#the only consistencies are trauma and children

[gurorori]

i will talk ab source. part 1 is prolly childhood? I REACHED TAG LIMIT

[bonefall]

Clear Sky is a Monster.

Of all the characters in Warrior Cats, I think Clear Sky was the most heavily mishandled.

At every turn, the narrative begs you to sympathize with him, to "understand" the "misunderstood." To this end, his brother Gray Wing is used to "keep faith" in his inherent goodness, his abused son, Thunder, is forced to go back to him over and over, and his second dead wife is completely lobotomized in death to absolve him of all sin.

Because of this, of all this set-up for the "redemption" arc they're trying to tell in the last three books, DOTC is Clear Sky's story. Everything primarily exists to benefit and serve his arc. Thunder and Gray Wing might have POVs, but HE is the character who truly drives the plot. So in order to HAVE conflict for that back half, two evil foreign cats, Slash and One Eye, are summoned to act as contrast.

Their narrative purpose is to display "true evil" to make Clear Sky look less bad in comparison. Unfortunately, Clear Sky is the most malignant, deadly character who has ever blighted Warrior Cats.

The "pure evil" examples they summon aren't effective contrasts because they're flat. Clear Sky is what real abusers look like.

His rhetoric is what it sounds like when a cult leader is trying to keep control over a group. He lies when it benefits him, justifies his actions with his tragic backstory to assuage his guilt and manipulate others, and violently lashes out when his feelings are hurt before blaming his victim for making him angry.

He only made "some mistakes" in that SOME of his actions were accidents-- the vast majority of them were malicious, self-absorbed, intentional choices to punish, hurt, and kill others.

I've spoken about Bumble. I've tallied his body count next to Tigerstar. I've talked about how his infant son's death was his fault in sequel books, and called attention to the infected wound face shoving scene that no one talks about. I can't fit every detail into a single post-- because he's so rancid that I would practically be posting entire books.

So what I want to do here is tackle the heart of Clear Sky. Everything he does, everything he's motivated by, is absolute and utter control over other people. He leverages his "trauma" to evoke empathy from his targets to make them easier to manipulate. He's a dirty liar. He breaks down to physical violence when all other tactics stop working.

He's one of the most severe and realistic abusers I've ever read about outside of very adult literature-- and when I read the reasons why he's attracted to Star Flower, my stomach immediately lurched.

The Killing of Misty

Starvation Rhetoric and the Memory of Fluttering Bird

Aside; a question

Hunger as a punishment; he doesn't care about starvation

Exoneration arc

Predation: Star Flower is a replacement for his son.

I think that index is an evocative content warning. But to say it again; this post contains child and domestic abuse, physical assault, public humiliation, incestuous grooming implications, and a lot of murder.

I need to start with the death of Misty. I see a few people saying that Clear Sky killed her for "being on his land" or trespassing, but this is actually a misstatement that I feel is important to correct.

Misty and her children were on their own land. It was her house. Clear Sky killed her to take it.

This is one of the most important details to remember about Clear Sky, that this is the consistent end point of his obsessive need for power and control. By harassment, by violence, or by death, he will brutalize anyone who does not give him what he wants, or who makes him feel bad, and find some way to justify it.

This territory expansion was for no logical reason. There was plenty of food and plenty of land. Any aggression that's happening on this territory is in response to how he's been stealing land and mauling people.

When it's found out she was fighting to defend her children, Clear Sky's immediate response is to slaughter them too.

Petal doesn't have milk either. It wasn't about the logistics. He wanted to kill the kids, because looking at them made him feel bad, and she just managed to stop him.

Starvation Rhetoric and the Image of Fluttering Bird

It is often said that Clear Sky is doing this because he's "traumatized" from how his little sister, Fluttering Bird, starved to death in the mountains. That the emotion came from wanting to feed people. That's incorrect. It wasn't about food. Fluttering Bird's death, and all the "starvation" he's faced, are used as manipulation tactics to guilt, influence, and control other characters, particularly when he might meet resistance or be held accountable for something.

It was always, ALWAYS, about control.

He does not care about actually helping people; "Starvation Rhetoric" through Fluttering Bird is an image he can invoke to justify the actions that are as bloody and cruel as the one this post starts off with. Either in his own mind, or in the minds of the cats he's manipulating.

He does this to Falling Feather, before slicing her face open in anger when she doesn't buy it. He does it to Rainswept Flower, before he strangles her to death. And he does it in the chapter just before Misty's murder, both to his Clan and then to Thunder,

Clear Sky climbed up in front of an entire crowd and gave a grand speech about hunger and "adjusting" the borders around territory he plans to conquer. When he gets to "forgiveness" he feigns pain to make his point because he is performing. If the sentiment is not a total lie, then at bare minimum, he is intentionally playing this up for the crowd.

He is rallying the Clan to support his violence against the cats whose land he wants to steal, and selling it with his life's hardships.

The audience is clearly well-trained, because several cats recognize the cue, particularly Frost who is praised for loudly comforting him. This signals "loyalty" because showing your sympathy towards his "suffering" is how this type of emotional manipulation works. It creates a persecuted, righteous in-group.

He's also apparently used this tactic before, since this entire crowd knows what "I Would Never Forgive Myself " means.

He's made sycophants out of his followers. Like a cult leader.

His abused son, however, hasn't been fully indoctrinated yet. Seeing Thunder uncomfortable with the idea of expanding the borders for no reason, Clear Sky calls him over for a personal propaganda session.

Clear Sky begins the exchange by calling this a "duty" and a "great honor." Immediately framing what he plans to do as righteous.

He puts on the act when Thunder shows resistance, dramatically pausing to let the guilt trip sink in.

"Thunder waited, realizing that he said the wrong thing."

And then Clear Sky launches into infantilizing Thunder, talking down to him like a child who's too inexperienced to see the "signs of starvation," acting like he's being "patient" in "explaining" it.

And then we get it. "I know what starvation looks like (so stop trusting your own eyes) because I have been through more than you (so shut up and do what I tell you), and I'm being a HERO for what I'm about to do (so opposing me would make you a bad person)."

Thanks to these crocodile tears, looking "moved," the act works. The victim is immediately wracked by guilt because the abuser seems genuinely emotional.

He even lovebombs him over the corpse of Misty in the next chapter, making Thunder feel threatened.

Thunder doesn't have the words to describe what is happening to him, but he knows that this sudden snap to praise isn't natural. That something is very wrong.

A Question.

Before I move on to show that this IS an act, and that he is lying about how important avoiding starvation is to him, I will ask a question. Please think about it, because I promise I mean it genuinely;

Why does it matter if Clear Sky actually believes this or not?

The victims are just as dead either way, yes? Thunder is just as abused and guilt tripped. The entire Clan has been driven towards violence while coddling and cooing at their Supreme Leader. Clear Sky is slowly annexing the entire forest. If you have ever accepted that he had "good intentions" as an excuse for the harm he did, or that abuse and murder was what he imagined was "the right thing," or that his trauma justifies the way he leverages his own pain to make cats do what he wants... why do you think that?

Why does that make it morally better, as the narrative concludes? Would you accept the same for every other WC villain or antagonist? Tigerstar? Slash? Tom the Wifebeater? Brokenstar? Rainflower?

How could you tell the difference, if you couldn't read their actual thoughts on the page? ...are there any other "good intentions" you've accepted, somewhere else?

Don't share that answer with me. It's a question for you. Sit with it.

Hunger as a punishment; he doesn't care about starvation.

...but, regardless, Clear Sky is not deluded about starvation. It's a justification for his obsessive need for control, and always has been. There was no shortage before stealing Misty's land and kits, he is fully aware that there's more prey than they can eat.

He punishes Falling Feather with hunger and harassment for thought crime, by briefly thinking of leaving. But first, he invokes Fluttering Bird at her like he did before, flying into a screeching fit of rage when she doesn't buy it,

"I'm sorry I hurt you... BUT" is THE wifebeater phrase. THE stereotypical line of a domestic abuser. "I'm sorry I hit you... but it's your fault for making me so angry."

She went through the same exact starvation he did, calls out that he's just framing his greed as being for the collective benefit of his subjects, and is assaulted for that.

When we're in his head, we see his REAL concerns are not about hunger. He invoked Fluttering Bird to try and make her shut up and bow down to him; what he's focused on is her "gossiping" and "whining" about the open wound he left on her face. He's still furious at Fircone and Nettle for how Thunder QUESTIONED him. So he will "strengthen their commitment."

When "starvation" DOES enter his thoughts, it is to assuage his own guilt and JUSTIFY what he already did. What he already WANTS to do. It's post-hoc.

He had to suppress his own guilt at how his greed and ambition made these children into orphans, completely unable to admit that he's ever been wrong or has a change to make, so he invokes the starvation rhetoric at himself to excuse it. So he feels less bad.

Everything, EVERYTHING, in this confrontation is about his pleasure at being able to torment his subordinates. To continue the abuse when the initial confrontation is over. If it isn't pride in his power and control over them, it's plain sadism.

He invokes starvation in front of the crowd, again, after being pleasured at the guilt in her eyes, hoping that everyone sees her writhing with shame and embarrassment. Fear wasn't at the root of why he assaulted Falling Feather; rage was, and now he feels better that he got to humiliate the person who offended him.

Starvation Rhetoric is a manipulation tactic.

It goes RIGHT BACK to his twisted idea of "loyalty." Obedience.

A cat who's actually, primarily concerned about starvation wouldn't encourage other cats to steal her food if they feel like it. He wouldn't be using it as a weapon to retaliate against her because she hurt his feelings.

This is paired with the fact he restricts and monitors the diet of his cats. They eat when he allows it, and only what he gives them, in spite of there being piles of dead animals rotting, going to waste.

We then find he personally doles out food from these piles, plucking carcasses off them and flinging them at his cats, one by one. Probably so he can watch how grateful they are to him and make sure they stay a little hungry-- and definitely because it means he can control WHO gets to eat at all.

If Clear Sky chucked a mouse at Falling Feather and someone took it? She would have gone hungry. For not groveling to him. Like when he decides to starve her brother; a hostage who he promised to feed and care for.

He's a dishonest snake. He lied about abandoning baby Thunder, calling it a "test of strength," he lied about Bumble's death, he lied about keeping Jackdaw's Cry fed.

And he lied about starvation to Thunder, because he was just making up an excuse to steal more land.

He wasn't "seeing the signs" of starvation when he moved to "adjust" his borders. Even FURTHER into this so-called "delusional slip" into tyranny, he's freely admitting that it takes months for a person to starve when it benefits his sadistic need to punish undeserving cats.

"Dumb moor cats, always expecting more than they DESERVE."

Not need. DESERVE. It's not a delusion about starvation and it never was. STARVATION is how he CONTROLS SkyClan, and once again he's angry that his pleasure has been sullied.

The massacre at Fourtrees was started over Jackdaw's Cry catching a bat after being starved, on land that Clear Sky has decided RIGHT NOW that he also owns, because it mades him think about being disobeyed.

The bat is forgotten as Clear Sky pivots into a tantrum, wanting to make his family HURT for being 'disloyal' and 'ungrateful.' For leaving him. He LIKES seeing people grovel, cower, and beg, getting PLEASURE from watching how he can hurt and command other cats, and if you don't give him what he wants he will kill you.

Which, make no mistake, is what the "First Battle" actually is. Clear Sky attempting to murder those who don't worship him or swear their undying fealty to him and his twisted dictatorship. Particularly his own son, the most prominent victim of his emotional abuse.

It's not about the bat. It was never even about food or starvation. It's about retaliation for any perceived lack of control.

Once again he breaks out starvation rhetoric to try and manipulate someone, and when Rainswept Flower doesn't buy it just like Falling Feather didn't, he murders her in another fit of entitled rage.

Exoneration arc.

At the end of this battle that was entirely his own fault, we're introduced to the hollowed-out ghost of Storm. She has been flushed of all personality, so that she can be the perfect narrative mouthpiece.

She accepts yet another Fluttering Bird Invocation in spite of how we saw it's not sincere. He was lying the entire time and using starvation rhetoric as a manipulation tactic to get control over his victims.

And that's it.

That's the consequence. Storm's a little mad at him until he says "Buttering Flird" and she swoons.

He doesn't have to be ""afraid"" anymore because the cats just invented an afterlife to believe in. He keeps all of his power and influence and gets off scot-free, because "guilt" (which we SAW him repressing anyway) is supposed to be the best consequence for murder, abuse, and tyranny.

The husk of Storm even materializes again at the end of book 5 to say it outright; he "never drove anyone away." Not even after Book 4 where it's also his fault One Eye took over his Clan for 5 minutes. It was just destiny.

His "redemption arc" is just an exoneration arc. The narrative doesn't think he really did anything wrong.

EVERYTHING about Clear Sky has ALWAYS been about making grabs at power, but since the narrative didn't see a problem with him extorting his personal tragedy and the death of a child, his own sister, he continues doing it. As if these behaviors are normal personality 'traits'.

Even when that sister COMES OUT OF HEAVEN TO YELL AT HIM DIRECTLY,

He finds a way to COMPLETELY miss the point, so he can interpret her words in a bizarrely specific way that will conveniently end with him being the supreme dictator of the entire forest. Just like he ALWAYS does.

It's the entire 5th book. Clear Sky trying to convince everyone, including himself, that it's Fluttering Bird who wants him to grab at power, NOT himself and his own ambition, that THIS time, he promises, for realsies, it's actually about keeping everyone safe.

But just like ALWAYS, because he does not change, when this tried and true tactic manages to work on Thunder, during ANOTHER exchange where he's dramatically pausing and using the cold shoulder to make his pitiable act land harder,

He lapses right back into bullying his child, creating situations where Thunder will have difficulty or be put in pain, so that he can have an excuse to mock and belittle him.

And this all comes to a head when Clear Sky takes romantic interest in Star Flower, his abused son's previous romantic interest.

Predation: Star Flower is a replacement for his son.

Direct parallels are drawn between Thunder and Star Flower. Star Flower contrasts her loyalty to her father to Thunder's "disloyalty" to his own, in an appeal to Clear Sky.

Clear Sky brushes it off for now, citing that he cannot accept her because of who her father was.

But then, Thunder makes the connection between himself and her, because he knows what it is like to be a victim of parental abuse and correctly clocks that they have this in common,

On his vouch, Clear Sky accepts her into the group. She starts trying to offer himself to him; hunting twice as hard as the others, self-imposing harsh conditions like taking a wet sleeping spot. In their second interaction, Clear Sky begins to take interest in her.

Thunder himself points out that Star Flower is seeking an abusive tyrant to replace her own father, which reads like he's deflecting the stress of how his father is abusing him to deny a connection he already made. As if Thunder sees so much of himself in Star Flower that it makes him (rightly) feel sick that his father is romantically invested in her;

Thunder then goes on to follow his own advice and form his own Clan, because Clear Sky IS like One Eye... while Star Flower remains here. At Clear Sky's side. Because she feels like this is what she "deserves," that she "understands" him, truly believing that her crime (warning her father that Clear Sky brought an ambush in case he lost the 1 on 1 death match he requested, which he did) are on the same level as his abuse and murders.

Clear Sky is attracted to Star Flower because, in his own words;

She is young.

She will not betray him.

She won't question him,

and she obeys him.

We've seen what "betrayal" is to Clear Sky-- not taking his excuses or his beatings. To "disobey" is betrayal. To "question" is disobedience.

These are ALL things he's tried to drill into Thunder. We saw him happily exploit their difference in age to tell him he can't have an opinion. He constructed humiliating games in retaliation for ever being questioned. He tried to murder Thunder and his friends for their "betrayal." Even now, being disobeyed causes explosive reactions.

He was previously grooming the things he now identifies as attractive in a young woman into his child.

