#the fact that i made it to adulthood is fucking insane between the

[wawawawawawawawawawawawawa]

this has nothing to do with durarara but having a parent who actually for real dropped you as a baby is lowkey hilarious because you can do literally whatever and just bring up the baby thing. like my dad could text me in a huff after seeing that i spent a lot of credit card money on clothes and hed go "didnt i say that card was for medical expenses only??" and id just go "didnt you drop me as a baby?" and yeah argument over

[karinyosa]

Gene and Brinker, good sir?

AHHH okay okay

what made you ship it?

reading the book lol. ok so i feel like there's a lot of context i need to explain for this beyond just the book's subtext bc there's a bit of personal lore here. before teaching us the book, my middle school english teacher introduced each of the central four characters with this powerpoint with a slide on each one, and the way she described them like archetypically and physically made it sound almost like (to MY middle school brain) a dating sim, in which gene was the main character. like the blurb already sounds very romance novelesque so jdkshfkh. ig it wasn't too big a leap. so we already have a baseline there.

i also think that in the book brinker and gene are a secondary and competing rivarly/friendship to gene and finny's rivarly/friendship, and i think that's where the tension between brinker and gene and brinker and finny comes from. in fact this is kind of just text, like brinker and finny i think are pretty explicitly competing for gene's attention. i'm pretty sure there are some like old asp posts from the earlier 2010s era of the fandom where people are like "brinker and gene/finny have such ex energy", but iirc it was more often finny? like i'm definitely not the only person to see this Thing brinker has going on with gene, but at the time i'm p sure brinkerfinny was the more widespread take. anyway. brinker pursues gene so relentlessly both as an antagonist and as a guy who just Needs to be doing things with him, Needs to be occupying his time and attention. and yet they maintain this weird friendship/understanding throughout. to me this was most pronounced with the whole enlistment thing, and that dynamic where gene had to choose between finny and brinker for the enlistment/not enlistment??? it just gave very love triangle energy. the intensity with which brinker is fixated on gene is like. it gives repressed queer guy with problems. it's beyond wanting to antagonize him, he just is constantly coming up with excuses to be around him and to orient his focus around the pursuit of this one guy. his need to be morally superior to the object of his pursuit feels very queercoded to me. it's a very funny contrast to other parts of the book where he and gene are seemingly chill and normal friends? boy has issues

2. what are your favorite things about the ship?

HOOOOOO okay i have a long answer for this because it has to do with how i accidentally made myself insane about them. so i have this really long winded headcanon-turned-sequel fic in my Brain and Mind about gene and brinker moving in together after the war for kind of money reasons and kind of personal reasons. gene has been depression camping in finny's family's attic for a long undefined amount of time, and brinker is like hey you need to get the fuck out of there come live with me idiot. cue several years later and this is where the fic starts. i usually have it start at the time that gene would've gone back to visit devon, because i like the idea of that whole thing happening during a hs reunion in devon town, in which he and brinker joint travel and stay with his family which is its own whole awkwardness but anyway. <- culmination of everything i've ever thought about them since eighth grade

most of my genebrinker thoughts center around this period of adulthood where they're not young anymore but they're not old either, and they have all this unresolved tension and shared trauma and resentment that spills over into their "present" relationship. i think this is where genebrinker would theoretically "actually" start, in adulthood. i think there could've been ambiguous things earlier, especially during their joint enlistment period if they happened to be together, but nothing very deliberate or openly acknowledged until much later. it's this delicious mix of both having an established very domestic and familiar dynamic, knowing this person's routines and habits inside out, and yet having this pent up unspoken something. and for gene and brinker, it's not just this quiet tenderness, although i think that's bound to happen sometimes when you're essentially apartment husbands. i think they'd blow up at each other and let things slip during heated moments that they don't mean to, mostly on brinker's side, bc i think brinker's been nursing some kind of crush since hs, whereas if gene returned brinker's feelings, i think they'd slowly build over time. their familiarity with each other is also very interesting because, while they have this odd like, daddy issues(?) solidarity in the book that again feels very queer, in adulthood, it's also this thing of like, they kind of shared the murder of one of their closest friends. my fav think about genebrinker is that they know the worst of each other, that they actively participated in some of the worst parts of each other's lives, but it's that coupled with like, arguing over dinner and visiting the parents and trying to hold down stable jobs. or i guess for something more connected to the actual book, that coupled with like, accompanying your friend to an awkward meeting with his dad

this is not even all the things i think about their dynamic or all the like underlying sources of tension in their adult relationship in my head, i also think they'd be in very different places in terms of sexuality, and that would come to a head at some point, but i'll stop here because this is a question about my favorite THING, not explain every thought you've ever had about them

3. is there an unpopular opinion you have about your ship?

i think the entire ship is an unpopular opinion lmfao. like 90% of this is my headcanons. ummm i have brinker being the more responsible of the two when i write them as adults, if still the more temperamental one, so that might be controversial? i think at this stage of their lives, he's more practical and better at home ec stuff, and gene cannot fucking take care of himself for the life of him. gene is running himself into the ground while brinker is like get your fucking socks off my floor

[cinnamonest]

Albedo idol girl darling thoughts M A N I F E S T E D

----------

Well, to be entirely honest, he thinks the whole idol thing is a little dumb.

For someone like him, at least. He's a PhD student in his final semester, lots of work to be done and all that. So, you know, he's a responsible, accomplished adult. Not the kind of person who gets into "that stuff," as he calls it in his head.

Nor does he even know how he encountered it... He just takes the occasional break from work to mindlessly open whatever app first pops into his vision and scroll through the feed. He's never watched anything like it in his life, so he's not exactly sure why he gets recommended some idol girl thing, and even less sure why he taps it without really thinking. Probably one of those videos that gets recommended to everyone. Well, can't be that, it doesn't have that many views... Probably loosely connected to some video game he's searched before or something. He's familiar with idols and what they are, and the subculture surrounding them, but he's never really cared about it.

Honestly, it's kinda pathetic that a bunch of grown adult men get so obsessed over these girls, he thinks as he watches. He's seen the type. Lonely, asocial dudes, most definitely virgins whose only female attention in their entire life is their mother, well into adulthood with no real social group to speak of.

...Not that he's much better off, but he hasn't quite sunk down to their level. The only reason he doesn't talk to people much is because they're busy, and he's even busier. He managed to make a few friends in undergrad years. Well, study partners who mooched off his notes since he was one of the top students, but same idea. They were people he spoke to more than once, which is what constitutes a friend, right? And for the record, one time in high school a girl in his class said she liked his hair. He hasn't changed the way he wears it since. Whenever he's sad, he thinks about that compliment from 10+ years ago, and it makes him feel a little better. But now, he's constantly slammed with work and research.

And his acquaintances are also all busy. He sees notifications every now and then from social media he never checks. Everyone is getting married at this stage in life, both friends and even other PhD students in his department. Not that he's ever been invited to a wedding, he just overhears a lot of conversations, sees notifications of posts. And he will too, eventually. He just has to finish up his degree, and then... Meet a girl. Well, that's actually the second step, step one would be finding out how to go about meeting a girl. He's... Never done it before. Probably does not happen sitting in the research lab at 11:30 pm on YouTube. He's talked to one of the other PhD students who's a girl before. And only stutters sometimes. He was even able to look her in the face while he talked to her once. That's a good start.

Ok, so maybe he is a little bit pathetic, but not as bad as... These guys. Reading the comments of the video actually make him feel a little better about himself, because frankly, they're kinda wild. The worship and fawning over girls is one thing, but they even have timestamps referring to various members like "she's super cute here!" Or "you can kinda see her thigh at 3:12!" Etc etc. Yeesh, creepy. And they get into comment fights over who is the best member, as if it even matters. It's fascinating in a human-social-experiment sort of way, the manifestation of a subculture and how humans interact with each other. On and on it goes, hundreds of commenters. He pays more attention to the comments than the actual video, but the song is kinda catchy in that annoying sort of way, and the girls are cute, just kinda... The typical thing he'd expect from idol groups. But the building will close soon, so he taps back to home screen and swipes the app closed.

Unfortunately, the algorithm remembers.

And he's not certain why he clicks the next one either, the following day. The lunch breaks he takes are usually pretty rushed. Not that he has specific class times at his level of academia, but he likes to get his work done. He intentionally eats either a bit later or earlier than the lunch crowd to avoid crowds and interactions. Finds a nice secluded little table tucked away. So when he opens it back up, what do you know, several more videos get recommended. It's absent minded when he taps on one, the kind of numb-brained entertainment every modern person indulges in, videos you wouldn't really be interested in but just watch because they're there.

Ok, this is really creepy. These dudes have made compilation videos of close ups of each specific girl. It's the same group as the video he saw before, same little lewd costumes. Admittedly the girls are kinda cute. He can kinda understand the appeal. But he's not like those guys, he would never become like, obsessed with them.

The song is actually really catchy. The kind of mindlessly addictive, repetitive pop music that's the same four chords over and over, each song is so similar you can't really tell them apart, but it gets stuck in your head anyway. This group has... nine members. Who needs that many singers in one group? It's not like a band or anything, they all just sing and do their little choreography. Guess that's a form of talent, even though he doesn't really get it.

Some of the groups he sees in recommended videos are cute and wholesome, and while this group is cute too, there's a very... Blatantly intentional lewdness to their poses and costumes. A hypersexualized sort of cuteness. Clearly marketed at lonely losers who have nothing better to do with their time than obsess over a girl who will never even know they exist.

He taps another video.

So many compilations, yikes. He has to give the guys credit, they're insanely loyal to the individual member that they decide to fixate on. Oh, and they even make official figurines and posters for these girls, that's... Something.

And a few days later he can kinda recognize the girls. They have color themes, you know, identical costumes except each girl's is a different color. This lead one is red, this main backup is blue, etc etc. Lots of bright colors. Kinda hurts his eyes to be honest.

And he's seen compilations of every girl except... The pink one. The pink one is always kinda off to the side. Well, these groups do have their favoritism, there's apparently one or two lead singers in all of the major idol groups, and the rest are basically backups and dancers. Still, a lot of dudes get super devoted to the non-main girls. So yeah, he's never seen a compilation for the pink one... He can't always exactly remember which one is which but now he's seen enough to know the other girls' names. He's not sure what hers is though. So he googles it and gets the name.

Wonder why she doesn't have as many videos...? Oh, it's because she's the newest member. Only been around a few months. There's... A whole board dedicated to the group, which he's getting this information from. Wow, pathetic. What kind of person spends their free time browsing a forum for an idol group? Well, he's just doing it to find information, not for fun or anything. He was just curious. Now he knows and he can forget about it and never look at anything related to them again... after he types her name and group name into the YouTube search bar and checks the results out, that is.

Oh, so they do have some compilations for her, just not many. "(Name) thigh compilation." Fuck, these people have no limits to how creepy and pathetic they can get, he thinks... as he watches the video. Ok, admittedly there are some good thigh shots there. There's a comment. "At 4:26 you can see her panties." Pathetic. They're not wrong though. Just to be sure, you see, he tapped the timestamp, and you can, in fact, see them. Stripes. Cute.

But he still has to do his work. Can't get too invested in watching mindless videos all day. He's got a thesis to work on.

That makes him curious, though, he thinks as he goes about his research. Do these girls go to school? Do they like, skip college, or do they join some kind of performing arts school or...? So he googles it. He can remember the pink one's name now, so he just finds her Wikipedia page. Oh, so she joined right out of high school and has been in various groups ever since.

Wait, various groups? So she has more groups she's been in? What are those? Before he typed her name into the search along with the group name, but if he just searches her name he gets... A lot more content from earlier years. Huh. Didn't know some of them did group-hopping like that.

Still, no education. Must be all smiles and body and no brains. Guess that's all you really need. Yeah, looking at that whole act they do... All giggly and childish and lewd... She's probably not too bright. At least she's pretty and sings nice. And the thighs are rather good. Smooth looking. They have a sort of jiggle when she jumps up and down on stage. The thigh highs they make those girls wear have that nice little dip where the skin is compressed by the fabric. Like... right there at that closeup. He takes a screenshot.

It's readily available, he's already seen the video and knows the best parts, whereas searching for porn would take time. The sooner he can get the daily stress relief out of the way the sooner he can work on his thesis. So this way is faster. That's why he's jerking off to the thigh video and not taking the time to look for porn. Plus, it makes him cum faster. Which it probably shouldn't since it's just thighs, but... Probably has something to do with the tease of it all maybe. That makes sense.

Or maybe it's that cute little giggle he can hear at some parts. She smiles and jumps and spins and laughs.

...It makes him wonder what she'd look like crying. Scared. Whimpering. Covered in bruises and bite marks. The contrast between that state and the one on the screen. The process and the things he could do to get her from one to the other. Yeah, he realizes, it's that thought, rather than the happy giggling on video or tease aspect, that makes him cum.

He's aware that his... tastes... are a little on the fucked up side, but hey, there's plenty of bastards out there far worse than him.

One day he discovers she has social media platforms. He... Doesn't really have any. He doesn't have Twitter or Instagram or any of that but... He downloads the app and makes an account for each. Just to follow her. Ooh, they even have the option to get a notification every time she posts... That's good. Otherwise he might check too frequently. He sets a special sound effect for notifications for her socials. The first few times, you see, he would get super excited when his phone went off, only to be disappointed when it was just a work email. Thus, he made the separate sounds.

He wouldn't say he has a favorite, that sounds really cringey you know? He just... Likes her more than the others. ...Dammit, that's what a favorite is. Ok, maybe he has a favorite, that's not that bad. He's not obsessed. He hasn't bought any merchandise at all or anything, especially not member-specific merchandise. Which they do have, because he visited the store page for a while and spent all his willpower physically restraining himself from buying something. It's not that he's biased, he just thinks she's objectively better than the rest of the group. Which can be backed up with evidence, anyone with eyes could tell by watching the performances.

As to what specifically draws him to her... he's not certain, to be honest. Maybe it's because she's the least appreciated out of the group, new and all. The less popular one. Or maybe her personality... She seems so sweet, even though he knows it's probably just an act for the fans. Or maybe just those thighs. That's also a valid possibility.

He cracks and buys some of the merchandise. Only about $300 worth. But honestly, he gets more invested into just printing out pictures of you. Pasting them onto the wall above his desktop. It keeps him going when the nights are hard.

But he refrains from ever commenting on anything. Some of these losers are just... so embarrassing, he can't stomach the thought of being associated, even if it's just an anonymous comment online. It's still pretty... Distasteful. He still browses the boards every day. You're his lock screen now. And home screen. And also your solo is his ringtone. He only sets his phone on sound when he's alone at home, though, when he's at work he puts it on vibrate. He... doesn't want anyone hearing that. No offense. He has some appropriate amount of shame, unlike the other bastards.

And the girls probably know that most of their fans are these kind of loser men, right? She'd probably be surprised someone nearly graduating with a chemistry doctorate is sitting around watching these dumb videos. Is that more or less pathetic? He thinks less, hopefully.

In fact, the other fans kind of irritate him. They're really cringy and annoying and it gives him secondhand embarrassment. And something... Deeper. Something about seeing the comments upsets him on a visceral level. It's gross. Sure, he's grateful for the dudes who sit around and make a list of timestamps for upskirt shots and the like, but... It kinda bothers him, feeling like there's some other dude out there sitting around, watching these long videos with his gross eyes and recording the times of shots that get him off. It feels gross. But more like... A violation against you. Sure, your group is very blatantly sexualized and intentionally risque in clothing but... Still, it feels wrong for someone to go through and get to see all of that.

Well, someone else. It's ok for him, since he's not a gross degenerate like the rest of them. He does genuinely see himself as... Above them. You know how like, back in the day, how the nobles used to sit around and watch plays from the far back while the peasants gathered around the stage? It's like that. He's not a gross loser or a NEET or anything like that. He's got a life. Well... Not a social life, but he's doing better than them, at least he has a degree, and soon a higher degree, and a job. He has a lot of things they don't. Basic hygiene. Student loan debt. And uh... Well, he's probably more pleasant to interact with, at least he's not gonna be frothing at the mouth like an animal if he saw you in real life. He would certainly freeze up, but that's preferable, isn't it?

And one day there's a video circulating in the idol community - not that he's a part of it or anything, he just keeps getting the dumb videos and watching them for mindless entertainment - where some girl group had an attempted kidnapping. Not her group, but some other group. The video has gone viral. Some dude tried to rush the stage and pull one of the girls away. Apparently the cops found he had an obsession with her.

What an idiot. If you're gonna kidnap someone, put some effort in, jeez. It's not hard to figure out how to do it right.

If that were him, he wouldn't be that stupid, he'd just look for an interval where she's alone. They have those solo or breakout group songs where some of the girls are backstage, just get her then. Memorize the concert schedule, wear something over your face, chloroform her, and stuff her into something and walk right out. Easy.

....

He catches himself in the thought and realizes that might have been a bit creepy, but he was just thinking in terms of hypotheticals. If he was the kind of crazy to do that, that's what he'd do, that's all.

He's always enjoyed entertaining strategic thoughts, really. He's had a couple fantasies about how he would commit murders of this or that person before, and he's never murdered anyone, so thoughts don't lead to actions. He just... Really doesn't like those people, and the fantasies help him... Deal with it. He just likes to strategize about methods, and how he'd get away with it... Stuff like that. Actually, he's convinced it's a very normal thing, but no one wants to admit it. Everyone has detailed murder fantasies every now and then.

