#it's somewhat repetitive the kids might say

[operationandre]

Autistic Andre Headcanons

(a long list because i love this headcanon)

- those stupid sunglasses aren’t just for style (thank god.) they’re also to protect andre’s eyes. he’s very sensitive to light and tries to avoid it whenever he can. when he’s inside, he never uses the main lights in his room, instead opting for lamps and other small sources of lights he can control.

- andre hates changes in routine. he feels like he’s out of control and like someone has went out of their way to mess up his day. it makes him uncomfortable and somewhat angry. an example of this is in the egging scene where cal tries to change the target of their attack. andre angrily says no and that they might ruin the campaign.

- andre has always been obsessed with guns and the army, even before zero day was even a thought in his mind. he would read books about both, constantly watch documentaries, and play with toy guns and little army men.

- ever since he was little, andre wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone. his mom and dad first thought he was just being an unruly kid or that he didn’t like them, but they soon learned they were wrong. at a checkup, the doctor mentioned how andre showed clear signs of autism and every thing fell into place.

- mel is a big source of comfort for andre when he gets overstimulated. he’ll hold her in his lap and pet her soft fur.

- andre likes to have pressure on his body. he has multiple weighted blankets and loves it when mel sleeps on his chest and makes soft biscuits on his stomach.

- his mom and dad were very pleased when andre started hanging out with cal. andre had never seemed too interested in other kids and when he was, the other kids would think he was weird. cal was different, though, and the two boys instantly clicked.

- understanding social cues and sarcasm is hard for andre, like genuinely impossible. he interprets a lot of things as bullying or being mean.

- andre and cal make cds for andre’s car for two reasons: they hate the music on the radio and andre likes to listen to some of the same music on repeat. also, he loves loud music. he’ll drive around alone some times just so he can blast music.

- andre takes his own lunch for school. he hates the uncertainty of lunch food from what’s in it to what they’ll be serving on a specific day. his lunchbox is black and quite small.

- cal is very touchy but understands that andre doesn’t always want that. cal asks before he touches andre and apologizes when he forgets to do so.

- on his sixteenth birthday, his mom bought him a strong cologne. he sprayed it on one day and almost had a panic attack. the smell was everywhere, and he hated it. he showered multiple times to get it off of him.

- some repetitive movements and noises andre makes include rocking back and forth, flexing and unflexing his hands, and making soft clicking noises.

[sunkissedchldrecon]

𝐈 𝐀𝐦 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 & 𝐍𝐨 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐬𝐞

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝟕𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆?

the seventh house in a birth chart is associated with the zodiac sign libra and the planet venus. oftentimes, people only think of the 7th house in the context of marriage and other partnerships - which is somewhat fine! but when it comes to having personal planets in the 7th house, it can feel very irritating to want to know information about yourself and only ever finding out information about others or someone you haven't even met yet. this post is an attempt to look more into the 7th house outside of its association to others and instead look into it from the lense of one's personal introspection.

𝐒𝐔𝐍

the sun represents our life's purpose, our sense of self, and our driving energy force. those with their sun in the seventh house may feel as if they always need to perform a balancing act in their lives. they may be careful in their thought processes and with their words when it comes to speaking to people. they may come off as relatable and charming to people, and strangers may feel comfortable telling them seemingly private information within the first few minutes of meeting them. their life's purpose is to look at situations from a full perspective and view all sides of the field rather than being biased towards one or the other. they also aim to connect to the collective and show compassion to those who may not always receive it. showing their understanding of human nature and emotions is their forte.

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍

the moon represents the way we understand and express our emotions. those with the moon in the seventh house may have a strong understanding of how their emotions function. they might have been the kids that found it easy to voice why they were crying or how someone hurt them. as a result of their comfortability with their emotions, it's easy for seventh house moons to connect and empathize with others. seventh house moons may prefer to do more introspection to understand their emotions. although they understand others when they struggle with feelings, they are one of the last to openly express when they are actively struggling with their own. they may be playful when it comes to expressing the emotions they may be uncomfortable with talking about in public, so they may joke around or use self-deprecating humor sometimes.

𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐘

mercury represents the way our mind works and the way we communicate. those with mercury in the seventh house may be very diplomatic with their words. they may be careful about what they say and who they say it to. they may do a lot more active thinking about their words and way of thinking than they let on. everything they say has meaning and is intentional to their speech. they may be very particular about grammar! they may not have just one way of learning but instead do well when having a mix of tactics. for example, instead of learning well through just music, seventh house mercuries may learn well through music and repetition. seventh house mercuries are very well-versed in their communication.

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒

venus deals with our values and how we express our love and fashion aesthetic. those with venus in the seventh house value balance and harmony when it comes to human connection. they want everyone to get along and have the desire for a more rosy view of the world where everyone is nice and all things and people are treated equally. for love, it may be hard to feel "loved" by those with venus in the seventh house because it may feel as if they treat everyone the same. sure, they might kiss or spend more time with their significant other, but they may come off as being flirty with everyone because of their charming nature. when it comes to fashion, they may prefer more neutral tones like black, beige, gray, brown, or other related colors. they dress for whatever occasion is specified but may prefer to have a "clean" look overall.

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒

mars represents our actions and willpower. it also tells us about our physical and mental strength and what we desire. those with mars in the seventh house may be a little indecisive at times, but once they've finally made their mind up (or someone else has done it for them) they give their all to their given task. seventh house mars willpower reminds me of aries in that there's a strong dedication, but their dedication is out of genuine passion or wanting to do good instead of to prove a point or just out of competitive nature. those with mars in the seventh house may find it easy to gain muscle when making an effort and also may have good mental fortitude when making the decision to stay positive. seventh house mars may find it easy to fall into self-fulfilling prophecy (good or bad). additionally, those with seventh house mars desire a type of stability and peace. they may be more sentimental when it comes to their desires and actions than they let on.

𝐉𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑

jupiter details what we believe in and how we grow and expand our minds. those with jupiter in the seventh house believe in a diplomatic way of living where everyone and everything is harmonious and equal. they may be a little gullible because they may see the good in everyone or everything, despite that not necessarily being true. they grow through being willing to listen to every perspective, even if they disagree. their intent is to try and understand where people are coming from, and that is how they gain knowledge and expand their way of thinking. also, those with jupiter in the seventh house remind me of people with mercury in the seventh house in that they both may be really good at persuading others because of the seventh house placement with those specific planets. 

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍

saturn represents our boundaries, limitations, and what we need to gain responsibility for. those with saturn in the seventh house may be chronically indecisive. they may prefer when people tell them what to do versus making decisions themselves. also, they may find it debilitating being alone. they may insert themselves into everyone's business in a way but only because they don't want to be alone with themselves. those with saturn in the seventh house need to gain responsibility for their own true thoughts and feelings. they can't keep looking to others to find their own answers if that makes sense. there is also definitely a need to be open with someone - likely a potential future spouse or significant other. there's a responsibility to seventh house saturn's self to learn how to be vulnerable with other people and with themselves.

𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐒

uranus tells us how and when we rebel and where we are innovative. those with uranus in the seventh house may rebel when it comes to traditional relationships. they may be open to polyamory, or they may be a part of the LGBTQ+ community. they may not like the idea of having societal contracts; they may possibly be interested in or agree with ideologies like anarchism. they may also like untraditional hierarchical structures in relationships, the workplace, government, etc. those with seventh house uranus want to push the boundaries of societal relationships.

𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐄

neptune details our dreams and imagination and where we want to find freedom from societal limitations. those with neptune in the seventh house may have vivid or (moreso) grandiose dreams. for example, if they have a dream about a school they once went to, the replication of the school in their dream will be pretty exact even if it's been decades since they last saw it in person. their dreams may feel so realistic that it's hard for them to recognize if they have woken up or not, or it may be hard to decipher whether a memory happened in real life or was a dream. also, they may dream of outside landscapes often - like vast forests or gardens. there's a sense of wanting realistic people and scenery in their dreams but wanting to up the grandness of real life in their dreams if that makes sense. additionally, they may find themselves communicating with their friends, family, and future spouse through dreams.

𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐎

pluto deals with where and how we transform. it also tells of how we confront our fears. those with pluto in the seventh house ultimately transform when it comes to how they understand relationships with themselves and others. they will eventually learn to have more independence and self-trust rather than being overly reliant on others. they will learn to be comfortable with being alone. additionally, they transform through meeting with other people. i'm reminded of the saying that "everything comes and goes for a reason"; there may be people in seventh house pluto's lives that they feel are so important that they can't live without that they eventually lose or stop talking to. it's through these building and loss of relationships that they eventually confront their fears of being alone. through this, they learn to lean on themselves and feel comfortable in their own silence.

[willshipanything-blog]

Breaking the Rules- Chapter 21

Penultimate chapter!! (Besides a couple little epilogue things I have planned). Al has just revealed his plan to confess his crimes- how will y/n ever stop this mad scheme?

Full tags, as well as the fic if you prefer, is on AO3 here. As usual, minors please DNI!

Full Tumblr chapter index can be found here.

Hope you enjoy lovelies! 💜✌️✨

Chapter 21- The Depths

“Take that mask off.” 

The fire in your voice was low and rumbling, a biting warning that you hardly thought yourself capable of. Your initial reaction at his affixing the mask had been terror, but a scorching fury had lit inside you at the audacity of Al to try this, after all this time. You’d had enough of this. 

Of Al attempting this confession, of him even thinking about throwing everything -throwing you- away after all this time. The warning had little effect and Al, wearing the familiar horns and expressionless face, came closer. 

“I’m serious, Al. Take. It. Off.” 

Another step towards you.

Al remained undeterred, his eerie silence reminiscent of nights spent watching silently as you cried yourself to sleep on the mattress. If he was trying to evoke those memories, it was working. Cruel bastard. You slammed your good hand on the table, but as you used the force as leverage to stand, an agony speared through your arm. Al had reached you, had gripped your hand before you could stand. The tight grip had provoked the still-tender muscles in your dislocated finger and you jolted, an electric current tearing through your bloodstream. A sibilant hiss escaped through your teeth at the pain, which had forced you back onto the chair.

“I’ve got to finish this, Y/N. To pay for my crimes.” 

“That wasn’t you. It was-”

“The Grabber?” he asked, a theatrical air of incredulity heavy in his voice. “Not Albert Shaw? They’re one and the same, sweet. You need to stop pretending those are two different people,” he leaned closer, “It’s all me.”

No. You’d seen the change, that almost physical manifestation of the otherness that enveloped Al like a black shroud of fog in the past. In the past, though. He might be using the same mannerisms and voice, but this was all an act. The mask wasn’t some summoning device; it didn’t automatically call on the Grabber to appear like an evocation of some paranormal being. 

“It’s NOT you, Al,” you hoped the repetition of his name might break the mad spell he was trying to hold himself in, the lie he was telling himself to make all of this seem justified. Did it make it easier to betray you like this if he played such a role? 

“Stop kidding yourself. Look who I am-” here, Al nudged open the wooden box with a knuckle, plucking out an item at random (the blue choker necklace) and shaking it wildly in front of you. “Look at what I’ve done! You want me to tell you how I killed each of them? Why not read that note again, huh? Or I could tell you all the details I didn’t put in that confession.”

You’d already looked away by this point, eyes scrunched closed and head shaking, trying to refute Al’s words by purposefully ignoring them. But you knew them to be at least somewhat true- your shameful averting gaze was in part because you had no retort, no justifiable defense for what he was saying. You felt the tears start at the outer corners of your eyes, tumbling down your cheeks before a much rougher sensation met your skin. 