If your body becomes too useless to serve him, like Frost and Jagged Peak, you're thrown out. If you don't unquestioningly follow his bloody commands, like Falling Feather or Thunder, you're subjected to abuse and public humiliation. If you're in his way, like Misty or Rainswept Flower were, you die.

If you meet all of his expectations...

You will be in a horrific position where you will never have agency over your own life ever again. Every move, every word, will have to be carefully crafted so that he feels like you're "loyal" to him by the arbitrary standard he feels that day. Never step out of line, never doubt his decisions, never live for anyone except him and the children you will give him, not even for a moment, because then you will not be "worthy" of his grace.

Star Flower would be in serious danger if this series wasn't written by abuse apologists. They accidentally wrote a perfect reflection of how child abuse victims often find themselves in unsafe and toxic romantic relationships with large age gaps which mirror what they went through as kids; but this team doesn't clock it, playing this relationship as wholesome and genuine.

He finally has someone who ""understands"" him. Because they think the character they wrote is misunderstood.

but reality is plain to see.

Clear Sky is a monster. The most realistic monster in all of WC-- far, far closer to real life predators and domestic abusers than the "born evil" rogues like Slash and One Eye. The Erins seem to believe that what separates Clear Sky from One Eye is "fundamental" good and "fundamental" evil, when the truth is that they'd be separated by very, very little.

If they had realistic motivations, they would be exactly like the character their existence is meant to excuse.

Slash and One Eye HAD to be kept flat and one-dimensional. If the book was more earnest, the only difference between Clear Sky and One Eye would have been that One Eye is stronger. So strong that Clear Sky needed to manipulate the other groups into helping him.

While anyone can change, not everyone will, and Clear Sky has no reason to. He sees no consequences. He has everything he wants; power, a pretty and obedient young mate, and unchecked authority over a brainwashed forest cult. There is always a victim on a leash, a naive enabler, or a bunch of desperate and gullible marks somewhere in his proximity to bully into doing his dirtywork

Whether his "intentions" were sincere or not (evidence points towards not) at its root it was always about control. Power is something he perpetually keeps, and continues to violently use.

[missycolorful]

I think I'll just say this: I don't agree when people call any of the islanders "bad parents" just because their parenting is flawed.

Like, parents and their parenting is flawed. Inherently. One parent cannot meet all the demands of their child; it is literally impossible. As humans are imperfect, there will always be something missing or lacking in one's parenting. Hell, sometimes even two parents can't meet all their child's needs, depending on their personalities. If that's the case, then I guess all parents are bad parents. But that's not the case, so I don't get why people are so adamant when they see that a parent isn't handling things 100% perfectly and go "wow this person's parenting sucks."

And this is even more so when you take into account... pretty much everything going on in Quesadilla island. These people never really planned to be parents, yet here they are! And this island is out to kill these kids, so it's also a dangerous game of survival now, too! There are horrors around pretty much every corner. Plus, outside or inside forces are making the islanders suffer very often. The islanders are never okay. How they take care of their children is going to be different just by the very basis of their environment. The standards of parenting are different here. Their relationships with people, including their children, were never going to be 100% healthy or positive or okay. It's just not possible.

so, no, I don't think that just cause, say, q!Tubbo or q!Phil aren't great in regards to their emotional intelligence and often isolate themselves, or when any other parents in general don't handle what their children are going through perfectly, that they're bad parents. That kinda statement feels like it diminishes pretty much all the hard work and effort and love they put into taking care of their kids and even kids that aren't their own. Tubbo gives his everything for Sunny, and was/is an active babysitter for a lot of other eggs. Phil works so hard to love and teach survival to and take care of his two eggs equally. (Like, being 'basically' a single parent, of one or WORSE, two, is already hard enough in the real world - imagine being one on this fucking hellscape they're on).

Like, I don't think there's anything wrong with pointing out the parents' flaws. Their flaws make them human, and it'd be foolish to disregard their humanity. And it's interesting to analyze their flaws and what they say about the character, and how they impact their family. There's nuance there, and it should be discussed.

But I think when you're just going "oh, they're bad at parenting in general" because they fumble the bag in other departments lacks nuance. Sure, if you're just saying "they're bad when it comes to certain aspects of parenting," that's a different story, because that's understanding their flaws while recognizing that those flaws don't define all of their parenting. But to just say they're bad at it in general isn't productive analysis of their characters in any way. I haven't watched q!Phil take care of his egg for a whole year (followed by a second egg more consistently shortly after) only for people to shit on his parenting just because his lack emotional intelligence is more noticeable as of recent due to all the trauma and bullshit he's endured. And I haven't seen q!Tubbo put his whole heart into taking care of Sunny as well as multiple other eggs, being Chayanne and Tallulah's reliable godfather, just for people to put down his efforts because he's not always great at more emotionally in depth conversations. They're good parents in a lot of ways, and those strengths shouldn't be discredited just because they aren't good at other things. Their characters deserve way better than that.

tldr these parents are all good in many regards and are just trying their damn best in the worst of circumstances, can we cut them just a bit of slack, please?

[peachesofteal]

Alone / Chapter 3

Part of the Sassy series. Chapter 3/3.

Simon Riley/female reader 9.1k words - AO3 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Praise kink. Size difference/kink. Blood and violence. PTSD. Trauma. Panic attacks, night terrors, catatonia, relationship issues, emotional hurt/comfort. Medical stuff. Angst. Mentions of having a uterus/children. Soft dad Simon Riley. Simon is a great dad, that's all. Soap is a good uncle. John Price. Simon is living in a nightmare.

If you’re living in a nightmare, then Simon is living in hell.

It plagues his every waking second, invades his consciousness when he’s finally able to get to sleep, envelopes his reality at work, at home, everywhere. Anywhere. The sun has permanently set and there is only darkness now, only the bad, only the evil left, his existence devoid of your golden rays, his life bereft of your warmth on his face. 

It is easy to feel like a ghost. On the days he doesn't have Theo, or he's not on an op, he struggles to keep himself functioning, struggles to make sense of his day to day. The violence helps, when he's with the 141, the familiar feeling of executing, of hunting grounding him in a reality that doesn't seem so far fetched, doesn't seem so outlandish. When he's home, Soap helps by calling and texting incessantly, and Price consistently drops by, inviting him for dinner or asking him to look something over. Everyone makes an effort, to make sure he's not forgotten, to make sure he knows they care. 

This hell, this nightmare, feels oddly similar to being buried alive. It feels comparable to being trapped beneath the ground, dying, slowly, the air around him casually evaporating with every breath he dares to draw. It feels like when the earth tried to pulled him back under, when the clay tried to trap itself inside his lungs, clogging the passages of his alveoli, dirt mixing with blood mixing with saliva, caking itself in his throat and into his very conscious. 

It only feels different, feels less like hell and more like his old life, when he’s with Theo.

Sometimes, he pretends that it is still his old life. That he’s just out with Theo at the park, and when they get home, you’re going to be there. Or, he and Theo are out for “guy’s night”, as you used to call it, at the restaurant down the street, and you’re out somewhere else with Price’s wife, for a monthly happy hour that will undoubtedly bleed into dinner, and end with the two of you on the couch watching some god awful tv show until Price comes to collect her. He pretends when he’s grocery shopping that he’s checking off your list, each section sequenced to reflect the supermarket’s organization, something you always did to help make it easier for him, to get him in and out as quickly as possible, because you knew how he felt about large places with lots of bodies and too many obstacles. He pretends that the house that he rented is actually his home, pretends it the house down the street, the one that you live in, the one that you two of you bought together. He pretends that the bed is empty because you’re just working late again, up with tired eyes in front of your laptop, your brain computing and processing lines upon lines of numbers and formulas of things he doesn’t understand. 

All of these things, they happened before.

Before you were plucked from a springtime walk, Theo left crying in the pram on a sidewalk while you were injected with something that rendered you unconscious until you woke in a concrete room halfway across the world.

Before the phone call. Before the video.

Before the rescue. Before the massacre. Before he snapped. Before his rage, the path of bodies left in his wake, before Soap had to pull him off a corpse that he had pummeled to death. Before he cut off the hands of every single person who had touched you. Before the sound of the men begging for their lives lived in his head, before the intensive, four times a week therapy sessions that had to last hours long just to get him back to baseline. Just to get him back to a point where he could take care of Theo, take care of you.

Before the hospital and the damage from the infection and the complications from the injury to your lung.

Before the catatonia and the night terrors and the panic attacks that left you confused and alone inside your own head.

Before the rot invaded his home. Before its sticky, tentacled ropes of poison spread across the walls. Before it cast its sickly shadow across your face. 

Before, when you still called yourself his wife. When still wore your ring. When you still told him you loved him.

Before he failed.

Before you left him.

Before.

“I hate them.” Your sullen voice crackles through the phone, muffled and distorted. It’s the best reception he’s gotten in eight days, and you still sound like you’re a million miles away and underwater at the same time. He swallows the disappointment.

“They can’t be that bad.” 

“Oh, they’re bad, Si. They’re all helicopter moms. Prissy and obnoxious. One of them won’t even let their kid use the slide because she’s scared about some kind of toxic lining on it. I don’t know. Why did you bring your kid to a playgroup if they’re not allowed to play?” You huff, and he’s glad you’re not on a video call right now, because he’s smiling, his eyes are closed and he’s imagining you pacing in the kitchen, waving something around in your hand for added effect, tops of your thighs peeking out from under the hem of a too big t shirt. He knows if you caught him grinning when you’re all cross, there’d be hell to pay. 

“Is Theo havin’ fun?” 

“Eh. Yeah. He’s bigger than all the other ones his age so he kind of gets to do what he wants.” He chuckles at that, foolish pride blooming across his cheeks, and he can practically hear you rolling your eyes through the phone. “Still struggling with the concept of sharing.” You add, and he nods to himself. It's not a surprise to either of you, and sharing has been a work in progress at home. 

“He’d learn how to share a lot faster if he had a sibling.” He offers, and you laugh on the other end before abruptly going silent, like you’re holding onto to a secret. “Sass?” 

“I did it.” You breathe. 

“You did what?”

“I did, what we discussed. Last month, just before you left. I went to the doctor and… she took it out.” He sits straight up, boots scuffing along the dirty safehouse floor. 

“You got your IUD out?” His bones rattle in his body, eyes wide while he waits for you to confirm it. 

“Yeah, Si. I… I’m ready. I want to start trying when you get home.” 

“Are you sure? I thought you said-“ 

“I am. And I know… what I said. But I talked to my doctor, and she helped lessen some of my anxiety about it. I had an ultrasound to look at my uterus and she thinks the chances are good. I… feel good about it.” He pads the silicone ring with his thumb while he takes long, deep breaths to steady himself. “So, I guess, you better hurry and get home so we can start trying because it takes two, ya know?” You laugh again, but he hears the wet sound in the back of your throat, the thick, syrupy sound of your tears, and his heart clenches in his chest. 

“I-“ 

The timer on his watch goes off. It’s loud enough that you can hear it, and you sigh. 

“Gotta cut the line?” you volunteer, and he grunts out a yes even though he wants to stay on it for hours more, telling you how much he loves you, how excited he is, how he can’t wait to give you another baby. “Be safe, okay?” 

“Always. I love you. I’ll see you real soon.” 

“I love you too.” He presses the end call button and tucks the phone away in his pocket, leaning his head against the wood paneling of the door. Another baby, you wanted to have another baby. 

He’s still grinning like a complete fool when he comes down the stairs to where Johnny and Kyle are hunched over a tiny aluminum table, shoving some sort of MRE down their throats. When Gaz spots him, his brow furrows, and he half hollers with a mouth full of food to Johnny. 

“What’s got ‘im in such a good mood?” 

The hallways in the medical office building are beige, a shade lighter than the darker beige carpet, which complements the brown chairs of the waiting room. It used the bother him, the blandness, but now he supposes he’s grateful for it. It’s less distracting. Less obtrusive. It lets him think, which is exactly what he’s doing, thinking, about you, about Theo, when he pulls the big walnut colored door open and spots you curled in on yourself in a waiting room chair.

He’s surprised to see you here before him. He’s surprised you even showed up if he’s being honest. He knows how you feel about therapy in general, and with the way the last couple’s session went, he’s shocked you’re willing to give it another go.

It burns just the smallest amount of joy in his gut.

Don’t. Don’t get your hopes up. 

“Hi.” You croak.

“Hey, Sass.” Your face is guarded as you nod up at him, everything in your expression haunted and hesitant, the emptiness he knows you’re carrying around inside of you spilling out through your features as plain as day. He can’t stand it. “Sleep okay? Have a good late-night chat with Soap?” He probes and you scowl back at him, fire sparking behind your eyes while he fights the urge to smile. There’s my girl. He doesn’t mean to goad you, doesn’t want to anger or upset you, but he’ll take what he can get.

Besides, he already knows you must have in fact, slept better than usual, because you didn’t call Johnny. And he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night to the half a ring-hang up that you’ve started doing in these past few weeks, something that’s developed since the day the two of you watched Moana with Theo, and you fell asleep next to him on the couch after your panic attack. The day that felt like a dream, when Theo asked to go for a walk to the playground, and you shyly asked if he wanted to come along. The day that he’s been replaying over and over in his mind, the day that felt like progress, that felt like something more than this nightmare he’s been living inside.

He’s about to ask how Theo was for you this morning when the office door opens, and Dr. C is smiling at the two of you from the other side.

“Hi guys, come on in. I just need to grab a tea.” He motions for you to go first, and you falter in your steps before you’re brushing past him, your fingertips grazing the hand that lays lax at his side.

This time, he doesn’t hide his smile.

“How is she?” His pacing comes to an abrupt halt when his therapist, Dr. C comes out through the door, a tablet in her hand, lines of her face nearly impossible to read. She motions to a set of chairs, the uncomfortable ones that line the hall, and then takes a seat opposite of him. 

“The staff psychologist here wants to release her to an assisted living facility until she shows improvement.” 

“No.” 

“Mr. Riley, I-“

“No. She can’t go to one of those places. She can’t.” 

“They have places that specialize in care for cases like your wife. It’s not like sending her to a nursing home.” 

“I don’t care. She needs to come home, with us. Theo needs her. I need her. Once… once she gets home, she’ll do better.” Dr. C sighs. 

“She’s catatonic, Simon. She’ll need her PICC line for nutrition and medications, another IV for fluids. She’ll need someone to bathe her, turn her, do her wound care, things you’re not prepared to do.”

“The fuck ‘m not.” He doesn’t know how to do an IV, sure. But he can do everything else. And he knows he can hire a nurse or someone to do the other things, the medications, the tubes, the wound cleanings. “I’m not sending her away.” 

“That’s not what this is.” 

“It’s not happening. She’s coming home. With me.”

“Johnny took Theo to the park today. Bug tripped comin’ off the slide and nearly cut his chin open. He’s okay, just a deep scratch but it scared him. Johnny said he cried for you the whole way home.” He strokes the pad of his thumb across your cheek, watching your eyes for movement from where they stare, straight ahead, out the master bedroom window. You’re curled on your side, knees tucked up to protect your abdomen, hands clenched under the mountain of pillows. 

It's been so, so long since he’s heard your voice. So long since he’s seen you smile, or laugh, or even engaged in a single word that’s being spoken to you. 

He feels like he’s losing you. Like you’re slipping away from him, drowning right in front of him. 

It feels like Theo is losing his mom. 

It feels like he’s losing his mind. 

Sometimes, he wants to scream at you. Wants to grip you by your jaw and turn your face towards his and force a reaction from you. Wants to pull the tube that’s feeding you free from your chest and force you to eat on your own. Wants to beg and plead and cry at your feet, wants to shake you until you have no choice but to tell him to stop. 