Which is why this is no different. He's just strategizing because it's fun. He has no intentions of doing anything for real. He just plans out the details like a game. And tells himself to just never think about it again.

Until one specific night that he's staring down at his screen. Lying in bed. He should be asleep, he needs to be up early tomorrow but... He's just checking to be sure he's reading this correctly. You're coming to his town? He wouldn't think so, since it's not too big, just your average college town. But still, you'll be right here, right in his general vicinity, not far away at all.

Not that he'd ever actually go to such an event. No way. He hates crowds with a passion. He hates loud environments even more. A concert is like his worst nightmare. Besides, knowing the general audience of your group, it'll be a bunch of sweaty NEET dudes who haven't showered in a month and haven't crawled out of their house in even longer. No thank you.

But.

That's when the thought pops back up. It's been a few months since that night he had that strategizing fantasy, and, well, he tried to forget it but... It kinda lingered in the back of his mind. And now it's back in full force.

He shrugs the idea off. It's crazy. He'd never actually do something like that. It was just a fantasy.

...But he could get away with it if he wanted to.

He's not scared or anything, no, he's confident in his strategizing. He knows he could. Totally. It's foolproof. There's no need to carry it out to know that, besides, what would he even do with you?

Well, he's pretty certain he does know what he would do with you. He's watched that thigh video maybe a hundred times now. And even if he won't admit it, he's jerked off to the exact same fantasy for like, several months.

He doesn't really... Think about it. Just kind of slips into subconscious actions. Autopilot. One click and well, there goes $400 on an amp case. His eyes gaze over the dimensions... And then there's your height on the Wikipedia page... Yeah... That should work. He gets it sent to the address a few doors down just in case, and snatches it from in front of their door, but he finds himself backpedaling. What the hell is he doing? He would never actually go through with this, what a waste of money... But he still opens it. Sets it beside his front door. Tests the wheels to make sure they work.

He knows how to make chloroform. He doesn't need YouTube tutorials (unlike a certain someone else), he knows exactly how to do it, even alternate methods besides the usual acetone and bleach combination - so long as you end up with the same chemical makeup, it's all the same. He just goes with the traditional way though... Doesn't really know why he does it. Just mutters as he stares down at the concoction wondering why he wasted his time... But he pauses before pouring it down the sink, and instead puts it in a container and keeps it on the counter. Your weight is on Wikipedia too. Taking into account your height and weight you would need about... Yeah, a very specific amount to knock you out for about three hours.

The concert day draws closer and closer and he can't sleep very well. His mind keeps running what-ifs. Just, hypothetically, what if he did go through with it? What then? What would he do long term? How would that all work out?

Well, you'd probably hate him for a while, right? But that changes. Stockholm syndrome sets in. He would know, he had to take Psych 101 back in undergrad, and the professor talked about it for a full 10 minutes, so he's basically an expert. It's been like, 7 years since then, but he still kinda remembers it. He remembers that it's supposed to set in at about 2 weeks, and solidify with time. If the captor is nice, that is, which he totally would be. ...Maybe not in bed, but most of the time. He would be nice to you, and you would start to like him. Besides, they said Stockholm syndrome set in faster if the abductor has good qualities, so, he could also reason with you, remind you that you're lucky you got abducted by someone with money - or, well, he will have money once he graduates! - and isn't some ugly gross slob. He's clean and neat. Sorta... He'll clean up all those dishes that have been sitting there a few days now, pick up all those clothes off the floor... Ok, now he's clean and neat. And, uh, what else would girls care about... He's smart. He's pretty sure he can say that with confidence, if nothing else.

Ok, so, it would work. He could... Keep you kinda... Tied up here... If you started complying within that two week period, he could get you up and walking before atrophy set in. You'd probably have to get used to the lifestyle... Right now he's kinda on a budget, but, he can get you things to keep you occupied... And so, yeah, it could work. It's simple, just keep you with him and isolated for a few weeks and uh, you'll transform into some kind of hypersexual obedient cumslut and never want to leave. That's... How Stockholm syndrome works right? Maybe he should have paid more attention in that class... Oh well. He never liked psychology.

So the day draws nearer and nearer and he starts really getting into the right... Headspace. It's a sort of manic state that he's in. Operating without really thinking, all inhibitions removed by simply refusing to think about it. He lets the subconscious take over and do all these little things to prepare, until finally that day is tomorrow. And then he kinda snaps back to full awareness and questions, again, what the hell is he doing? He can't just... Kidnap a person! Normal people don't do that... It's illegal, he'll get caught, it'll ruin his life and....

What life does he really have to ruin?

That's the thought that sort of solidifies the decision. He realizes why he's even on this path in the first place. Sure he's got a lot of academic accomplishments, but his life is... Rather empty. He doesn't really have anyone. Maybe that's why he's slowly become... Consumed by this obsession that yes, he's now willing to admit to himself is indeed an obsession. It's kinda slowly taken over his everyday life without him even noticing it was happening. He's... Kinda miserable. And very lonely. And... If nothing else... This one girl makes him feel kinda happy.

... Which is why he's going to go through with it.

And he slips back into autopilot, ends up standing outside the building. It's every bit as loud and headache-inducing as he knew it would be. Ugh. He can't wait to get out of here. If this doesn't work, well, he'll be forced to turn around. The plan is a very simple one, actually... Act like he's supposed to be there. And he does. Dresses in all black like stage technicians do, dragging his big amp case behind him, holding a bunch of cords from random things he grabbed in his house, and tries not to look nervous, keeps a neutral face and walks straight forward and... He slides right in. The security guards off to the side don't even bat an eye.

And then he has a moment of "well, I didn't expect to get this far." Pauses. So uh... what now? Well, probably should find you first. He memorized the setlist, so he knows when you'll be off... And alone. Right now there should be three of the girls backstage. It's pretty easy to find where you are, but he's paranoid that the amp case is too loud as he's dragging it around. It's necessary, though. And then, finally, he stumbles upon the room... Opens the door, half expecting to be immediately stopped, but... He can just kinda waltz right in here, some open backroom, a person here or there coming through, a lady that looks like a makeup artist doing something over there, and an actual, real tech guy over there... And over to the far back corner... Oh. That's you. He takes a moment to revel in the sight, unable to move or even breathe, and has to mentally prepare himself before moving forward. He's... Not sure exactly what to do at this point... It's kind of perfect, to be honest, there's no one around you, and you're right out of sight, where he could turn the corner and not be seen. But he's not sure how to... Approach? He thinks about it as he walks, but again, autopilot is on in his brain and he's just numbly walking forward. Does he just... Keep walking until he's right at you and just... Or...?

And a miracle happens. You hear someone coming and you turn and smile and ask are you the tech guy here to fix my mic? You point to the little microphone attached to your face. They told you someone would be coming to fix it before your next song. You presume that's him, since he's dressed in all black like all the other stage techs. He hesitates a moment, wide eyed, but then nods. Yeah, that's him, he says. His voice cracks when he says it. It's kinda cute.

You smile at him. It's wide and sweet and genuine and it almost makes him pass out on the spot. He has to swallow for a second before continuing.

But, uh, he can't do it right here he says, because fiddling with it could disrupt the uh, frequencies, cause that really shrill sound you hear sometimes. So, um, come over this way a sec, over in this dark corner of the studio conveniently out of the view of all people and security cameras. You don't know how any of that stuff works, so you trust him, it's his job after all. So you get up and straighten your little skirt out - wow those are even more revealing in person - and walk over it the dark corner where he's waiting and... it's the last thing you remember.

He does a quick look left and right to ensure no one saw you collapse in his arms, but sure enough, this area is empty. You fit into the amp case with ease. Just curl your body up and pop the lid on. Wait, can you... breathe in there? Well, it won't take long to get outside. He just rolls the case right out the door, right past the guards again, and no one stops him, no one suspects a thing. Puts the case in the backseat, opens the lid, does a quick check go make sure you're breathing alright. So he props it open by keeping a book in between the case and lid as he drives home.

Once he does get home, he just does the same thing he did before - close the lid, roll you into the elevator and up the stairs and into his place, looking back over his shoulder over and over. And once he gets you inside he just kinda... falls to his knees. Shivering. Disbelief. Because holy shit he actually did it. He actually went through with it and it worked. He sits there and stares at the case and - oh, fuck, gotta open it again for you to breathe. Actually, he might as well... take you out... when he first shoved you in, he was so high on adrenaline he didn't really process any of it, but now... he almost can't bring himself to take you out. That means he has to, like, touch you. He's gotta take a moment to mentally prepare for that. So he does. Deep breaths. And finally, with trembling hands, pulls you out, carries you on shakey legs over to the bed and sets you down.

You know, you're a lot... Smaller... Than you looked on screen. Sure, he knew your height and weight but... somehow you still seem so much smaller than he expected. That's good. Will make everything a lot easier, since you're easier to restrain. And your thighs. They're... so soft. This is so much better than the video. They're so... fleshy and warm in person. Perfect. And wow, that skirt thing is... scratchy. Actually, up close, that whole outfit thing you wear looks super uncomfortable. It probably is. ...Well, guess he now has a reason to take it off.

The rest of your skin is... also fleshy and soft. Warm. Your face... chest... stomach... everything. Your tits are really cute, too. It occurs to him that all those rabid commenters on all those boards and videos would probably kill to be him right now, pinching and squeezing at your nipples. He's seeing something they will never see. It gives him an ego boost, to be honest, makes him feel proud to get a sort of one-up on them. He gets you naked, but refrains from pulling your legs apart. He probably... wouldn't be able to control himself, and he's aiming for some self-control right now.

So he waits. Breathes deep. Restrains himself with every ounce of willpower he has. It occurs to him he has no fucking clue what he's gonna say to you. Unfortunately, that thought occurs to him as you're starting to twitch and mumble, so, he doesn't have too much time to think. Oh, fuck, you're not restrained... well, he bought some duct tape and handcuffs and blindfolds off of amazon too, so he quickly puts those in place as you're starting to wake up, and then finally, you come to full consciousness -- that telltale jerking at the restraints, the muffled little cry of confusion and fear. It's kinda hot to be honest. Well, fuck, very hot actually. You're so scared. It gives him a rush of power. Said rush goes straight to his dick.

He's got a mixed twist of guilt and arousal at the whole thing, but... he's still trying to have some self control... and if you start begging and pleading and crying, it would be too much. Oh, no, not that it would be too much in terms of guilt, no no, just that he wouldn't be able to stop himself from fucking you if he sees you cry. So he leaves the restraints on for now, so he can't see your face emote.

Then, he does something really, really mean. He knows it's cruel, honestly, it's just... so cute. What that is, is that he does nothing. Says nothing. He goes about his work, typing away, knowing you can hear, but doesn't say a word. He knows you're awake, he just wants to see how long you can sit there scared out of your mind before you finally make another noise to draw his attention. Right now, he thinks, you're probably debating, you're probably questioning whether you should keep quiet and make him think you're still out or make a noise... but eventually you will. He can see you trembling. You're probably thinking so many horrible things right now, wondering what will happen, what he'll do to you... it fills him with a sort of sadistic glee that overrides the guilt it comes along with. Sure, the guilt is there, but fuck, he could almost cum just watching you shiver, and that's more important.

And you finally make a noise. A little whimper. He stops typing, and swears he sees you tense when he does. And when he stands up, walks over to you (making sure to stomp hard and walk slow for extra effect, watching the way you curl in on yourself with each step he takes), and stops right in front of you. Finally, tells you not to scream. He's gonna give you water, ok? You nod. And, surprisingly, you don't make any move to scream or anything, you let him give it to you. You don't move a muscle besides your shaking and sucking the straw and swallowing the water. You must be really scared of him. He knows that's technically not what he should want, but... it feels nice.

He spent that time of silence coming up with what to say to you. He says that for now, you're going to stay right here. Don't ask questions. Don't make any attempt to escape. If you really need something, tap the headboard until he hears. Understand?

You're... Surprisingly receptive. You give a twitchy smile and stammer out an o-okay. He's almost pleased, but quickly realizes what you're doing.

You've been trained for this, you see. This kind of thing is attempted rather frequently in the industry. You received training for this situation - comply, don't fight, prioritize your safety, because in 99% of these cases, the missing idol is found and recovered within 48 hours. So you do what you were told to do -- smile, pretend you're ok with it, don't do anything to anger your captor.

He knows that too. He doesn't do much in that 48 hours, in fact, he even tells you he's waiting to "see what happens." He knows he can't control himself very well, so he stays in his living room for the most part and works on research, it might be pointless if he's in jail a few hours from now, but oh well. Sleeps on his couch. He offers to feed you, but you say you don't feel good. He understands.

See, in his mind, if he gets to fuck you once or twice and then be hauled off to prison and never touch you again, well, that would be actual, literal torture, so much so that never fucking you at all would be more bearable. So that's why he forces himself to wait now. He feels like he can't breathe, he's so nervous, like any moment police are going to come knocking on his door. Every little sound makes him jump. He can't sleep.

But 48 hours pass and... nothing happens.

He breathes a bit easier. Finally dares to go online, which he's been avoiding, and check on your situation... Oh, wow, social media has exploded over your disappearance. But... They have no leads. Nothing. Says she basically vanished out of thin air. Situation is, quote, "looking hopeless." Huh. He did an even better job than he thought he did. There's videos from loved ones begging the captor to let the girl go, offering to give him money even. A lot of money. But, you're more valuable than any monetary measurements could ever conceive. And he's happy. It really worked out. Everything went right, and for once, he has something that really, really makes him happy.

Likewise, the 48 hours are even more torturous for you. You start out telling yourself it'll be fine. Hopeful. But that hope in your chest slowly, gradually dies out as you realize you've hit the 48-hour mark. Even for a normal missing person, you've always heard that if they don't find them within 48 hours... the chances of ever finding them goes down significantly. But, that's because they're usually dead, right? And this guy won't kill you, so, your chances are better, right...?

He comes back after that 48 hours and finally, for the first time since you woke up, crawls onto the bed, touches you, grabs your hips with his hands. Tells you that, well, they haven't found anything yet and it looks like they aren't going to, so you're officially his now, and he's no longer worried. You should accept it. It'll make things easier for both of you if you do. You'll get adjusted in no time, you'll see.

Unsurprisingly, you're a bit less compliant than you were when you had hope. You whimper and and struggle, but it's really weak. So much so it's cute. You ask who he is. No one important, he says. Just... A fan of yours. You can hear clothes shuffling. He doesn't waste time, he's already waited two whole days suffering, so he gets his dick in you pretty quickly. Manages to make you cum. It horrifies you and kinda surprises him too to be honest. You must kinda like pain, huh. Well, that works out well.

As time goes on, what hope you had left dies completely. Weeks pass. You realize they're not coming for you. In an attempt to get you to accept it, he even shows you that you've been replaced. They're rather quick to fix the absence. They have a new girl in your spot by the end of the month. He quickly realizes maybe he shouldn't have told you, from the way your face falls and you get all hysterical. Sorry. It's the way the industry is. Don't worry. She's not even half as cute as you.

He shows you the announcement when they close the investigation, too. This also earns a rather hysterical response, but he thinks it's important you see it, so you can finally come to terms with your fate, the way things were always meant to turn out. He gets a bit frustrated. Just accept it. It's not that hard. The sooner you do, the happier you'll be. It's for your own good that you accept it.

And you do. Try as you might. You begin to make conversation. He's the only source of interaction you have. You learn about him and his life. You become invested in it. You start to cum more easily. When he's sitting on the opposite side of the bed typing away, you find yourself slowly wiggling your way over and pressing yourself against the warmth, and he certainly doesn't mind. You ask him about his research just to hear a voice talk.

And sometimes you sing. It's absent minded, soft and quiet, when you have nothing else to do. He likes that a lot. You get sweeter. Nicer. Fight less. It does take a bit longer than two weeks to set in fully. But it does in the end.

He can't be with you 24/7, as much as he would like to be, so sometimes he has to tell you to just hang on a little while. Be good and sit still for just a bit. He'll be back soon. Just give him an hour. You're just really distracting and, well, his progress report is due tomorrow morning.

And you keep getting upset over the new member, bring it up a lot... It must have really bothered you, huh. Well, don't feel bad about being replaced. To him, nothing could ever replace you... you're still his favorite.

