” You shrug, “Sort of the same thing, really.”

He stops and turns to stare at you, “What.” His voice is flat, and that handsome smile is gone.

“Uh…well…my parents decided to lock me in the labyrinth with my brother. Twelve years ago.” You nervously tuck your hair behind your ear again, “So, you know, Home. Prison. Same thing.”

He continues staring at you, and you shift nervously, “Right. Right, okay. So…that stops.”

“I…uh…what?”

Bly smiles kindly and offers you his hand, “Come on. I’ll get you inside, and we can get you proper food and well fitting clothes. And you never have to go back to the labyrinth.”

“I…” You stare at his hand, longing warring with indecision.

Is it really that easy? Can you just…not go back? 

Bly waits patiently, a gentle smile on his face. A smile that broadens into a grin as you slowly, hesitantly, take his hand. His hands are calloused, likely from practicing with the sword that sits comfortably on his hip, and this close it’s obvious that Bly is a soldier.

But you don’t feel nervous or even intimidated by him.

You feel safe.

And isn’t that a kick to the gut? When was the last time you felt safe?

**************

“Are you alright, sarad?” Bly’s voice is quiet but he makes his footsteps loud as he walks up behind you. The family and staff at the palace learned, the hard way, that you react violently when people sneak up on you.

Though they’re always kind enough to not ask questions, even after that one time you accidentally broke Prince Neyo’s jaw when he snuck up on you.

You’ve been living in the palace for two weeks now, and aside from a few mishaps -sleeping is hard above ground, and you’re so twitchy at times- you’re starting to feel settled.

Starting, but not quite there yet.

“Just thinking,” You reply, belatedly realizing that Bly had asked you a question. Your gaze is locked on the sealed off entrance to the Labyrinth, just barely visible from where you’re leaning against the railing on the balcony.

Bly leans against the railing next to you, “Well, I’m happy to listen, if you want to share?”

You turn your head to look at him, “Why are you so nice to me?” You ask in return.

“Well, because being nice is my default setting,” Bly replies drily, “But also, the first time I saw you, you looked like you needed a friend.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Your gaze drifts back towards the labyrinth.

“Are you homesick?” Bly asks, shifting closer to you so that you can feel the warmth from his body through the thin tunic he’s wearing.

“Not homesick.” You shake your head and absently lean into his warmth, “the labyrinth was never home. But I do feel guilty.”

“About your brother,” Bly replies.

“Yes.” You tremble slightly, “He must be so angry.”

“Hey,” Bly presses his hand against your shoulder, sending warmth right down to your toes, “As soon as the Master Wizard comes up with a way to map the labyrinth, we’ll go and find your brother. I promise.”

“...you don’t understand.” You whisper.

“I know that I’d do anything for my brothers,” His hand slides from your shoulder and up your neck, and then settles against your cheek. Bly gently tilts your head to look him in the eye, “And we’ll do the same thing for yours.”

His thumb lightly brushes against your lips, and you inhale sharply. Bly slowly pulls his hand away from your face, “Sorry,” He whispers.

“It’s okay.” You whisper right back, “what…what if my brother can’t be saved?”

Bly’s hand cups your face again, “Do you trust me?”

You’re quiet for a long moment, and then you sigh and nod once, “Of course. You’re a good man.”

He grins at you, “Then trust me to save your brother.”

You turn to look at him, and you reach out, pressing both of your hands against his face, “Bly…my brother-”

He places his hands on top of yours, and gently pulls them away from his face. And then, with his gaze locked with yours, he presses feather light kisses against your knuckles, “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You shiver at the feel of his breath against your skin, and Bly smiles at you, “Let’s get you back inside, sarad. It won’t be long before we save your brother. I promise it.”

You want to believe him. You do.

But you know, in your heart of hearts, that this is not going to end well. And that it’s only a matter of time before Nemo breaks through the magical barrier holding him back.

And it is holding him back.

You glance at the entrance to the labyrinth, and shiver when you see a pair of malevolent red eyes glaring up at you from behind the barrier, but when you blink the eyes are gone.

Bly drapes his arm over your shoulder, and guides you inside, “Look at you, sarad, you’re shivering. Let’s get you warmed up.”

Two days later, you’re standing in the garden with Bly, the Court Wizard and King Jango, while the old wizard squints at the barrier through irritated eyes. 

“You seem troubled,” King Jango notes as he glances at his wizard.

“I am troubled. The barrier has weakened…a lot.”

“So, something has been trying to come through?” Bly asks, “Your brother perhaps.”

“Oh…most assuredly.”

The wizard scowls at you, “Your brother is a magic user?”

“Uh…no. Not at all.”