Dr C. has told him again and again that it will take time. That you’re healing, your mind and your body is processing an unfathomable trauma, and that what’s happening to you, this catatonia, is the way your brain is helping protect itself. 

So, he tries to remember you, like before. He clings to his memories. The videos on his phone. The live photos that feel like stolen snippets from someone else’s life. He carries it all with him, every day. He shows you the photo and videos on a slideshow every night in hopes something will bright light to your lifeless eyes. He rubs your back and holds your hand, tries to comb through your hair as gently as he can, waters the plant that sits on the windowsill. He does Theo's bedtime routine in here now, reads his stories aloud to the two of you, Theo always curled up against him while you lay unmoving beside him. He reads from the stack of books that you have sitting next to your side of the bed, the collection of them that you were working through before you were taken. He massages ointment into your scars, press the pads of his thumbs into the arch of your feet like he did when you were pregnant, lays awake beside you and speaks aimlessly about nothing. He presses his lips gently to your cheek, your forehead, your mouth. Anything, everything he can do to try to bring you back. 

Nothing works. The bed feels like a grave. The house feels like a mausoleum. The only life left inside of either of you is your son.  

He sits there next to you until he hears the front door, the sound of Johnny bringing Theo back after their adventure out for takeaway forcing him to pull your blanket up under your chin, tucking you in gently until he’s satisfied it’s to your liking.

“I’ll be back up, after dinner, okay? I’ll bring Theo in to say goodnight.” 

“So, how have things been?” Simon likes Dr C, a revelation that he’s grown comfortable with in the past year or so. She is easy to talk to. She does not flinch away from the gruesome details of either of your lives. It helps that she specializes in PTSD and war related trauma therapy as well, of course, but she offers him warmth, and understanding in his sessions. He feels comfortable with her. He feels so comfortable with her, that when you were in desperate need of help, he thought of her first. He feels comfortable knowing that you’re seeing her for therapy and that you’re receiving the same kind of care and patience that he has. He knows Dr C is good at her job, and it brings him comfort, in a strange way, to know that someone who has helped him, is helping you, and the two of you now, together. 

“Mrs. Riley?” she tries to encourage you, and you meet her with a half hearted nod and a shrug.

“Okay, I guess.” She looks at him next, the same question bouncing around the room.

“We spent some time together, three weeks ago. Watched a bit of a movie with Theo, and then we all took a walk. Went to the park, even.” Your hands flex and tighten where they sit in your lap, shoulders high and tight.

“That’s great, I’m sure Theo was very excited. How do you feel it went?” He stays quiet, giving you time to talk if you decide that’s what you want. You don’t, and it doesn’t surprise him. Start slow. Nice and easy. 

“It went better than the last time we uh, tried a family activity.” He provides when you stay tight lipped, and you immediately cringe, guilt snapping across his skin. Could’ve phrased that better. He wants to grab your hand, stroke his thumb across your knuckles and press his lips to your pulse point all while telling you it wasn’t your fault. Wants to tell you he loves you, that nothing that has happened, has been your fault, even though he knows your own mind is eating you alive with the idea. He can see it all now, the stuff in your head. The awful, hellish landscape that has become your mind. He wants to take it away. Wishes he could scoop it out of your brain, pull away every piece of dark and infectious rot that plagues you, separate it from your nervous system like he's a surgeon. He can't. He's tried. 

Dr C. allows the room to fall silent for a moment, as is her custom, before moving on. She does it for you, more than anyone. Gives you time to prepare, to switch gears. It also gives you an opportunity to speak, if you choose to.

You don’t, usually.

“We’re at the six-month mark this week.” His heart stops in his chest. No. “We did agree, that after six months, we would evaluate where we are and potentially discuss how you’re both feeling about the separation. Do you think that’s something you might be open to exploring, Mrs. Riley?” He watches your throat bob with a swallow, your gaze shifting from its absent state to something hopeless, something worried.

“It’s not the right time.” He rushes out to ease whatever it is that’s causing you turmoil. The therapist nods at him, acknowledging his words, but keeps her eyes on you.

“Mrs. Riley?” He holds his breath while you look down at your lap, eyes searching for something on your skin, some kind of an answer he hopes you won’t find. The room is dead silent while you slowly lift your neck, head turning so your eyes find his. Just like a hundred times before. 

Your voice is soft, angelic when you finally speak.

“Yes. I would open to talking about it.”

The scream is hard to distinguish. In the dark, it could just be a part of his ever-present nightmares, just another piece of his mind twisting his memories and his reality together to form a special kind of hell. It’s hard to tell at three in the morning, but he’s sure he’s awake in his own bed, your body twisting and turning beside him, terror pouring from your lips while you sweat against the sheets. His pulse thunders in his ears, the broken cries coming from you echoing throughout the room and stopping his heart. 

He rolls onto you immediately, trapping your kicking legs beneath his, a hand coming up to cradle your face and tapping your cheekbone with the pad of his index finger, a gentler way of trying to pull you out, a method that has had varied success in the past. 

“Come on, sweet girl. Wake up for me.” Your mouth presses into the pillow and you scream, your body shaking in his hold, face wet with tears. “Shhh. It’s alright. You’re alright, you’re safe.” You’re terrified, and he can’t soothe you, can’t wake you to bring you into reality, the desperation he feels compounding when your wet cheek presses into his palm. You thrash, arms swinging, and he tries to hold you steady while your voice crests with a sob that shifts in a shriek next to his ear. “Sass! Please. I’m here, I’m right here.” His voice breaks, raspy and raw, but nothing reaches you, nothing matters. You’re not here, you’re still there. In that room with the concrete floor that’s stained with your blood. Your hand moves again, this time making contact and digging into his face, his flesh parting beneath the fine edge of your nails, blood pooling underneath them when he pushes your arm away, pinning it down by your side while you cry. He’s helpless, trapped in this hell alongside of you, drowning beneath the current of your nightmare while you free fall through your terror, unconscious and unable to be woken. He can’t even feel the sting of his cheek, can’t feel the small wounds that are leaking blood down his skin, none of it registers. All he can do is hold you, talk to you as calmly as he can while you sob, your voice eventually falling into soft whimpers as you slowly settle. 

“Daddy?” Theo’s little voice calls from the door, where he’s standing wide eyed and terrified and Simon curses while you shiver in his arms. 

“It’s okay, bug. Go back to your bed.” Theo shakes his head no, unable to look away. He looks so scared and Simon’s heart shatters inside his chest, something he thought wasn’t even possible anymore. 

“Mum?” Theo cries, face scrunched up, hands clutching his blanket to his chest. Your cries are muffled now, and although you’re still shaking, he can’t leave Theo in the doorway, watching you like this. 

Simon pulls the blankets back up over your body, tucking you in as tightly as he can manage and then scoops Theo up, carrying him down the hall while he shushes him, running his fingers through his hair while he cries. 

“Shhh. She’s alright, Mum’s alright. She’s just havin’ a bad dream. Just like we do sometimes, yeah?” Simon coos while Theo sniffles, his face resting on Simon’s shoulder, blanket tucked between their bodies. “C’mere, let’s lay down.” He lays Theo on his kid’s sized bed, curling his own body around him, most of Simon’s legs hanging off the end. Theo holds onto to him so tight that it feels like he’s trying to burrow himself in Simon’s body, to hide there from his own fears and nightmares, and he rubs his back soothingly until Theo is blissfully asleep, safe in the arms of his dad.

He clips your nails short the next morning. You stare out the window and say nothing.

There’s a lot of noise in Simon’s head.

He can see your mouth moving, can see Dr. C’s mouth moving, but he can hardly hear either of you, your voices drowned out by the white noise-static sound that’s cutting through his brain, slicing down into his flesh, past his sternum to where his heart beats slowly.

“I don’t want a divorce.” The words ricochet between his ears, and he feels like he’s been doused with cold water, the shock of your words startling him from his stupor as he blinks stupidly at you. You don’t want a divorce. Joy, pure, unaltered, endless joy fills him until he’s nearly smiling, his cautionary behavior going out the window with your admission. You don’t want a divorce. Your voice is heavy with the weight of everything you’re feeling, and it feels sick to feel how he does right now when there are tears spilling over your waterline and down your face. “B-but I don’t know if I can be… how we were. I don’t know if I know how. Or… if I deserve…” you trail off, and he closes his eyes against the sinking feeling in his stomach. You don’t say anything else after that, lip tucked between your teeth, brow creased like you’re concentrating. The therapist says your name, twice, to try to bring you back, and then when you finally make eye contact, she continues on.

“Do you see a path, in your mind? A path forward, for your marriage?”

“I do-don’t know… I don’t know what it would look like.” Dr C. let’s the room go quiet again, and he’s surprised when you lift your gaze to his once more, your eyes seeking something in his. He’s not sure what it is, doesn’t know what to give you in this moment, which is a foreign concept, considering he used to be able to anticipate your moods and moves, your decisions and your ideas. The two of you used to know each other like the back of your hands and now… sometimes it feels like he’s in love with a stranger.

“I have an idea.” Dr C. says and you straight a little, looking at her with a somewhat grim expression. “Have you considered going on a date?”

“A date?” you blurt, and he tenses.

“Without Theo. Just the two of you, somewhere you both feel comfortable. Leave your expectations at home and take the time to talk to one another, one on one. Reconnect.” You’re going to say no. There’s no way you’ll go for this. You gnaw on your lip for a minute while your fingers play idly in your lap. He braces himself for the rejection, for you to say it’s too much, too soon, that you’re not ready, you can’t do it. All of these things, he would not blame you for.

All of these things, make him grateful he doesn’t have Theo tonight, and that he’s got a fresh bottle of bourbon on his kitchen table.

“Okay, well. I guess we can call Price and see if they want to babysit?” He turns to look at you, dumbfounded, mouth slack with shock while you give him the most nervous, the most hesitant smile. It blinds him, momentarily confusing him, like it’s a trick. Like it’s all wrong, and you’re going to change your mind, or something else is going to happen and derail this. It’s also, all right. You, smiling at him, looking like you actually might want to… spend time with him, see him without it having to be the usual Theo pass off. Like you might still want this, want him.

Dr C. clears her throat expectantly, and he stumbles to get his words out, to catch up.

“Yeah, Sass. Let’s… set it up.”

“Mum better?” Theo’s little fingers fold over his board book, eager smile on his face as he tips his head back to squint at Simon. He’s heard you, in the bedroom earlier, arguing with the nurse that comes every morning. It was quite a surprise for her when she got here, to see you sitting up in bed, eyes blinking and brow furrowed, Simon helping you rotate your wrists that have grown stiff and sore. “Pa’cakes fa Mum?” Simon smiles. Sweet lad. 

“Yes, we can make Mum pancakes. She can’t really eat a lot but I’m sure she’d love to have breakfast with you.” He rubs his chest absentmindedly, stroking over a particular raised bump of skin, a scar from an op years ago. You had been running your fingers over it, this morning when he woke up, shocked to feel you turned into him, tucked up against his chest, your hand tracing light touches over his skin. Your voice had been rough, scratchy from lack of use, and you complained that every muscle in your neck and back ached, along with you joints. 

He said you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

You told him you loved him. 

And then Theo woke up.

It’s a messy process, making pancakes with his son. Theo likes to do everything himself, including pouring the milk and cracking the eggs into the bowl. You usually handle it with such grace, such patience, giving Theo the time he needs to explore the mechanisms of it, feel out what interests him and explain every step to him. Simon tries to embody that part of you, he does, but it’s not as easy as you make it look. Especially when Theo cracks three eggs on the floor. 

“Uh oh!” he yells, and Simon closes his eyes, breathing through his nose until his chest is thoroughly expanded. He wants to be upstairs, with you. Wants more than the two hours he got at dawn before Theo woke up and then nurse came over, wants to hurry it up so they both can be up there, sitting with you, him and Theo. “Sorry, Daddy.” Theo’s sad voice brings him back to the now, and he snaps his eyes open to see his disappointed little face, eyes worried as he looks at the batter bowl. 

“It’s alright, bug. Accidents happen. Let’s try again, yeah?”

Forty minutes later, Simon’s finally got a stack of pancakes on a plate, him and Theo sitting on the bed next to you, and a cup of coffee in his hand. He’s cutting them one by one into little pieces, and then handing you the fork so you can help Theo. 

“Don’ need ‘elp mum!” Theo exclaims, wrapping a paw around your fingers and pushing the fork into his mouth, chewing with a smile. You laugh and lean over to kiss his head. 

“Where did my baby go? I swear just last week you were saying your first word.” It’s meant to be sweet, to be a throw back to when Theo was actually a baby, but it settles like lead in the bottom of Simon’s stomach, and when he glances up at you, you’re wearing a faraway look, thinking about something he cannot name.

Five days after the joint therapy session, Simon is standing in your living room trying not to feel completely dumbfounded. Or terrified. Or elated.

Or anything. He’s trying not to feel anything at all, because if he does, then it will mean something, it will matter, and it will possess the ability to ruin him. If he lets himself feel it, the hope, the happiness, it will make it all that much worse at the end, when this doesn’t work. When it’s too much for you.

He had even called you later that night, after the session, to make sure that this was something you actually wanted to do, that you hadn’t felt pressured into it by being in a room with him and the therapist. When you had doubled down, he hid his surprise as best he could, and reassured you that he also wanted to go when you asked him in a small, hesitant voice if he thought maybe, it wasn’t such a good idea.

“Can I have a kiss?” you ask Theo as you bend down, the curve of your ass displayed in the black cocktail dress you chose to wear. The dress, that had him gaping like a fish when you came down the stairs, the dress that highlighted the ins and outs of your body that he used to be so bloody familiar with. Theo wraps his arms around your neck as tight as he can, little face happy and excited with the prospect of spending all night with Price and his wife, who will assuredly allow him to eat all the cotton candy flavored ice cream he wants and put him to bed late. They’re taking him to theirs, something they’ve done in the past (albeit for far less joyous reasons) which works better for everyone. That way, they can sleep in their own bed instead of your guest bed or his couch, and Theo doesn’t have to be woken in the middle of the night to be carried home.

Price’s wife ruffles Theo’s hair as you hand her his little backpack. Simon pretends not to notice the way John tracks her movements, the way he catalogues everything she does with Theo. He pretends not to the see the brief flicker of something across his face, the flicker of wanting that shadows his blue eyes before they clear again. It’s not Simon’s place, to know these things. To notice them.

Instead, Simon bends to scoop Theo into his arms, giving him a big hug and breathing in the smell of his baby shampoo before placing back on his feet gently, his little boy grinning up at him with a face full of love that twists his heart sharply.

“Thanks again.” You smile at her, and she nods while John takes the backpack, and she takes Theo’s hand in hers. “You know the drill.” You shrug and she laughs softly before agreeing.

“We do! We’re going to have a lot of fun, huh Theo?” Theo nods excitedly and you manage to give him another kiss on the cheek before straightening.

“Alright, well. One of us will grab him, in the morning. I’ll text you.” You’re looking at her funny, something different in your eyes, something he’s not sure how to interpret. It’s odd, but it passes in a blink, and then she pulls you into her arms, whispering something in your ear that he cannot hear. You answer her softly, a quieted hum of words, before stepping away and giving the final nod to Price.

“Alright, honey. You two ready?” John’s hand presses to the small of her back, a reassuring and guiding touch, and then they’re all out the door, Theo holding both of their hands while they make the trek two blocks away to their own house. You watch them until they’ve faded from sight, and then turn around with your hands on your hips, a nervous expression that probably mirrors his, on your face. The hardwood beneath his feet feels like fucking sand.

“Well… should we?”

“You don’t get it! You’re not listening to me!” 