[hayscodings]

it’s full-blown depression hours any time i remember that every single aspect of penelope’s personality is informed by the trauma and abuse she endured growing up, and that there is no pre-trauma version of her that exists because her first life event— being given up for adoption— was traumatic in and of itself and then it was all downhill from there, being indoctrinated and abused by the sisters before being sold as a child bride to the blossoms who started grooming her from day one. 

the fact that she was never able to escape her abusers and had to become a caretaker to arguably the worst one (i only say arguably because we don’t know anything about rose’s husband) is just the cherry on top of the nightmare sundae like i truly cannot imagine anything more psychologically damaging. 

and of course she’s never gotten the professional help she needs, or even had anyone to help her through her pain and severe mental health issues. literally no meaningful relationships, friends or family, outside of the blossoms which has contributed significantly to her inability to grow emotionally and move past their abuse as well as develop healthier coping mechanisms and unlearn all of their toxic beliefs and behaviors.

like she’s always been in the uniquely isolating position of having no one with an outer perspective to tell her how fucked up her family/situation is and alert her to the reality that she deserves better and needs help in order to heal and create a better life for herself. the fact that she was forced to marry clifford, her equally traumatized brother who endured the same abuse and grooming that she did, and had no family of her own, robbed her of that.

there wasn’t a moment in penelope’s upbringing where she wasn’t being brainwashed, exploited, and manipulated by the adults around her, whose intentions were completely self-serving and nefarious. the only person she ever had in her corner was clifford, and he ended up betraying her by killing their son.

her entire existence has been colored by grief and suppression and helplessness and it is so insane to me how the fandom and writers are constantly glossing over this when everything she is is a direct result of these experiences? like she truly never stood a chance growing up alone and vulnerable in such an insular world (this applies to both the soqm and the blossom family) and so to expect her to function as a perfectly rational, well-adjusted adult is just so odd and unfair? 

it took her over 30 years just to realize that she needed to stop defending and trying to be accepted by the blossoms even though she was aware of their abuse by the time she was sixteen (though it could have been earlier since she said she ‘quickly realized’ that her adoption had not been altruistic). like, that’s how deep her conditioning runs. that’s what happens when you have no one helping you.

to label her as evil and reduce her to her worst moments is so dismissive of everything she has been through and the little progress she has made (which shows potential). she makes a lot of poor choices and her way of going about things is certainly often wrong, yes, but that is entirely attributable to the trauma and abuse she has suffered (and the poor coping skills/behaviors she’s developed because of it) as opposed to an indication that she’s inherently a bad person. that is just not consistent with the narrative we’ve been given.

there’s a difference between making bad choices because you don’t care about the consequences and making bad choices because they’re all you know and you don’t foresee their negative consequences/understand the effect that they will have. it’s important to remember that penelope grew up being controlled and under someone else’s thumb since she was a baby. she was never allowed to make her own choices because her entire future was mapped out for her by the blossoms. 

the college she went to? the lack of a career? the decision to get married? the person she married? the decision to have children? the place she lived? none of them were hers. no personal autonomy was ever afforded to her. you cannot expect her to make good choices when she wasn't even able to make her own choices until she was well into adulthood. and by then, any choices she made would inevitably be informed by her trauma (not to mention influenced by her abusers, since she never escaped them). 

she has never been in an environment conducive to growing and healing, and the lack of assistance and support from any friends or family has not helped. but she has shown good intentions and an ability to listen and recognize when she has gone about something in the wrong way time and time again. she is not hopeless. her scene in 5x03 set the stage for so much growth, and i really hope the writers deliver on it because there has always been a great deal of potential with her character and it would be so satisfying to see her finally be able to break the cycle and make a better life for herself.

[miseriathome]

Bruh idek. Existentialism, nostalgia, bafflement, awe, grief, envy, terror, pride???????

I went looking in some old facebook conversations for some specific information and ended up reading moooonths worth of friend chats from ~2013 and hoo boy, nostalgia is a beast. While the institution of high school is such awful bullshit and I'm firmly grounded in the conviction that I would never want to relive that, the feelings, man. Having to live all cooped up and tightly policed like that? Produces some of the rawest emotions that humans are capable of. The number of relationships I had with other people that were unfathomably deep and intimate, encompassing both all-consuming love and vitriolic hate at the same time? My god, the way I felt about one of my best friends/exes was very much "I need to know every inch of you because I love you because I hate you," and then there was just the normalcy of the fact that we were all suicidal freaks who could just talk openly about our eating disorders and self-harm and shit? The crumbling, existential terror of watching time pass and fearing the world-upheaval that is graduation? The high stakes late night mind games and voluntary week-long all-nighters that lead to some of the most hauntingly beautiful psychosis you've ever fucking experienced? I can't fucking get over the fact that I used to bake desserts on at least a weekly basis because I was watching the most important person in my life starve himself to the point where I couldn't recognize him despite seeing him every single day in-person, simply because I knew that if I made it, he would eat it. Being a teenager is so fucked up??? And there was school and class and even extracurriculars going on between all that shit? I will never again be so productive nor experience so many raw, sincere, human emotions. Standard adulthood simply does not produce the environmental conditions necessary to fracture your soul so violently and embed you so deeply into the very essence of other people. All that goddamn drama, the passion, the sincerity! Time is logarithmic and the rest of my life will never compare to the days when two weeks was six months long. I'm going fucking insane, I think the secrets of the universe are locked inside teenagers, and yet their world is so fucking tiny!!! I can't believe I survived all that and I can't believe what used to be my mundane life is so absurd and alarming and fantastic now! I think selective memory and amnesia as a response to trauma are entirely reasonable and my god, nobody should have to remember high school except to have the experience of being stretched into the wrong dimension and experiencing reality as a new, indescribable, and fundamentally ungraphable shape.

[mikasaessucasaa]

Title: Why do I love you, who doesn’t love me

Summary: Before Peter and Michelle, there was Peter and Gwen, and Michelle had never been jealous of anyone the way she was jealous of Peter.

OR

Michelle and Peter find comfort in each other after the death of the woman they loved

A/N: Title from I Can’t Make You Love Me by KINDA BLUE & Hwa Sa

PART 1

Gwen is the most amazing person that Michelle has ever met and will ever meet. She exudes all that is good in the world. Michelle will never have that kind of goodness in her, will never be as bright and smart, will never be petite and blonde and unawkwardly beautiful. She hates her. She wants to be her. She loves her.

In short, Michelle thought the sun came out of Gwen’s ass.

But there were two problems with Michelle loving Gwen.

The first is that Gwen only thought of her as a friend.

This was made most obvious when Gwen accidentally walked in on Felicia fucking her within an inch of her life with her fingers in a bathroom at a random house party.

It was the first party of their senior year of college, and she had just met Felicia, who was cooler and older and crashing the party to see some friends.

Felicia and Michelle were both more than a little drunk, but Felicia made her feel wanted, feel worthy, with the way that she swallowed in her face and body with her eyes, the way that she kissed like she was drowning and Michelle was air. And when she saw the danger in Felicia’s eyes, it was thrilling.

“MJ!” Gwen had screamed when she opened the door looking for her. She slammed her eyes shut and turned abruptly into Peter’s chest who was too slow (and maybe too dumb) to think of anything but keep staring, his face turning an ugly shade of purple.

And Michelle never came so hard.

When she came to, Felicia was tidying Michelle up, and kissing her goodbye. “See you later, kitty.”

“What the hell Jones, we’ve been looking for you for the last thirty minutes.” Peter hissed, unable to meet her eyes, but she knew he looked, saw as she came, by the red on his face that wouldn’t fade. “Gwen’s been worried sick.”

Her eyes snap to Gwen who looked a little ill, probably from too much alcohol, but maybe because she saw too much of Michelle.

“It’s okay, MJ. I was just worried. Felicia has some nasty rumors around her.” Michelle did too, and she never did anything to deserve them. She started to feel nauseous too. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“I’m fine. Felicia’s like really cool. No need to be such a clam jammer,” she said, but she can’t look them in the eyes. The experience is mortifying and all sorts of heartbreaking.

Later, Felicia would tell her that she had some real issues that she should get fixed.

“You’re fucked up Jones,” Felicia said between drags of her blunt before she passed it onto Michelle.

Michelle took too big of a drag in an effort to move on from this conversation, hoping to get too high to think about this, and started coughing. Felicia looked at her like she knew what she was doing, and she probably did, but she leaned forward from her side of the couch and started making out with Michelle anyways.

Felicia basically taught Michelle about her sexuality. She helped her grow out of her unrelenting awkwardness that she had through her childhood and puberty.

Even though they both had deadbeat dads Felicia somehow made it out of life on top. So Michelle did her best to mimic her, her confidence and bravado, the way she carried herself into a room and the way that everyone stared. It didn’t feel quite right in her skin, but it was better than the worthless, unlovable person she was in high school.

But Felicia was one to talk. So what if she’s in love with her best friend who was straight as an arrow? Michelle knew for a fact that Felicia was a kleptomaniac. And despite her airs, Michelle knew the real Felicia was just as broken as she was. It’s why they’ve stayed with each other so long even though they didn’t love each other. It was better to pretend than to be alone, and she was happy not to be alone with someone as awesome as Felicia.

The second problem was Peter.

From her perspective, Gwen would always be too good for anyone, but especially so with Peter. Peter was lame, rude, and unfortunately reminded her of all the things she hated about herself.

Every negative thing she thought about herself, he emanated with confidence.

She had major trust issues because of her deadbeat dad (he doesn’t know this about her, why would he?). He had major trust issues because everyone around him seemed to die, his parents, his uncle, it was a lot (Peter doesn’t need to tell her because everyone at Midtown knew). She was raised by her aunt. He was raised by his aunt. She was always out late, partying with Felicia. He was always out late doing god knows what.

He was awkward and gangly, and so was she. She thanks whatever higher power there is that she outgrew that, but Peter stayed awkward and gangly even as he filled out in adulthood.

But no matter how flaky and shady Peter was, he was undeniably good. The same kind of good Gwen was. The same kind of good Michelle would never be. You could see it in the way that he smiled, the way that he was selfless to people even if it was unearned, except to her. She could never do that with her natural inclination to distrust, without her feeling fake, without her feeling like someone would take advantage of it, of her.

And thus, Michelle never stood a chance, even if Gwen liked girls like her.

But she’s an idiot.

So when their senior comes and passes by, and all three of them are somehow struggling to find an apartment they can afford with their meager entry level jobs (Michelle doesn't even have that), and they drunkenly come up with the idea that they should all live together, she agrees.

Felicia dips somewhere in the middle of it. They were each other’s favorite hookups when Michelle was in college, but two fucked up people does not make a whole normal person. Besides, Felicia was always too big for the city.

And she loves Gwen, she really does. But she can’t stand Peter. Can’t stand that she might look at him and he might reflect her and be better.

Or maybe it’s the fact that they’re both disgusting as hell when Gwen has to go to London for business trips.

Michelle’s happy that Gwen has a decent, stable job, unlike her and Peter, but she resents her for making them fend for themselves. She’s only gone for a week, and the apartment is a disaster.

There are random articles of clothing everywhere, and she and Peter awkwardly wear the same size and on multiple occasions have accidentally worn each other’s clothes. Between the two of them, they can’t afford much except for the same white t-shirts and hoodies, and his occasional nerdy t-shirts. Gwen deserves better than Peter’s broke ass, but Michelle can’t say she’s any better, and Michelle hates that she even dresses like him.

She comes home and immediately smells something offensive in their mess of an apartment. Dear god, she hopes a rat didn’t freaking die underneath the pile of clothes that for some reason litter the living room. This would never happen if Gwen was home. All she had to do was smile prettily at the both of them, and softly shame them for their bad habits, and they would pick up their messes right away. Gwen has them perfectly wrapped around her cute little fingers.

“Peter!” Michelle yells. It’s four in the afternoon, and she just finished a lunch shift at the diner down the street. She’s exhausted, and she needs to nap in order to get ready for her bottle girl gig at a club in Meatpacking (it’s incredibly demeaning, misogynistic work but it pays significantly more than any other job she wants to get, and she’s got rent to pay).

Peter walks out of the room he shares with Gwen in only his boxers, his rat’s nest of hair sticking up everywhere. It’s unnerving how comfortable he feels in their shared apartment. It’s one thing to feel comfortable with your long-term girlfriend, but did he need to be so comfortable with his sworn nemesis? And he’s never said as much, but she can tell by the way he glared at her all of the time, like now.

She knows for a fact that he tries extra hard to look decent for Gwen. Everything he does is decent for Gwen, and never for Michelle. It doesn’t really bother her because she’s the same. She could care less about anyone else except for Gwen.

“What?” he grumbles as he’s rubbing his stomach, and she can’t help but notice his insanely defined abs — seriously when does he even go to work out? — or the happy trail that leads down, down.

Ugh Michelle, get a grip. It’s definitely been too long since she’s gotten laid if she’s thinking about Peter of all people. And besides, no one should be able to think about sex when it smells this bad in their apartment.

“What is that smell?” she hisses.

He takes a big sniff, and flinches back, only now realizing what she was talking about. The panicked look on his face indicates that he also has no idea.

So she sets down her bag and forgets about her damn nap and helps Peter find the offending smell. They make it to their tiny kitchen, and god it smells so horrible, she might pass out. Something definitely died, and if it’s a rat, then for once maybe she’ll be thankful that Peter’s around.

They find a plastic bag on the counter next to the fridge, and Michelle glares at Peter to open it.

“Why me?” he gripes.

“That is definitely not my grocery bag.”

“It’s not mine either.”

“Then it must be Gwen’s, and as Gwen’s boyfriend then you should definitely deal with it for her.” And she loves Gwen, she would do anything for Gwen. But Gwen’s not even around, and Michelle does not get any relationship benefits to justify dealing with this shit.

Peter tentatively walks to the counter, and Michelle steps back, unable to flee due to her curiosity despite every nerve in her telling her to run. What the hell could cause that smell?

He opens the bag, and Michelle nearly retches on their kitchen floor.

What the fuck.

“Oh gross!” Peter cries out, pinching his nose with one hand, and holding the plastic bag away from him with the other. “Gwen must have forgotten to put away the fish she bought before she left. It’s fucking rotten.”

She gags. This is why she’s vegetarian. “God, don’t tell me that. Throw that shit away! Oh god, the trash shoot is not far enough.” They were right next to it. “Find a dumpster and set it on fire or something nearby!”

Peter’s absolutely disgusted with his task, but he listens like the good boyfriend he is, gets quickly dressed, and throws the bag away.

When he comes back, Michelle has finished bleaching the countertops and spraying the apartment with Febreze. She would have had Peter do it, but she couldn’t stand the lingering smell a second longer.

She plopped down on the couch and covered her face with her hands. The apartment smells like rotten fish, bleach, and Febreze, and it’s absolutely nauseating.

“Want to get pizza?” Peter asks, plopping down next to her.

Without lifting her hands from her face, she asks, “How can you even think of eating right now? It still smells so gross.”

Peter shrugs, “Not here obviously, but isn’t your next shift starting soon?”

Peter may absolutely hate her, but he’s never made a comment about her night-time gig, even when Gwen made concerned statements that were more condescending than helpful. He can even be kind to his nemesis.

She's hungry, and she does have to head down to the club to help set up soon. So she gets dressed in a fitted black dress. It’s cheap, short, and shows all too much skin, but it gets the job done, literally. She puts on a faux-leather jacket, but she knows she still looks like a hooker. But Peter doesn’t even once look at her the way that other people look at her, and it’s nice that he can pretend she doesn’t stand out when they go to the 99 cent pizza place next to their apartment.

She hates him.

[we-are-inevitable]

modern art // javid (ch. 1)

A/N: hi !! so some of you may remember an old songfic i did in march of last year, titled ‘modern art’ after the song “IDK You Yet” by Alexander 23. well, i’ve always thought that that one shot would work great as a stand alone fic, and here we are! i have ch. 1 edited and SO MUCH of it as changed- like, for example, the fic is a chapter fic now !! regardless, i hope you guys like this !!

WARNINGS: depression, anxiety, self-deprecation, past addiction, mentions of addiction, just general Bad Times- pls be mindful when reading !! it’s just very Not Happy rn ADDITIONAL INFO: all characters are in their mid-twenties in the fic. oh also this is probably important but it’s a soulmate au !!

Read On AO3!

tag list: @bound-for-santa-fe @wannabecowboypunk @shippingcannons @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @smallsies @deliciouspeachpirate @newsies-is-my-erster 

Jack doesn't know what’s going on with himself, but he knows that he could really use his soulmate right about now.

They’ve communicated before. Never verbally, and never enough to reveal who they were. Perhaps they are both just... dealing with some unspoken fears, dealing with the worry of rejection sitting heavy in their chests. Perhaps they both like this mystery- the uncertainty that came with the notes scrawled across their bodies in a handwriting that isn’t their own.

Or perhaps they just aren’t ready to take the plunge. To grow up and face the harsh fact that, as soon as they meet, wherever and whenever that may be, a new chapter of their life will unfold. Consume them. Change anything and everything they’ve ever known or held dear.

They had been braver when they were children, that much was true. Jack remembers staying up late often, writing notes on his skin and watching in awe as the replies appeared. He remembers the giddy rush of trying to quickly wash off the ink on his wrist when they ran out of space to talk, and, oh, how they talked. There were school days when Jack would go to class exhausted, feeling like he’d been walking through quicksand for miles on end, but all of it had been worth it. The exhaustion he felt had been worth being able to talk to them until two, three, four in the morning. Sometimes he regretted it, of course, but only because it was harder for him to focus in class. Never because he was upset at them.

He could never be upset with them.

Even now, Jack remembers a lot about his soulmate. They liked music. They knew how to play the piano. They were into a few video games, even some that Jack had never played, and said that they always tried carrying a book with them wherever they went. Jack remembers that, as a younger kid, they liked Harry Potter and Percy Jackson, but also liked analyzing Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe and a bunch of other fancy authors that Jack had never even heard of. They were intimidatingly smart, and sometimes, would carefully correct Jack’s grammar whenever he misspelled a word or something- but they were never mean about it, they were just… there. A steady presence that he could count on.

Fifteen year old Jack dreamed of finding them one day. But now, twenty-five year old Jack is losing hope.