“Look at me!” Al roared, gripping your face between his thumb and forefinger, the course fingertips digging into your cheeks as he forced you to face him. Your eyes stayed closed. His voice again, softer but infinitely more lethal, spoke:

“Look at me, little bird.”

You opened your lids slowly, discerning those still-blue eyes behind the mask. Heavenly, you might have thought that shade, had they not been sitting beneath literal devil horns. Deep blue, with no trace of that hunger or feral rage that signified the Grabber. Al was angry, perhaps at what he thought to be a hopeless situation, but those emotions were Al’s alone. Not the Grabber’s- no matter how much Al pretended to still house that monster within him. 

“Please take off the mask, Al.” It was more desperate and pleading now, spoken through hiccuped breaths, your tears still tracing downward paths down your face. You knew Al’s hardened resolve had already set like cement; unyielding. He didn’t answer you as he released your face from his grasp, finally letting go of your injured hand too. 

You shook the pain away from your hand, looking up at Al, who stood silently over you. He sighed heavily and rolled his shoulders, as if sloughing off the last remnants of himself. His eyes closed behind the mask, and as he opened them, he spoke. The voice was barely an imitation anymore, any attempts at theatricality and grandeur erased by the hoarseness, that clear distress of his words. 

“You gonna be my good girl one last time?”

You had no time to react before he pounced. 

Quick hands had grabbed and lifted you from your seat before implausibly strong arms wrapped around your body. You’d been so numbed, paralyzed by his cutting words about that fragile dichotomy between Al and the Grabber, that his sudden lunge towards you had blindsided you. 

“Let me GO!” You roared, your legs kicking wildly in front of you, your arms squashed too tightly under his grip to help you wriggle free.

“I- am letting- you go,” Al huffed from behind the mask, his winded breath the only sign of a struggle; his strength seemingly carrying you with ease across the kitchen, towards the wooden door waiting for you in the corner of the room. Once there, his arm had to reach out to twist the doorknob, yet with just one arm around your torso you were hopelessly outmatched. You pried an arm free, desperately clawing behind you, as if the possibility of ripping off that demonic mask might snap Al out of this madness. Your frantic mauling only served to bend your injured finger out of place once more, tearing a howl from you. With the wooden door open, Al’s free hand moved to muffle your groans. 

All too much. The pain shooting through your arm, the tight grip around your body, the suffocating hand stifling your shouts, the dizzying ordeal of being carried back towards that prison you’d spent too long in. And the worst part of all of it: that Al had planned this, wanted- thought he needed this to happen.

It wasn’t the sick perversion of actually wanting a victim in the basement, carrying down your unconscious body like he had done nearly a year ago. It wasn’t the heated passion like he’d shown just a couple of nights ago, where he’d nearly dragged you down those stairs in a sudden burst of fury. This was an entirely different purpose. A kindness, in Al’s eyes- to keep you there one last time, to present you as the Grabber’s unwilling cohabitant. A short stint in those depths, to save you from a lifetime of being with him. 

You felt your body still, felt the damp air, and realization hit. The realization that Al had already kicked open the metal door at the bottom of the stairwell. The realization that you were already in the basement. The physical pain of your injury, along with the growing hopelessness of the situation, meant that you’d not fought hard enough to stop this insanity. Another sickly sensation as you felt your body teetering, discerning that Al was leaning forward, dropping you to the floor, his weight on your back pinning you to the cold stone. Hands retracted, but the weight holding you to the floor only allowed a thin rasp of a breath to plead with Al. You’d always used your words before, unable to match the bestial strength on full display now, so you choked out your plea.

“Al, don’t. Please-”

“Enough.” 

The coldness of that voice from behind was a steel blade in your back. He wrestled your hands behind you, though the pain of your twisted finger paled in comparison to the agonizing realization of what was happening. With both your wrists clasped in one of Al’s, you heard a fumbling and then a staccato rip of duct tape. The noise was enough to spur your body into a fresh convulsion beneath Al. The sudden struggle seemed to catch him off-guard, and he had to pacify you with a forceful grip on the nape of your neck, pushing your cheek into the cold floor. Still reeling, your ragged breaths unable to scream but your last bit of strength still pushing against him, and Al loosened his grip on your neck, only to push down even harder a second later. Your head collided with the floor, a dull thunk followed by a high-pitched buzzing in your ears. It was just hard enough to daze you, and when the buzzsaw in your brain came to a halt, Al had already tied your hands behind your back. 

A more intimate sensation now, as Al held your bounds hands lightly. If it seemed a kind gesture, that fallacy was erased a moment later as he pulled at the ring on your finger. His ring, the gold band he’d given as a promise, was pried from you. Your finger felt suddenly cold, exposed. He’d gifted you the ring as a promise to keep you safe. But what good was that when Al saw himself as the danger? What good was any of it when you were drawn to that danger like a moth to a lethal flame? 

“No more of my broken promises.” In saying that, Al couldn’t see the cruel contradiction that leaving you would be the biggest betrayal of all. Still, if he cared about promises at all, didn’t that show that he was still Al beneath that mask? Maybe there was time to stop this ill-conceived scheme. 

Your body jolted again, this time with a pressure on your arms as Al grabbed them, heaving you across the room. Your bare legs scraped against the grimy floor as you were jostled before Al tossed you onto the mattress a few feet from the floor where he’d wrestled you. The familiar feeling of the damp, worn bed as Al threw you down was a sickening déjà vu. Instinct had you scrabbling back towards the wall, feet slipping on the dirty fabric until your head and hands hit stone behind you. A scene you’d seen dozens of times lay before you- Al standing there, fully masked, looking down at your weak, helpless body on the mattress. Somehow, knowing Al’s intention to give himself in, knowing you’d soon be without him, made this more terrifying than any of the earlier encounters. With the spool of tape still in one hand, Al retrieved something from his back pocket with his other, pulling out his small switchblade. Your pleas, desperate wriggling and heavy tears weren’t enough to stop his advance, and he strode over the mattress, dropping down with his knees astride your thighs, eye level with you. 

“He’s not there, Al. You’re just pretending. Don’t act like the monster we both know is dead.” you croaked.

Blue eyes in the mask’s shadow looked back at you silently. The slight tilt of Al’s head had you wondering whether Al was still embodying those impish mannerisms, or whether he was really considering your statement. 

“It’s who I need to be right now, dove.” His admittance that it was an act was little comfort when his refusal to give up that role was so evident, and you crumpled as he said those words. Perhaps he wanted to console you with a soft touch, but his resolve won out, and he got to work quickly as you cried to an unresponsive audience of one. 

Some of the work was already complete: your bruises from Naughty Girl, taken willingly, would tell a different tale than your twisted game. The handprints still red and visible on your buttocks would be unexplainable as anything other than abuse to those outside of this room. The dirt and grime from your writhing on the basement floor was an extra little touch, more evidence of mistreatment. But Al had other lies to tell, and worked quickly to write the false tale. Your shirt first, Al tearing it at the collar, creating rips with his small blade. When he was done, there was more skin exposed than covered by the remnants of the cotton material. Your underwear next, which he whipped down your legs, discarding to the side. That image would leave no doubt for whoever found you, deducing what vile acts the Grabber inflicted upon you in this room. Hell, you even had his seed inside you from this morning. Who would believe that such an act was consensual, given the state of you now? 

He seemed to think twice about his next move, before slow hands approached with the switchblade. You held your breath as Al drew near, the indecisive knife hovering over your neck, then chest, before Al chose the spots carefully. A couple of skillful nicks on your upper arms and thighs shocked more than hurt, the shallow cuts bursting with small patches of fresh red on your skin. A few fresher wounds that the Grabber had inflicted, giving more credulity to the fabrication that you were still a captive. The cuts barely even hurt. Not compared to everything else.

“Go deeper,” you sobbed as Al made a small incision above your knee, stopping when he heard your words. “If you’re really doing this, I’d rather be dead. Cut deeper.”

“No more killing,” Al said, folding down his knife and retreating it back to his pocket. “You’ll appreciate this one day, dove. You’ll see it was the one good thing I ever did to you.” 

No retort you might muster would be enough to sway him, your mind too jumbled and shocked to form any sort of coherent argument. Your stomach lurched at the inescapable truth; that Al’s confession was coming to fruition, that he was about to lock you down here, and end it all. 

“Shit-” Al had risen, looking towards the metal door before turning to you again. “Sorry dove- I broke the door lock. Can’t have you going anywhere until they find you.” In an instant he was on you, another stretch of duct tape unwinding with a cracking rip before he quickly wound a length of it tightly around your ankles. 

“Al!” you pleaded as he secured your legs, running out of energy, out of ideas. “I won’t be able to stand it, seeing you go to jail. Everything that will follow-”

“You might not see me do any of that,” he explained as you gave a pained, confused look, “If I put up enough of a fight, if I’m a big enough threat, they might just shoot on sight.”

That dizziness returned without a fresh bump to your head, the idea of not just being away from Al, but him not existing at all…. It felt like you had no more cards to play. What else was there to say to persuade him apart from your true feelings?

“Al, don’t do this. I love-” a swift shadow lunged at you. Al’s hands moved to silence the tail end of your admission, one over your mouth and the other cupping the back of your head. He knew the pain of those words, what pain it would cause for him to hear those three words on your lips one final time. 

“NO!” he cried, bringing the masked face close to your own. “You think you love me. After this, you’ll realize you hated me all this time. Then you’ll forget me, and that will be the happy ending you deserve. You don’t need me for your happy ending.” You stilled beneath him, even as the tears dripped over his fingers that covered your mouth. It really was over. 

Through your tear-soaked lashes, you looked up at Al and nodded, showing him you were pacified, and he moved his hand in understanding. 

“If you’re going to say goodbye, do it as Al. Don’t let my last memory of you be of this- this thing that I don’t see you as.”

Al tore the mask away from his face, obeying your final request. His eyes matched yours in their tearful state. 

“Thank you, dove. For not seeing me as the monster.” And then he rushed at you. His lips crashed against yours, harsh and desperate and so full of love and loss. You returned the kiss, straining against your bonds to try and hold him there forever if it meant never leaving. But after a moment, he tore himself away and you released a keening wail. A quick rip of tape and Al covered your mouth, muffling your cries beneath the gag.

He kissed your temple before rising, walking briskly towards the door as if scared he might change his mind about the whole confession. You moaned desperately through the tape as he retreated. One last, lingering look and a final goodbye. 

“I’m sorry, dove. I love you.” 

And with that, the metal door closed. 

If the closing of that metal door felt like a death sentence, it was the least he deserved, Al thought as it shut with a dull clang. But she deserved so much more, so much better. Even from behind the door, he heard the muffled screams of his love. It broke him to know how much she was suffering, even if she’d been through worse at his hands in the past. But the quicker he worked, the sooner she’d be free from her restraints and from the basement. From him, too. 

He strode briskly through the house to the bedroom first. The first scene to set up. From the bedside drawer, he pulled out the handcuffs he’d been chained in just yesterday. One bracelet he looped through a headboard slat, the other left open on the rumpled sheets. The very picture of an unwilling bed partner. From the box in the closet he pulled out a few more things he scattered on the bed; some lengths of rope and some toys they’d played with during the game. Along with some risque underwear he’d bought her as a suggestive gift (also thrown on the bed), it painted a sordid, disgusting picture of the things he’d subjected this innocent girl to over months and months of captivity. Al could already picture the scandalous headlines he’d probably never live to read. 