“There is no one in your life, on this planet, who understands the way you’re feeling more than I do.” He tries to explain it, tries to reason with you. Tries to make you see that he gets it, that he knows how it feels. You won’t listen, you don’t budge. You only take a step backwards, hand outstretched against his chest as a warning. 

“No you don’t! You didn’t die, Simon. You came back.” 

“So did you.” 

“No, I didn’t. I… I was fucked up before and you know it. Whatever was left was taken. I didn’t fight hard enough. I didn’t survive. It wasn’t enough.” Your voice is high, reedy, and a warning bell goes off in the back of his mind, the memory of your panic attack from last week fresh in his memory. You still have the stitches in your hand from the bathroom mirror glass, and he winces when you make a fist and thump it against your thigh. 

“Hey, hey. It's okay. You’re getting-“ 

“Stop!” you cry out. The haunted expression on your face looks all wrong, and he knows you’re sinking farther and farther into your own head, going somewhere he cannot reach you. “You fought and won, you survived. I was too weak. I c-couldn’t… I tried. But I failed.” You let out a gut-wrenching sob, arms wrapped tight around yourself. “I wanted to die! I gave up. You had to fucking save me, Simon.”

“Sass-“ He tries to reach for you, tries to pull you into his arms, into his body where he can protect you, but you jerk away. 

“Don’t touch me. I can’t… I don’t know what to do.” Your eyes are glassy, chest heaving while you struggle to breathe, fingers dug into your own scalp for dear life. “I don’t… I can’t do this.” You’re gasping now, trembling, eyes wide and panicked, and he steps closer, brushing his fingers along your forearm back and forth until you’re softening to him, slumping forward into his chest.

“It’s alright. You’re safe. You’re here, Theo’s here, I’m here. You’re not alone. There’s nothing to fear.” He says it over and over into your hair, lips just above your ear while he eases you to the floor, your fingers tight in his shirt, tears wetting the fabric. “I’ve got you.” He soothes, and your body folds up into his easily, his arm going around your back to hold you firm while he rocks the two of you in the dark of the bedroom until your gasping breaths turn to quiet sobs, and you fall asleep against his chest.

He takes you to the Italian restaurant. It’s the one he took you to after the two of you bought the house, when you first moved over here. It’s dark, and secluded, and only has two entrances/exits, both of which he can see from the table in the back. Most people consider the candlelit, barely lit atmosphere romantic, and it is, but for the two of you, it serves a different purpose. It allows you to relax. It allows him to remove his mask.

Tonight, it allows you to feel comfortable in a dress that clearly displays more skin than he’s seen you show in eight months. The darkness swallows your scars, drifts around you in an inky black cloud, envelopes your shoulders like a blanket. The candlelight flickers across your face, and he watches you sip your wine, putting the glass down and picking it back up again and again, before either of you have even ordered dinner.

“You look beautiful.” He offers it gently, tentatively, unsure of where to start, where to take this. A gift has been dumped in his lap, a priceless, perfect, beautiful gift and now he doesn’t know what to do with it. His heart wants to rip the band-aid off, tear the wrapping paper free, uncaring if he makes a mess or crinkles the paper, but his mind knows better. His mind knows he has to take it crease by crease, ribbon by ribbon, ensuring each fold unfurls correctly, ensuring each edge comes easily. 

“Thank you… you look pretty good yourself.” Your lips curl into a little half smile over the rim of your glass and he can’t help but return it, indulgently sinking into every word you say, every glance you give him. He feels intoxicated, drunk on you, flying high from the way you’re looking at him, like you still know him, like you still love him.

“So.” You play with the fork on the table, turning it from back to front repeatedly and he beats back the urge to reach for your hand and still you, to try to calm your nerves. It's me, Sass. It's just me. I'm right here. 

“So.” He parrots back, and your fingers wave in the air like you’re trying to conjure something. A safe topic of conversation maybe, or another glass of wine, since yours is now nearly empty. The candle sputters and then steadies, illuminating the expression of worry that’s etched into your face, and it spurs him forward, pushes him into momentum until he’s laying his forearm across the table, palm up, waiting, hoping.

He holds his breath.

You stare at him without saying a word for a long time, the restaurant and its patrons moving around you, the world continuing to turn while his oxygen depletes, and he holds himself as still as a statue. You stare, and you stare until-

Your hand lands in his, perfectly curled along the inside of his fingers, thumb pressed to the curve of his wrist, and you blink furiously at your lap.

When you lift your head, there are tears in your eyes, fat, wet tears that fall down your cheeks when you open your mouth.

“I miss you.”

“You don’t understand.” 

“THEN TELL ME!” your mouth drops open in shock and shame licks up his spine, horror icing through his body inch by inch as he stumbles to apologize. “I’m sorry, Sass. I’m sorry, I… I don’t mean to yell, I.." The words trail off when he comes up empty. He has no excuse. 

It’s been a long, long time since he’s raised his voice when speaking with you. The memory of the last time, the aftermath of the op where you intentionally disobeyed him and put yourself at risk feels a million miles away right now, and just like yesterday all at once. 

Except now, it’s not him running away from you. 

It’s you that’s running away from him.

Dinner flies. It feels like a dream, a soft, fragrant dream that he can smell and taste, something tangible, touchable. Something real. You order another glass of wine, and he orders a pour of bourbon, and then another. It lubricates the two of you, easing your tongues and pushing you into conversations that feel safe. You talk about Theo, and Johnny, and Price and his wife. The two of you go back and forth about the finer details of an op you’ve always been fond of arguing about.

His eyes don’t leave your face the entire time. He tries to decode your expressions, your posture, your body language, all through the meal and then after the check is paid. He watches you as he leads you out of the restaurant onto the street, clocks your steps as you turn in a circle on the sidewalk, a sly, hopeful look reflecting on your face when you step closer and say,

“Walk with me?”

It’s a long walk from the restaurant to the street where your respective houses sit, but he doesn’t mind. By the time the two of you are crawling to a stop in front of his door, you’ve got your hand in his, your arm pressed to his side, and he can feel the heat of your skin through his jacket. You’re quiet until you’re turning towards him on the front step, his sanity being held together in this moment with some tape and glue, and you step closer into his orbit, fingers lightly holding the front zipper of his jacket, head tilted back, face turned up towards his. You're the sun, you're the sun, you're the fucking sun and you’re not wearing your armor, there’s no vacant expression on your face, no layer of fear or sadness or anger. You look… like his wife in this moment. You look like Theo’s mom, his partner, his bomb tech, his sweet girl.

You look like you’re still his. You’re looking at him like he’s still yours.

Your lips part, and he leans into you, mouth hovering above yours, just out of reach for so many reasons. He shouldn’t do this. It’s too fast. You’ll pull back. You’ll slip away. This is too risky, it’s too much, it’s too fast, you’re not thinking clear- 

“Si.” You pull at him. “Kiss me.” He’s powerless to the command, or request, or whatever the bloody hell it is. It doesn’t matter, because he’s pressing his mouth to yours in less than a second, the searing heat of your tongue pushing into his mouth sending a cool shock down his spine and lighting every muscle in his body on fire.

Home. He’s home.

When he opens the front door, he doesn’t hear anything. No kid’s television shows, no sounds of you or Theo. No happy little boy running to greet him. No sign of you on the couch, no sound of you in the back or in the kitchen. 

He finds you in the bedroom, alone. 

“Where is Theo?”��

“He’s at the Price’s.” your voice is hollow. Empty, like your facial expression. Haunted, like your eyes. The quiet of the house makes him wary. Something prickles along his skin, raising the hair on the back of his neck. 

“Why?” 

“I wanted to talk and I… didn’t think he should be here.” 

“Talk about what?” It’s a grunt, a gruff question that he levels nonchalantly while he waits for you to speak as he strips off his boots and sits down on the bed. He doesn't ask you anything further, doesn't push for elaboration. He doesn't want to. Can't bring himself to hurry whatever it is along, uneasiness snaking up his spine while he observes your  uncomfortable posture.

“What do you see? When you look at me?” you ask, and he frowns. 

“I see… you, sweet girl. Theo’s mom. My person, my wife.” You don’t respond, you just continue to stare at your feet, so he says your name, your real name, as softly as he can manage, hoping to pull your attention. 

“Your person is broken.” 

“No, she’s not.” 

“She’s a nightmare.” 

“Stop.” His tone cuts through the air and you jerk, your eyes finding his, the despondence behind them enough to make his head spin.

“I should have died there.” You croak. “I should have died, Si. It would have been better than this. You could have buried me, moved on.” Nausea sweeps him. He feels ill, like he did when he found you in that room, like he did when he loaded you onto the heli barely alive. He takes a deep breath to steady himself before speaking again. 

“This… this will get better, Sass. You’re still healing, physically, mentally… it doesn’t happen overnight. It takes time.” He tries to pull your hand into his lap, but you wrench it away, standing up from the bed. 

“It’s not that easy.” You pace back and forth, and he wants so badly to stop you, to hold you and tell you everything will be alright. That he understands how you feel, and he promises you’ll feel better, one day. Even if it feels like it might never be true. His skin itches beneath his clothes.  

“I know it’s not. I know that it feels impossible right now and-“ 

“No.” You cut him off. 

“No?” 

“No, you don’t know. You’re not hearing me! You haven’t been listening to me at all.” You whirl on him. “I’m not like you Simon! I’m not… I don’t deserve you, or Theo, or anything. I don’t-“ 

“That’s enough. I can’t listen to this anymore.” He snaps, rising to full height. His temper breaks, his own sadness and anxiety burning together to form something else, something desperate, something afraid. It's not what he meant to say, not what he meant at all. He wants to tell you again, that it's not true. That you do deserve him, and your son, and good things. That you aren't weak, or pathetic, or dirty. He meant to tell you that he doesn't want you to say these things, these awful things about yourself anymore because speaking them out loud just makes them feel all the more true to you. It comes out wrong, all wrong and too sharp, too harsh and you step backwards, pulling the bedroom door wide before he can stop you. 

Your voice is a shattered chime when you whisper to him over your shoulder. 

“Your wife is broken, Simon. She’s gone.”

You’re tangled in one another. He barely gets the door locked before he’s lifting you by the thighs and pressing you against the wall as gently as he can manage, his cock hard for you beneath the thin cotton of his briefs, your hips rocking forward against him while your head leans back to expose your throat.

“Sass.” I love you. It almost spills from his lips, but he holds it back at the last moment, groaning into your skin instead, and you whine his name back to him, fingers flying over the buttons of his shirt, your hands pressing to his stomach while he rucks the bottom of your dress up past your hips. It’s not gentle, it’s not sweet. It’s frenzied, and frantic, and spurred on by the way your hands push and pull at him, your mouth desperately seeking his, your nails digging into his scalp as you press yourself against his cock. 

“Please.” You whimper, and how can he possibly deny you anything? He cannot. He would never. You reach beneath the waistband of his pants and grip him, hand stroking up and down his length, thumb pressing across where he’s dripping with pre-come.

“Bloody hell.” You’re squirming where he holds you up on the wall, his fingers pulling your thong to the side and stroking through where you’re soaked for him, circling your clit with quick touches until your thigh muscles are tensing around his waist. His size compared to yours is glaringly obvious in this position, your legs spread so wide before him, the mass of his body overtop yours like you're pinned beneath a mountain. He loves it. Always has. 

“Fuck, Simon. Please.” You beg again, your hips flexing, seeking friction, his hand spread across your rib cage to hold you steady while he unzips his pants and lowers you down the wall a fraction, just to the right height, just so he can-

Your breath hitches when he pushes inside of you, head tipped back, eyes clenched shut with your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Christ." he hisses between clenched teeth. You whimper, the noise something off key and he stills, cradling your face with his palms and lowering his mouth to yours again. "I know." He soothes you. "You're taking me so well, sweet girl." You’re so tight, so warm and wet and perfect for him it makes his head spin, makes his knees feel like they might collapse. You relax around him, softening and he praises you, nipping your bottom lip while he grinds his body against yours. "There you go. Good girl." He fucks you deeper, harder and harder until he's sure he could be hurting you, burning to bury himself as far as he can, burrow himself beneath your skin so you're never without him again. 

His. His girl. His wife. His love. His home. 

You’re home. You’re home. You’re home. 

He feels the swell of emotion rise inside of him, the sum of all his feelings, all his pain, all his hope coming together until he’s fucking crying, pressing his face into your neck to hide his tears.

“I love you.” he chokes, lips grazing along salt dotted skin, and you whimper something in response, something that sounds like I love you too, except slurred together, mushed between moans while he thrusts up into your cunt over and over.

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

He pulls you along with him towards your orgasm, his fingers working your clit expertly, the muscle memory searing the two of you together until you’re both gasping, shaking messes, bodies spent from explosive endings that were too much, too soon, when all he wanted was to be notched inside of you forever, fit within you perfectly, like it always was before.

You go languid in his arms, the sheen of your sweat glossing across your chest and up your neck, the corners of your lips upturned while you pant. He says nothing, just holds you there, stares down at you, stroking a thumb across your cheekbone gently, like you’re a thing made of glass, fragile and precious, the most valuable thing his arms have ever held.

As the seconds tick by, your smile shifts, fades like the setting sun, and your eyes change from half lidded to alert while your mouth tilts, the smile slipping away into a frown and then… into an o of surprise.

“Oh my god.”  You clasp your hand over your lips and unwrap yourself from around him, standing on your own two feet. “Oh.” You whisper it now, an adject expression of dismay on your face, and he holds his hands up, palms out, to try to contain you where you stand against the wall, like you’re a frightened animal he’s trying to catch.

“Sass.” He levels, keeping his voice even and steady, but you ignore him, stumbling to the couch where his black hoodie is sitting. You pull it over your head with trembling hands, your head shaking back and forth while it falls to your mid-thigh.

“This… I’m… I didn’t mean… I wasn’t-“ You cringe, your hand going to side of your face to cover your ear, like you’re hearing something that’s too loud, and horror washes through him.

“It’s alright. You’re safe.” He tries to calm you but it’s fruitless, your eyes are wide and frantic, and they’re darting between where he stands and the front door.

“This… I d-don’t… this was wrong.” The word smarts across his face like he’s been slapped. Wrong? “I… I meant t-to go slow to… not…” He gets within arm’s reach of you before you’re moving away, stepping backwards on hesitant feet, hands clenched together like you’re holding onto yourself for dear life.

“Sass, listen to me. I-“

“I ca-can’t.”  You’re panicked now, breaths coming in staggered gasps, and he wants so badly to hold you, keep you close to him, reassure you, promise you that everything’s okay.

He tries to move closer to you, to reach out to you but you’re already running away. Already moving towards the door on unsteady legs, clips of words spewing from your mouth that don’t make any sense. His vision doubles, then triples, and the world feels out of sync, off balance while air rapidly leaves his lungs and his brain feels like it's being split apart. No no no. Please don't go. Please. He can't breathe. He can't move. He can't do anything but watch his nightmares play out in real life, watch as you hold your head in your hands and slam your eyes shut like you too, are feeling what he's feeling. Please don't go. He's a child again, a small, frightened boy, screaming and crying and begging aloud to no one, pleading with someone to save him, to make it all stop. 

You reach for the door handle and he cannot bring himself to move. He's frozen in time, frozen to the floor, the gleam of his wedding ring mocking his heart and his hope while you tremble, your legs unsteady beneath you, his come leaking out from your body as you abandon him, run from him, leave him. Again. 

When the door clicks shut, he falls against the wall and succumbs to the first panic attack he's had since Theo was born, slumped over in his living room, empty handed and alone. 

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

A few weeks after #MeToo exploded on the internet, an old friend and I did what so many women did during that time: We got on the phone and finally began to acknowledge what had happened to us. My friend shared a story of hers from college. Back then, we’d all just considered it a “bad date,” but she now recognized it as sexual assault. She also shared that at nearly every single job she’s had since college, a boss or co-worker has sexually harassed her.