He can’t exactly help it. For starters, he and his soulmate haven’t communicated in… well, shit, it had to be nearly a year. Maybe nine months or so, but there’s no way to tell for sure, and even then, their conversations since reaching adulthood have been dull, for lack of a better word. A few positive comments here, a ‘have a good day’ there- it’s all so mundane, and neither of them can be blamed for it. They both have busy lives- or, well, Jack does, at least. His job as a graphic designer is hard enough on its own, but the added pressure of doing freelance work and commissions on the side has been eating away at him for weeks, coupled with debilitating self-doubt and lack of motivation for… anything.

Saying that he’s overwhelmed is the understatement of the century.

There is always another design, another client, another meeting, another deadline, another sleepless night as he stares at a blank canvas and prays for a spark of inspiration from whatever God is listening. Usually his inspiration comes from the world around him- his friends, city life, even the quiet confines of his apartment, but right now... Jack is stuck. He had holed himself up in his room days ago, trying and failing to get out of bed every morning when the time came to work- and thank God that the majority of his work could be done from home. His boss was understanding, too, to an extent.

Still, though, there’s a constant heavy weight on his chest that prevents him from moving most days, and he’s lucky if he even gets up long enough to shower or eat or do literally anything aside from lie in silence and count the cracks in his ceiling.

Nothing had happened to him recently to bring this on, from what he can tell. Jack has always been the happy-go-lucky leader, the man with a plan, the guy who always knew just what to say to motivate others into doing the best thing for themselves, but when that responsibility is reflected back onto himself, Jack feels helpless. There are words waiting to be said, sketches waiting to be drawn, designs waiting to be sent to clients… yet Jack lies there, motionless in his room for three days before he even has the energy, the willpower, to pull back his curtains and allow the sunlight to shine through. There is so much he wants to do, so much he needs to do, but he can't bring himself to do any of it.

In all twenty-five years of his life, through all of the things he’s been through, the ups and downs and foster homes and graduations and birthdays and funerals and therapists and rehab facilities and whatever the fuck else life decided to throw at him, Jack has never felt so worthless, so… lonely. His closest friends are all moving on with their lives. Many have already found their soulmate, have settled down and hidden their rowdy, rambunctious pasts behind skeletons in a closet. They’d all gotten their adventures done and over with in high school and college, and most are moving onto bigger and better things in life. They have careers. Families. Some have children, others have pets, a few have an insane amount of plants to care for.

All have seemingly left Jack behind in the dust.

No one told him when to flip the switch.

No one told him when he had aged out of adventure.

Now, they would never say it, but Jack knows. He knows. Saturday hangouts and trips to the bar had been replaced by Sunday church services and playdates for the kids. Rather than hearing yelling from his living room after his friends had all been teetering just on the edge between tipsy and fucked up, Jack hears the news, and documentaries, and podcasts, and the ghosts of a past life that he still seemed to be desperately clinging on to.

Katherine had been the one to tell him that he needed to grow up, though she didn’t put it in such a blunt manner. No, she’s just.... gently urging him to find a bigger apartment, or buy matching furniture from a place that is not a thrift store, or purchase dishes that weren’t of the plastic Walmart brand. She says it was because she wants to see him in a more professional, "adulty" lifestyle, but he knows it’s really because she can see that he’s a mess.

Deep down, Jack knows she’s right. She’s always right.

He just can’t help but feel cemented in place, dreaming of the past while dreading the new future ahead of him.

Jack never asked to feel so broken for no reason. All of the hope and optimism he had felt as a teenager was gone, lost in a sea of uncertain plans and shitty jobs and bill extensions and canvases dropped onto the floor with no rhyme or reason. And, yes, maybe Jack would look dramatic to someone who didn’t know his situation, but Jack knows what dramatic feels like. Dramatic feels like watching his best friend, Charlie, belt onstage in front of a backdrop that he helped create for the school play. Dramatic feels like laughing at the top of his lungs while walking through a random gas station at two in the morning, joined by Race and Al, all while higher than a kite. Dramatic feels like driving to the outskirts of the city with Katherine, climbing onto the roof of an old building and screaming about all of their stress, their anxiety, their insecurities, just to have some form of emotional release.

Dramatic doesn’t feel like sadness. It’s not supposed to.

Not for Jack.

He had been so… so happy, as a teenager. Proud and defiant and carefree. He was the kind of guy to skate and smoke weed in Central Park until midnight and take a math test at eight in the morning the next day. He was the kid who stood on a table in the cafeteria and came out as bisexual to everyone around him, just because of a dumbass bet that he didn’t even get paid for. He was the boy who wasn’t at all good in an academic sense, but who always knew how to talk himself out of trouble, who always came up with the most ridiculous- or most believable- lies to cover his ass when he needed it, who was always the class favorite, the teacher’s pet without meaning to be.

Jack had felt on top of the world back then, but now he’s struggling to even get off of the ground. The longer time goes on, the more lost Jack feels inside his own life. He feels like something was missing, something big. Something bigger than himself.

When his mother was alive, which now felt like lifetimes ago, she would often echo this old wives’ tale about how it’s best to find your soulmate while you’re younger, just to save them- and yourself- the pain of being alone for a long time. Jack had always kind of believed her; logically, he knew it was true, but he had always told himself that it wouldn’t happen to him. That he would be fine alone, though it wouldn’t be ideal, and that he would have plenty of time for soulmates after he got out and made a name for himself.

He’s starting to think, though, that maybe she was right. Maybe Jack had waited too long to make a move, to make contact again, because now, he just feels nauseous even thinking about it.

Don’t get him wrong, he knows the negative effects of self deprecation and not taking his own mental health seriously, he’s been to rehab before, blah, blah, blah, but, fuck, how could he put his soulmate through something like this? This fucked up state of mind he has now. Jack can’t even imagine talking to Katherine about this, and Katherine had been his best friend for over a decade. He can’t just meet his soulmate now- it’s been too long, he’s too messed up, they won’t like him, they’ll hate him for not trying hard enough, and Jack will just end up alone again, wasting away in his bedroom because no one fucking cares. No one cares. He has nobody.

That’s not true. He has Medda, his mom, his savior, his impulse control, but the thought of telling her that everything is acting up again makes him want to scream. He has Tony, but Tony has Al, and Tony and Al have a kid- a sweet little five year old girl who calls Jack ‘Uncle Jackie’ and takes no shit from anyone. He has Katherine, but Katherine has her soulmate- this dude named Darcy, who Jack doesn’t have much of an opinion on because they just met, like, a month ago, and Jack hasn’t exactly been emotionally ready for a hangout session between the three of them. He also has Charlie, and Charlie has certainly seen him in worse times- like when Jack was kind of hooked on pills for the entirety their freshman year of college- but Charlie has grad school to worry about and Charlie would hate him if he bothered him with this.

Still, there are other people who would listen, probably. He could easily talk to Elmer, or Romeo, or Specs, or Jojo or Finch or Sean or a fucking therapist but that’s just it, isn’t it? If he talks, he burdens, and Jack Francisco Kelly would rather run himself into the ground than be a burden anyone.

So, he makes a vow.

He makes eye contact with his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’s gripping onto the sink, holding on for dear life, as he stares into his own sunken eyes. He takes in his appearance. Damp, messy hair, falling down to cover his forehead. Pale skin, which isn’t normal at all. Dark circles have taken their place around his eyes, and his smile- one of his favorite things about himself- is… nonexistent.

Distantly, Jack registers himself dumping a full bottle of ibuprofen into the sink. And then, he does the same thing with the bottle of melatonin from his medicine cabinet. The valium follows. He lets the water run for a long time. It's not that he doesn't trust himself- he'd done so, so good in rehab, and he doesn't even feel urges that often anymore- but it's better safe than sorry, especially since he's like... this.

This is not the Jack Kelly he’s used to anymore. This is not the Jack Kelly he wants to be.

But this Jack Kelly is the one who vows not to reach out. The one who vows to only answer when his soulmate is ready, and maybe not even then.

He doesn’t have to wait long, though.

Not when a heart appears on the back of his hand the next morning.

It’s there when Jack wakes up, and, honestly, it almost brings Jack to tears- but not necessarily for happy reasons. Sure, Jack wants to be happy. Who wouldn’t be happy after seeing something like this? A lopsided heart drawn in red ink, right on the back of his left hand- it was the definition of a symbol, of a romantic gesture, and Jack wants so badly to write back, to strike up conversation, to draw a goddamn heart, but… he can’t.

He can’t, and that’s horrible of him, and he knows it.

Right now, though… Jack can’t even work up the courage, the energy, to call his mom.

His soulmate, whoever they are, is going to have to wait.

[thebeltanequeen]

The (Blurred? Nonexistent? Inconsequential?) Line Between Canon and Fanon: An Impromtu Essay by Me

I’m currently have an existential crisis. An absolute, balls to the walls, pull my hair out, stare at the walls wondering what the meaning of existence is, kind of existential crisis. Why, you may ask? Because the older I have gotten, the more Fanfiction I have read. That’s normal. Millions of other people read fanfic like me. Well, in the past few years, I have also realized that the more fanfiction I have read, the less shits I give about the actual canon of the media I love. I care less and less about what “actually” happened, and delve into fanon instead. It’s as if the two have SWITCHED ROLES in my brain. The canon is the lie, and the fanon is the truth. This used to not be the case though, so how did we get here? And why… why is this realization sending me into an absolute spiral of insanity? Why do I feel like I have been sucker punched in the jaw? Let me explain.

I’ve been reading and dabbling in writing my own fanfiction for over twelve years. It used to be an escape, a way to further delve into my latest obsessions and become consumed by them. I have this annoying habit of also picking ships that do NOT become endgame, so I’ve always sought out fanfiction as a balm for my shipper’s soul as well. I still read fanfiction as if my life depends on it… but now it’s at the expense of reading new books. Watching new media. When I do eventually dip my toes into a new fandom, I either reject it quickly or become consumed again and make a grab for fanfiction… but in the past few years, something in not only me, but in fandoms in general has shifted.

The difference between me now, and me back then is this… I used to uphold the canon as sacred. Untouchable. Set in stone. The only credible source for the media I consume. All of the fanfiction I read was just beautiful window dressing. A lovely past time to further increase my dopamine intake.

This is no longer the case.

Now, when I read and write fanfiction, it’s as if it is an act of protest. I am actively seeking to reform the narrative. It’s to “take back” the story, the characters, EVERYTHING, for myself. To make it anew. To make it perfect. I’m not alone either. I see you. I see all of you. Now more than ever, I see more and more of us doing this exact same thing.

THIS is why I am having an existential crisis. I have just realized that I will no longer be content with the canon. Ever. Even the canon of my favorite media. It’s not enough. It’s no longer enough. It won’t ever be enough again. Why? Because there will always be places where the canon is falliable. The authors of the canon, are falliable. As an author myself, this is at once an alarming yet powerful realization.

I went to college for creative writing. At the beginning of my academic career, I thought of fanfiction as a beautiful fairytale world. It was glorious, but it was other. Separate. Not as credible as canon. Had I read fanfiction better than the media it was based on before I entered college? Absolutely, but in my head it still didn’t matter because the canon was the word. The canon was the law. As a writer, I held the power of the author (and by extension the power of myself) as sacred. By the end of college, that began to change.

The more I was taught about writing, the more I came to realize that sometimes, authors are just straight up WRONG. Sometimes, there’s soooooo much potential… AND THEY JUST FUCK IT UP!!!!!!! The bones are incredible, but the canon is weak, the logic is lacking, the story makes no sense, the characters don’t reach their full potential and you know what? I’m tired. I’m tired of it. This is why fanon is canon’s salvation. Fanon makes canon look pathetic. But… if I accept the fanon as the reality, and make the canon the lie, does that still make it fanon? No. I don’t think it does. I think fanon has become something other. Something greater.

I have become disillusion by “published” or “credible” books. 95% of the novels I actually buy at the store today are garbage. Trash. Half written nonsense that only serves the purpose of paying people. I’m TIRED OF IT. I’ve become disillusioned by the “power” of the author. I have become disillusioned by canon. FUCK canon, quite frankly. Rip it apart. Dissect it. Take out it’s beating heart and transplant it into a new body. Give it the soul that the narrative was begging for. REVIVE IT. LET YOUR OWN IMAGINATION MAKE IT ANEW. Characters mean too much to people. Fiction means too much to people. Stories mean too much to people for anything less. Only then will you or I be satisfied.

Now, even an impromptu, unedited, gibberish essay is not complete without examples. I’ll start with one that you probably thought of while reading this. Game of Thrones. I think that two years ago, the ending of the most influential show of the entire decade, is where my subconscious began to shift in this direction. Now, I doubt my opionions about GoT are the same as yours, but you know what? It DOESN’T MATTER because FANON CAN FIX THE CANON. The stories that meant so much to millions can be fixed by accepting the fact that THE CANON ISN’T THE LAW! IT FUCKED UP!!!! CANON DOESN’T DESERVE TO SPEAK ANYMORE!!!! TAKE BACK THE STORY AND TRANSFORM IT INTO A VERSION TRULY WORTHY OF THE GLORIOUS BONES IT HAS!!!!!

We also can’t ignore the role that monetization plays in the media we consume. Why leave our fiction in the hands of just the big names? Why let money dictate what is real and not real? WHY SETTLE FOR MEDIOCRE STORYTELLING JUST BECAUSE IT WAS SOLD TO YOU AND THEREFORE IT’S “LEGIT CANON”??? FANFICTION IS FREE, AND THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PIECES OF WRITING I’VE EVER READ WERE WRITTEN BY FANFIC AUTHORS WHO DID IT FOR THE STORY. WHO DID IT FOR THE ART. WHO ACTUALLY DID IT JUSTICE. FUCK THE CONCEPT OF FANON AND CANON. THE STORY WE WANT IS ALL THAT MATTERS. GET MONEY OUT OF HERE.

Ahem. To avoid going on even more of a tangent, I’ll move on and give the example that triggered my existential crisis in the first place. Sailor Moon. To give some background, Sailor Moon is it for me. I have grown up with it. I’ve watched it my entire life. As a child, I ran around with my toy moon rod and desperately wanted to be Usagi. Ironically, I grew up to be quite a bit like her (but with Rei’s temper admittedly). It is my comfort show, my happiness. It makes me laugh, it makes me cry. I never tire of it. It makes my heart swell. I have never, nor will I ever, love any piece of media the way I love Sailor Moon. Flash forward to today, I watched Sailor Moon Eternal, the two new movie adaptations of the Dream arc in the manga (stick with me non-manga and anime lovers). I liked the films, but I was left with a deep, disatisfied yearning. I want back the feeling of complete bliss I experienced while watching the 90’s anime as a child. The problem with this? I’ll never get it back. I’ve just realized this. I’ll NEVER get it back. Why? Because it’s no longer the perfect version of Sailor Moon that it was to my young eyes. Crystal, while good, is also not the perfected version I seek in my adulthood, and Eternal has not scratched my insatiable itch. I am heartbroken because I’ve realized that Sailor Moon in its perfect form doesn’t exist anymore. If I held any canon sacred, it was this. But the story is flawed. The manga is flawed. The anime is flawed. It’s not infallible, as much as it truly, deeply hurts me to admit to the world and to myself. The only perfect version of Sailor Moon is the one in my heart. It’s the one I choose to piece together for myself with the building blocks that others who came before me have handed over.

Another, more recent example of falliable canon is The Grisha Verse. More specifically, the Shadow and Bone trilogy. I was brought in to the fandom by Ben Barnes’ depthless eyes and magnificent scruff. And you know what? I liked the story, but I stayed for Ben Barnes. I liked the Darkling so much that I bought the entire grisha verse books. It was a premature decision. I’ve only made it halfway through Storm and Seige, and you know what? I’m tired of the canon already. It’s not that great. The bones are there, but it could be SO. MUCH. MORE. I haven’t read the crow books yet, and by all accounts Leigh Bardugo has improved tremendously as a writer. Which incidentally proves my point. Authors are falliable. Ergo, the canon is falliable. I can’t help but think while I read these books, “Damn. I could write this better.” and you know what? I’ve read fanfics that HAVE written it better.

Am I saying this to trash Bardugo? Or even GRRM? (Yes I admit to trashing D&D but that’s beside the point ahem…). NO. I am NOT trashing the writers. I’M A WRITER. I GET IT. YOUR STORY IS YOUR BABY. I G E T I T . But I’ve realized, and what I think future authors will also have to realize, is that fiction doesn’t belong to anyone. As soon as it’s out the door, the fiction no longer belongs to the author. It belongs to us. The people. That’s what is beautiful about fanfiction. It’s not here for the money. It’s not here for the clout. It’s here for the fiction itself. Plain and simple. It belongs to no one and everyone.

In the past, I would have fought this. I would have wanted my work’s canon to be law. To be the word, the truth, the way etc. Now? I can’t be a hypocrite. I can’t be selfish. It isn’t about the author. It’s about the vision. It’s about the story, the narrative, the characters. It’s about art. And sometimes, the authors give birth to the idea (and they deserve credit for that without a doubt), but it’s also true that sometimes, someone else just writes it better. Someone else quite simply saw the vision, the story, the characters, more clearly than the author did. I make this vow now, as an author, to strive for the vision. If someone takes my vision and does it better than me, that only improves my perspective of my own story. It improves the world of fiction as a whole. It makes me better.