“Well, no human could get through that barrier without magic-”

“I’m not entirely sure why you all assume my brother is human…” You say quietly, as you take a half step back, behind Bly. “And he’s here.” You add as you point at the barrier.

There’s a loud thump, and then another one. And then the sound of shattering glass as the magic barrier shatters into pieces, and your brother steps into the garden, “Sister-” He bellows.

Bly shoves you behind him, and draws his blade, and you hear heavy footsteps as ARC Knights start pouring into the garden. “Nemo! Stop!” You shout, “They’re not going to-” You release a startled cry as a large hand shoves Bly to the side, flinging him into a tree, “Bly!”

You stumble back as Nemo looms over you, “Sister…” He rumbles out. Nemo reaches out and grabs your arm with a large hand and he jerks you, painfully, to his side, “You left…” He snarls.

“Nemo…I’m sorry.”

“Not…good…enough…” 

His other hand wraps around your neck and shoulder, and tightens to the point where you’re quickly gasping for breath. And then there’s pain, blinding pain, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

You’re vaguely aware of the sound of shouting, the men around you trying to rip Nemo off of you…and then the pain flares, and that, paired with the lack of oxygen, causes the world around you to go dark.

*****************

Bly stares as the creature carts his sarad into the Labyrinth. He’s in too much pain to move, or else he would be on his feet, and chasing after them. “Easy, vod. I have you.” His gaze flickers to the medic, who’s kneeling over him, “Your injuries are severe, but you’ll heal.”

His gaze flickers away from his brother, and to the slender arm laying on the ground. That creature, Nemo, he heard you call it, had ripped your arm off, and then tossed it to the side as though it was nothing.

Bly struggles to sit up, gasping as pain flares from his ribs, “You need to lie still, Bly!” The medic snaps.

“He ripped her arm-”

“We’ll find her,” King Jango interrupted, turning his furious gaze on the Court Wizard, “Well?”

“I attached the magic thread to her,” The Wizard replied grimly, “It’ll remain attached to her even if that creature kills her-”

Bly releases a noise at the thought of you dying, and he tries to lurch up into a sitting position, only to get forcefully shoved back to the ground.

The wizard pauses, and then continues, “The thread cannot be broken, cannot be cut, and will connect from the young lady to this very spot until such time that I break the connection.”

“So we can send someone after her.”

“Indeed.” The Wizard nods, “I suggest that we send Prince Bly.”

“He’s injured.”

“He’ll heal,” The Wizard points out, “And he’s going to go after her with or without your permission.”

King Jango is silent for a moment, and then he nods once, curtly, “Fine. Once he’s healed, we’ll send him into the labyrinth.”

***************

How long has it been? You no longer know.

Your head swims and you tremble with pain, and your trembling hand crosses your body to brush against the ragged, and painful, edges where your arm used to be.

You release a silent, shaky, breath.

Your brothe-...no. Not brother, never again brother.

Mnemosyne, the Minotaur, had ripped your arm off as punishment for leaving him.

To his credit, he has been taking care of you. Ensuring that your arm…the remains of your arm…are clean and bandaged. Making sure that you have enough food to not starve. Bringing you fresh water every day.

You’re surprised. You thought, for sure, that the scent of you bleeding would be enough to push him into killing you, but so far, it hasn’t.

You drop your hand onto your lap, the clothes that Bly gave you were stiff with dried blood…Mnemosyne hasn’t bothered to try and replace them, and you wonder if that’s because it’ll be easy for him to track you if you try to run.

Probably.

You wouldn’t have been so harsh in your appraisal of Nemo…but Nemo died the moment he ripped your arm from your body. And no amount of Mnemosyne’s kindness will help you see him as Nemo ever again.

Your gaze drifts to your wrist, specifically the golden thread that connects you with…something. Mnemosyne doesn’t seem to be able to notice it, and has walked through it multiple times since he returned you to the den.

Maybe…maybe if you follow the thread…?

Slowly, painfully, you push to your feet and walk across the den to where the door to the den is. You push the door open and step into the hallway, your eyes easily picking out the glowing thread in the dark halls.

And so…you start walking.

You feel bad. You’re in pain, and you’re too hot and too cold and the world swims around you. That’s probably bad, you remember reading something, once, about infections and fevers…but it’s too hard to think right now.

So you focus on putting one foot in front of the other, and you follow the thread.

Before you really realize it, you’re moving slower and slower, and then you slump against the wall and slide to the floor. Mnemosyne is going to find you…and this time he’ll probably kill you.

It’s a shame, really, Bly was going to teach you how to dance. You had been looking forward to it.

The next thing you’re aware of is hands against your face. You blink slowly once. And then again as the world remained out of focus.

“...Bly?” You whisper as the world finally comes into focus, and you see a familiar face.