The month before our conversation, I had published an essay sharing my own experience of sexual assault while traveling abroad. Like my friend, it was not my only experience—it was one of many. But I’d only included the one, because in the early stages of #MeToo, the idea of sharing one assault story still felt risky. The idea of sharing more than one felt culturally impossible. My friend agreed.

“As a woman, you’re only allowed one #MeToo moment,” she told me. “After that, people begin assuming the problem must be you.”

Out of the many celebrity #MeToo stories told in the past five years, only a handful have acknowledged the experience of multiple assaults. In an HBO documentary, Alanis Morisette spoke about repeated incidents of statuatory rape that happened when she first entered the music industry, all of which “fell on deaf ears” when she tried seeking accountability. In her memoir, Selma Blair wrote about a teacher who sexually assaulted her, as well as the many men who raped her in her 20s. In an interview with Dazed, Amber Rose said, “I cannot even count how many times a famous guy touched me inappropriately.” On a social media post during the Kavanaugh hearings, Tatum O’Neal wrote about her multiple assaults: “It was not my fault when I was 5, 6, 12, 13, 15.”

Stories that emphasize the ubiquitous nature of assault are vital in a world that so often focuses on one dramatic episode, with visceral details of the violation and an easily identifiable villain. This amplifies the false idea that assault is just a singular, horrifying incident—when in reality, many of us experience it as part of a larger, more insidious culture.

Once a person is assaulted, research shows they’re more likely to be assaulted again, a phenomenon called “revictimization.” Around 50 percent of children who survive sexual assault reexperience it later in life, and even a single incident of sexual assault in adulthood can increase the risk for it to happen again. As psychologist A.E. Jaffe and her colleagues wrote in a 2019 paper on revictimization: “Perhaps the most consistent predictor of future trauma exposure is a history of prior trauma exposure.”

Why would this be? In lieu of a good answer for it (more on that in a moment), we often blame victims themselves. We easily justify these statistics by suggesting that anyone who has survived multiple incidents of violence must be asking for it—either by acting promiscuously, hanging around too many shady men, or getting themselves into precarious situations. One survivor I interviewed told me that though she received some form of victim-blaming in response to all three sexual assaults she experienced, she noticed a stark decrease in support each time it happened again.

“After the second and third, some people began saying, ‘What’s happening in your life to attract that?’ or ‘Do you have enough awareness to know when men want to harm you?’ ” she told me. “One person even asked why I was ‘trusting men so much.’ ” Another friend who experienced multiple assaults went through a similar line of questioning, only with herself. “After so many times, I began asking myself, ‘What is it about me that brings on these experiences?’ ” she said. I told her I ask myself that question all the time.

In his essay “Spectator” for Roxane Gay’s anthology on sexual assault stories, Not That Bad, Brandon Taylor wrote about his best friend telling him she was beginning to think she was “just the kind of person this stuff happens to.” For a long time, that’s what I believed, too. As a travel writer and a single bisexual woman, I figured that at some point, I’d pay the price. Eventually, I’d have to face some element of physical harm—wasn’t that the obvious trade-off for attempting a liberated life? To me, survivorship—more than resilience, bravery, or strength—often felt like resignation.

But in some cases, it’s exactly that resignation that influences repeat assaults. While there’s no conclusive evidence as to why revictimization happens, we do know that normalizing assault can contribute to future harm. If a survivor has not internalized their experience as exceptionally traumatic, they are less likely to advocate for themselves, or demand accountability if it happens again. If they, like me, accept violence as an obvious fact of their lives, then when it repeats, they don’t seek the support they need to process and heal from each experience.

In an article for Psychology Today, psychotherapist and clinical social worker Keith Fadelici called this a “cognitive accommodation to ongoing violence.” The trauma continuously gets downplayed as victims attempt to normalize their assaults, which helps them feel more in control. “This dissociative process is a common symptom of PTSD,” Fadelici told me. “And can also later make survivors less capable of detecting risk by numbing the fear that is supposed to trigger alertness to danger.”

Oppression also plays a significant role. Those with marginalized identities are more at risk for experiencing assault in general, and thus more likely to experience it again. LGBTQ+ people are four times more likely to be assaulted than the general population (bisexual women and trangender people also are far more likely to experience assault than gay men and lesbian women). Rates of sexual assault for Indigenous women are three times higher than non-Indigenous women, and Black women are much more likely to experience assault than white women. Neurodivergent people are 11 times more likely than neurotypical people to be victims of violent crimes.

“If this is coming up repeatedly with one individual, it might be because that person is within systems and structures that facilitate assault more often,” said Jaffe. For those of us living with any of these identities, we normalize violence because living under oppression is consistently violent. In order to survive, a “cognitive accommodation to ongoing violence” is necessary. We train ourselves to get used to it, and move on.

After #MeToo, I began reading and rereading the legal definitions for rape and sexual assault to make sense of what had happened to me. Any sexual contact that occurred without consent constitutes assault? Any sexual contact that included penetration without the other person’s consent constitutes rape? The criteria felt almost too easy. Under these standards, I had been raped twice, and assaulted several other times—all stories I had not yet fully internalized, and was not yet ready to tell. Dozens of legal crimes had been committed against my body, but that idea felt so unfathomable I hardly knew what to do next.

In the three years after publishing that first story, I experienced more incidents, and I still don’t know what to call them. I don’t feel comfortable firmly declaring them as “assault.” I don’t like how it connects so deeply with an oppressive legal system, and how it automatically connotes some excessive form of violence. Even today, it seems too strong and rough a word for how these episodes played out: often with little physicality, with only brief conflict and polite turns toward quick forgiveness, until weeks later when I’d unpack the severity of what had happened. As I began sharing more of these stories with close friends, I would catch myself saying “technically” before saying “I was assaulted,” acknowledging the semantic disconnect I still felt. This hesitation is common among many survivors: As one 2019 meta-analysis showed, rates of victimization increase when participants are asked “behaviorally descriptive questions” about what happened to them, rather than questions that use terms like “rape” and “assault.”

Sometimes, people ask “How many times all together?” I say “six-ish,” a number that captures the amount of experiences that have dramatically changed the way I relate to my body—how it experiences intimacy, how it engages with the world: The one that happened at work, just weeks into my first job out of college. The one at a festival in India. The one while getting a deep-tissue massage. The one at a New York play party. The one so common I learned it has its own name (“stealthing“). The one with a lover I had loved and trusted deeply. The one with another lover, a violation that was not sexual but physical and thus, as yet another nonconsensual act done against my body, still felt so connected to all the rest.

And this still does not take into account every time I was nonconsensually touched in public—the men who pulled and grabbed my arms, my back, my butt, my shoulders to try to get my attention on the street—nor the times I’ve been followed, harassed, physically threatened by strangers on the street.

The accumulation of more and more of these events creates a compounding impact, one where each additional incident begins to amplify the ones before. For me and most survivors I spoke to, we are not healing from trauma—we are learning how to exist in a world where trauma continues to accumulate.

Every survivor I interviewed for this piece told me they fully accept the potential that they’ll experience assault in the future. Still, most of them admitted to me that it’s still easier to only share just one story with the world—never the full range of what has happened to them. “When you only have one story, the enemy is the rapist,” one survivor told me. “But when you have several people with a lifetime of these experiences, the enemy is all of us.”

This is what we mean when we talk about rape culture. The first thing we can do to start to dismantle it is to recognize what we’re up against.

[nansheonearth]

(if you prefer, you can listen to the article by clicking the link. it is 4:13 long)

Inside the ‘high-conflict’ parenting class some Mass. judges require for separated couples

Jenifer B. McKim

January 17, 2024

Updated  January 17, 2024

Melissa was filled with dread in early 2022 when ordered by a Massachusetts family court judge to take a parenting class with the estranged father of her child.

She had no desire to participate in sessions with the man she says abused her and her elementary school–aged child.

But fearing losing custody, Melissa — who asked us not to use her last name — agreed to pay $900 to take a remote course titled “High-conflict Parent Education” from William James College in Newton.

“I left my abuser, and I expected protection,’’ Melissa told GBH News recently. Instead, she said, “I have been court-ordered to be back in a relationship with him.”

What followed were nine weeks of 3-hour classes. The “high-conflict” parenting course involved homework assignments where parents were asked to find "positive traits" about each other, consider ways not to irritate one another, and phone calls to discuss common goals.

Supporters of the class — estimated to have been taken by some 600 parents over the last decade — say it is meant to protect children from the debilitating “toxic stress” caused by living between battling parents. But critics say the course is causing unneeded trauma, especially for victims of domestic violence.

The debate comes amid a broader discussion about how to improve court-order classes for separated parents — and, in some circles, whether there is any benefit at all. For years, divorcing parents in Massachusetts were required to take a shorter, less expensive parenting course — one of 17 states to do so. But the requirement has been suspended since 2021 over questions about the classes’ consistency and effectiveness.

Melissa is one of a handful of women who talked to GBH News about their concerns with the more intensive class for “high-conflict” parents. It's the only known such program in the state, distinctive because of its cost, length and requirement that "high-conflict" parents take the class together. All of the women say they were too frightened of repercussions to their fragile families to speak on the record. They describe the class as, “shaming,” “cult-like” and “creepy.”

Several women told GBH News they felt unsafe in the class, even when held remotely during the pandemic, sometimes forced to be in unmonitored breakout sessions with their estranged partners.

One woman from Middlesex County told GBH News said she was horrified her case’s judge ordered her to take the class. “I was very sickened that I would have to attend such an intimate class with my ex-husband, who is a very abusive man,’’ she said.

She took the class, but said it felt like a cult. “They would literally call you out, right in front of everybody and say, ‘You’re doing it wrong, you’re damaging your child. You do it our way,’” she said.

Another woman sent GBH News an essay she wrote about the experience — written to express her frustration. In it, she said, “I was instructed to write down the ways that I trigger my abuser's anger and what I can do different in the future, so my children would enjoy better academic and emotional outcomes. I was tempted to write down, ‘breathing.’”

Now a Boston College law lab is circulating a “white paper” that substantiates some of the women’s concerns. The authors say the “high-conflict” course is not regulated by the state, can take months to complete, and, “most worryingly,” forces some parents who’ve suffered domestic abuse to take classes at the same time.

“Parents ordered to take the class have legitimate worry,’’ the paper concludes. If the state suspended a parenting class out of concerns about “compliance with certification criteria,” the report questions, how can a class not regulated by the state be allowed to continue, and parents ordered by judges to participate?

Claire Donohue, an assistant clinical professor at Boston College Law School and lead author of the report, says she launched the inquiry at the behest of two former participants, one of whom was Melissa. Researchers asked for information from William James about the program, she said, but never received any documentation or response.

Donohue hopes that the report will fuel a conversation about the program and a wider debate about court-ordered parenting classes in Massachusetts.

“It feels a little weird. It’s like being sent to the school of good parenting,’’ Donohue said. “Who’s to say just because my marriage falls apart ... now all of sudden I have to open myself to the advice and the opinions of absolute strangers?”

Court officials declined to comment specifically about the Boston College report. In an email response to questions last year, court officials said the court does “not regulate or oversee” the William James course and directed a GBH News reporter to reach out to the college with further questions.

“The Probate and Family Court is aware of concerns from some [participants] and lawyers related to high conflict parenting courses,” the statement said. “The general focus of most parenting courses is to educate parents on the harm that can occur to children when exposed to parental conflict and how to co-parent.”

In July 2021, John Casey, chief justice of the Probate and Family Court, suspended the mandatory class for all divorcing parents after determining that the class could not prove its effectiveness and individual providers "failed to adhere" to reporting guidelines. The chief justice's decision followed an article published in Boston Magazine titled, “Is Massachusetts shaming divorced parents?” — a story Casey pointed to while explaining his decision.

Court officials told GBH News that they are working to re-launch the state-required program with an “updated, evidence-based” curriculum. State guidelines from 2010 mandate the program runs for at least two sessions totaling at least five hours at a cost of no more than $80 per parent, with the possibility of a fee waiver. Spouses were required to attend different sessions.

Court officials originally planned to start a new course in the fall, but delayed the launch after concerns from some legal service attorneys. The new course will apply to “married and unmarried parents where there are contested issues of custody and parenting time,” court officials told GBH News earlier in January.

Jamie Sabino, attorney with the Boston-based Massachusetts Law Reform Institute, told GBH News that a group of lawyers had raised issues with the new program, partly concerned that victims of domestic violence would feel they needed to attend courses, even separately. However, she said court officials are working to address those concerns, providing clearer notice to victims they can ask for a waiver.

Sabino says she's much more concerned about problems with the William James course.

“I’ve heard many reports of people, where there’s domestic violence, where there have been restraining orders — and they’re cooking dinner for the other side and being told they have to say nice things about their partner,” she said. “Our clients are trying to figure out how they can parent on their own after the trauma of the relationship and the divorce. And this is extremely traumatic.”

Jenifer McKim GBH News

William James officials defended the program in several emails to GBH News over the last year.

Kelly Casey, managing director of the college's Department of Forensic & Clinical Services, wrote in an email earlier this month that the course is based on a “successful” Kids First Center in Maine and was designed by experienced behavioral health practitioners.

“Research finds that children in high conflict home environments show the significant effects of psychological stress,” she wrote. “Over many years, the Courts and participants have seen great value in the program and continue to recommend it to parents and their coordinators.”

In another email last year, Jessica Greenwald O'Brien, then-director of the school’s Center of Excellence for Children, Families and the Law, wrote that people who have active restraining orders can ask a judge to pull them out of the class — but the judge has final say. In general, college officials don’t accept parents who have experienced “violence within the six months prior to intake,” she wrote.

“We are attempting to move coparents to a point where they can have basic, civil, information-based communications on their own regarding their children,” said O’Brien, who has since left the college for another job.

Melissa says she was required to take the class amid continuing conflicts with the father of her child, someone she never married and had been with for less than two years before their separation.

She felt obligated to comply or risk losing custody of her child. “You don’t really have a choice, especially when [the judge] says you can’t come back to court until you’ve passed the class,” she said.

In late December 2022, Melissa completed the course. It wasn’t until the following November she received notice that she had passed. She said even receiving the certification brought back unwanted emotions of dread and shame. Over the last year, she joined a group of women who connect online to discuss the trauma they experienced while in the class and seek ways to shine light on the problem.

“Everyone is complaining about it. Everyone is experiencing trauma. Everyone thinks it’s inappropriate,’’ she said. “This will keep going until we call them out.”

[evangelifloss]

I feel like Maria Ushiromiya is Umineko's litmus test for not only your general empathy towards children (because let's be honest, society doesn't regard kids as people deserving of respect) but also your reading comprehension and how far you've gotten into Umineko.

Anime onlies even from episode 1 have always notoriously applauded Rosa beating Maria for exhibiting "abnormal" or "annoying" behaviours and there's SO many meme gifs of a 9 year old being slapped (Rose garden scene). And even when they reach the adaption of Maria's backstory arc, you'll always see people yet again claiming "She deserved it" or that Rosa was valid. These types of people generally dont believe in a child's autonomy, nor have empathy if that child is in some way irritating.

And for those that completely changed their mind and realised that Maria was actually someone that was a victim, they too aren't excused from their previous opinions of how Rosa treats her daughter. They still thought that since Maria was annoying, she deserved to be verbally and physically assaulted.

However when you talk to Umineko readers, you find that "population" of Maria haters remains niche or in consistent decline. This only becomes further cemented through the backstory arc in the novel (which imo was done far better than the anime), but this is also where the reading comprehension comes in.

Alot of the time, readers miss the point of Ryukishi's writing concerning Maria and settle on the idea that there's some sort of "grey area" regarding Rosa's treatment of her daughter. The novel explicitly explains that what she does is abhorrent and that it ISNT a morally grey subject matter.