So, canon? Fuck the canon. Take back the story. Take back the characters. Take back the art. Fiction is ours. It belongs to us, and we can do with it what we please. Let’s strive for OUR OWN perfected version of the media we love. Canon doesn’t truly exist. The concept of Fanon doesn’t even exist anymore in the way we used to think of it. The author’s version of events is their own Fanon of the story. Canon is meaningless now. There is only the story that you accept in your own mind. There is only the story that I accept in my own mind, no matter how different it is from yours. There is only the art. There is only the limitless potential of countless people’s imaginations. Let’s continue to collaborate and celebrate beautiful stories together, in any conceivable way, over and over and over again, until the end of time.

Fin

[nicollekidman]

any miss americana hot takes to give

i don’t know if any of this will be #hottakes but some impressions 

- this was much more genuine and transparent than i cynically expected. i thought she would be well within her rights to keep it to press release adjacent talking points like what we got with pre-lover interviews but... she was really articulate but also disarmingly invested and authentic. we know that taylor has insane issues with control and a huge fear of being misinterpreted or misquoted, and i think the documentary struck a great balance between showing her genuine grief and anger over the current political situation and trial, while still maintaining a level of distance that she needs, as Taylor Swift the brand(tm)

- as many others have said... this was clearly not meant to be a Grand Sweeping Revolutionary bombshell of a political documentary. to me the point was that taylor had felt silenced, by herself, her team, the media, and her own insecurities and immaturity, and this doc is a snapshot of a woman recognizing (some of) the consequences of her particular bubble of fame, and finally realizing that she needs to begin a journey into adulthood, including venturing out of the silence and safety of her Image. saying things like “i feel like i’m one of those people stuck at the age where i got famous” and “my entire moral code up to that point was being seen as Good/being liked”.... these are the pivotal moments. it’s taylor swift the woman recognizing that she deserves personhood outside of what fame has made for her, while also reckoning with the fact that it was beyond time for her to use her platform to make some noise and stand with/for those who need the power of her position and voice. she’s not at the end of the journey, she doesn’t have a fully articulated #praxis, and she’s still learning how to be herself, i think. but the documentary tracks a wonderful moment of time where she finds the strength to turn some of the hardest parts of her life into experiences she grows from, and that was beautiful and deserves respect. she shared much more than i thought she would. 

- as for...... the structure or narrative of the (relatively small) political aspect... it absolutely stands the fuck out for me that she includes “gay pride” in her list of “what makes me me” before any of the political conversations comes in, and that it’s dropped there with very little fanfare or connection to anything else. in fact the entire yntcd section felt incredibly out of place and tacked on at the end. the sexual assault trial dovetails nicely with the extremely personal narrative of why taylor came to the decision to advocate against marsha blackburn. the sexism angle is consistent throughout, but the mention of lgbt rights sticks out because that thread never goes anywhere beyond the one scene with yntcd at the end, wherein she doesn’t even really have any explanation..... y’all know i have talked a LOT about how i think there was a massive pivot in between press for lover pre-release, me! and the rest of the album. i think there were a lot of spaces where the editing of the documentary felt choppy or where there were threads of conversations that felt unfinished. it really left me with the distinct impression that there could have been another whole half hour with lover more at the center of the movie instead of as a rather rushed conclusion that included..... y’know

- also: fuck EVERYONE reputation is THAT ALBUM........ miss taylor swift if you’re reading this i would die for your sixth studio album and i’m not joking.................................................. 

- katie and i have said this a million times both on here and to eachother but honest to god every single song she’s ever written sounds heart stoppingly gorgeous when played acoustically. 

- i hope she finds some peace soon and continues to grow into herself and her voice. the more she speaks out the bigger the impact she will continue to have. and i really hope she loses some of her fear of being put out to pasture, and takes some of the pressure off herself to be a totally different person for each album cycle out of fear. ts8 joni mitchell album we’re manifesting 

- everyone who has the gall to be derisive about her eating disorder can rot in hell 

[a-woman-apart]

Separating the Boys from the Men

Yes, that title is click bait, and if you keep reading, you’ve been warned. I’ve got a lot to get off my chest, and it’s going to involve defending masculinity, femininity, and our right to BEHAVE LIKE CHILDREN FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES because in many ways, we already do. 

Let’s get straight to the point. As Millennials, regardless of our age, financial status, or level of “success” (air quotes 100% intentional) we have been accused of being lazy, entitled, and way too enthusiastic about avocado toast. At the same time, we have been described as having enough power to decimate the napkin industry, the diamond industry, and the concept of traditional marriage. We have been accused of a collective “Peter Pan” syndrome, because we “refuse” to cut off papa’s apron strings and get off the proverbial mama’s teats. 

Wonderful to know. 

Let’s unpack the “lazy” bit. Supposedly, this is tied to the fact that we have access to higher education, we [often, not always] have parents who financially support or house us well into adulthood. 

So now, my question is, Gen X (the entitled ones, ironically) and Salty Boomers, YOU DIDN’T? 

What do you call that “inheritance” you received? What do you call that education your parents paid for that was less than 1/3 what we have to pay? For Boomers, how do you explain the lavish weddings, cheap [and apparently nuke proof] home appliances, and “nights out on the town” that you were able to afford by working at whatever passed for a McDonald’s back in the day? Working on a farm, at a grocery store, or in retail used to ACTUALLY provide a livable wage; for us, those are a “side hustle” and we still have to get a “big boy job” that usually requires an education that can put us over $100,000 in debt by age 30. 

Hate to say it, but if you hadn’t made most of your income “during the War” or in  the absolute economic boom that followed it, you wouldn’t survive 24 hours in our shoes before having an emotional collapse.  

Despite the disastrous living conditions of the U.S. in the 21st Century, not much has changed in how men define their level of “manliness.” 

Financial gains (stocks, bonds, portfolio, bank account) 

Bro “gains” (a.k.a. “gym gains”, how “Gaston” they are, including whether they want to go for the Adonis, Apollo, or Brawny boi look, or just how far they can throw something or how “boyish” they look if strength isn’t an option and they suffer from femme-levels of body dysmorphia) 

Body count (since we’re in a time of peace and not literally war, this is LITERALLY a modern term describing how many people you’ve slept with, and I have never heard an adult man, regardless of sexual orientation, who isn’t a little concerned about putting those notches in the bed post, and if not that, VERY concerned about his bedroom performance: it’s quality vs. quantity) 

Kill death Ratio (I know this is a video game term now, but did you know that before video games, men in England used to regularly get on horseback, get a bunch of hounds together, and chase down tiny foxes and rabbits? FOR FUN?!?!? Did you know, that before modern sports ((including Esports)), men used to just fight to the death, regularly, even if an official war wasn’t going on? It was known as “dueling”, and in less socially developed societies, men still behave like this. So the next time you complain about “male rage” and how heartless it is to make live chickens fight, note that even though we’ve quelled male anger and hostility on some level, you will NEVER be able to take away man’s urge to destroy. Boys and men will always like knocking things over, building things from the rubble, and ruling shit. It’s what they do-- and we women can and do, too, but we have a LOT more risk-aversion and self-preservation, which is a blessing and a curse for our species-- but we just need to make sure humanity as a whole stays...chill)

So what, say ye, has changed about how WOMEN define themselves now vs. in the past. I would say that very little has changed, but the level of internalized misogyny, insecurity, and good-old fashioned denial has SKYROCKETED. 

Let’s look at some terms of how the majority of women value themselves. 

Financial Security (few women will admit to “wanting to be rich”, because that sounds kind of “Trump”, but plenty will talk about having minimum income requirements for their partner(s), wanting to retire at a young age so they can “travel the world”, wanting to eliminate their debts, etc. It’s different language but essentially it translates to: I want to work so hard or marry into so much wealth that I never want to worry about money after age 35. #Hustle) 

Looks (it doesn’t matter if you want a Kardashian butt, you’re in the body positivity movement, or you just want to “dress like a bawse” women are just as obsessed with clothes, image, and body weight/shape/size as they ever were, it is just that now that we’ve “slain the patriarchy” we have more fashion options than ever before, because “boy clothes” are just as “in” as femme ones)

Ability to attract a partner (some women, like me, “chase”, but thanks to biology, most women, regardless of sexual orientation, seem to enjoy being pursued more than being Artemis-style hunters. This is evidenced by the fact that when the feminist owner of Bumble changed the rules of the dating website to where women had to start conversations with men rather than vice versa ((a move that had ostensibly zero effect on lesbian matching)) 72% of women that she later surveyed stated that they liked it better when men were approaching them rather than the other way around. I am sure Bumble’s female CEO was shook ((as was I)), especially because she made the change to empower women, and apparently 72% of women didn’t want the power because it meant they now had the power to face rejection, and it made them uncomfortable. Big yikes. So much for #EndPatriarchy and #ChivalryisDead ?)

Playing house (this is probably going to get me some unfollows, but I’ll take my chances. Women, regardless of sexual orientation, often seem to be REALLY into having babies or just “playing house.” There’s also men like this, too, “Family men” as they’re aptly called, men in love with fatherhood ((or just being called “daddy”, and that will never not be weird)). So many women who never want to pop out a baby describe being taken by an OVERWHELMING urge to fuck during their “fertile window” ((or is that just me?)) and seeing every baby alive as the cutest human being ever once we pass the tender age of 25. The biological clock is REAL, and I learned the hard way that being bisexual and having immense fear of pregnancy and childbirth didn’t spare me from the awful truth of my biology. 

I really don’t want to keep making references to modern video games, but they seem to serve the dual purpose of being deeply satisfying and helping us to quell “problematic” urges, including that one to dominate and destroy the world. For a lot of women gamers, though, our choices ((on a broad scale, every #girlgamer is different)) deviate from men’s in some interesting ways. 

#1: We still love The Sims Franchise way more than guys do 

Not only do we love it, but while a lot of men (again, #notallmen) tend to build elaborate neighborhoods to extensively mod and destroy them in terrifying ways, I still see women gamers taking obscene amounts of time to design homes, raise happy little families, and cause TERRIFYING blood feuds by having Sims marry Sims from rival families ((I guess we’re more Shakespeare than we thought, eh ladies?))

#2: We make up most of mobile gaming

Most male gamers think mobile games “aren’t real” and I tend to agree, but a mobile game is invaluable for when I, a woman, have time to kill between the 3 jobs I hypothetically have and I and don’t want to whip out something like a Nintendo 2DS that is both unwieldly and attracts the eyes of every impoverished, thieving human being in a .5 mile radius. #RiskAversion. These games are often low-quality, mindless, and insanely easy, but that is WHY WE LIKE THEM. Our entire life is a job. #Hustle

#3 We also love farming sims and RPGs

While we-- and most male Millennials-- beg god to not have to birth calves, milk cows, or labor in the tomato fields under the hot sun, most of us have no objection to having our virtual avatars perform the same back-breaking tasks to the tune of cheerful chiptune music. Also, even though men definitely enjoy them, too, I have never met a woman gamer who didn’t enjoy a nice RPG; why do you think we’re such avid readers of fantasy/romance YA? 

We want to be transported to a different world, and if you won’t take us there, we’re happy to go there virtually ((because we probably can’t afford travel; we’re still millennials)). 

Ability to murder people who threaten our young or our partner(s) (Okay this one is a bit more complicated, but I’m just going to tell you a bit about female animals. DON’T MESS WITH THEIR BABIES IF YOU WANT TO LIVE. Human females, are, in that regard, just as savage, if not more so, than our male counterparts. 

I’ve never heard of any woman ((outside of prison, maybe)) who killed another woman for “looking at her weird” or saying “your mama” too many times. I’ve heard plenty of women threaten literal murder because another woman ((or man, we’re #progressive)) came too close to her romantic/sexual partner, or another human being threatened harm on our kids or our “squad.” 

I don’t know where the meme truly originated from, but “Don’t talk to me or my son ever again” is SUCH a Mom thing to say. So much misandry is wrapped up in the idea that men are predators, and that is true, but not in the excessively sexually deviant ways you think ((that’s only sometimes true)). They just like hunting things, including people, but if you give them a toy to play with ((I MEAN ACTUAL TOY OMG)) they seem alright. Let them go play with their cars, Xbox, [insert whatever] or something. They’re men, okay, they’re easily distracted/impressed/occupied. 

Women, on the other hand, have seemed to be having an EXTREME amount of trouble curbing that baby-making urge, or the Excessive Nurturing Urge, that one that makes you ask your grown husband if he’s remembered to pack lunch for work or if he remembered to pack money for his playdate with his bros, because he’s gonna need money at Six Flags and you aren’t going to bring it to him because he should’ve remembered, you reminded him 30093390 times. 

THAT’S NOT HIS FAULT. HE HAS MANAGED BY SOME MIRACLE TO STAY ALIVE FOR 33 YEARS. THAT’S YOU, SWEETIE. STOP BEING SUCH A MOM. GO BE A NURSE, DOCTOR, OR SOCIAL WORKER OR SOMETHING OMG. 

In summary...

What separates the “men from the boys” or the “women from the girls” isn’t the era that we were born in to, our economic status, or whether we’ve been able to “conquer” our biology. That’s definitely not possible yet, chiefly because transhumanism involves a lengthy, ethics-guided process, and even if we all turn into cyborgs, the goal is to become BETTER humans, not LESS humane. Societal advancements have done more in terms of making us healthier, less destructive citizens of planet earth than raw technology ever can and ever will. Rapid technological advancement, when not combined with respect for morality, ethical standards of living for humans and all other life forms, almost always leads to human slavery, widespread abuse of animals, sex trafficking, and environmental destruction, because the “rules of supply and demand”, when not governed by strong international trade laws, dictate that consumers should be supplied with whatever they demand, because the suppliers can profit, and their right to profit should be defended at any cost. 

So, in summary, I believe that “adulting” involves giving up on entitlement. What separates a truly childish human being-- regardless of their actual age-- from someone who is, in essence, “adulting” is experience, and how much those experiences serve to broaden that person’s perspective. It is an extremely childish, self-centered view, to think that you “deserve” anything for being “a good person” or, in the case of many a “woman child” or “man child” in media and in real life, just being “not so bad.” 

Grown-ups are able and willing to do something that is known as “delaying gratification” which is the simple ability to delay a temporary pleasure for a long-term gain. Grown-ups are also able to perform true “cost-benefit analyses” to determine if a course of action, business deal, or even relationship is worth their time and effort. Finally, grown-ups are able and willing and able to make an informed choice and stick to it; in essence, we don’t try to “have our cake and eat it too” we understand that once we’ve eaten that cake, the cake is gone, but we also realize that if we are willing to work hard and make sacrifices, we can earn the ingredients to make ourselves another cake to eat, even if we might need a lot of help from other adults in getting those ingredients (we call this teamwork and cooperation). 

Children, on the other hand (in literal and metaphorical terms), are very impatient. They get angry when things don’t go their way, and instead of taking the steps needed to improve their situation, they storm off and return home. It doesn’t matter if their home is with their parents, with their 3 roommates, or with their husband or wife, these people throw tantrums, refuse to communicate/cooperate, and stew in their displeasure until someone feels sorry for them and fixes their problem for them. They lack the ability to work through daily life problems and refuse to take any responsibility for how their actions or inaction contributed to their dilemma. 

There is one difference with an actual human child or teen, though, is that they have an excuse. Their brains are still developing, and they haven’t had the chance to live through these situations yet; these are new challenges to them. Even if they do have a “bad attitude”, with help from peers and patients, principled adult mentors and teachers, these cantankerous kids can grow into well-adjusted, able adults. The high levels of neuroplasticity in their brains actually make it so that it is easier for them to accept large amounts of sensory data and to learn from processing and practicing using it.

An “adult child” is someone who, more often than not, has been coddled instead of challenged. These people have often faced no significant hardships in life. There is a reason why, even after we have recognized the immense downsides of authoritarian parenting and have demonstrated psychological harms of corporal punishment for kids, we still call “bad kids” and “irresponsible adults” spoiled. 

Authoritarianism produces rigid, scared people who often struggle with critical thinking and self-esteem or end up being authoritarian parents themselves, but that last one is actually one of the less likely options. Children of authoritarian parents often develop Borderline Personality Disorder or become defiant against authority (shocker). Overly permissive or overly neglectful parenting, though, are parental styles most associated with producing narcissists, who often become authoritarian parents, because when their kids challenge them, they completely lack the patience or emotional capacity to deal with it and resort to “because I said so”, stonewalling and/or physical abuse as forms of “character-building.” 

The reason why overly permissive parents spoil their kids is because kids actually do need discipline and guidance, and so these kinds of parents produce kids who are outwardly capable and confident but completely lack any of the life skills to justify it, and when they ask their parents for advice they are just met with a bunch of hippie mumbo jumbo or told to just avoid the conflict rather than resolve it. These kids grow into adults who are still sad little kids inside, because they never grew up, but now they’re sad little kids who are articulate and well-spoken and now can-- and often have no choice-- but to con their way through adult life because they’ve maxed out Charisma and they have almost no points in Strength, Intelligence, Wisdom, or Dexterity.

The only parenting style worse than Authoritarian and Neglectful/Permissive is Mixed, in which a child grows up in a COMPLETELY unpredictable environment where the rules of the game change from day to day, and parents either give their children no attention at all, or they practically lock them up and throw away the key. Being raised like this is associated with the worse outcomes for the child throughout life. 