In the kitchen, Al placed the duct tape and knife from his pockets on the table with the mask he’d thrown on there minutes earlier. The confession, the wooden box and the alternate faces of the mask still sat, waiting to become evidence once Al finally did what was needed. He removed the pink-jeweled ring from his pinky finger- her ring, which he’d taken early in her captivity. First, as a cruel taunt that no one was coming to save her. Then later, as a promise that he’d be the savior she needed. What a hollow promise that turned out to be. Al put the pink morganite ring in the box with the other trophies, the silver band hitting the base of the box with a sad clatter. He put his own gold band inside too, not wanting to mar the ring his little bird had worn for so many months. That ring was an empty promise too, a past relic now. Al didn’t deserve to wear such a thing. It joined the other ring before Al closed the box. 

He collected the photographs of him and his dove from the kitchen fridge and the frames in the living room- a few snapshots that he’d need to dispose of. Over the sink, he held a match to the small polaroid of her and him in an intimate, comfortable lover’s embrace, watching the edges blacken and disintegrate. Wisps of the photo fell into the sink, followed by tears as he watched it burn slowly. 

As the orange flame began to eat away at his image on the polaroid film, Al thought about what was coming, and how he deserved every punishment. But to have gotten her so deep in this web, to give her hope of a future after he took her old life away, only to throw her back into the unknown, was just as callous an act as kidnapping her the first day he set eyes on her. Still, he hoped that one day, she would move on. She might mourn him a little, but in the end they’d be wasted tears. 

The fire had all but erased Al in the image, moving to devour his dove next. It was his greatest magic trick he’d ever performed, Al thought. Though truly, more hypnosis than real magic. What was more incredible- that she’d fallen for him in the first place, or that he was pathetic enough to believe it could last?

The last scraps had burned out, and he scrubbed the sink of any sooty remains to finish his task. Al went to the white phone in the living room, picking it up and carrying it with him to his armchair, the corded wire taut, but just long enough for him to use the phone from his chair. One hand lifted the receiver to his ear, whilst the other hand reached towards the rotary dial.

[enasallavellan]

Antivan Crow Headcanons

So, I have some headcanons about how the Antivan Crows work. Since I wanted to dive more into the Crows' inner workings in my most recent fic, I decided to expand on the whole thing in my little gremlin brain. Now, I've decided, that maybe people as gremlin-like as me can see them too!

Couple of things: I refer to the Crow houses as nests - I don’t know if I made that up or read/heard it somewhere, so you’ll hear me use that term when I’m talking about the actual area/building the crows inhabit. And also, to avoid sentences like, ‘The crows didn’t like when crows blah, blah, blah, I will from here on out refer to the overall group as the Antivan Crows, and individuals as crows. I know it might sound a little weird and repetitive, but I can’t really find a good way to do it otherwise.

SO BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUPS, IT'S GONNA BE A WILD RIDE!

(under the cut, obviously)

Different Nests, Different rules.

This one is very self-explanatory. Each house has a slightly different culture, rules, and standards.  Some nests don’t get involved in certain jobs and hold their Crows to some sort of code.  Most have at least a few hard nos of what sorts of jobs they take and what behaviors individual crows might engage in. For instance, one nest might forbid their Crows from making deaths needlessly painful or prolonged if the mark hasn’t actually done anything wrong, just pissed off a noble. I’m sure there’s at least one nest that is kind of a ‘do whatever, we don’t give a fuck’ house. But most have some sort of hard nos.

The Way Things Stay the Same

So, Zevran mentions that the Antivan Crows put their younger recruits in a building near a tannery, which leads me to believe that they have different paces for different people. So, maybe up until they’re a certain age they stay in the same area as the prostitutes. I’m just gonna guess maybe 8-10ish when you can kind of take care of yourself. They get shipped into a building with as many kids as they can put in one room and with only the occasional crow to stick his head, see if anyone is dead, then leave. As the recruits get older and continue to show promise, their living situation will change.  Older recruits that have survived the first slew of training that tends to kill a lot of recruits, might get a tiny little crackerbox room. Like five feet by five room with a bed, but not just a bed  - a very small trunk for personal belonging and a hook to hang shit with! Too tall for the provided bed? Find a way to get comfortable, because you’re stuck there for a bit. 

Because what better incentive would a kid in this life than to let them go from a shitty place with no privacy (especially as they get older) to a slightly last shitty place where you have a mild amount of privacy in your tiny room and paper-thin walls. (I like to imagine that every so often a few of the recruits are roughhousing and get knocked/fall into an interior wall they just end up on the other side of it covered in debris).

Eventually, you move into the nest proper with similarly small rooms but now it's near the food and you don’t have to walk twenty or thirty minutes to food.

It would be within the Antivan Crows’ best interest to keep their recruits and crows in a somewhat central location so they can have as much control over their crows as humanly possible.  Having basically ‘dorms’ for the crows would be a good way to do that.  And you can get some nice places if you get good enough, so there’s still a reason for the recruits not to run away. Just as Zevran says - a crow is well supplied with sex and alcohol, but as far as having a lot of personal freedoms? Well, he did say it was a gilded cage. Granted, there are crows who make enough money and are regarded well enough that they can live some very lucrative lives - some might work much less than others, but because they’re extremely skilled at their job, they only need to take a few big jobs here and there and have no issues.  But the average crow lives a relatively short life and with no way to extricate themselves from the Antivan Crows.

But there are other reasons for all the crows to control as much as they can. They have control over food, which I’ll talk about a little more when I talk about the kitchen girls.

No Idle Children

Younger recruits do simple tasks; bringing written correspondences around the nest, making deliveries, and acting as gofers to whatever a crow happens to need something (just snatch a kid running past for immediate service). As they get older, they do more and more complex jobs. Occasionally, kids might actually assist or participate in jobs.  Acting as bait or a distraction is a great job for the younger ones. A little girl rushing up to a stranger, begging and pleading for assistance, would be a very good way to get the target right where a trap is waiting for them.

This also gives the recruits time to watch things in action. A well-regarded recruit might go to complete a job with a fully trained crow if they’re deemed skilled enough - and may even get a few coins for it. 

Second Generation Crows

They have to exist. The Crows have access to the brothel, there are going to be kids. But this can be a very weird and tricky thing to handle depending on the parent. 

Your average crow is probably not going to give much thought to a kid - and with no pressure to have anything to do with a kid, it’s rare a crow would be remotely involved in the life of their child. Despite this, any concerns about birth control go out the window, since each child born in the brothel is one more potential crow or prostitute. On top of that, most of the Antivan Crow-run brothels have enough prostitutes that having a few here and there not quite able to work isn’t a big deal to the Antivan Crows’ profits. Granted, the women can’t stay out of work too long because if they run out of money to pay their rent, they’re on the streets or dead. So, working as long as you’re able to get jons and getting back as soon as humanly possible would be integral for a prostitute to keep their home and job. 

Now, some women might keep their children a little longer, but the ability to do this is directly impacted by how ‘important’ a prostitute is. And by ‘keep their child’ I mean they keep them in their room to sleep and involve themselves in their lives while they can.

The child of a very high-ranking crow or prostitute might be afforded some smaller comforts the others would be denied. Oh, they’d still be either Crows or prostitutes, but they might have lighter duties or private lessons to give them a boost in their chances of being able to make a life for themselves. There most likely are families (and I use that term loosely) that have been in the Antivan Crows for generations - but at the end of the day, what matters is that the nest is running smoothly and everyone is making money for the organization.

But honestly, I would say that there might be a handful of kids who have ever actually gotten out of the Antivan Crows without being a crow. But for most? There are two choice - three if you count dying, which I will talk about…

The Pipeline: The Crow Path

I mentioned before that I feel like the Antivan Crows would keep all their people in a few general areas, both as a way to keep control as well as monitor certain things. So some sort of staff will be needed.

So, there are two roles that a kid might go - go into crow training or work as staff.

Boys will all go into crow raining. No ifs, ands, or buts. Girl crows are less common but do exist. So if a girl has a temperament and resilience that might have a chance? She gets tossed in with all the others.

Recruits live a life of difficult training, torture (you know, so they can learn to resist it), cutthroat competition, and being subjected to the wills of the older crows - which opens the doors for all sorts of additional abuses. Generally, a recruit can expect a beating if they break a rule, cause problems, or irritate someone enough. Depending on what the issue is and the mood of whoever is doing the beating, it might be getting whacked with a stick once or twice, or all the way up to having a few people wail on you for a while. Denying food and sleep might also be used, as well as isolation in a very damp and chilly room.

 And absolutely, positively, don’t you dare fucking cry. Even the kitchen girls are held to this - crying is weak, and crying gets you beat.

The Pipeline: The Staff Path

Girls begin their work in the kitchens. Now, the life of a kitchen girl seems like a pretty sweet deal at first. Yes, they work hard in the kitchens, but outside of those duties, they have free time.  They also have a degree of respect from the crows - after all, they do have control over the food, and if you want a certain food you need to be on the good side of the kitchen girls.

And you get on their bad side? They might purposively make things you hate, or it’s bad enough, you just might get a plate of overly poisoned food.

Now, all the food has mild amounts of different types of poisons and toxins so the crows can build up immunities.  It’s not enough to kill anyone, but you can imagine the new recruits having a really bad time for the first few weeks. So all it takes is a mild slip and suddenly - oops! You’re either dead or going to spend a while wishing you were dead.

And many of the girls form tight friendships in the kitchens - something denied to crows and the recruits (never know who might stab you in the back). The kitchen girls are also in charge of what goes into the kitchens. They’re sent out to markets to sample what is being sold and decide which vendors to buy from. There’s a crow somewhere nearby keeping tabs on them, both to keep them out of trouble and keep trouble away from them. And one of the kitchen girls is easy to spot - there's a very specific shade of blue that is only made for the Antivan Crows (or else). Girls have two aprons - one that is used in the kitchen and one that is used for going out into the world. And when people see those signature blue aprons - it’s obvious who they are.

So, you’re thinking to yourself - why Lacy, why would they treat these girls so well? Why would the profits-over-everything Antivan Crows spend money on resources on a group that isn’t making them money?

Well, I’ll start off by saying that these little outings of the kitchen girls are not just to let them have a fun day in the market - it’s advertising. Because once that girl reaches a certain age -  I’m sure it varies depending on the nest - they go to work upstairs. AKA, the brothel. 

So all those outings? Picking the prettiest of the kitchen girls to go out where they will be seen? You show off the goods - one day, you’ll be able to purchase one of those girls by the hour.

While some intermingling between the recruits and the staff is inevitable, it’s discouraged. And the girls are definitely discouraged from being sexually involved with anyone. There isn’t a punishment if they do, but they will miss out on a massive boost in money. We all know that there's plenty of people out there who have a weird obsession with deflowering girls. So if a girl has abstained, their first job is auctioned off to the highest bidder. A girl can make good money from that. And unlike kitchen girls, prostitutes have to pay rent to the Antivan Crows - which is taken out of anything they make. As they get older, they get less and less support. If they don’t make enough money, they go back to staff, specifically cleaning. Cleaners don’t have anything near the life they once had as kitchen girls, since they’ve already been used up.  So for the most part, they’re ignored by the rest of the nest (if they’re even seen) and live in bare-bones housing.