I will also acknowledge that Ryukishi also explores Rosa's problems and perspectives too, of her own trauma that leads into the abuse of Maria, but never once does the narrative seek to excuse it or paint the situation as something other than truly cruel. It is a perfect expression of the cycle of abuse within families and as difficult it is to read/watch Rosa internally struggle with her guilt over her violence, she never actually changes her behavior.

If you cannot at least empathise with Maria, how on earth will you be able to understand the struggles of Beatrice, and the meaning behind the narrative itself?

[astrosky33]

HOUSE MEANINGS IN ASTROLOGY

[READ] People often question why there’s so many meanings for each planet/house and the reason is so that you can learn more than just one thing about yourself through each placement. Otherwise astrology would be very vague and boring. These are all meanings that I’ve learned from my astrology classes at Kepler College

1ST HOUSE: identity/self, outward personality traits, outlook on life/approach to life, appearance, physical body, beauty, confidence, beginnings, how you initiate/ambition, your mannerisms, your outward behavior, physical fights, your presence, individuality, and passion

2ND HOUSE: money/finances (how we spend it, store it, and manage it), work, short term jobs, your work ethic, material possessions, self worth, values, emotional security, stability, financial security, how you meet financial obligations, your singing voice, giving/receiving, and resources (both material and non material)

3RD HOUSE: communication, your speaking voice/the way you talk, your mind, the way you think/your thinking skills, your perceptions, your opinions, your conscious mind, neighbors, siblings, interests, gossip, ideas/information, mathematics, literature, transportation (only ground not flying/air), local media, social media, cell phones, phone calls, visits, social activity, publishing, early education (before college), short trips, and short journeys

4TH HOUSE: homes/houses, family/family roots, your parents (particularly the mother/motherly figure), your inner child, emotions, foundations, your childhood, heredity, tradition, self-care, places of residence, real estate, properties, femininity, and conditions in early life

5TH HOUSE: children, childlike spirit, talent, creativity, drama, risk-taking, spotlight, romance (shows short term relationships, flings, hookups, and if long term relationships then only puppy love), hobbies, pleasures, objects of affection, vacations, games, speculation, fertility, concerts, festivals, and joy

6TH HOUSE: daily routine/day to day life/daily tasks, your health/fitness/the work you do on your body, your duties, self improvement, consistency, step-siblings, your hygiene, innocence, systems, service to others, co-workers, analytical nature, diets, animals, and your pets

7TH HOUSE: long term relationships, marriage, concern for others, attraction/attractiveness, charm, conflicts, partnerships, business partners, contracts, love affairs, open enemies, close associates, lower courts, negotiations, peers, agents, equality, harmony, and sharing

8TH HOUSE: major transformation, sex, death, longevity, changes, joint/shared finances, investments, stock market, your partners resources, taxes, inheritance, reproduction, seduction, intimacy (in general not only sexual), rebirth, merging, taboos, resurrection, loans, assets, secrets, mystery, businesses, spiritual transformation, magic (especially black magic), psychology, surgery/operations, trauma, periods, and the occult

9TH HOUSE: wisdom, law/laws, beliefs, religion, philosophy, higher education (college/university), viewpoints, languages, foreign environments, in-laws (your relatives through marriage), ethics, long journeys, travel, ideologies, higher courts, media, television, interviews, cross-cultural relations, grandparents, and learning

10TH HOUSE: your legacy, your career, your public image, your status, your reputation, fame, long-term goals, worldly attainment, sense of mission, responsibilities, recognition, authority, father/fatherly figure, experts, bosses, achievements, and professional aspirations

11TH HOUSE: friends, friend groups, gains, money made from career, desires, step/half parents, step/half children, uniqueness, inventions, technology, film, social awareness, influence, manifestations, hopes and wishes for the future, ideals, humanitarianism, associates (not just close ones), groups (in general), politics, social networking, where you make your debut into society, companions, allies, science, socialization/social interaction, clubs, organizations, and parties

12TH HOUSE: healing, the hidden, karma, karmic debts, old age, sleep, mental health, solitude/isolation, dreams (the ones you have when you sleep), hidden enemies, hidden causes, illusions, secret bed pleasures, spirituality, fears, losses, endings, escapism, impersonations, closure, need for withdrawal/privacy, afterlife, limiting beliefs, subsconcious memory, subconscious mind, hypnotism, self-undoing, hidden desires, the past, delay, and restrictions

MASTERLIST

MORE BEGINNER ASTROLOGY

PLANET MEANINGS

© 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[disformer]

What do you feel is more concerning for children with what is in the EarthSpark series; all of the clear terror and death, or having a they/them pronouned character?

Because the terror and death is seemingly entirely looked over but the ONE CHARACTER going by different pronouns is apparently nothing short of outrage.

Anon, I Am Nonbinary.

I’ll put a more thought out response under the cut

Earthspark drinking game take a sip every time an extremely young child has to emotionally support an adult or is put in life-threatening danger.

1. Steven Universe really ruined a generation of children’s media by making showrunners think they had to tackle issues like PTSD and trauma.

However, to give SU some credit, Steven was not 9 years old at the start of the show. It’s a really jarring choice that was probably made to capitalise on a more marketable demographic for TF and to keep the children’s play more lighthearted, but you get some really weird moments like (checks notes) a nine year old giving advice to an adult on how to handle trauma.

The issue with this is no nine year old should ever have to do this for an adult. They do not need to be wise beyond their years. They do not need to be a therapist for their caretakers. Grimlocks PTSD episode is one of the most egregious examples of this, where (not only is this depiction extremely one-note and weird) the narrative punishes Jawbreaker for not realising Grimlock is having a panic attack in the middle of their play.

As a framing device in a kids movie, what is a nine year old viewer supposed to take from this? The child brain is going to think ‘the adult lashed out and hurt Jawbreaker, it was his fault for being too rowdy.’ LIKE YOU WOULDNT SEE THIS IN PEPPA PIG.

And you do need to consider this when you’re writing children that young in your media, because kids are going to watch shows that have other kids the same age as them in it. There’s an almost instinctive camaraderie in seeing a fellow nine-year-old on TV when you’re at that age. So, the show is very likely going to be watched by 8-15 year olds which brings us to

2. JESUS CHRIST. THIS SHOW NEEDS TO CALM DOWN.

This show is way way way too interested in putting children in extreme danger. Constantly, towards the end of the series.

I’ll make a note first that it’s okay if kids shows have fun play-violence; kids like action. Children like low-stakes explosions. It’s not super serious and most TF media does this well, even if it’s tonally a bit more serious. This is not really an issue in a show like TFP or TFA which also had young kids.

Earthspark does not make its action low-stakes. Earthspark treats its violence extremely seriously; children cry, they scream, they get bruised, their parents wail when they see them in danger. Violence has a lasting impact, it has to because the show constantly wants to talk about trauma, so they can’t have video game rules. If they get hurt it has to impact them. Robbie and Mo are in consistent, life-threatening danger. They’re always being shot at or dropped off cliffs or almost killed and it always harrows them.

And kids can pick up on this. They’re going to realise that this is something that’s Serious, and Scary, and they’re going to be FREAKED out.

They’re also going to be freaked out when the children are fuckin. Tied into the bio-wall with tubes by Mandroid, or when Robbie has alien leukaemia and his parents are so so scared and has to rush him to the hospital and Mo is crying so much, or when their parents are seemingly killed and the kids are screaming and punching the ground and blaming themselves.

And that last part is important, because on several occasions the narrative reinforces this. The narrative. Of a children’s show. Says yes; Robbie and Mo have powers, and this makes them responsible for the well-being of the adults around them. Mo literally gets told this. By GOD. Before her parents proudly watch on without interfering as she fights in hand to hand combat with the villain (WHO IS, AS WE HAVE SEEN, FUCKING DERANGED AND WOULD LOVE TO KILL A TEENAGER JUST ONCE PLEASE PLEASE)

In conclusion, what this tells me is the showrunners are inexperienced. They didn’t consider what is appropriate for the subject matter of a children’s cartoon. They wanted to write about trauma, and war, and think kids are cute! And didn’t want their TF fanfiction to be narratively compromised by having to ‘dumb it down’ for kids.

The result is this is never a show I would ever put on for a 4th grade class in break time, at the risk of severely upsetting a lot of them. And it’s also a show I can’t enjoy as an adult, because it uses the language of a children’s cartoon to make nuanced topics more binarised and soppy.

[spotlightlowlife]

Ed Edd and Eddy succeeds at what Haz/boss attempts

Here's another series both these shows could learn from.

Spoilers ahead.

Ed Edd and Eddy, another hyperactive crazy gag cartoon that is hardly for its supposed target audience. With a very basic plot, it's a lot like Helluva boss, yet it manages to move any story along faster than the more serious plot driven but still wacky Hazbin hotel.

We have obnoxious lead characters pushing business in an unappealing looking and feeling environment where good and bad and right and wrong are ambiguous. Only accountability and growth are highly prominent in the kids show.

Initial plots

Assassin imps who sit at the bottom of society are determined to make this small business work.

Antichrist princess of hell runs a hotel where she wants to redeem sinners in order to send them to heaven.

Kids who grift for money and candy.

Characters

Eddy is a lot like both Charlie and Blitzø, he's a hyper, toxic positive, opportunistic try hard, desperate for his ideas to work, he's leader of the pack who's good at being dismissive and driven to the point of carelessness.

Like Blitzø and co. and pilot Charlie and co., the Ed's are not established at what they're working towards, but they're willing to put in the work which only leads to misadventures.

Excluding Charlie as she barely gets the time of day, the fake it till you make it demeanor Eddy and Blitzø display masks saddens, loneliness and a lack of control of how they live and how they've been living.

Blitzø glides through his show on charisma and sympathy, along with facing someone objectively worst, his behaviour being rude and mean spirited is something nobody cares about and he like those around him can step up on anybody of any standing and their actions be shrugged off.

Eddy too is a charismatic and sympathetic character, his constant trying and failing at his ideas offers us a good underdog, yet he's no hero, he's a scammer and his unsavoury ways always bother people. He gets confronted a lot.

Charlie glides through on being a nice enough side character, dispite being the lead. Though like Ed, Charlie is very determined to push an idea and get others on side, but lacking in fight, assertiveness and aggression. All three leads are fast talking salesman types, yet Ed faces consequence on the regular.

HB and EED feature additional leads that serve as the primary leads sidekicks.

We have the highly similar Moxxie and Edd, though Edd stands up for himself a more, there have been fall outs and he doesn't treat his leader of the pack as a superior, something Moxxie does dispite being there since Blitzø business was just an idea, which was when they first met, welcoming Blitzø into his life.

Both are timid, sensible, cultured and full of ideas, dragged into the problems their pushy leader presents and walked all over, much to their frustration.

We also have the friendly and loyal bruiser sidekick who doesn't really have a lot to contribute in this group dynamic. These characters being Millie and Ed, yet were Millie could speak up more, have an opinion and let her presence be known but she doesn't, Ed on the other hand is consistently operating from elsewhere.

Target audience

Helluva and Hazbin are both adult cartoons, yet clean up the dialogue and that's hardly the case. Yes there's gore and mature themes but they make up a small part in upping the age rating in comparison to the swearing and sex jokes. The mature themes are offered to us in layman's terms, we get a lot of flashbacks and confessions.

Ed Edd and Eddy is for all audiences dispite being violent, featuring sexual harrassment, domestic violence and child abuse, the execution of these mature themes are played out in a nuanced manner where we are not spoon fed information.

Mature themes - trauma

Dispite being a comically violent gag cartoon, all the children, dispite being at odds with Eddy, some being volatile ob the regular and some being younger, were able to understand what domestic violence was when Eddy was bullied by his brother, his brother being a character Eddy had long hyped up as someone cool and admirable, turned out the only truth was that this guy existed.

His own revelation that he had fabricated a big part of his background explained a lot, all of Eddy's charisma and try hard ways were determination to be liked, appreciated and have nice thing. This was growth for him and he earned the respect and understanding of his peers absent of pity, everybody moved on happily without the audience being guided into what they should perceive.

The movie not only wrapped up the show, but bought completion to the whole story.

Helluva and Hazbin is very overt in showing us what the characters have been through and are going through. We get flashbacks to childhood even when it may not be necessary.

First off, Moxxie's flashback was fine, it wasn't particularly dramatic for its setting, it explained why he was a good marksman and why he had 'daddy issues', his daddy is also an active threat, so Moxxie's avoidance doesn't always work out.

Blitzø desperation to have his business work out leading him to make a dodgy deal fit perfectly fine, we learn that his kind are at the bottom of society, we see that they don't work anywhere glamorous and he's no kid, obviously he's had to make an effort to keep his head above water, his poor decision making has probably gotten him into trouble in the past which is something that could spell endless storylines, his family aren't present and he's aggressively forming a new one so bridges being burned were storylines the audience should have expected, we learnt that he stole from Verosika and broke her heart, Verosika is a whole sucubus who seemed more cut up about in him than him interested in her.

Did we really need to know that he was manipulated into being a user and a thief back when he was an innocent little child? Weren't his underhanded tactics understand enough?

Charlie got a flashback of being a very small child expressing an interest in what her daddy was doing but her now absent mother took her away. This provided the backbone for her sulking that her dad isn't being supportive when he presented himself as a rare character to challenge her ideas, yet unlike the other extras to do so he had the vantage point of having had the same ideals herself once.

Her mother being probably the most like minded person in her life yet absent, for some reason doesn't matter.

Mature themes - SA

In Hazbin we have a pimp who films porn and has his workers in soul contracts.

We have royalty lending out a grimore in exchange for kinky sex over in Helluva.

Sex jokes are a regular occurrence in the helluveese with actual SA being downplayed by the victim who holds no power and no to little choice, who openly shows a discomfort around their controller, not be a victim because they gave reluctant consent.

Sexual harassment and SA manage to be present in EEE in an overt manner despite the show being for all audiences, yet they also manage subtlety.

The pests are the Canker sisters, three intimidating sister with different dads who all want boyfriends and are a force to be reckoned with, they stick together and double up as school and neighbours bullies and are casually violent to one another with no hurt feelings. They have snuck on to the Ed's properties and even the most ferocious of charaters fear them, these girls want their way with their targets and little stops them, so they hold a lot of power, it really makes for a good hierarchy.

Though there is self awareness here, they have been stood up to for their aggressive advances and in one episode they had their pushy ways reflected back at them and were terrified, only this wasn't undone by a new episode rolling around and all that was done being undone, but normality was restored when they smelt fear, a predators equivalent of blood in water to a shark. This allowed a major plot progression to occur yet be reversed effectively, opposed to HH and HB offering big plot progress such as Blitzø and Moxxie's capture and heart to heart or Charlie showing up at Angeldust's work, which both go on to make no difference to future episodes as if they didn't happen.

The subtlety with their characters comes from the surprising adult joke of the different fathers which insinuates that their behaviour is something they're used to seeing, also, they are children, what chance have they had to learn empathy and decency? Who will teach them?

Which leads on to a major plot point of all these shows.

Elders are to blame

Where both Helluva boss and Hazbin hotel are big on daddy issues and absent mothers, Ed Edd and Eddy doesn't feature parent at all. We only follow children doing as they please wherever they may be. We don't see teachers even though we see them at school. We don't see neighbours even though the world around them is often being trashed. On the occasion we do meet a seemingly adult character it's away from the series and in the movie, it's a truely big deal that lives up to any hype, then the story is over.

Adversaries

In the Helluverse, villainy is selectively embraced, the tone of who we should root for and who we shouldn't is clearly set. Where we have full blown predators and dictators being pushed as essentric and the other cheek turned to their actions and intentions, Valention is just running business and Stolas and Blitzø have a thing going on.