So, why am I now talking about parenting styles? Because, for all that we love to trash Boomers and large swaths of Gen X on this page, we can’t forget where they came from, so we cannot allow them to forget WHO THEY MADE. It isn’t an accident that even though we live in the times of incredible economic hardship, WE are the generation (and Gen Z, to some extent) that got hooked on reality TV, video games, and social media in incredibly unhealthy ways. A lot of us 30+ millennials are growing out of it, and a lot of us have realized that it is an invaluable (and damn near unavoidable) way of marketing our products and talents. We’re often self-employed because that’s our only option in most cases. 

The issue with Gen Z (who, while we called “Zoomers” now just all themselves “Doomers” and I think we should be a bit concerned about that) is that unlike us, they have no memory of “Before the Internet.” We remember dial up, we remember before that when you played outside untl the sun went down. They don’t have the privilege of being linked to that history. 

Now, we have to be the Bigger Person. It’s our time to be Grown-Ups. Gen Z feels really fucking lost right now, and hearing us whine about our parents probably makes them pretty pissed off, when some of us older millennials are the parents, aunts/uncles, and older siblings to Gen Z kids. Even if we can’t be mentors, we have to lead by example, because we have a responsibility to these kids. A lot of them aren’t stupid, they see exactly what’s happening and they feel incredibly hopeless about it. Greta Thunberg is still 16 years old. She shouldn’t be out there doing that; I mean seriously, climate change is accelerating, but it isn’t even as bad as Al Gore said, it’s still reversible, but the fact that SHE FELT SHE HAD TO makes us shitty people. ALL OF US. 

So you know, we all need to stop being hypocrites. We need to stop being entitled. We need to stop thinking this is about us. It isn’t. Not even close. We’re not important, even if our videos go viral or if we’re swimming in cash next to hot models by a huge swimming pool. America’s fucked up. I hate to sound Republican, but it’s because of our values. We suck at valuing what’s important, and if we don’t change that soon, it’s really going to suck to live in America. 

It already does.  

[frazzledsoul]

So since @austennerdita2533 answered here how she ranked the Gilmore seasons along with the revival as well as her top five worst/best episodes I thought I’d rank mine

Seasons rank

5

1

4

3

2

Revival

7

(most cavernous gap in teevee history)

6

The revival is very flawed, of course: thematically it undercuts the entire mission of the series, and many characters do things that make absolutely zero sense. That ending is designed to make almost everyone unhappy. And of course, there are many awkward and flat-out terrible moments. But I think out of the four episodes there is a lot of good to be found in each episode and there’s no one plotline that is excruciating agony to sit through (like the Lorelai/Christopher thread of S7) and no long stretch of the characters hurting each other as much as is humanly possible (aka the long nightmare of S6). I also like that Luke and Lorelai are basically together for the entire length of it and although there are problems between them, they are by no means insurmountable. So it’s somewhere between the first five seasons and the mostly horrible last two.

Worst Five Episodes 

(this got wordy, guys, look under the cut)

5. Take These Deviled Eggs. Lorelai’s behavior is so flat-out terrible at that baby shower that I made it one more week (which was the classic They Don’t Shoot Gilmores Do They!) and then quit watching for over a year. I just didn’t like her anymore and the show’s attempts to make her the victim over the Sherry/Christopher situation were making it one thousand times worse. First of all, you don’t fuck someone else’s boyfriend and then go to their baby shower if you have any decency as a human being or enough self-preservation to realize that this woman is full justified in kicking the ever loving crap out of you. If I were Sherry, the first thing I would have done is to punch Lorelai in the face (OK, I would have dumped Christopher right away and then punched both him and Lorelai in the face immediately. But that’s neither here nor there). Sherry tries to connect with Lorelai, to share a moment of how she felt isolated and alone in her pregnancy and thinks Lorelai can understand because she may have felt the same way and Lorelai’s response is to . . . go into her bathroom and DESTROY HER PROPERTY. Then she emotes all over her teenage daughter (who she is setting a terrible example for which will echo long into her daughter’s adulthood) and then both she and Rory go and trash Jess’s car for no reason.

I’m sorry, Lorelai, but you lost. You interfered in someone else’s relationship and you ended up alone as a result. You got what you deserved. Sherry may have been rubbing her pregnancy in Lorelai’s face or she may have been clueless, but you know what? I’m on her side. She was the innocent party in all of this as well as her child, but Lorelai can’t see outside her own narcissism. And of course Rory never does learn that it is wrong to get involved with someone who’s already in a relationship, because Lorelai made it clear that the other person doesn’t matter. 

4. I Can’t Get Started. It’s obvious from the previous post that I think the Christopher/Lorelai situation at the end of season 2 is massively wrong and upsetting, but I just want to lay it out for a minute. First of all, it’s fucked-up to take someone else’s boyfriend as your date to a wedding (it could be innocent in context, but it’s definitely leaning towards stuff that could cause trouble). Lorelai knows that Christopher and Sherry have not broken up, that they are still living together by the time she fucks him. She does it anyway, gushes to Sookie afterwards about how cute it is that she’s doing Christopher (never mind the stupid girlfriend you’re screwing over, TEE HEE HEE) and then has a conversation with Christopher about the state of his relationship. This is cheating, plain and simple, and we’re supposed to think this is romantic. IT’S SO MESSED UP.

Lorelai parades Christopher around as her date to Sookie’s wedding. She gushes to EVERYONE SHE KNOWS about their newfound relationship. She lets Rory get excited about it. She lets her PARENTS get excited about it. The entire time she knows that Christopher has not broken up with his girlfriend yet. I actually think this is worse than the sex! Even if it weren’t wrong, it’s A HORRIBLE IDEA. We get proof of this when Lorelai goes to find Christopher before the wedding starts and she tells him she understands if he can’t break up with Sherry. Lorelai knew the whole time that this was going on that Christopher was with another woman, and he could always change his mind and decide to stay with her.

Christopher is primarily responsible for this situation, because he was the one in the relationship and he decided to cheat. However, Lorelai enabled him 100% of the way and placed herself in a situation where she allowed Rory and her parents to get hurt as well as herself. I have zero sympathy for her in all of this. I hate that the show made me watch her acting so cruelly and wanted me to root her on. It still disgusts me that this is one of the show’s highest-rated episodes on IMDB.

I might have forgiven all of this if the show had Lorelai acknowledge that she had made a mistake and had sat Rory down and explained to her that this is why it’s a bad idea to sleep with other people’s boyfriends. As we all know, it didn’t happen that way.

(Oh, and yes, this situation kind of ruins the rest of S2 for me, unfortunately. It’s why it’s at the bottom of my rankings).

3. A Vineyard Valentine. I think everyone knows why this episode is horrible. . Luke is a massively uncharacteristic douche throughout all of it. I think forcing Luke to double-date with Rory’s boyfriends brings out the worst in him because he is so protective of her, but this was absolutely overkill. Worst of all, he makes a promise to Lorelai that he’s committed to their engagement, he breaks it, and he doesn’t even know because Lorelai doesn’t tell him. The whole thing is horrible.

OTOH, I do appreciate the revelation that Logan taught Rory to cook.

2. The Big Stink. You really could plop any one of the early S7 episodes here where we have to endure Christopher “courting” Lorelai, Lorelai isolating herself from the town, and having to endure Rory hang around with her lame friends because Logan isn’t around, but I picked this one because I think it’s the only episode where Lorelai is flat-out nasty about Luke and makes statements to the effect of how much she prefers Christopher to him. It flat out hurts. On top of all of that, Luke is in one scene and since he’s our sole connection to the town at this point in the season, Stars Hollow isn’t, either. We end with that scene of Lorelai, Christopher, and Rory in the car and it’s implied to us that Lorelai’s Stars Hollow life is inferior to her happy new existence with Christopher.

S7 features this kind of plotline a lot, but it also has Luke being an adorable dad to balance it out. We didn’t get any of that here.

1. Partings. Look, I don’t care that ASP wrote this long beautiful monologue for Lorelai. I don’t care that she has admitted that she wrote this travesty of an episode as an attempt to whore for awards attention (this is why she does not deserve “make-up” awards for this show. Not after what she did to get them). it’s false, untrue drama, and it’s unfair. Lorelai gave up after her conversation with Anna about April. She avoided Luke for days and refused to speak to him. He was wandering all over Stars Hollow, worried and concerned about her. Lorelai is confused and vulnerable, and she has the world’s most unprofessional therapy session with a therapist that doesn’t know her or any context to what Lorelai tells her, and is advised to give up on her problems if she doesn’t get what she wants. Lorelai then decides to go in for the kill and decides that the best way to resolve her relationship dilemma is to scream at him in the middle of the street and act like an absolute lunatic demanding that they get married now or else in order for him to prove that he really loves her. When Luke does not go along with this insane plan, Lorelai decides to punish him by sleeping with Christopher. She knew he couldn’t forgive her for that. 

ASP said afterwards that all of this was the best course of action for everyone involved so that Lorelai could “do other things” (aka Christopher). It’s bullshit. ASP’s contract negotiations didn’t go her way, and she decided to punish the show for not going along with what she wanted. She also was punishing the shippers for not going along with her narrative and refusing to hate Luke as much as she did.

I bring this up like this because what Lorelai asked for was impossible. Luke could not abandon everything at that moment and elope. It was a horrible idea that would not have solved her problems. Like it or not, Luke had an obligation to consider April’s welfare by this point, and he could not choose Lorelai over his child. The fact that she asked him to and we’re supposed to resent him for saying no is ridiculous. Lorelai of all people should have understood this, but she didn’t. We’re supposed to hate Luke for being a responsible parent who keeps his cool when his fiance is acting like a crazy person. This is BAD WRITING. And it doesn’t work. I refuse to judge him.

You know what would have worked? If Lorelai and Luke had sat down and had a reasonable discussion about how to balance their responsibilities like adults. But ASP had to provoke this situation in order to sell her favorite.

(You may notice a few episodes missing here. I don’t include French Twist because I haven’t seen it. I’ve only seen the Luke/Lane/Zach scenes. I also have not seen Unto The Breach, but I refuse to watch that because it hurts to know that Luke and Lorelai’s make so much progress and then take so many steps backwards and Lorelai is once again interpreting their breakup as Luke not loving her enough to go through with the elopment - their problems were so much more complicated than that! I also hate I Get A Sidekick Out Of You because the entire episode is meant to sell Christopher as this dreamy romantic alternative and we actually have to endure Lorelai taking him on a date to a wedding of someone who is close to Luke but I don’t think it’s fair to include that as one of the worst since I fast-forwarded through most of it).

Best Five Episodes

5. Forgiveness and Stuff. I love this episode so much! We get Luke being the unassuming romantic hero by driving Lorelai to the hospital. There’s emotional Gilmore family bonding that actually doesn’t! The Santa burger! The Blue Baseball Cap Of Love! And lots of bonding and longing looks on the L/L front. I really wish they would have gotten together here. It was the perfect moment for it.

4. Hay Bale Maze. If this episode didn’t exist, I would not have supported Luke and Lorelai getting back together and I would have walked away forever after season six. It’s the episode that ASP never would or could have written, and it was absolutely essential to reconciling me with the show. Those Hay Bale Maze apologies lay the groundwork for everything else that happened in Luke and Lorelai’s future, and it could not have existed without them. In addition to that, I think it’s a really sweet Stars Hollow-centered episode and we see Rory and Logan at their absolute best and it’s clear how well they really worked as a couple.

3. Last Year’s Fights This Year’s Tights. This episode is perfect: lots of townie shenanigans, Luke being a romantic hero and sweeping Lorelai off her feet, and Luke fully reconciling with Jess. That dance around the courtyard: the stuff of dreams, y’all!

2. Written In the Stars. I basically swoon during this entire episode, because Luke is so chvalrous and unexpectedly open and devoted and you can see how utterly smitten and delighted Lorelai is with this new side of him.

1. Raincoats and Recipes. I think this is the pinnacle of the show’s achievement: Lorelai realizes her dream, Luke and Lorelai finally stop dancing around each other and go for it, and Rory falls off her pedastal as Lorelai realizes that guiding her daughter to adulthood is going to be more difficult than she thought. I love that the Christopher/Sherry stuff I went into such detail earlier in this post is at last denounced and Lorelai has to deal with the implications of the example that she set forth and that she doesn’t allow Rory to use it as an excuse.

I think if Lorelai had applied the same attitude towards Rory when learning of similar behavior in the revival Rory could have avoided melting down the way that she did later. Maybe that wasn’t possible after Lorelai had screwed up again, but it’s yet another thing that could have been explained that wasn’t.

(I just want to state after all of this bloviating that I don’t hate Lorelai: she did some really, really fucked up things and not all of the wrong that she did was acknowledged. The plotline of villainizing the “other woman” in a love triangle when she becomes pregnant was actually very popular on TV in 2002 when those earlier episodes aired: however, on this show Lorelai WAS the other woman, and the show tried too hard to make us hate the one truly innocent person in that situation. Obviously, it didn’t work for me).

[tommyomalley]

Overstated Harm

I have been thinking lately about harm—when it’s real, and when it’s exaggerated for political reasons. And as harm escalates, at what point does it require us to intervene on behalf of ourselves or others?

Yesterday, I recorded a conversation for my podcast Theater Fag with playwright Isaac Gomez. We met in the offices of Steppenwolf Theatre Company in Chicago, where his new play “La Ruta” is currently finishing a sold-out run. “La Ruta” is about the women of Ciudad Juárez, a Mexican border city that suffers one of the highest crime rates in North America, if not the world. Disproportionately impacted by the violence in Juárez are women, who regularly go missing without any hope of being found.

Obviously the situation in Juárez is an example of real harm. Like gay men with AIDS in the 1980s—like trans women of color in the United States today—the women of Juárez are dying preventable deaths at an insane rate, and nobody in the dominant culture gives enough of a shit to make it stop. Isaac’s play, “La Ruta,” is a tortured cry for mercy, one belonging to a theatrical tradition that includes plays like Larry Kramer’s seminal AIDS polemic “The Normal Heart” and “Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992,” Anna Deveare Smith’s verbatim account of the Los Angeles riots (in which Congresswoman Maxine Waters is a character, by the way).

In our conversation, Isaac and I discussed the roots of violence in Juárez, which Isaac attributed to toxic masculinity and failed US policy. Of the former, Isaac elaborated that he can draw a straight line from small acts of gendered insensitivity—microaggressions such as a man interrupting a woman to explain a point she was in the middle of making—to more grandiose expressions of violence, such as rape or murder. My impulse in the moment was to disagree and question the equivalence I thought Isaac was making. But after a night’s sleep on the matter, I think agree with Isaac’s general point—unchecked privilege corrupts, and if we don’t intervene when violence presents itself, it will escalate.

The women of Juárez are in a daily fight for their lives. The stakes for them could not be higher. That’s why, when people start to talk about feeling “safe” and the stakes fall somewhere short of life or death, it’s important to pause before offering our support and validation. Unfortunately, not all claims of victimhood are intellectually honest, and sometimes, folks who identify as victims are actually perpetrators. These situations require a different kind of intervention.

This week, the boys from Covington Catholic high school in a Kentucky have been all over the news, after a viral video clip in which one boy wearing a MAGA hat—Nick Sandmann—stared down an indigenous veteran named Nathan Phillips, who was seemingly just banging his drum. Since the release of that initial video, dozens more clips have surfaced, some of which show that Mr. Phillips intentionally walked into the Covington Catholic group, and others of which show an unrelated group of Black Israelites screaming nasty shit at every person who passed them, including the Covington Catholic boys and Nathan Phillips.

Some people claim these videos exonerate the Covington Catholic boys. Others say they implicate Nathan Phillips as a provocateur. What’s compelling to me is the immediacy with which reactions split along party lines. Lefties are Team Phillips, righties are Team CovCath. I have way too much trauma surrounding Catholic schoolboys of my youth to be impartial, but what I will argue is that the Covington Catholic boys are not victims here. I don’t want them destroyed, but I want to see some accountability. And when I see a lot of white adults minimizing their actions, I feel compelled to intervene.

The fact remains that Nick Sandmann stood aggressively close to Nathan Phillips, his posture and smirk fixed with a rigidity familiar to anyone who, like me, has been physically threatened or assaulted by a Catholic school meathead. Regardless of the aftermath, this was not a boy who was standing by innocently. He was full of the all the bravado an underdeveloped pre-frontal cortex allows, and that—to my eye—is undeniable in any of the videos I’ve seen so far. It’s an expression of the toxic masculinity Isaac mentioned in our discussion of “La Ruta.”

Part of the PR campaign the Covington Catholic community is waging involves blaming the Black Hebrew Israelites, a group of absolutely wild bigots that stand in public spaces and say naaaaaaaasty stuff about gays, women, etc. The reason for this PR move, I believe, is that Covington Catholic knows on some level that truth seekers will look at Nick Sandmann in those videos and see a young man eager for conflict, not peace. To avoid this murky discussion, they instead point to the Black Israelites as the instigators. “Look, these folks said faggot, that’s way worse.” Unfortunately, these two unrelated wrongs don’t change the interaction between Sandmann and Phillips on that video.