But there is one particually chilling danger a kitchen girl faces. 

Every so often.

Maybe once or twice on a bad year.

A particularly pretty kitchen girl might simply disappear.

Their friends might be sad, but there would be no time for all that - there’s kitchen work to do. Everyone knows, nobody talks about it, and it’s accepted as just Something That Just Happens Sometimes.

Sex, fine - love, no.

So it seems a common trend that love is forbidden in the Antivan Crows.  It’s a distraction and a weakness that can be exploited.  So it’s a major, no-go. Sex? They don’t care; have as much sex as you want. Now, this no-love clause goes for crows and prostitutes, but also for recruits and kitchen girls. After all, a bunch of them are probably teenagers and there’s not much use in trying to stop something that’s just going to happen.

So a decision must be made. If one is a crow and the other not, the crow is made to kill the person they love, or they both die. If it’s two crows, then they either pick the more promising crow to do the killing, or if they’re pretty equal they just leave them in a room with a knife and see who comes out. This, in turn, makes something very clear to the remaining member. This especially hits older recruits and younger crows who might not have the foresight to think about the long-term effects of a romantic affair.

Templars, Watch Yourselves.

Mages are great for the Antivan Crows - people who are their own weapons or can patch up their assassins are invaluable. So, the nest will offer those mages protection in exchange for using their magic in some way to make money for the nest. 

For the most part, the templars and the Antivan Crows don’t bother each other, so long as the nests aren’t flagrant about it. 

Now, this is where headcanon ends and my own fic begins, but I’ll tell you about a little thing that I decided went down. 

Templars got sick of perfectly good mages escaping and getting to be safe with a criminal network, so they decided to make an example of a smaller house in Salla. They hired the Antivan Crows through a particularly devout and rich noble, tasking them with quashing a nonexistent rebellion.  Once most of the crows in the nest were halfway across Antiva, the templars made their move. They overtook the nest, and snatched as many mage kids and adults as they could, killing the ones they couldn’t take alive.

Then, to let the Antivan Crows know just how naughty they were by defying the templars for so long - they barred the exits and burned it to the ground. You could count the number of survivors who weren’t taken by the templars on one hand.

The Antivan Crows respond with coordinated attacks on the Antivan templar order. Templars might have some diet-magic and armor and specific training, but the Antivan Crows massively outnumber them - and they’re trained to kill. Not to defend or control or subdue, but to kill.

In other words, the Antian Crows brought the templars to their kness. 

From that point on, the templars leave the crows the hell alone.

Happiness in a Nest

But, it’s not all doom and gloom. As with every situation, people make the best of what they’re given. Whether they admit it or not, most crows have some fair-weather friends and a few might even have friends they trust. Children in the nest find ways to have fun and even play. Older kids find ways to sneak out for a night of fun and bad decisions. When the workday is over, prostitutes socialize and play cards over glasses of wine. 

Good memories are made, even in a nest.

In conclusion.

Life with the Antivan Crows is just like living under the crushing weight of modern capitalism - it only benefits the upper echelon and anyone that can’t make money is deemed useless and cast aside.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

Leave a comment/reblog or message me with any questions or share your own headcanons! I look forward to hearing from y'all!

[lavenderjewels]

JJK season 2 episode 21 thoughts! ✨

Went into this episode expecting the iconic “I am you” scene to be animated, left with two incredible works of art now ingrained into my memories (todo and takada-chan beating up mahito)

All this about Todo wanting to imitate All Might from MHA last episode, but I’m thrilled that the animators confirmed that Todo is actually living the magical idol anime dream that Gege Akutami initially was going to write before starting JJK. AND managed to make the volume cover I never really liked into a beautiful and hilarious moment 💗✨

Music / ost worked the entire episode and went silent when it was needed. Some of the previous eps had parts with their pacing or music that lessened the emotions of the scenes (e.g. right after Nanami died), but everything here flowed well!

As much as I like talking about JJK, sometimes, at my core, I just like watching a good and entertaining fight scene, and that was a majority of this episode until the end. It battle shonen’d in the best way a battle shonen can be. It’s a satisfying feeling to have snail mahito, a birthday, a magical girl segment, and a metaphorical rabbit wolf clashing of truths all in one fight.

The voice acting still amazing with every episode—Mahito and Yuuji being the highlights. I’ve said this a few times, but Mahito’s VA captures the (literal) childish personality and mindset of his character. Last episode, it was how he threw around and yelled at Yuuji like a kid throwing around a doll. This ep was along the same lines, with him immediately crying and throwing dirt at Yuuji. It’s not the exact same, since he is a curse, but it shows how he just came into being and was constantly learning and curious about the world. And the second Yuuji actually badly hurts him, stops him from running away, and repeats similar beliefs back to him, he breaks down. They really are the “same.”

Now Yuuji!!! His new conviction, if it can be called that, about being a cog made to kill curses until he’s worn out. Not exactly the healthiest mindset, but it’s an unsurprising progression after losing control of his own body/autonomy, losing his mentor and best friend (both figures of reassurance and hope), having his entire foundation for living and abiding by his grandpa’s dying wishes be challenged—all while needing to keep moving forward, to not fall into complete despair.

The voice acting in his speech back to Mahito sounded lifeless, but authentic to what he now believes. I appreciated how little the VA gave emphasis to any words and spoke it all in one similar tone. Some of the way it was spoken also sounded like it was affected somewhat by his mouth wound, which was a nice touch.

Manga spoilers for the points below‼️

Continuing: Yuuji’s new mindset is faulty and I love how much the episode shows the flaws of how Mahito and him thought, and how they’re both still incredibly young with their views constantly challenged by their new experiences. We get what’s supposed to be a cathartic scene of Yuuji killing Mahito and stalking him like a predator towards a prey animal, only to have the final killing blow be taken by Kenjaku, another predator (when your mom steals your deserved murder 🙄).

I’ve always appreciated how this moment was not presented as this great turn of beliefs that leads to success, and instead immediately gives him this unfulfilling and destructive outcome. Like, I’ll take Yuuji beating Mahito as a momentary win, but it’s not going to work out in the long run for himself or anyone. Which makes me interested in where his character is headed for the rest of the manga. There’s probably more to say with him regarding the story’s themes on strength/weakness, enlightenment, hunger, etc., but I love what we are given here.

His entire cog in a machine (of war) also reminds me of the series’ title emphasizing endless repetition of fights and everything looping (got the translation from the blog at kylescooter.com). JJK has constant examples and themes of past generation vs new generations, traditional vs unconventional, etc, but also repeating history and being stuck in the same ways. This post is already too long, but I wonder how Gege will conclude all this and if anything will change.

Said up there that there wasnt anything I disliked about the episode, but I do wish wolf Kenjaku was added! Not just because I adore the scene (for its imagery and hinting at them being related), but also because it would’ve been cool to transition out of that scene by having wolf Kenjaku show up.

Next ep will have Choso, the Kyoto school, Kenjaku, Uraume, and Yuki!! Also that Mei Mei scene which I am absolutely dreading.

Also the next ep preview with Kenjaku was fun

[rastronomicals]

July 20:

On this date in 1973, John McLaughlin & Carlos Santana released their collaborative album, Love Devotion Surrender. You know, there’s this narrative, most recently expressed to extreme in that HBO show Vinyl, that music in the immediate period before the coming of punk rock was safe, easy, repetitive and boring, and that punk rock saved our backsliding asses.

On this date in 1978, somewhat-smooth jazz artist Bob James released his sixth album, Touchdown. \“Theme from Taxi,\” dude!

On the 20th of July, 1986, Megadeth laid upon us Peace Sells . . . But Who's Buying, their second, classic.

Insane shit, right? If it weren’t for the shout choruses, you might say this record has as much to do with the McLaughlin/Santana joint as it does with, let’s say, Kill ‘Em All or Mercyful Fate. The guitar playing is literally mind-bending on thi

Today is the 25th anniversary of the release of Red Letter Day, Kansas City emo band The Get Up Kids' second EP.

The whole Emo thing is for the most part opaque to me, but I know this one because of “Anne Arbour,” which is kind of nice.

[enkisstories]

Out of the rain (pt. 1 of 3)

♪ Yesterday, and days before Sun is cold and rain is hard I know Been that way for all my time ♪

It had been raining the day the planet Arkanis got liberated by the New Republic. But then again, it was always raining on Arkanis, and Arkanis was the only world the little boy knew, so for all practical purposes it was always raining everywhere.

Although living in the Imperial Officers' Academy, the boy was not a cadet. Nor was he part of the staff. In fact, the boy was nothing, and would remain a burden for at least three more years, before he could perform some simple tasks to earn his keep.

Not that he'd spent much time dwelling on his future. There was always yet another floor or stairwell to explore, and in those hours when he got stuffed into a corner as to not get into too many people’s way, the boy overlayed reality with worlds of his own. The drama going on in those worlds was epic, but the boy had already learned not to draw attention, so most of the dialogue he came up with was silent. As a result he was competent at building sentences, but less so at actually speaking the words they were made of.

Armitage (in his head): "Don't wanna talk, ey? Let's see how you like GETTING WET!"

...

Armitage (in his head): "I mean it, rebel-scum! You're getting a shower now! But first I must don my ha... my helmet."

The doors open automatically on the approach of a droid or living being with an academy tag implanted. 

The tag allows the three year old to exist somewhat independently from a very young mother, who has already put the episode that led to his creation behind her and started over, and a father whose best trait is to be absent most of the time. The boy is now getting raised by nobody and everybody at the same time, what has put the cadets under the impression that this rugrat is an orphan given over to the academy as a servant.

No, the giant gate doesn’t pose a problem. But the outside world is dangerous. You never know what you might encounter!

In a quick change of Armitage's make believe scenario, the doll he is carrying isn't a prisoner to get interrogated anymore, but a comrade in arms. Armitage tosses it on the ground and yells "Run!". Maybe the grunt will reach a safe zone, but for the commander things are looking bleak now.

Brendol: "You don't TOSS stuff you need to get rid of quickly, you DROP it. I know I told you before!"

It’s true, the boy can feel it from the way his father has said it. But how is one to remember things or pay attention, when there’s the constant pitter-patter and the flash-flash and the rumble-rumble? There are too many sounds; even after it has stopped raining, the water will go drip-drip-drip from the roof for hours.

Armitage: "Higha!"

Brendol: "Well, at least you're not a chicken."

Brendol: "What's with that silly hat, though?"

Armitage: "For da rain! Against da rain."

Brendol: "No, that's not going to fly. That's a crutch for the weak."

Armitage: "I'm weak. But clever! I know things. Like: Hat wins, rain loses."

Brendol: "And I say the hat has to go!"

Armitage: "WAAAAAAAAHHH!"

Armitage doesn't have many memories of his father smiling and those few don't have Brendol smiling at him. Except for the memory created in this very moment. The smug smile so terribly high above his eyes, while the blood shot  into his head and the world kept shaking, will never leave him.

Brendol hasn't even touched the hat, that he despises for both its function and its flower motive. A good shake suffices to make it slide off the boy's head and get stomped on.

Brendol: "Thank me later."

Brendol: "Aw, what a face. Listen, boy, you're NOT weak. Just young."

The lie hasn't become any truer from repetition. Brendol's little son is a magnet for diseases of all kind. In fact, leaving the kid on a newly discovered planet would be a good way to learn what germs and pathogens were to be expected on that world. Armitage would smile and they'd rush in for the feast.