Some are even counterproductive, how did Lucifer being at the heart of everything not matter or care to be addressed? Why does Charlie not care about the sinners Alastor and Rosie cannibalized?

We then have had prominent adversaries who the tone depicts as baddies we shouldn't like and a real treat, however both series gave us a 'big fat stupid jerk' who nobody had issues humiliating. Nobody cares about what they have to say or their contributions.

Female adversarie haven't been much of a threat, they get to have spats with the character who in the spotlight, sympathetic and in the right.

What did Glitz and Glam do that was so wrong? Was Stella not a scorned woman cheated, publicly humiliated and given no choice but to leave her home,

later revealed to have the same sad backstory as Stolas yet less freedom in the present?

Females tend to be sexualised 'super bitches' with their bitchyness being what matters, not what is directed at them, but ultimately it doesn't matter at the same time because they don't matter. Over in HH, we have basic Lilith as a twist shady character lounging on the beach while war is happening and her daughter struggles? Why is this is an issue when her husband is yet to be confronted and probably never will be? Same 'bitch' who come between daddy and daughter.

There's also fellow basic Lute whose actions truly should should make her stand out but don't for no reason at all, yet would they get half the spotlight if they weren't designed cute?

Who knows, since every female to get some time has been 'pretty', but no doubt the same dismissive attitude would be sent their way if they absolutely had to be seen.

Ed Edd and Eddy have a variety of different local kids to serve as friends or foes. The perpetrator depends.

They tend to be common trophes that are built upon, take jerkish because he can be local mean kid Kevin, who sees the Ed's as dorks and feels the need to let them know it.

The highly aggressive Sarah is almost entirely reactive, yet as violent and strong as she is, she has no more courage than anyone else and is seen gaging when to pick her battles or being to frightened to make her presence known. She is a nice friend to Jimmy and mainly a menace because she is a bratty little girl who is harder to avoid than others since she's Ed's sister.

Some are decent like pretty and well liked Naz who is rather mature and isn't going to let herself get walked all over

and foregin kid Rolf with his unusual customs, a hard working and principled kid who will call out anyone

but how much patience should a nice enough person have? Especially when lot of the time it's the Ed's, generally Eddy, making trouble for others.

Ed's main barrier to success is his struggle impress or screw these others over, there's no shying away from his behaviour bothering people yet he still manages to hold up as a fun, eccentric lead.

Location

In the Helluverse, this is hell but only when it suits. The scenery of HB has looked rather spacious, vibrant and appealing while the harsh colours of the HH series in heaven or hell are bold, the ceiling we were offered in the pilot which offered a claustrophobic entrapment seems a thing of the past, it looks very big and open once we step outside of Charlie's hotel, even the colour relax to something more neutral.

There is a lack of depravity with powerful leaders we are to like being toned down, the sin of lust believes in consent always, the sin of gluttony worries about over indulgence and the actual devil is just a fun dorky dad who doesn't appear to be doing anything in particular. Anyone portrayed as a victim serves to tug at the viewers heartstrings and be cute and likeable in that moment.

Charlie has a big fancy hotel that isn't going anywhere and welcomes sinners, former humans who are spawned into a middle class.

Over in HB the demons have raised hell on earth, arriving to carry out hits, bringing forth monsters, demonic possession, lude acts infront of minors, showing true forms and being responsible for some of the most gory scenes.

All with no consequence. It's like the setting serves primarily as a way to incorporate fun character designs with the various races.

EEE gives us a bunch of unsupervised kids who can do what they want in this unattractive environment that uses a strange colour scheme with a lack of contrast that gives a closed in feel. It is entirely lawless, non serious, so OTT that anything goes, physics need not apply.

For years people have theorized that these characters aren't living and that this may be set in limbo or purgatory. Be this the case or not, this series succeeds at giving us a very off backdrop to compliment its total lack of realism.

[nonbinarydeity]

GUYS!!!!! I DID IT!! I PUT THE PIECES TOGETHER, AND I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT MANIFESTING IS AND HOW TO DO IT NOW!!!!!!!

Ehem. Sorry. I'm very excited at the moment. Without further Ado, here is my epiphany from today!! As always, these are just my personal opinions, so take what resonates and leave the rest ❤️

The 4D is one part of reality. That is to say, imagination is an entire half of our experience. The other half of our experience is, of course, the physical reality, or 3D. This makes up one portion of US; I call it our awareness, and it is also called our consciousness. The other part of us is the part that remembers everything, known as the subconscious mind in the community.

The subconscious mind is often referred to as the creator of our reality, and in reality the subconscious mind is just as much a part of us as our imagination and our actual physical reality. Basically, the subconscious is our god state, higher self, etc. When we access it directly, we get into the void state, where we are pure consciousness, with no awareness.

So okay, we are consciousness and the subconscious, but what does that MEAN? The answer is so simple, and it's something repeated time and time again: you create your reality ENTIRELY. Every single thing (and this includes bad things like trauma, more on that in a sec) is created by your mind, because you aren't just awareness, you are also reality itself. The subconscious mind is everything and nothing (the void). It remembers everything but sees nothing, instead it reflects what happens in your mind onto the outside experience. Meanwhile, the conscious mind is the one that feeds the subconscious its information; it is the part that actually thinks. This is why changing your thoughts or your imagination or affirming or scripting WORKS. It's because you are BOTH the creator AND the creation.

Basically, our perception of reality and our perception of our thoughts is one part of us as a whole being. The other half of us is reality itself, every single possibility, waiting for us to tell us what is true so it can create that experience. That is why we can manifest. It also explains eiypo, because everyone and everything IS you: reality is literally created by your thoughts.

Okay, now onto explain why bad things aren't your fault, but first we need to understand that our mind tries to protect us from fully realizing our potential. Even as babies we were master manifestors, and as children we are better at manifesting because we have less limiting beliefs, so our mind needs to create barriers to protect us, because otherwise we would create our realities and possibly get hurt. Also, what child is ready to realize the responsibility that comes with this?

So, the mind plays a clever little trick on us, and separates our conscious and our subconscious minds, thus creating the effect of reality being your thoughts filtered by your EGO, which is basically you but without the knowledge that you are literally the creator of everything.

The good news is, you can TOTALLY bypass this whole thing by purposely affirming and ignoring what your senses are telling you. The subconscious mind is separated from your awareness, so it only has your neuron pathways to go by (basically the pathways created by your consistent thoughts), and it takes the information from those pathways and converts it into reality. Most of the time, reality is fixed, because most people don't know that they can control it, but once you find out how to, you can create these same pathways by just believing in something.

I like to refer to reality as being an elaborate scheme by your brain to make you not realize you're a god lmao.

So basically, until you learn to control it, this process of manifestation is controlled by the ego, and not by you directly. Because of this, you manifested/ created your trauma, along with everything else, but it is NEVER your fault that bad things happen until you FULLY realize your highest self, at which point you will have total control over your reality.

So how do you realize your highest self? It's really easy really! Just think how you normally do AS YOUR GOD SELF. Know that you have everything you want, because you are EVERY possibility, reality, circumstance, person, etc. Everything is you, everything comes from you, and nothing will ever stop that, so use it wisely.

Did I explain this well enough? It's kinda all over the place but I REALLY hope it makes sense because this is literally my thoughts in the god state. Good luck everyone!!

[giac222]

I think one of the most annoying takes I see about TCOAAL is when someone says Ashley is solely the problem and that Andrew is completely innocent…💀 like did we play the same game?? Ashley and Andrew are the same, they always have been. Andrew just hides it better, but we see his mask slip in Ch. 2.

In a comment section on YouTube I literally saw someone say “Andrew needs to realize that Ashley is a bitch and leave.”… I rolled my eyes 🤦🏻‍♀️ lmao, like alright are we just going to completely ignore everything Andrew did? I’m convinced that person didn’t actually play the game.

I’m going to die on the hill that Ashley and Andrew weren’t born evil. The two of them are a product of their environment, especially Ashley. We see that her parents never cared about her and that her “friends” weren’t actually her friends. I’m sure we’ll see more of this in Ch. 3, I already know it’s going to make me sad ughhh. Ashley’s been treated like shit by everyone around her it seems except for Andrew. Andrew has been the only consistent presence in her life, the only one who’s ever been there for her. The flashback from her birthday was so fkn sad, but Andrew tried his best to make it special for her 😭. When she called him her favorite lemon muffin 🥺 yeah, she loves him downnn.

Ashley also has major self esteem issues which absolutely stem from her childhood. Again, I think we’ll see more of this in Ch. 3. She also has a ton of internalized misogyny, she’s had it since she was a kid. I’m like girl.. why are you like 10 calling other girls hussies? 😂 Seriously though, I believe she picked this behavior up from her mother. I mean where else would she learn those words and behaviors from? It’s very easy for kids to pick up on things. I really need the lore on Mrs.Graves because I don’t think she was born evil either. 🤔 The fact that she was a teen mom of 2 before the age of 18 is crazy. That also means her and Mr.Graves have been together for quite some time.

We know Mrs.Graves overall doesn’t care about either of her children, but it’s fair to say that Andrew was treated somewhat better than Ashley. I bring this up because I’ve heard stories about how some moms are easy on their sons while being very hard on their daughters. Also, I’ve seen someone else bring this up before, but when Andrew declines the olive branch and defends Ashley, Mrs.Graves doesn’t understand why and then she accuses him of sleeping with her. Why did her mind automatically go there? As if he couldn’t love Ashley for any reason other than sex. I think the reason Mrs.Graves said that is because of her own internalized misogyny and is projecting. Basically saying: If a man cares about you and does things for you, it’s obviously because you’re sleeping with him, not because he actually wants to do those things out of love. I could be wrong though, that’s just something I picked up on. So yes, I do believe Ashley got her internalized misogyny from her mother. I think generational trauma is definitely at play here, which is honestly just sad more than anything.

Andrew is everything to Ashley, he really is the center of her world 😭, and he’s the only person who’s shown her any type of love. We know she’s terrified of losing him and will do anything to keep him around. Considering no one else has stuck around in her life, it makes sense that she has serious abandonment issues 😞. Ashley can be abusive and manipulative, but I don’t think she necessarily wants to do that, she does it because she thinks that’s the only way she can keep him in her life… what she doesn’t understand though is that Andrew loves her just as much as she loves him, he would stick by her without any of that, we know this, even though he doesn’t show it as much. In ch. 3, I’m sure we’ll finally see him open up more and give her the affection and reassurance she needs. We see a glimpse of this in the questionable burial route when they’re on the bridge. In my opinion, I don’t see how people can call the questionable route the “bad” ending when both of them look the happiest, especially Andrew. I don’t think I’ve seen Andrew that happy at any other point in the game. 💀 he was fr in his element there.

Some people may not want to admit this, but Ashley is a victim as well. That’s why it’s frustrating to see people with the take that Ashley is purely evil and that Andrew is an angel who was manipulated to do everything he’s done. They’re both flawed individuals, but their upbringing was awful and the world around them is awful too. They live in a dystopian society. How they ended up was inevitable, and I’m not excusing their behavior, but they were failed by their parents and had 0 parental guidance. I mean my god, to make things even worse, their own parents sold them to organ harvesters and they were left to starve locked up in an apartment for months with no one else but each other. If they didn’t do what they did, they would have died. 🤷🏻‍♀️ They originally didn’t plan to sacrifice their parents either, they wanted to rob them and leave, but their mother came home and it screwed up their plans. Their mother absolutely would have snitched on them if they didn’t take action. We also know now that people are looking for them, hence the hitman. They literally have no choice but to be on the run. Their situation and actions aren’t black and white.

~

This turned into a very long post, sorry if it’s messy haha. I just wanted to get my thoughts out there because some of the takes I’ve seen on this game are horrendous. 💀 Thanks for reading if you did. ❤️

[stuffforme2]

Okay listen I lvoe the pjo books and series with all ym heart but.. everyone talks about them like they're perfect WHICH THEYRE NOT any problems are kinda brushed under the rug and I find thst kinda werid? Like you'll see other books and TV shows get dragged and canceled for the stuff in Riordan books and yet pjo doesn't?? So.. uhhHHHH yeah that's jsut something I noticed.

The weird relationshipd ynamics. Rick is like allergic to someone bring okay with being single or jsut aromantic like you can say Reyna but her having a crush kn Jason?? Yes she rejected Apollo but her relationship with Jason deterioted brcuz she had a 'crush' on the guy and that doesn't really amke sense to me (I can go into so much detail kn this)

AND LEO AND CALYPSO OMFG that is a toxic relationship. The age gap. The way calypso treats Leo. The fact Leo SHOULD NOT be with someone like this man hasn't dealt with his attachment and Abandonment issues like st all?!

The literal only black character in the pjo books being beckendorf.. then he dies. Then the Korean/Asian (I'm not sure sorry) character dies, Ethan. And like I understand Percy is hinted st being Hispanic (have seen many ppl talk about this dont mnow if it's common knowldhe) but it's never confirmed or added??? I know Rick fixes it later but it's still weird to me lmaoo

Rick unable to keep consistent personality. Woobigying Nico OH MY GOD NICO HE BECOMES GAY AND THSTS WHDT EVERYONE FUCKING FOCUSES ON AND HE SHOULD'VE NEVER GOTTEN WITH WILL ATLWAST NOT THAT QUICK it's not healthy. Their relationship was rushed and didn't make sense I felt like people only like ot becuz it's a gay relationship??

And oh mygods— Samirah. I am not Muslim and I am not an expert on the Nuslim religion but there is so much shitbthatbeas wrong in thst book that I even knew was incorrect and jsut weird to happen?! The AMOUNT OF TIMES HER HIJAB CAME OFF and I'm also like "yaayyyy representation" but it could've been as easy as one Google search. one.

Jason. Jason as a whole. He had the most potential out of ANYONE and personally I think he had more potential then Percy like his story is so INTERESTING and then.. Rick knocked him iut with a brick multiple times, didn't work kn his sotry or trauma at all, then KILLED HIM. Same with Ethan. I am so Vitter about these two.. HELL EVEN LEO AND FRANK.

Also the way he made Annabeth first quest (first quest SHE IS LEADING AND IS HER PROHECY) all about Percy. I was reading it and I was like "bitxh— this is Annabeth Quest?!" LIKE he it pissed me off that Annabeth was swept to rhe side as Percy's lvoe interest giving her knly enough personality and stary to make her jnteredting enough to eb loved but never delving jntk it into Mark kf Athena and even at Mark of Athena it all rounded back tk her and Percy's relationship LIKE JESUS CHRIST DO THESE MFERS PASS THE BELLDAN TEST?!

The low key incest at the beginning ricj writing that all the demigods had the same impish features at rhe start and then.. jsut.. CHSNGING IT?!

Not letting a virgin goddess who has no history of having children have.. children.. NOW you may be wondering 'but then how would we get Annabeth?'— JUST GiVE ATHENA HER FAVOURITE CHOSEN PPL LIKE SHE DID WITH ODYSSEUS let her stay childless. Jsut let her choose some children she'd like as hers wonce they're Bron and she then blesses them as her heroes, that's how she treats them any way and it also gets rid of the incest?!

Also the fact it's implied that Annabeth is only smart becuz she's a child of Athena.. Rick made a virgin goddess technically have children so he can have a smart women character and that's just.. EuGGHHhHHh JUST LET HER BE SMART IT NOT THAT HARD "Oh, no, I'm not smart because Athena chose me.. Athena chose me because I was already smart" Smacks you with common fucking sense.

Also Annabeth ALWAYS needing to eb saves and its always done by a man. OMFG AND GROVES GF DHE HAS NO PERSONALITY OUTSIDE OF BEING SOEM GUSY GF EVEN THOUGH HES GONE FOR MKNTHS AND BAREKY CONTAXTS HER?!