I was once a teenage boy, and I remember what a brutal period of self-discovery those years were for me. I made so many mistakes and treated folks around me with tremendous disrespect. To say the least, I’ve spent a lot of my adulthood making right the wrongs of my youth, and I am so lucky that every single fucking person wasn’t armed with a recording device when I was 16. I share this because I truly wish the best for the Covington Catholic boys—that they may overcome this moment, emerging on the other end with renewed faith and commitment to peace. I don’t see that happening, however, because as Nick Sandmann told the Today Show’s Savannah Guthrie, his only regret is that he didn’t walk away from Nathan Phillips (a subtle suggestion that Phillips was the aggressor), and he does not feel that he has anything for which to be sorry. If the only offense the Covington Catholic boys committed that day was Nick Sandmann glaring disrespectfully at an elder, then that would be enough to warrant an apology. Unfortunately, Nick Sandmann and whatever crisis PR firm is handling his case do not agree. (If you do not think Nick Sandmann’s glare was disrespectful, then let me ask you this: how would you feel if you saw him standing that way before your mother, father, grandparent?)

The problem is not so much the Covington Catholic boys as it is the adults who thrust victimhood on them. (And unrelatedly, I can’t help but imagine, if society cared this much about gay boys as it does about these Catholics then Bryan Singer would’ve been dealt with decades ago. But that’s another story.) The community that has built around Covington Catholic is absolute—the boys were not wrong, and any assertion otherwise is an attempt to ruin children's lives. Their supporters are misrepresenting the stakes in order to argue that MAGA folks are under attack. An attack on these boys gives MAGA supporters a chance to transfer their own feelings of victimhood, and so the amplification of their stories has created a deafening “poor me” echo chamber.

Speaking of poor me, in December I got into a Twitter fight with a playwright named Jeremy O. Harris, whose “Slave Play” was a controversial hit for the New York Theatre Workshop. The controversy wasn’t so much about the play as the playwright himself. I haven’t read or seen Slave Play, so I can’t speak to the piece’s merits, but I can speak to the way Jeremy behaves on social media, which seems to be carefully cultivated.

The initial buzz around “Slave Play” was huuuuge. As Jeremy himself said, the play went viral. The reviews from white NYC theater critics were overwhelmingly positive, with a few notable exceptions. On Twitter, however, criticism began to mount from a surprising corner: other black theater makers took serious issue with the way black women in particular are treated in the play. Some folks went as far as to say that Jeremy’s play was its own sort of violent act against black women, and they used things he’s said and tweeted publicly to support this. I won’t quote any of them, but it’s all there for you to find, if you want to.

All I can honestly say about Jeremy Harris is that I do not believe his social media persona is authentic. While “Slave Play” was enjoying an often sold-out run, he began tweeting about all the death threats he and his cast were receiving. For sure, horrific shit got hurled at Jeremy and his collaborators. At the same time this was happening, producers were looking seriously to bring the show to Broadway. Jeremy took to Twitter and called attention to the tweets and emails, claiming the threats he and others received numbered in the hundreds. I called bullshit on that number, and I wondered whether every mean tweet he received was actually a “death threat.” I suggested Jeremy was performing victimhood to engender sympathy that would distract from his critics and/or help facilitate a transfer, and perhaps that’s a leap too far. But I tweeted what I tweeted: I do not believe Jeremy Harris received “hundreds” of credible death threats over a play at an off-Broadway house. (For the record I never @ mentioned Jeremy on Twitter, he found my tweets on his own.)

In my back-and-forth with Jeremy, I made the mistake of roping critic Elizabeth Vincentelli into the discussion. Wasn’t really fair of me, because I don’t know her. But she was one of the only mainstream dissenting voices in her assessment of “Slave Play,” which she said ripped off better plays like “An Octaroon” and “Underground Railroad Game.” Elizabeth responded on Twitter to tell me that her problem was with the play, not the playwright, and she sort of scolded me for making inferences about Jeremy’s personality based on his tweets. Jeremy, who loves to herd critics on social media, jumped back in after EV’s capitulation, letting her (and me) know that “we stan critics.” The “we” referred only to him. Lol.

The funnier thing is that, two weeks later, on her podcast “Three on the Aisle,” Elizabeth did exactly what she admonished me for doing on Twitter—drawing conclusions about Jeremy the person—and she used much harsher language than anything I tweeted. She doubled down on the derivative nature of “Slave Play,” describing it as “a play that is embarrassing in its self-satisfaction and the way it revels in this empty provocation that is not really provoking, because people are just expecting it.” She elaborated:

“It’s is also written in an incoherent, smug manner that I found really, really annoying. Just the ineptitude of the writing was confounding, I felt. This play should’ve stayed in the oven, it was not ready to be pulled out… Reading the script afterwards, it annoyed me even more. The script is a window into the way this playwright’s mind works that is not really all that interesting.”

She later described anyone who was shocked by an event that happens in Jeremy’s play as “a target sitting still.” Harsh words for an artist and his audience. I wondered why she would be so brazen on a podcast yet conciliatory on Twitter. It made me wonder if she was afraid to bring the full weight of her position to Twitter, in writing, before Jeremy. And if that’s the case, then what positional power does she perceive that he has over her? Could be generational. Jeremy and his social media followers are presumably savvier to the medium than EV, which I imagine she would understand, so perhaps that’s part of the reason. Regardless, my question now, in light of everything, is: do we still stan critics like Elizabeth? (FWIW, I do. EV is one of the greats among NY’s theater critics.)

My beef with Jeremy truly isn’t so personal, although his personality seems challenging based on our Twitter interactions. That’s not real life, though, I know that. Jeremy and I have never met, only battled from our phones. Theater is the art I care most about, and I’m interested in who holds the power to create it.

Jeremy is a power-holder, despite repeatedly trying to position himself as an outsider. As far as I can smell, Jeremy is disingenuous in these claims, as he was when he overstated the number of actual threats he and others received. I believe that doing so helped bring attention to his play. Of course I have absolutely no concept of what it’s like to be a queer black person in America, but I do know that Yale Drama School—where Jeremy is finishing up his MFA—is the nerve center of NYC’s theater establishment. You cannot graduate from Yale Drama School and call yourself a theater outsider. Sorry. It’s just not honest. And when we allow dishonesty, for whatever reason, we allow injustice to escalate. And we stan only what’s just.

[yvvaine]

A Meta on Madness

Here’s the thing with Targaryen madness. Most weren’t just born raving mad.  They developed it. Some as early as childhood, others well into adulthood; sometimes even instigated by some event (like the Defiance of Duskendale which affected Aerys II Targaryen’s madness). Grand Maester Phycelle even commented how Aerys had been “a good man. such a charmer....” until he became obsessed with his dreams of “fire & blood”. 

It seems that that is the commonality. Fire & Blood. And also obsession. Most of the “madness” starts out as personality traits, like unchecked outbursts and impusliveness. Some form of violence (during said outbursts) develops shortly thereafter. Mixed in is usually a god-like self-image and some personal obsession / quest. Also paranoia. Delusions and hallucinations, for the most part, dont develop all that fast. Theyre “charming good men” with hot heads, and that slowly escelates, little by little until it begins to snowball. Again, some earlier than others. 

But obsession seems to be reaccuring throught all the circumstances. 

They fixate on something (Fire & Blood, religion, beliefs, etc) and take it too far, and the more they do, the more obsessed they become, the more the ‘madness’ seems to set in. 

King Baelor the Blessed was overzealously obsessed with religion and purity, to the point that he starved himself into an early grave because he believed that food is of this world, and the material world is sinful.

Prince Aerion Brightflame, son of King Maekar and nephew of the Prince Rhaegel. Aerion killed himself drinking wildfire, believing it would turn him into a dragon.

Visery’s ‘madness’ (mostly outbursts, paranoia, and cruelty), according to Daenerys at least, was linked/instigated to a somewhat traumatic event; the selling of their mother’s crown. My guess is that he was old enough to be traumatized by the events that sent them into exhile, put all his hopes and dreams into that crown, idolized it, and losing it was kind of the final push. 

Madness ≠ Certified Crazy Person

In fact I dont even really like the term madness, because it denotes that the Targaryen in question is 24/7 insane. And dont get me wrong, some def are. But in GRRM’s world their ‘madness’ is MUCH more subtle than that. Its pathology is almost like a disease. And people can live with the most terrible diseases for quite along while and work around it/not have it effect them. As a Certified Sick Person myself, I know that particular lesson more than quite a bit of people (thanks autoimmune system!) Id say. Look at diabetes! People can live with diabetes and not have to cut their foot off or die (like the olden days) with the right amount of lifestyle and personal choices. But untreated, without proper checks and balances, symptoms get worse, other manisfate on top of one another.  To say they have the “Targaryen madness” is not a black and white issue, because their “insanity” is not as simple as : “that persons obv crazy and that persons not!!” You cant equivicate mid-story/life Daenerys with late-in-life Aerys. Its a cultivation of symptoms over years. Theyre not at equal points in their life to one another; obv shes not blinded by “KILL THEM ALL” attitudes yet. 

Early-in Life Aerys (perhaps a better parallel to Daenerys’s timeline) was: 

“...while not being the most intelligent, nor the most diligent of princes [I wonder who that sounds like? Cough Mereen] he was described as having an undeniable charm. He was generous, handsome and resolute, although somewhat quick to anger. [SOUND LIKE ANYONE. A good heart? Beautiful? Determined and passionate? SOMEWHAT quick to anger?] He was also vain, proud, and changeable, traits that made him easy prey for lickspittles and flatterers.” 

The last part is more up for debate but Dany does think quite highly of herself and is VERY proud. Shes also reminded frequently of her amazing-ness, as well as her beauty, which would bloat anyones ego. And while she realizes the difference between blatant kiss asses (“People used to tell that kind of thing to my brother”) she also prefers those that agree with her or her line of thinking and suck up to her. Shes kinder to those that fall into step and bestows greater favor on them in that moment (even when the person in the room disagreeing is a “friend”). 

“As he grew older, Aerys became increasingly jealous, suspicious and cruel, prone to furious outbursts.”

I think a lot of readers and show viewers see this increasingly “bratty” quality to her character. Even when her anger (toward the slave masters for instance) is morally and technically VERY justified (Personally I hate this POV, as I’m someone whos decided to dedicate my lifeswork to human rights law, so decidely I am not for cruel racist individuals. Moreover, I dont think many people, if there is any at all, who believe in dark!(or just a generally darker)dany are racist and pro-slavery - which is something i see stans misguidedly clapback with often in the face of criticism) her “justice” becomes all she see’s to disastrous consequences, including crucifying those that shouldnt have been.

“My father spoke out against crucifying those children. He decried it as a criminal act but was overruled. Is it justice to answer one crime with another?” - Hizdahr zo Loraq, S04E06 “The Laws of Gods and Men” on Daenerys crucifying his father because of the status he was born into.

She also seems to be developing more and more paranoia. “Betray me and I’ll burn you alive.” (obv betrayal should be punished WHEN IT HAPPENS, but like, shes already imagining scenrarios and felt the need to say something, ie paranoid). The entire beach tantrum and her turning against her ally and HAND Tyrion because she was upset at their(shared) battle failures. And while its great that she doesnt want to be the Queen of Ashes, in her right mind, in moments of anger and fustration she constantly has to be talked down from burning cities. So increasingly more worrisome. 

Shes also increasingly fixated on ‘the iron throne’. As her obsession grows....

Sorta like: Aerys in his youth. 

So while duh, shes not batshit insane like her father was right before the end of his life, people forget, her father wasnt “bad” or “mad” till his later years either. Comparing the two (her father right before he was killed and Dany now) is like comparing a seed to a flower. Same material and DNA. Same circumstances / needs the same to grow (unchecked symptoms like their anger and obsessions). But ultimately different stages in their lives, and as such different consequences and attributes. 

GA (and Stans)‘s Short-sidedness

The “Mad Dany” theory mostly comes from people woh dont neccisarily see dany as stark raving mad like Aerys Burn Them All Targaryen (i know, shocking) but rather see this similarity (past face value cough cough), and see the parrallels between young Aerys the Charming Good But Slghty Tantrum-y Tararyen with Dany now, and made educated forecasts in what that means for future-Dany based on her current arch. The same Dany who is increasingly obsessed with conquering an entire ass continent that shes held up as a symbol and put all her hopes and dreams of ‘home’ into (kinda like the way Viserys did with their mothers crown)  (also a continent that she knows nothing and hasnt bothered to learn anything about). She has no plans on creating a democracy or dispersing power to try to mitigate her faults because shes completely fucking blind to them. She plans on sitting on that uncomfortable ass stupid metal throne and being uncompromising because shes not a Politician shes a QWEEN  #fuckcompromise #fuckdiplomacy #fuckpeace #bendtheknee #ammiright :))))) Meanwhile dancing on really thin ice that could any minute crack under her, and the more it cracks the faster it makes new ones until it snowballs quickly out of hand and suddenly it snaps and kills you. Only shes queen in this scenario with two resusable nukes at her disposal so in this case its not just her but the entire country that drowns.

 Politics is a long game. We - in the real world - choose a leader who is not just best for us in the now, but who will create a better future for our children, and their children, and so on. 

Dany is not a good, stable bet. I originally meant to do a short sassy one liner about this but then I got on a soapbox and started getting all philisophical and now this could literally be my senior thesis its that long. (My apologies!) Im also know where near finished with this so this could maybe be Part One? 

[gayruthven]

history and inspiration for the character lord ruthven + the similarities between him in the vampyre vs. tcsov

read a short story that was published in 1816 in spanish class lmao and i decided to write this post for fun its long as fuck but honestly a interesting read if u want to know more than u need to abt lord ruthven

here is a link to where you can read the vampyre. its really good but really outdated and hard to read soooo theres a pretty detailed summary in this post. 

a quick backstory for the creation of the vampyre and the man who was used unwillingly as the inspiration for the original lord ruthven:

 in the year 1816 a famous french poet named lord byron (he was considered very edgy for his time and everyone thought he was sexy, dramatic and scandalous lmao) rented a house at lake geneva in switzerland for the summer (he fled england due to his divorce to avoid social fallout- some say he was actually driven from england due to the possibility he would be outed as bisexual, which he was). his personal physician john polidori accompanied him and his lover claire clarement made arrangements to be in switzerland at the same time and bought along her step sister, mary wollstonecraft godwin as well as mary’s lover, percy bysshe shelley. 

1816 is famously known as the year without a summer due to a huge volcanic eruption in modern day indonesia that caused a majority of the northern hemisphere to be covered in a thick layer of ash. so despite it being summer, it was very chilly and the sun was dimmed due to the fog to be red and it happened to rain a lot. because of the atmosphere surrounding that summer, lord byron spent a majority of his days reading ghost stories and decided to challenge his companions to each write a horror story of their own. 

that summer lord bryon worked on a piece published in his collection fragments of a novel. it featured a dastardly, possibly supernatural nobleman. john polidiri, who had previously written what mary wollenstein godwin described as horrendous was about a woman with a skull head lol, and after reading the fragment polidiri was inspired to write the vampyre. its claimed he kinda completely copied the fragment, i haven’t read it and can’t talk abt it cause this is supposed to be abt lord ruthven lmao. he decided to model the devilishly attractive lord ruthven after lord byron himself (which sucked for lord byron cause that really wasn’t good for his public image). the two of them had a thing- this woman macdonald once described polidiris jealous outbursts and tantrums over lord byron. it was sorta like a angry ex demonizing their past partner lol. 

before i move onto the differences and similarities between the two lord ruthvens here is a summary of the vampyre: 

the story the vampyre tells the tale of a attractive young man named aubrey. both lord ruthven and aubrey  appear as newcomers in high class parties in london around the same time. everyone, including aubrey, find themselves oddly fascinated with lord ruthven due to the intensity of his stare, his wicked handsomeness and his strange paleness. after becoming entranced with lord ruthven, aubrey is invited to accompany on his trip throughout europe. already being expected to travel in order to truly be considered to have reached adulthood, aubrey jumps at the opportunity. 

as they travel together aubrey starts to notice some REALLY WEIRD shit about lord ruthven. the guy loves to gamble and gives his money away to the people very often, but only people who use the money for their vices who don’t really need it. lord ruthven tries to seduce a young italian girl, but aubrey ruins that for him and decides it would be wise to distance himself from lord ruthven and travels to greece alone. 

once in greece aubrey falls in love with a woman. or, well, he likes the fact she doesn’t love him and that it would be absolutely ridiculous for him to ever want to marry him. basically he finds comfort in his attraction to her cause it means he DOESN’T REALLY like lord ruthven lol. she tells him stories about vampyres living the woods by athens, which aubrey thinks is absolutely ridiculous.

after failing to make it to town after tending to something important, he gets caught in the woods after nightfall and has a encounter with a vampyre who kills the woman he was in “love” with and after a close encounter with the vampyre, he is saved by the towns people appearing flares. 

aubrey is bedridden after this incident and loses his mind a bit. he curses ruthven quite a bit in a crazed daze, yet comes to his senses one day only to realize he was being nursed to health by no other than lord ruthven himself. aubrey accepts ruthvens kindness and they decide to put their past agreements behind them and travel together again. 

lord ruthven gets murdered in a run in with some bandits. upon his death bed, aubrey is forced to swear he won’t tell anyone anything negative about lord ruthven for a year and a day after his passing. 

when he returns to england, it’s around the time when aubreys younger sister is finally about to enter society. she is very excited that aubrey will accompany her. but after attending his first party upon his return, he is pulled aside by someone who whispers for him to ‘remember his oath.’ its lord ruthven and that fucks aubrey up. 