Brendol: "Nothing wrong with you that catching a cold or two couldn't cure."

And if not... if the disease proved stronger, then better early than after already having shoved food into the frail one for years. But that won't happen. Not to HIM, to Brendol Hux. He didn't sire an inferior spawn and that youngling better remembered that!

Brendol: "Besides, you won't need the hat where we're going. There won't be this constant rain."

Armitage: "NO rain? No RAIN! Let's go NOW!"

Brendol: "We'll go by spaceship and we have to hurry, because our enemies will have caught up with us any minute. In fact, the first shells will drop before we've reached the evacuation zone, so you must..."

Armitage: "Fly, fly, fly NOW!"

Fly above the clouds. There is no rain above the clouds. It only ever pours down, never up. The higher up one is, the safer.

Brendol: He doesn't even listen...

The planet Jakku - temporary haven for the imperial remnant.

A couple of weeks later.

Armitage: I mean, he wasn't lying. It doesn't rain here.

Armitage: "I HATE YOU!!!"

---

Note: Toddler!Hux is the aged down sim I'm currently using. I hadn't expected his eyes to turn out so large. Brendol is played by the Hux-sim I used in the previous save.

[hislittleraincloud]

Lukewarm Take/Shower Thought: Both Boris and Beatrice's rip on Jonathan were serious speeches of projection.

(This first obvs isn't a new one for me and I worked it into UVC, but just to review...)

Boris is the one who crossed the line when he gave his number to a student for non-school related things. That's why Jon huffed at his assertion that he knew the line and was (especially with that Male Gaze crap on his phone) BUT...

Beatrice crossed her line when she said he was the "banner boy for mediocrity". Beatrice is an alcoholic semi-successful (I mean...she has to be somewhat successful, but she still lives pretty humbly near a backwoods area with her teacher husband? I ttly forgot that in the OG script she says that they can't afford a lawyer for Jon, but I went the other way in UVC) writer but her writing might just be mediocre. She's not gifted like Jon perceives Cairo to be, because she downplayed his enamoring of her vocabulary. For all we know, she writes Dark Romance (LOL "Lesser Expectations of a Greater Love"...sounds bitchfully autobiographic).

Perception is the key here. Cairo was drawn to Jon's writing because it's like hers (as per the exchange) and vice versa. She felt something tangible when she read that passage; and she wanted to be the inspiration for his writing like Bea was.

She gave her honest opinion before she recited the passage ("grand and tragic"/"romantic horror").

Lookit that frowny pouty face. Poor baby. 🥺💔💕✨

She was mad/hurt when she dissed it. (And Jon was nothing that Cairo said he was when she was drunk.

Jon never put himself in front of her as some kind of famous or even wonderful writer. She did that. And Winnie recognized that she was only dissing his work bc she got rejected. Not his fault she rocked the pedestal, or even that she idealized him in that way. She saw herself in him...two ghosts haunting a graveyard.) It's that whole thing about how beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Argh, I need to save some thoughts for the reviewlysis.

Also, it's real sad that he was emasculated twice by two different women in the same manner. But at least Cairo has room to learn/grow.

Would she have, according to Bartlett's canon is another story. But don't fret bbs, u still gots UVC LOL🥹💖💕✨

Also, there are no Boris Fillmore .gifs. I had to snag the pic off of Google. What're y'all, rayciss? (KIDDING, my gods. 💀) Make some damn .gifs of Boris, I don't have the time!

My special request: A .gif of him doing the Roger Rabbit. Someone does that for me and they will get a dedication on the Willmore fic that's part of the UVCniverse/happens after Winnie leaves Cairo's in UVC

when it is published.

Anyway, this will probably just end up being repetitive since I'm going over my old notes and want to publish the dang "review" now that it's on Netflix.

[sunny6677]

Flames.

Summary: Skid is saved from a situation he never thought he'd be in. But now he has to heal from everything he went through. And he doesn't know how.

Chapter 10: And In Response, He..

TWS: REPETITION, SKID HAS A BREAKDOWN/PANIC ATTACK, SKID HAS A FLASHBACK???, TRAUMA IMPLICATIONS, VERY STRONG CHILD TRAUMA IMPLICATIONS, SKID HAS TRIGGERS I THINK.

(SERIOUSLY. SKID GOES THROUGH A LOT IN THIS SHIT. BE WARNED. YES, THIS IS A STORY ABOUT HIM SLOWLY HEALING FROM HIS TRAUMA, OR AT LEAST TRYING TO. BUT THAT DOESNT MEAN ITS NOT SOMEWHAT DARK. BE WARNED. DONT WORRY THOUGH, IT DOESNT ROMANTICIZE ANY OF THE DARK THINGS IN IT THOUGH. IT IS POTRAYED AS A BAD THING. THIS IS JUST ABOUT SKID HEALING FROM A BAD EXPERIENCE.)

(I ALSO PARTIALLY WROTE THIS STORY TO KINDA COPE WITH MY TRAUMA, SINCE WRITING ABOUT PEOPLE SLOWLY HEALING FROM THEIR TRAUMA KINDA MAKES ME FEEL BETTER ABOUT MY OWN EXPERIENCES.)

————

For a few moments, Skid stared. He stared, and stared up at Kevin. His vision was beginning to feel somewhat blurry. Things felt loud. How did things feel.. loud though? Things couldn't possibly feel loud. The colors surrounding him flashed out as if they were mocking him, laughing at him. Bright, flickering colors. The sound of the buzzing from the lights above felt loud. Too loud. But normally they wouldn't.

He could see Kevin still staring at him. Kevin looked as if he were in shock, his mouth curled into a frown. Perhaps he was displeased to see him? That was what frowns had meant, right? For a moment, there was silence. "Wh—What?!" Kevin finally spoke, swiftly turning around. Kevin looked down at Skid from where he was standing. Pump's hand was still clenched onto Skid's own. Skid couldn't remember the last time his heart had beat so fast.

"K—Kid!" He heard Kevin say. Or that was at least what he thought Kevin had said. Everything sounded muffled all of the sudden, and Skid didn't know why. The sound of his own butterfly heart pounded in his ears. Vibrating, pulsing in his tiny body. He wouldn't have doubted it for a moment that with how loud it sounded, his heart might as well have been too big for his own body. It felt like his heart was vibrating so much that his skin was moving. But that was impossible.

"Si—since when did he—wha—where did you go?!" Kevin inquired madly. He seemed to be speaking directly to Skid now. It took a few moments for Skid to process that himself though. He was talking to him. So he had to answer. He needed to answer. Kevin hadn't seen him in so long, so he needed to answer.

He opened his mouth.

The words didn't come out.

But what did come out was the sound of sharp, rapid panting.

"..ki—kid?" Kevin spoke up. His tone raised up as well, sounding somewhat concerned. Skid couldn't stop. His breaths were continously sharp, feeling so heavy that it felt as if his own body was bound to collapse. Yet even so, he could see in the corner of his eye that even Pump was gazing at him. Pump began to look at him in a somewhat worried manner as well, slowly retracting his hand from Skid's hand.

Skid didn't know what was happening. This feeling.. he hadn't felt it before. But he didn't like it.

Skid took a light step back. As a result, Kevin took one mild step closer. He could see Kevin reaching out his hand, "Kid, are you o—"

There was the sound of rough footsteps from behind Skid suddenly, sounding as if they were approaching. He blinked, and then, it was like a wave of emotions began to hit him all at once. For a moment, Skid heard a female voice from behind him speaking. It sounded muffled. He could barely make out what it was saying. Was it his mother? He didn't even know.

The footsteps. They sounded rough, loud, familiar. Like the sound of an angry man pounding his boots against the wooden floor in sheer rage. Such steps had.. had..

His heart began to pound faster than it already was. Skid was a little shocked at how fast it was beating. Why on earth was it beating so fast when it wasn't supposed to? His skin felt clammy, and his vision began to feel.. hard to process. It was like he was in a whirlwind of emotions, a tornado, a cinema in which he was watching his own life play out before him. It was like colors were flashing at him, and then fading, only to flash back again.

The memory of the footsteps that had occurred mere seconds ago hit him again.

And then, he let out a scream.

It was no ordinary scream. Distress began to signal in his heart, like a tornado siren going off. Danger. Danger. Danger. That was what his brain repeated in his head over and over. Danger. Danger. Danger. Those footsteps, he knew for certain they meant danger. Beads of sweat began to trickle down his face. For a moment, he couldn't control himself. It was like someone else entirely was controlling his body.

His body contorted in the opposite direction of wherever the footsteps had come from. He could hear the sound of a masculine voice speaking to him. It sounded like Kevin's voice. But in this moment, it wasn't as if he cared. He needed to get out. Out now. Out. Danger was near. Danger was near!

He took a few steps back. His hands were now shaking. Up and down, they went. Behind his hands, he could see three figures now. A feminine figure, a small figure about the size of Pump, and a masculine figure. They were all blurry, and he couldn't make out their faces. Well.. he could, actually. But it wasn't as if he could recognize them right now.

He heard the masculine voice speak again. "Sk—Skid, hey.. just calm down..". Skid couldn't do as the voice asked of him. He was still panting. He could see that he was near a shelf of some kind with a few candies in it. What was he to do against this figure he didn't even recognize? He was in danger. Danger. Danger. What was he to do?

Not knowing what to do, he grabbed a candy on the nearby shelf, and retracted his arm. Then, he violently threw the candy in the direction of the figure. His panting grew sharper as the candy hit the ground. It didn't hit the figure. It missed actually. But Skid felt determined to fend off.. whatever was going on right now. Anxiously, he began to grab at more candies at the shelf, and threw them in the direction of the figure.

Some missed. Some did manage to hit the figure, but most of them missed. They were missing, they weren't doing anything! He could hear the masculine voice speaking again.

In response, Skid let out another scream. It wasn't doing anything, it wasn't doing anything! He ran in another direction, behind what looked to be a counter. He nearly fell each second. He felt like he was going to plummet to the ground if he wasn't careful enough. His screams began to feel like a dagger in his throat. It ached ever so. It felt like he was bleeding inside of his mouth. Blood felt like it was purging his mouth, like a bunch of parasites had infected him internally.

He ran, and ran, and ran. Then, he felt a sharp force of pain hit him on the front of his body. He let out a weak yelp in response. He felt himself plummet to the ground on his back. And weakly, he whimpered. Most likely, he ran into something. But he didn't care. He still had to run. Run. Run. Run.

He tried weakly getting back up on his feet. The feminine figure then began to approach him slowly, reaching out a hand. He could hear it speaking to him, but he shook his head in response. It was then that he processed what felt like tears in his eyes. Streaming down his cheeks like a waterfall of emotion. Yet in this moment, that didn't matter.

Skid waddled back up on his feet, and for a moment, he stood victorious. Only to then fall back on the ground once he tried to run in the other direction. "Agh!" He yelped. The feminine figure stared at him. He could barely see the figures face, but it felt as if the figure were mocking him. He began to back up in the direction behind him quickly. Anything to get away from the figure. Anything! He then felt his back hit a wall, or a shelf of some kind. He could feel a few tiny objects hit his head.

Yet in his mind, the tiny objects were perhaps a trick. Maybe it would cause him pain in a few seconds more. He grabbed at his hair, and began to pull at it. His fingers clenched at the tendrils of his cleaned hair, most likely making it just as ragged as it was when he was in that dreaded house. That.. yes.. that house.