The whole apheodite cabin. The whole aphrodite cabin. The whole aphrodite cabin.

The fact it's clear Rick doesn't think girly girls cant be strong or into fighting or able to wield a fuckign weapon. The way he makes nearly every girly girl into a total mean bitch or ruins their characters.

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Whump Prompts: Recovery

Content: Recovery, murder, abuse, captivity, [implied] past minor whump, restraints, [mentioned] vivisections, branding, conditioning, muzzles, past non con.

Whumpee recovering from the trauma stemming from, not only all the abuse they went through, but the fact that they had to murder their abuser to get away from them.

Whumpee finally getting to experience the outside world for the first time in what feels like forever. Gawking at nature and how pretty everything is, excitedly pointing everything out to Caretaker as they go.

Crying when they see children playing in the park for the first time since their captivity because they had their entire childhood taken from them.

Learning about all the new inventions that came out while they were gone. Caretaker introducing them to mobile phones, that board game they'd been looking forward to playing before, the new gaming consoles, all the music Caretaker saved just because it made them think of Whumpee! It delights Caretaker to know that they get to show it all to Whumpee, after all.

The personality changes that have happened, whether that be due to conditioning/trauma/etc. A stoic whumpee now getting emotional at everything (not just because they're scared or sad - there's also a lot of happy/joyous tears shedded), an aggressive/angry whumpee who is just so loving and filled with adoration for everything, and vice versa.

Learning to break old habits. Realising it's okay to have and express opinions instead of bottling them up, it's okay to walk on their own two feet, it's okay to not want to spend every waking hour restrained because they're "dangerous".

Hating the freedom. Wanting structure and consistency in their life again, wanting no autonomy because it's so scary after years of living without it.

Having to learn to accept their more prominent scars. The outline of where their muzzle always sat around their face, the visible scars from all Whumper's poorly executed surgeries/vivisections (also the low-quality stitching up they did!), the mark from where they were branded.

Whumpees who immediately try (and fail) to go back to who they were before. They don't want to admit that it's not possible - they're in complete denial and end up hurting all their friends and family in the process.

That said, also having to grieve because they've lost the person they were. Does Caretaker secretly grieve with them? Do they miss the person Whumpee was?

The amount of hospital visits and treatments Whumpee needs to get following their return. Bones healing incorrectly, diseases they may have caught, badly infected wounds.

The letters they write to their abuser. Whether they actually send them or not is an entirely different story, but what do they say? Do they beg for forgiveness? Do they hurl insults at them? How coherent are their words?

Caretaker not getting to see them for the first few days/weeks because they spend so much of it holed up in their room, trying to forget about what happened. Maybe they're just so happy to finally be alone without having to worry about Whumper turning up and wanting something from them.

Sexually abused whumpees who experience hypersexuality.

Whumpees who become chronically overstimulated by the time they escape because of all the constant noise/bright lights that Whumper had around them.

[v3nusxsky]

Hello! I love your writing, and I have a request;

Larissa x teacher,fem!reader and they’ve been together for a few years and then Wednesday arrives to Nevermore and things start going downhill, the murders start and all that, so just about Larissa being overly overprotective over reader when those things happen, not letting reader out of her sight and constantly having to know where reader is because she doesn’t want reader in danger/to lose her. Reader is a bit stubborn and too independent and sometimes (for example) goes for a walk in the woods where the hyde is even though larissa told her not to bc its dangerous.

Basically fluff, larissa being overprotective, and possibly angst too!

You don’t have to write this if you don’t like the idea, also take your time!

Thank you <3

Temptations and Confessions

*Authors note~ the first instalment of my you are my world (YAMW) series and I must say I adore my Larissa Weems. Some themes may be a bit tricky so always read the warnings and check the rating love yall. Sorry to the anon for changing a few details to fit in with the series I hope that’s okay*

Trigger warnings~ Nevermore supernatural usual drama overprotective Larissa due to past trauma

Prompt~ see ask^^^

Tag list

Empathy. Often as children, we get told to have more empathy for others. But for you that’s not the case. No. You were labelled the overly sensitive child. The one who seemed to be nicknamed the cry baby. It wasn’t your fault really. Being born into two Normie parents who didn’t understand you wasn’t going to help your situation. I’m fact your ability became a curse rather quickly. It became a weakness. Others could now use this against you and it resulted in you curling in on yourself, speaking less and less, isolating yourself completely and building walls so high that they would rival the Eiffel Tower. All until you stumbled into Nevermore. Literally.

Feeling your own emotions deeply was manageable but feeling others on top of your own made everything ten times harder than it should’ve been. Your own nerves bubbled in your lower stomach uncontrollably as you made your way to the gates of Nevermore. That’s why you didn’t see it. Overwhelmed with not only your emotions but those of the whole school as well made your head spin, eyes blurring round the corners causing you to trip over a obnoxiously large stone and fall face first down to the ground. What a great impression that is.

That day led you to the current moment in time, you’ve been teaching at Nevermore for a year now, dating Larissa for a few months. Larissa’s aura immediately drew you in, a stunning mixture of gold, pink, green and light blue and slight speckles of red all swirling together in a pattern that is so uniquely hers. You adore how each colour simply is woven into each other yet still remaining visible to your eye. It is nothing short of gorgeous and even now you know you’ll never stop being stunned by the woman.

Over the past two weeks your girlfriend has had exhaustion and irritation rolling off her aura in brutal waves due to the newest student of Nevermore. In fact, you felt like you’d hardly seen her since Wednesday had arrived at Nevermore. And whenever you did, she was drained. Wherever an Addams goes, trouble and darkness will always follow, a rumour you’d heard but not had evidence of till now. The young Addams radiates black and indigo in her aura, it’s practically dripping like blood as her emotions of disinterest and annoyance seeped through. Despite not seeing the principal, you’d received many texts apologising for her lack of presence these days, reminding you she cares for you and to stay safe. Things would settle down soon. You both hoped for that. But a niggly feeling deep in your soul told you that that was simply wishful thinking.

Emotions constantly consumed you, the fear of the students impact your ability to remain neutral, to the point you were having near consistent headaches. New rules being implemented for staff and students due to what some believe is bears. Bears in the woods were believable but perhaps it was paranoia of the students effecting you or Wednesdays constant insistence over there being a monster In the woods killing people. Whatever the reason was you couldn’t do the constant headaches, anxiety hitting you like tidal waves every time you left your room, even altering your dreams now. This couldn’t go on much longer, it’s draining everyone, especially the poor Principal. Truthfully you weren’t sure what emotions were your own these day.

Shooting a quick text off to Larissa you found your shoes and jacket and got ready to leave the grounds in search of a break. Only to be stopped by a frantic round of knocks on the door of your private chambers spooked you. Instantly tapping into your ability, you knew your girlfriend was stood on the other side of the door riddled with panic causing you to make quick work of letting the woman in.

“Isa?” You puzzled, stepping back away from her slightly as the full force of her emotions hit you. “Darling! You shouldn’t leave the grounds. I can’t protect you there my love! Please don’t risk your health. I can’t imagine what would happen if-“ her own sobs choked the final words of her pleas. Tears forming in her cyan blue eyes, “I don’t like this darling girl” you couldn’t help but mumbled sadly “I need a break Isa. It’s too painful. Maybe if I can prove there’s nothing abnormal the students won’t be so paranoid. I have to try Larissa! Please for my sake let me go” you stated with the stubbornness she knew you held. Especially when it involved someone you care for. “I- I don’t like it” she whispered as her emotions clouded every word. As much as she didn’t like this, she doesn’t want you in pain either.

Warm slender fingers came to cradle your cheek as she attempted to persuade you otherwise. The blondes heart clenching with fear as you squared your jaw and pushed calming emotions into her. “I’ll be fine Isa. I promise. Just need fifteen minutes to myself away from all the madness. Larissa you must know I respect you but I need this. I’ll be back soon love” you stated before slipping under the shifters form that was blocking the doorway. You didn’t dare look back, knowing your heart would shatter into millions of tiny pieces at the hurt and anguish she was being drowned in.

One thing about Larissa Weems is she protects those within Nevermore and those who she holds dear with every fibre of her being. To see you go into the unknown alone most definitely shouldn’t be happening on her watch. But, she’d the let fear of losing you paralyse her, moments trapped in her own mind as it drew up the worst case scenarios.

The ticking sound escaping the grandfather clock seemed to be only adding to the blondes fears. You’d said fifteen minutes, by minute three she had moved back to her office and began rapidly passing the floor. A desperate attempt to calm herself was failing as she glanced again at the clock for at least the hundredth time. By minute eight, every emotion was clawing its way through the shifter inhibiting her from forming a plan. To save you from the unknown.

By minute fifteen, tears caressed pale cheeks as her chest heaved in attempt of getting enough air to fill them. You’d left. And she’d let you. Failing you in the first few months of your blossoming relationship wouldn’t booded well with her desire to love and protect you till her last breath. A lapse in her judgment that wouldn’t happen again.

As you made your way back to the grounds, shaken and sore you were immediately hit with your lovers emotions. Self hatred, solitude, love, panic, confusion and an overwhelming sadness were swirling inside of her like a mini tornado. So much so it practically made you feel more nauseous than you previously did. As you crawled into Nevermore the only thought you had was that she was right. If only you’d listened to her.

Not even bothering to knock you let yourself into the office panting slightly through the pain which caught her attention. “Are you hurt? Darling? Let me see. Are you okay? Gods don’t ever do that again! I could’ve lost you. Do you know how incredibly dangerous that is. Is that blood?” She rambled as her eyes frantically ran over your from. She immediately noted that you seemed to hold your right heel off the floor and a deep crimson stained your cheeks and left arm. Almost as if you’d been scratched by something.

“Isa” you groaned, “yes. I’m sorry. You were right” you mumbled as you tried to focus on anything but the swirling emotions that were brewing inside of you. “Stay” was all she offered as she let her long beautiful legs carry her to fetch what could only be a medical kit. Sure enough that’s exactly what she was clinging to as she moved to kneel by your saw body. “I’m sorry darling. I need to clean this up love” she murmured softly to you as she set to work on her task. A peace offering of painkillers and some bottled water to help with the physical pain. Praise flowing as she carfully cleaned and patch up the deep cuts before wrapping your ankle to help with the pain.

“Feel sick” you whimpered as she cleaned off the blood staining your cheeks. “I’ll just” she trailed off as you cut her off with a desperate plea to stay. “Please! Isa I need you here! Don’t leave me! I’m sorry, don’t go” only to be hushed and gently scooped into her arms and carried to her private quarters. From there she joined you on the bed, extra cautious of your sore body. “Okay.”

Okay. You were okay. But hurt. Alive. She reminded her self as you clung to her. She had no clue what had happened and it wasn’t her right to pry, you’d speak when you felt ready. In an effort to help with your nausea she tried to pour all her love and calming energy into you as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. You could’ve died. Left. Gone. She wouldn’t have been able to tell you she loved you. Although you knew that, she wanted the first time admitting it out loud to be perfect.

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you again” she mumbled dropping a sweet kiss to your head. You’d been silent for a while, chest rising and falling slowly with your eyes screwed shut as you hid yourself into her. Only natural she thought you’d been asleep. “I’m sorry I’ve let you down my darling. I can’t lose you. From here and now I’m going to make sure that you are safe. Better protection for you from emotions. Anything to keep you safe and happy. I- i- oh heavens how will I tell you when you are awake if i can’t say it now?’ I love you sweet girl. Always will.” She managed to stumble out before dropping another round of sweet kisses to the crown of your head. No verbal answer was given, but the onslaught of love forcing its way into her body was all that she needed to know.

You’d get through this together. She hadn’t lost you. And wouldn’t ever again. Stubbornly, you mumbled telling her she was protective of you. Only to be reminded that to Larissa Weems you are her whole world. Nothing is more important than your safety and happiness. Nothing. She’d deal with your stubbornness if you accepted her need to protect someone as precious as yourself from such a cruel world. Her love. Her life. Hopefully her wife. One day.

Word count ~ 2005

[crunchy-lesbun]

Let’s talk Limbus Company!

Something I recently noticed is that Limbus Company’s Abnormality numbering system is slightly different from that of Lobotomy Corporation. Whereas L Corp. used one letter and two numbers, the Company threw in an additional number to the set that throws everything slightly off. Additionally, there’s a few extra variations we see in Limbus that we don’t in Lobotomy, so without further adieu, here’s what I think the different parts of Limbus Company’s Abnormality designations mean, gathered from what we already know and have theorized about L Corp’s system:

Letter — Denotes the Abnormality’s origin as one of the following:

• Original — Spawned from nothing but the thoughts and desires of the Dreamer and therefore the purest type of Abnormality

• Trauma — Spawned as the fallout of the Dreamer’s grievances with the City

• Fairytale — Based on literature or folklore, generally originating from outside the City

• Myth — Based on artifacts and ideas discovered from the days before the City, but could also be exclusively religious in nature (it is difficult to tell given we currently only have three known examples to go off)

• Sin — Spawned from one of the seven sin resonances, so far only consisting of Peccatulae

• Donator — Granted to L Corp. from an outside source

First Number — Denotes the shape of the Abnormality as follows:

1 - Humanoid Organism

2 - Non-Humanoid Organism

3 - Supernatural Being

4 - Object without Moving Parts

5 - Object with Moving Parts

6 - Undefined

7 - Breaching Tool

8 - Peccatulum

9 - Standard Tool

Second Number — Denotes the District in which the Abnormality was first encountered by Limbus Company.

Third Number — Unique identification number given to each Abnormality within a District.

So, for a few examples as proof of this theory’s validity:

S-08-04-01, Peccatulum Gulae, is a Peccatulum (Automatically making it S-08) and the first Abnormality we meet in the game’s first dungeon in District 4 (Making the last two numbers 04-01).

M-04-04-05, Doomsday Calendar, is based on the stone calendars created by Mesoamerican cultures of the real world (M-04). It is the fifth Abnormality encountered in District 4 (04-05). Also, from now on, I won’t be bothering with the third number because it is somewhat arbitrary.

T-04-10-05, Have You Become Strong, takes the form of a large, plastic freight container and can be presumed from its combat event to be formed from a dreamer who was involved in or witnessed some kind of industrial accident (T-04). It is found in District 10 (10-05).

F-05-10-18, Baba Yaga, is based on a Russian folk character, a witch known as… Baba Yaga (F). Specifically, it is based on the hut that the witch lived in that walked about on fowl’s legs (05). It is found in District 10 aaand you get the idea.

Now, the weird one that kind of threw a wrench in this entire thing initially was F-04-03-04, Ebony Queen’s Apple. This Abnormality is an Aberration of Snow White’s Apple from Lobotomy Corporation and Library of Ruina, automatically making it a Fairytale-type due to its association with the popular children’s story. Though some might argue it should be considered a humanoid or non-humanoid organism, this apple has already fallen from its tree and is therefore more in the inanimate object category, making its first number 04. Make sense so far? Of course it does. The strange thing about this Abno is that, despite making its debut appearance in District 4, its second number is 03. So, why is this?

There are two possible theories. One is that the Abnormality is not one of a kind, and that a previous team from Limbus also sighted the exact same creature in District 3, which opens up an entire can of worms about the uniqueness of Abnos. The second is that, shortly before the fall of L Corp, the Ebony Queen’s Apple was transferred from a Branch in District 3 over to the one Yuri worked at, which ALSO has weird implications.

Anyway, I’ve rambled on way too long about this, now. I don’t really have a good way of ending this post, so I guess I’ll just say that Limbus is still a relatively new game, and I’ll be making sure to check how future Abnormalities fair in this classification system.

Ciao!