he loses his mind a bit, which delights lord ruthven, and stays locked in his room mostly. he receives news one day that his sister is getting married and hes absolutely delighted! however, when he opens the heart locket she keeps around her neck he discovered the photo of the person inside of it is none other than lord ruthven. 

aubrey tries to get them to cancel the marriage. he fails, dies, and then his sister is killed by lord ruthven on the night of their wedding and he mysteriously disappears. 

its a very gay coded story that is REALLY GOOD so heres a link abt that

FINALLY the parallels between the two lord ruthvens relevant in tcsov:

lord ruthven in tcsov is obviously inspired by the one featured in the vampyre. two easy similarities is their lack of one eye and the fact their both highly regarded noblemen. their charisma is strongly attributed to their supernatural powers.  

in each piece of media, a young man becomes fascinated with them. while it isn’t as present in tcsov, it’s obvious lord ruthven is attempting to groom noe. which i believe is even relevant in their first encounter, despite ruthven not necessarily being aware of noes importance yet. lord ruthven holds noe against his chest when he melts the ice, forcing them to be in a position one would describe as affectionate closeness. 

similar to how aubrey is described as lord ruthvens curiosity, i believe the same applies to lord ruthven and noe. lord ruthven in tcsov’s acts of kindness towards noe remind me greatly of when lord ruthven tended to aubrey when he was bedridden. while i do believe lord ruthven in the tcsov does indeed feel some sort of affection for noe, its pretty obvious their acts of manipulation. 

him renting out the entire restaurant he brought noe to forces them to be isolated. he claims it was his favorite and says the reason why he rented out the establishment was because he wanted to have a leisurely talk with noe. this is supposed to make noe feel like hes receiving special treatment, similar to the way lord ruthven in the vampyre lures aubrey into a similar situation when he invites him to travel alone with him.  

the way he talks to other people in the series only furthers this point. while speaking to veronika or vanitas, he is incredibly apathetic and when he does smile its devoid of emotion. lord ruthven in the vampyre is described with these characteristics, as a cold, withdrawn man with a dead stare. this is contradicted only by his change of attitude when tending to aubrey. both noe and aubrey are lured into a false sense of safety.

another striking similarity is the fact they both put someone under an oath. while aubrey was manipulated emotionally by lord ruthven in the vampyre to swear he wouldn’t reveal anything that would harm lord ruthvens reputation, we’re all aware of that fun little scene from chapter 19 lol.

this oath ultimately drives aubrey insane that due to it hes unable to save his sister or anyone else who would ultimately become a victim of lord ruthven. while we havent witnessed what lord ruthven in tcsov forces noe to do yet, its easy to infer it will have similar results to noes mental health. perhaps as a result he’ll be forced to witness the death of someone he cares deeply about and blames himself for not being able to save them much like aubrey and his sister?? 

[a-year-of-musicals]

Day 183/365 - Spring Awakening

By Steven Sater and Duncan Sheik

Wendla Bergmann, an adolescent in late-nineteenth-century Germany, laments that her mother gave her "no way to handle things" and has not taught her the lessons she is meant to know as a young woman (Mama Who Bore Me). She tells her mother that it is time she learned where babies come from, considering that she is about to be an aunt for the second time. Her mother cannot bring herself to explain the facts about conception clearly to Wendla, despite knowing her daughter is reaching puberty. Instead, she simply tells Wendla that to conceive a child a woman must love her husband with all of her heart. The other young girls in town – Martha, Thea, Anna and Ilse – appear to be similarly naïve and are upset about the lack of knowledge presented to them (Mama Who Bore Me Reprise).

At school, some teenage boys are studying Virgil in Latin class. When Moritz Stiefel, a very nervous and anxious young man, sleepily misquotes a line, the teacher chastises him harshly. Moritz’s classmate, the rebellious and highly intelligent Melchior Gabor, tries to defend him, but the teacher will have none of it, and hits Melchior with a stick. Melchior reflects on the shallow narrow-mindedness of school and society and expresses his intent to change things (All That's Known).

Moritz describes a dream that has been keeping him up at night, and Melchior realizes that Moritz has been having erotic dreams which Moritz believes are signs of insanity. To comfort the panicked Moritz, Melchior, who has learned sexual information from books, tells Moritz that all of the boys at their age get these dreams. Moritz, Melchior and the other boys – Ernst, Hänschen, Otto and Georg – share their own sexually frustrated thoughts and desires (The Bitch of Living). Moritz, who is not comfortable talking about the subject with Melchior, requests that he give him the information in the form of an essay, complete with illustrations.

All the girls, save Ilse, are gathered together after school and tease each other as they fantasize about marrying the boys in the town. Martha admits that she has a crush on Moritz, but is made fun of by the other girls. At the top of the list is the radical, intelligent, and good-looking Melchior (My Junk). Moritz has eagerly digested the essay that Melchior prepared for him, but complains that his new knowledge has only made his dreams even more vivid and torturous. Melchior tries to calm and comfort his friend, but Moritz runs off in frustration. All of the boys and girls express their desires for physical intimacy (Touch Me).

Searching for flowers for her mother, Wendla stumbles upon Melchior. The two reminisce on the friendship they once shared as children and share a moment while sitting together in front of a tree. Each of them considers what it would be like to give in to their physical desires for one another (The Word of Your Body), but they do not do so. Meanwhile, at school, Moritz sneaks a look at his test results and is thrilled to learn that he has passed his midterm examinations, and tells the other boys. They are ecstatic, save the skeptical Hänschen. However, the teacher and schoolmaster, who claim they cannot pass everyone, decide to fail Moritz anyway, deeming his passing grade still not up to the school's lofty standards.

Martha accidentally admits to her friends that her father abuses her physically and sexually and that her mother is either oblivious or uncaring. The other girls are horrified to hear this, but Martha makes them promise not to tell anyone, lest she end up like Ilse, a friend from childhood who now wanders homeless and aimless after her similarly abusive parents kicked her out of the house (The Dark I Know Well). Later, Wendla finds Melchior again at his spot in the woods and tells him about Martha's abuse. Melchior is appalled to hear this, but Wendla convinces him to hit her with a switch, so that she can try to understand Martha’s pain. At first Melchior is determined to do nothing of the sort, but reluctantly complies. He gets carried away in the beating, taking his own frustrations out on Wendla and throws her to the ground. Disgusted with himself, Melchior runs off as Wendla is left lying on the ground, weeping. Alone, Wendla finds that Melchior has left his journal on the ground. She picks it up and takes it with her.

Moritz is told he has failed his final examination, and his father reacts with disdain and contempt when Moritz tells him that he will not progress in school. Rather than attempting to understand his son's pain, Moritz's father is only concerned with how the others in town will react when they see "the man with the son who failed." Moritz writes to Melchior’s mother, his only adult friend, asking for money to help him flee to America; she tenderly but firmly denies his request and promises to write his parents to discourage them from being too hard on him (And Then There Were None). Devastated by her refusal, and feeling he has few choices left, Moritz contemplates suicide.

In a stuffy hayloft during a storm, Melchior expresses his frustration about being caught between childhood and adulthood (The Mirror-Blue Night). Wendla finds him once again, telling him she wants to return his journal, and each apologizes for what happened in the forest. Melchior, disappointed in himself from the night before, urges her to leave. Wendla ignores this, instead suggesting they run in the rain until they "get soaked to the skin". Before long, they begin to kiss. Both of them nervous, they continue to entangle themselves and then hesitate – sensing that what they are doing is something very powerful. Wendla is not entirely sure of what they are about to do but is certain that it is unlike anything that she has known before. They continue and then have sex in the hayloft (I Believe). All at once, the song comes to a crescendo, Melchior penetrates her, Wendla cries out and darkness falls.

Wendla and Melchior are finishing their moment of confused intimacy in the hayloft; they reflect on and discuss what has just happened (The Guilty Ones)

Moritz, having been thrown out of his home, wanders the town at dusk, carrying a pistol when he comes across Ilse, a childhood friend of his. Ilse, who it is implied has feelings for Moritz, tells him she has found refuge at an artists' colony, and they reminisce in some childhood memories and "remarkable times". She invites him to come home with her and join her in sharing some more childhood memories, and maybe something more. Moritz refuses and Ilse does everything she can to change his mind (Don't Do Sadness/Blue Wind). After affirming to Ilse that he truly wished he could go with her, Moritz refuses and Ilse leaves – distraught and upset. Realizing that Ilse was his last chance to escape the fate he's set out for himself, Moritz quickly changes his mind and calls after her, but it is too late – she is gone. Alone and believing that he has nowhere to turn, Moritz shoots himself.

At Moritz's funeral, each of the children drops a flower into his grave as Melchior laments the passing of his friend while touching on the factors that led to his death, including the way his parents treated him (Left Behind).

Back at school, the schoolmaster and teacher feel the need to call attention away from Moritz, whose death was a direct result of their actions. They search through Moritz's belongings and find the essay on sex which Melchior wrote for him. They seize the opportunity to lay the blame of Moritz's death on Melchior, and although Melchior knows that he is not to blame, he knows there is nothing he can do to fight them and is expelled as a result (Totally Fucked).

Elsewhere that night, Hänschen meets up with his shy and delicate classmate Ernst. Ernst tells Hänschen about his plans to become a pastor after school, and Hänschen shares his pragmatic outlook on life. He is amazed with how Ernst has remained so innocent despite the horrible things happening around them. They kiss and Ernst reveals that he loves Hänschen. (The Word of Your Body Reprise).

Wendla has become ill, and her mother takes her to visit a doctor. He gives her some medication and assures them both that Wendla is suffering from anemia and will be fine, but takes Wendla's mother aside and tells her that Wendla is pregnant. When her mother confronts her with this information, Wendla is completely shocked, not understanding how it could have happened. She realizes that her mother lied to her about how babies are made. Although she berates her mother for leaving her ignorant, her mother rejects the guilt and insists Wendla tell her who the child's father is. Wendla reluctantly surrenders a passionate note Melchior sent her after they consummated their relationship. She reflects somberly on her current condition and the circumstances that precipitated it, but resolves with optimism about her future child (Whispering).

Meanwhile, Melchior's parents argue about their son's fate; his mother does not believe that the essay he wrote for Moritz is sufficient reason to send him away to reform school. When Melchior's father (Callum) tells his wife about Wendla's pregnancy, she finally agrees that they must send Melchior away, which they do without telling him that Wendla is pregnant.

During this time, Melchior and Wendla keep contact through letters, delivered by Ilse. At the reform school, Melchior gets into a fight with some boys who grab a letter he has just received from Wendla and use it in a masturbation game. As one of the boys reads from the letter, Melchior finally learns about Wendla and their child, and he escapes from the institution to find her. Meanwhile, a very terrified and clueless Wendla is taken to a back-alley abortionist by her mother.

When Melchior reaches town after a few days, he sends a message to Ilse, asking her to have Wendla meet him at the cemetery at midnight. Ilse, however, can take no action, as Melchior "hasn't heard" about Wendla. She shows Anna, Martha, and Thea the letter. They are equally horrified, and decide not to tell Melchior what has happened. At the cemetery, Melchior stumbles across Moritz's grave and swears to himself that he and Wendla will raise their child in a compassionate and open environment. When Wendla is late to the meeting, Melchior begins to feel a little uneasy. Looking around, Melchior sees a fresh grave he had not noticed before. He reads the name on the stone–Wendla's–and realizes that Wendla has died after a botched abortion. Overwhelmed by shock and grief, he takes out a razor with intent to kill himself. Moritz's and Wendla's spirits rise from their graves to offer him strength. They persuade him to journey on, and he resolves to live and to carry their memories with him forever (Those You've Known).

Led by Ilse, everyone assembles onstage now (in some stagings, wearing modern clothes) to sing about how although the adults may still call the shots with their uptight and conservative views, they will not last forever, and the seeds are already being planted for a new, liberal minded, progressive generation (The Song of Purple Summer).

Favourite Songs: Mama Who Bore Me, The Bitch Of Living, Touch Me, The Dark I Know Well, I Believe, Totally Fucked and The Song Of Purple Summer

Favourite Character: Melchior

He just tries to do right by everybody and it always backfires. I feel so sorry for him.

[barelimbs1]

inner child

I unknowingly framed my entire sense of self on the desire to be loved, I longed for it the way a child longed a mother's touch. Something I evidently lacked in my childhood. That child with dark skin, a gap between her teeth and the soul of a nurture who was acutely aware of the moods and feelings of others. I often was the one who played the caretaker in my house, I was emotionally drained by the roars of my parents and they relied on me to keep peace - to be the voice of reason and they had no understanding of how this kind of chaos would affect my development. I wasn't taught the importance of boundaries. My feelings and the importance of cultivating my inner voice wasn’t allowed the space to flourish. They had no understanding of it. That resentment laid with me for awhile but through active shadow work I understood the importance of not shifting blame to my mother or father. They did the best with what they knew, they raised me the way they were raised and how could they have known? How could they have known their absence in my life, the fighting, the screaming, and the lack of emotional safety could have affected their only daughter? I extend compassion and forgiveness to them because I know the pain I endured in my childhood wasn't intentional, their love for me just wasn't what I needed in my development.  As an adult, it is my job to tend to those wounds, to be my own caregiver. It is my responsibility to give myself the safety and love I lacked in my adolescence. 

My childhood trauma often highlighted the need to be validated in my adulthood. it triggered my abandonment wounds and my insecurities. My last relationship quickly became a desperate attempt at trying to prove I was worthy of being loved. And I was given crumbs of the love I was clinging on to. I couldn't use discernment to see that the love he was giving me was rooted in resentment and his own trauma and shadow side that he was continuously running away from. My attachment style quickly became anxious, and his was avoidant. Unknowingly, I had mirrored the relationship of my parents, I was the child attracting what was familiar. Chaos and love was my familiar. I was constantly trying to do the work for him, trying to get him to see reason, begging him to accept the love I was trying to give him. But he couldn't get out of his own head, in fact the more I needed him the more he pushed me away and the worse his disdain for me became. I gave until I had nothing for myself and my resentment and insanity grew. I felt a deep sense of betrayal from him but also felt the betrayal to myself. By fighting for his love, I was losing my self worth and self respect. It took a couple blows of him using my insecurities against me to wake up. The pain became so overwhelming I began to look on at him with dismay and contempt. 

Sadly, the person I was fighting for showed me he was no longer that person again and again. The cruelty became too overwhelming that I had nothing else to cling on to. I was forced to face the reality and it broke me. I no longer knew who he was, and I felt as if I had built up some idea of who he was in my head. I no longer felt who I loved ever existed. I wanted to change and grow, he wanted to stay stuck in the past, he wanted to continue doing as he pleased without considering the affect it had on me and subconsciously use the past as a justification for his cruelty. After that I felt as if all the efforts I had were completely wasted, and all I had left was my broken heart and my lost identity. I relied so heavily on him to validate my worth when I always had it within me to do it on my own. I no longer wanted to be a victim and I looked at the situation as something I was experiencing rather than something that was happening to me. I had let go and I let go without anger this time. I let go with acceptance. But most importantly I was exhausted. I had nothing else to give. He is own his own journey and I no longer have a hand in that. It was never my responsibility to help him access a higher state of being. It was never my responsibility to highlight the areas he needed to work on. And had I learned that lesson a year ago, I would have saved myself a great deal of pain. So I forgave him and continued on my journey without him. I can still love the people I loved, even if I cross the street to avoid them. I always thought I was mature for forgiving the ones who hurt me. I always thought my idea of being the bigger person was something to be praised. I didn't understand the concept of forgiving and letting go. My forgiveness was rooted in my own ego, and my desire to look like a good person. I wanted to control the narrative of who I knew myself to be. I knew I was a good person. I knew that my intentions were pure. But, the truth is I will probably be the villain in someone else's story and people may not want to see me in a good light and that's okay. It is not a reflection of myself and that notion is freeing. I can fuck up and that doesn't make me a bad person or someone who's unworthy of love. I can forgive and not go back to the same place that made me sick. I don't need to give any more compassion to anyone if it means taking that compassion away from myself. I can exercise my boundaries and not feel ashamed for doing so. I don't have to prove myself to anyone. What I want and what I feel is more than enough. . He can view me however he wants. I am okay with him seeing the story from his perspective, it doesn’t take away from how I feel or how I know I didn’t deserve to be treated.

Isolation has forced me to confront some really dark aspects of myself. I wasn't given the luxury of being avoidant this time. A breakup, losing friends, and a death in my family sent me into the darkest spiral of my life. After a very traumatic situation four years ago, I didn't think I could sink any lower but I did. This time the universe forced this lesson down my throat, I had nowhere to run or hide. My buried trauma was going to chew me up and spit me back out if I didn't learn what I know now to be a major lesson in my life. I am sitting with myself, and embracing the solitude. The only thing keeping me company is my research, my therapist, and my own intrusive thoughts.  I am okay with not being perfect. And next time I will run far away from a man who calls me his dream woman. Every man who has called me their dream woman has idealised me or put me on some pedestal and when I couldn't live up to their unrealistic expectations they dehumanised me. And became vengeful when I didn't live up to their impossible vision of who they imagined me to be. I am human and I am flawed. I am grateful for the love and the pain. It has sent me on an incredible journey. And what a journey it will continue to be.