The memory of the footsteps hit him yet again. Keender had always violently walked to the point of sounding like he was punching the floor anytime he was angry. Maybe.. maybe the feminine figure was Keender? Maybe all the figures were Keender? But how was that possible?

Not questioning it, he let out a shriek again. It began to feel as if he were near the point of throwing up. He then fell completely onto the floor, grabbing at his hair, scratching at it. Pain ached in the back of his throat like a knife. And he felt as if in any moment, he would vomit blood. Blood felt like it was building up from the inside of his body.

He screamed again, "No! No! I—don't—I'm sorry! Don't hit me! I—"

The feminine figure paused, looking as if it didn't know what to do. Perhaps it was mocking him?

"I didn't—no! No! No! No!" He shouted. Perhaps it really was Keender. Maybe he really hadn't gone home. Maybe he was back at the house all of this time. Maybe none of this was real.

Was he not real? Was nothing real?

In reply to his anguish, he let out a sob. And he began to scream through his tears. By now, the smaller figure had already been gone, along with the masculine one. The feminine figure was the only one here now.

He screamed, violently. For it was all he could do.

It lasted. It lasted for a few moments longer! Until then, he heard the sound of the feminine figure speaking.. or Keender. Well, he at least presumed it to be Keender speaking anyway. "Son, I need you to breathe for me, okay?"

Skid paused. Keender hadn't ever called him "son". Sure, he'd call him "kid", but he'd never call him "son". He raised his head up, sharp breaths still coming through his mouth. Tears were still forming and streaming out of his eyes.

"I—I can't, I—" Skid begged.

"Shh.. yes, you can, sweetie. Just breathe for me, okay? I'll help you—" Keender spoke. Skid was starting to slowly doubt that this was Keender. Maybe Keender was finally starting to be nice to him? He hadn't ever acted like this before.

Keender didn't move. He spoke, "Just—just follow my lead, okay?"

Skid, unsure of where this was going, only continued to pant in response. Then, Keender let out a slow inhale, and then an exhale. He then said, "Like that, okay? Try that."

Skid slowly sat up, and Keender began to inhale again. Skid hesitantly followed along, his inhale sounding shaky. Keender let out another exhale, and in response, Skid let one out too. Keender smiled at him. He.. he was smiling at him. Keender, who was always so cruel, had smiled at him. Keender said, "Good—you're doing so good. Just keep going, okay?"

Keender inhaled again. And Skid inhaled as well.

Keender exhaled. And Skid did as well.

"Good!" Keender softly said.

A doubt then flickered in Skid's mind. This.. this couldn't be Keender. No. He wasn't ever this nice to him. This.. this was someone else, wasn't it?

He continued to inhale and exhale with this unknown person. He could have sworn that with each passing breath, they got closer. But.. he didn't mind it. Who was this?

The person then spoke again, their voice sounding incredibly feminine. "Can you tell me what you see? Can you tell me what everything looks like?"

Skid arched a brow. What were they asking this for? Despite his confusion, Skid looked around. And spoke, "..I.. I see.. pink walls. And.. and candies.. and a white floor.. and candy cans.. and.."

"Good.." The person calmly said. "You're doing good, sweetie. Shhh.."

Skid slowly began to crawl up to the person. He.. he knew who this was. No one else ever spoke to him like that other than his own mother. Th.. this was his mother. She hadn't suddenly vanished. It wasn't all fake. He.. he did go back home! He was in the candy store! Yet even as this realization occurred, tears were still in his eyes. He looked down at the ground, and let out a whimper. "Ungh.. ngh.."

He began to sob again. It hurt. The feeling of all of his screams from earlier ached in the back of his throat. "There, there.." He heard his mother speak. "Do you want me to hold you?"

In response, Skid could only give a slow nod.

His mother slowly scooted up to him, and reached out her arms. Gently, she placed her hands on his back. He flinched a little, yet he let her touch him. "Shhh.." She calmly shushed him. She began to stroke his back, rubbing it in circles. "It's okay to be afraid, sweetie.. its okay.."

Skid only whimpered in response. Sobs began to escape his mouth. Over, and over. He could feel his head now resting against something soft, though he couldn't quite process what it was. He could feel his mother's hand stroking his now ragged hair. He could feel the tendrils of his hair sticking out from how hard he had pulled it. What.. what had even happened?

From above, he could hear his mother beginning to sob too. And in the corner of his eye, he only saw the concerned face of Kevin who was now outside, holding a hand over Pump's eyes. Kevin and Pump were outside together. Was that why those two figures had vanished?

In the end, Skid could only wonder what had actually happened.

————

Skid had already left, with both his mother and Pump at his sides. They decided that for the day, they'd just go home and cut the day short. Skid could feel the hot sun still shimmering down upon his now sweaty skin. He could hear the sounds of bugs buzzing from all around him. It was still day-time. And currently, his mother was carrying him, cradling him close. His head was rested on her shoulder, buried deep next to her purple hair. Pump was somewhere on the ground, walking beside his mother. Even if he couldn't see Pump's face, he could tell that he was looking at him.

Skid recalled that whenever they had left, Kevin tried speaking to him. He tried asking what happened, but.. Skid couldn't give any direct answer. He himself didn't know what had even happened at all. Skid could recall the feeling of absolute dread once he had realized that he wasn't throwing candy at an unknown figure, but at Kevin instead. He even knew that realization was true once he had saw all of the thrown candies on the ground.

Skid frantically apologized in that moment, nearing the urge to cry again. And no matter how hard Kevin assured him that it was fine, Skid just kept apologizing like a broken record. His mother had taken him home then, after she had managed to calm him down enough to the point where he stopped talking.

As of now, Skid still didn't know what had happened. It was completely quiet. He could hear sounds all around him. Buzzing, screaming, laughing, chattering. The sound of what he thought might have been birds chirping, a car driving by.

He heard the sound of something nearby shattering.

And in response, he only clung tighter onto his mother, a weak whimper escaping his lips. He felt his mother's hand drawing to his back, stroking it gently in circles.

...just what was it that was going on with him?

...

What was wrong with him?

/////////////////////

E

[thekidsarentalright]

So glad you’re opening an opportunity to talk about the tour in your ask box, I am SO excited for what it’ll look like setlist-wise. Okay so realistically for the stardust tour I’d be very happy if they played Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes (or another popular song off Folie like Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown) or like The Phoenix. Songs I’d love for them to play but I’m very sure won’t be are things like Coffee’s For Closers, Jet Pack Blues, and Miss Missing You.

I love smfs, but I’m not really sure what the likelihood of them playing the album songs are. Like I’d love for I Am My Own Muse, Flu Game, or The Kintsugi Kid, but I’m not sure how likely it is they’ll play those or other smfs non-single songs because they’re on the New Album, but they’re also not extremely well-known so idk.

Also I’m a swiftie so I’m REALLY hoping that they have at least somewhat of an alternating set list, because as much as I like watching the Surprise Songs for Taylor Swift, eras in general is pretty repetitive! So I’m hoping there’s some alternating songs.

Also I guess disclaimer I’m not going to a show (already made plans for the night that they’ll be in my area), so I don’t care when any songs are played, it’ll just be nice to know they’ve been played if so!

omg ofc i love hearing all of ppls thoughts on these things always!!! and i SOOOO agree w all of these things, absolutely love to see disloyal order and or headfirst slide on the setlist- just any folie representation other than i dont care really fjrnfkdk. also even more so would LOVE coffees for closers, jet pack blues, or miss missing you and tbh though less realistic, with pete saying theyre gonna be doing older songs, they might be a possibility!!!! esp miss missing you since it Was regularly played during srar era!!

and yeahhhh i get that about stardust like. it's newer so the songs be might less known so maybe they won't play them? BUT the tour is literally For stardust, they played over half of mania during the two mania tours and it Is customary for an artist to play at least some of the new album so!!! i think a couple non single songs is likely! i think, like, fake out is probably most likely but ig we'll see!!

and lastly god yes, i want alternating songs SO badly, i think it would be so fun if they had a couple songs that switched out every few dates or so at Least. would die if they did a surprise song type thing every show tho pleaseeeeeee

[an-aura-about-you]

I saw this article and it brings up a problem I ran into a LOT at work in my old department. For those who don't know, I used to work customer service in a call center for prepaid cards. (So payroll cards, government assistance cards, gift cards, basically any kind of money card that's not tied to a bank account.)

The long and short of the article is that a child was taken to the ER for a burn and the mother was told there would be no charge for the visit. When the unexpected bill came later, the mother wasn't able to dispute it because it had been put in the child's name. This ended up taking the bill all the way to collections, where she still couldn't do anything and no one really had any answers for her.

And I gotta say it sucks being that person who can't do a thing to help, because even though we might not sound like we care because of the scripted and repetitive nature of these calls, we are full on aware of how ridiculous this is. In my case, I wasn't able to do anything in most of these situations because I technically worked for a third party and thus had to (somewhat fruitlessly) direct callers to the main entity.

(In situations where I could do something, that still relied on speaking to the child that somebody decided should have a prepaid card in their name, at least to the extent of verifying that they owned the card and that I had permission to speak to their parent about it. And honestly, that could be a really frustrating issue for other reasons, like a child who is old enough to take a phone call and understands enough to verify and consent but the parent is just trying to bulldoze through the verification process.)

Ultimately what I'm driving towards is more accountability for the people who have let these systems run unchecked. My gripes about the hardships of being a third party customer service grunt aside, this is a problem that affects a surprisingly large amount of people, and some of them might not even be aware that things that should be their responsibility like the business of their young child's medical care aren't accessible to them.

[problemswithbooks]

For me, I couldn’t believe Hawks and BJ listened to those parts and didn’t act more coldly professional with Endeavor. There’s definitely some dissonance in these chapters.

To be fair we don't actually know how those flashbacks were worded. We get to see everything that happened because manga is a visual medium, but BJ and Hawks didn't, they just heard what ever it was the family said.

Given that's the case it's hard to gauge how much they really understand what happened besides the basics of why Touya is the way he is. I highly doubt Rei said "and then you raped me" or even "I didn't want to have more kids but you made me have more anyway".

Honestly, the way Rei takes responsibility for what happened to Touya just as much as she blames Enji, I highly doubt she said anything about not wanting more kids. And more then that I don't know if that would even be necessary for her to say anyway. The Todoroki's don't know they are being listened to, so some of the stuff that we saw probably wasn't said out loud because everyone there already knows, or if talked about at all is very bare bones like saying "and we fought about Touya more than ever". Not "you screamed and beat me while all the kids cried in their rooms".

This wasn't a therapy session where everyone went over their grievances with Enji or laid out exactly how he hurt them. They are there to talk about Touya and come up with a plan of what to do next. We only get as much detail as we do because we as readers need to filled in so we're invested with this side plot.

On top of that, some of the flashbacks are mostly from Touya's PoV, hence why we get that shot of him also thinking about the past. So clearly some of the scenes we see that are mostly from or entirely Touya's PoV wouldn't be mentioned by the rest of the family or spoken of more broadly. Like Natsuo might have said "Touya used to keep me up at night talking about how unhappy he was--he got mad sometimes when I wanted to go to sleep." He probably wouldn't have word for word said or even remembered what Touya told him in that scene.