He heaves a sigh of relief, “Oh, thank the stars. I thought you were…” Bly shakes his head, “Never mind. You were unconscious, sarad.”

“Was I?” You ask quietly.

“You were.” His hands are warm, even though the gloves he is wearing, “Sarad, what were you doing?”

“Was following the thread,” You mumble.

“Good girl,” He breathes out, and you blink up at him, “That thread would have led you right back to Mandalore.” He looks you over, and then frowns, “Let’s get you out of these clothes, and I have some stuff for your arm.”

“Oh. Alright,” You allow him to help you to your feet, and you’re barely able to keep standing as he quickly strips the blood soaked clothes from your bruised body, and replaces them with a clean tunic and pants.

You’re vaguely aware of him unwrapping your arm and placing some sort of ointment and then clean bandages on it, but it’s a hazy awareness. You blink at him, hazily, and he gently cups your face, “You still with me, sarad?”

“I…maybe?”

“That’s alright.” His voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater, “I’m going to take care of you, sarad. I promise.” One of his hands slides into your hair, and he gently tugs your head so it’s resting against his chest plate. You shakily wrap your arm around him, and you feel his lips against the top of your head.

“How are…” You grimace, the words fleeing your mind before you can say them, “Mnemosyne?”

Bly pauses, “We’re going to collapse the labyrinth.” He says softly, “There are dozens of my brothers setting explosives throughout the labyrinth as we speak. I just need to get you out.”

“...oh.”

“Are you okay with that?” Bly asks.

You pull your head away from his chest, and look up at him. Slowly you nod, “I think I am.” You whisper.

He smiles at you, warm and gentle, “I’m sorry that we have to kill your brother.”

“...he’s not my brother. Not anymore.” You whisper.

Bly nods and kisses your forehead, feather light, “Come on, sarad. Let’s get you out of here.” He takes your hand and starts leading you back the way you came.

You do your best to keep up, but you’re not surprised at all when he has to switch to carrying you. 

You cringe as the sound of a furious bellow fills the labyrinth. All you can do is press your face against Bly’s neck as he follows the golden thread. You lift your head slightly when you hear the sound of lots of men in armor running. 

ARC knights, all of them following a different color thread, are heading in the same direction as you and Bly. And before you realize it, you’re back in the garden of Mandalore.

Bly hands you over to the medics, who immediately sit you on a gurney and start fussing over you.

You float somewhere between conscious and unconscious, though you do jolt to awareness at the sound of a massive explosion. You’re not able to do much of anything though, as one of the medics injects something into your arm, and you swiftly drift off to sleep.

The next time you wake up, you’re laying in a soft bed. You’re covered in healing bacta, you can tell because of the smell, and you’re no longer in pain. 

You turn your head to the side, and you smile when you see Bly sitting there. He’s absently twirling a hunting knife between his fingers, his gaze locked on your face.

“Sarad!” The knife slides back into a sheath on his thigh as Bly leans in to take your hand, “You’re awake.” He sounds relieved.

“Bly…how long have I-?”

“It’s been three days, you had an infection.” Bly explains, as he folds his hands around yours, “You’re going to have to stay here for a while longer, while they make sure the infection is gone. It…it was pretty hit or miss there, for a while.”

“Sorry.” You whisper.

“Not your fault, baby.” He replies, as he brushes some of your hair off of your face, leaving his hand pressed warmly against your cheek, “How are you feeling?”

You close your eyes and lean into his touch, “Mm…I’m not in pain. So I'm just tired, I guess.”

“That’s good. Great, even.” Bly says with a sigh as his fingers begin lightly tracing your features, “Do you want an update on the Labyrinth?”

“Yes please.”

“So the entrance in the garden was completely destroyed,” Bly says after a moment, “But we found another opening just outside the city. As of right now it’s under 24 hour guard, and there are magic drones mapping out the landscape, and trying to determine if Mnemosyne survived.”

“And if he did?” You ask, softly.

“We’ll cross that bridge only if we have to.” Bly insists, “And it won’t be your job.”

“Oh, alright.” You swallow hard, “So what happens now?”

“Now you rest and recover, and then we’re opening an investigation into your parents. They have a lot to answer for, not just for sealing you away, but also for Mnemosyne.” Bly replies, his thumb lightly caresses your cheek, “And, when you’re healed, I’m finally going to teach you how to dance.”

You laugh softly, and favor him with a small smile, “It’s a date then.”

Bly’s face brightens, “The first of many, I hope.”

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we.” You tease lightly.

He stands and kisses your forehead, “You’ll see, angel. I’ll be the best boyfriend.” Bly kisses your forehead again, “But I’ll let you rest-”

You close your hand around his, “Stay?”

And he grins, “For as long as you’ll have me.”