Also you have to remember Hori is trying to wrap this story up as fast as possible. He doesn't need to add yet more drama to it. As much as it would have been nice for there to be more exploration into how the Heroes interacted with Enji after finding out about the abuse, it would just take up to much time. On top of that Enji is already going through a very similar plot with his family. Having him go through something similar with his teammates would be repetitive.

Plus, if Hori is going to redeem the LoV last minute it only helps him to have as many people fast track forgiving or not caring about Enji's past as possible. If we have to see Enji earn back every semi-important character's trust than it makes everyone getting aboard the LoV redemption train even harder to swallow. If being a former abuser gets someone the cold side-eye, what does being a mass murder get you?

It's already an issue that Enji and Bakugou have had to claw tooth and nail to get any semblance of "changed" to stick. They have failed multiple times and suffered countless injuries in their efforts to change and be somewhat accepted by the people they hurt. If Enji had to go through even more shunning by other side characters it'd make the LoV being forgiven without problem even more absurd.

[bestparenting12]

Teaching Kids to Say Hello in Different Languages

Introducing children to different languages at an early age can be a fun and enriching experience. One of the simplest ways to begin this journey is by teaching them how to say "hello" in various languages. This not only helps them appreciate the diversity of cultures around the world but also enhances their cognitive abilities, boosts their confidence, and broadens their perspective. Here's a comprehensive guide on how to teach kids to say "hello" in different languages, along with the benefits and creative ways to make learning engaging and memorable.

The Importance of Learning "Hello" in Different Languages

Cultural Awareness and Respect

Teaching kids to say "hello" in different languages is a simple yet powerful way to foster cultural awareness. It helps them understand that the world is made up of diverse cultures, each with its own language and customs. By learning to greet people in their native language, children develop a sense of respect for other cultures and traditions.

Cognitive Development

Learning a new language, even just a few words, can have significant cognitive benefits. It enhances memory, improves problem-solving skills, and increases attention to detail. Studies have shown that children who are exposed to multiple languages from an early age tend to have better multitasking abilities and are more creative thinkers.

Boosting Confidence

Learning to say "hello" in different languages can boost a child's confidence. It gives them a sense of accomplishment and encourages them to continue exploring new languages and cultures. Being able to greet someone in their native language can also help children feel more connected to people from different backgrounds.

Global Perspective

In today's interconnected world, having a global perspective is increasingly important. By learning to say "hello" in different languages, children begin to understand that there is a big world beyond their immediate environment. This early exposure to global diversity can inspire a lifelong interest in learning about other countries and cultures.

How to Teach Kids to Say "Hello" in Different Languages

Start with Familiar Languages

Begin by teaching kids how to say "hello" in languages they might already be somewhat familiar with, such as Spanish ("Hola"), French ("Bonjour"), or German ("Hallo"). These are common languages that they may have heard on television, in school, or in their community. Starting with familiar languages can make the learning process feel less intimidating and more accessible.

Use Visual Aids and Flashcards

Visual aids, such as flashcards with pictures of people from different countries saying "hello," can make learning more engaging. For instance, a flashcard with a picture of a child from Japan saying "Konnichiwa" helps kids associate the word with the culture. You can also use world maps to show where each language is spoken, which adds a geographical element to the lesson.

Incorporate Songs and Rhymes

Songs and rhymes are excellent tools for language learning, especially for young children. Many languages have traditional songs that include greetings, making it easier for kids to remember the words. For example, you can find a simple song that includes "hello" in multiple languages and sing it together with the children.

Practice with Repetition and Role-Playing

Repetition is key when learning new words. Practice saying "hello" in different languages regularly, and encourage the children to use these greetings throughout the day. Role-playing is another effective method—pretend to be someone from another country and have the children greet you in that language. This not only reinforces their learning but also makes it more fun.

Celebrate Cultural Days

Incorporate cultural days into your teaching routine. Choose a day to celebrate a particular culture and language. For instance, you can have a "French Day" where kids learn how to say "hello" ("Bonjour") and explore other aspects of French culture, such as food, music, and traditions. This immersive experience makes learning more meaningful and memorable.

Use Technology and Apps

There are many language-learning apps and websites designed for children that make learning fun and interactive. These tools often include games, videos, and quizzes that help reinforce the new words they are learning. Apps like Duolingo, Gus on the Go, and Lingokids are great resources for teaching kids how to say "hello" in different languages.

Encourage Interaction with Native Speakers

If possible, arrange for the children to interact with native speakers. This could be through video calls, language exchange programs, or even community events. Hearing the correct pronunciation and seeing how the word is used in a real conversation can make a significant impact on their learning.

Examples of "Hello" in Different Languages

Here's a list of how to say "hello" in various languages:

Spanish: Hola

French: Bonjour

German: Hallo

Italian: Ciao

Japanese: Konnichiwa

Mandarin Chinese: Nǐ hǎo

Russian: Zdravstvuyte

Arabic: Marhaba

Swahili: Jambo

Hindi: Namaste

Portuguese: Olá

Korean: Annyeonghaseyo

Greek: Yassas

Hebrew: Shalom

Turkish: Merhaba

Creative Activities to Reinforce Learning

Hello Around the World Collage

Create a collage with the kids that includes images of people from different countries along with the word "hello" in their respective languages. This visual representation will help reinforce their learning and can be a fun art project.

Language Bingo

Create a bingo game using the different ways to say "hello." Each square on the bingo card has a different language, and as you call out the language, the kids mark the correct square. This game adds an element of excitement and helps with word recognition.

Greeting Card Project

Have the kids make greeting cards using the different languages they've learned. They can decorate the cards with flags, cultural symbols, or drawings and write "hello" in various languages. This activity combines creativity with language practice.

Teaching kids to say "hello" in different languages is a simple yet impactful way to introduce them to the rich diversity of the world. It fosters cultural awareness, enhances cognitive development, and encourages a global perspective. By using a variety of teaching methods, such as songs, visual aids, and interactive activities, you can make the learning process enjoyable and memorable. As they learn to greet others in multiple languages, children not only gain new language skills but also develop a deeper respect and curiosity for the world around them.

[tehuti88-art]

7/19/24: r/SketchDaily theme, "Free Draw Friday." This week's characters from my anthro WWII storyline are Rebekkah Schindel, without head covering and with head covering, and Hanna Schindel. They're the wife and young daughter of Isaak Schindel, who I never posted here but he's in my art blog (1/27/23). Rebekkah is pregnant when her husband is imprisoned for defending them so he doesn't get to meet Hanna until much later. There'll be more about them later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

Regarding their design: Rebekkah is a German spaniel and always wears the head kerchief out in public. Hanna is nearsighted and wears really oversized, secondhand spectacles since they're poor; Isaak is a boxer (uh, the dog, not the profession), so Hanna takes after both parents. Her design's a bit iffy but she's kind of an awkward-looking kid so maybe it fits.

TUMBLR EDIT: Most of Rebekkah's and Hanna's part of the story has already been outlined in Isaak Schindel's entry; Schindel himself is the primary character of the trio, so their background details are mostly undeveloped. The rest of this entry will be written individually to avoid repetition.

Not much to say about Hanna, she's just a little kid. I'm unsure of her age as I'm unsure how long her father spends in the labor camp, though she's likely older than I had originally envisioned, as it seems Schindel ends up in the camp not long after(?) Dannecker takes over, which is pretty early on, and remains until Reinhardt orders the gates opened as Allied forces are taking the city. Given the extended timeline of the war in my story, this could be up to around ten years or so. (I know inmates of camps often didn't survive beyond a few weeks to a few months. Schindel remains alive for as long as he does as he serves as kapo, so he isn't starved (too much), beaten, or worked to death, or executed.)

My brain doesn't picture Hanna as that old, so, maybe, as I mentioned, this is partly due to her just being awkward looking. I originally imagined her as blond, but that makes no sense, perhaps my mind just conflated her with another Jewish child character who IS young and blond, Gabriele Zweifel. In any case, no matter what her age, Hanna is half German spaniel, half boxer, though takes largely after her father Isaak. Her boxer features are prominent, including a bit of an underbite, a snubbish nose, more rust/tan-colored fur, black hair, and a short, chunky build. (Schindel is stocky and short, shorter even than Rebekkah, but physically strong.) The features she inherits from her mother, meanwhile, are her lack of black facial mask, somewhat longer fur on her ears and maybe tail, and her curly hair. Her eyes are sort of halfway between her mother's golden-brown and her father's hazel, though closer to the latter. Her hair isn't very long, and she wears these big, goofy-looking spectacles as she's quite nearsighted (her mother frets over her odd behavior when she's still barely more than a baby, until a doctor friend determines that Hanna simply can't see well, and gives her an old pair of adult spectacles to use until the family can come out of hiding and get a proper checkup), so she's definitely not very feminine or girlish; she might even be a bit of a tomboy. Still, when Rebekkah invites her estranged husband back home to stay (see HER ENTRY), and Hanna hugs her father for the first time, Schindel rubs tears from his eyes and tells Rebekkah that she's beautiful and "takes after you," to which Rebekkah tearfully smiles and says, "I thought she takes after you." "Doesn't matter," Schindel replies, "she's beautiful."

Obviously, both mother and father care for her deeply, and endanger their own lives to keep her safe. Schindel takes increasingly shady and dangerous jobs to provide for his pregnant wife while they're still living in the ghetto, accidentally kills a ghetto policeman while defending Rebekkah and is caught while she escapes, and then assumes the detestable role of Lagerälteste, or kapo, while in the camp--keeping his fellow prisoners in line, and often intimidating or even beating them--on the orders of the commandant, Ernst Dannecker. (This job entitles him to a better bunk, food, clothing, and treatment from the SS, yet doesn't quite excuse him from Dannecker's psychological torture.) His antagonistic duties lessen under Dannecker's replacement, Hasso Reinhardt, who often puts him to work running errands within the administration building, and treats him so much more favorably than Dannecker did that Schindel remains behind when a wounded Reinhardt orders the gates opened, and tries to protect him from the arriving Allied troops. Reinhardt ends up having to vouch for Schindel, as the soldiers can't believe an inmate would stick around to try to help the commandant; Schindel actually bursts into tears when Reinhardt is taken into Allied custody as a war criminal and taken away. He's soon set free after it's determined that he's indeed a prisoner, yet it's a while before he can return to Rebekkah and Hanna, due to the harsh stigma against him for his own wartime activities; he nearly commits suicide, yet decides instead to find a job and try to keep going until he might get a second chance to reconcile with Rebekkah.

Rebekkah, meanwhile, is the brains who helps plot out her and her husband's half-successful escape from the ghetto--at Schindel's request, as he knows she's "the smart one"--and, near term, she has to go on the run without him, and then into hiding with extended family, throughout the war. Acquaintances on the outside help provide for her and Hanna, once she's born, and keep the family informed; through them Rebekkah learns of Schindel's "promotion" in the camp. She's overjoyed to learn that he's alive, yet distraught to learn at what price; similar to Schindel, the thought of Hanna needing her is largely what keeps her going, so both parents, despite the distance between them, keep their daughter in mind as their motivation. Rebekkah manages to keep Hanna safe until the war's end, when friends provide her with funding and the two move into a tiny house in a newly constructed neighborhood near the city's edge. After she reconciles with her husband, he moves in and provides for the little family with his typesetting job.

Hanna is active and curious, doesn't talk much (another reason I imagined her as a lot younger), but is quite affectionate and emotionally demonstrative with her parents; i. e., she's a hugger. Loves hugging. I guess this is how she best communicates. Perhaps she has some sort of mild(?) learning/developmental issue (a thought just struck me, she reminds me somewhat of children I've encountered with Down syndrome--they were always the nicest, sweetest kids I met, just utterly accepting, unlike most of my peers); she's not stupid, but she's not bright, either. Yet she's very sweet, loves exploring the world around her, and hugs her parents frequently, including her mother while she's preparing supper ("Liebling, you have to let me work!" Rebekkah protests), and her father when he leaves for work early every morning (Schindel never, ever protests, just hugs her as tight as he can in return--"My sweet little Hanna! Be good to your Mutter, ja?"). She's definitely a daddy's girl, and Schindel doesn't mind that at all, no matter how odd looking or acting she is, he adores her to bits.

I don't think the Schindels ever have any other children; I'm pretty sure Hanna is an only child. I imagine Rebekkah feels wistful about this, having wanted a big family no matter how impoverished they may have once been (they're better off after the war than before, but are never well off), though Schindel is happy and content as they are: "We have the perfect daughter, the perfect family, what more do we need...?" And indeed, when Hanna pops back into the room, hands dirty from digging in the dirt, and soils both parents' clothes while throwing her arms around them--"Ah!--Hanna Liebling!--my dress!" Rebekkah exclaims, trying, and failing, not to laugh, while Schindel hugs her back and gets ink on her--they have to agree, their family, while small, is just perfect.

[Hanna Schindel 2024 [‎Friday, ‎July ‎19, ‎2024, ‏‎12:00:33 AM]]

[letterstodreams]

What About Family?

One might wonder, where is my family, in all this? Do I have a family? Or do I stay in touch and am I close? I guess for many people these days, their family is a source of conflict and confusion, or a distant, peripheral thing in their lives, maybe there some of the time and in some ways, but not close, and not a dependable source of meaning, support and deeper understanding, not a source of help when life's biggest challenges threaten to take you under. Not a source of understanding and acceptance, but a group of people who agree to support each other only in very limited ways, if all follow the unspoken agreement to conform to certain norms and not cross certain lines about what can or can't be expressed.

I guess my family falls into the latter category, for me. They provide me with a certain very strained, shallow, hollow feeling of questionable belonging, care and support. I know it's there, it's real, if I play by the rules. But what it really means and what its worth, under the surface, is very questionable for me, indeed. Even though they are for all outward appearances very gentle, kind people, sensitive and caring and generous and so on. An outside observer would likely view most or all of them that way.

But scratch the surface, cross the boundaries, and you will see the coldness, the insinuations and subtle insults and excluding behavior and veiled comments meant to criticize and reject. Scorn, hate and rejection, visible in the eyes, in the subtle differences between how different family members are treated, preference, praise, warmth, attention to some, ignoring, coldness, subtle insults to others. Even rejection and criticism disguised as praise or kind suggestions, somehow totally obvious in their cruelty and coldness, yet totally inexpressible and ignored, treated as normal and healthy. It seems that such behavior is somewhat or very common in families, based on my reading in books and online.

Part of what makes me excluded and snubbed by my family is that I have mental and physical health problems they cannot accept as even being real or valid. Another thing is my neurodivergence and unusual personality and interests and extreme introverted, highly sensitive nature and sensory issues, more things they seem to see as being unreal or a sign of my lack of effort to overcome them. I also don't look as pretty and fashionable and act as cute and lively and hyperactive as they all do, the women, that is to say.

But the men, on the other hand, expect me to act like a typical woman of the family too, and I wouldn't fit with the men's fixations on masculine things and wealth, ambition, hard physical work, real estate, cars, politics, and other such things. I don't fit anywhere in my family, except perhaps among the children, and even peripherally among them, as most of them are a product of modern parenting problems, in part.

They run around, loud, demanding, spoiled, dominant, competitive. My own child is not competitive, and manages to happily blend among the other children, accepting the role of follower and second, third or last place, when she's in their company. I can see the innocence and playful, creative, joyful heart and kindness that is still there in the other children, too. Despite whatever spoiled, competitive, selfish behaviors they might have learned, they still are in touch with their childhood innocence and kindness, as I guess most kids are up to a certain age at least. So I take comfort in their presence. They can bring much cheer, laughter, sweetness, and fun, if the sheer noise level doesn't completely overwhelm me. My own daughter plays much more quietly at home, but joins in loudly and merrily when with the other kids.

Anyway, after writing all this, my cat meowed loudly and insistently, repetitively, for attention, so I happily went to give her some attention, and then my emotions were much soothed. I then felt like washing dishes, which had piled up a bit, and after a good half hour or more of that, I felt like I'd put my world in a bit more order. I felt more grounded in the senses, the now, the rhythms of life. I started to reflect on why I had even written this post, because under the calm, grounded rhythm of life, I felt this inflammatory feeling, and I wondered was it worth it, to fan the flames of pain and discord that I feel about my family, which run so much deeper than I can express just in one post. The full pain and horror of my family history might take a whole book to explain. Not just a book, but a well-written , eloquent book that I'm not even capable of writing and expressing so clearly, on such a touchy, complex, sensitive subject that is so hard to adequately describe.

"I already know all this, so why am I writing about it?", I said to myself. And then I thought, I'm writing this to explain to others. That is part of building a consistent, solid blog story, to explain and give enough detail and background that the whole picture seems at least somewhat clear enough. But is it necessary, in this case. I don't have to tell all the details of my family, not that I've even scratched the surface of the twisted toxic mess of it, but I don't have to give as much detail as I have. I know that others likely wouldn't understand unless they had been in the same boat. Even if they kind of understood, or thought they did, they likely wouldn't really understand my own story, my own family, which has complex secrets and twists that are impossible to put into words, though they change the whole experience so much that I can't even begin to convey the whole maze of it this entrapped and entangled thing.

But I'm not exactly nor literally entrapped. But I do feel dependent far more than the average person, unable to survive without the right diet and housing and lifestyle that support a very fragile mental and physical health, without which I may spiral into total self-destruction and decay, unto death even, not unlikely to me so it seems. I actually depend on my husband for those conditions, but if I lost or disentangled myself from him one day, I could try to rely on my family for some support in this regard, if I couldn't make it on my own.

Except likely it would be a miserable experience, just surviving. The housing might make me ill, I might not be able to afford the diet I need to stay well, and I might be continually invaded and harassed by their cold and callous behavior, if not outright verbal abuse. Intense, soul-numbing narcissistic abuse and tyranny prevailed when I lived under their roof. If I moved back to the family land, I would be once more in their debt, in their sphere, in easy reach at all hours, fallen back into the pit I tried to escape. I might not make it there, but if I did manage, I don't know how bad my life might be, but maybe things would be different now, as an adult, but it feels quit iffy and unstable to say the least.

So all this darkness and decay that exists between me and my family, and back into the long painful history I have with them. Yet I still feel like there may be something good, something warm and caring, wholesome and worthwhile, that I could salvage. Or maybe it would just be the appearance, the imitation of something wholesome and salvageable, but less painful than the harm and decay with no veneer at all. I feel like there are code words and keys to use that will unlock the pretend warmth and caring of certain family members.

Or maybe it's not pretend, maybe they really do care, in these limited and forced ways, with choking strings attached, but care nonetheless. If they are truly narcissists, then the caring and love is questionable and perhaps false and imaginary, but maybe it's worth something if it comes to that, if they're all I have to depend on for help I desperately need.

So I have learned about how to make these fragile connections to people whose intentions and hearts are of questionable sincerity and purity. How to act like I love a family who might not really love me in any real way, even if they fake it for appearances sometimes. But I also learned how to act like I love and care for others in this world, other people who I might find these frail yet beautiful and deep strands of connection, ways to give and affirm and connect, even if I'm so different, so rejectable in so many ways for so many people.

It is acting, but it's real, too, in the sense I care for them from our shared humanity, but the bond may be a tenuous, frail thread, so easily broken from both sides. If I cultivate these small avenues of connection, it might come at the expense of all the other aspects of self-expression, which I have to keep under wraps since no one might accept me for my very real, full, authentic self. I feel I'm just too foreign to almost everyone. But if I can find these narrow places of true connection, it's something. Then I can create a fragile yet strong bond with others, maybe.

I've learned this is possible, and the characters taught me, but if it is possible for me is another thing. It's possible for some people, and sometimes, and I imagine, for me sometimes, but I have yet to enact it. I need to see how to really put it into consistent and convincing action, because though I care, it doesn't come across in the way others relate to and accept. But this might be a bridge to the friends I need, the family I need, my own family, and other friends. I might find some friends who I can meet at a deeper level, and these fragile inroads might expand to something more meaningful and fulfilling and whole.

But if it stays in these narrow paths of very particular shared meaning, that could be enough to at least improve things for me, perhaps. The feeling of giving, and of lifting up another's soul, heart, day, mood, life, in some small way, might be enough. I have often heard that kindness is an addictive high that provides benefits that far outweigh the apparently small, simple gestures. It's not the answer to the world's problems, since the world and I both need more than simple, small gestures of kindness. But it could be something to help me survive and find my way towards a real cure, or to survive and just survive alone if that is what I need and must settle for.

[unpopularhorroropinions]

Time for a semi-personal rant

Part of why I created this blog was because of my dissatisfaction with r/horror. Why am I dissatisfied with them? Well, in part, because as I said in an earlier post, they hold their sacred cows very closely. You're not allowed to criticize, say, the original Halloween. Or rather, you CAN, but expect to be downvoted en masse if you do. If you voice your disagreement with a popular opinion in the sub (i.e. "Terrifier sucks and Damien Leone is a misogynist"), you'll not only get downvoted, but get some self-righteous assholes on your back who will back the popular opinion and get upvoted for it.

Besides that, it's filled with people who can't seem to be bothered to closely read the first sentence, let alone the title, of my posts, and when I corrected them, it's a downvote for me. For instance, the very last post I made in that sub was to ask for cosmic horror movies set in space, along the lines of the Dead Space video games or Event Horizon. The first recommendation I got? The Color Out of Space, which is set on a farm. When I corrected the person, I got a downvote. Then when I edited my comment to express my annoyance at the downvote, I got two more. More egregiously, though, someone once unintentionally misgendered me because of my avatar (which is somewhat close to what I look like in real life). I simply corrected her that I'm a guy. Guess what? Downvote, even though she promptly corrected herself. Hell, I've gotten downvoted in that shitty sub for less than that, like just for asking if anyone liked a movie that most people hated (and that I didn't like, either). In all those other cases, they might have at least been able to read the annoyance in my "tone".

Most irritatingly on a less personal level, though, is all the monotony and repetition. How many posts do they get per week asking "what's a good horror movie for a [kid's age] year-old to watch"? Or all the "terrifier bad" posts? Seems when they don't struggle with reading comprehension, they struggle to use the search bar. Worse still, I keep getting dragged back there by annoying necrobumpers responding to posts and comments I made more than 2 years prior. Really, it's all just a pompous fucking circlejerk and one of the most unwelcoming horror communities I have ever come across. It's only outmatched by an even shittier grindhouse group on Facebook I was in that turned into a Serbian Film circlejerk.

There's better subs that aren't quite as popular but are much more welcoming, one of them being r/HorrorMovies. I hope to make this blog take off and become at least somewhat successful. We should be allowed to dissent without getting mindlessly dogpiled.